Primary Poems
MARGOLIS, RICHARD J.
States of the Union PRIMARY POEMS by richard j. margolis There is a poetry to politics. "A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer," E. B. White has observed; "he approaches lucid ground...
...Wallace I, too, am America...
...I have sung along with Mitch But I do not think he will sing to me...
...Eeny Meany minus Mo...
...So huge, so hopeless to conceive, And yet one cannot tell: The race is all we l;now of heaven, And all we need of hell...
...I await the returns...
...I am the darker side of the candidates, all the bright candidates...
...Tomorrow, I'll take the driver's seat...
...cummings, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, T. S. Eliot, Langston Hughes, Carl Sandburg, Amy Lowell, Vachel Lindsay, and Mother Goose...
...The Fall Jer and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of rum...
...But why am I taking up this awesome burden...
...In the booth the voters come and go Remembering Ronnie in King's Row...
...It is impossible to say just what I mean...
...Gosh...
...Herewith are II "Primary Poems," each a thickly veiled tribute to one of our Presidential aspirants-announced, unannounced and withdrawn...
...I shall have the Iowa delegates polled...
...well, no regrets...
...They'll see Boston is 'bama bound...
...Jer fell down and broke his crown, but he wasn't chewing gum...
...Patterns of HHH I walk down the Garden path...
...Bayh One could have done worse Than to have swung with Birch...
...I eat their leavings...
...Finally, at quarter to three, Everyone chooses...
...Let us go and make our visit...
...he approaches lucid ground warily...
...I grow old I grow old...
...They'll see I'm with them, too...
...shriver nobody loses all the time in this delicious mud-luscious best of all possibles replete with peace corps poverty war and parquet floor (not to mention the big bright balloons that go pop pop) in the sun-drenched fun-drenched rooms of camelot Half-Nelson My life closed twice before its close...
...Even now, as I cross the turgid Ramapo, My gas gauge reads Empty...
...If he loses let him go...
...Work Song Eeny meeny miny mo, Udall wants the unions' dough...
...Where elections are a game, a scrimmage...
...I walk down the Garden path, And all the delegates Are cheering...
...Yes, I too am a not-so-rare Candidate, standing in the aisle Of this ungodly Garden...
...I walk down the path At Madison Square Wearing my stiff, Minnesota smile...
...Out of my camper endlessly rocking I shall forge a new constituency, An infinitely sweet, registered constituency Of young and old, old and young, And many upright in-betweeners as well, Who in triumphant concert from shore to shore Shall enrich the destitute, Overpower the powerful, Enjoin the judges, Pension off the pensive, And enthrone the honest man Who sits on common kitchen chairs...
...What are patterns for...
...In the booth the voters come and go Remembering Ronnie in King's Row...
...Carter's Ink The fog comes on little cat's feet, a soft mist from Georgian bottomlands...
...On the Road With Fred Harris Unafraid and light-hearted in my camper I take to the open road, Singing an incredibly melodious refrain Of Freedom, Love, and Tax Reform...
...well, no regrets-I've been here once or twice before...
...Oh, do not ask, "What is it...
...All sure-fire fur and purr, this impalpable cat...
...But wait: I espy a pattern, A mystifying trend: The nominees are deadlocked...
...The Love Song of Ronald Reagan Let us go then, you and I To that big country in the sky Where each of us is etherized By the screen's image...
...It yet remains to see If those Republicans vouchsafe Another chance to me...
...I go to the back of their bus...
...And all the delegates Ignore me...
...Jackson's Drum Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM, Where the hell is that smoke-filled room...
...We apologize in advance to the candidates, and in retrospect to the following poets: Robert Frost, e.e...
...The ballots are without end...
...Do I dare Disturb the universe With this tiresome campaign...
...Surely as much can be said for our politicians...
...r.s...
...Have I lost my crease in the rain...
...Watch the screen, the magic screen...
Vol. 59 • March 1976 • No. 7
