Poem to Zion Ashkenazi

 

(For some reason I can’t get this to copy my  actual format of the poem correctly, however, here it is!)

Jean Genet Son of a Bitch
(A one man show at the Outhouse Dublin)

For Zion Ashkenazi

“…we hopefully elevate ourselves – without giving in to smugness – above the self-limiting level of voyeurs, including those clandestine collectors who saw no more in the film than the guard did in the cells.” (Jim’s Reviews on “Chant d’ Amour)

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Zion Ashkenazi

So easily, you could be
the unnamed prisoner
in Genet’s “Chant d’ Amour”.
Foreign and hirsute in just the sleeveless vest,
your clenched fist beating the wall.
And I the guard,
“cravenly peering into another’s cell.”
The spyhole in-between us.

I wait expectant
(Like Querelle’s grasping Norbert’s dice)
in this back-room,
switching off our phones,
until your nearly-naked form before us

Is in some rancid prison space.
You dance move and sing
put on
(with just imaginary shoes)
some white-unbuttoned pants
and make his idiom fit the several
jackets that you wear.

I know this Genet is
…poetic space,
in which you find
precarious equilibrium.
The hole I see you through
enlarges now,

our murdered flesh
not disembodied in a book
but held in this:

the play’s
too short embrace.

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