DEAN “FOREVER” YOUNG TAKES ON TARZAN AND LEWIS “BUZZ” BUZBEE

GIVE IT TO TARZAN or… HERE COMES THE BRIDE

“The Business of Love Is Cruelty” by Dean Young v.
“Sunday, Tarzan In His Hammock” by Lewis Buzbee

It scares me DY

When the King LB

Buzbee comes out strong to take the early lead! Young is showing nerves early…

of the jungle first wakes up LB

the genius we have
for hurting one another DY

A ferocious rebound by Young! No foul called! Buzbee turns sluggish…Young now in front…

I’m seven
as tall as my mother DY

Buzbee getting some height mismatches and takes back the lead!

he thinks
it ’s going to be a great day, as laden with possibility
as the banana tree with banana hands, but by ten LB

Buzbee playing with confidence now, leads by 3, 10-7.

and she’s kneeling and somehow I know DY

Young goes to the floor to get a loose ball…

exactly how to do it, calmly
enunciating like a good actor projecting DY

Young now playing with more confidence…the team is talking to each other, communicating well…score is tied, 15-15…

he’s still in his hammock, arms and legs as dull as
termite mounds. He stares at the thatched roof and realizes
that his early good mood was leftover from Saturday. LB

Buzbee standing around out there! Young regains the lead! 24-17, Young.

when he got so much done: a great day, he saved
the tiger cub trapped in the banyan, herded the hippos
away from the tourists and their cameras and guns,
restrung and greased the N-NW vines, all by noon. LB

But Buzbee puts on a 12-0 run and leads at the half! 29-24, Buzbee.

Welcome to the March Madness Best American Poetry Half-Time Report
“What does Buzbee need to do in the second half to hold on to the lead?” Keep giving it to Tarzan…get him into his rhythm…Tarzan needs to get his hands on the ball, Marla… “Young has to keep up the aggressive play and shoot better from the outside…only 1-7 from 3 pt range…Look for Bride of Frankenstein off the bench in the second half, that’s signature Young…” Right, Marla. It’s going to come down to the play of No. 7 for Young and Tarzan for Buzbee…

to the last row, shocking the ones
who’ve come in late, cowering

out of their coats, sleet still sparkling
on their collars, the voice nearly licking
their ears above swordplay and laments: DY

As the second half opens, Young thinks he’s in a theater, he seems to forget he’s playing hoops! Buzbee increases his lead, 34-26.

All day he went about his duties, not so much Kingly duties
as custodial, and last night, he and Cheetah went for a walk
under the ostrich-egg moon. LB

Buzbee turns the ball over on traveling, and oh, Young hits a 3 pointer! Buzbee up, 34-29.

I hate you DY

Young, playing more aggressively now…Buzbee a one point lead, 36-35.

This morning nothing strikes him.
The world is a stagnant river, a scummy creek’s dammed pool.
Cheetah’s gone chattering off LB

Oh! Buzbee didn’t like that call! Technical! Young goes up, 39-36!

Now her hands are rising to her face.
Now the fear done flashing through me,
I wish I could undo it, take it back,
but it’s a matter of perfection DY

Young is psyching himself out…it’s getting nasty in the paint…too much second-guessing out their by Young..oh, that shot won’t fall…he threw it out-of-bounds…Young has lost all sense of rhythm…Let’s see if Buzbee takes advantage…Young’s guards need to control the tempo and they’re playing sloppy right now…

Jane is in town,
and the rest of the animals are busy with one another—
fighting, eating, mating. Tarzan can barely move LB

Buzbee’s center has come up limping! But the rest of the team is hanging tough…playing like animals! …shot is good! What a lay-up! There’s another drive…good! Buzbee goes on an 8-0 run, leads 44-39. But there is some concern about Buzbee’s center…not moving well out there…

carrying it through, climbing the steps
to my room, chosen banishment, where
I’ll paint the hair of my model
Bride of Frankenstein purple and pink

heap of rancor, vivacious hair
that will not die. She’s rejected DY

Oh, there’s a blocked shot by Young! This team will not die! The Purple & Pink are playing ugly, but getting it done here as we head into the final 10 minutes…52-50 lead for Young…

He does not want to move. Does the gazelle ever feel this
lassitude, does it ever want to lie down and just stare,
no loner caring for its own safety, tired of the vigilance?
Does the lion, fat in the grass, ever think, fuck it,
let the wounded springbok live, who cares? LB

Buzbee calls a timeout…coach is screaming, “You got to want this! You’re giving me prose out there! Where’s the poetry?”

