Written by Mel Reichler   Copyright 2002

A sample of memorable poems

 

A Response to a Request for a Bedtime Story

 

(for Elyse)

 

DAUGHTER;

 

Daddy, tell me a bedtime story,

not too funny but not too sad,

of tailors and cobblers and fame and glory,

of danger and courage and good and bad,

 

a fairytale to start me dreaming,

with heros on horses and fairies and fools,

with dwarfs and giants and witches scheming,

and rings that talk and dancing stools,

a princess enchanted, an unhappy kingdom,

a charming prince who sets her free,

a knight who gets what he wants and then some

a wizard with visions of what will be.

 

Daddy, tell me a story to sleep to.

Start it, "Once upon a time,"

in the middle put something to weep to,

a brother's betrayal, a stepmother's crime.

 

At the end let the kingdom ring with laughter,

the world secure, its wrongs set right.

If of finish it, "Happily ever after,"

I'll put my head down and say goodnight.

 

FATHER;

Once upon a time, daughter, it was simple.

A prince on a horse rode out with a sword,

and for love of a princess faced a dragon and slew him

and claimed the princess as his reward.

 

All the dragons today work for large corporations

and do awful things at authorities' call

or quiet as mice they do the king's bidding

and a sword against them counts for nothing at all.

 

Now the horses of villains are all packed into engines

that make the earth twitch and drive people mad,

but the horses of heros belch smoke and confusion

so that no one can tell the good from the bad.

 

And rings talk only in T.V. commercials 

and knights sell something to buy at a store.

and all of the princes are in law school at Harvard

and the princesses just won't keep house anymore.

 

 

And giants are products of glands misdirected

and dwarfs are the same error compounded it seems

by a firm manufacturing drugs for enchantment

for magicians to use to capture bad dreams.

 

And all of the fairies are out of the forest

and the cottage is empty and the closet is bare

and the witches all have been liberated

and a wolf in a woods is exceedingly rare.

 

And charm and color belong to the atom

and strangeness is something that is seen by a few

wizards of science in chambers of bubbles

and only computers have the future in view.

 

There are no cobblers to speak of, darling,

when our shoes wear out we throw them away

and little old ladies who make clothes in Korea

are all that is left of tailors today.

 

And fame and glory belong to figures

who run with a ball when bowl games are played

and boldness and courage are found only on Wall Street.

in princes whose killings are made with a trade.

 

So sing yourself to sleep my daughter

for a modern child such tales won't do,

yesterday's news is to fantastic

and what happened today will frighten you.

 

"Happily ever after", I'll worry

whether there's much of an after at all.

Tomorrow they may fuse their atom

and the sky fall.

 

 

 

Renfrew of the Mounted.

 

Renfrew of the mounted,

stapled to the north

to frozen wastes

to whiteness

startled by the mottled violence of his thoughts

thinks of Rumplestilskin,

reinvents fairy tales,

rediscovers inaccessible places he had been to,

women he had known

prays for violence

for disaster

 

 

Sensibility is not a blessing

sensibility is not a curse

some things are better, somethings are worse

it depends on where you are

your surroundings, your place

In the west, on Pampas even

mulled by the smell of cow sweat

on the plains, on the trail

Renfrew would have been blessed

 

But in the north country

sensibility pressed out to an extreme

he could see clearlypast the far edge of his vision

no haze obscured his sight.

 

Clarity is not a blessing

clarity is not a curse

some things are better

some worse

it depends on where you are

your surroundings, your place.

 

On the prarie, on the dry range

vision obscured by smoke

dust mediating far and near

on meadowlands or grasslands

Ranfrew would have been blessed.

But in the north country

clarity presented only the possibility of more clarity

clarityheld realityfrom realitylike the surface of a soap bubble     holds

air from air‑ and burst.

 

Things are what they seem only when they are half clear.

 

II

 

Renfrew of the mounted

stapled to the north, to frozen wastes

to whiteness,

rocked gently to fear by drift and floe

thinks snow into straw, straw into gold

spins rumplestilskin but forgets his name

 

Memory is not a blessing

memory is not a curse

somethings are better

somethings are worse

it depends on what you remember

your surroundings

your place

 

In mountains, in hills even, 

oiled by mist and damp

stream and river would have polished

the memoryof Rumplestilskin

until it reflected all the possibilities of the present.

Renfrew would have been blessed.

 

But in the north country

memory only counterfeited perception,

only reproached the past.

Renfrew imagined only what he remembered he saw.

