The Best American Poetry

The Bonus Round (by Mitch Sisskind)

 

I'm in the Bonus Round!

All the sights! All the sounds!

Nothing is out of the question

Now that I'm in the Bonus Round!

 

 

 

The Ignoramus (by Mitch Sisskind)

Rav Heth Kokodiakomis came

To Widawa where martyrs fell

And so artfully celebrated pesach

That he grew prideful of it and

Reclined long after the seder ended.

 

Then a question came to him from

The Upper World: "Why are you prideful

When in this town there is an Ignoramus

Who on this same night has celebrated

The seder in a more accomplished way?"

 

Meanwhile holy men had come to hear

Rav Heth Kokodiakomis and he asked them,

"Do you know an Ignoramus?" One said,

"I know him," and Rav Heth Kokodiakomis

Told him to ask the Ignoramus to come there.

 

When he came Rav Heth Kokodiakomis inquired,

"Did you celebrate the seder?" The Ignoramus

Wept and said, 'I was drunk and when my wife

Woke me I saw the egg and the wine and I ate

The egg and drank the wine and went back to sleep."

 

Then a great voice from the Upper World said,

"This man is an Ignoramus and his father was

An Ignoramus. His words and also his deeds are

Received in the Upper World for he knows their

Truth and, yea, an Ignoramus knows nothing else."

Before Kennedy (by Mitch Sisskind)

Each Saturday Lou's four hour pinochle
Game now in its thirtieth-first year,
Pinochle again on Monday nights
And on Fridays the family card games,
Men and women at separate tables.

To the downtown public library
I bore my briefcase after school
In Eisenhower’s last years to read
Old newspapers: WAR the full page
Headline of 1917 and again in 1941.

Here and there bent over tables
In the gloomy main reading room
Men wiping their eyes, coughing,
Blowing their noses until limping
Urgently to the awful bathroom.

These men, were they younger
Than Lou I found myself asking.
I saw his steps shortening until
He died like the silver dot on the
Turned-off television screen.

Road to Damascus (by Mitch Sisskind)

He called them baby, honey, sweetie,
Darling and things of that nature;
He mastered the lost art of flattery;
He said you're looking good tonight;
He said let's get the show on the road;
Weekends he whisked them off on
Getaways to Tahoe or Joshua Tree;
Like a rooster strutting in the barnyard
He chose among his ardent hens until
In a flash as if on the road to Damascus
He saw that if he loved only one woman
And was loved by her in return he would
More deeply fathom women's mysteries
Than if he snabbled a thousand of them.

 

Two Poems [by Mitch Sisskind]

Jack Benny

John Ashbery called me after he died

So you can imagine my excitement

When in that droll hyper-nasalated

Timbre quite unchallenged by death

He chatted on about the bowls of

Pitted cherries provided as snack-food

In the upper worlds and of afternoons

Climbing trees with Edna Millay to read

Comic books with her in the branches.

Then his voice dropped two octaves

And he spoke solemnly of Jack Benny:

'You can say funny things or say things

'Funny but silence was the punchline

'For Jack Benny.' And he was gone.

The Buddha

When the Buddha saw a hungry leopard

He fed himself to the leopard lest in his

Next incarnation he were to return as

Another hungry leopard rather than

A beautiful hummingbird that flies

Sixty miles an hour. I must ask what

Are the hungry leopards in my life

To which I must feed myself whether

It's by listening to an hour of bullshit

On a cellphone or accepting that I'm

Falling apart as when the Buddha

Accepted getting cut up into pieces

Because he knew that he was more

Than just his physical arms and legs.

 

Two Poems (by Mitch Sisskind)

The Crow

The crow died and we buried

It with extra earth as in the Iliad

Where stones were fitted tightly

Together against the day when

Spring rains would surely come.

As often happens, there had been

A sudden burst of frantic activity,

A final fluttering one might say

And then transformation into the

Work of art entitled dead crow

Forever unforgotten with clarity

Of future recollection in Nabokov's

Elegant phrasing but not knowing

Or even not knowing how to know

Whether it was male or female.

