Because the child is father to the man. Or, in this case, the man might have been the....
POP*
Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I’m sure he’s unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass.
I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He’s so unhappy, to which he replies...
But I don’t care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Two fingers.
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shrink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ’cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses
And know he’s laughing too.
From 2008-09-24
Posted by Vanderleun at March 3, 2013 10:09 AMi think he inherited his poetic talent from his REAL biological father: frank marshall davis.
Posted by: reliapundit at September 25, 2008 10:35 AMThat may be the only honest thing Bam has written in his life--because it was a realization. His father, in the ash stained chair, was Stanley Dunham, Stanley Ann his disinterested half-sister. Hence a birth necessarily more mysterious than Jesus and Moses combinied.
Barry was abandoned by every real and imagined parent that he ever had, but fellow travelors are not known to value their young nearly so highly as their intriques. The Rosenbergs were offered their lives in exchange for an admission of what the government knew for a certainty through the Veronna intercepts. They chose to leave their sons both orphans and deluded.
Posted by: james wilson at March 3, 2013 12:45 PMI've read Neoneocon's posts on Davis, and on this poem, and I have serious doubts that Obama actually wrote this. It's very very good, and unlike anything else I've ever read of Obama's. Someone has suggested that Davis wrote the poem. In any case it is disturbing and clearly speaks of what is, at the least, a relationship where an adult is overbearing and disregarding of healthy boundaries with a younger person. Sounds more like sexual abuse to me, though.
Posted by: RigelDog at March 3, 2013 12:53 PMThere should be a genre called 'Vogon Poetry'. This would be one of its classics.
Bring a tear to Douglass Adams' eye, it would. Yes indeedy do.
"Pop" is, if I recall from past commentary, Frank Marshall Davis. And yes, the poem does indeed seem to allude to an "improper" relationship.
Wasn't some of the phrasing excerpted in one of Obama's books?
Posted by: Don Rodrigo at March 4, 2013 11:31 AMIt's very very good, and unlike anything else I've ever read of Obama's.
I'm not criticizing you, Rigel, nor am I questioning your understanding of poetry, it's just that I am clearly very much out of touch with what constitutes "good" in this regard. To me, it read like a typical sophomoric effort to be deep, revealing, and shocking.
Posted by: mushroom at March 4, 2013 12:34 PMIt's very very good, and unlike anything else I've ever read of Obama's.
I'm not criticizing you, Rigel, nor am I questioning your understanding of poetry, it's just that I am clearly very much out of touch with what constitutes "good" in this regard. To me, it read like a typical sophomoric effort to be deep, revealing, and shocking. ))
Well he's no Vanderleun, that's for sure. I think the poem's imagery and tone are vivid and surprising; I want to take a shower after reading it and I want to find the parents of the narrator and slap them for subjecting their son to this oily toad. The poem is not at all like the unimaginative and graceless Obama writings I've seen from his school years. And yes, I think Dreams from my Father had to have been heavily ghost-written, too.
Posted by: RigelDog at March 4, 2013 8:20 PMI agree with that. It may be that it is so disgusting that I fail to appreciate how hard it is to make it that way. I'm no poet, and I have been spoiled by Gerard.
Posted by: mushroom at March 4, 2013 10:20 PM
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