The Drunk
((Poems, poisoned by Booze) (18-Poems))
1) Day of my Death
(…or, the Drunk’s
Death)
There
was no escaping, all paths led to him, Mr. Barleycorn!
I
could smell him, taste him, I even greeted him, the second day
I
met him. The shape like beer bottles, like a woman’s body they felt!
The
first day I had a drink it was the day of my death.
Yes,
I was a drunk, the day I took my first drink. Before that, I could
Get
along without beer.
After
my first drink, when it got close to me was like harp-tone vibrations, they
rippled up and down my spine, from my brain to my throat.
That’s
how it was in the beginning! But seldom thereafter, it was
The
craving that took over, I had lost the harp.
No:
4526 (8-6-2014)
2) Drunken Years of
Deviltry
((1960-1968) (The Cayuga Street Gang))
Those
years of mad drunken deviltry—
To
drive under the influence,
To
steer and miss destruction by an inch!
To
do what others would not dare:
This
life made possible by barleycorn nippers
The
only way for me to mediate!
It
was the way of men who lived the life I did.
So
I believe from my old neighborhood, called
Donkeyland
by the police, in St. Paul, Minnesota!
No:
4512 (8-6-2014)
3) Drunk in Sydney (1964-1984)
(Sidney, Australia, 1971)
I
was always broke back then (1964 to1984)
Although
I had the wildest, maddest of times.
In
the mornings tumbled out in the chill gray
I
was a pitiful mess of splinters, often!
Burnt
hand and jacket once in Sidney—
(While
on R & R, from the Vietnam War, ’71)
It
must have been from the hot register,
I
laid my forearmed against all night’s drunk!
Burnt
black—didn’t feel a thing, too drunk!
I
evidently had sailed away into my
Unconsciousness,
far-dead, in some dreamy:
Oyster-beds!
No:
4513 (8-6-2014)
4) The, Drunk, Drinking
for Comradeship!
(1964-1967)
Why
did I feel I had to live this life, —live it
The
way they did—?
It
was by virtue of drinking that I gained all
My
friends, comradeship, even deals.
Had
I declined to drink at all, I should never
Have
been selected on the social side of the
Scale:
work, life in general, the Army,
Neighborhood!
Even while I was in juvenile
Detention,
for that very reason! We all
Bragged
and boasted of it: to live and love
And
be loved, is this not it? Perhaps it has
Something
to do with it; yet in life I’d see so
Many
fall into the ditch, never putting it
Quite
together for myself, just knowing I’d die
In
my twenties, over it, over trying to maintain
This
kind of comradeship! Yes I beat the odds,
Now
sixty-six, and that’s another story altogether!...
No:
4514 (8-6-2014)
5) Mad and
Helplessly Drunk (1981-84)
Yes
a misconception, but I nevertheless
Abandoned
myself to the life of mad drunks!
Driving
myself through the progressive stages,
With
an iron constitution!
The
taste wasn’t great, and I told myself, why
Drink
unless you get drunk, waste time and
Money,
and so I smoked three packs a day
Every
day that’s part of drinking… disregard for
Money
and food. Didn’t even buy myself clothes,
Just
more and more and more beer and booze.
All
I possessed I could put into one small chest
That’s
all I owned: a pair of shoes, boots, five dollar
Overalls,
a few cotton shirts, a few pairs of
Underclothes,
and at the end, a room my mother
Provided,
whom also bought me some socks,
Those
also I didn’t own, without holes in the toes!
God
forgive me for such a life I lived!
And
now and then, my brother would pick me up,
With
his semi-truck to work a day or two,
And
after work back to the half dozen saloons.
Never
made it the clothes stores.
No:
4515 (8-6-2014)
6) The Army Doyen
Drunk (1969-1980)
And
I had no regrets. Actually I was kind of proud!
In
the Army I had shown the best of men, I could
Drink
with them, out drink many of them.
Thus,
I had proven myself strong—yes, I held the
Title
of a leading figure, amongst strongmen.
Possible
some of my childhood meagerness was
Involved,
possibly I felt it was better to be a doyen
Drunk,
and a half-drunk fighter, than a chip off the
Old
block, bored working behind some ten-cent
Counter
in some dime and nickel store, or in
Some
machine shop, the Army allowed me to pursue
This
heavy drinking far more than the average
Employer
would do, and around the world I went, from:
Vietnam,
to Guam, and Japan, and off to Sidney,
And
Germany, and Switzerland. And then, to Belgium,
Luxembourg,
Italy, and France…
I
crossed each boarder drunker than a skunk.
No:
4516 (8-6-2014)
7) San Francisco
Drunk (1968-69)
In
San Francisco I got broke
Had
to eat at the Mission House!
I
drank more, and learned more
About
drinking, more than the
Neighborhood
I had lived in, that
Was
my catalyst? Now drink for
Drink,
I could out drink the average
Drunk,
and show the strength of my
Manhood.