Of course her intended, cathected
the desires of of six or seven bodies

onto the wimp Doctor. And Herr Doktor, DY

Young in foul trouble, tossing in bodies off the bench in a desperate attempt to stay in this thing…both Young’s guards are hurt…it’s become a war of attrition…both teams exhausted…5 minutes to go and we’re tied at 55-55.

Tarzan thinks maybe he’ll go to the bathing pools
and watch the girls bathe, splashing in the sun,
their breasts and thighs perfect. He wishes someone
would bring him a gourd of palm wine, a platter
of imported fruits—kiwi, jack fruit, star fruit,
or maybe a bowl of roasted yams slathered in goat butter LB

Buzbee’s center has got to focus! Out of bounds…Young’s ball…

what does he want among the burning villages
of his proven theories? Well, he wants
to be a student again, free, drunk,

making the cricket jump, but DY

Young burning time off the clock, holding onto the ball, trying to find a good shot…2 minutes left! We’re tied at 57…

Maybe Jane will bring him a book.
He hears far off in the dense canopy a zebra’s cry for help LB

Buzbee goes up for a shot—hammered underneath! 2 free throws! First, no good, 2nd good, 58-57, Buzbee up…

his distraught monster’s on the rampage
again, lead-footed, weary, a corrosive
and incommunicable need sputtering DY

Young, not much gas left in the tank, but draws a foul! Oh, but he misses both free throws!

Buzbee leads by 1, with 24 seconds left…

Those damned jackals again, but no, he will not move. LB

Tarzan holds the ball, Young needs to get the ball back, and fouls.

Let the world take care of itself, let the world eat the world LB

Tarzan misses the first, makes the second. Buzbee leads by 2, 59-57. 19 seconds…

his chest, throwing oil like a fouled-up
motor: how many times do you have to die
before you’re really dead? DY

Young with the ball…8 seconds…3 point shot… GOOD!!! Young goes ahead 60-59 with 7 seconds left!!!

Buzbee calls time out. Here’s the throw-in from mid-court…

He can live without the call of the wild. LB

A drive to the basket, a pass back to the foul circle, here’s the shot…

He thinks. LB

at the buzzer!…GOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!

Buzbee wins 61-60!!!

Everytime we play this game it comes out the same…?

Lewis Buzbee is our final poet in the Elite Eight.

We have our Elite Eight!

Advertisements

10 Comments

  1. Alan Cordle said,

    March 26, 2010 at 4:03 pm

    A great victory on so many levels!

  2. noochinator said,

    March 27, 2010 at 12:08 am

    We’re going down to Marla on the floor after this stunning upset, Marla is going to interview Dean “Forever” Young, who lost at the buzzer to Lewis “The Buzz” Buzbee. Marla, you there?

    Marla Muse (MM): Yes, Tom, I’m here with Dean Young. Dean, you played your heart out trying to get into the Elite Eight, then lost at the buzzer to a stunning trope by Lewis Buzbee. What did you think of Buzbee’s performance today?

    Dean Young (DY): Well, Lewis is a strong player, not to be underestimated — he lulls you into thinking you’re all clear, then snaps back with a vengeance.

    MM: Take me through Buzbee’s performance today.

    DY: Well, Lewis started strong, using the Tarzan archetype to set up his offense.

    MM: The crowd loved it!

    DY: Everyone loves Tarzan, Marla, he’s a character that resonates deep in the culture, and one of the few figures that seems to have escaped unscathed from the culture wars. Even Superman has taken his lumps of late.

    MM: Absolutely, and there’s so much that goes along with him — Cheetah, Jane — but tell me what most impressed you about Buzbee’s game.

    DY: I loved his “banana tree with banana hands”, that kind of stopped me in my tracks, and if you look at the replay, you’ll see that as he takes that shot, his fingers are curled like a bunch of bananas.

    MM: Wow. What else?

    DY: His Saturday Errands Set-Up was very disarming, what with the hippos and tourists and their guns — I was so mesmerized by the moves that I lost focus for a bit.

    MM: Mmm, absolutely.

    DY: But what really got me was “restrung and greased the N-NW vines, all by noon.” And again, check the replay, the shot he followed with made a perfect N-NW arc that went right into the basket.

