November 26, 2009

• Electric Poetry: In my Youth

  

  "The Poignant Ballad of the Roving Hippie"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  1971 (18 years old)

  With Dusty boots he treads the paths of malice.
  His hands reach out but no one knows he's there.
  He looks around for peace and truth
  But never finds it.
  They only tell him he should cut his hair.

  He's a roving hippie - keeps the love beads dangling
  With the cross upon his chest
  Knows the answers to the questions --
  Keeps his mouth shut knowing what is best.

  The light turns green he steps across the street.
  His feet turn round and nothing greets his gaze.
  He wants to be a friend
  But cannot be loved,
  As long as no one looks through their deep haze.

  He's a roving hippie -- tries communication with the others
  But short circuits all the wires
  Makes a nuisance for he fails to meet
  Approval with establishmentarian liars.

  His home was fine but not for his existence.
  Yet everywhere he goes they want him back.
  He strives for love and grace
  But they have fled him.
  He cannot help but think he's off the track.

  Sing fa la la or ho de ho ho.
  Please some body tell me where to go.
  They say
  Tareyton filters taste right like a cigarette should
  Clean your floors with ammonia that's good
  Cleanse your breath with Dentyne chewing gum
  Do what you like but stop being a bum.

   

  "Angel of Friendship"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  1972

  I had a dream the other night
  A nightmare of reality
  While walking along the streets of L.A.
  I saw the Angel of Friendship --
  The forgotten life.
  She wasn't beautiful
  But her homliness was radiant
  She smiled in the midst of frowns
  She was happy in the midst of sads
  And she came up to me
  And I couldn't help but smile
  She welcomed me into her soul
  But I wasn't ready to take it
  My astounded nature repelled her
  But she remained a friend
  This angel wasn't for real
  I don't think
  But maybe if I had thought of her as
  More than a person on the street
  I'd feel better today.

  I want to have this dream again.

  
  "Future Memories With You"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  Feb. 16, 1973

  I used to could say it all before
  I used to sit beyond my incapabilities
  And talk about myself forever.
  They used to call me a good conversationalist
  I used to be very popular.

  Then I changed
  I wanted to face reality with no fronts
  I wanted the inescapable "truth."

  Then, within the course of a few months,
  My mother fell int life's limbo
  My family changed
  My sister fell in love
  for real

  I found myself lost
  Among all the truths I'd ever needed
  I reasoned carefully
  But it was no use
  I tried to sit beyond my incapabilities
  But it was still no use

  Then you stepped from out of nowhere
  And the faceless girls in dreams assumed identity
  And life means something to me
  Now.

  The past is full of dire memories
  But the future has memories which
  Haven't been counted.
  I want to spend these future memories
  With you.

  
  "Depression VI"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  October 1, 1974 12:30 p.m

  Ah, to consruct, in the minds e'er widening chasm,
  The world of perfection,
  The place of serene evaluation.
  Why can't the mind go to that place
  More often, and why does the mind
  Torture itself with dreams.

  Many will cry with the weight of time's
  Coffins, reflecting dead thoughts with their own.
  I try to cry when I think of the past
  But the future is e'en wider still.

  Friendships are lost with the turning of pages
  Life is an unwritten poem in a desk.
  My emotions yearn for expression
  And half-formulated sentences cascade
  Like water from the stone-fronted
  Faces at which they've been thrown.

  My heart will beat a multitudinous beat
  And words will race unintelligibly from my lips
  ...Then I will turn around to face reality
  Where unrhymed poems and unsympathetic people
  Serve to mar your heart from joy.

  The sadness can be written many times
  And many different ways
  But as long as the feeling is still there
  And it cannot be expressed
  Without disappearing before someone else hears it
  Then words can fall off cliffs
  And water can drown emotions.

  
  "Empty Nights II"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  June 16, 1975 1:05 a.m

  
  I'd like to go home.
  I'd like to say 'hi' to Mom & Dad again.
  I'd like things to be like they used to
  And I didn't have to worry.

  Problems were always so slight and
  there was always something there
  And someone to turn to--

  "Mommy, I love you" And I wish you
  could come back the way I knew you
  But then again can I face it--
  And do I only yearn for memories.

