John Stammers – Green Sees Things in waves by August Kleinzahler

Mike enjoyed a certain conspiratorial manner when he  showed me poems. ‘What do you think of this?’, he asked me in a hushed private tone. I was amazed and charmed by the poem’s conversational, vernacular diction and its sardonic wit. It also harked back to an era of excess and dissolution that Mike and I were more than familiar with; we were born in the same year, although Mike was older – a fact I never tired of reminding him. I think we both knew either of us could  have been Green. As it was, we were each lucky enough to go on to get know August – a kindred spirit and a wonderful poet. 

Green sees things in waves by August Kleinzahler

Green first thing each day sees waves—

the chair, armoire, overhead fixtures, you name it,

waves—which, you might say, things really are,

but Green just lies there awhile breathing

long slow breaths, in and out, through his mouth

like he was maybe seasick, until in an hour or so

the waves simmer down and then the trails and colors

off of things, that all quiets down as well and Green

starts to think of washing up, breakfast even

with everything still moving around, colors, trails,

and sounds, from the street and plumbing next door,

vibrating—of course you might say that’s what

sound really is, after all, vibrations—but Green,

he’s not thinking physics at this stage, nuh-uh,

our boy’s only trying to get himself out of bed,

get a grip, but sometimes, and this is the kicker,

another party, shall we say, is in the room

with Green, and Green knows this other party

and they do not get along, which understates it

quite a bit, quite a bit, and Green knows

that this other cat is an hallucination, right,

but these two have a routine that goes way back

and Green starts hollering, throwing stuff

until he’s all shook up, whole day gone to hell,

bummer . . .

                         Anyhow, the docs are having a look,

see if they can’t dream up a cocktail,

but seems our boy ate quite a pile of acid one time,

clinical, wow, enough juice for half a block—

go go go, little Greenie—blew the wiring out

from behind his headlights and now, no matter what,

can’t find the knob to turn off the show.