The T-Shirt Phenomenon in Minnesota on the Fourth of July

43 SCHEVILL JAMES SCHEVILL THE T-SHIRT PHENOMENON IN MINNESOTA ON THE FOURTH OF JULY A happy confusion scribbles through hot air The wistful, latent sense of American poetry: "I planted 26,000 Trees. Thank God I'm done." This is the 204th Birthday ofthe United StatesYoung Again!" I feel two hundred years of youth On my aging shoulders. Hundreds of parents, kids, March in T-shirts, go-carts, bikes, wagons, Toy tractors, eternal sense ofAmerican motion. I stare at each T-shirt passing by, Analyzing the alliteration, assonance, the images. "If It's Physical, It's Therapy." "White Elephant." "Chicken Shirt." A world of Joycean punishment, Wild identities flowering in groping metaphors. It's the American version of Mexican Wall-Art Or French Art Mobilier, Art On The Move. "Norwegians Have More Fun." Well, it's a Scandinavian Community even if a lot of Viet Namese and Laotian Refugees are watching, near some Chinese Communists Studying Engineering at the local university. "Sua. Theresa de Jesus Avila." "Sgt. Pickles Deli & Saloon." Religious drama confronts the advertising world. "Jesus Is The Pride Of The Morning Star." "The Minnesota State Bird Is The Mosquito." I feel caught between startling light and tiny bites. "Librarians Are Novel Lovers." I always knew Poetry was Fiction. All ofthe Oriental watchers Are gaping with culture shock. American humor Translates like glue. The wife of a Chinese Communist Tells me, "Your writers we know are Mark Twain And Jack London. I'm reading Life On The Mississippi And I love to see the Mississippi, like our Yangtse, But I don't understand his river talk and jokes. Can you tell me how to translate American?" 44 THE MINNESOTA REVIEW "Sorry," I say, "I can't even translate these T-shirts." Suddenly I notice the American flagI'm waving Reads in small print in a corner, "Made in Taiwan." I start to laugh and everyone looks at me. Quickly I expose my T-shirt: "Some One Went To New York and All They Got Is This Lousy T-Shirt." Now the crowd laughs back. Is poetry an isolated art Where the shaman symbol operates magically to cure Individual wounds, or is it a communal song ofpraise To celebrate a ceremonial time? Can both ever unite? In a park corner two teenagers in dark glasses imitate A television fantasy, sell illegal firecrackers to kids. As the firecrackers explode, I ask my Lady Communist: "You Chinese invented firecrackers, didn't you?" With a smile she answers: "Yes, we have fireworks For everything, promotions, birthdays, graduations." We laugh together. When I retreat from laughter Into my isolated search for community again, I'll think of our desire for poetry, How we don't know what to do with it despite Whitman, And so we try to display it on our chests. ...