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                              O F   P O E T R Y


                                     #1



                                Alice Notley
                                Bill Kushner
                                Elinor Nauen
                                Layle Keane
                                Lynne Beyer
                                Norman MacAfee
                                Peter Bushyeager
                                Sal Salasin
                                Shelley Miller
                                Tom Savage
                                Tony Vaughan




             Published and edited by Etan Ben-Ami and Anique Taylor

             Copyright  1986  The Cheap Review Of Poetry

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                                      NOH

                                    No words
                                   no thoughts
                                no lines no coke
                            no time no fun no father
                     no elm trees no babies no smarts no joy
                            no joyce no lucy no veeck
                    no prizes no pencils no manhood no ma'am
                            no me no you no noh no yo
                         no food no news no plane nomad
                        no go no good no jokers no buddha
                                nodoze no'ccount
                              no calls nocal no pot
                            no tan no cough no coffee
                                     no mail
           no tense no fern no chnage no hole no radio nolo contendere
          no struggle no win no pain no gain no hits no runs no errors
                      no perfection no privilege no winter
                    no think nowise no thing nowhere no white
                          no whither november no trump
                                 no plot no cast
                                     no luck
            noel nobody no table no peter no boycott noblesse oblige
                                    no dakota
                                   no vietnam
                                   no carolina
                                   no offense
                    no fever no fair no reubens no hollyhock
                      no rain today no nots no hots no ice
                         no straw no razor no sideburns
                                no sugar no truth
               no wave no roaches no beat no sidewalk no shoulder
                       no peccadilloes no passing no turns
                        no irish no fresh no trespassing
                            no need no gas no window
                            no problem no more no way



                                  Elinor Nauen
                                      1/86



















                          MAYAN UPDATE IN THE EIGHTIES


                     Before it was a one-sided conversation

                     with rocks and dirt.  While sweating

                     And swatting, we glared at rocks,

                     trying ot give them some humanity.

                     Ancient ball games pitted captives

                     against one another for their lives.

                     Heads of the losers were the balls.

                     Blood was the mortar of life.

                     Aristocrates drew their own blood

                     to nourish the gods and inspire

                     hallucinations in the heads of serpents.

                     Before going to war for example,

                     The king punctured his penis

                     with a stingray spine while the queen

                     drew a thorn-barbed rope through her tongue.

                     Thus the Mayans kept the universe alive.

                     The name for one king was shield.




                                  -- Tom Savage




















                                  HOW I GET BY


                     "It"
                         more than adds up
        what I know of mathematics
               the unclean universe
                    lines parallel from any angle
        "you & you&you&you&you& "
                    lines perpendicular from any point
        I love you absolutely
               & you too
               I'm always happy
               when the phone rings
               it's always good news
               when you call
        no time for aught but love
        my heart is full
                   I stroke my calico cat pull out
                   a few clumps of hair visit my ailing neighbor weep
                   for the dead send out frantic bursts of psychic love
                   to save on my own long-distance bills:
                                  I can make you (you, you) phone
        it's all good
               when you call
                   I'm imprisoned by these coordinates
                                :  /noise/memory
                       someday the coffee'll be tepid
                                            (just how I like it)
               at every 3 a.m. feeding
                   the letters'll be rich & frequent
                       the jokes apropos
        titles & new names fluff
        round my dizzy head like relentless rowers
                          "I'd hate to see you when you're happy"
        are we tired or is her exuberance crowding our joy?
                   I cannot go on without you/
                   I can live without anyone:I must
                   there are more irrational numbers than rational
               tho the number of each is infinite:
                   my unswerving valiance
                                   you(you,you,you..........



                                 -- Elinor Nauen


















                          The Yankees are a wishful

                          thinking to some.  Taking

                          a neurological break

                          from the gross fugue of life

                          sometimes the sun floods over

                          clogging the wires with love.



                          Playing dead among "grown-ups"

                          can lead to trouble.



                          A mistranslation

                          can alter brainwaves for life.



                          The law of supply and command

                          sounds familiar to the man dying

                          in a backyard from the poison

                          sprinkled in the air for rats.




