Atelierwand (1872) Adolf Menzel


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A fresh marshmallow
roasted with just
the right care,
on an open fire,
turns a glorious black:
an even smoky
crematorium black.

It takes an acquired taste
to roast these sweet babies
to just this right hue:
to stoke the fire just right,
to turn the skewer just right.

So next time you see
smudges of coffin black
on someone’s fingers and lips
and a great big smile, please
hide your mallows…
we were raised this way.

God is Not in The Details

We have had it wrong for a fucking very long time:
now the Devil, now the Devil is certainly in the details.
Who said God is in details anyway? Let’s Google…
shit, my old apartment’s modem goes out when it rains.

“What does not destroy me makes me stronger.”
The Nazis coopted him, forgetting he went mad.
I love Nietzsche; I wish he were my father; I would have saved him;
he would have saved me; I never knew my father.
I mix up my past, present, and future tenses; fuck you again.

Look at the little towns that keep dying across the USA.
The kids, more than ever, want to live in New York City and San Francisco.
And guess who’s leaving Israel unapologetically for Germany?
The young: the young artists.

I’m getting old.
Still think I can kick your ass in some dark alley,
but now it’s more of a fantasy.
Arthritis is a bitch.
I have to move slowly out of bed in the morning;
but try me anyway…what the hell…

Atelierwand (1872)

Adolf Menzel

The centerpiece is
a young woman’s torso
bathed in light.

On a dark old wall
plaster flesh hangs
from hooks in half-shadows:

A menagerie
of dismembered
brittle white cast,

rows of death masks
and ashy pale heads,
eyes peacefully closed.

The centerpiece is
a young woman’s torso
washed in cold light:

Firm right breast
nipple sharp to
an old man’s face;

ash left breast
by a muscled chest
hung in shadows.

Scissors hang on pointy
spikes with calipers
and tangled wire.

A gray German
shepherd head
looks to the floor.

A left hand
palm turned out
delicately catches light.

3 Responses to Atelierwand (1872) Adolf Menzel

  1. Your poems are revealing, the way poetry really is–if the censors don’t stop you.

  2. Howard Bassis says:

    The solutions are
    to be found,
    when G-d,
    he’s around.

    The problems
    we’ve been had,
    it’s just
    another fad.

    A chage of pants,
    a shift of hat.
    You tell me this is this,
    As a batter bats his bat.

    The righting’s
    on the wall.
    Perhaps it’s
    just to tall.

    A dialing’s
    just eclectic,
    and/or randomely electric.

    So how to solve
    the query
    would a Sherlock
    or Tim Leary.

    Who’s on first,
    What’s on second
    The Knower’s naught
    the third of which to reckon.

    But what’s the bottom line
    Perhaps the written word,
    The alpha bits of diamond
    regurgitate the turd.

    But now I
    must take leave
    for this gift of gift of rhyming,
    is yours but to receive.

    {Andres, this is actually a poetry submission. It was kind of spontaneous, so I did not hand it in the regular way. The title of my submission is, A tribute To Words}.


    P.S. Your poem was cool. It inspired me to write this one.
    Howart Bassist
    March 4, 2011
    Sighning off
    6:58 A.M.

  3. Howart,