Looking For a Moveable Feast
by c patrick durkin
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Rated "PG" by the Author.
Print Save Become a Fan
Recent poems by c patrick durkin
Looking at Constellations
Academic Honesty (Footnoted for the prevention of academic dishonesty)
You Are My Boy
>> View all 11
Looking for a Moveable Feast
I've always wanted
that group of minds
you can merge with
a 1920’s Paris
in a 21st century American school.
That anticipation of invention
and change seemed to flow
in ever cup of café au lait and
Those bastards were lucky
until middle age, shotguns,
and cirrhosis came their way.
I've always wanted that afternoon
at a West Bank café, notebook
on lap, belle dame sitting next
to me and inspiration seducing me
with the cross of her leg.
I must settle for 8 percent
Southern Tier sales tax and the meager
meal of course offerings folded over
in my grad student mailbox.
The only lost generation are those
hidden in library stacks
with shoeboxes of manuscripts
callusing their fingers,
while I worry my hands
with fulfilling my degree requirements.
I've always wanted a place
where your thoughts were
novel and not the subject of theories
and academic prejudice. But you talk
in your own voice and your are
told that you should buy a writer’s handbook
because your thoughts aren’t empty enough
to be dressed in gowns and mortar boards.
I've always wanted to tell a true story,
not slanting it to save my audience
the duty of actually having to think about
an idea for more than thirty seconds. Did the
thought of searching for meaning ever occur
to the spell it out to me students as a painful and rewarding process
that takes work? Meaning is taking a risk, expatriating yourself
from TV’s and pagers. In that isolation, like the medicine walk,
you will find yourself, after you are exhausted from the search.
I've always wanted
to meet. Scottie
at that place they are calling me--
a celestial café
that serves all writers
who thirst a true tonic
for their lonely lives.
The meals are discourses,
feasts that no one needs
to snack after.
I can enjoy
their company now, dog eared,
tattooed with pencil marks. It
isn’t the same as an evening at
Le Select but it certainly escapes
the straight jackets of
syllabi and research papers.