| [1959] With his mouth open, slightly
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| | looking about, not at anything in
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| opened I should say, grandpa’s
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| | particular, perhaps making a peanut
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| mouth mumbled (from long habit I expect,
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| | butter sandwich, or drinking a glass of
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| I presupposed—back then, back in
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| | milk: glancing at grandpa now and then,
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| the late 50s and early 60s (when we all
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| | and pacing about, around in the kitchen
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| lived in an extended family type
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| | as if I was at the Alamo looking here and
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| setting)) and I was but ten years old,
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| | there for the incoming enemy: that in
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| there about: take or give a year or
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| | itself annoyed grandpa: he’d always
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| two))—and I suppose from years of
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| | mumble to my mother: “…vay
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| practice) automatically opened (insulting
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| | cant dat boy of yor play
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| whomever at the moment, was by him, not
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| | outside…goddam it?”
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| directing it to the: noun (or: person,
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| | (he’d pause a moment, turn about
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| place or thing), just swearing away,
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| | and swear): ‘…dam son of
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| swearing under his breath…in his
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| | bitch, kick his ass out…!”It
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| broken English: ‘…vat dam
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| | was summer, mother was at work, Grandpa
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| hell matter dhis fu…kn pepe,
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| | semi retired now, he paced the living
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| god…dam son na bitch…!”
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| | room like a wounded leopard, and it often
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| and when his mouth opened, things leaked
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| | reminded me of that invisible rabbit,
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| out of his mouth like molasses); he
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| | James Stewart the actor portrayed in the
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| watched me move about in the kitchen,
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| | movie “Harvey,” I mean who
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| looking over his spectacles, or glasses
| |
| | was he talking to, like James Stewart,
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| he seldom wore, except if he wanted to
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| | perhaps the invisible Harvey.Now grandpa
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| read the paper, which he couldn’t
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| | was puffing away, and I got
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| read but every fifth word in English, the
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| | thinking—that’s cool, the
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| old Russian Bear —then grandpa
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| | pipe and all, but it takes a lot of work
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| started to strike his match at the same
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| | and coordination. I can’t remember
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| time of his mumbling and sucking off the
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| | exactly, but I do remember being
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| stem of his pipe, trying to ready himself
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| | fascinated with his pipe, and I reason it
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| to light his tobacco inside this black
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| | came out when I got older, for as a young
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| framed hole that held the tobacco: and
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| | adult, I purchased a pipe, and became a
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| brown bottom drum called a pipe; stained
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| | copycat, not realizing I was, but I
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| from a decade’s use I expect; his
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| | was.As a result, when I see a man with a
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| mouth still moving, still talking to the
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| | pipe nowadays, I often think of grandpa,
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| pipe or himself, not sure, he
| |
| | but even more so, the quite life we had,
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| couldn’t have been talking to me,
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| | the smoke of the pipe circulating the
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| he seldom did, perhaps a half dozen times
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| | living room, and then it fading into
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| in ten-years, and today was not my lucky
| |
| | nothingness it was all about an
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| day, or my unfortunate day: as I was
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| | unforgettable decade for me, it would
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| saying or about to say, he swept his hand
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| | rest on magical air, I’d think; it
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| backwards, the match pulled away from the
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| | all seems so somber now, now that
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| lit tobacco in the furnace of the pipe,
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| | I’m getting to his age.Note:
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| the steam of the pipe he was still
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| | Written at, ‘El Parquetito’
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| sucking onto make sure it stayed hot and
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| | Cafe, in Lima, Peru 4/22/2006, while
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| lit.Still talking to himself, I was as I
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| | having spaghetti, and enjoying the sun.
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| said before a ten to twelve year old kid,
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| |
|
