Des eaux d’au-dessous d’Odessa
The waters lap down below this city of
stairs, the stars reflect in them.
The waters lap
The waters lap at Brighton Beach
and crash.
The waters crash
The waiters crash dishes and pans,
the waters crash
at Odessa.
Одесса, the waiters
The dancers and long tables.
What is that you hear at the
bottom of the stairs?
Waiters crash
Waters crash
Waters lap
at Odessa.
He found a parking space after one
whole hour of driving around with
many false starts and stops,
false prospects. He asked a cop.
He asked some pedestrians and some
residents of the apartment building.
He checked for signs.
There was every indication that it was safe,
that it was safe and legal,
that it was safe and legal to park.
All ist klar, Herr Kommissar.
Don’t turn around.
He is asked to remove his coat,
but it is not a coat.
He is asked by the bouncers
with Russian accents
to remove his coat,
but it is not a coat.
He is asked to remove his coat,
but it is a jacket, a blazer of leather,
and no, he thinks to himself, I am
not packing a gun.
The ladies, born in the days of Stalin,
the ladies, with heavy rouge and heavy jewelry,
dance around him, rubles and oodles of money
dripping off them.
The vodka flows,
the waters crash.
The waiters crash.
The bear dances, the great bear,
dances on the table.
“Dance like bear,” Stalin orders Khrushchev.
Khrushchev dances.
The waters lap down below this city,
The waters lap.
Cultures clash.
The waters crash.
He finds a $100 parking ticket on his car.
What is that in rubles?
He reflects on the Persian hypnotizing the
Golden Lotus on the dance floor,
the Russian ladies on the dance floor,
the vodka,
the endless salmon and caviar.
The vodka.
The drive home is forgotten.
The mob crashes.
The waters lap.
JOHN J. TRAUSE__
On the (L)Edge
I liked looking at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a
street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I’d stop and
look so hard I never forgot it.
Sylvia Plath [Victoria Lucas], The Bell Jar (1963,
1967, 1971)
Behold the Eighth Wonder of the World and
the Most Beautiful Suicide, Fallen Body,
iconized in death and in Life and Life and
screen print, whirling around her May Day
maypole atop the Empire State Building or
nestled on her funeral bier, a crushed limousine,
with gloves and pearls intact, in fact, arrayed
in chic fashion, fashionable and modern,
legs crossed at ankles, made up and perfect,
serene in her slumber, a little Eve tempted to the
edge and ledge, a hedge against survival, a rival
icon for the icon of iconic architecture
Ben-Day
Day-Glo
Pre-Pop
Pop
a hop, a skip, and a jump, a drop,
the most beautiful slump of slumber.
And west in the Westbeth
at rest in the tub,
other photographs shot,
never arranged on a contact sheet
CLICK CLICK CLICK
JOHN J. TRAUSE__
___________________
The Mystery Deepens
Elena Ferrante is Deep Throat,
or is that Oriana Fallaci?
JOHN J. TRAUSE__
__________________
Dactylic Dilemma
Who wipes the
ass of the
Venus de
Milo, huh?
JOHN J. TRAUSE__
© Bob McNeil: Kicking the Sickness
© Bob McNeil: Kicking the Sickness
Funk Lessons for Life
Teaching funk music and
dancing to white people,
pumping her neck while
moving her body,
Adrian Piper,
artist, philosopher,
exile and teacher,
now bops down the streets
of Berlin in her exile.
“What is she like?”,
asks a museum visitor.
“She’s just like that”,
claims the museum docent,
pointing up towards a
video monitor:
Adrian Piper,
dancing and grooving,
now bops down the streets
of Berlin in her exile.
JOHN J. TRAUSE__
____________________
Bachata y M�s
abrazo
alegre
aliento
alma
amor
ardiente
beso
conmigo
contento
contigo
corazón
feliz
fuego
juntos
jurando
jurar
labios
lágrimas
llama
llanto
llorando
obsesión
ojos
pasión
por favor
quemar
sabor
solamente
sola
solo
sonrisa
sueño
tacto
tristeza
una vez más
voz
JOHN J. TRAUSE__
