Why so Grimm?

My once fertile imagination was plowed under by law school and paved over by years of dealing with legal automatons. The law is a profession that has eliminated nuance and subtlety from its terms of art, and any attempt at either is lost on the politicians who have ascended the wool sack.



In an attempt to regain what has been lost and render fallow fields fertile, I am shamelessly stealing inspiration from the Brothers Grimm . The concept is simple -- one story, one poem . . . and we shall see what will come.

5/4/11

The Three Languages







The language of dogs.

Dogs run in slavering packs.
Dogs are mouths; mouths with teeth.
That is all. The rest is incidental.

The language of birds.

Birds flit and fly in fractious nations.
They don't really like each other,
but they pretend like they do.
They are afraid to be alone.
Each and every one of them.
There are no real solitary birds.
Once they become solitary
they cease to truly be birds.
They become something else.

The language of frogs.

Frogs philosophize in families.
They rarely make actual physical contact,
but they are always surrounded by each other.

If I had to fuck a dog, a bird, or a frog,
I would go with the frog every time.

My cock speaks the language of the frog.
It philosophizes with them; slippery and slow.

My asshole speaks the language of the dog.
Anything a dog can't fuck, it shits on.

The language of the birds is wrapped up
so tight in my chest that I can barely take a breath with it.
It pinches and squeezes, flits and flutters.


(The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm (paperback ed. 1987), Vol. I, No. 33 p. 137)

4/17/11




The Young Giant

I.

The tears of an unworthy son
Are not cleansing, rather,
They fester where ever they drop.

II.

When an unworthy son is swept away,
A hard hearted father does not weep, but
Only laments what might have been and was not.

III.

At the kaliedescopic center of the crystalline
Shards of my first memories is the hoary, hairy,
cracked and leathery nipple of my benefactor.

IV.

I suckled deeply for years
drawing in the salty sap-like fluid
from his gross unnatural protuberance

V.

The strength of an oak tree is felt in your thighs.
As you embrace the trunk you can feel the tug of the bark
on the hairs of your chest and your bearded cheek.

VI.

I am expanded.
I stride the horizon homeward.
Unexpected prodigality.

VII.

What is the worth of a weakling father?
What is the strength of warped steel?
What is the evil in a warped spirit?

VIII.

A selfish black smith in a small town is an anathema.
Cracked hands creased with the soot of years show no kindness,
Nor does he bear well the burden of his emptiness.

IX.

An evil bailiff is an afront to the world.
Stiff shirt, stiff neck, smooth bole.
Both those he serves and those he rules.


X.

Does a haunted mill grind ghostly grist?
I see shapes in the chaff and dust.
They strike me silly.

XI.

A couple who flies together is soon separated.
The span of a finger's breadth becomes the span of a universe.
Where shall they land?

(The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm (paperback ed. 1987), Vol. I, No. 90 p. 357)

1/17/11

The Golden Children (A Haiku)



Magical fish's gifts

Nagged into oblivion

A brother's love saves

(The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm (paperback ed. 1987), Vol. I, No. 85 p. 336)

7/21/10

Clever Hans (A Sestina)




It starts with the needle.
Then there is the knife
that slits the throat of the Goat.
The pig renders bacon
and veal comes from the fatted calf.
So says sweet Gretel.

The first time I saw Gretel
she was plunging the needle
into the back of her calf.
I put away my knife.
The tenement smelt of old bacon
grease and had the rank odor of the goat.

The patriarch was an old goat
who kept making eyes at Gretel;
he provided the bacon
and would always needle
her about her fear of his knife
and her innocent eyes of the calf.

But I still worship the Golden Calf,
I still pay homage to the ancient Goat,
Father of the Knife.
I silently covet Gretel
and her magic needle.
John Bacon.

There is the story of John Bacon
who led the spotted calf
through the eye of the needle,
avoided the butting charge of the goat .
He swept up Gretel,
sliced her arm with his knife .

In my carriage I am the knife;
in my hopes I slice the bacon;
in my heart I love Gretel;
in my soul I am the calf ;
in my dreams I am the goat;
in my despair I am the needle.

I love Gretel even though she jabbed me with her knife,
even though she started me on the needle and bacon,
even though she roped me like a calf and had me rut her like a goat.

(The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm (paperback ed. 1987), Vol. I, No. 32 p. 133)