Christopher Mulrooney

a lesson in history

long after the reign under fine new Rex Vitalis
we have come at last under the new King Digitalis

for the people have to ask themselves Tennyson
or is it mayhap (could be) tennis anyone

these are not the days to draw distinctions Tom Cruise
might as well be Sor Juana de la Cruz

not that I'm a critic when you say Helen Vendler
he's the one (the critic) who says Schmendler

no I'm the schnook who finds Calvino on the shelves
a day and next the Bard translated for ourselves

the rabble

"Bright tips reach up from twin towers,
"Anienan spring water falls into flat-spread pools."
E.P.

let the Tiffany be apperceived
on the Q.T.
as a suspended dispensation
let us have the convocation of poets
here we have the bright-named
and rarely conscious of
breathing fire in the saloon
among the demure

it is all so enthusiastic
we could go home in purple-stained withers
thinking of a charlotte russe and coffee
by the window that is sunlit and then meet guests take counsel
receive wisdom retire early with Poor Dick

and then nettlesome in this crowd of poetasters
taste the phantom frenesie

scholium in a used book

why it's
not
impossible

you would have to define your terms
poet for this bunch
who are not to be moved
any more than stone is

intellectual disgrace
hardly
human face that's what we are
as a whole
stares we understand

mandarined

how isn't this amazing
like hares that are hopping
and demi-scholars glozing
in the bowels of old Piping
for a nonchalance half-crazing
with unearthly sound of piping
some small afterglow of boozing
and the squib though damp yet hoping

poet laureate of Azusa

the calm downward thrust or pull
thrusts downward and recalls
the pull of tides when they go backwards
out to sea from the banded shore
back over ankles of your feet where the little seashells
tickle all my fancy all the livelong day
what hey what ho go-go Tojo aieeeeeee
in the apple trees at midnight
in the leaves that tell their secrets
to the man of business
going his secret rounds

what is in his briefcase
who would ask would know
a sandwich and a sob story and a plan
a long-term plan that goes on and on and on
that the pen has written and goes out to write the lamps in the street
one by one all night long until the dawn
creeps along the waterways with Fiberglas boats of white
rocking gently rocking
into the forenoon

untouched by human hands

a roomful of monkeys typing
on a very typical day
how large the room is
six ways how many monkeys
what species about the illumination
and the name brand of the typewriters
these are the questions also the
paper used the feeding system
and then there is the question of training
and replacements how often are the monkeys
changed is that a question
enters into the formulation
time of acclimation
work rhythms work load
what the stimulus of play is
is there any time off for sightseeing
these enter into the result
in the fullness of time

Contact Christopher Mulrooney

Christopher Mulrooney has published poems and translations in The Pacific Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Qwerty, Frank, Poetry Salzburg Review, etc.

He is also the author of notebook and sheaves.