17 Santa Cruz Poets — The 17th Annual National Poetry Month - 2012 PreviousNextHome


 

Bert Glick

Bert Glick

 
About Bert:

BERT GLICK, poet, playwright and actor, author of Cookie Aura and I Used To Be Me, has been featured in many venues across California and also at the Green Mill in Chicago, as well as various radio readings, including KPFA. He has produced an animation DVD of five of his poems in collaboration with the Santa Cruz artist Vanessa Stafford that can be viewed at http://www.BertGlick.com

 

Ages Ago Faces

You can't lie about your age at a 50th high school reunion
Our ages ago faces
from yearbook pages
                                     (squeaky clean)
jump out at me
skidding my mug
on icy Chicago streets
in my '56 Chevy in '56
acquired from tantrums I threw
shackled to conformity
in a cashmere sweater craze
of nocturnal emission days
The Commies are coming!

Ages ago faces face our faces
mature at last
ingesting Parmesan something
between burst of camaraderie
and a hug or two
popular clique shtick at table number 1
and hidden children of the holocaust
among us
and What have you done?
bio brew
richly endowed
part of the swirl
this never futured night exhilarates me

"I remember you.
We didn't speak those 4 years
and we didn't for 50 more.
You're attractive still"

"You're blind or kind," she smiles.
We embrace, Denise and I

A memory mix
at our two-day time fix
wanting more

Any publication of this poem is punishable

by total adolescent recall

The Tumor Registry

"My swollen thighs are rubbing against my balls,"
declares my dying friend Jack.

"Call the nurse," I shot back.

"Terrificacious."

"What?"

"Terrificacious.
It's a word I picked up from the beyond."

"You're good company in your present state."

"I'll be less bad company presently.
I say the word 'die'
as much as I lived the word 'fuck'."

Allowing no crying in his presence:
"Save the tears for the funeral," he tells us.

When I call him at The Last Roundup Hospice:

"Is this Sugar Ray?" I ask.

"It's Saccharine Ray," he replies.

As an old theater hand,
he does rib-splitting Alzheimer imitations of other patients,
my mortal mirror, tumorous humorous friend.

"My humor is depleting 5% a day.
I can't wait to hear my eulogy.
Poor me, all I did was get what I wanted.
Every day is a poem dedicated to one day more.
I could get into writing some post-life poetry.

He made you.
In a garden of poems he gave you birth,
Chant the old Aztecs in his ear.
We only came to sleep,
We only came to dream.


She said

She said
   I had a cookie aura
                              about me
I was sweet
               yet
a crumb at heart
   I for my part
accused her
                of
having a chocolate chip
                on her shoulder
and so
   we nibbled away
at each other
  'til
I melted in her
                         mouth 


Ancheta || Atkinson || Crux || Dancing Bear || Freeman || Glick || Ifland || Moody || Omosupe || Robbins || Sirens || Spencer || Sullivan || Sumrall || Tagami || Teutsch || Weisner
  Co-sponsored by Poetry Santa Cruz and phren-Z   A publication of Santa Cruz Writes