Summer of 78
1/
white face
clown
only
to dance
to play
only
the clown
between
the lights
(do you like it
do you like it like that)
alone
except for the watching
except for
the sound
filling loud
empty
(keep on pumping
keep on pumping)
except for
the low
(let your body fly)
2
The white
is protection
no perfection
it’s his seduction
he begs for the eyes
he becomes the eyes
only to be alone
to share becoming
3
when the clown
moves alone
he is perfection
a deliberate sensual act
a performance of
only
4
the empty room
pulsates
radiates
life in
colours
sounds
motionless (push push in bush bush)
the vacuum
that hovers behind
the siren’s song
that hides behind
the clown’s dance
take that chance
(do you like it
do you like it like that)
resistance is high
but what is there
to be gained by resistance
drifting in the centre
a noisy calm
an incessant tranquility
the fatal flaw
as you would
the trust is a vacuum
the sooth of sound
the desperate joy of the clown
(love is in the air
all around)
I could sleep
the energy pulls me
both way
(I’m a victim
I’m a victim)
5
running life first
into the male storm
of touch
be touched
exploring
in tranquility
sexual power
of touch
be touched
Clearing out a drawer I came across a little black notebook of mine from 1978 – this is the year I moved to Toronto – in fact, it is from my first summer of disco. On the inside cover is my dry date July 6, 1978. There’s about ten pages, half blank & the rest with a poem.
I was fond of this size notebook because it forced my lines to be shorter & my images clipped. The pages were too small for prose, the lines too close together as my handwriting wasn’t that controlled or small. In one I have sort of skipped every other line just I could write easier.
Also on the inside cover is the address of my first apartment on Jarvis St. The building is still there! Third floor walk up. The inside back cover is full of phone #s of people I’d met in recovery. Some of whom I remember many of whom are now dead. None of whom are in my life today. Life goes on.
The poem itself is sweet. I have no recollection where I wrote it. Or if all the sections came at one time or were jotted down at different places. The message is me discovering the gay discos – the male storm. It also includes words from some of the songs I loved to dance to the most.
Musique’s In The Bush & Keep on Jumpin’ – which was one of the first disco lps I bought – upgraded eventually to cd with bonus tracks & man I still love the production work & the fact that it was solid from start to finish – no filler. Love Is In the Air a one-off hit by Martin Stevens – I searched this out after I found the note book & downloaded it on a collection of disco hits of the time & these were songs I haven’t heard in decades. I’m A Victim – I had no recollection of this song at all – the lyric scrap I quoted didn’t even have a musical resonance for me – so thanks to google I tracked it down: Candi Stanton sings it & after a few listens it all came back to me.
This isn’t a music post but a memory post, right. But music holds strong power over me, always has. These are a few of the song of my first sober summer – LeFreak was another. I danced alone, like the clown in my piece, got some attention but that was about it. When guys saw that you weren’t carting a beer bottle or poppers or looking for a toke they had little or no interest in you.
brush in the bush bush
The men would walk in circles around the club, some would perch in dim light, smoking & posing. Finding a spot to stand was important if you wanted to be even ignored. Everyone was holding out for the next better looking guy & many seems dot go home alone. I was holding out for the guy who was the least drunk & could hold a conversation. Even then personality was more important to me than looks. I usually went home alone, head echoing with Fly Robin Fly & deciding what to wear for my next dive into the male storm.
TOpoet 