"Public Works" and Another Poem by David Kaufmann
"This poem is a poem that takes you by / The arm"
PUBLIC WORKS
Truth is, I am listening to Webern String Quartets In a darkened room not because I'm particularly Pretentious, want people to think Of me as cultured, that is, cultured and quiet, Cultured in a timely old-fashioned way, with a wrought- Iron balcony, watching out On a street—not any street— Where men are working or pretending to work, Just as I am pretending to write, pretending This poem is a poem that takes you by The arm—with permission I'll Touch you if you want to be touched— My hand deep in the fabric of your sleeve Your jacket's nap too thick because though it's fall (You should have checked and didn't Realize just how warm it was going to be and is with All those various people passing By, indifferent to the sound of public works) And let's imagine it's still New York, it's fall The season of openings—again!— Of poems and sexual possibilities, all A little silly in the end, the world's Steel wool just prattle, noise, Its glorious matter just chattering on.
NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET
"Louie Louie" was clearly A Communist plant, The song that launched A thousand bands— A victory of calypso Over the kitchen sink. I could have testified before the House. I was all of 5 And fierce. And I looked good In a clip-on tie and shorts and Buster Browns. I didn't have the dog, Though I would have loved one. A boon companion for my Formative years, a faithful guide for my Adventures. I had no adventures. I was hardly bookish Before I could read, but we Accepted that. It was the only way I was normal. Just like you and you and you. Most poems Spell regret simply. I am not a poem But I am no different. I mastered the aura of loss As a principle of style. A kind of hat, A disappearing scarf, a single, off- White glove. In this I was as grand As Meaulnes, a book that Zoë Learned to love some Months into her middle Grades before she had a word Of French. I carry that standard still. She's a picture of my self. It's medical, Chemical, the way things are, the way We're wired, you say, and I believe you. The music is loud because only Then I hear it. Calypso gave way To Soca which we used as The name for another dog. And Then she died. I loved them all, The way they would dance And bark at the yard. The trees Stood still, only mildly Uncreative because I never could tell Them apart. Barks and leaves. Say it's all the same. Grammar Dances, with dogs In the foreground and stripes and all The boys in that band getting older still Banging our way on air guitars.