                                  -- Tom Savage




















                                  A NEW REQUIEM
                                            part 2


                  Empires filter, misinterpret the old
                  tales to keep afloat, thought always being
                  just the continuuing of one thought.
                  In battle or lovemaking, hero's blond
                  wig falls off. He hides his face,  loses head,
                  becomes all shoulders, contraposto murdered
                  beautifully by fate's delicate hands. We weep
                  only at change, hating the lover for
                  queering the ideal, however slightly.
                  Only proffs that love exists are pets, sex
                  organs, never quite severed umbilical.

                  Burly-queen savior, neon-lit, annunciated,
                  killed, mourned, resurrected over the week-
                  end, in his undershorts. Light shone through
                  the fabric.  I helped carry him away.
                  We didn't know where we were or who we
                  were or where we were going. We avoided
                  everyone, to stay in the dream-- which love
                  made, only to keep us from...

                                               ...Lady in
                  red tangoies, weeping. Man robed in silken dress-
                  ing gown in large apartment in great city
                  takes one too many, observing a news-
                  paper as though it were life, observing
                  but not acting, made incomplete by
                  business, war,
                                 while
                                       Y
                                         waits for the bus in
                  dead towns, Z scrapes his shoe sole twenty times
                  in front of a church or steals/owns a fast
                  car, pure laminated animal joy
                  beneath a suddenly chill August moon,
                  cleaning up the day's mess and sleep for
                  another. One becomes one's shadow, moves
                  inexorably to empty streets, voices
                  of slightly durnk friends in the distance,
                  and an evening of farts that hill breezes
                  blow away with exhaust fumes,
                  though when you hear what you
                  had waited for for so long coming, there's
                  a moment's fear.













                                   A man half a century
                  old on a bench at one a.m. holds his
                  heart, watches his watch, fat, few head hairs,
                  quickly decides to smoke a cigaret,
                  pretend to wait for a bus.

                  Night world reflected on black water scrim
                  of shop windows that stars high silent
                  solitaries, in murders, back the way
                  I came, curling up to sexy death
                  above butcher shops, where
                                            his
                                               son
                                                 (perhaps
                  it's his son) is slowly disrobing.
                  Tomorrow he must go to work, with his
                  kind hurt gaze, too short, wrong accent.
                  On the second night he soiled his shirt, the
                  third his pants. Nothing quite works though he surely
                  does. He turns bright gold in his sleep, dreaming
                  he's staring at the gates of paradise.



                                -- Norman MacAfee

                          copyright 1986 Norman MacAfee


































                                GITANERIAS


                         forgetful of
                    thoughts of
                          first & second
                        any play
                    speeches about cheeks "ass cheeks" are they
                         firm?  mooning etc
                    following the baby around.  Then
                       all these women--mother, two
                     daughters a daughter-in-law, the mother
                    then looks up "lubricity" in the
                        dictionary.  It could
                      mean she was well-oiled, as I said.
                    Tonight we watch "Witness"--eye-acting
                       Full moon last Tues. & quite truth-
                     fully, in the main men working on her yard
                      are in jail today, not sure why.
                     Haven't touched my horoscope in days
                      Dreamt last night I couldn't
                       talk it over in bed that was worst part
                     after I went to the ballets Balanchine
                        couldn't chorograph because he
                     was dead.  There are two ways to
                       be after his time--the

                     right way & maybe the
                        weak way.  Here are the Ishi books
                      Here is the song that's my thought
                         'Spanish piano passion
                          is still valid.'
                            (Repeat & improve)
                     in this particular instance of a life
                     am never going to...do
                       a simple Oriental number until
                     There wasn't enough hair dye for
                        two so only she
                                  got to change
                     My friend gave magical mall walk, last week
                       "Love isn't love until you give it away..."
                     The answer is
                            a seltzer now________ still____
                      Call me up in a couple of days
                      But you called me oh it doesn't matter
                      Oh okay
                     GBS talks about this guy & echolalia
                     That's funny I remember when he told me








