Sunday, March 29, 2009

CHANGES: the following poem was published in a countercultural newspaper in the sixties, Changes. It was started by Susan Graham Mingus, the wife of

musician, Charles Mingus. It was an alternative to the already staid, Village Voice. She published four of my poems, the first of which is, "Sunday" and had Andy Warhol take the pictures which I would have liked to attach, but can't. The pictures, grainy black and white images, show hands around a large cock and the other of a circumcision in the head of a large cock. I would imagine they were meant to convey the masturbatory poems to follow. All poems, all "art" is, in a certain way, masturbatory. Who else should the artist try to please?


SUNDAY

body repose,
mind nomadic;
constant flux even on the day
of rest. all is quiet. the rape
goes on. and on. coercing
love over food, soft beverages
and burps of what happened
during the preceding six days.
it is boring,
with feeling.
slick, sophisticate gray-haired
news shows are on t.v. tell us
nothing. except that you can't catch
the week on one days notice.

Sunday drivers litter
the streets
making easy going impossible.
everybody wants to go
easy. too bad.
stay home
and wait.
and wait.
wait for relatives
to sneak up
and say,
I don't recognize you,
and whatever became of what's her name?
who died
while they
were cooking
for the holidays.

Sunday,
that misused day
of waiting
for Monday's
dull blade
that cuts sharper
than a straight-edged razor,
but goes unnoticed,
yawning,
ssh, silent.

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1968

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