Jason Lee

Jason Lee (Dr CJP Lee) is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently 'Lost Passports'. His critical works include the monograph 'Pervasive Perversions' (Free Association Books: London, 2005) and the double volume 'The Metaphysics of Mass Art - Cultural Ontology'. He has taught at the universities of Essex, Hertfordshire, Central Lancashire, and East London.

Fishing


Fishing for transparencies in your bloated river
We brought up the evidence on a hook, bit by bit,
Old boots swapped for moth-ridden slippers
Car radiators with your face on plus the Madonna's
As if one thing had been too hot for everyone
So we crawled onto dry land to escape ourselves
Only to never care about who becomes what
The end result none of our business


Fishing for currency in your floated river
We thought up exchange mates, slit by slit,
New panties became crusted knickers
Bicycle pumps blew up the lungs of God
As if all he needed was some exercise
After ceasing to walkabout Eden all day
An imprint in the banished couple
Memory of abandoned play

Inherit The Earth

I.

Listen to the shrill starling on the telegraph poll
White Rasta in the igloo tent pounding with intent
Alleluia blasted across the moist lawn at the library


Before a man with slip mud teeth veers towards me
How's operation thunder? Good man, it's good!
How's operation thunder? Good man, it's good!


Your enthusiasm this Friday morning is insane
He sees right through your English teacher veil
Right back to the road in Elstree where you turned


II.

Back after setting out on an army career to gain
The Victoria Cross then chuck it away jackrabbit
To live in a car by the side of an old villanelle lake


In Aldenham with the giant gear stick acting
As the bog roll holder still picking at your ears
In the moonlight with straws from Wendy's


Playing Jesuitical games with fireflies
That spelt slices of The New Testament in Greek
Letters hovering over the now congealed lake


III.

Did you ever hear that story about Robert Lowell?
How when he was a fellow in poetry at Essex
He used to start reading a poem then scrunch it up


Throwing away his verse theatrically in disgust
Leaving the discarded lines to gently unfurl for
A student to later go back to the room to check


And find the opened paper ball a tabula rasa
More blank than a removed face at Hiroshima
Perhaps all his sheets of paper were the same

IV.

Funny how many unnatural games get played
Like the mad man walking towards you and you
With that rotten state delayed finger pie mouth


A saucer balanced so wide on a flat cap so broad
Both your shoulders dropped down to the ground
And we were back on the spanking happy tarmac


At school playing unconscious kiss chase
Skipping from concrete grass to blackened pen
Spitting in each other's glass eyes and mouths


V.

Today the simmering garlic and onion do the talking
Soft wines identical furnishings and celebrity shows
Then it was stay-press chains vodka carved raw emotion


So intense it possessed you and nothing could
Heal you not even magazines or clothes or hard
Graft scholastics or gymnastics or the real thing


No words or sounds or images or paintings
Of the before life speed or after life weed
Taylor made specifically or off the cuff


VI.

He stumbles towards you now palms up
Waiting for you to read his buried future
They tell me he keeps washing his hands


In an attempt to finally remove all plans that
Wyndham Lewis didn't rate Joyce's Ulysses
Either a random tattoo on her small or smaller


Than most eventualities in the simultaneous road
Stopping around the motionless corner concurrently
How's operation thunder? Good man, it's good!
 


My Voice | Poetry In Our Time | In The Name Of Poetry | Editor's Choice | Our Masters
 
Who We Are | Back Issues | Submission | Contact Us | Home