by John Pursch
Snow collects, Mass transpires, cathedral-goers flit about; children slink upstairs, damn the sleigh bells, and drain the treacle from Mother's sullied slap shots. Baiting all but a pure, ivory idol, midnight friezes coalesce, decorate the banister, hang suspenders on a Christmas boil, and serrate a kneeling pulpit. Wedged in soot at every stop, Santa traduces many a rocking housewife to stunt marsh, all beneath the trapdoor's trembling tinsel. Spilt bottles beautify his bald spot, sound the martial gong, sop up knees, and introduce a loaf of dread to making ruckus. Baking in her rooftop tether, Vixen comports herself wildly, coming out of stirring pods; creamed thus, owned by nomads, Rudolph's quivering bulb makes for gyro cheese, licks her tongue, and lives to plunge an otter into resting jewels. Booties on, mantle affixed, our newly sane Santa smarts off, abuts a chimney, and calcifies his florid shaving gears, hobbling half a moon. Frondose and harboring newts, indentured turtle doves shuck clean cornerstones, cooing in the dawn.
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I must say that this piece made me concentrate on Christmas morning as did the other pieces by John Pursch that I then found in the Saloon archives as well as some of his other poems that I next encountered in his Twitter account.
ReplyDeleteI can't think of any other writer in recent years who has sent me to Google in search of additional work. Perhaps that's my problem. Or maybe it's because I'm still partial to James Wright and Seamus Heaney and Dylan Thomas. The latter, however, is about as far out as I get until I read John Pursch today, who reminds me of no one save an occasional cadence that reminds me of Thomas.
In any event, dizzy as I am after reading much of his work, I have decided, rightly or wrongly, that John Pursch is a unique voice. I will certainly read carefully anything else by him that I encounter in the future.
For those who may find him difficult to fathom on first reading, here's an example from his Twitter account that will show that he can also write in straight lines as well as in crooked lines:
http://www.carcinogenicpoetry.com/2011/08/john-pursch-one-poem.html
I sure hope we read more of his work at the Saloon in the future. It will take a little more work for me to decide, rightly or wrongly, that he is as good as he is original and intriguing.
Quite a piece to read on Christmas morning.