The Driver in Retrospect

The Driver in Retrospect

The backseat was my cradle.

I don’t remember the first ride or many after it.

I remember the roads, the canyons, the freeways.

It is both a blur and all so clear.

On the long drives, from say LA to Phoenix, it was often like a dream.

Josh and I would be sleeping in the backseat.

Mom would be sleeping in the front seat.

And you just drove.

Whatever happened on the way, the angry honking, passing cars on narrow lanes, you did it.

You were never lost, an uncanny sense of direction and memory for every road.

All drama to the contrary,  while she was always angry at you for maneuvers she would never be capable of, we always got to our destination.

May 15, 2015

Ode for my dad the driver

Ode for my dad the driver

I wish you had died driving and not in a hospital bed.

You were the king of the road, but too often, a serf of life.

You loved the road and the road loved you.

It forgave you like none of us ever did.

On the road you usually got away with it, but off road you paid constantly for your fuckups.

While you survived every Dead Man’s Curve, passing cars on Laurel Canyon, and god only knows what else, it was your body that killed you.

Sure, we were prepared and got off shock free as you wasted away.

We had to take the keys away from you and you lost the place you belonged.

No longer a driver, you became a passenger to life and a victim to your own body.

Still, I wish there was a place for old drivers to go.  A road they could take that would provide a last thrill, a chance to blow the horn, and a final turn.

-Adam Markus

May 14, 2015

Chanteuse

Chanteuse

the singer stands upon the stage
looking out and looking in
but mostly looking out

the singer is confident looking out
and her voice is pitch perfect
she commands an audience of the spellbound

offstage she is bound by what is in
she hides the inside by the typical means of escape
a narcotic certainty that makes evasion possible

the singer knows love on the outside
but on the inside she knows only longing
it is her muse

2/16/2011

A Valentine Poem for Akiko

A Valentine Poem for Akiko

 

You are my love!

I shout, but not in pain or sadness.

You are my love!

I shout, but not because you are leaving me.

You are my love!

I shout, but we are not talking on a poor telephone connection.

You are my love!

I shout because I am experiencing pleasure and joy.

You are my love!

I shout because of the certitude of our love.

You are my love!

I shout because you are with me.

 

Adam
2/14/2011

The Cravat Variation

The Cravat Variation

The murmurs of the foreign audience were lost on the little man.
The little man wore a green silk cravat that was a gift from his mother.
His mother had given him the cravat when he turned twenty-seven.
At twenty-seven, the little man stopped wearing ties, but wanted to look fashionable when he played the piano.
The piano that he was about to play now was a Steinway.
Most of the audience recognized what a Steinway was, but they rarely encountered a cravat.
The cravat had no opinion on the matter, but the little man always enjoyed playing to audiences in Tokyo.
Audiences in Tokyo cough a lot more than in the US, but they also pay more for the tickets.
The tickets to see the little man started at 15,000 yen because he was a famous pianist.
For such a famous pianist, you think he could have worn a tuxedo, but he preferred to wear a a black silk shirt and matching pants.
The black silk shirt and matching pants complemented the cravat nicely and were soon forgotten once he started playing.
He started playing the Goldberg Variations and except for the all too frequent coughs, which he ignored, the pianist forgot about his cravat, the audience, his mother, and he remembered everything.

-Adam

Machiavelli's Dame Fortuna smiling on Hegel's Zeitgeist on Horseback

Machiavelli's Dame Fortuna smiling on Hegel's Zeitgeist on Horseback or in other words, Obama.

-Adam

WANKO SOBA

The location: Azuya Soba Restaurant, Morioka, Japan
August 10th.
A dream fulfilled:

It began with a mere 15 bowls of Wanko soba. That is the same as eating one regular serving of soba.




It continued until:



The aftermath:




82 bowls. The young guys behind me were each past 90 when we left. The record is about 500. The typical guy does 60.