    MM: Yup, that’s on the highlights film. But that was when he started to fade, right?

    DY: Yes, he got lethargic after that, like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Even when he ran his patented Jane and Cheetah plays, it all felt so lackluster. And the scoreboard reflected it. That gave me a chance to come back.

    MM: OK, we’re gonna talk about your game, but follow Buzbee to the end for me, to the buzzer, so to speak.

    DY: Yeah, he was in the slough of despond and I thought he’d given up. He was still scoring occasionally, but it all seemed mechanical, and he got this faraway look in his eyes, like he was thinking about other things.

    MM: And whatever it was—

    DY: Well, whatever it was, it seemed to rejuvenate him somewhat. He put one ball in the basket like it was a yam slathered in goat butter.

    MM: Goat butter, absolutely.

    DY: And I’ll be frank, Marla, I thought I had it in the end, but he turned his lethargy into stoicism and finished with a stunning trope shot.

    MM: “He can live without the call of the wild.”

    DY: “He thinks.”

    MM: OK Dean, now what the heck is going on there? He thinks he can live without the call of the wild? Or he CAN live without the call of the wild, so he’s just gonna lay there and think?

    DY: Marla, you’ll have to ask Lewis that one, but I bet he won’t tell you. I know I wouldn’t. As a master chef once said, “I cooked the food, you want me to chew it for you too?” All I know is that it put two points on the board that won the game.

    MM: It did, Dean, but you played a heckuva game, and we’ll be back to talk with you about YOUR game today, right after this message from Toyota…

  3. noochinator said,

    March 27, 2010 at 12:17 am

    And we’re ba-a-ck! Marla’s down on the floor right now with Dean “Forever” Young, who was eliminated after a stupendous last-second shot by Lewis Buzbee that won the game — let’s go down to the floor to Marla and Dean, Marla?

    Marla Muse (MM): Thanks Tom, I’m here with Dean “Forever” Young. Dean, let’s go through your game today, you started out looking, well, to be frank, a little scared. Was that apprehension due to meeting with Buzbee in this crucial match?

    Dean Young (DY): No Marla, it was more fear of myself than of Lewis, of the damage I’m capable of doing.

    MM: Well, you did do some damage here today, let’s go to the I-cam in the rafters, and you can see there the backboard that has a crack in it. Now you put that crack there on that ferocious slam dunk, tell us a little about that.

    DY: Yes Marla, that was the “I Hate You” dunk, and I hit it the way it’s supposed to be hit, full force, even did some damage to my forearms when they hit the rim, but it was well worth it to get the effect I intended.

    MM: I see you’ve got those forearms wrapped in ice now. Dean, I gotta tell ya, you achieved the full effect that you sought with that “I Hate You” dunk, you took the crowd’s breath away with that one, I literally heard a gasp throughout the arena. It seemed to especially affect the young mothers out there, I saw a lot of pained expressions among the 25-40 demographic, saw a lot of Kleenexes coming out of a lot of handbags. I had my compact out myself to check on my mascara.

    DY: I don’t know, I didn’t notice, I was fully concentrated on making the shot.

    MM: “A matter of perfection”? I’m quoting you here.

    DY: Good memory, Marla.

    MM: It’s seared into my brain, Dean. And that play was especially shocking because you’d been biding your time up to then, then suddenly made this ferocious, vicious slam dunk that cracked the backboard. There’s a shot of it again from our I-cam up in the rafters. League officials say although it’s only a hairline crack, the backboard is totally ruined, and they’ve confirmed that it will have to be replaced. Dean, what was your intention here?

    DY: Well, Lewis came out strong with the Tarzan archetype, which is a real crowd-pleaser, and I was still getting things set up, so I made that dunk with the aim of making it a game changer, and I think it really did change the game.

    MM: Absolutely, it was a pivotal move, and came right when Lewis’s Tarzan offense seemed to go limp.

    DY: Yeah, he seemed out of it by that point, seemed like he’d exhausted the archetype, so I figured it was time to—

    MM: To roll out an archetype of your own, namely the Bride of Frankenstein offense.

    DY: Yeah, the Bride of Frankenstein is a classic offense, everyone knows it but it’s really hard to bring off in a fresh, original way.

    MM: Well, you certainly pulled it off, and added some flourishes we haven’t seen before. Now Dean, correct me I’m wrong, but Bride of Frankenstein was a black and white movie, am I correct?

