<p class="epil"><em>Why, to write down the stuff<br />and people of everyday,<br />must poems be dressed in gold,<br />in old fearful stone? …<br />I want poems stained<br />by hands and everydayness.<br />—Pablo Neruda</em></p>
<div class="line">I know Allen Ginsberg&#8217;s dead,</div>
<div class="line">And I want to write</div>
<div class="line">A poem for him just like every-</div>
<div class="line">Body else wants to do, but I can&#8217;t</div>
<div class="line">Help but think of my neighbor</div>
<div class="line">Who too died alone, recently, in his home of</div>
<div class="line">30 years, and how he was a person</div>
<div class="line">Who will never have a poem</div>
<div class="line">Written in his honor or to his memory.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">He was a person who will never have</div>
<div class="line">His life enshrined in sound</div>
<div class="line">And symbol of verse or song.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">I didn&#8217;t know my neighbor either,</div>
<div class="line">But I want to remember him</div>
<div class="line">With verse and poesy just the same.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">I want to celebrate</div>
<div class="line">His life as the important treasure</div>
<div class="line">He must have been as someone&#8217;s</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">Husband, father, brother, friend.</div>
<div class="line">I want to do this</div>
<div class="line">Simply because he lived.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">My neighbor wasn&#8217;t famous,</div>
<div class="line">And I probably only saw him once</div>
<div class="line">Or twice in all the years that I lived</div>
<div class="line">Behind his back fence.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">But his words always made me</div>
<div class="line">Amazed at the kindness of this world</div>
<div class="line">When he spoke softly to me,</div>
<div class="line">While he tended his garden.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">I don&#8217;t remember his words</div>
<div class="line">As memorable quotes spoken</div>
<div class="line">By a famous person. It was just small talk</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">Spoken in the lexicon of the backyard.</div>
<div class="line">No &#8220;Howl&#8221; or &#8220;Kaddish&#8221; or</div>
<div class="line">&#8220;Sunflower Sutra&#8221; to be sure,</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">But graceful words that rose</div>
<div class="line">And danced over the fence,</div>
<div class="line">Behind his red bricked house.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">So, while I would really love</div>
<div class="line">To write a poem for Allen Ginsberg,</div>
<div class="line">Like everyone else, right now</div>
<div class="line">It seems more important for me to capture</div>
<div class="line">My neighbor&#8217;s life, just another person</div>
<div class="line">Whom I never knew.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">I&#8217;ll write it all down</div>
<div class="line">In a poem that he&#8217;ll never read</div>
<div class="line">And that his family will never see</div>
<div class="line">In print or hear at a public reading.</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">But isn&#8217;t that what poetry is all about?</div>
<div class="line">Images speaking to the unspeakable</div>
<div class="line">In our dreams as we lie awake in our sleep?</div>
<div class="line"> </div>
<div class="line">And, now, because I&#8217;ve shared this poem</div>
<div class="line">With all of you, we are forever connected</div>
<div class="line">All of our bones together</div>
<div class="line">Side by side in the rich graveyard</div>
<div class="line">Soil of poetry and life.</div><figure class="wp-block-audio"><audio controls src="https://admin.rattle.com/audio/LieblerGinsberg.mp3"></audio></figure>

Dawn

Possible Reasons Why

Allen Ginsberg’s Dead

<div class="line">All alone in Eek,</div>
<div class="line">Alaska, I am no more</div>
<div class="line">Than a short breeze from</div>
<div class="line">The Bering Sea</div>
<div class="line">Coastline packed full</div>
<div class="line">With walrus’ tusks, seal’s fur,</div>
<div class="line">And fresh whale oil.</div>
<div></div>
<div class="line">Here I sit watching</div>
<div class="line">Nothing at all except</div>
<div class="line">For the endless swirling snow</div>
<div class="line">Falling across the horizon-less tundra.</div>
<div></div>
<div class="line">Life is hard</div>
<div class="line">Here in Eek; no work,</div>
<div class="line">No money, and all</div>
<div class="line">The time in the world</div>
<div class="line">To sit and think about nothing.</div>