 

'I won't throw dirt in that dog's face.'

It's funny, not haha funny but funny

Like when something stays in your

Mind over many years or even for

Your whole life while other things

That would seem to be of greater

Importance deliquesce like when

Frosty the Snowman melted away.

'I won't throw dirt in that dog's face'

Is what I heard a man say in 1975 so

Without going into any detail I'll just

Mention how there are days when

'I won't throw dirt in that dog's face'

Is my first thought in the morning and

Might be my last one when I croak.

Three Poems (by Mitch Sisskind)

Hold Onto Your Hat

 

We learned how if the ship goes down you

Can make a life-preserver of your shirt

By taking it off and slamming it down onto

The water with the air inside so the shirt

Bubbles up and then you can hold onto it.

 

If you don't have a shirt you can do

The same thing with your pants by

Taking your pants off and then you

Trap the air in your pants as described

Above to form the pants life-preserver.

 

If you have neither shirt nor pants

You can make a life-preserver out of

Your hat by slamming your hat onto

The water as described above to

Make yourself a hat life-preserver.

 

They said if you fuckers are going

To grab for your crotch we want you

To do it here and not when the ship

Is burning and actually a few fellows

Did end up grabbing for their crotches.

 

Feh! Feh! Feh!

 

Just as there are names we mustn't speak,

Questions to remain unasked, proscribed

Mentations, even downright hilarious jokes

That ought never be told whether at the

Water cooler or in a duck-hunting blind,

Yes, that's all well and good but when

You slip up (as you will) bite your tongue,

Spit three times over your shoulder and

With whatever heartfelt sincerity you can

Possibly muster say, "Feh! Feh! Feh!"

Is it a perfect solution? No. But at least

You'll not be cast into outer darkness.

 

 

Mitzi

We never missed You Bet Your Life,

Groucho's quiz show, my father and I

Awaiting the secret word no matter

How week after week that word was

Unspoken until at last the $100 duck

To spontaneous applause descended.

But enough of that. The strange part

Was one night riding with Groucho

In an elevator, he in a French beret

And accompanied by a much younger

Woman, how as Mitzi the dachshund

Approached him he was so frightened

With none of the sarcastic aplomb

We associated with him, Lou and I.

 

 

 

Bob Guccione [by Mitch Sisskind]

 

Oh, don’t mind me. I come from a time

When new issues of Playboy magazine

Sold out in one day, when the windows

Of coffee shops on Broadway were piled

High with Playboys at eight o’clock in

The morning and by early afternoon

Not one Playboy was anywhere to be had.

I also lived to see the day when Playboy

Was the kiss of death for any enterprise

Foolish enough to display the rabbit while

A million sodden cab drivers had rabbits

Hanging from their vehicles’ mirrors

And then of course Guccione appeared

With his willingness to show pubic hair.

Two Poems [by Mitch Sisskind]

Hugh Hefner

For the exordium of a bon vivant lifestyle

In the dour and savage city of Chicago

He merits all the appreciation in the world.

Here's what I mean. In 1953 I attended

A terrifying professional wrestling match

At the old Marigold Arena between

The heel Dick The Bruiser Afflis and

Bobby Managoff whose actual name

Was Manoogian. I say terrifying

Because the onlooking mob of janitors

And their wives was screaming for blood

Yet that very night the first issue of

Playboy was approaching readiness

Which was nearly called Stag Party.

 

Three Sonnets on Lines of Ashbery

 

1.

We've heard lots of names here

Tonight but I'll tell you one name

We have not heard which is the

Name of Slobodnik who was

The janitor at the high school

Where I worked and one day

He said swimming is good for

You because swimming gets

The crud out of your pores so

I have remembered his words

Spoken around 1975 just like

Neither have I ever forgotten

The line here a scarf flies and

There an excited call is heard.

2.