    DY: That’s right, Marla.

    MM: But there was absolutely nothing monochromatic about this offense, you added colors, and not just any colors, but pink and purple, in order to “project/to the last row, shocking the ones/who’ve come in late…” I’m quoting you again.

    DY: I know, but— it’s out of context…

    MM: Dean, speaking of c-words, what the heck is “cathected”? You had me on my Palm Pilot looking up the definition to that one. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, I’ve got cathect as meaning to invest emotional energy in a person, object or idea.

    DY: Very good, Marla, A+.

    MM: Now Dean, walk with me through the steps of this play: “She’s rejected/Of course her intended, cathected/the desires of six or seven bodies/onto the wimp doctor.” So the Bride rejected the monster, right? That was when she screamed in the movie?

    DY: Marla…

    MM: So instead she’s — whatsit again — “cathected” her desires — and she’s made of six or seven bodies, so she’s got all their desires on tap here — and she’s cathected all these desires onto the Doctor instead, am I right?

    DY: Marla…

    MM: OK, this was the climax of the game. You had the Bride of Frankenstein offense in play, with your Big Three of the Bride, the Monster and the Doctor.

    DY: Yes…

    MM: Now correct me if I’m wrong, but the Doctor seemed like the weak sister in this trio. Looked to me like he was not happy out there, like he needed a drink.

    DY: I have to disagree with you there, Marla, I think the Doctor was key to what we were accomplishing out there.

    MM: Wha— ?!? The Monster was “on the rampage”, and he wanted it bad with an “incommunicable need sputtering/his chest, throwing oil like a fouled-up/motor” — no, I just don’t see it Dean, the Bride wowed ‘em and the monster zowed ‘em.

    DY: Well, Marla, it looks different down there on the floor.

    MM: Well you got me there, Dean. Dean: you are a highly emotional player — you started off with a classic Freudian/Youngian Mother-Son offense — you broke a backboard and dozens of soccer-mom hearts with that dunk — you switched it up to a Bride-Doctor-Monster offense — you kept stunning the crowd and stunning Lewis. How the heck did you lose this ball game?

    DY: Well Marla, I thought up to the end that I would pull it out, but Lewis kept his cool amidst all the chaos—

    MM: I thought for sure he was going to slip on the motor oil!

    DY: Well, he didn’t slip, he kept his cool and rallied like the King of the Jungle should, and made that great shot at the buzzer to win.

    MM: Dean “Forever” Young, thanks so much, you turned in an amazing performance today. The league will be sending you a bill for the backboard, hah hah!

    DY: Thanks Marla.

    MM: And coming up: an interview with the man who made a final victory shot that put him in the Elite Eight. Back with Lewis “The Buzz” Buzbee after this message from our local sponsors…

  4. noochinator said,

    March 27, 2010 at 12:21 am

    And we’re back, let’s go right down to the floor where our own Marla Muse is with Lewis “The Buzz” Buzbee after an electrifying last second shot by “The Buzz” that won the ballgame and put him in the Elite Eight –– Marla?

    Marla Muse (MM): Thanks, Tom. I’m here with Lewis “The Buzz” Buzbee. Lewis, congratulations!

    Lewis Buzbee (LB): Thanks, Marla.

    MM: Lewis, you won the game with an absolutely stunning shot, you made it to the Elite Eight, and I want to talk in detail about your game, but first tell me about how Dean’s game looked to you up close down there on the floor.

    LB: Well, Dean started out looking kinda spooked, totally unprepossessing.

    MM: Absolutely, unprepossessing.

    LB: I thought it was going to be a cakewalk. But Dean is a highly gifted player, and has the physical attributes for this game, beginning with his height. Y’know Marla, even at age seven, he was as tall as his mom.

    MM: I’ve heard that. But what was it that Dean did that changed the game?

    LB: Well Marla, it was unquestionably the dunk—

    MM: The “I Hate You” dunk!

    LB: Yes, it was so primal and murderous, it really got my attention, let me tell you.

    MM: And the crowd’s as well, provoked a visceral reaction especially among the soccer moms present, did you notice that, Lewis? Because Dean said he didn’t.

    LB: Well Marla, Dean can have a single-mindedness that is terrifying in its intensity, he’s so focused on the task at hand.

    MM: For him it’s “a matter of perfection”.

