it's me again

pairing with works by Fairlie Harmar and Henri Rousseau

Birthday Celebration, 1921 by Fairlie Harmar (1876-1945)

Birthday Celebration is by British artist and viscountess, Fairlie Harmer (1876-1945). The figure there might be me in good time, though I can’t imagine who the other gentlemen would be. In a review of her work, poet Ezra Pound gave approval, but mistakenly assumed it had been done by a man. The Pink Candle below is by French painter, Henri Rousseau (1844-1910). It speaks to something a little closer to my reality somehow.

Past sixty

Past sixty. How old is that?
A racoon’s age, donkey’s ears,
or years, the lifetime of a gnat.

Regardless, the bell tolls
at sunrise, dinnertime, for thee,
or more particularly, me. 

Like Lenny, I grey,
and ache in the places . . .
I used to play; I stoop, too,
I hold my hip, but
still I dream (like Lou) 
sangria in the park, 
for maybe another 
perfect day!

Still too, my bell, 
that is, my bull, ma belle,                                                                                                               
my body and muse,
rings a truer age,
sings the moon, mars,
flings words, gestures, 
onto pages, into bars,
touches ghosts, hearts, 
bodies of the earth— 
and with the impending
knell, I’ll take it by 
the horn, neck, tail 
and ride, for what 
it’s worth.

But now I pause,
I light a candle,
I say a word,
to celebrate existence 
as I find it, 
and sing myself
as Whitman did 
(never contained between 
my hat and boots), 
on this February the third, 
anniversary of—
yes, the day 
the music died, 
     and my birth.  



Credits: lines, words, from:
     Tower of Song, by Leonard Cohen
     Perfect Day, by Lou Reed
     Michelle, by Lennon-McCartney 
     Song of Myself, by Walt Whitman
     American Pie, by Don McLean 
     and, of course, John Donne

The Pink Candle, by Henri Rousseau, 1909-10