We have heard a lot of names

But one name we have not heard

Is Smolarek the Wisconsin man 

I used to play basketball with

And he always won but then

I won so the next week he won

Again and he stated how he

Wanted to win today so he

Fucked not his wife last night

Nor that morning either in 1975

Which I remember as clearly as

Whose wind is desire starching

A petal whose disappointment

Broke into a rainbow of tears.

3.

The last name we have not heard

Is Greene how we were on the

Drill field and he started screaming

Supplementary get your goddamn

Ass out here now where the hell is

Supplementary get your slack ass

Out here Supplementary and we

Had no idea what he was talking

About for there was nobody named

Supplementary and then suddenly 

It dawned on all of us at once like

A miracle that he meant Sulloway

Which I have n'er forgot just like

Now I let you go signed The Dwarf.

 

The Oasis / Pinochle [by Mitch Sisskind]

The Oasis

Now (at last) living alone in Barstow

He loves getting a load of laundry

From the dryer and taking a nap

With the warm clothes on his head.

That's why he rented this room

In Barstow, because it comes with

A clothes dryer and with a washer

Too but he cares nothing for that.

With the clothes on his head he

Likes to remember the addresses

Of all the places he lived in his life

And when he wakes up he eats at

The Oasis. Try napping with clothes

On your head fresh from the dryer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pinochle

 

Today is my father's birthday, he's 130,

And although sometimes we are in touch

I do all the talking, no way around that.

If only I could ask him about his devotion

To the game of pinochle, all those years

Of the Saturday game with Charlie Shapiro,

Joe Wais, and Gus Golding, and after

Gus Golding died three-handed pinochle

With only Charlie and Joe. Furthermore

Starting around 1957 the games began

On Monday nights with Bob Kadison and

Julius Jaffe plus Sundays with Leo Messer

And Nate Zebelman. What was it about

Pinochle? Was it shouting out those bids?

Bukowski Sonnet [by Mitch Sisskind]

When I ran into Charles Bukowski in 
A men's room at Santa Anita in 1980
He joked that you should never bet on
A horse that the guy at the next urinal 
Touts you on. We laughed about it 
And then I mentioned how when 
I was going around Mexico in 1965
I didn't have a bowel movement 
For two weeks on account of 
How scary the bathrooms were.
'No shit!' he said. We laughed 
About it and he asked if when 
At long last I did defecate was it
Anything special and I said 'Nah.'

Three Restaurant Poems (by Mitch Sisskind)

 

The Acorn On Oak

The hamburgers, giant meatballs

Was all they really were but for

ONE MILLION DOLLARS you got

It just EXACTLY like you wanted it

Or I sure as hell did! Oh, hell yes!

The guy asked me did I want

Another one and I said damn right

I want another one! HELL YES

I want another one and I have

Never looked back! Oh, hell no!

I asked the guy why it's called

The Acorn On Oak and he said

Because Oak Street and also how

God sees the end in the beginning,

He sees the TREE in the SEED!

Geh Kacken

 

Here's how to get a reservation 
At any restaurant you want --
Or not just a reservation but 
A table right away, the best one
In the house and if not then
They can GEH KACKEN!

You call them up and here's 
What you say -- 'Hello,
'I'm coming over, I like to eat
'And I'm not afraid to pay for it,
'So take care of me and if not 
'Then you can GEH KACKEN!'

Usually they will then ask for 
Your name which really makes
No difference so I might say
GEH KACKEN or I might say

YOU CAN CALL ME PISHER!

 

The Golden Ox

You and I, my love, so many nights 
Driving on Clybourne past the Golden Ox 
In the years I was with Phoenix Table Mat,
And later when I joined Quick Service Textiles 
At Walter Gips’ urging we still often spoke
Of the Golden Ox and planned to eat there
        But we never ate at the Golden Ox 
        And now we never will.

 

The Divine Comedy [by Mitch Sisskind]

 

Inferno

Oh for God's sake you don't

Have idea number one about

Basketball or horse racing,

You could never navigate

Your way around a wine list

And the many childish books

You've been reading about

Hieroglyphics will never get

You through an actual papyrus.