    LB: Oh yeah, and he carries it through. But back to your earlier question, yes, I did notice the reaction of the soccer moms.

    MM: Hah hah! They don’t call you King of the Jungle for nothing, Lewis! OK, so Dean has made this ferocious play, he cracked the backboard — did you hear the crack down there on the floor?

    LB: Oh yeah, like a rifle shot.

    MM: And after this display of murderous intensity, you looked a bit deflated, Lewis.

    LB: Well Marla, I don’t want to blame any lassitude I might have felt on Dean, I like to think I play my own game on my own terms independent of what my opponent’s up to.

    MM: OK, so you were struggling out there, trying to keep your head in the game, and Dean brings the Bride of Frankenstein offense, was that a surprise to you?

    LB: Well, Dean likes to mix up his offenses, I knew he wasn’t going to stay with the Freudian/Youngian Mother-Son offense throughout the whole game.

    But Lewis, did you expect The Bride?

    LB: Well Marla, I’m a professional and Dean’s a professional, he’s got a lot of bullets in his holster, you never know for sure what he’s gonna bring.

    MM: So you WERE surprised by The Bride?

    LB: Well Marla, wouldn’t you be surprised by Elsa Lanchester barreling down on you with a purple and pink beehive?

    MM: Hah hah! Well put! Lewis, I gotta be frank, at that point I thought you were finished, especially when Dean brought out the Doctor and the Monster. Now tell me what was going on there, what dynamic were you feeling between Dean’s Big Three?

    LB: Well Marla, what amazed me most was the coordination between the Bride and the Doctor, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him, was totally attuned to his every move, and it showed on the scoreboard.

    MM: But didn’t the Doctor look a bit distracted out there? No offense, Lewis, but his world-weariness seemed akin to what I was seeing from your Tarzan offense at points during this game.

    LB: The Doctor was tired, no question about it, but you have to look at the effect he was making out there. He was inspiring the Bride to make some great plays, and if he hadn’t been out there, I don’t think she would have achieved the same results.

    MM: And the Monster!

    LB: Well, I just tried to stay out of his way.

    MM: He was making a mess out there!

    LB: Yes, I had to watch out for the oil puddles.

    MM: Lewis, Dean went ahead with seven seconds left with “how many times do you have to die/before you’re really dead?” Did you think it was over at that point?

    LB: Marla, there’s no question that Dean scored a remarkable basket from out deep. But seven seconds is a long time in this game, and I was able to use that time to my advantage.

    MM: You sure did, and we’re going to talk about your offense in detail in just a moment, so stay tuned for Lewis “The Buzz” Buzbee’s analysis of his own Tarzan offense — right after these messages…

  5. noochinator said,

    March 27, 2010 at 12:31 am

    Marla Muse (MM): And we’re back once again, I’m Marla Muse talking with Lewis “The Buzz” Buzbee about his Tarzan offense that he used to such effect in this match against Dean Young. Lewis, you stayed with the Tarzan offense throughout the game, unlike Dean, who switched from the Mother-Son to the Bride of Frankenstein, no regrets there?

    LB: None Marla, but I’d like to clarify something, we’ve said repeatedly that Dean switched his offense, but I think it’s more accurate to say he overlaid his first offense with the second.

    MM: Overlaid, yes! They’re connected… somehow…

    LB: Absolutely Marla, Dean’s game was an organic whole, with every component linked.

    MM: Great point, Lewis, talking with you is like a poetry webinar! Lewis: you stuck with the Tarzan offense throughout, and yet I was struck by how variegated it was. You came out, King of the Jungle, which had to give your opponent pause — everything about you seemed to be saying “it’s going to be a great day”.

    LB: “Laden with possibility”?

    MM: My thoughts exactly! You were under the basket like “a banana tree with banana hands” grabbing those rebounds, then transitioned into your Saturday Errands Set-Up. This really seemed to mesmerize Dean.

    LB: Well Marla, I worked on the Saturday Errands Set-Up a lot in practice.

    MM: And it showed! There was so much going on there! “[H]e saved/the tiger cub trapped in the banyan” was a real crowd-pleaser, especially with the animal lovers out there, of which I’m one! Two dogs, three cats, a parakeet, and a husband! Lewis, I saw a lot of Palm Pilots out in the crowd looking up “banyan”, not a word you hear every day. Makes me think of Paul Bunyan! Another great archetypal figure!

