I could memorize my poems
and declaim them from stages
in avant-garde spaces and
coffee house traces of
somebody else's ideas
and call it performance art,
but I already did that
before you were born.
I could put them on stages as a one-man show
or in the mouths of pros and blow you away
with the passion story of my life
and call it avant-garde post-modern
deconstructivist language theater,
but I did that too, when you
were still in grade school.
I could live on the streets
sleep in abandoned buildings
drink cheap rotgut
take whatever drugs are offered
and tell you to go fuck yourself
when you tell me to give up
the life of a poet and get a job,
but I already did that
before you were a gob of spit
hanging from the lip of
Charles Bukowski who had a
nice secure job at the post office back then.
I paid so many dues for the life of
the poet I lived, I once nailed all my shoes
to a board and called it art and then
tore it apart so I could wear them again.
I suffered, I starved, and so did my kids,
I did what I did for poetry I thought
and I never sold out, and even when I did
nobody bought.
I could memorize my poems
and declaim them from stages in
avant-garde spaces and coffee house
traces of somebody else's ideas
and call it performance art,
but I already did that
before you were born
-- Michael Lally
This poem originally appeared in December.
Oh yeah! That's the way poetry sings to me!
Posted by: Eve Brandstein | August 25, 2014 at 05:00 PM
"...I never sold out, and even when I did
nobody bought."
Love this poem.
Posted by: Jamie Rose | August 25, 2014 at 05:07 PM
Michael,
You told it straight & true!
Harry E. Northup
Posted by: Harry E Northup | August 25, 2014 at 05:20 PM
Life into art, and getting life out of art, while sticking it on the page is Michael Lally's specialty. Thank God no one was buying when he sold out. Think of what we'd be missing.
Posted by: Michael O'Keefe | August 25, 2014 at 05:33 PM
I liked this poem - before you were born.
Posted by: Hilton Obenzinger | August 25, 2014 at 06:10 PM
When somebody asked me "what school of American poetry" Michael Lally was in, I had to tell them, "Lally? He never went to school. He just makes that shit up."
Posted by: Bob Holman | August 25, 2014 at 06:12 PM
It's the lines about nailing shoes to a board that tells me, yep everything else here is true, too.
Posted by: Kevin McCollister | August 25, 2014 at 11:23 PM
Crazy enough to do all this stuff and brilliant enough to inspire us with his descriptions
Posted by: Bill Lannigan | August 26, 2014 at 12:05 AM
All these things, & more
Posted by: jane Delynn | August 26, 2014 at 10:27 AM
how can we hear the version w/ miles' music?
Posted by: Eric Trules | August 26, 2014 at 11:08 AM
and you still inspire me
after all these years
Posted by: Nance Boylan | August 26, 2014 at 02:48 PM
Thanks everyone for the overly kind words, and Eric, I'm pretty sure you can download it from iTunes on the LOST ANGELS CD.
Posted by: lally | August 26, 2014 at 04:05 PM
Shakin' my head in awe.
~ Willy
Posted by: Tom Wilson | August 26, 2014 at 04:27 PM
Oh yes, it's the tender edge and edgy tenderness of your poems that gets me every time. Thank you for your poetic artistry.
Posted by: Rain Worthington | August 28, 2014 at 08:05 PM
It's wonderfully written and says what I feel in response to the
avant garde-- which has finally made it to New Orleans.
Congrats! Peter Cooley
Posted by: Peter Cooley | August 29, 2014 at 01:15 PM
Michael, December magazine just back in print after 30 years hiatus, new editor, Gianna Jacobsen, will love seeing this vintage poem and I remember all your work, And you. Tell me when you are in DC.
Posted by: Grace cavalieri | August 30, 2014 at 10:35 AM
Terrific poem. Next there needs to be "Before I die."
Posted by: Hilton Obenzinger | August 30, 2014 at 06:30 PM
Classic Lally. A poetic voice like no other. Good to see this poem poem here in the BAP universe.
Posted by: Terence Winch | September 07, 2014 at 08:28 PM
Exquisite, as always.
Posted by: Susan Hayden | August 10, 2020 at 02:30 PM