R.M. Engelhardt's Blog: Burn Brightly, page 5

The True Beauty Of All Things

The true beauty of all things are in their true appearance and true nature.

~ R.M. Engelhardt

 

Ever After

Some may read the words, others not. But the poem or the story never truly ends. The writers will write and singers will sing and every tomorrow is just another beginning. The human heart and voice, just like the muse is something eternal. And when we all drop off the map or walk somewhere off into the afterlife another kid will be there to take our place. Dreaming and creating their story, their poem, the world.

~ R.M. ENGELHARDT

There are only two mistakes one can make along the roa...

 

There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.

~    Buddha

 

Chivalry

 



If tragedy = permission

If love = desire

How much we could have learned.

If knights could have defeated dragons,

steadfast, strong and true, I would

have been all of these things for you.

But love thee, love thee not,

cancel my thoughts beside the vast

cataclysm of unwanted dreaming.

And here in the dark my existence still

lingers for the spark which you have

ignited once more “abandoned”

________________________

~ R.M. ENGELHARDT

Everette Maddox : Poet

                                                                             (1944 – 1989)

POEM

After everything quits,

things continue

happening. The phone

rings. A knock comes

at the door. Lightning

flashes across the bed

where you bend, looking

at the dictionary.

Asleep, you keep waking

from dreams. The surface

of your life keeps

being broken, less and less

frequently, at random.

Raindrops after a storm:

surprise: the ghost of awe.

Posted in 13 Possums

_______________________

He’s been called the unofficial poet laureate of the French Quarter. Everette Maddox (1944-89) was a native Alabamian (Montgomery-born), who, like so many complicated literary souls, made his way to New Orleans to better commune with his muse. While there he taught for a few years at Xavier University and the University of New Orleans, hung out at Uptown’s Maple Leaf Bar (where he founded a reading series that is still going strong) and gradually descended into homelessness and alcoholism, all the while churning out verse on scraps of paper. He published two books of poetry during his lifetime, as well as dozens of individual poems in newspapers (including Mobile’s old Azalea City News) and magazines, which helped secure him a devoted regional readership.

Now, a wonderful new volume collects a nice range of Maddox’s verse and presents it for a new generation of readers. “I hope it’s not over, and good-by” (UNO Press, paper, $16.95) edited by Ralph Adamo is as good a one-volume introduction to this compelling poet as one could wish for, and every lover of Gulf Coast literature will want a copy on his or her shelf.

In his brief introduction, Adamo, a Crescent City poet and journalist, explains that this volume “is intended as a showcase of his [Maddox’s] styles, concerns, his wit, and sometimes dazzling sensibility.” Clearly, Maddox’s devotion to his art, to the detriment of his health and, in the end, his very survival, will be difficult for most readers to fully fathom. But the intensity of his experience and his gift for communicating it come through very strongly in this book.

Several of the poems reference locales around the South — Birmingham, Montgomery and Mobile among them — but New Orleans is by far the dominant presence, and it is beautifully evoked time and again. In “2900 Prytania,” named for Maddox’s first New Orleans address (pictured on the cover), he wrote: “These top few/ lines sagging/ with words/ like ennui/ lagniappe/ crème de menthe/ constitute/ the wrought-iron/ balcony/ of a poem/ shaped just like/ my new 120-/ year-old house/ in New Orleans:/ a wooden lime/ peel hanging/ out of a lightning-/ murdered tree/ 2 stories/ down to knock/ against/ a honeysuckle-/ scented neighborhood/ of weird readers.”

In “New Orleans,” the city’s watery nature is to the fore: “From the air it’s all puddles:/ a blue-green frog town/ on lily pads. More canals than Amsterdam. You don’t/ land — you sink.” It concludes, “I’ll never write another line/ for anything but love/ in this city where steam/ rises off the street after/ a rain like bosoms heaving.” And in “Front Street, New Orleans,” place and history intermingle: “… Only Governor/ Bernardo de Galvez who played/ ‘so decisive a role’ in the War/ for American Independence/ just off the ferry from Spain/ on his horse looks indecisively/ over my head up Canal Street/ as if to say Where can a man get/ a drink in this part of History”.

Getting a drink was certainly a significant concern for Maddox. In the introduction, Adamo writes that the poet was frequently “under the influence (from drink served in places that would not be mistaken for glamorous),” and poem after poem references alcohol and drunkenness. In “Urban Maudlin,” Maddox wrote: “Is it the accumulated/ effect of the screwdriver,/ bourbon on the rocks,/ Dixie beer and three brandies/ I’ve had today that/ has caused the first/ g to be torn from the/ Pi gly Wiggly sign across/ the street from this bar?” And in “Drinking Glass,” he composed a poem in praise of an empty glass: “Pick it up and hold it/ to the light — / a repository of dust,/ hair and lipstick.//” But, he continues, “Dump it out/ (salvaging the butt),/ rinse it, twirl it/ once on a cloth,/ and look! how Clarity/ Rides Again.// Raise it now in a toast/ to Friendship,/ and observe,/ deep in the amber booze,/ the old bright planets/ winking.”

If ultimately careless of his health and worldly prospects, Everette Maddox was fortunate indeed in the devotion of friends like Ralph Adamo, whose determination to share his extraordinary poetic voice will keep his memory and his work evergreen.

~  John Sledge

POEMS : R.M. ENGELHARDT

THE LAST CIGARETTE : THE COLLECTED POEMS OF R.M. ENGELHARDT

THE POEM REMAINS

“THE BONES OF OUR EXISTENCE ©” POEMS BY
R.M. ENGELHARDT. COMING IN 2015

 

THE UNCERTAIN MUSE

 

Once

Long ago

She would bring me her

Gifts

 

Decadence

Fine wine

Fame

And Friends.

 

Never ending parties

And beautiful words

Magnificent and dressed in

Black, poetry written and

Cloaked in mystery and

In the eternal darkness

Of the night.

 

And now?

These days

She just brings me

A six pack of beer

On weekends

Sits with me

By my side waiting

Screams at me, nags at me

And tells me to

“Write!”

__________________

 

R.M. ENGELHARDT 2014

Long-Lost Dylan Thomas Poetry Notebook Discovered in a Drawer

BURN

Burn
by R.M. Engelhardt





in the night

december

the cold wind, the frozen

world

stands still

like an abstract

like a painting

without motion.

without sound.

smoke & the harsh light

of streetlamps, reality

dirt white city sidewalks

and the panhandlers

at the bus stop

telling their tale

their stories

to buy another bottle

or another pint.

all fallen, all once born

children

from someplace

somewhere.

who had once believed

who had once had faith

like “you”

the story of mankind

the story of every past

history, and poverty,

promises…and life.

brother sister child mother

ghosts of selves dying beneath

the light. a last dance, a curtin bow

the only time that we see them

in our eyes…

merry christmas

happy new year

nothing has changed

no more is given other

than what is given

like a greeting or like a gift

you are a saint

you have given him a whole dollar

to eat

you have changed

his life completely,

love and sin, drink no more

the gods are all smiling

upon your soul

but the george bailey in

this story has no clarence

and no one gives a damn,

the shelters are all full

and the angels have all ran

far far away

with their wings

to look after

themselves

peace on earth,

good will towards men

their breath,

still hanging upon

the cold wind and

the smoke of their cigarette

and its burn…

do you have a dollar?

a smoke?

can I be you? warm?

heart beating inside

not realizing

that the man under the

jacket’s hood

is “you”

merry christmas.

peace on earth

good will towards men,

good will

towards men.