July 5, 2003 The Bricklayer’s Lunch Break

I started on July 5th, 2003, with Section I Empty Mirror: Gates of Wrath (1947 – 1952).  The poem, The Bricklayer’s Lunch Hour.  I scribbled notes in the book…”I love this.  Captures a sense for the suspended moment – I relate on many levels as I remember river-watching or looking at a tree.  Simplicity – the human spirit – interaction with environment, spontaneity.”

From Talking Poetics from Narupa Institute: Annals of the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics ...By Anne Waldman, this…

Allen Ginsberg interview...from Naropa’s Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics

Allen Ginsberg interview…from Naropa’s Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics

The Bricklayer’s Lunch Hour

The Bricklayer’s Lunch Hour by Allen Ginsberg

Two bricklayers are setting the walls
of a cellar in a new dug out patch
of dirt behind an old house of wood
with brown gables grown over with ivy
on a shady street in Denver. It is noon
and one of them wanders off. The young
subordinate bricklayer sits idly for
a few minutes after eating a sandwich
and throwing away the paper bag. He
has on dungarees and is bare above
the waist; he has yellow hair and wears
a smudged but still bright red cap
on his head. He sits idly on top
of the wall on a ladder that is leaned
up between his spread thighs, his head
bent down, gazing uninterestedly at
the paper bag on the grass. He draws
his hand across his breast, and then
slowly rubs his knuckles across the
side of his chin, and rocks to and fro
on the wall. A small cat walks to him
along the top of the wall. He picks
it up, takes off his cap, and puts it
over the kitten’s body for a moment.
Meanwhile it is darkening as if to rain
and the wind on top of the trees in the
street comes through almost harshly.

Denver, Summer 1947

My poetic response…untitled…

Water thunders up under me
Crashing against my tires
Displaced fears
Haunt me and I,
Like the new pup,
Don’t know what rain is.

Pushed against a wall of
Water, without resistance.
I breath in deeply and
Carry on, without so much
As a word.

© Kathleen Moors July 5, 2003

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