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Voices. Voices. Listen, my heart, as only
saints have listened; until the gigantic call lifted them
off the ground; yet they kept on, impossibly,
kneeling and didn’t notice at all:
so complete was their listening.
--Rilke
He’s diving off the front of the stage!
You better bring the house lights up some,
The audience can’t see him.
He’s still screaming,
Screaming and dancing
And he’s twirling the mic --
I dunno, should we turn off the mic?
I dunno, turn it up?
He’s running around, he’s twirling and
He’s still like reading.
The book is in his hands, sort of, the people
Seem to like it, they’re into it --
Maybe it’s part of the act.
If it’s part of the act he shoulda told us!
Now he’s in the back of the house -- he’s
Still going strong. This is pretty
Amazing. I’ve never seen anything
Like this! He’s running out
Of the theater -- I can still hear him screaming
In the lobby. He’s back in the house!
(What’s he saying? -- It’s something about
It sounds like “lake snore freedom”....
I dunno. “Breaking down reason”?)
Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit -- he’s got a gun!
Christ! wait -- awww, it’s just one of those pop guns.
Shoots like firecrackers or popcorn or --
What about the hat? Still wearing the hat.
Holy -- he’s dying now, I mean he’s acting like that,
Like he’s dying. This is it for poetry in this house man,
I’ve had it.
He’s just lying there.
The audience is wailing, they’re keening
You know, like at a wake. No, I do not think
He’s really dead. He’s getting back up, see, I told
You -- it’s all part of the act!
It’s all part of the end of the world.
What am I, the guy’s father?
Come here! Look at the monitor yourself
He’s ditched the mic somewhere,
Should I go get the mic?
Look! oh my God -- he’s, what’s it called,
He’s going up, he’s levitating!
Holy shit! The roof, the roof is going up
Music is coming in
The crowd’s up outta the chairs, man this is it
This is it I’m telling you --
Raising the fucking roof is what he’s doing!
Now he’s back on the stage with his poetry stuff
Yeah heh heh yeah,
He never left the stage
It’s what his poem was about
I’m just saying what he’s saying
Through the headset
Yeah, he’s good
He’s pretty good alright
But I could write something like that
Anybody could write something like that
© 1996, Bob Holman
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