In the last blog, I neglected to discuss my own contributions to Chicago Calling’s Phyllis’s Musical Inn show. Recently, I had some poetry published in Poesia magazine. It was translated by Mario Rigoni and Tom Dewis. The translations were read by my own brother, Domenico Carli (he was kind enough to do it after a long day of work). All of them did an exemplary job, even though I think my own reading was a bit tentative, and not always as clear as it could have been.
I wrote a short poem (rant?) especially for the event which focused on things I had seen on my recent trip to New York, and I was also inspired by some images from my longtime collaborator, Carolyn Curtis Magi (I took the jumping, hopscotch, musician playing, and sidewalk stuff from her work. ) I think e.e. cummings’ work was also in the back of my mind when I wrote it.
See if you can find the allusions to /quotes from other songs or poems. Can you find the references to Frank Sinatra, Billy Joel (who I often despise), Prince, Star Trek, the Lov’in Spoonful, Talking Heads, the Cure, Walt Whitman, the Replacements, the Rolling Stones, Television, Bauhaus, the Modern Lovers, an underground horror comic series, the Velvet Underground, and Federico Garcia Lorca? I’m sorry I did not put any garbage, rats or the subway in the poem.
Regurgitated New York Stew by Vittorio Carli (for Carolyn Curtis Magri)
My kind of town all the critics love you in New York state of blind this ain’t no Hairy Mud club or cbg
bees knees in the groin men don’t cry
city of orgies walks and joys I love walt’s wit man I don’t have
tom waits for no one
but brawlers bawlers bastards of young
no replacements and give me your tired and your hungry and I’ll piss on
them was a great showcase for van morris’ son’s warped tour which stopped in new york where children played hopscotch on the pavement (jumping) surrounded by the dark
while the marquee
moon man bent over as he played the flute and we saw the mural of joe strummer in the city
I love liv’in in the city back of my neck getting dirty boulevard on 55th and 3rd uncle was covered by Bauhaus it’s midnight in manhattan today we should have gone to central park there’s no time I can’t make it on time I keep trying and trying to get to the MOMA waiting to see the light exhibit brandt’s show fit the bill bailey won’t you come home until christmas carolyn ‘s life is dominated by keyholes is written by Dean Haspiel her
grey paintings explode with colorless beauty there’s only shades of grey there is no black or white punks on dope I didn’t come to see the sky I came to see the clouded blood
And transmit old forgotten lorce ca lorca.