Author: Nada Gordon

skirt artist entertainer ESL teacher poet
Nada GordonLeave a comment

Porpo-Thang

The porpoises fling up their
orange underthings; swaying
in the wind, their heavy rotation
is brief and horrifying,

full of bright scrawls, of thin
and lacy garters.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown
in the porridge of upload,
but now, for a while,
the bustier

shines like an undertaker
as it floats above everything
with its yellow cognitive science.
Of course nothing stops the flimsy,

black, curved porousness
from bending forward—
of course
restlessness is the great undertone.

But I also say this: that thongs
are an invitation
to undervaluation,
and that undervaluation,

when it’s done right,
is a kind of porousness,
palpitating and porphyritic.
Inside the tight fields,

touched by their rough and spongy noises,
I am washed and washed
in the porridge
of satin delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
flung, orange negligee?

Nada GordonLeave a comment

Lick My Face

“Mouthwash is what remains when the puppy is housebroken.”
               —Chinese proverb

I know that puppies are very inquisitive,
that cologne is mistaken for mouthwash, not smashmouth,
and the cracked hearts of “inquisitive” robotic puppies, like
balsamic vinegar, can get you drunk with impish eyes
and olive flavored-jubilat flatulence. Puppies
have very stinky farts, and never say excuse me…
so rude.

                              Listen—I’ve seen the lost Bibles, the curling irons that hiss,
the nylons that run. I’ve seen power failures, touchy tempers, and grumpy attitudes.
I’ve seen the puppies grow up to be dogs, the women that breastfeed puppies, and
the uneducated yahoos breeding puppies out of the violet night,
I’ve even seen wind stir the chicken products, fish, French fries
and hush puppies all fried in the same oil, and not halal,
growing like art from the lacing winking raspberry and spidertea,
and that’s not all I’ve seen.

What is terrible, even, rises, rolling in rhesus mouthwash,
rhesus shoeshine, and rhesus oil enemas, a wolvenillusion.
The ruined pot dreams of ignition, stress, thunder phobia,
vet visits, and teething puppies;
each molecule coddles its virtual puppy.

Not only
is life a bitch,
but she’s always having puppies…

Many lonely puppies chase their tails. And all kittens
and puppies in all the blenders turn the creepy blue green
color of mouthwash. Puppies. Funny, cute, pretty puppies.
The funny, cute pretty puppies are silly.

“Oh Birdie, “Mouthwash Man once said, “you’re such a consumer.”
Whoever said you can’t
buy happiness forgot
about puppies.

The words of the sprit wash over us to be a tranquil picture of things that repeat,
of a puppy named Kuku, of sdrawkcab things
like witch hazel, and holiday ear powder.
Some puppies grow out of this druidic roll of the eyelid as they mature
into a kind of olive-flavored funtongue scatterplot mouthwash (gargoyle).

I know we are bound to the earth
with a liter of rambunctious puppies,
flatulent, oblivious to their own fate
growling at desire’s green thread
or the milk snake’s slippery pants.

Mouthwash spits now from its leaf-wing.
My dog dines on the dead.
Maybe dogs want to be like us: curly… racing…
Out of the good doggie’s wreck,
inwardness forms on the inside of the cap

and that mouthwash cannibal tenderly enters
the soul of some mortal cur.

Nada Gordon1 Comment

I’m stunned by this comment of Curtis Faville’s in a comment he made on Ron’s blog (re: Alli Warren’s book):

“Lady poets need our encouragement”

Do people still really say things like this? I mean, “lady poets”????

And to what extent, I muse, is it true?

Certainly, I would write without male encouragement. But how would my efforts at externalizing my writing differ? I wonder? I mean, I’m here in Brooklyn typing this as a result of male encouragement. But is it really a necessity? Do women (straight women, anyhow) really have a bottomless need for reassurance, as I recently read in a column about “how to relate to women” in some men’s magazine (was it called Razor? Yes, I think so) at my doctor’s office.

Does women’s need for reassurance differ from men’s? Is it because women are less likely to get it? Are they less likely to get it?

Why would anyone need reassurance from someone like Faville who presents himself as so hopelessly judgmental and pompous?

