i was a senior when jd mcclatchy was my poetry professor at ucla. he spoke like a prissy brahmin grandmother, wore yellow very well, had a very precisely manicured beard and, occasionally, had to pick his pants from his backside during lectures.
i remember a day when he asked the class who frank o'hara was talking about in 'the day lady died.' some girl chirped 'judy garland?' mcclatchy stared at her, sighed. from the top of the lecture room, i said 'billy holiday. she's lady day.' we looked at each other and then he moved on. the next week, after class, he pulled me aside and gave me an advance copy of rita dove's 'through the ivory gate' saying he thought of me and thought i'd like it.
i like clean poetry that's crisp like cold green apples. so here's one in honor of our current cultural and political moment:
Honest Iago
If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me. And remember, I know my place.
In following him, I follow but myself.
All I want to do is help.
I'd rather have the tongue cut from my mouth
Than speak against my friend. This crack of love
Will grow stronger than it ever was before.
There's reason to cool our raging, no?
I cannot think he means to do you any harm.
The chemotherapy seems promising.
These latest figures will show you what I mean.
All I want to do is help.
I had not thought he was acquainted with her.
Yes, yes, this boxcar is returning to Poland.
Sure, I've already tested negative twice.
I am bound to every act of duty.
Your sins are forgiven. This is only a phase.
I could swear it was her handkerchief I saw.
Trust me. Everything is under control.
All I want to do is help.
From TEN COMMANDMENTS (1998)
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