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The Front Door II: Green Woods (Song For Robert Lowell)
(5:16)[1/3/99]
MP3
Liner Notes
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Like Corinth Women, stationary guards
While kids get mov'd like points on scoring cards,
If we let them use Green Woods for this now,
They'll run out 'fore we ask them to fall down.
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All those on curl'd up knee tonight, enwrapp'd,
Remember in orisons Cal, who laps'd
By not trying hard enough to survive,
'Cause ev'ry night we're fighting for our lives.
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Medea kill'd her sons without restrains;
She, partial to the sword, drove in their brains.
We're meant to spend majorities in lulls,
Yet all our days we hope for fractur'd skulls. |
Like you, Cal,
I'm a "fire-breath'd RC",
Back when you pitch'd your arc'd tent & stood guard
While Rebel's blood irrigated Tate's yard.
Now blue-wing'd flies encircle green plane trees.
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When fervor flatlines,
That's when it's best
& hardest to pray,
& therefore most blest.
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Did you want
to be just like Del, who died
Slump'd by keys swinging in the door outside?
Sometimes I pray for you, so like me; see
You pace on your dark stumps (your Purgatrees),
Pedestal'd for oblivion. Lumber's now
Butch'd for young verseman's winding, epic rows.
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The rage
of city-statesman Greeks who die
Is easy to bite down on, then it's done;
But finding keys on floors won't glorify:
These daily small frustrations are the run.
Medea kill'd her boys, but Lowell's plight
Was that he kill'd his hope when faith was mild;
No one mourns, no Batey or Rich will write
The Tragedy of Child & Other Child.
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Ted pull'd a
Keith Moon: face down, motel pool;
Rand left his wife for headlights, shin'd like jew'ls;
John's last eleven Glorias still o'er
Twin Town's bridges, like Stars of David, soar.
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About suff'ring
the Greeks were rarely right:
Theater pain creates laquer'd insight.
'Cause still the real battles shake at night,
But not as rage of angels or hellkites:
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| Confessions
got so overblown, like how
Plath's Daddy was an SS at Dachau,
& if we use the Green Woods for this now,
We'll run out 'fore we ask, "Fall on us down."
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But really, Cal,
who cares if Pete Taylor
Looks just like, say, my friend Mike Brunner; or
There's O'Connor, whose stern old world reminds
Me of Religion teacher Mrs. Heintz.
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They come as
softly scratching thoughts in head
Like, "Let's skip it this once & go to bed."
It's there we will (or won't) forgive; it's when
We agonize (or justify) the sin;
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She said, "You can't just
pick & choose faiths
Like low-cal meals where nutrients are Grace."
Your Last Night, you said, "Give me dignity
In Death, Christ," thinking he'd appear like Faust.
'Cause, freed from God, our blindfell'd eyes can't see
& mill on stumbling stones in our own house.
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While family and friends slumber,
we cry
& pray (or don't) He'll understand. But I
Sometimes, while making grass angels, have seen
From rooftops shooting up to skies light beams.
So bargains ransom'd late, shining out, will
Affect both those awake and sleeping still.
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