Well, here I am, late Monday night, July 6, 2015, listening to southern Moroccan music,
alone with Cleo the cat. I never come to this site. Not even sure why I created it. So very like
me, you know. A poet once said of my work, "He throws himself around like Pollack throwing paint."
This was said of my publishing 1600 (yes, 1600) editions of Passaic Review Ezine over a period of 5 years, beginning immediately after the infamous 9/11 and ending sometime around America's hideous, tragic, despicable "shock and awe" invasion of Baghdad. Yeah, I'd had it. Gave up on America's chance to save itself. So, I stopped publishing at least that particular incarnation of Passaic Review. Anyway, yeah, this poet was referring to how I gave you all one hundred and fifty percent of myself in those 1600 issues. I risked myself completely. I was afraid at some point the FBI would be knocking on my door for criticizing America. But then again, I thought in some innocent notion of continuing belief in at least the ideal of this nation, in free speech, in free thought, in free expression, that, no, no one would knock on my door, unless it was to announce maybe a Pulitzer or Nobel.
Ah, see? How egotistical I am at times. Often, really. Full of myself. But no more than Whitman was or advised us to be, no more than America itself.
Because, readers, I AM THE ULTIMATE AMERICAN POET! I am big, vast, full of contradictions, full of criticisms of this great nation, and full of love for it. Oh my god, did I actually say love? Yes, I did. The way, as I've said in a poem, the way a boy loves his errant father. A father is still a father.
So America is to me. My birth place. My home.
The Moroccan music soothes me tonight.
Poet on!
Rich Quatrone
Monday, July 6, 2015
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
NO APOLOGY!
let's get something straight.
i'm a full-fledged member of the
60s generation!
The Generation!
not generation x or double x
or even xxx.
No!
i graduated from high school in 1965
and graduated from college in 1969.
i am completely, unapologetically
a complete product of the crazy, wonderful,
mad, hopeful, imaginative, Imaginative,
love-crazed, liberating, generous, brave,
exciting, pure, unadulterated, unexpurgated,
committed, dreaming, dreamful 60s!
the generation that fought for african americans,
women, kids, foreigners, the generation that ended,
ENDED!!! the vietnam war, the generation that kicked
nixon out of office, the generation of martin luther
king,
malcolm x, john kennedy, robert kennedy, medgar evers,
the black panters, the weather underground, angela
davis,
william kuenstler, bob dylan, the beatles, joan baez,
you name it, you name them, any and all,
revolutionaries,
dreamers, fighters.
and us, we, i? we inhaled it, ate it, were eaten by it,
entirely consumed by love and truth and justice
and the will to fight the motherfuckers who pushed
fear and hatred on us and the world.
did we lose? NO!! they killed us, murdered us,
lied about us, tricked us, all of it.
but they did not kill us!!
we are here, 60 years old, 65, 70 years old.
you think we're "senior citizens," that shitty,
terrible, bullshit, castrating, condescending term.
you think we're only good for endless commercials
about medicine, illness, hospitals, "senior citizen
centers,"
and the rest of it, all of it denying our power, our
wisdom,
our endless libidinous energy and courage.
but you're wrong, totally full of shit.
we are here alive and well.
waiting for some generation, ANY GENERATION
to try to match us! waiting for any generation
to join us!!!
rich quatrone July 18, 2012
NO APOLOGY!
let's get something straight.
i'm a full-fledged member of the
60s generation!
The Generation!
not generation x or double x
or even xxx.
No!
i graduated from high school in 1965
and graduated from college in 1969.
i am completely, unapologetically
a complete product of the crazy, wonderful,
mad, hopeful, imaginative, Imaginative,
love-crazed, liberating, generous, brave,
exciting, pure, unadulterated, unexpurgated,
committed, dreaming, dreamful 60s!
the generation that fought for african americans,
women, kids, foreigners, the generation that ended,
ENDED!!! the vietnam war, the generation that kicked
nixon out of office, the generation of martin luther
king,
malcolm x, john kennedy, robert kennedy, medgar evers,
the black panters, the weather underground, angela
davis,
william kuenstler, bob dylan, the beatles, joan baez,
you name it, you name them, any and all,
revolutionaries,
dreamers, fighters.
and us, we, i? we inhaled it, ate it, were eaten by it,
entirely consumed by love and truth and justice
and the will to fight the motherfuckers who pushed
fear and hatred on us and the world.