                     We talked about echolalia all the time
                       at one time
                     what's an eccentric edge, to a girl like you
                    The hymn is to what, disguised as
                       what?  it's the disguises
                    I'm having the most trouble with
                    the enemy always makes you think it's
                         your body--that bump &
                        your death was invented by
                    valentines of nightgowns and ugly ugly
                         roses made out of
                      Family Circle
                            Or No just a mother & a baby
                             Scared for 1st 2 years
                           everything for long & he
                         goes to stupid work you're supposed
                    to like it & get into breakdown body
                      There was this girl who
                    yeah I'm lazy, don't drive
                         that's where, every
                        where I went so far
                    I went further & far without car
                    I had a body of, working
                      something the flower bed
                    She's going to call it up
                      tomorrow...Joe...& Craig

                    Nobody said that
                    Read all these pictures instantly eat
                         some Nachos
                    Don't make anything be like
                   How many of these worries driving
                      through the alfalfa
                   When this gets corny real
                   Not real.  That's not the stuff
                            This is the stuff
                    I don't have to go
                      and keep it with your handwriting
                    Sure. how we're liking it
                        National Geographic Magazines
                    read backwards & upside down
                      & with whatever words you say
                    I used to, I read everything he
                        wrote.
                    This movie makes me go to bed too.
                       Oh.
                      be a grievance.   okay.    No
                      not right now
                           (fades (is that the word?)



                              -- Alice Notley
                                 July 25, 1986












                                 SONG BY DESIGN




                       A crocus is edgy sentimental and

                       unfocused like a rainy night not

                       red and greasy like flowers brought

                       down to the house from the store:

                       sweetest fat valentines

                       with message previously attached yes

                       like the ocean don't turn your back or

                       a bracing fuck in a cold room we're

                       mapmakers who work and sing

                       hearts in the pine forest

                       indicated in green.



                               -- Peter Bushyeager


































                            We may not be kind

                            but we are enough.

                            We may not be strong, but

                            we pretend.

                            The mind is grey, a blend

                            of all colors.

                            mind over matter: I will line up

                            several pairs of shoes, heel

                            to toe.  I will follow

                            their procession.





                                 -- Lynne Beyer

































                        LITTLE LYRIC ON LABOR DAY



                    Loose in bed with cheap description

                    like songs performed with piano

                    lovers' legs wrapping me awake with cold

                    morning air in the nostrils and a

                    full head of hair to carry me forward.

                    I touched the faces said you you

                    the bodies were land the heart was wet

                    the conversation passed quickly between us

                    like plates.





                            -- Peter Bushyeager





































                            At the Assemblies

                            of God church they talk

                            in tongues.

                            Belief in the value

                            of friction: more touch

                            and fewer explanations.

                            All American seekers of bliss,

                            drawn to the near-win.

                            The late great country-Western

                            singer Patsy Cline,

                            so desperate to make it right.

                            Gold record yellow rose house

                            and rosey babies.

                            He said, she said, black-eyed

                            in hog heaven.  Merciful God,

                            according to the script,

                            she said into the mountain

                            as the plane crashed,

                            Oh, Charlie.





                                 -- Lynne Beyer















        LOWER EAST SIDE REFUGEE RUINS   (1)
        from "Eddy's Private Party"


        BY CHICO.  On wall of PANTRY SUPREME . Across from Veselka's
        big window.  Pop painting of Mr. Magoo, Culture Club Japanese /
        Woody Allen, Mr. Fox and Mr. Rabbit playing in the same
        cartoon band. Two hearts on the sidewalk -- E. 9th street.
        A twenty foot black arrow 52 feet high on side of building
        pointing nowhere . Monday night. 11 p.m. Downtown. Painted
        on a fence. SLAM DANCING. ROCK AGAINST RACISM.  One guess.
        The people of Nicaragua.  Mumble -- I can't hear a word. Signature
        on sidewalk -- DON'T KILL THE PEOPLE OF MANAGUA. Lower East
        Side Corn Garden. Slogan. HORN OF PLENTY. NOT THE GENTRY. The
        grey six stroy building. And the dirty brown brick ones. Fire-
        escapes by burnt windows. Beneath -- sunflowers. Greenery. A
        community bulletin board. Next -- a car drives across Ave C.
        / Completely changed on the exterior of car -- Big Antlers
        on welded racks front of the car. Blinking  J E S U S  LIGHTS .
        Plastic Hail Maries stuck to outside body of car.  Mariachi
        music out loudspeakers on roof.