    LB: Absolutely, Marla, he’d make another great subject for a poem.

    MM: Don’t forget the giant blue ox! And you continued with the Saturday Errands Set-Up, kept the pressure on, and then that marvelous shot that put the ball in on a perfect N-NW arc. Now that’s pronounced “north by northwest,” am I correct?

    LB: That’s right, Marla.

    MM: North by Northwest ! Eva-Marie Saint! The train going into the tunnel! And you did all this “all by noon” and all by the end of the first half, when you had a 29-24 lead. Then if I’m not mistaken, you brought out the Saturday in the Park offense, tell me about that.

    LB: Yes Marla, the Saturday in the Park offense isn’t glamorous, but it’s very effective. It’s basically taking care of business out on the court.

    MM: And that’s exactly what you did, you “went about [your] duties, not so much Kingly duties/as custodial”. And then you brought out the Cheetah play, I love Cheetah!

    LB: Everyone loves Cheetah, Marla.

    MM: But it wasn’t long before “Cheetah’[d] gone chattering off” and this is where Dean started to get it together with that murderous “I Hate You” dunk. It looked as if you were thinking, “The world is a stagnant river, a scummy creek’s dammed pool.”

    LB: That’s pretty accurate, Marla.

    MM: OK, you then brought out another of your big guns, Jane.

    LB: Yes, the Jane Goes to Town press.

    MM: But Lewis, the crowd was very disappointed here, everyone was waiting for Jane, and you gave us “Jane is in town,/and the rest of the animals are busy with one another–/fighting, eating, mating.” And it’s a shame because you deprived us of seeing Jane go one-on-one against the Bride!

    LB: Well Marla, I love to dazzle a crowd as much as the next player, I’ll admit to that, but there’s times you gotta focus on the fundamentals.

    MM: But it wasn’t working for you! “Tarzan can barely move/He does not want to move” — I’m directly quoting you here! And meanwhile Dean was going Friday-the-13th on you!

    LB: Well Marla, no one can keep up a frenetic pace for an entire game, there’s always gonna be peaks and valleys.

    MM: Well, this was the Big Valley, Dean, I was seeing the ghost of Barbara Stanwyck sitting up in the rafters. I mean come on, “no longer caring for [his] own safety, tired of the vigilance”? What if NORAD thought like that?

    LB: Well Marla, I make no claims to perfection, I’m human, Tarzan’s human, and that’s important to remember, that’s what makes this game so unpredictable and exciting.

    MM: Alright Lewis, you did manage to regroup and you brought out your Go To A Happy Place press, which I loved! The pools, and the girls, and the fruits — you were making me hungry, Lewis!

    LB: Heh heh.

    MM: I broke my diet, had one of the gaffers go get some nachos! Lewis, when you brought the girls out, there was pandemonium here, we’re used to seeing cheerleaders on the floor at the breaks, but rarely during regulation play. Now you also had your own Big Three here, and they were totally a surprise—

    LB: Yes, we picked up “kiwi, jack fruit, star fruit” in a trade during the off-season.

    MM: Very unprepossessing but very effective.

    LB: Absolutely Marla, they came through for us.

    MM: Now Lewis, kiwi I know of, but I don’t think I can find jack fruit and star fruit at the Safeway. Maybe I have to go to Whole Foods!

    LB: Heh heh.

    MM: Or should I say Whole Paycheck Foods! Alright Lewis, you’d dug deep, you had out the girls and the food, it was like buttah—

    LB: Goat butter?

    MM: Yes, “roasted yams slathered in goat butter”! Send that gaffer out for more nachos! Now Lewis, this was the point in the game when Dean had out his Leatherface mask and chainsaw, fer cryin’ out loud, how did you keep your cool out there?

    LB: I’m used to chaos, Marla, there’s lots of chaos in the jungle.

    MM: Zebras crying for help? Jackals?

    LB: Exactly, so I’ve learned to find a quiet place within myself and take solace in it.

    MM: OK Lewis, now Dean had scored and was ahead by 1 with seven seconds left. Let’s talk about your lines that scored the winning basket, “He can live without the call of the wild./He thinks.” I was trying to parse this with Dean, and he told me to knock it off, can you give me any help here?

    LB: OK Marla, how about the quote attributed to the great musicologist Harry Smith: “Modern man thinks out his problems, or tries to — primitive man dances out his problems.”

