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Jim McCurry was born in Los Angeles
10-3-43, and has been teaching at Carl Sandburg College
(Galesburg, Illinois) since 1980. Poetry publications: Alba,
Annetna Nepo, Blue Fifth Review, Eleven Bulls, Fish Drum, Identity
Theory, Muse Apprentice Guild, nycBigCityLit, Niederngasse, Pig
Iron Malt, Quarterly West, Rio, Snow Monkey, Sun Oasis, Tryst3,
Word Riot, Writer's Forum (Gerard Manley Hopkins Award, 1999),
Zacatecas Review, Zuzu's Petals, & several other on-line and print
journals. There are two books slated for publication from Tryst3
and Snow Monkey /Ravenna Press.
Mail id-
jmccurry@sandburg.edu
Laconic
Supernumeraries (II)
We must wait to negotiate:
my honorable friend will know,
Ripeness is all : shock and awe.
The self-induced
tourettes, anodyne
to a species of
gut-queasiness: the lion
rampant in the Americas
& abroad—right now—
call it a centripetal
imperialism
of the soul
—as when Quetzalcoatl
swallowed quinidine, & not
any purplish ambrosia
on this very side,
muttering,
“There are reasons.”
(2)
We may spend a half hour discussing what language is being sung,
radiating attention .. Permit me, old Sun King, to excel you
in patience. Even the most delightful occupation (say,
diplomacy) is a passage from port to port. Shall we
abandon the psyche, or assert its many colours?
Smile, enter into discussion of the weather?
Or whither? The less frightful our freight,
the better. Bombs fall?
Permit me to applaud.
Sometimes we wish to calm down,
come into a kinship too broad.
It breaks the heart ..
Please pass the sherry, old thing.
That’s a good hind-titted boar
cow-cow. Yes--too much
complicity of flesh and blood.
Wretched excess. Oh, surely--
wander in the West’s local colors
sniffing out sleeper cells,
Hezbollah, et cetera
You’ve earned unlimited trust, my
fiduciary Friend. Recede
betimes into
background exotica—
all in pursuit of consequence;
all, needless to say, on course,
in service of God and Queen.
But in any case,
whilst friend and foe blur and retreat,
sensing our seeming absence of resolve,
awaiting a cobra’s opportunity—I’d say,
fuck the extremist, darker natives,
don’t you think?
Now is, as usual,
Not the best time to call.
(3)
Our man in Kuwait lays down Nuna al Radi’s Baghdad diaries
And thinks of the parade: Bob Ewbanks, host of Dating Game,
In Michael Moore’s movie, Roger & Me. The eagle-
Consciousness. How to keep the moth
Out of the cashmere. Leave this preoccupation
To the heirs, sooner or later—soon enough--
It will be time to buy the farm, pass the buck.
On the tube, a little African boy dragging his torso, legs
Useless, toward some educational toys.
On the small of his back, an enormous carbuncle.
The sound is off. Can I get thinner
In the next year or two? Should
I wear a brush cut rug? Get a
Nose job? Look more consular
Patrician?
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