        A CORN ROAST IN COMMUNITY GARDEN.  1/4 block vacant lot at Ave
        B and E. 6th St., converted into community garden. On late
        Sunday afternoon (an odd light rain falling, in the late summer
        1985). A grey, warm day. The garden nearly ripe with cabbage,
        corn, cherry tomatoes, banks of herbs and small flowers,
        cucumbers, onions, kale and giant sunflowers.  S U N F L O W E R
        GARDEN. Primrose -- a little overgreen. Clam shells in circles
        on a flower bed. In the garden house (a shelter built from
        wood found in nearby Lower East side Refugee Ruins) -- accordian
        music is played. People sit on chairs, stools. Everybody knows
        everybody or even the strangers are eating corn, too -- since
        the event has been advertised.

             Surrounding the garden on two sides are high buildings
        (can't see over them) -- hand-laundered green and black shirt
        still hangs out window to the north/east -- downtown side.
        IN THE G A R D E N  a prayer wheel is turned. A blessing
        for the corn. On surrounding cyclone fence, the purple
        and white morning glory.



                                 -- Tony Vaughan



















                       The overhead's too high
                       I can't make the payments.
                       They're going to repossess my body.
                       I need it to get to work.

                       Dead men don't edit
                       I know that now.
                       The end's the beginning in
                       high heels.
                       Many words maintain great emptiness.
                       Crime does not pay.

                       My desires are all without exception
                       ridiculous.  I'm just a
                       whited sepulcher there's
                       a piece of kleenex on my throat where
                       I cut myself shaving.
                       We write this because
                       in each generation someone has to.
                       We don't care who.

                       And wherever there's a language
                       people say important things like
                       I think we're going to have to let you go.
                       If I'd only followed my mother's advice
                       I'd be dead by now.
                       A lot of guys will give you the rush
                       and tell you how great they are.
                       I'm absolutely unexceptional.
                       A man in a grey business suit
                       walks under a six-story marble ear.
                       He shrugs his shoulders as if to say
                       it's still a stone ear.
                       I'm sorry this happened to you.
                       You never learned anything.



                                 -- Sal Salasin
















                              BEGGAR'S HOLIDAY (2)


        The first thing i noticed
            Heavy metal Horses on Oakland Bay
        Sky purple Sunblue A basement window flying

        How many times ask
        would i rather in dirty rotten
        spend countless days to finally
            in so many undereyelines later
        see that face in a small
        voice photo centerfold
        backstagebackpage
        or here.
        where it isn't cold.

        The rains of San Francisco blow me
        The days of adventure are over
        The rains of leaden question fall the same as snow in the east
        but it isn't cold.

        Magic star dust blows away and now is a windy tow

        where old beats are still good beats
              snapping out the poetry in
              a beard. a belly now
              upright tits in a t-shirt
              older still smoking coffee
              drinking these 20 years
              with words under the bridge
              the golden gate
              the golden words
              their golden time
                When a black man poet sat at the Trieste
              with good blondes from the midwest
                When a black man poet could live on charm
              before he lived off the friends
              gathered here to say goodbye on Chorus Shore.

        We walked up to a dark door that said Open.

              It was a black ocean
              then a mountain
              topped with our spilled seeds.

        Your horn played to wind sucked
        into sunset. living more
        than in a room where everything bounces back.
        We are the are of saxophones
        more alive outside.

                                 -- Layle Keane














                       We're only in 1965 but
                       you can come closer.
                       Is the government ready?
                       Yes your honor
                       and will prove the possibilities
                       infinite.
                       People come up to me in the street and
                       tell me their problems and
                       I help them.
                       It's like eating bath salts.
                       A man with a greed for the truth
                       should expect no mercy.

