Michael Mark

May 16, 2020

“(T)(o)(o) (C) (l) (o) (s) (e)” by Michael MarkPosted by

Michael Mark

(T)(O)(O) (C) (L) (O) (S) (E)

(The) (knives) (in) (the) (drawer)
(are) (not) (only) (teeth) (up) (,)
(I) (notice) (they’re) (too) (close) (.)
(So) (I) (get) (my) (latex) (gloves) (,)
(mask) (,) (barbeque) (tongs) (and)
(begin) (the) (operation) (.) (As) (often)
(the) (case) (with) (surgery) (,) (once)
(you) (go) (in) (you) (see) (things)
(you) (hadn’t) (before) (.) (The) (spoons)
(are) (practically) (having) (sex) (.)
(Not) (my) (business) (normally) (—) (tea-s)
(inside) (table-s) (,) (and) (a) (ceramic)
(souvenir) (from) (Stockholm,) (peeping) (.)
(I) (proceed) (with) (the) (prophylactic)
(procedure) (.) (It’s) (a) (time) (to) (be)
(thorough) (.) (Though) (I) (know)
(what) (I) (can) (do) (in) (the) (house) (,)
(I) (can’t) (on) (the) (road) (—) (cars) (in)
(their) (lanes) (,) (but) (now) (too) (close) (,)
(same) (with) (park) (trees) (,) (and) (properties)
(whose) (square) (footage) (share) (slatted)
(fences,) (and) (the) (neighbor) (has) (“it”)
(according) (to) (local) (buzz) (.) (They) (can’t)
(just) (be) (slid) (over) (.) (She’s) (not) (a)
(neighbor) (,) (Lois) (hollers) (from) (the)
(other) (room) (,) (watching) (the) (news) (,)
(too) (close) (to) (the) (TV) (–) (residue)
(from) (times) (of) (smaller) (screens) (.)
(Closeness) (mutates) (,) (spreads) (and)
(shrinks) (everywhere) (.) (Not) (always)
(easy) (to) (see) (.) (She’s) (three) (streets)
(away) (,) (she) (says) (about) (the) (neighbor)
(while) (I) (apply) (the) (ruler) (test) (to) (the)
(books) (and) (wait) (for) (her) (to) (get) (up)
(from) (her) (chair) (.)

—from Poets Respond
May 16, 2020

__________

Michael Mark: “There’s lots of conflicting opinions about what one needs to do to protect themselves during the pandemic. This is what we do in our home. Okay, what I do. Follow at your own risk. But, please, not too closely.” (web)

Rattle Logo

May 5, 2019

“Jews in the Wrong Place in San Diego” by Michael MarkPosted by

Michael Mark

JEWS IN THE WRONG PLACE IN SAN DIEGO

So I get up from the metal benches
walk the concrete path around the ball field to watch
updates on my phone and a small man coming—
he has a big potato nose and those thick glasses
and I do what walkers do—step a half step over
make room and smile. He touches his heart
with his palm, holds it over his pale polo shirt
above his wide belly—

my legs keep their pace so he doesn’t see
the tears he made me make. He makes the bullets
the people real makes me a mourner a witness maybe
a human an us a them.

The temple is only 15 miles away
on this beautiful Saturday, Shabbos.
Beautiful girls and boys playing tee-ball.
He touches his heart makes the bullets
real the faces screams.

I know he is a Jew. His size his shape
the thin gold chain around his neck thick
Jew’s neck. If that’s wrong of me then
I’m wrong.

I can’t see it’s not a cross or a star
or dead wife’s ring hanging from a chain
like my father wears. He is a Jew who knows
I am a Jew.

The next time we meet up on the path
I don’t know if I should—I want to—touch
my heart back. I know I need him to. He does it again.
Slow pats, like slow heart beats.

What if it has nothing to do with the shooting
the murdered woman the three injured so far reported
the automatic weapon our history. It’s just
his way of saying showing me this is my heart
it’s right here under my chest. Maybe he does that
to every person he sees? That’s how he says good morning
every morning hello at the grocery store, at the dentist.

He walks so slow. Maybe he is sick maybe
his feet hurt maybe he is tired maybe
it’s the mourners walk maybe
he is walking with the dead he’s dead
maybe. He is a Jew.

I don’t want him to leave the park.
I turn as he passes, his loose pants, slump, still going.
The third time we meet I see his hands
don’t have a ring I want to see him pat his heart
but he doesn’t. He gives a thumbs up
his fist wrapped around his tissue.

And I know what he means, I’m sure,
We’re still here.

We are at the ball field
at the middle school. The wrong place
on Shabbos. We’re such Jews.
We’re still here.