    MM: Wow! You know, Lewis, there’s times on a Sunday morning I lie there in bed trying to think out a problem, and meanwhile the clock’s ticking away, Monday morning’s getting closer, the kids are whining for pancakes, and I’ll wonder if I could think out the problem just as effectively by getting up and making some pancakes.

    LB: That’s probably so, Marla, maybe even more effectively.

    MM: Multitasking! Lewis, you made a great showing today, not only by winning the game but by maybe helping me get out of bed on Sunday morning!

    LB: Heh heh.

    MM: Nothing else so far has worked! You’ll be back soon for a match against Janet Bowdan to decide which of you will get into the Final Four, the league commissioner hasn’t set a date yet, but we’ll let you know as soon as we find out. We’ll Twitter you!

    LB: Thanks Marla.

    MM: Thank you, Lewis, and this is Marla Muse, let’s go now to 60 Minutes already in progress…

  6. Bob Tonucci said,

    March 27, 2010 at 1:01 am

    Sunday, Tarzan in His Hammock

    Lewis Buzbee

    When the king of the jungle first wakes up, he thinks
    it’s going to be a great day, as laden with possibility
    as the banana tree with banana hands, but by ten
    he’s still in the hammock, arms and legs dull as
    termite mounds. He stares at the thatched roof and realizes
    that his early good mood was a leftover from Saturday,
    when he got so much done: a great day, he saved
    the tiger cub trapped in the banyan, herded the hippos
    away from the tourists and their cameras and guns,
    restrung and greased the N-NW vines, and all by noon.
    All day he went about his duties, not so much kingly duties
    as custodial, and last night, he and Cheetah went for a walk under the
    ostrich-egg moon. This morning nothing stirs him.
    The world is a stagnant river, a scummy creek’s dammed pool.
    Cheetah’s gone chattering off, Jane is in town,
    and the rest of the animals are busy with one another –
    fighting, eating, mating. Tarzan can barely move,
    he does not want to move. Does the gazelle ever feel this
    lassitude, does it ever want to lie down and just stare,
    no longer caring for its own safety, tired of the vigilance?
    Does the lion, fat in the grass, ever think, fuck it,
    let the wounded springbok live, who cares?
    Tarzan thinks maybe he’ll go to the bathing pools
    and watch the village girls bathe, splashing in the sun,
    their breasts and thighs perfect. He wishes someone
    would bring him a gourd of palm-wine, a platter
    of imported fruits – kiwi, jack fruit, star fruit –
    or maybe a bowl of roasted yams slathered in goat butter,
    maybe Jane will bring him a book. Nothing will be delivered.
    He hears far off in the dense canopy a zebra’s cry for help,
    those damned jackals again, but, no, he will not move.
    Let the world take care of itself, let the world eat
    the world. He can live without the call of the wild.
    He thinks.

  7. Bob Tonucci said,

    March 27, 2010 at 1:03 am

    The Business of Love is Cruelty

    Dean Young

    It scares me the genius we have
    for hurting one another. I’m seven,
    as tall as my mother kneeling and
    she’s kneeling and somehow I know

    exactly how to do it, calmly,
    enunciating like a good actor projecting
    to the last row, shocking the ones
    who’ve come in late, cowering

    out of their coats, sleet still sparkling
    on their collars, the voice nearly licking
    their ears above the swordplay and laments:
    I hate you.

    Now her hands are rising to her face.
    Now the fear done flashing through me,
    I wish I could undo it, take it back,
    but it’s a question of perfection,

    carrying it through, climbing the steps
    to my room, chosen banishment, where
    I’ll paint the hair of my model
    Bride of Frankenstein purple and pink,

    heap of rancor, vivacious hair
    that will not die. She’s rejected
    of course her intended, cathected
    the desires of six or seven bodies

    onto the wimp Doctor. And Herr Doktor,
    what does he want among the burning villages
    of his proven theories? Well, he wants
    to be a student again, free, drunk,

    making the cricket jump, but
    his distraught monster’s on the rampage
    again, lead-footed, weary, a corrosive
    and incommunicable need sputtering

    his chest, throwing oil like a fouled-up
    motor: how many times do you have to die
    before you’re really dead?

  8. Bob Tonucci said,

    March 27, 2010 at 10:01 am

    Tom, Marla here, with a film of another classic performance by Lewis Buzbee.

    Grown in Canada

    for N.G. & J.B.