Other women, haven’t you come across a thousand times in your writing life unsolicited patronizing “advice” from already soi-disant pre-validated men? Is that really something you welcome and that keeps you creative?

I welcome the responses of both male and female peers equally, I am sure, and abhor the condescension of “encouragement.”

Nada GordonLeave a comment

Gary says I shouldn’t get all excited about newfound powers of precognition but… this is, you must admit, uncanny…

the morning before last, just before awaking, I had a vivid dream about Hillary Rodham Clinton. She is not a usual subject of my dreams, although Bill has appeared in them a couple of times, I think. I don’t remember what the dream was about exactly — perhaps I was making a documentary about her? Or perhaps I was following her around to express my admiration for her (I mean my admiration for her in the dream — in real life my admiration for her is considerably “problematized”)? At any rate, it was quite clear that this dream was focused on her.

And in my mailbox that very day, campaign mail from Hillary Rodham Clinton, United States Senator. Wha????

I just don’t understand, why Hillary Clinton?

Can anyone give me a reasonable explanation for this?

Nada GordonLeave a comment

Oratorio

held (held!)
held me night
held (held!) held me
night

held dining might

twi-goose light

is the might
held my goose light

muffles light twi—————– twilight

grease and twitchless
held light

dining
hiding
dining
hiding

tiny verse caplet

fine dining light, dine and night

dining and twining and gooooooose
label brining

goose label brining

dining is feathered troy

held dine mint light
held dine mint light

belled by midnight
tied by belling
in their flatter might

heaven by midnight
dining my men
capped by midnight
in my wincing
dream – that’s a tur——–tle fly

*

eentsy common hind

lipping meanie

*

grizzly tiny lip

in my tiny plot

hubfest in my dining

my dining calm
my dining blob and ding tiny blob

russet eavesdropping
eavesdrop the shiny
she’s a goddess, a seal
a tiny blob, a tiny blob

and has a blobby eye

she’s a mormon, a mormon

and has a blobby eye.

*

dinah, my breast has a spent bobbin
fear sick and vice in liven bobbing

dish one was finer, fear dish one
finer fine roleplay fur, don’t take
my fear here there

*

(for the feast of the circumcision)

see hear and fear the tribe and vibe
as it comes in the helicopter

it’s a cold knee vibe
it’a a cold knee vibe

dranken golden

it has gold fleece

in lolly chan all meter hands
excel in pink

then we can see it in solemn
in solemn and pink

wrinkle——————– wrinkle

wrinkle ————– its mead distill

*

(for the feast of the epiphany)

guide his blang
guide his lotus

guide his blang, his blang

guide his lotus
guide his balm, guide his secret
guide his broom, guide his guide
guide his secrets, guide his lotus
guide his feeling, his lotus broom.

guide his mold –
chickens in jesus

guide his countess
guide his duchess
a———————————————–

promise his goldfish
hold his spirit, hide
his calm, hide you,
promise his go—————–ldfish –
prime his matter, hide his
goldfish and shout:

guide his lom, guide his rhesus
guide his broom gui————–de his
lotus, his room, his trillium, his order,
his fenugreek.

Nada GordonLeave a comment

I wrote here not long ago about my brilliant and delightful student, Natsue Okabe, and her brilliant and delightful blog. Her latest entry is about our class field trip down Coney Island Avenue.

Today, she gave her final presentation in my class. The students had been assigned to give a report on a neighborhood that we hadn’t had a chance to visit as a class. Natsue’s topic was Williamsburg. She was full of historical and cultural information about that area, and she peppered the presentation with profiles of Williamsburg people (including a Hasidic man who refused to be photographed). Imagine my surprise when she introduced a powerpoint slide with a picture of Lisa Jarnot! “Hey, that’s Lisa!” I exclaimed. Natsue had interviewed Lisa, who was selling stuff on the street, about her feelings about living in Williamsburg (she didn’t care about the changes in the neighborhood, but she complained about the rent). Isn’t that odd? What are the chances, with all the millions of people living in this metropolis, of such a coincidence occurring, do you think?