                       It's warm and humid with
                       a 30% chance of thundershowers.
                       I thrust my legs through my
                       bathrobe sleeves and
                       try to stand up.
                       What are you going to do about it,
                       talk?
                       Living with your mind
                       is a personal responsibility.
                       There was a wonderful exitement that
                       seemed to be everywhere.
                       Ports along the entire coast remain
                       in a high state of alert.




                             -- Sal Salasin

























                              BEGGAR'S HOLIDAY (3)


                  You were strong and rash
                  ramming traffic lights
                  driving
                  L.A.
                  crazy with Hebrew curses
                  craving contact.
                          With me
             the quality changed
                  of your hand on my neck
                  held thumb and finger
                  a grasp
                  not affection
                  but defined touch

                  as we searched so diligently
                  for our sushine responding
                  with ecstasy jumping
                  skin to fore
                  all colors
                  rising
                  our jaws and groins
                  the warm not taken lightly
                  a godforce found shining in

             But here
             in this city land
                     play park
                     six flags over destitute
             i ride a gesture
             to the sea or building range
             Where is my imagination here?

             There are cold winds that cross the path
             but the guides say walk in warm streams
             keep tuned in
             know the air when
             all the visions and plans seen a far away
             are treasure maps.

                  I've cried truth
                  in fleet moments
                  seeing myself for the first time sincere
                  and aching with realizing so clear and hard.

             There is no cheating in the vault called Agate.



                                 -- Layle Keane











                                    JUMP



                             After you said

                             We are the loves

                             of our lives

                             I said

                             Loving you is like

                             jumping out a plane

                             without a parachute

                             and not getting hurt



                             Later you said

                             You are a lighthouse

                             that's showing a movie

                             You are, you said,

                             the red light

                             I run each night



                             And I said

                             Loving you is like

                             slipping underwater

                             and breathing

                             better than I ever have before.




                              -- Shelley Miller











                                  MIDNIGHT BLUE



        I wonder what would happen if I didn't wipe my ass:  this poem?

        I hear you every night around this time sweet stuff is that

        Your doggie panting so hot & happy to get out? the last

        Piss of the evening is perhaps the most sentimental one of all

        I see my face reflected reflective in the blue of the bowl

        You are so beautiful, I whisper, I have never seen you

        Looking so fucking beautiful! would love to fuck you

        If only I could! I run wetting the floor to the window

        To see you looking up you run your tongue around those newly wet lips

        while your mutt takes an aching crap:  "Ohh, lick it up"

        You could say that to me & I'd hear you, you could even leash me

        You stare down the dark frightening street, a cat in heat

        You pretend you don't hear my heart knocking out a beat, you take it out

        To take a leak, a hard piss, like yellow tears




                                 -- Bill Kushner
                                    2/18/84
























                                TO WALK YOU WALK



        To walk you walk thru sidewalks peopled traffic hum

        Anarchy reigns:  if there were one way ahh but there's none

        The gleam of that skin above a young man's thigh, he sits

        Short-panted upon a stoop watching I bet for cops

        This block's for drugs & that goes for all you mugs

        One simply walks faster or slower according to one's character

        His her or yours it New York belongs to everyone & therefore no one

        Harlem, Chinatown, all these districts:  flowers garment or theatre

        & even in that little park full of bums why you better not look or

        Try to join them, ahh everyone's got these rules so strict

        On the Lower East Side please don't spit or you'll hit the poets

        In Little Italy, hey you better not bump into no one called Tony

        On Cristopher Street where grown men hold hands & even embrace

        You may slow down ahh but just for a minute on your merry way





                                 -- Bill Kushner
                                    8/13/86















k or

        Try to join them, ahh everyone's got these rules so strict

        On the Lower East Side please don't spit or you'll hit the poets

        In Little Italy, hey you better not bump into no one called Tony

        On Cristopher Street where grown men hold hands & even embrace

        You may slow down ahh but just for a minute on