Rupert Wondolowski: Pick of the Week [ed. Terence Winch]

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Tears Are Time Travel

 

I didn’t feel well.

Granny let me stay

home from school.

45 years passed.

Father died.

Like a champ.

Didn’t even dip into

the painkillers the

hospice left in plenty.

The night before he went

I asked him how he was doing.

He said “Okay, I just have to beat this.”

The day he died

bulldozers started tearing

at the woods behind our house.

A long feared and protested event

happening now like a staged

scene in a John Sayles movie.

Mother died.

Not so good.

Howls of the soul so

twisted and agonized that

a lifetime of horror movies,

Catholic school

and Flannery O’Connor

could not prepare me for.

I hunted mushrooms

in my backyard woods

wearing soggy Batman slippers

with my granny.

I’m still there.

I’m pretty much here.

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Rupert Wondolowski is the author of Dreams Are My Social Life (Publishing Genius), Mattress In an Alley, Raft Upon the Sea (Fell Swoop), The Origin of Paranoia as a Heated Mole Suit (Publishing Genius), and The Whispering of Ice Cubes (Shattered Wig Press). From 1988 to 2007 he edited the Shattered Wig Review literary arts zine and Shattered Wig Press, publishing 27 issues of the Review and close to 20 chapbooks by national authors, including many by cult author and artist Blaster Al Ackerman, on the Press.  During that time he also hosted monthly Shattered Wig Nights at the legendary Baltimore club, 14 Karat Cabaret, run by artist Laure Drogoul.

Since 2013 he has performed in spectral folk adjacent The Mole Suit Choir with Liz Downing and, since 2020, Greg Hatem. They have recorded and released three albums, Campfire Spacesuit, Phantom Paddle Boat, and Doomsday Lamp. They set the poetry of Rupert and other Baltimore poets to music with guitar, bowed banjo, and electronics.

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                                                                          Flannery O'Connor. Self-Portrait, 1953

Comments

[Clarinda]

What a haunting poem— every image lands perfectly thanks to the simple matter of fact tone. The last two lines are now my own mantra.

[Julien Strong]

Stunning poem!

[Bernard Welt]

Rupert! The John Sayles of poetry!! Big as life.

[Don Berger]

A wonderful narrative! I think of Williams', his form, when I read it, and I love how it rolls forward via the speaker's clarity and strength and vivid memory. Great shock waves here--bravo Ruppert! Terence thanks for showing us this one, which I'll real many times over even today.

[Denise Duhamel]

Beautiful poem! I love how understated it is. So much of our lives are still housed in those early years no matter how long we are lucky to live.

[lally]

wonderful poem and post

[Sr. Leslie]

Beautiful poem…deceptively simple…definitely one to keep handy and read over… Thanks Terence and Rupert!

[Terence Winch]

Don: thanks for the comment.

[Terence Winch]

Thanks for the comment, Leslie.

[Geoffrey Himes]

At the climax, the hero is wearing soggy Batman slippers. As is fitting. Good work.

[Linda Franklin]

Gosh, Rupert. You are even more amazing than I thought. So simple and straightforward and yet identifiable as a poem. 💚💚💚💚💚

[Lola Haskins]

You tell soul truths, Rupert. Thank you.

[Eileen Reich]

Beautiful poem and amazing artwork. Loved it.

[Chris Mason]

Great poem by Rupert, who through his poetry, his band, Mole Suit Choir, and his bookstore, Normals, keeps good things happening in Baltimore.

[Diane Ward]

Still there and pretty much here — thanks for putting those together

[Linda Hickman]

I love the beautiful simplicity of this poem. The last two lines pretty much define my days, now days. Thanks Terence and Rupert.

[Emily Fragos]

Thank you, Rupert W., for this really memorable poem. Thank you, Terence, for this wonderful post and painting, too.

[Rupert]

Thank you everyone for your thoughtful comments! And thanks Terence for posting this. I’m seeing many of my heroes here.

[Terence Winch]

Dear Linda: thanks for the comment.

[Terence Winch]

Emily---thanks for the comment. Good to see you here again.

[Phyllis Rosenzweig]

Lump in my throat.