When will you emerge from

Your eggshell and realize that

The universe doesn't revolve

Around you, for God's sake?

Oh dear God! God in heaven!.

Purgatorio

Oh for God's sake! Oh dear Lord

Have mercy! Dear God on high!

Good God! Good Lord! Oh God!

Oh for God's sake! Let us pray!

Have mercy, Lord! Oh my God!

Praise him for his beneficence!

Oh for God's sake! Oh Lord!

Sing praises of God's name!

Oh my dear Lord and Master!

Who is like unto the Lord God?

Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!

Oh for God's sake! Hallelujah!

Let us sing his praises! Oh God!

Hallelujah! Oh for the love of God!

Paradiso

I've been (is this the right word?)

An ignoramus. I revere Liszt but

Now I see his being irresistible

To a woman like Marie d'Agoult --

An exceptionally serious woman --

Derived from his own seriousness

Which, however, never expressed

Itself through anger or violence.

In recitals Liszt did sometimes

Physically wreck a piano and

In 1838 in Vienna he destroyed

Three pianos in one concert

But those pianos were in poor

Shape to begin with and Liszt's

Response was exasperation but

Not anger properly so-called.

Theophrastus (quoted by Seneca)

Proclaimed it impossible for

A good man to resist anger in

The presence of a bad man or

In evil circumstances but Seneca

Disagreed to the effect that

'Surely no one is more peaceful,

More free from passion, and

Less given over to hate than

A good man.' Consequently

Liszt was loved by women as

Was Berlioz also to an extent.

Amen. May it always be so.

 

 

Emily Dickinson 4 [by Mitch Sisskind]

Her final words? For years

She gave thought to them

But here was the difficulty:

Her reputed last murmurings

Would be far from final and

Quite the opposite in fact:

The words in the hidden box,

Those are her final and

Immortal words that won't

Or can't stop for death yet

Those words are still unborn,

Will quicken only when Vinnie

Discovers them and, baffled,

Proffers them to Susan --

So she will say nothing now,

Turning her face to the wall.

The silence is her last refusal.

The death is her next refraction.

 

* Two poetic phrasings have been described

as Emily's last words: "Called back" and

"I must go in, the fog is rising." But these

appeared as notes composed some time

before her passing. If there were any spoken

words, most likely to her sister Lavinia, no

one knows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emily Dickinson 3 [by Mitch Sisskind]

As a word-lover she loved gamahuche,
Gamahuching, will be (was) gamahuched,
Or in a sentence: The bee gamahuched

The flowers. She marveled at the bees
Entering daffodils enveloped by sunlight
Refracted through tender golden petals:
Surely Solomon in all his glory never 
Gamahuched like these and once at 
Great risk she allowed herself mentally
To gamahuche Susan as when the bee
Enters the flower or wantonly imagined 
Herself gamahuched by that stern Athena
Who lived just across the garden and who
Doubtless was gamahuched by Austin.  

Emily Dickinson 2 [by Mitch Sisskind]

Preoccupied by photography ever since

That absurd daguerreotype image of her

Appeared in 1847 she presents herself

Several times a week at the sidewalk

Booth of Amherst's tintype photographer

Always in one or another of her favorite 

Disguises though she has no illusions 

Mr. Deutsch is fooled. Fishwife, harlot,

Little Bo-Peep, Jane Eyre, Cleopatra,

And Joan of Arc are some of her many 

Incarnations until she convinces Deutsch

To teach her the process and transforms

Her room into a secret studio for creating

Hundreds of what we now call 'selfies.'

Emily Dickinson [by Mitch Sisskind]

Put aside the twaddle about her

Foisted upon us in ten thousand

Books and other tedious varieties.