Even got drunk in a bar
The
day man landed on the moon;
All
at twenty and twenty-one. The
City
was an exploit, and I never drew
A
sober breath! And my drinking
Stage
had not even reached its top
Of
the Tower of Babel;
Thus
after a year it was time for me
To
move on, to Mexico and
And
North Dakota, with a bottle of
Tequila.
No:
4518 (8-6-2014)
8) Drunk at the
Chalet (1984 to 2014)
(Roseville, Minnesota)
Drunk
or sober, in the back of my mind,
In
my mind’s eye, there was a whisper:
Always
calling! And one day it was loud!
As
I walked out of the Chalet Bar, off
Rice
Street in Roseville, Minnesota.
It
said this: “Is this all your life is for?
Is
not drinking every day, monotonous?
Tomorrow
you’ll go through the same
Basic
motions, again, and then again
Ebbing
towards the bottle until there’s
No
end”; I was not startled by this. It
Actually
soothed me like cool linen.
But
yes I was going out with the tide!
But
one day, again walking out of the
Chalet—perhaps
a few months later,
I
said to the whisper:
“Take
my life, it’s not worth living like this,
Or
sober me up, I can’t do it by myself!
And
I don’t know how to do it with anyone
Else”—
and by George, someone, somewhere
Gave
me a book to read, and I like books
And
I learned that to get someone to stop
Drinking,
you must give that someone
Something
better than what he has—why
Would
he stop drinking otherwise?
That
made sense to me!...
And
as I said, I liked reading: and yes,
God
was clever: and I read the book:
Cover
to cover; asked the Lord
To
come into my life and take out the
Booze,
once and for all— and he did:
And
after that I quit smoking also.
Step
by step he led me into a vortex—
Where
the wharf-lights were no longer
Red,
but green, bidding sentimental
Farewell
to the old ways, of intoxication
To
Old Nick and his Barleycorn tricks!
And
now I’ve been sober, thirty-years
And
have written forty-seven books!
No:
4517 (8-6-2014)
9) The Drunken
Troubadour
I
never knew a girls love, believe it or not!
I
was too drunk to recognize, what love was!
Not
that I didn’t have my romances.
Nor
had I ever known a woman’s love.
Nor
did I really have my children’s love.
I
could see the world back then, under the
Influence
of beer and wine: even pin-point
It
on a map, around this gorgeous globe, the:
Many
ports and cities I roamed and got stoned
In:
Seattle, Omaha, Milwaukee, and Chicago…
Frankfurt,
Darmstadt, Augsburg, in France and
Switzerland!
In Sydney, Australia too, to mention
A
few. In Vietnam! Always with a guitar at hand,
I
was the drunken troubadour, singing and writing
My
poetry as I went along, waiting for a hero’s song
Or
death!
No:
4521 (8-6-2014)
10) A Drunk in
Nuclear Surety
(1974-1976) 545 Ordinance Company
Dragging
me to death, was Mr. Barleycorn,
Swinish
in darkness, and drunkenness
Day
to night: beautiful whores at sundown,
Ugly,
when I woke up at sunset.
Degradation
of the soul, that’s what it’s called!
I
was a bum with a military uniform:
For
eight years, I traveled the world: Corporal,
Buck
Sergeant, Staff Sargent, drunk!
NCOIC,
in charge of Nuclear Security…
No:
4525 (8-6-2014)
11) The Drunk Poet
of Hennepin!
(Minneapolis—1981-‘83)
I
walked the streets of 1st Ave, and Hennepin
Down
in Minneapolis’ city proper!
Hence,
over my glorious youth, I sweat
Out
beer and wine, and whiskey, there,
In
almost every bar, I swear: watched Prince
Sing
at the First Avenue, drunker than a fool!
Not
a weeping-drunk, I was never that,
Nor
a Melancholic blotto, oh no, I was the
Silent
one writing poetry in barrooms in
Minneapolis,
lost in some outer space fog, or
Back
in Vietnam. This was throughout the
Hearty
eighties. Got some poems written
Up
in the newspapers, in Minneapolis!
I
was the hero’s drunk, of the streets:
Off
First Avenue, and Hennepin, nightly.
No:
4520 (8-6-2014)
12) The Babenhausen,
West Germany Drunk (1977)
Many
a nights as I walked home from the bar
In
Babenhausen back in 1977, the year
Elvis,
died… I could hear the guesthouses
Playing
Neil Diamond’s song: ‘Cracklen’ Rosie’
Thus,
I was a military drunk singing away, on
My
way to the military installation, Housing area,
I
lived in. A little over halfway, I’d lay down in
The
Grass wasted, smashed in the grass!
I
lay looking at the starlight, on my back!
Red
and green and white lights flashing off
The
road nearby. Sometimes I even swam a
Few
strokes in the grass, as if it was water.
With
drunken dreams, and after the chill of hours
I
sobered up, very weary and very cold, but
Quite
restrained, for the days military patrol.
When
you’re young your body can somewhat
Resist
the stress and the strain and the pull!
