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Again, Grogan’s What was a man’s life in this wilderness whose vapor was laden with the stench of thousands upon thousands of decaying bodies —Ernst Jünger, Storm of Steel IRA is deeply divided Standing in front of Grogan’s . . . and then I open the front door, look inside, too crowded so around the corner and use the side entrance. Remember, we went through the whole question of the front and the rear parts of the pub when here in the middle of the day. Now into Grogan ’ s with the additional question: should we be going into the Castle Lounge. The Castle. The legend: only room enough going around the walls of the chapel for the exact number of lord lieutenants or governors OR WHOever the fuck it was the English had here running from the Castle the show in Ireland—their coat of arms—that’s what was going up on the wall of the chapel . . . I am not sure when it comes right down to it if Grogan’s got its Castle Lounge name from conscious thought of the Castle, down there at the other end of Dame Street. I had to go up to the Castle to get my alien’s book. I became a file in the state’s belly. Either I would pass out of the anus with all the other shit or the shit would come down falling upon my head and no Martha’s Vineyard rock family would be singing backup lyrics getting ready to sign me into an institution for the cure of what ails the doctor. DO THEY SMEAR THE WALLS OF MECCA WITH YOUR SHIT? A plump man is standing at the corner. He is not waiting for cars to pass. There is little traffic on the street at this time of the night. He is rocking back and forth. He is not drunk. Having no beard on his chin St. Patrick’s Day ———— there is no way to drag in Jack Kerouac; the long-lost ghost of one of those rivers of America you cross heading out West. Muddle must be his middle name. I pass behind the man on the corner . He does not turn. I have never seen the man before with his pale face, thick glasses. Maybe, Stephen grown old and without beard. Nora dumped him when a better offer came along. The accident didn’t happen . He had to come back to Dublin like everybody knew he would, in the end. People are very, very loyal until someone makes them a better offer. The night air cleared my head. My lungs are filled with the deep green of the fields. My eyes glow with the blue of the sky. My lips are kissed by the edge of the surf. I am not protesting too much. I stand on the curb back to the street looking at the entrance way of Grogan’s. You go up a step. There’s an entrance then turn to your left and open the door to the sudden turn of faces sitting on the bench against the wall nearest the door. But their full faces are obscured by the standing bodies of the people packing the place for the last minutes before they have to face what are they going to do with the rest of the evening and is there going to be someone who will be able to provide a quick rest of the head and genitals and maybe if it’s not sinning against the sin of hope, a something to put in the stomach but this ain’t America and the bottles are to be kept under tight hand though the warmed-up air is free to drink and there is a lot of that always being offered by those who cannot sleep and those who will not sleep out of fear of what the night brings down upon them: what if they have no nightmares—of what will they compose the poems being demanded by the climate of creativity swimming over even one such as I, waiting at this rear entrance of Grogan ’s for the conjunction of spheres, is it—so be it—I am inside the pub and am still standing outside—I have pushed my way to the bar and have ordered two pints and they’ll be along in a second, just wash up some of these glasses, can’t offer you a clean pair of hands, ha...

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Additional Information

ISBN
9780268101053
Related ISBN
9780268035389
MARC Record
OCLC
950901194
Pages
232
Launched on MUSE
2016-07-31
Language
English
Open Access
No
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