did we lose? NO!! they killed us, murdered us,
lied about us, tricked us, all of it.
but they did not kill us!!
we are here, 60 years old, 65, 70 years old.
you think we're "senior citizens," that shitty,
terrible, bullshit, castrating, condescending term.
you think we're only good for endless commercials
about medicine, illness, hospitals, "senior citizen
centers,"
and the rest of it, all of it denying our power, our
wisdom,
our endless libidinous energy and courage.
but you're wrong, totally full of shit.
we are here alive and well.
waiting for some generation, ANY GENERATION
to try to match us! waiting for any generation
to join us!!!
rich quatrone July 18, 2012
NO APOLOGY!
let's get something straight.
i'm a full-fledged member of the
60s generation!
The Generation!
not generation x or double x
or even xxx.
No!
i graduated from high school in 1965
and graduated from college in 1969.
i am completely, unapologetically
a complete product of the crazy, wonderful,
mad, hopeful, imaginative, Imaginative,
love-crazed, liberating, generous, brave,
exciting, pure, unadulterated, unexpurgated,
committed, dreaming, dreamful 60s!
the generation that fought for african americans,
women, kids, foreigners, the generation that ended,
ENDED!!! the vietnam war, the generation that kicked
nixon out of office, the generation of martin luther
king,
malcolm x, john kennedy, robert kennedy, medgar evers,
the black panters, the weather underground, angela
davis,
william kuenstler, bob dylan, the beatles, joan baez,
you name it, you name them, any and all,
revolutionaries,
dreamers, fighters.
and us, we, i? we inhaled it, ate it, were eaten by it,
entirely consumed by love and truth and justice
and the will to fight the motherfuckers who pushed
fear and hated on us and the world.
did we lose? NO!! they killed us, murdered us,
lied about us, tricked us, all of it.
but they did not kill us!!
we are here, 60 years old, 65, 70 years old.
you think we're "senior citizens," that shitty,
terrible, bullshit, castrating, condescending term.
you think we're only good for endless commercials
about medicine, illness, hospitals, "senior citizen
centers,"
and the rest of it, all of it denying our power, our
wisdom,
our endless libidinous energy and courage.
but you're wrong, totally full of shit.
we are here alive and well.
waiting for some generation, ANY GENERATION
to try to match us! waiting for any generation
to join us!!!
rich quatrone July 18, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
A DOG'S LIFE
The sad call comes moments ago.
KC the dog will have to be put to sleep.
She's become incontinent.
Even she's embarrassed.
The human mother of KC the dog
tells me this and no doubt it is true.
This is the nature of things.
One day perhaps my mother
Will tell God Himself, "Look at my
son, Lord. He's not the boy anymore.
He's not even the young man anymore.
The one I told he would have many girlfriends.
He's not even the middle aged man anymore,
the one who made such a cruel act and hurt
His wife so badly, the woman I considered my
daughter. I hope you have forgiven him. Because
He has not forgiven himself. No, my God, he is
now becoming an old man. He's got years left.
I won't pretend to know how many. But You know,
God, how many. You do, right? But if you don't,
Please ask me and I will tell you when it's time
to have him put to sleep."
Rich Quatrone July 10 2012
KC the dog will have to be put to sleep.
She's become incontinent.
Even she's embarrassed.
The human mother of KC the dog
tells me this and no doubt it is true.
This is the nature of things.
One day perhaps my mother
Will tell God Himself, "Look at my
son, Lord. He's not the boy anymore.
He's not even the young man anymore.
The one I told he would have many girlfriends.
He's not even the middle aged man anymore,
the one who made such a cruel act and hurt
His wife so badly, the woman I considered my
daughter. I hope you have forgiven him. Because
He has not forgiven himself. No, my God, he is
now becoming an old man. He's got years left.
I won't pretend to know how many. But You know,
God, how many. You do, right? But if you don't,
Please ask me and I will tell you when it's time
to have him put to sleep."
