![[dr. bob]](/dr-bob-sm.gif)
Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 5 of 5. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by kid_A on February 19, 2002, at 23:00:29
THE BEAUTIFUL BOYS, THE DEAD BOYS
I. beautiful boysbeautiful boys, do they
cast shadows? eating angels
like rockets, how they
grew into little Shivas--
shatterers of worlds
and rose from that lake
that once pulled me under
and where i lay with the
eyeless fish who knew
everything about the
beautiful boys, as
they grew paws like
werewolves & resurrected
themselves in the deep deep
south, they pinned
themselves there to a
southern cross-- in
october they slumbered
perched high in the rose beds
waiting to be reborn, they
were Christmas babies who
walked with big boots
stamping out
planets with a wink
and a nod--
prime movers, they put the
tick into Atlas's mighty
clock, as gentle as rain
as simple as the knife
and easy as a whore
like the whore, that
you are, you goddamned
dumb sonofabitch...
i hate you, i do hate
you so.
II. dead boysdead boys, do they know
death? they disappear inside
when they pray for sleep
they dyin of
starvation, every word they
eat is as empty as air,
come inside--
i can take care
of you, thats what
you want? right?
you stink of want--
you need something
to fill that want
to fix that
restless desire
i've got just the thing
com'ere, my darling
let me slip it in
its so sharp you wont
even feel it, and
in this moment you
can profess your love
to me, as meaningless as
paper, & hungry for ideas
are you sad? com'ere sweetie,
honey, let me drain you
with a big wet heavy
metal kiss.
III. epilogue (the beautiful boys
and the dead boys try
to make amends)i don't like you! you're dead!
do you know that? i think
you got an unboundable
death drive--
you can't be trapped can you?
you're inescapable! big as
a Christian cross, and
arms stretched out akimbo
the same-- to both sides
look at you! what a marvel
you are, such a girth of
ticks and whistles!
a real live boy! HAHA!
million dollar windfall
and you're trapped
inside your skin, what
a drag! who will carry
that matsu no ki?
the antecedent of
a box that calls
you home, go home!
you're dead,
you dumb eyed
mental nightmare
you dead dead
dumbstruck
dumb eyed
boy,oh.
Posted by trouble on February 20, 2002, at 6:49:04
In reply to (poem anarchy) THE BEAUTIFUL BOYS, THE DEAD BOYS , posted by kid_A on February 19, 2002, at 23:00:29
Kid_A,
Talking to a poet about a particular poem is risky. Illicit. Forbidden fruit.
Discussion may not expand the poem's meaning, may in fact reduce it, so one has to be particular about giving it over.
I refuse to discuss my work w/ people, and not just b/c no ones asked me to. All the poets in this city are supposed to act ashamed of being poets, we never directly support each other, and the ones who do are looked on with pity, but all of us are secretly rooting, in a shuffling, shoe-gazing sort of way for anyone who manages to bust out.I never ask these people for a mutual exchange because they're jealous, suspicious, reclusive, well, POETS, and I'm not going to play that game.
Lately I've been having a lot more poetry problems, a burden I've resigned myself to carrying in pained and polite solitude. I did try talking to my psychologist about them and he gave me a stock Jr-executive-in-a-mid-career-slump-pep-talk which made me sigh and murmur, "I know you mean well," sigh. And he said "Ouch." But I know I meant well.
So I'm wondering, having read a number of decent works by you, if you've ever discussed poetry problems w/ someone on PSB, if that would seem verboten, or too far afield of what the board is supposed to be.
Just wondering.
trouble
Posted by kid_A on February 20, 2002, at 10:57:49
In reply to decent work, posted by trouble on February 20, 2002, at 6:49:04
trouble,
ive been kicking around the idea of finding other poets to get into some kind of workshop with, mostly though i've been wary of this probably for some of the same reasons you are...i have no real problems discussing other people's work or my own for that matter, the problem with some poetry is that it only seems to have meaning for the author, words are chosen not for metaphor or meaning but rather for tone...
I try my best not to slip into that trap but I have been guilty of it before... There is an overal structural meaning to my poetry, if sometimes the references are a bit oblique...
i've given some of my poetry to my psychologist, whom i haven't seen lately, yet he hasn't discussed it with me, god knows what he thinks about a poem i gave him which focused on the symbolism of rockets and flowers...
So really, to answer your question, i dont think it's out of bounds in the least to discuss works of poetry on this board... in as much as its valid to post poetry, especially since the majority of the work may deal with subjects familiar to the other readers.
Posted by IsoM on February 20, 2002, at 18:02:51
In reply to (poem anarchy) THE BEAUTIFUL BOYS, THE DEAD BOYS , posted by kid_A on February 19, 2002, at 23:00:29
Your poem was strangely beautiful, frightening, & provocative at the same time. I don't understand it all but the imagery is intense! I'm not sure what's symbolic or what's real from your viewpoint. In my darkest periods, I'll listen to punk or grunge music real loud - angry music to try to purge the anger from me. Ever here of Social Distortion? Their music is good for that.
Never, ever could write poetry myself. One son wrote this when he was 16 & very sick of the whole world.
"A child cries in the early morn, surrounded by bodies of the dead.
Grass soaked in blood tells a tale of earlier events -
Faces frozen in horror as they meet death in agony.
Generals march their armies forward with me at their heels.
Who sees me coming until my mark is left?
I am not love. I am not hate. I have no emotion until my work is done.
I am each sword. I am each man. I live off the hate people feel.
I am death. I am war.As wind blows on the open field,
I sit back and know all I have done.
Real? I am as real as you, yet made by the monsters deep in your soul.
Once you have met me you can't forget my face,
For looking back at me, you see yourself and hate me for it.
Books are written on me. Stories are told of me.
You can't wash your hands of the evil you have done,
For who sees me coming until my mark is left?
I am not love. I am not hate. I have no emotion until my work is done.
I am each sword. I am each man. I live off the hate people feel.
I am death. I am war.
Posted by kid_A on February 21, 2002, at 19:15:10
In reply to Re: Your Poem and Another » kid_A, posted by IsoM on February 20, 2002, at 18:02:51
> Your poem was strangely beautiful, frightening, & provocative at the same time.
thanks, i tried to write that poem as an analogy of not necisarily physical beauty but something that is obtained through growth, the idea of the death drive that is the impetus of our own change from the vision that our parents have of us to our own personality made manifest... the beautiful boys are the dead boys, and there is a friction and a struggle in growing up and becoming ourselves rather than the children that we were...
I never got into Social Distortion, but I'm big on punk, like the Pistols, or 999, or the Damned, etc etc... thats what I play when I dj sometimes...
16? at 16 i was the worst writer in the world! only slightly worse than now...
"Public image
You got what you wanted
The public image belongs to me
It's my entrance
My own creation
My grand finale
My goodbye"-public image ltd. - "public image"
This is the end of the thread.
Psycho-Babble Social | Extras | FAQ
Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.org
Script revised: February 4, 2008
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/cgi-bin/pb/mget.pl
Copyright 2006-17 Robert Hsiung.
Owned and operated by Dr. Bob LLC and not the University of Chicago.