    Growing Tips

    Indoors: Place in the sunniest location.
    People like the same temperatures
    as roses. Stand near a window
    high above street level. Listen
    to the CBC, Scarlatti if possible.
    Although a native to the region, imagine
    this pink-brick city has been seen by no one.

    Summer: Open all the windows.
    Sprawl in a favored chair. Count
    the empty cars and the people who’ve
    deserted them. Pretend to read
    a book as thick as a river. Smell
    each flower in the city’s constellation;
    do not miss a single one.
    At night, wave to the mounties
    who parade under fireworks. Wave
    to the caribou scratching at the door,
    meet their cold, patient eyes.

    Winter: Close the windows, but
    stay in your chair, read only
    poetry by Chileans. Listen
    to the wind that seeps through cracks. Name
    each spike of the green, shifting
    northern lights. Sense the hushed
    snow, weightless as it gathers around you.
    Know that it melts in rivers in sewers.
    Tell each yellow, lighted window
    a long story of red and gold
    summer. Whisper, pass it on.

    Outdoors: Build a kayak. Paddle until
    the city is a stone in the heart. North.
    It’s all Canada from here to the
    north pole. The guidebooks say use caution;
    listen only to the black stone;
    the world belongs to those who made it.
    Require tundra, iceberg, glacier.

    Summer: Turn toward the sun, follow,
    each day, its inclinations. Build a gazebo
    in a thronged meadow, serve tea to the invisible.
    Elkhorn and narwhal may be used for furniture.
    Recall a childhood in which beaver and wolf
    spoke clearly; forget it. Invent languages;
    describe the sound of lichen, the dreams
    of trout, the negotiations of flower and insect.
    Important: at midsummer, when there is no night,
    sing “O, Canada” in Inuit, naked.
    The growing season is long, fruitful, hilarious.

    Winter: Seek the moon, it is coy, but
    the hare who lives in its fullness tells stories
    that are beneficial. Windbreak: dead grasses;
    the wind’s teeth do not tear the skin.
    Don’t shovel; the snow retains heat.
    Asexual propagation is prohibited. Sleep
    in the breath of another; the time has come
    for winter flowering. Move the bed
    each sunless day. Horde nothing; horde everything.
    The winter is as long as the arms, infinite.
    What cannot be known is known here.

  9. Bob Tonucci said,

    March 28, 2010 at 9:56 am

    Sky Dive

    Dean Young

    In school it had been important to learn
    the names of battleships, diseases, museums,
    kings, the internal scheme of the squid
    which is called taxonomy but outside, in the fields,
    it seemed most important to know the names
    of sex organs: vulva, Mount Olympus,
    anadromous pod and that was called soccer practice.
    Beside me in Earth Science sat Debbie
    until she was killed by a Volkswagen
    so the rest of the year I did the experiments
    alone. Say crack my fingers backwards, she whispered
    while I tried to organize plastic seashells.
    The earth had folded into itself many times.
    Ann, Jill, Brenda, Elizabeth. Kinesis,
    the golgi apparatus, the ellipsis. Give up,
    go to bed, dream. Then to wake up twenty years later
    after a party knowing you behaved perfectly
    shamefully, the brain is threatened sea life,
    astronomers predict discs of dust hold clues
    to the birth of the universe and then to make tea
    and telephone apologies. What was her name,
    the one by the door? Expostulations of orange juice.
    Purple clouds. Twice I jumped from an airplane
    to forget a beautiful woman who was sleeping
    with some guy instead of me who made guitars
    from scratch. Handprints on an aquarium,
    tissue paper. Irregular envelopes. To begin,
    each player selected a game piece. She was
    beautiful and drunk but not as drunk
    as her dress which kept hailing cabs
    even at the party. Beneath the clothing
    is the skin and beneath the skin, viscera, bones
    but beneath that there is just the skin
    of the other side so clearly something
    is unaccounted for. Green river,
    lobelia, lightbulb shaped like a flame,
    a chair shaped like a shoe. The last time
    I landed, I forgot all I learned
    throwing myself from a practice flight of stairs.
    It drove me crazy, the way she smiled
    at strangers and I could never be
    a stranger. A thousand feet above the earth,
    hanging from a handkerchief.

  10. January 10, 2018 at 7:59 am

    Useful info. Fortunate me I found your site unintentionally, and I am stunned why
    this coincidence did not came about earlier! I bookmarked it.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: