SECTION TEN
POETRY PAGE FOUR

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COLUMN FORTY-FOUR, APRIL 1, 1999
(Copyright 1999 Al Aronowitz)

stevedby.jpg (81035 bytes)

[Steve Dalachinsky was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1946. He says he has been writing poetry since before then. He says his great loves and influences are the Beats, Blake and music, particularly so-called "avant-garde" jazz. His chapbooks include OneThin Line, published by Pinched Nerves Press, and People/Places, published by The Beehive Press. His work has most recently appeared in Long Shot, Nomad Choir, Blue Beat Jacket, Connections, Big Hammer and N.Y. Arts Magazine. He has just completed a manuscript of his poems entitled The Final Night, which is comprised entirely of poems written while listening to the music of saxophonist Charles Gayle between 1987 and the present and which is scheduled to be published by Linear Arts Press sometime in 1999. He is co-editor of the anthology Play the Red. He has written several liner notes for musicians such as Gayle, Matthew Shipp, James "Blood" Ulmer, Anthony Braxton and Roy Campbell. Two key elements in his poetry are spontaneity and the idea of transformation rather than description, with a preference toward non-linear, non-narrative thought. He is currently working on a cd for Knitting Factory Works. He resides in Manhattan, where he has lived for the past 30 years.]

tribute to Bob Kaufman (the shadows)

i like her bush/& her
toosh
       the way her metal shadow
twists against the wall
the way the white wall collaborates
with his white clothes
& forms a dark form
i like the way floor collaborates with flesh
beat & burnt maybe the way his shadow passes
right thru the metal
& ends up there on the wall
along with everything else
& i mean everything
         nothing to forgive
his shadow doubles on the wall
like real estate
the way he makes the sound flutter thru his reed
from his heart thru his mouth
her shadow i like the way it rises out of his
comes detached & flutters flutters
  with her body from her body
holy ceramic design
                     of shadow holes & rainbows
creating & recreating themselves
   the way her shadow remerges with his knees
i like the way breasts & dick & wall sockets
keep occurring & re occuring

  too much movement here & multiplicity
deception i am deceived by all these shadows
& i like that watch time break voice accent lisp
             away no limp shadow

some are moved only by light
others by body
others still
no move at all
                   too much movement
     dancing kneeling crouching bending withdrawing with
holding decomposing resurrecting light
the widows in the windows
                               light as widow & orphan
we are all not fathered mother
the lines along the lines of lines
     shadow         upon      shadows

i like that
                  the way shadow is not darkness
                 deflowered
                 i like her stretching out on the floor
                with that naked all that nakedness
                wrapping itself around those metal voices
               & i like her
  boosh/& her
               tush
                       the accents of the space
                       rebending the language
                       reshaping the shadows
                       submerging back into the burbs
                      of this in/ finite city

   & i like the fact that we are all our only begotten
              daughters     &    SUNS.

                        written at the studio of Alain Kirill
                       & Ariane Lopez-Huici during a
             performance combining dance recitation
                         music & sculpture 10/26/98. ##

* * *

subway assemblage: partita # 3

walt whitman
rivers don't need money
but my eyes invite
a crossing
sometimes
a queen
a problem
another alternative
all these things
before my birth
& pain

like the world
is a crossing
sometimes
a river
for which we
now us a
camera
to ferry our faces
across. ##

* * *

JAMES DEAN

They talk about work
the men who have jobs
they discuss some aspect of work
some gossip
some Inside joke
some technical tour de force.

James Dean
in a gallery window
we talk about sleep. ##

* * *

monet's waterlilies

1. Woodstock '69 - Monica

       i saw you
                naked
                      showering in the rain
             in front of the trailer -
           the hippie tried to push some propaganda on us
               but we preferred a bar of ivory soap.

                     dripping from the sky
                                         we slosh thru mud
                     down to the lake
                                         and wade bare ass
                          thru the lilies
                                         and weeds.  ##

* * *

2. Fortune Obscured by Clouds
  
blue on your face
     blue in your eyes
     circling clouds upon the water
     open In turquoise smoke rings
     and heavy red dots
     mysterious petal obscured by breath
     pushing up/downward
     stroked by the constant reminder of blood.

     violet falls into blue into violent into calm
             and your ear rings as vou sleep
              shoulder wrapped red sweater
                   (blue-black-white with green)
                 and green
                             circling lilies
                               emerge from clouds
                    in the pinking of spring
                             to end
                                  sienna-depth
                                            autumned. ##

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