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stuttering napkins (for paul blackburn)
by Steve Dalachinsky
1.
i sit there in McSorley’s maybe a table away from
you& the firemen & cops writing my poems
being “a man” at the ripe old age of late teenager
eating liederkranz cheese crackers & onions
drinking a mixture of Guinness & light beer
until I am plasteredi was always alone with the sawdust
on my soles & lips
you – i there
through our histories –
our histories coinciding
yet never intertwining
autumn now
your history in the history books
mine
like the soon falling leaves
we drink together
but apart
you survive as i perish
in a fine wind
let’s meet later at Max’s
(the book
store not the city)
then later
i’ll play another version of that Rollins tune
you like so much
where was i while i was there in the middle of all this?
where was i?
it’s autumn
early to mid 1960s
as i exit the stationo ne fallen leafbrown & brittle
lying on the subway steps –a bit too early.
2.
tonight i heard paul blackburn’s voice his numbers my
numbers after his numbers
without ever knowing his numbers
i’m paler than my brother’s
blue impala
i’ve always felt perhaps because
i’m not a translator myself
that translation brings too much ERA
into one’s own poetry
possibly
a located
unrest
licks
BLACK
uneasy
ram-shackled
nuances
bloody
lack luster
average
cumulative
kindness
my brother’s impala was a
convertible.
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