Paul Simon – one of my non-literary inspirations recently released ‘In the Blue Light’ a new recording to celebrate his 77th birthday. He’s taken some of his older songs & reimagined them as pop jazz. I would have liked him to go even further back to his Simon & Garfunkle work. It is a fine set of songs all the same. Listening to it made it clear to me that some of my influences weren’t the dead poets I was forced to study in high school or even the literary poets that ‘real’ poets cite as inspirations so that can sound educated.
Simon’s lyrics weren’t necessarily that complex. I Am A Rock spoke to my teenage sense of isolation. Little did I realize ‘I am an island’ was a John Donne reference, nor did I need to know in order to be drawn into the words. It had alliteration, evocative imagery – things that became a part of my own early writing style. It was so simple & direct that it made poetry accessible & seemly easy to write.
So I wrote endless poems in imitation of Sounds of Silence, Old Friends, For Emily. I actually still have some of those high school explorations somewhere. His longing for love was never dark – like, say, Jim Morrison; nor was his search as wordy or complex as Bob Dylan. His music itself was sunny. Even my sexually explicit poetry maintains, I hope, the sense of innocence than runs through his lyrics.
Later Simon became more personal to him yet never felt forced, overly bitter or oblique. He used humour to express some of the difficulties he was going through as he got older, as his fame became less rewarding or as his reputation stood in the way of his just being a guy who wrote and sang. It’s only looking back now as I think about my inspirations do I see how much I owe him.
Why I Want To Be A Clown
the clowns enjoy
making babies cry
the highlight of their day
is when they get a good scream
out of a baby
elated when they scare a child
say around 9 or 10 years old
into crapping his pants
oh they can’t get enough
of the shame on a kid’s face
as bowels let loose
because of their crazy
smeary greasy faces
they would plunge surge
surround an innocent kid
huge mouths agape
with broken teeth
speared with reds and greens
from the make up they ate
to get them geared up
to charge into the ring
stumbling bumbling drunk
pretending to vomit in a bucket
throw confetti at one child
then real puke on the next
to the hilarious roar of the audience
when they found the one
preferably a boy
because girls were no challenge
the older that boy the better in fact
one who acted uninterested
invite him into the centre ring
mock him with garish faces
bray till he ran out crying
made that little fucker
shit shit shit his pants
they slap each other on the back
as they exit the ring
sniggering
at the the lion tamer
who relied on whips
not on wigs
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