Rich Quatrone July 10 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
BATS
the bats have flown out of my attic and into my bedroom
and livingroom and kitchen and bathroom and the boys'
old room and the hallway. the cat can't get to the bats
because she can't fly. i can't get to the bats because i
can't cry. mozart plays on the cd player, given by
the bats to me when they were friendly and kind and
loyal. but they were bats and said i was the problem
with america and said i have an elevated sense of myself
and that i'm a phony and that i'm inauthentic as a poet
because i don't run around publishing my work or making
batbooks or whatever else you want to call the stuff that
flies around this batty country in the dark.
anyway, i'm here and alone and have no one to talk to.
not even my woman who probably thinks i'm bats if
not inauthentic and phony and possessed of an inflated
sense of my own worth and importance.
but, truly, really, without the bats, i used to be pretty
damn good and might still be.
rich quatrone
debattified
23apr12
1:13pm
sprung leak
and livingroom and kitchen and bathroom and the boys'
old room and the hallway. the cat can't get to the bats
because she can't fly. i can't get to the bats because i
can't cry. mozart plays on the cd player, given by
the bats to me when they were friendly and kind and
loyal. but they were bats and said i was the problem
with america and said i have an elevated sense of myself
and that i'm a phony and that i'm inauthentic as a poet
because i don't run around publishing my work or making
batbooks or whatever else you want to call the stuff that
flies around this batty country in the dark.
anyway, i'm here and alone and have no one to talk to.
not even my woman who probably thinks i'm bats if
not inauthentic and phony and possessed of an inflated
sense of my own worth and importance.
but, truly, really, without the bats, i used to be pretty
damn good and might still be.
rich quatrone
debattified
23apr12
1:13pm
sprung leak
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
whole lotta shakin'
didn't know if i could even get back here. ah! sunflower, weary of time. yes, true. at this point, look around and feel like a stranger in a very strange, strange land. is this the world now? come on, young people, rise up, rise up! say things, do things, disturb things. make a commotion. go to the streets. make the bastards shake in their storm boots.
Monday, October 17, 2011
ANTEAN
the days go by the sky the fly the me and the my the die dyed black
in the crack in the universe. two years later skater hater dater mater
and arnold writes about the beach at dover. ignorant forgotten are the armies
more than a hundred years go by we continue to kill they continue to die
and all we do is salute the boot and hoot with loot.
the days go by the sky the fly the me and the my the die dyed black
in the crack in the universe. two years later skater hater dater mater
and arnold writes about the beach at dover. ignorant forgotten are the armies
more than a hundred years go by we continue to kill they continue to die
and all we do is salute the boot and hoot with loot.
Monday, September 21, 2009
the novel
i must get back to the novel immediately
it will save me
it is the only thing that can save me
the place where i can be totally free
and enter the world of the imagination
and let it play out
the novel will heal me
if anything can
the novel will accept my love, my anger, my fear,
my wonder, my innocense
the novel will show me what the future can be
the novel will encourage me
9/21/9
early afternoon
it will save me
it is the only thing that can save me
the place where i can be totally free
and enter the world of the imagination
and let it play out
the novel will heal me
if anything can
the novel will accept my love, my anger, my fear,
my wonder, my innocense
the novel will show me what the future can be
the novel will encourage me
9/21/9
early afternoon
Thursday, September 17, 2009
naked dreary
out of bed but not awake sitting here half naked dreary outside see there are twitters in my emails i don't want to be bothered with them come to computer out of boredom things ain't right these days things ain't right how stupid it is for me to be blogging this crap but the blog screen is before me
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
poem
SOMEBODY HAS TO DO NOTHING
somebody has to be dedicated to doing nothing
nothing at all
to get in touch with nothing
the huge void of the universe
somebody has to sit and think
wonder fear worry fall into ecstatic states
pass endless hours imagining
fantasizing
somebody has to live in a world of pure sexual
pleasure
somebody has to study read literature
commune with the greatest of minds from
across the ages and cultures
someone has to feel this terrible angst
feel this terrible need that can never ever be satisfied
and not hide from it
not hide from the truth that we are a measly species
a species only an extension of the lower animals
and plant life
not far from the caves
yearning to be something perhaps something
beautiful and perfect in the future
somebody has to lead the family
give their sons and daughters this guidance
teach them the light through the darkness
or the dark through the light
either way
an endless investigation into the nature of things
somebody has to hate what's happening around us
somebody has to have the guts to be alone
not to waste time
not to piss away this precious
life
rich quatrone
20aug09
spring lake
somebody has to be dedicated to doing nothing
nothing at all
to get in touch with nothing
the huge void of the universe
somebody has to sit and think
wonder fear worry fall into ecstatic states
pass endless hours imagining