Nights in green eyeshadow she

Panther-like prowled Amherst's

Back alleys her brain abuzz with

Webster's definition of volcano

As a hole or slit in the surface of

A mountain from which ejects

Smoke, flames, and the hot lava;

Of vampire as a demon of legend

Fabled to suck our blood at night;

And of hell: the place to which are

Carried all those that are caught.

Neighbor Smolarek (by Mitch Sisskind)

Each morning, the squirrels, how unregulated

They jump and play. I call the police department

To keep them away and also with the birds

It is exactly the same. What kinds of birds?

I don't know their names but they poop

Without the slightest consideration on my car

So that if I had a bb gun, ah, then I would have

Some real fun but meanwhile I call the 911

Number to complain about the birds and

What is the response I get? Silence on the line.

In other words, none. So I will be cremated

Lest on my grave squirrels disport themselves,

Birds poop, and even ants have a fine old time

Oblivious of the fact that the grave is mine.

 

 

 

Two Poems (by Mitch Sisskind)

 

Yeats/Koch

1. 

Eagerly I await my Yeats book -- that is,
The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats 
Which I've ordered on Amazon from 
A Goodwill store in San Francisco. 

 

2.
Koch said, 'I want you all to write
An imitation of a poet you like but
I forbid you to imitate W.B. Yeats
And I'll flunk anyone who does.'

 

3. 
After Yeats' proposal of marriage
Was turned down by Maud Gonne
He proposed to her daughter Iseult
And I believe he was quite serious. 

 

4, 

On cold windy days Yeats liked 
To wrap himself in a rug and sit 

On the beach in a deck chair

Until dinnertime rolled around.

 

5. 

Beckett compared impotence to 
Putting a pillow in a pillow case
While Yeats said it was like trying
To put oysters in a vending machine.

6. 
After Yeats was rejected by Iseult
He married Georgie Hyde-Lees
Who was half his age and whose
Automatic writing fascinated him.

 

7. 
Koch admired Yeats' six-line poem
'A Deep-Sworn Vow' which made me
Wonder at the time and even now 
I wonder but in a quite different way.

 

8. 
Today a book arrived from Amazon 
Which was not Yeats' Collected Poems
But I still have the Bible and Koch said,
'It's not called the good book for nothing.'

 

 

 

Ungeverschmutzig

 

When we say something is ungeverschmutzig

We mean that it's dirty -- not morally dirty

Of which maybe you can imagine examples

But physically foul like one time a big lizard

Ran into my car when I left the door open

And it went under the dashboard and died

So you can imagine the rest or once in NYC

There was something ungeverschmutzig

And I cleaned it up because I knew that if

I didn't do it nobody else would! Schmutzig

Means normally or moderately dirty and

Verschmutzig means it is getting dirtier

And finally there is ungeverschmutzig

Which is so nauseating it's unbelievable.

 

A Dream of Cotton Mather [by Mitch Sisskind]

 

Flat on my back on the rusted chassis

Of an old car from which the driver's seat

Has been removed my foot is still able

To reach the gas pedal and I know my

Task will be to back the wreck up the 

Narrow inclined board upon which it now 

Rests worrisome though that is as I lack 

Confidence in the engine and also in my 

Ability to steer the chassis up the inclined 

Board while on my back and facing in the

Wrong direction. This takes place in the 

Cramped semi-darkness of some creepy

Hotel's rat-infested basement or coal chute

Whose walls are slick with a rancid humidity

And then as I hesitatingly step on the gas 

An attractive thirty-something woman attired

In a navy blue short-skirted business suit

Materializes out of nowhere and with a 

Wry smile observes my contraption starting 

To move, its engine grinding and whining

But actually doing better than I expected

Inching its way up the inclined board 

As the corporate woman glides along

Behind it until we reach the chute's crest

Beyond which I somehow intuit there lies

An entirely new and brightly lit reality. 

'Hey, nice get,' says the woman smiling

Broadly now as the last words of 

Cotton Mather suddenly come to me:

'Is this death? Why, I can do this!

'Death? Oh yes, yes, I can do this!'