Mementos of The Morrison

Some souvenirs from my stint as the lone night desk clerk (11 pm-7 am) at The Morrison Hotel, October-May 1974-75, Skid Row, Seattle, Washington before the city was overrun by Microsoft et al., transforming what was once one of the most laid-back cities in the USA into a frenzied condo haven for yuppies and caffeine junkies hooked on Starbucks. Room 207 was the room reserved for the desk clerk--after eight hours working the night shift and dealing with what was considered the city's most difficult clientele, it was my haven when I was too tired to take the bus to a house I shared with four other people in the Madrona District. Incidentally, most of the poems which later found their way into my first book Sentences were started and finished during this hectic period of my life.

Belle of the Ball

Take it from me, sweetie
Way back then, First Street

Was chock-full of taverns,
Booze joints and cathouses,

But nothing to lick
My Whores Galore--

Two suites of tarts
One flight above

Our only candy store.

Getting to Sleepy Hollow

be headed
but not

lost in thought

(First published in clwn wr 41)

Aural

A poem in twenty-four parts, first published in an edition of 190 copies by Gil Ott's Singing Horse Press, 1984.





Στην Ελένη

.

An evocation
to live with

the light
uninvited

..

to be that
touch that

time takes
heart.

...

Even as
you bled

the light
years kept
light

years away

....

What we left
unfinished

remains mist
taken innocence

.....

aye

to
see

the
sea-

girl's
curls

......

At depth, solitude's
but a stone.

The thought of water
petrifies me.

.......

the sea
unfolds

its self

conches
nest

........

Perhaps each
image imagines

itself a
mirror

that breaks
its spell.

.........

muse

here you
can

feel light,
here

..........

sense the
wind

shores the
pines'

reticence

...........

As if the light
weren't

answer enough
just to live

by, asking it.

............

Don't breathe a word.
We were warned before

the wind cut us in two.

.............

even the waters
left speechless

on our lips
sound wishes

..............

To speak what
language

pure and simple,
seeks--no

one will hold
his peace.

...............

Mother's washing
the white

nests everywhere
cries of doves

................

aspirations

What we
hope we

care fully
prepare

praise for
the promise
kept

our silence.

.................

Leaf turning
its yellow

coat flaps
over

winter's back

..................

motive

Act, difficult
to live with

the light
day dreams

leaves intact

...................

harbinger

The message was almond blossoms,
a laying down of arms, warmth.

Morning found us under white
sheets, cool as marble.

....................

Snow dance
down

the meadow
an old

soft shoe

tracks.

.....................

White page.
You give

back what
the world

leaves, laughed
at.

......................

He said the dancers become trees
bared limbs his dreams picked clean.

.......................

a light
lit you

alight
on me

night-
fall

's now

........................

Snow. You fled
before

the rose had
fallen.

After Porchia

Chimeras arrive alone,

But have us with them
When they leave.

(from The Intricate Evasions of As)

Close Shave; Mean Tourist; Good Tip

"You think too much--clever people and grocers,
they weigh everything."
--Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek

Socrates, my barber, once jumped ship,
Spent an eye-opening week in the States,
Now knows all about the New World
And how things work in it,

Tells me Taxes was great. Taxes? Hell, I all but blurt out
You mean Texas, you dumb Greek, but stop--

The stropping of that blunt,
Anachronous Old World tongue
Raises a new cut to things

As I settle in, he works up
A timely lather,

I sweat out his tip.


(First published in Arabesques Review, v.2, issue 4)

Bookmark, Selected Poems, William Carlos Williams

Out

of these fragile dry
still fragrant yellow-

green stems & leaves
of wild clover pressed

between

the descent
of winter

&

the locust tree
in flower,

the sense of spring.