No:
4522 (8-6-2014)
13) The Sobering Up
to Drink, the Drunk
When
you’re sober for a while, and for a year
I
was, in 1981, to ’82, to save a marriage,
But
what a fool I was, you don’t stop for
Such
reasons, you stop to save yourself, I went
Back
to drinking when the marriage could not
Be
salvaged!
In
a like manner, I had a friend in Alabama, in
1978,
who stopped to save a marriage too,
And
raise his kids, after that was accomplished,
He
went back to drinking, saying, “...and I missed it
Immensely,
I just wanted for them to grow up fast
And
get out of the house, so I could go back
To
drinking!” That was all he was ever thinking!
He
died nine months later: he had made up
In
those few months, for what he didn’t drink in
Twenty-years.
No:
4524 (8-6-2014)
14) Dying for a
Drink, the Drunk
When
you’re sober awhile you don’t want to die.
Thus,
I found many reasons for living, during
That
one year of sobriety, 1981-‘82. But when
my
Wife
left me for sin, or whatever, I started drinking
Again.
And thus, I felt this time, that I was more
Liable
to drown away. She said to me:
“You
were no good a drunk, and now you go to
AA
meetings every night, never home, like before,
Hell,
you aint any better sober than when you were
A
drunk!” I couldn’t win, so back to drinking I went;
I
called it a slip, but it was more like a Relapse!
No:
4523 (8-6-2014)
15) A drunken Mess
at Thirty-six!
I
was doing okay until I was thirty-six—
When
I lost my job, car, and was in a fix!
Had
no place to go, to sleep, had previously
Slept
in cars, attics, with friends, even
Rented
out a garage to sleep in—
Where
were my friends? Mr. Barleycorn,
Proven
he was pounding me into a confirmed
Ditch.
When I thought of sobering up, he
Never
ceased to rebel, brain-effected…
Now
physical loathing, too much inactivity:
Slowly
sinking into the deep road, as if
Life
was no more than a sand-hill. I was as
Brittle
as a soda cracker. All at thirty-six.
I
knew if I didn’t stop drinking, I’d never
Make
it to forty…
No:
4527 (8-6-2014)
16) The Drunk and
the Ape
The
ape seeks the strongest branch.
The
bird the highest and safest!
Man,
he seeks the most certain location
To
live, plan and be safe, usually under
The
tree, or in the cave, wherever there’s
Water,
food and safety! But the drunk is
Different,
he’ll climb the tree like the
Monkey,
no thought of where it might be
The
weakest spot, or safest, he doesn’t
Have
enough sense to get down from the
Tree—and
seek safe company; even when
He
falls, time and again, he’ll just get
Back
up, and start all o'er!
No:
4528 (8-6-2014)
17) The Drunk, with Poison-soaked Brains
When I was young, in
my twenties, I was
Healthy, normal, full
of joy of life: to kill
Myself, it would have
been strange,
And far from my mind,
or brain! Yet I was
Killing my nerves and
brain, all the same,
Not really realizing
it, nor fearful of its poisoning:
And had you told me
that, I would have said:
It’s all rot, gobbledygook
inside your head!
You’re being too
dramatic, romantic, too
Imaginative; —you
see, drinking maddens,
Produces lunacy! But
I’d find out the hard
Way, the older I got
the more morbid drinkers
I met; I even became
jaded with life, call it
Disillusioned: speedily
after a long debauch!
And then I met—after
I stopped drinking,
—met, those who
didn’t and I saw their tired
Worn-out, nerves and
brains: poison-soaked,
Fried and toasted as
if in a long drunken dream!
No: 4529 (8-6-2014)
Note: The Poet was a licensed Drug and Alcohol
Counselor for ten-years, he worked as a director for Hawthorn Institute, and
Senior Counselor for duel disorders, for Riverhills Hospital, in Prescott
Wisconsin, and for the Minnesota Federal and State Prison System for seven years.
He drank for 22-years; and has been sober for thirty.
18) The Worldwide Drunks!
Alcohol drenched
roads, dotted with saloons!
Once inside of a
saloon, I could talk to any
Man or woman, no
matter what city or town!
In a saloon, no one’s
a stranger…
In some I wrote my
poetry on napkins!
Smoking cigarette
after cigarette, until some-
One woke me up from
my trance.
But how to plan one’s
drinking—is a trick,
You must guide it
around: work and sleep?
No matter how I
planned, it was always after
The first drink. I’d
even pay the barkeep
To take a drink with
me, to take a break
From thinking on how
to arrange this task.
And more often than
not, I was given the
Suggestion to join
another in a drink, either
At the bar or at a
nearby table.
The more saloons I
visited in a night, the more
Jingle in my throat, and
thus, I’d get to know
Everybody in a little
village or town, in one
Long drunken night!
And this is the service
Alcohol renders. And
it never changed, where-
Ever I’d go around
and around the world.
In Germany,
Switzerland, in Amsterdam,
Scotch and soda, beer
and wine, barbarian
Or Friend, all the
same, strange men, and
Stranger men, from
one saloon to another…
Everyone was a
brother: lest you ordered milk.
No: 4529 (8-6-2014)
