By Jim Daniels
Show and Tell is a assorted, complicated selection of poems, critical and clever, wry and sometimes profound. Jim Daniels' paintings has develop into either extra experimentally dramatic and extra poetically definite of itself.
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Extra resources for Show and Tell: New and Selected Poems
I will be able to come up with the money for this undesirable meal and our lodge room in Niagara Falls. a few humans imagine I’m affordable, the way in which I can’t chill out approximately cash, counting it, ensuring. I envy the simple grace of bank card and preserve the switch. My mom and dad by no means stayed in motels or went out to consume. We stayed at domestic. At domestic, we ate. All evening I pop antacids. I should’ve identified larger than to consume in a cafe referred to as Mama Anything’s. 25 years in the past, the following, on a wet tenting journey my father splurged on Ripley’s think It Or no longer Museum the place I stared on the shrunken head. i purchased a postcard: The Hair maintains to develop. I nonetheless have it: lengthy beaded threads cling from the nostril like a rosary. 25 years in the past, in a Detroit church that’s now a health club, I took St. Francis as my affirmation saint even though Francis was once a sissy identify. He talked to animals, frolicked within the woods— Brother sunlight, Sister Moon. I took that identify and my mom and dad gave me my first watch. Its band pinched my wrist— I wasn’t prepared for that sort of time, that sort of skeptical awareness. A chart in class saved music of our memorized prayers. i've got forgotten all of them, even though i do know the beginnings, little snatches. With a prompter i may most likely make it via. The Act of religion, Act of desire, Act of affection. The request for forgiveness, the single one I bear in mind” “… and lead us now not into temptation …” The Act of Constriction. 25 years in the past, a fats blustering priest was once suffocating me. misplaced in his thick black gowns I slit my method open to the sunshine. the opposite priest smoked pot, listened to rock, married my classmate, disappeared. confirmed up years later, making a song within the choir. I haven’t been to church in years. I pray on the Shrine of the Shrunken Head. I recite a cautionary story, a prayer for an excellent lifestyles, a prayer for my shrinking head, my shrinking middle, a prayer opposed to my very own disappearance. Halo, halo, who’s acquired the halo? We pay to trip an elevator up a tower overlooking the Falls. Foggy, not anything to work out. We take our time staring into the rainy grey air, getting our money’s worthy. while we’re able to descend, the elevator won’t come— the road winds round the tiny deck like a curled whip. After I wrote approximately giving up on God my heritage instructor had me learn Dostoevsky’s The Grand Inquisitor and Russell’s Why i'm really not a Christian. I known as myself an agnostic and blessed myself with candy smoke, chilly beer. i assumed in cynicism. I built a firstclass sneer. I turned a first class relic of a great Catholic boy, cassock and surplice too brief, wrinkled, dusty at the closet ground. Francis the speaking Mule was once the one Francis I ever quite knew, in these outdated video clips with Donald O’Connor, the forerunner to Mr. Ed, the conversing Horse. i may sing you Mr. Ed’s tune without prompting: A horse is a horse in fact after all … What it does for my spirit i will not inform you. I as soon as despatched to Hollywood for an autographed photograph of Arnold Ziffel, the pig from eco-friendly Acres. extra of a piglet. Arnold simply grunted yet his proprietor, Fred, understood Pig— i love that sort of religion.