Poems of an Inner City [Minneapolis, Minnesota]
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Here are several of Dennis' old poems, that were published in the newspapers in the early 1980s of the city. He used to walk arond the inner city, drunk and sit in the bars and write. You will see Dennis differently now. Rosa
Poems 58-through-64]
Poems of an Inner City [Minneapolis, Minnesota, l982]
Note: The following 7-poems were originally published in the Minneapolis independent news paper “Insight”, between August 12, l982 and January l983.
Index/Outline
58-1- First Avenue [August 12, l982, Vol 9, No 22)
59-2- The Big Henn -epin Avenue [[September 23, l982, Vol 9, No 25]
60 & 61/ 3-&-4 - Bus Stop No. 1 and The telephone Hood [October 21, l982, vol. 9 & No. 28]
62-5- Elsie’s Christmas: back in ‘32 [December 16, l982]
63-6- About 10:00 PM [January 6. ;093]
64-7- Ritual --on First Avenue: Mpls, MN [January 20, l983]
These poems were written as the author hung around the corners of Hennepin Avenue in Mpls in the early l980’s. Most of the buildings have been replaced now, and the whole area has a new composure. And so these poems may provide a piece of postarity.
1- First Avenue:
I saw a man die yesterday --A man I never knew-- With all the dignity of a dog, He died at twenty-two
He lay face down on a sidewalk Two bullets in His flesh: His black skin absorbing the sun Observers, motionless.
O! I know it’s not uncommon For such a happening Within a crowed asphalt city Where people are just things
But then it hard to submit --even with our morels and mores A life taken so simply; When after--the unspoken door.
The paper read: “1 man dies…22 Shot and killed…First Ave… From…Oklahoma…7 P.M… Outside ‘a bar-called Gem…”
I heard the killers got away: The motive-- It was hot that day…
Note: I had stopped in the bar, call Gem that day. And was walking down the street when I heard someone running. I turned around and heard a shot, one man ran up to Hennephen Avenue, the other down the opposite way. The man dropped about 15-feet from me. The ambulance came within 12-minutes. I did a lot of drinking and bar hopping back then. It was a very hot day.
2- The Big Henn-epin Avenue [Mpls, MN ‘82; 7:15 PM]
On your street Mr. Henn…
By 7th -- in an archway [hall]]
Marked “Magazines…” To a passer by -- a stranger calls:
“A joint my friend; Something else then.”
Between 4th and 8th -- Hookers
Rest their feet --
In your busy taverns; While cops walk their beat
Looking in.
And outside a hamburger stop
A cluster of provocative
Use unlawful talk.
Then in a car-lot in back of
An Inn -- six argue
Over a fin.
Along 6th Avenue a block away
A Wino picks up some butts
While being accosted-- In the light of day.
A’d by a parking meter
Not far away -- an old Vet
Waits for prey.
Down on 1st -- walk two young studs
--Checking out cars
For a neighbor - run.
A’d on all the bus stops
Within this square --
Tax paying people-- Watch and stare.
At 9:15 --it’s clear to see--
It repeats its - Self by three
Note: as I had mentioned above, I would walk the streets back then, at night. I was working, divorced, and into what was happening. I lived in St. Paul, and played in Minneapolis. I guess there is a time for everything.
In this next poem, I can remember many times waiting by a bar, or inside a bar, or in a building in Minneapolis, for the telephone. And it seemed every time I was on the phone, the person waiting would stand two feet from me listening. A way of saying lets gets going. What provoked this poem was one day I was on the phone, a lady stood the two-foot distance I was mentioning from me. I looked at her odd, as to say step back. She would not. So I told my friend I’d call later. I got off the phone. When the lady got on, I stood two feet away from her. It really irritated her. When she got off I asked how she like it. She simply gave me a discussing look, and got away from me. Thinking maybe I was a crazy. Then I went to the bar, sat down after that experience, and wrote the following poem, called: “The Telephone Hood”. It should be noted, even though these poems were published in the news paper, I never have given a commentary on them. So you are the first to get a little back ground. Although, they can be self explaining.
3-The Telephone Hood
Something I’ve noticed
And never understood Is--a Telephone Hood.
You’ll be in a restaurant
Tavern or shop-- S/he’ll be Five-feet away
And feeling they should;
Staring, mocking--silently
Thinking their Mr. Bell System You see.
But then it’s their turn--
And supposedly -- WELL Understood
Their phone call is private,
Personal--get away Telephone Hood!
Dedicated to the Telephone hoods in the downtown area of Minneapolis, Minnesota.
4- Bus Stop No. 1
His cheek-bone
Contracted from swelling; His neck, three shades of red; His temple, an open wound-- With,
Blood oozing sown His
head;
His clothes
Textured with soot; His eyes, pale with death; He
Stands--this young lad-- By bus stop number one,-- On
The corner of sixth and Hennepin
He curses the by-standers
For staring, not helping; He laughs with gestures of pain; And
Carries on, and on, and on-- With vulgarities. As I approach with empathy
I take a helping stance-- I rush to a near-by tavern
And call an ambulance. As
I return to the walk I notice He’s walking away [laughing, joking, kidding with
Friends]; A police officer looks my way
With five words to say:
“We’ve done our deed today.” Three
Days pass
He’s back again The same corner
With a bottle Of Gin; I think now--Should I, I
Befriend? For He’s calling Wolf again: This ugly looking human shock --That happens quite a lot-- On
Bus stop+ 1...
