Friday, June 21, 2002

Hi Children of the Sun



Yesterday I had to go pick up my friend Ken from the auto body repair shop on Hollywood and Gower. I was sitting in the hot hot car on the hot hot street for 20 minutes with no A.C. at 5 pm. It was all OK, though, because I was listening to KXLU and they played Big Star's "September Gurls."



That song feels like walking through the sprinkler.



I thought it probably could get no better and then they played "Do Ya" by ELO.



I thought I was the only person who got that song anymore. Well, me and Moods for Moderns, a wonderful power-pop band from Detroit who covered it most awesomely (but unfortunately just broke up). It feels so good to know someone else loves "Do Ya" enuf to play it on the FM radio at rush hour, next to Big Star.



They also played a mysterious psychedelic song called "The Origins of Love." Does anyone know who does this song? It was fucking great.



So today is Poetry Friday.



I dedicate today's poem to the small mysteries. It is by Pablo Neruda.





Ode to Clothes

���������������������������



Every morning you wait,

clothes, over a chair,

to fill yourself with

my vanity, my love,

my hope, my body.

Barely

risen from sleep,

I relinquish the water,

enter your sleeves,

my legs look for

the hollows of your legs,

and so embraced

by your indefatigable faithfulness

I rise, to tread the grass,

enter poetry,

consider through the windows,

the things,

the men, the women,

the deeds and the fights

go on forming me,

go on making me face things

working my hands,

opening my eyes,

using my mouth,

and so,

clothes,

I too go forming you,

extending your elbows,

snapping your threads,

and so your life expands

in the image of my life.

In the wind

you billow and snap

as if you were my soul,

at bad times

you cling

to my bones,

vacant, for the night,

darkness, sleep

populate with their phantoms

your wings and mine.

I wonder

if one day

a bullet

from the enemy

will leave you stained with my blood

and then

you will die with me

or one day

not quite

so dramatic

but simple,

you will fall ill,

clothes,

with me,

grow old

with me, with my body

and joined

we will enter

the earth.

Because of this

each day

I greet you

with reverence and then

you embrace me and I forget you,

because we are one

and we will go on

facing the wind, in the night,

the streets or the fight,

a single body,

one day, one day, some day, still.

























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