 

Imagination is not a blessing

imagination is not a curse

somethings are better

somethings are worse

it depends on what you imagine

your surroundings, your place.

 

On tableland, on upland range

dew soaked, cloud brushed

on bluff, in gorge

Renfrew would have been blessed

 

But in the north country

memory only insulated the present

held past from future like the surface of a soap bubble holds air  from air

and burst.

 

reality has to be imagined to be real.

 

 

 

 

III

 

Renfrew of the mounted

stapled to the north, to frozen wastes,

to whiteness,

cradled by cold, blanketed by dispair,

thinks of Rumplestilskin but forgets his name;

hesitates,

and a nameless wind

blows gold into straw, straw into snow and ice;

Certainty is not a blessing

certainty is not a curse

some things are better

some things are worse

it depends on what you are sure of

your surroundings, your place

hesitates

rembers he has forgotten names, directions, places

turns,

turns,

realizes,

he is lost,

takes out his gun,

hesitates,

turns,

turns.

 

VI

Renfrew of the mounted

stapled to the north, to frozen wastes

to whiteness

imagines,

remembers

duty has an answer

even to unanswered questions.  Duty has a retort to unmade      comments,

duty survives temperatures at which passion, desire, interest       freeze.

 

Duty shades what sensibility illuminates.

 

Because of indifferent geography and unbroken sameness,

because to every territory, however featureless

duty provides a map; directions, routes, distances.

 

Because duty is certain,

 

renfrew of the mounted, stapled to the north, to frozen wstes

turns to duty

 

which back is sure,

waits, listens

for duty to rescue him from fateless meanderings

 

 

from endless pursuit of nameless quarry

from the north, from frozen wastes,

waits,

for Rumplestilskin, to whom he promises himself again as a child

to relieve him

from his appointed rounds.

 

 

 

  LETTERS TO MY SON: THE PESSIMISTIC LETTER

 

I was thirty when the message came; Stop; Prepare to get ready; Stop.

I was 31 when the lines started getting longer,

32 when they stopped putting exits on expressways.

I was 33 when people started leaving

34 when people started coming back saying there was no place to go.

 

I was 35 when money became obsolete

36 when computers replaced poets, politicians, farmers, soldiers,

37 when the electricity went off and the computers

suddenly forgot how to write, argue, grow things, protect.

 

I was 38 when another message came; Stop; no one could read the rest.

I was 39 when all the telephones started ringing at once,

and 40 when it hit the fan.

 

I had 10 years of clean air, more or less.

I think of the poor bastards who had one or two,

whose lungs have always smelled like latrines,

who never knew what air smelled like.

 

I was  41 when the ride ended.

"Everybody off," a voice said, and everybody got off.

But I had 11 years of a bumpy ride,

I think of the poor bastards who just got on

and the engine stopped, cold and dead, and no refunds.

 

My son, I would gladly share those years with you

give you the fat and settle for the lean

but it just won't work

(it doesn't work that way! it doesn't work anyway!)

You'll have to take the memories and they're not worth a damn.

 

We who were supposed to know something turned out not to know                  much of anything.

We who were supposed to have convictions had only interests.

We who were supposed to be concerned were only curious.

We who were supposed to know how things worked

knew only how to throw switches.

We who were in charge of things were in charge of lists.

 

Reading, writing and revolution

didn't do anything for me at all.

The typewriter is in the attic

my gun is in the hall.

(Take what you can use, throw the rest away.)

All the advice I can give you is bad;

Most of what people say is just talk

If you have to go somewhere important, walk.

 

 

A MEMOIR

Even that memory is gone

the memory that I husbanded for a day like this,

a day

fragile in the morning

taut and gray in the afternoon

by evening, shattered like an archeological object

into pieces of minutes and seconds to be

patched together to make

24 hours.

 

A day scrubbed clean of city life

a day devoid of easy city spectacles.

No store windows were being changed

no bag ladies scavenging

or old gentlemen propped up on benches

perfecting dignity.

No one collecting for obscure charities

or arguing causes on street corners.

No policemen staging performances of the majesty of the law

no weddings spilling out into the street,

no Harikrishnas, no Moon children

no musicians waiting for a line to form.

Even the bums were brooding and sullen;

A day not even the dollar could command.

 

Dead adjectives growled and moved through city streets

attaching themselves to objects,

Damp, distraught, algebraic,

Archaic words that you never could use

because they never quite fit anything

suddenly applied to everything;

woe, pall, melancholy.

