photo: ralph murre
At the
Poetry Party
(Day
of the Dead, 2001)
by
Charles Rossiter
allen
ginsberg was pumping his harmonium
and
trying to sing the blues
kenneth
patchen was issuing proclamations
and
flying paper planes around the room
with
wings made from cartoons
emily
was there in a new white dress
raymond
carver chain smoked
in
the corner with tess
who
had a dispensation same as me
to
party with the living dead
sylvia
wrapped her long dark hair
around
her little finger
muttering
about her dad and ted
anne
sexton talked to maxine on her horse farm
with
the phone held tight against her head
bob
kaufman didn’t say a thing
rexroth
and the frisco crew
bantered
about the beat invasion
james
laughlin sipped his wine
and
chatted with a group of women
jack
k. took notes in pencil
with
his bottle in a bag
and
the cats from the new york
and
played it cool, they only drank a little
more
than william carlos williams
and
walt whitman who knew
they
had a certain something to maintain
as
father figures for us all which brings us to
gertrude
stein who sat and sipped her wine
complacent
as a rose without a name
without
a name
without
a name
without
a name
without a name
~
previously published in Whetstone
