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Category: Movies

POEM: Fred Astaire’s Sister

Fred Astaire’s Sister

The crossword puzzle book –
which, let’s be honest,
is already a pretty old place to start –
has a clue asking for the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister.
As I pencil in ADELE,
I get that cozy feeling
that comes from a warm fire
on a snowy day
with an old movie playing.
There’s something oddly comforting
about knowing Fred’s sister’s name,
as there is about knowing Fred himself.
I was born in the era of record players
housed in credenzas, grew up
in the era of cassette tapes and then CDs,
and watched my kids come of age
at a time when every song ever recorded
is available at the touch of a pretend button.
But now it’s Sunday afternoon,
I’m listening to Horowitz on vinyl,
penciling in the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister,
and happy to be spanning the ages
with my wonder still intact.

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25 March 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: the eighties

the eighties

we listened to Pink Floyd & Rush
Genesis & Yes & King Crimson
Marillion & a-ha & Depeche Mode

we watched Monty Python
& Robin Williams & Red Dwarf
& Big Trouble In Little China

we ordered pizza
bought snacks at Wegmans
stopped at Perkins in the wee hours

we read Watchmen & The Dark Knight Returns
The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy
The Chronicles Of Amber & Tolkien

we played in the marching band
we played in the wind ensemble
we (some of us) played in a rock band

we planned to go to college
we planned to never get married
we couldn’t imagine having kids

we’re not all around anymore
most of us are parents now
most of the rest of it is the same

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28 February 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Documentarian

Documentarian

Here’s William Stafford:
well along in years, lying
on a couch that’s conformed
to the shape of a poet,
writing his daily lines,
trying to get it all down
before the divots in the cushions
are all that remains
of the collection of atoms
named William Stafford.

/ / /

19 November 2024
Charlottesville VA

You should watch this.

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POEM: The Danger Of Black And White

The Danger Of Black And White

Jean Arthur and Cary Grant are in
an unnamed South American country.
She’s a piano player who just stopped by
on her way somewhere else.
He’s flying the mail over the Andes
with a misfit crew of pilots.
I am back in your parents’ kitchen,
where movies like this were always playing
on a wall-mounted TV.
Your dad would be looking through the paper,
making jokes about the headlines
or pointing out sales.
Your mom would be scrolling on her laptop.
In the early days your grandfather
might be at one end of the table,
a cup of coffee near to hand.
You and I would find our seats,
joining the conversation or having our own,
exchanging glances or a little touch
as one of us got up to put the kettle on.
Meanwhile Cary Grant or Jean Arthur or
Jimmy Stewart or Audrey Hepburn
would be in the middle of a melodrama
or a screwball comedy, and every once
in a while one of us would look up at the TV
and see some character actor
and try to remember
where we’d seen them before.
The others would chime in until we figured it out
or until we had to resort to the internet.
Then the kettle would click off,
the water would get poured,
and a comfortable silence would descend
for a few minutes.

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17 January 2023
State College PA

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My Project For 2023

I thought a lot about whether I would try to start any year-long project today, such as writing a poem every day as I’ve done in several past years.

I’ve decided to commit to just one project, which is to watch one new-to-me movie each week this year. I’m a regular rewatcher of films but I’m less diligent about watching things I’ve never seen before.

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POEM: The World’s Saddest Lightsaber

The World’s Saddest Lightsaber

In the photo I’m five or six,
holding an inflatable lightsaber
that looks like a bizarre 70s sex toy.
I’m in my footie pajamas, like all good Jedi.
Head lowered, seated on the end of my bed,
I look like I just found out Darth Vader is my dad.
Fast-forward four decades: My cousin asks if I’m OK.
Yeah, I’m mostly OK. Just waiting for the dust to settle,
even though I’m fairly sure the dust never settles —
it just keeps swirling from one place to the next.
That’s OK. I don’t have a lightsaber, but I have some light.
And I hear they make adult footie pajamas, so there’s still hope.

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5 April 2022
Latham, NY

(NaPoWriMo Day 5)

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POEM: Jimmy Stewart On The Tonight Show In 1989

Jimmy Stewart On The Tonight Show In 1989

Jimmy Stewart is talking to Johnny Carson about flying.
It’s 1989. Jimmy is 81. Johnny is 64.
Jimmy is wearing a dark suit with a reddish tie.
His hair looks a little blond, but it could be the lights.
Jimmy tells a story about getting to ride in a barnstorming plane.
As he tells it I’m reminded again of how much I love this man.
Jimmy talks in interviews just the way he does on the big screen.
Not that I’ve ever seen one of his movies on the big screen.
Jimmy has that accent you can’t quite pin down.
He’s from Indiana, Pennsylvania, but I think the accent is his own.
Jimmy gestures with his right hand.
I can’t even tell you why I love him, exactly.
Jimmy reminds me a bit of my grandfather.
And of course I realize he was acting in all those movies.
Jimmy just seems like a good man.
I used to drive by a sign for his museum on the way to a job I had.
Jimmy’s museum is in his home town.
I never went, but I always meant to.

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31 March 2021
Latham NY

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