Anthem

After I Got the Email from the Dean of Students

In Eek

MY INDEX OF SLIGHTLY HORRIFYING KNOWLEDGE

Honesty

from A Conversation with M.L. Liebler

<div class="line">Gramps, through all the years of layoffs</div>
<div class="line">And callbacks, you worked in</div>
<div class="line">The factory laboring endless</div>
<div class="line">From your first day in Detroit until you retired</div>
<div class="line">From the Dodge Main line 33 years later.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">Gramps, I sometimes wondered</div>
<div class="line">What your life could possibly have been</div>
<div class="line">With the exact same breakfast every day at 5:30 a.m.:</div>
<div class="line">Two fried eggs, bacon, toast and coffee with condensed milk.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">They say a man is</div>
<div class="line">Measured by his soul.</div>
<div class="line">I did know that yours was dark and blue,</div>
<div class="line">But I never really understood much more</div>
<div class="line">Of who you really were.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">Gramps, who loved me more</div>
<div class="line">Than any real father loves a son,</div>
<div class="line">I see you now in an old black &amp; white</div>
<div class="line">Photograph standing next to</div>
<div class="line">The neighbor’s brand new Desoto</div>
<div class="line">And their small travel trailer. All the while I knew</div>
<div class="line">You were only dedicated to one woman</div>
<div class="line">Whom you loved for over 50 years.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">Gramps, you were always</div>
<div class="line">The one I admired—</div>
<div class="line">You lived exactly what you believed: hard work,</div>
<div class="line">A paycheck to keep life</div>
<div class="line">Balanced and going,</div>
<div class="line">And an occasional, small, treasured kiss.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">You never needed much, Gramps, because you knew,</div>
<div class="line">As I am learning now, it was never</div>
<div class="line">About you. How silent</div>
<div class="line">Your joy must have been alone</div>
<div class="line">In your old battered Chrysler</div>
<div class="line">That you drove back and forth</div>
<div class="line">To work at the plant—</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">Like your own life—</div>
<div class="line">It was enough to get you from here to there,</div>
<div class="line">With nothing at all waiting for you</div>
<div class="line">At the end other than a life</div>
<div class="line">Well lived and complete.</div><figure class="wp-block-audio"><audio controls src="https://admin.rattle.com/audio/LieblerFace.mp3"></audio></figure>

Bolting the Door, Locking the Gate

Bunga-Bunga

Underneath My American Face

<p>[audioplayer file=&#8221;https://admin.rattle.com/audio/LieblerGinsberg.mp3&#8243;]</p>
<p class="author"><em style="font-size: revert; color: initial; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, 'Segoe UI', Roboto, Oxygen-Sans, Ubuntu, Cantarell, 'Helvetica Neue', sans-serif;">&#8220;Why, to write down the stuff</em></p>
<p class="epil"><em>and people of everyday,<br />
must poems be dressed in gold,<br />
in old fearful stone? …<br />
I want poems stained<br />
by hands and everydayness.&#8221;<br />
—Pablo Neruda</em></p>
<div class="line">I know Allen Ginsberg&#8217;s dead,</div>
<div class="line">And I want to write</div>
<div class="line">A poem for him just like every-</div>
<div class="line">Body else wants to do, but I can&#8217;t</div>
<div class="line">Help but think of my neighbor</div>
<div class="line">Who too died alone, recently, in his home of</div>
<div class="line">30 years, and how he was a person</div>
<div class="line">Who will never have a poem</div>
<div class="line">Written in his honor or to his memory.</div>
<div class="line">He was a person who will never have</div>
<div class="line">His life enshrined in sound</div>
<div class="line">And symbol of verse or song.</div>
<div class="line">I didn&#8217;t know my neighbor either,</div>
<div class="line">But I want to remember him</div>
<div class="line">With verse and poesy just the same.</div>
<div class="line">I want to celebrate</div>
<div class="line">His life as the important treasure</div>
<div class="line">He must have been as someone&#8217;s</div>
<div class="line">Husband, father, brother, friend.</div>
<div class="line">I want to do this</div>
<div class="line">Simply because he lived.</div>
<div class="line">My neighbor wasn&#8217;t famous,</div>
<div class="line">And I probably only saw him once</div>
<div class="line">Or twice in all the years that I lived</div>
<div class="line">Behind his back fence.</div>
<div class="line">But his words always made me</div>
<div class="line">Amazed at the kindness of this world</div>
<div class="line">When he spoke softly to me,</div>
<div class="line">While he tended his garden.</div>
<div class="line">I don&#8217;t remember his words</div>
<div class="line">As memorable quotes spoken</div>
<div class="line">By a famous person. It was just small talk</div>
<div class="line">Spoken in the lexicon of the backyard.</div>
<div class="line">No &#8220;Howl&#8221; or &#8220;Kaddish&#8221; or</div>
<div class="line">&#8220;Sunflower Sutra&#8221; to be sure,</div>
<div class="line">But graceful words that rose</div>
<div class="line">And danced over the fence,</div>
<div class="line">Behind his red bricked house.</div>
<div class="line">So, while I would really love</div>
<div class="line">To write a poem for Allen Ginsberg,</div>
<div class="line">Like everyone else, right now</div>
<div class="line">It seems more important for me to capture</div>
<div class="line">My neighbor&#8217;s life, just another person</div>
<div class="line">Whom I never knew.</div>
<div class="line">I&#8217;ll write it all down</div>
<div class="line">In a poem that he&#8217;ll never read</div>
<div class="line">And that his family will never see</div>
<div class="line">In print or hear at a public reading.</div>
<div class="line">But isn&#8217;t that what poetry is all about?</div>
<div class="line">Images speaking to the unspeakable</div>
<div class="line">In our dreams as we lie awake in our sleep?</div>
<div class="line">And, now, because I&#8217;ve shared this poem</div>
<div class="line">With all of you, we are forever connected</div>
<div class="line">All of our bones together</div>
<div class="line">Side by side in the rich graveyard</div>
<div class="line">Soil of poetry and life.</div>


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November 22, 2016In EekM.L. Liebler

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November 22, 2016In EekM.L. Liebler

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Allen Ginsberg’s Dead by M.L. Liebler

from A Conversation with M.L. Liebler by Alan Fox

Underneath My American Face by M.L. Liebler

Allen Ginsberg’s Dead by M.L. Liebler