fantasizing
somebody has to live in a world of pure sexual
pleasure
somebody has to study read literature
commune with the greatest of minds from
across the ages and cultures
someone has to feel this terrible angst
feel this terrible need that can never ever be satisfied
and not hide from it
not hide from the truth that we are a measly species
a species only an extension of the lower animals
and plant life
not far from the caves
yearning to be something perhaps something
beautiful and perfect in the future
somebody has to lead the family
give their sons and daughters this guidance
teach them the light through the darkness
or the dark through the light
either way
an endless investigation into the nature of things
somebody has to hate what's happening around us
somebody has to have the guts to be alone
not to waste time
not to piss away this precious
life
rich quatrone
20aug09
spring lake
a hog in the fog
well, i'm back, hood over my head, back from the market, i come to this blog like a hog in a fog, a bog dog, a crow in the snow, an ant in a pant, a cat who got fat, i am here, fear, tear, smear, clear, dear, sheer boredom has me here, sheer inertia, sheer stockings, a gear in reverse, avoiding the hearse, i am here, looking, cooking, bearly that, barely that, naked, a snake on the take, a fake, i have eaten too much cake, for the sake of indolence, depression, regression, i am here lost in the genes, in the genies, the genius, the jeans, the beans, i am here for want, for grant, for sand and an idle hand
THE MIGHTY SWING
i sit here with these words on this computer screen
which has taken every breath from me over these years,
taken my fury, my indignation, my sorrow,
taken my semen and spit and eyesight and accompanied
the fluttering of my heart, what is it that has me prisoner here
while all my heroes die, while mickey mantle's fading new york
times photo pinned to the wall, his mighty swing, home run
or strike out the same, his mighty, brave swing is the poem
of my youth and today the same, my swing, is it a swing,
is what i do a swing equal to the mick's swing, what is it
that has me watching the yankees this year, game for game,
a driven man, crazed with attention, what is it that has me
dreaming my way into the stadium, the olympians here for me,
what is it that joins me with my father and my brother and
my sons, with all the men like me, lost, fatigued, defeated,
sick with the mists of despair, in some fantasy of love,
of desire, making love to the great woman or the worst woman,
the submission to sex and hope, what it is that has me
like this?
rich quatrone
6:35am
another morning
in spring lake
8/5/9
i sit here with these words on this computer screen
which has taken every breath from me over these years,
taken my fury, my indignation, my sorrow,
taken my semen and spit and eyesight and accompanied
the fluttering of my heart, what is it that has me prisoner here
while all my heroes die, while mickey mantle's fading new york
times photo pinned to the wall, his mighty swing, home run
or strike out the same, his mighty, brave swing is the poem
of my youth and today the same, my swing, is it a swing,
is what i do a swing equal to the mick's swing, what is it
that has me watching the yankees this year, game for game,
a driven man, crazed with attention, what is it that has me
dreaming my way into the stadium, the olympians here for me,
what is it that joins me with my father and my brother and
my sons, with all the men like me, lost, fatigued, defeated,
sick with the mists of despair, in some fantasy of love,
of desire, making love to the great woman or the worst woman,
the submission to sex and hope, what it is that has me
like this?
rich quatrone
6:35am
another morning
in spring lake
8/5/9
never return
it's still sept 16 a bad day for me is anyone out there listening who knows i made this blog at the behest of my first teacher i'm here and realize i've told you my name so already i've limited what i will say in this space anonymity provides freedom my mind and imagination are too free for most people and places i have a rich imagination a great spirit and i will say what i can here but truly if i say all i can i will invite attacks and i will lose what little i now have it's the way it's always been because in the end i've never had the courage or the foundation to somehow break out of the small world into one large enough to accept my genius and those of you who turn off now can leave this blog and never return
sept 16th
sept 16th
the first day of the world at the end of days i get older than humanly possible even blake is younger than i am the last day of the young world no time for error the first day of time there was a time when i didn't know any better the last day of love love in the old world was beautiful the first day of endless effort the body broken the mind fading the books waiting the novel waiting my sons starting their own world the last days in a dying america a dying town a dying body a dying love the first day of making things from nothing st thomas did it so can i
the first day of the world at the end of days i get older than humanly possible even blake is younger than i am the last day of the young world no time for error the first day of time there was a time when i didn't know any better the last day of love love in the old world was beautiful the first day of endless effort the body broken the mind fading the books waiting the novel waiting my sons starting their own world the last days in a dying america a dying town a dying body a dying love the first day of making things from nothing st thomas did it so can i
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