  Home is so far away
  Along with someone to love.
  And shattered visions lie around
  Waiting for me to pick up the pieces

  The days fly by and time is but
  Convention.
  And little conversations
  Do not mend the breaks at all.

  When I used to write poetry
  And 'hopes' were all I needed,
  Life was easier.

  I'll say that I have it easy now.
  My world is safe and
  Free from real problems
  And people have more rotten times than I

  At least I'm happy.

  I tell myself.

  "A Thanksgiving Prayer 1978"   Cathy poem

  poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  November 23, 1978 12:15 p.m

  At times I feel everything is perfect
  A beautiful morning makes me want to
  burst into song
  (like in the movies)
  I get that feeling like I used to back in
  college when I'd drive down the freeway
  after classes thinking - this is it - the
  catharsis - me and my my machine - alone - together
  winding down the ribbon of asphalt - 
  nothing to mess up my thinking - 
  total control...
  I can reach out and hug strangers 
  on the street - I feel like
  SCREAMING 
  "I'm alive - can you feel it?"

  And at times like this I miss you most.

  Then

  At times I feel like the world doesn't
  want me around - 
  A friendly compliment makes me mad
  I feel everybody is playing the game
  of MindF**k - 
  I lash out at people - objects - ideas -
  situations
  I'd punch the mirror if it would hurt 
  me -

  And at times like this you always 
  seem to be around

  I'm okay
  I'm not crying now (well, hardly)
  It's a beautiful day
  And I view a verdant field
  - and you and I are in the picture
  Caressing each other with our dreams
  And comforting each other with
  our desires.

  If only 
  If only 
  If only I could open up all the time
  And feel like it's all right
  then I wouldn't worry too much
  about your leaving
  The problem is with my conception - 
  I warp it all the time to please
  myself

  There are only a few clouds
  rimming the horizon
  The sky is a brilliant blue
  The birds sing innocently
  I'll see you again
  And I'll counter your smile with my own
  You are a separate being
  Because you're a human spirit
  And I love you for that
  Too.

  Thank you Cathy
  Thank you world.

  ---

  BEHIND THE POETRY: I recently read an entry on Xanga called "Does Poetry Make You Feel Dumb?" It was on Top Blogs, and I neglected to bookmark it, and now I can't find the entry, and didn't comment, cause I was at work when I read it. I'm ashamed that I can't even remember who wrote the entry! (EDIT: 11/26/09 7:07am pst.) Thanks to my determination and elephantine memory, the search engine in my brain found the entry, linked above, written by Victoria (themarriedfreshman) The jist of the entry was that the author didn't think that most poetry was completely understandable, even though she enjoyed reading it. I've always been lucky that most of the readers of my poetry, which I've been writing since 1967 at the age of 14, not only understand, but people who don't particularly like poetry tell me that they like mine. This makes me feel incredibly wonderful. I've been a poet for a long time. I can write in any number of forms and structures. The above poems were all written very early in my life, and have not been featured on Xanga before. "Roving Hippie" tells the tale of a lot of folks of my generation, who traveled the country "looking for themselves" and found nothing but hatred, when they only wanted love. "Angel of Friendship" recalls a real encounter with a lonely gal I met while at college, and is the first of two poems to address this sprite, who really inspired my poetic soul. "Future Memories" is a poem written to my girlfriend Emma, and I've always loved the title line. Of course we broke up, so my "future memories" were never spent with her. "Depression VI" is one of the "depression" poems. I like to be positive and uplifitng in poetry now, but I spent many years depressed, and this is one of the poems dealing with a sense of deep loss. It contains two lines which have inspired lines or titles in other poems, "the weight of time's coffins" and "Life is an unwritten poem in a desk". "Empty Nights II" was written a year after I stopped seeing my mother in the nursing home, where she had suffered a bilateral stroke which paralyzed her. Dad had died the year previous. The fact that I stopped seeing my mother for the last two years of her life still upsets me. Still, I'm optimistic in the end of the poem. EDIT: 10:46 p.m. I just remembered that it's Thanksgiving tomorrow so I added a "Thanksgiving Poem". This from 1978, when I was 25, and in love with Cathy, to whom I wrote 60 poems. This is one of them, dedicated to the love of my life at the time. MFN/ppf

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