 

I tried every trick I knew to bring that day alive

every minor pleasure and a major one or two

but nothing worked,

so I dug for the memory,

the memory I had counted on for a day like this,

the memory I thought secure

and found

even that memory was gone.

 

Beached on the island of Manhattan

beyond the line of incoming waves

that memory had seeped out of me

like the evening tide caught in a sandy hole.

 

A fully explicit day.

a day when pious Forty finally arrived

prodding, tedious, foreboding,

a day for which I had laid down a memory

the memory I thought secure

and found in the place it occupied

like the tiny crabs that colonize abandoned shells

an idea which scurried across my mind.

"You have reached that time of life when

experience will not suffice and

memories will not endure,

a cruel and killing time."

 

PARK SONGS I; I LIKE TO SKIP

 

43 and skipping

I skipped into a wall

which was where I was not looking

which was backward 35 years or so,

 

and knocked myself out

and lay there imposing myself on passerby on the street

identified as helplessly

hopelessly drunk

waiting for a sale

on good sense to

start soon in the store

north by north west of my head,

 

until a friend

negotiating my sprawl

embarassingly recognized my face

as belonging to a 43 year old

architect of words--

(who shouldn't have been skipping

who gave skipping a bad name,

who had neither credit card

nor cash

and never shopped at sales

of any kind of sense

unless accompanied by a grown up adult)

--and dragged me to my bench and left me.

 

I like to skip but my feet get stuck

twist and tangle in too long arcs

on paths that have become to short,

At 43 I walk

in intricate trenches on the surfaces of streets

and am supported by to little air to skip.

I have seen too many movies

in which skipping is always out

with someone's heart in a paper bag

or down,

the last indelicate motions of a man leaning on a tree by

his neck from a rope,

whose horse has just decided to go home without him.

 

And, while for children going up and coming down

are the quick halves of the same act

for me they are solutions to two diferent equations

and at 43 the possibility exists that mathematics may fail;

one can stay up forever.

 

Later I am tried in secret by my former peers and found guilty.  

I am condemned to become 45 more quickly and

spend at that age some additional years;

prohibited from skipping during daylight hours and,

ordered to buy everyone some candy.

 

Inventory of Knowledge: First Inventory

What poets know:

 

1. What knowledge is of uncertain color:

Some knowledge is of uncertain color, sometimes silky green in the tenuous afterglow, sometimes, contrary to expectations, grimy blue in the preliminaries, sometimes an indefinable faded color, mostly between changes.

 

2. What we knew but forgot:

Words are just that and those words are just those words, and the people into whose care words have been entrusted often are distracted and busy with other things.

 

3. What we guess is the truth:

Money runs in ruts and circles but lives ages and looses a little hair by the time it gets back to us again. Wisdom does come out of the mouths of fools but also much foolishness and a lot of other things like sponges, shells and reserve clauses: and out of the mouths of babes wisdom but also considerable babbling and childishness and the names of politicians.

 

4. What we might believe if we gave it any thought:

What we know for certain is the first casualty of doubt and people rarely survive the bite of butterflies (although the scars of the bite of the butterfly are at least as beautiful as tattoos.) Poetry bounces checks.

 

5. What is of doubtful truth:

The names of things change when you turn your back and most of what is work learning has bad breath and a ferocious mien.

 

6. What knowledge is obviously true:

If we listen carefully , long enough, to sufficient facts one of them is bound to sound true enough to believe.

 

8. What children know:

Children know that there is a turning toward and a turning away and a turning both ways at once without moving a muscle.

 

9.What knowledge we learn too late in life to do any good;

The best things in life may be free but the store is always out of them and they spoil when you take them out of the box and you can=t claim them as dependents on your tax returns, whereas: the worst things in life cost ferociously but are available on easy credit and are childlike and cling and never grow up and go away.

 

10. What knowledge we never forget once we have learned it:

When the light comes on it=is wonderful but sometimes, later, you yearn for the darkness again.

 

11. What is the tiniest bit of knowledge we know;

If you listen long enough you can hear the heavy breathing of sounds lusting after words.

12. What knowledge you hold only in desperate straits:

Words grow under the toots of every week and some vegtables. Some things are easier to forget and other things are more difficult to remembers and Umber is a slow color.

 

13. What knowledge we get free ( for the good it does us.)

Most bits of the world are tints of pink but the hues of our knowledge are flecked with purple and words have babies as easily as they grow beards.