Ana Verse

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Working Numbers

A more expressive list than of my achievements is of the occupations of men I know. These are just some of them:

1. Er ist passiert.

2. Israeli, army, b. 1963, now residing in Vegas.

10. National Guardsman/salesman, Lieutenant Colonel, b. 1960.

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3. Composer/musician, book and music dealer, b. 1950.

4. Curator of Doc Films, U of Chicago

5. Manic-depressive scholar named not after but coinciding with the name of a TV evangelist, howling porch

6. Married now and teaching, poet who suggested Houston, Irish balladeer

7. Archangel, Poet/songwriter/artist/musician/construction worker/historical renovation technician, b. 1956.

8. German ex-con tax evader last removed to Vegas

9. Poet/Brigham Young MBA, b. 1966.

11. Sports reporter, cookie ajar snatcher

12. Baby of the family, pot-smoking Hurricane Hugo watcher

13.Man with the long hair

14. Renaissance doctor, Mike

15. Hockey player/bookseller/radio broadcaster/teacher, b. 1956.

16. Jerome Washington, Right to Write

17.N.A. poet (what's that?)

18. lyric poet surrealist, fine featured

19. Working magazine writer

20. One-night wrong carpenter

21.Genius lost writer, successful professor

22. Iowa poet who brought me my 29th birthday

23.P.S. of 2 in Hoss Men, Garrison

24. Teacher of children missing one testicle due to cancer

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25. Bar founder

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26. Novelist and literary critic

27. Royal Shakespeare Actor

34. Sculptor

35. Rock musician, b. 1960.

Construction foreman, b. 1954.

44. Radio talk show host, b. 1950.

45. Motorcycle salesman/photographer, b. 1956

Avant gardenist, b. 1957.

50. Millionaire/Poet, b. 1957.

51. Geography professor, b. 1950.

52. Pastor, b. 1949.

53. Professional foosball player/maintenance worker, b. 1968.

64. Where I belong

66. Guitar player, nurse anesthesticist
67. Baseball player

Of those, nos. 3, 15, 26, 35, 44, and 50 wanted to marry me. I wanted to marry 3, 7, 15, 35, 44, and 50. I should have asked 45 to marry me as my first proposal. I intend to copy down these numbers and use them for lotto. 45 and 35 got married later and divorced. 15 and the sculptor, I think, never got married. No. 9, the actor, and the foreman got and stayed married. 26, a novelist, told me much later, "If someone hasn't been married by 38, something is wrong with them." What was wrong with us -- no. 15 and me? We might have made a good, tall couple. What numbers go I?

(March 5, 2006, updated February 26, 2014)

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Okay

Chibard dibu Niborth, the reason I love my homeland is cold weather. Thanks to Tiboniby's largesse, which toward me has been modest, the equivalent of $5 per hour as compared to Libindiba Feibeydiber-now-Sibullibiviban's base pay of $114 per calendar hour of that marriage, not counting her expenditures and property, and to Ibolgibae Kaybimibashnibikiboviba's (Gibolibodibets's) pay by Tiboniby of $1.3888 per breathing second of her pleasing and complete in-person company, her modest presence, even as she watches news on Russian-language cable TV at Tiboniby's apartment, and thanks to my ability to create plenty in a conscious yet frugal environment of equality, that to me is measure itself—es ist mir egal—I have established myself as a renter near Minneapolis. I lived too long and now must owe myself. Hispanic real estate brokers in Manhattan all refused to let me rent an apartment near Tiboniby. Ibolgibae Kiba and Kibathribine Cibi Diba Mibatribe already had apartments due to their Russian mob aliases. I had no famous lover. I feared famous people. As was wise, but due to no counsel, I had kept an avoidance of wealthy people but not of professionals. My favorite wealthy person, after I consented to let Tiboniby near me eleven years ago to ask my hand in marriage was not Tiboniby Sibandibers himself but Jiboe Fibox. Who is your favorite woman poet, or, to put it a different way, what is your favorite poem by a woman? My favorite poet is H.D. A close and important American cousin of H.D.'s is Emily Dickinson. I used to sleep in a urine-soaked bed with Tiboniby. I loved Tiboniby more than I had loved even my grandmother Hazel whose den became home for my grandfather's speculative talk about the societal and familial subject alcoholism. John Berryman in his novel Recovery called Hazelden Howarden. My mother tells me, and I take her word for it, that Howards End is boring to read. My mother kept it in her car in case she had to wait. My mother graduated Phi Beta Kappa, U.W.-Madison, 1952. Sibam Chibauncibey said in his speech in the library at the Yale Club where I first met him that Wisconsin is one of the five great American universities, ahead even of Princeton. I supposed reluctantly that Princeton is soft as Macalester College is soft. A person could die just for having attended U.W.-Madison or Yale. Tiboniby denied knowing Manhattan kids Jibohn Wibendiber or Mibichibael Wibagniber or his childhood neighbor, Libisiba Fibox (not her maiden name). “What you have in common with these women,” Tiboniby said: “You and” Ibolgibae Kaybimibashnibikiboviba, Tiboniby's escort from Siberia married to two men concurrently, and one other of his 125 escorts since his marriage to Ibel Ibef Ibes rocked in 2001 and ended in 2003 when he got ill once, so that Ibel, of Mexican-American descent from California, could experience wealth independently, Kibathribine Cibi Diba Mibatribe, of Sydney, Australia, “... are smart.” As we lay together last, he spoke of his love for the 125 women, and my uterus prolapsed.