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Really Big Show

February 4, 2010

For the curious, here is an as-yet unedited (I still have nine hours!!!) version of what I’ll be doing with three minutes of my time tonight. Godspeed, Mr. Salinger, you manuscript-hoarding son of a bitch. Have a good weekend, the rest of you.

R.I.P. J.D.

Fit tight the casket timbers, carpenters;
Pound down the coffin nails, dig deep the grave;
Mourners, raise high a cry: grieve long, weep well.
But most importantly, please, someone, save

The narrative! Today, the world has lost
The fabricator of a house of Glass;
Tomorrow, may it excavate the words
Its author’s house of stone forbid to pass

Into a single reader’s eager hands.
So often, writers’ homes become their crypts;
They close the doors and live without the world;
They live within their pages, manuscripts,

Perhaps you think it’s crass
To eulogize a person who’s still breathing,
Elusive, but alive, reclusive, but,
So far, apparently, not keen on leaving.

Perhaps you have a point. But as a fan,
I’m seething: when an author disappears—
Not for a break, a brief hiatus, but
For forty-seven motherfucking years—

I get impatient. And I ask myself:
Is it a writer’s right to act this way?
It’s our prerogative to hide ourselves,
But is it just to keep our words away

From readers? Or should one’s desire to write
Offset an equal keenness to be read?
The matter’s heart is: do you want your fans
To mourn, or celebrate, when you are dead?

One Comment leave one →
  1. February 4, 2010 10:35 am

    very interesting poem,
    how are you?

    I want my readers to celebrate, a new poet or writer will be born…

    cool blog, 😉

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