5- Elsie’s Christmas
(back in ‘32)
A note about the poem: Elsie is my mother. She loved Christmas Trees; decorating them. She is today 81-years old. She doesn’t decorate them any more, but Christmas time, the buying of gifts, the cards and all, seem always to be the best of the year for her; and of course Christ’s birth. I wrote this poem in December, l982, and it was published on December 16, l982. Now, almost 20-years later, I re-discover it, and share her memories with you. I remember talking to her just prior to creating the poem. I asked her what came to mind. And when I gave it to her, she care for well, keeping a copy in her bedroom drawer.
Part I
It was back in ‘32 When a paper-doll would do-- Icicles, wooden shoes.
And just about Christmas
Time--I remember-- I’d be huddled With a brother, sister
Friend… On a street corner Watching fire-engines, Street--cars, --Racing
Through town-- On cobblestone streets, Where children sang songs.
And not far away
Was an orphanage --I recall-- St. Joseph’s (in St. Paul): I spent some time there
After Ma died; But it never got me down-- Remembering how she loved
Christmas year-round.
O! how I love Christmas time-- With all its beauty and rimes;
With the horse drawn sleighs And old street lamps, The Salvation Army Ringing their chants.
And each Christmas
I’d walk with dad To the market place-- Hauling a Christmas tree
Home that same day; Dressing it with tinsel, Bulbs of all kinds. Listening to the radio,
Playing Christmas chimes.
Part II Elsie’s Christmas [l982]
It’s now ‘82 Times have changed; More Santa’s Are doing their thing.
Artificial Christmas trees Year round Christmas socks; More children on skies, Snowmobiles in the parks; More toys, TV’s--
Parking lots; Christmas cards that seem
To talk.
Festivals of merriment, Ice-fishing on lake
McCarrons; Ice Castles, Parades --
Not quite the same, Not --
Quite like ‘32
But it’ll do.
But the church bells
Haven’t changed; The white snow-flakes
Still remain; and The North Wind -- still howls
With a whispering chant.
O! how I love Christmas time -- With all its beauty and rimes; Like back in ‘32 When a paper-doll would do.
Part III
Some things will never change Like back in ‘32 -- we all knew:
In a stall in Bethlehem, In a land called Judea
2000-years ago-- A baby child was born, called, Jesus Christ our Savior.
Word count: # 989/re-edited 2001
Added new version: Part IV
Elsie’s Christmas--2001
O! the fun has never stopped even at 81
I watched her as she watched me Open my gifts a few days ago, as if
She was but ten
Still the love for Christmas lays
Deep within her heart Like back in ‘32,
When a paper doll would do.
And although she can’t reach or walk
Like she use to way back then She still can wrap them gifts
And so this is my story to you, A Christmas at 81, for my mother, the whole
Year through…
6-About 10:00 P.M./I met a Demon
(San Francisco, l969) Poem deleted for present
7- ritual – on first avenue (mpls minn)
How shall I write This poem with tears Fears scholarly years With love?
In a pub on first avenue By fifth its 9: 15 p.m. I’ sitting on a wobbly Wooden stool Sipping light cold beer Thinking thinking This is where its at The new now me Generation crowd Comes goes
To support their New now me atomic Basic needs
The bar-tender says The same sir “sure” He smiles…no tip He’ thinking now I think he’ thinking Next time buddy
Music diffuses throughout
Bubbling complaints All about Politics religion girls Sports wrongs A million sold I bet
I’m thinking of a poem A poem poem to write Something peaceful
I say but who would Understand In this world of Forced-fed complexity
No that wouldn’t go Be read
A picture on the wall It’s staring at me Crowded skies dense mist Surrounding its terrain Realism I say!
But that brings pain Too hard to live with
Maybe a sonnet haiku Something with rhymes Stress’ metaphors Similes classical Flowery psychological (?)
I now look sown at my Light cold beer I must have been sipping Sipping sipping It’s nowhere
My ash-tray is filled Butts butts butts I believe there’re mine Everyone’ busy Pretending I bet
Body’ bottle’ and minds I doubt they notice mine
I know! A universal Subject intoxication
Dennis Siluk's Last Articles :
The Avelinos (in English and Spanish)
Israel Half Victorious (An Opinion) (Part of WWIII))
Legend of the Archangel of Tarma (A Poetic Fable)
The Legend of Mummy Mountain & The Parrots of the Andes
The Blue Valley, The Mighty Sore Foot & The Wankas of Arwaturo Ruins (In English and Spanish)
Early Breakfast in Huancayo (In English and Spanish)
War Poems and Epigrams [In Spanish and English]
Three Motif Poems: A Cage Without a Top
Cowards: Syria and Iran: While Lebanon Does the Dirty Work
Planet of Gray Dawn (SSARG III: Chapters 11,12, and 13)
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