My pony-tailed poetry teacher, Bill Kulik, lent me a book for my hospital stay.
How to Read a Poem by Edward Hirsch features many good poems, including one by Robert Desnos, translated from French by none other than our own Professor Billy!
In the Waiting Room, early in the morning of Friday, April 1, I began reading My Cat Jeoffry. I know how my son Dan loves cats.
In fact, it was thru Dan, I learned to love cats.
Xena and Blank lived in my house for five years.
Xena is with the angels, and that devil Blank is minding his own business at the Deming household.
Once, when I was in bed, Blank snuck upstairs. He figured out how to glide thru the trifold door in the lower level of my house so he could see his pal, Ruthie.
Up on the bed he leapt and began butting my chin. My tooth got the brunt of it.
Is that a sign of love? Or mayhap anger?
One week later I was in the dentist's chair diagnosed w/ an abscessed tooth that required a root canal.
I still love him, though.
I read My Cat Jeoffry by Christopher Smart (1722-1771) aloud to Dan and Scott.
Smart was periodically confined to a lunatic asylum. If you have manic depression, which I used to have, you have periods of normalcy, followed by periods of craziness.
Here are the first lines. You can read the whole thing here.
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his fore-paws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the fore-paws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For Sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For Seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
Just came back from Scott's house where I got on the stationery bike for the first time since the kidney transplant.
I pedaled for 10 minutes while Black Sabbath played on the - yes - stereo.
It's esp. important I exercise now that I have diabetes.
Drove to Monday Kidney Clinic all by myself today. Didn't have to depend on Ada and Fontaine to take me. I sent them an email thanking them for their driving me since early April.
Parked in the Korman Garage, fifth floor. It seems like forever when you wind your way upward. Scott explained to me that each tier has an A and a B.
No wonder it seemed so long.
Then I wrote down where I parked.
No way was I gonna wander around the dusky parking garage inhaling fumes, still in sciaticagony.
Can't wait to return to my Poetry Class at Cheltenham Adult Evening School. It's light outside so I should be able to find it.
Will present my poem The Loneliness of the Essex House.
Scuse me. Gotta print up copies for Nadia, Jan, Myra, Edith, Allison, Boris, Bill.
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE
The master of the house
looks out the screen door,
I stand and look at him
look out the screen.
A woman with loose swinging hair walks by.
We have sidewalks here on Cowbell
and mailboxes so close to the front door
you can reach right over and lift out your mail
without leaving home.
The woman looks up at the perfect moment
and meets the eyes of the master of the house
and then of mine. The three of us lock eyes
for just one moment
as she passes by our house.
The master of the house,
swivels his head
as she passes by.
Intense, alert, curious,
he has made of her passage a celebration,
an occasion of great moment
drawing all things to a stopping point
to gaze upon this unknown woman
with swinging hair
his ears swivel too
tiny ears flecked with hairs
that let the light shine through
Is he picking up walking noises
or the sound of her breath? as,
in every way, he tries to be with her
behind the screen
in the separation,
the membrane,
that parts all things,
from being one
he, too, does that,
as most of mankind does,
longing to be one
with someone
Were I to vanish
would he go to her?
would he want her
as he does me?
I remember when he came
from Brooklyn in a cage
hot and dusty from the ride,
slinking from his cage
to take a look around,
frightened
body twitching,
nervous,
yet master of his new domain.
Where was he?
Where had Dan taken him?
To live with Dan’s mother.
I came downstairs to meet him,
to learn to love him,
never had a proper introduction
to cats nor cared to
‘till now
my duty
as mistress of the house
I took my body and laid it
on the couch
lay there absorbing his
smell and fur and the delicacy
of his step
his silence
his stares
his wonderment
Let myself
soak up whatever it was
that made him different from me.
I needed to co-exist with cats. And did.
He has a thing for me
Wraps himself around me
whenever I sit or type
or try to sleep.
I let him sleep with me when I nap. I make a place for
him on my chest so he won’t crush me
so he can have me
as he wishes.
Never have I had the love of man the way I have
the love of cat. He reaches out his paw
strokes my
neck, my cheek, my closed eye.
He is good to me.
I carry him out to see my garden.
He squirms in my arms
trying to get free.
Jerking when he hears the birds chirp
I hold him tight so he won’t run away.
People love cats and sleep with cats.
Dan sleeps with cats. And women too.
But me, I only nap with the cat.
Don’t think me insensitive or cruel, I beg of you.
But I do it for the cat’s pleasure, not mine.
I enjoy the pleasure of watching him happy.
I am a woman who never met a man
I wanted to sleep with the whole night long.
Nor cat either.
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