—from Poets Respond
May 5, 2019

__________

Michael Mark: “On Saturday, April 27th, the holy day of rest for the Jewish people, a day of prayer, no work, no playing sports, a man entered a San Diego temple and fired his automatic weapon into the worshippers, killing and wounding because they were Jews.” (web)

Rattle Logo

August 24, 2018

“Golf with Bob” by Michael MarkPosted by

Michael Mark

GOLF WITH BOB

A romantic might see lovers’
footprints—two sets, stride by stride,
crisscrossing slopes from tree-sheltered
tee boxes in morning’s wet grass

before they suddenly part.
But that was just us, heading off
to find our drives, hit our irons—Nice one!
or Uh-oh! Then

the distinct steps blur, blotch, hurry
back to the other’s side, move greenward,
near enough so a detective or suspicious wife
could imagine hands were held.

We weren’t even good friends.
Our games were just well matched.
His power, my strategy. Monday
and Wednesday partners.

Now I play with whoever’s up for a game.
On the 14th hole I still look around, lose
focus, my drives wandering
into the tall magnolias

like Bob’s used to. We’d stop
and hunt through the small forest, musty
and thick with fallen leaves,
for as long as it took.

—from Rattle #60, Summer 2018
Tribute to Athlete Poets

__________

Michael Mark: “I found a busted-up partial set of clubs in the dump behind where I grew up. I ended up playing on the high school golf team (borough champs), and for a semester in college—I wasn’t good enough to stay on the team. Later, I became the Match Play Champion at LaCosta Country Club. What I’m proud of, maybe as proud of as any accomplishment, is that I was behind in all nine matches in the Match Play contest—over twelve weeks, against serious players, some former professional athletes—and I beat them all. As for the connection to poetry: maybe the stillness of the body with the rhythm in the swing? Maybe: it’s okay to not be a natural at something but if you love it, do it. I’d bet it’s: ‘Find it in the dirt’—Ben Hogan.” (web)

Rattle Logo

December 21, 2016

“The First Thanksgiving, Exactly” by Michael MarkPosted by

Michael Mark

THE FIRST THANKSGIVING, EXACTLY

You take our implications of white. 

You take our insinuations of red.

Agreed. We’d like the land.

We’ll take gold. 

Good.

And we’ll take things.

We’ll take spirit.

Sure. 
You can have lung cancer 
and we’ll have alcoholism.

Seems fair. 

If you’ll accept imprisonment behind bars,
we’ll accept incarceration of the soul. 
   
Yes. We’d like animals.

We’ll take machines. 

As long as we can have fire.

Then we want electricity. Deal?

Deal. Mystery will be ours—certainty,
yours.

Of course. We’ll take desire.

We’d like satisfaction.

All yours. We’ll take tomorrow.
You take past.

Does that include now? 
We’re believers in the eternal now.

And now you have it.

Our hearts are set on Universal
Community.

Great, ’cause we had our eye on Supreme Self.

Weathered.

Shiny.

Circle.

Straight. 

Perfect.

Amen.
And we’d really like to have the land.

But we already agreed, we have the land.

Yes, but we really want the land.

What will you give us for it?

Will you take forgiveness?

You mean, we have the ability to forgive?

Yes.

Any trespass? Any transgression?

All and every.

Accepted with gratitude.

No, thank you.

So, are you all hungry?

We could always eat.

—from Rattle #53, Fall 2016

__________

Michael Mark: “I write to see better. I put on my Superman X-ray vision glasses I got in 1963 from my Cracker Jacks, flip on the computer and check out the goings-on.” (web)

Rattle Logo

November 25, 2015

“Roly-Poly Bodhisattva” by Michael MarkPosted by

Michael Mark

ROLY-POLY BODHISATTVA

I have gained 62 pounds since being
with my enlightened Master.
I eat nothing but high caloric food.
Of course, no meat, no chicken or fish,
nothing that has a mother.

I know my Guru loves me but he hates fat people.
He is disgusted by his ignorance and he suffers
terribly.
I love my Guru so we have traveled
to France to look at the Renoirs.
He says he sees the beauty but ultimately
these women are too large.

We have moved to Corpus Christi, Texas,
where more overweight people live
than anywhere in the United States.

Each morning I offer the Buddha oranges and
my Guru ice cream cake and soft cheeses.
We adopted a lame dog who cannot walk.
So he is quite fat.
My Guru bows to the dog and
carries him everywhere.

People always smile and pet the dog.
“No one says he is fat,” I tell my Guru.
“True,” he says, “but they don’t carry him.”

I am my Master’s roly-poly Bodhisattva
and he is teaching me about restraint,
how not to take joy in his struggle.
But it is so hard
not to laugh when I look in the mirror.

—from Rattle #49, Fall 2015

__________

Michael Mark: “I have so many voices blathering inside me and then there’s the swarm outside, so I write to see what to believe. I’m not saying what I write is the truth; I’ve learned that’s a fool’s errand. It’s merely my attempt at cracking whatever’s in front of me, putting the flashlight between my teeth and looking around. This poem is about compassion. I’m trying to figure out the Buddhist tradition of Tonglen, in which practitioners dedicate themselves to others’ happiness, even trying to absorb their suffering—pretty challenging for humans.” (web)

Rattle Logo