"Heretic, Rebel, a Thing to Flout" - APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH--E. E. Cummings and Me

i sing of olaf glad and big

i sing of Olaf glad and big

whose warmest heart recoiled at war:

a conscientious object-or

his wellbelovéd colonel(trig

westpointer most succinctly bred)

took erring Olaf soon in hand; 

but--though an host of overjoyed 

noncoms(first knocking on the head 

him)do through icy waters roll 

that helplessness which others stroke

with brushes recently employed 

anent this muddy toiletbowl, 

while kindred intellects evoke 

allegiance per blunt instruments--

Olaf(being to all intents

a corpse and wanting any rag 

upon what God unto him gave) 

responds,without getting annoyed 

"I will not kiss your fucking flag"

straightway the silver bird looked grave

(departing hurriedly to shave)

but--though all kinds of officers 

(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride) 

their passive prey did kick and curse

until for wear their clarion            

voices and boots were much the worse, 

and egged the firstclassprivates on

his rectum wickedly to tease 

by means of skilfully applied

bayonets roasted hot with heat--

Olaf(upon what were once knees)

does almost ceaselessly repeat

"there is some shit I will not eat"

our president,being of which

assertions duly notified  

threw the yellowsonofabitch

into a dungeon,where he died

Christ(of His mercy infinite)

i pray to see;and Olaf,too

preponderatingly because

unless statistics lie he was

more brave than me:more blond than you.

--e. e. cummings

The following was included in my book We Build Temples in the Heart.  It was added in response to my editor’s insistence that some of my work was too “graphic” for the Meditation Manual series.  In other words, I spoke too plainly of war and other issues.  It has become my self justification for sometimes being an in-your-face-jerk in my poetry.

INVITATION

Here, let me put my thumb in your eye

     that you may see.

Let me thrust my foot to trip you as you rush by

     that you may examine the soil.

Let me drive you until sweat soaks your shirt     

     that you may shuck lazy complacency.

Oh, we will have our moments

     laying in the fresh grass together

     watching the face of god

     scud by in fleecy clouds.

Together we will know illumination.

But there is more to life

     than transcendental moments,

     however wonderful.

Times when the spirit is best served

     by thrusting arms past elbows

     into the grease pit to seize the clog.

I’m sorry, I didn’t become a poet

     to decorate quality paper greeting cards

     with noble sentiments

     in graceful calligraphy.

You have me confused with someone else.

So come if you will,

     let me kick you in the shin.

I love you.

--Patrick Murfin

Perhaps in honor of National Poetry month, the nice folks at the Unitarian Universalsit Congregation of Rock Valley, have invited me to do my worship service built around poems from We Build Temples, some of the poems exluded from that collection, and new work.  I will be in the pulpit on Sunday April 27 for the 10:30 Worship service. The church is located at 329 School Street (at Illinois Rt. 75) in Rockton,.  Stop by if you are in the Greater Rockford area that day.

I first presented the service at my home congregation, The Congregational Unitarian Church in Woodstock in February.