Jim Carroll – “8 Fragments for Kurt Cobain”
1/
Genius is not a generous thing
In return it charges more interest than any amount of royalties can cover
And it resents fame
With bitter vengeance
Pills and powdres only placate it awhile
Then it puts you in a place where the planet’s poles reverse
Where the currents of electricity shift
Your Body becomes a magnet and pulls to it despair and rotten teeth,
Cheese whiz and guns
Whose triggers are shaped tenderly into a false lust
In timeless illusion
2/
The guitar claws kept tightening, I guess on your heart stem.
The loops of feedback and distortion, threaded right thru
Lucifer’s wisdom teeth, and never stopped their reverbrating
In your mind
And from the stage
All the faces out front seemed so hungry
With an unbearably wholesome misunderstanding
From where they sat, you seemed so far up there
High and live and diving
And instead you were swamp crawling
Down, deeper
Until you tasted the Earth’s own blood
And chatted with the Buzzing-eyed insects that heroin breeds
3/
You should have talked more with the monkey
He’s always willing to negotiate
I’m still paying him off…
The greater the money and fame
The slower the Pendulum of fortune swings
Your will could have sped it up…
But you left that in a plane
Because it wouldn’t pass customs and immigration
4/
Here’s synchronicity for you:
Your music’s tape was inside my walkman
When my best friend from summer camp
Called with the news about you
I listened them…
It was all there!
Your music kept cutting deeper and deeper valleys of sound
Less and less light
Until you hit solid rock
The drill bit broke
and the valley became
A thin crevice, impassible in time,
As time itself stopped.
And the walls became cages of brilliant notes
Pressing in…
Pressure
That’s how diamonds are made
And that’s WHERE it sometimes all collapses
Down in on you
5/
Then I translated your muttered lyrics
And the phrases were curious:
Like “incognito libido”
And “Chalk Skin Bending”
The words kept getting smaller and smaller
Until
Separated from their music
Each letter spilled out into a cartridge
Which fit only in the barrel of a gun
6/
And you shoved the barrel in as far as possible
Because that’s where the pain came from
That’s where the demons were digging
The world outside was blank
Its every cause was just a continuation
Of another unsolved effect
7/
But Kurt…
Didn’t the thought that you would never write another song
Another feverish line or riff
Make you think twice?
That’s what I don’t understand
Because it’s kept me alive, above any wounds
8/
If only you hadn’t swallowed yourself into a coma in Roma…
You could have gone to Florence
And looked into the eyes of Bellinni or Rafael’s Portraits
Perhaps inside them
You could have found a threshold back to beauty’s arms
Where it all began…
No matter that you felt betrayed by her
That is always the cost
As Frank said,
Of a young artist’s remorseless passion
Which starts out as a kiss
And follows like a curse.
Leonard Cohen – “Millenium”
From Flowers for Hitler…
This could be my little
book about love
if I wrote it–
but my good demon said:
‘Lay off documents!’
Everybody was watching me
burn my books–
I swung my liberty torch
happy as a gestapo brute;
the only thing I wanted to save
was a scar
a burn or two–
but my good demon said:
‘Lay off documents!
The fire’s not important!’
The pile was safely blazing
I went home to take a bath
I phoned my grandmother
She is suffering from arthritis
‘Keep well,’ I said, ‘don’t mind the pain’
‘You neither,’ she said
Hours later I wondered
did she mean
don’t mind my pain
or don’t mind her pain?
Whereupon my good demon said:
‘Is that all you can do?’
Well was it?
Was it all I could do?
There was the old lady
eating alone, thinking about
Prince Albert, Flanders Field,
Kishenev, her fingers too sore
for TV knobs;
but how could I get there ?
The books were gone
my address lists–
My good demon said again:
‘Lay off documents!
You know how to get there!’
And suddenly I did!
I remembered it from memory!
I found her
pouring over the royal family tree,
‘Grandma,’
I almost said,
‘you’ve got it upside down–‘
‘Take a look,’ she said,
‘it only goes to George V.’
‘That’s far enough
you sweet old blood!’
‘You’re right!’ she sang
and burned the
London Illustrated Souvenir
I did not understand
the day it was
till I looked outside
and saw a fire in every
window on the street
and crowds of humans
crazy to talk
and cats and dogs and birds
smiling at each other!
The Beat Patrol 