Saturday, April 22, 2006


Let me preface this post by saying this weekend’s posts will not be all about me, Sunday I will post another segment of Orwell. And this poem does not speak so much of who I am, but rather where I was, at about 32 years of age…

What bitter and intransigent loves bind,
Us to our terrestrial trough,
Love of palate, of colon, hinds,
The getting on, the getting off.
Masticate, macerate, ejaculate how we will,
We add not one atom to our environs,
But rather forge, of our discordant fill,
Delicate chains and lovely irons.
Lest you think me drear lest me haste to state,
I find amusing our gyrations,
Our Rome and orgy, all things laid waste,
By our bodies’ recreations,
For dire as are man’s predilections,
Direr yet are all predictions,
If things are only to be worse,
We might as not fuck and swill and fill,
Our purse.

So prattled the poet drunken as we,
Slew together another soldier in the night.
He just juiced enough to loose his muses wildly,
Me, too drunk to type.
Were that he and I not one,
This tiresome struggle unnecessary,
Every schizoid anarchist poet bum,
Should come,
Equipped with secretary.

What petty and inconsequent hates blind,
Us to the celestial troth,
Hate of self, of others, kinds,
The pissing on, the pissing off.
Concentrate, segregate, annihilate whom we will,
We learn not a wit from our stupidities,
But rabble ‘round, murderous still,
Any despot who plucks our cupidities.
You I do not wear allow me to prate,
On of our desperate isolation,
Of the sadness of our present state,
Void of hope and inspiration,
For numerous as are man’s predicaments,
The most enduring and consequent,
His refusal to unhand and be free,
His maddening inability to see.

So muttered the wordman as I,
Contemplated turning down his bed.
He just sober enough to drag off his socks,
Me watching and shaking his head.
Were that he and I not one,
His anger makes life such a chore,
Every sotted pretender to Blake,
Should be,
Himself and no one more.


Blogger KidKawartha said...

I'm just informed enough to realize that that is good poetry. The only writing of prose I've ever done is one piece each for my ex-fiance and my ex-girlfriend. I still think it was good writing, but I would never have shared them with anyone except the intended. They thought they were fantastic, or else it was the literary equivalent of a faked orgasm..... ;)
I wish I could calm my mind down enough to really drink stuff like this in. I think I should take up hash again after a 20 year hiatus......JK.

5:15 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

Thanks, canuck...

5:56 PM  
Blogger Joe Don Martin said...

I now know what happened to Durrati's aborted rap career. We all know that poetry ain't poetry 'less it rhymes and that sure as shit don't rhyme. Seriously, I used to have a hardcore jones for verse. I wrote it constantly, filling journal after journal, pausing occasionally to excise bits and pieces from the flow for song lyrics, sending off snippets for inclusion in second-rate literary publications. Eventually, I got to the point where the words ceased to have meaning in and of themselves and I began to play with them like a toddler does blocks, arranging them by the way they made the lips form in their speaking, the very sounds themselves, trying my hand at Joycean multi-tongue double entendre, Burroughs/Gysin cut and paste, and King Buzzo/Melvinsesque nonwords and nonsense. Then, even that got boring and I decided to take a break from words- as much as I like the barbacoa burritos from Chipotle, I sense that if I ate them every day I, I'd seriously be burned out on them as well. Now, I've been leaving the words to others until I feel that urge to put pen to paper once more. As an aside, I find writing on this infernal machine similar to showering in a raincoat. Nifty wordsmithing.

Je dois t'enculer, Mlle. Rosselini

6:24 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

I'm gonna have to masticate that one a while Joe, and find the Rosselini reference, but thanks for the compliment.

6:53 PM  
Blogger durrati said...


6:53 PM  
Blogger Joe Don Martin said...

Isabella. I just had to include a female name so that you wouldn't jump to the conclusion that I was after your ass.

7:59 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

Hind is a female deer... I was exact.... and I KNOW you better, Joe....

8:12 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

1436, from Anglo-Fr. cupidite, from M.Fr. cupidité, from L. cupiditas "passionate desire," from cupidus "eager, passionate," from cupere "to desire" (perhaps cognate with Skt. kupyati "bubbles up, becomes agitated," O.Slav. kypeti "to boil," Lith. kupeti "to boil over"). The Latin n. form cupido was personified as the Roman god of love, Cupido, identified with Gk. Eros; but in Eng. cupidity originally, and still especially, means "desire for wealth."

5:42 AM  
Anonymous WhattheH said...

I read this yesterday, but needed some time to digest, and even today, I think I need to read it again tomorrow. What a terrible burden when one fights with one's inner self; when one recognizes the dichotomy yet cannot reconcile the two. His poem is terrific, yet terrible. The sadness so palpable, yet there is hope.
And now for a lighter look -


Me and him, him and me,
We're always together as you can see.
I wish he'd leave so I could be free
I'm getting a little bit tired of he,
And he may be a bit bored with me.
On movies and ladies we cannot agree.
I like to dance he loves to ski.
He likes the mountains I love the sea.
I like hot chocolate he wants his tea.
I want to sleep he has to pee.
He's meaner and duller and fatter than me.
But I guess there's worse things we could be --
Instead of two, we could be three.
Me and him
Him and me.

....Shel Silverstein.

1:19 PM  
Blogger durrati said...


Thanks for Siverstein, he always lightens the mood :)

2:56 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

Oh, yes, Joe Don,

Your cinema I.Q. exceeds mine but thanks to google I now grok the Rosselini reference, and his daughter indeed represents, if not a one of seven deadly sins, a lively temptation to one.....

9:18 PM  
Blogger Sgt Marks-a-lot said...

Mr. D,


Very nice writing. You have many gifts.



9:31 PM  
Blogger durrati said...

thank you, Marks...

10:02 PM  
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6:28 PM  

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