Mike Ravdonikas: Poems

Spirit of Napoli / A seagull, hard at work, Picking apart the rotten Carcass of a pigeon. Do as the Romans When in Rome – But when in Naples, Don’t look down. Or up – the buildings Of this town’s majestic past Just make things worse By burying the “could have been” In “has been”. The first graffito (Of twelve thousand) That I saw, arriving here by train Read: “DEATH TO CAMORRA”. Five days in I can’t agree more, Maybe even go beyond The humble statement: It is not the mafia alone – The city as a whole Seems to be asking For another blast From its two-headed Mountain (in the eyes Of a trespasser, like myself) But people fill its streets. They shoot about On scooters, like so many Plastic herrings, Scurrying around The sharks of its Fiats. They sit at open tables Of cafes on permagarbage sidewalks, kiss on benches Next to barricades of trash. They walk around in miniskirts And shorts, Displaying godly tans – Or beastly paunches. (And, I suppose, by night They tag the shutters Of these stores.) And hark: They SING when begging For a coin. And they look happy. And they make me think Of all that I have lost Over the years of living In those other cities – Where the past is a prelude (And not an admonition). Where you wouldn’t think Of washing shoes Together with your hands, Returning home, Where poems don’t start With carcasses of pigeons, Where the dark side Tries to hide And where the underworld Has less successful branding… Standing in these streets, I see humanity’s revolting ways And its redeeming joys Of feeling happy and alive Despite whatever garbage Gods allot you. @verse

I made a habit of publishing small collections of poems on my birthdays, but this year's harvest is both diverse and plentiful – and we're well past July 23. While I'm figuring out which of the 60 or so scraps of verse should stay and which will go, here are a few ghosts of Christmas past from the 2021-2022 season. (P.S. For no apparent reason, I spent most of the past year thinking I'm 37 already – so this second year of 37 will be a strange one to live in. Deja vu.) See @verse https://telegra.ph/Five-Cities-07-31

Fig bonsai (an obituary) / We came back A few days too late And our fig tree Has dried. Damn. I’m not sure It will bear us Dried figs… @verse

Climate Change / They should have taken Better care of branding – I'm thinking this on board Of a November Airbus, Taking me back To warm Dubai From Europe's faded green, A semi-yearly dose Of much more realistic "Climate Change". They did a good job Getting rid of "Global Warming" (Who wouldn't like a bit of extra warmth In our cold lives, except the people Stuck around the Gulf in August and July) But "Climate Change"? Why not the "Carbon Plague"? Or "Climageddon", Or "The Melting Doom", You have to leave some room for panic In your naming – If anything at all 's to be achieved. @verse 15.11/21

Cities of Dreams / I like driving through places I think of as Cities of Dreams. Where hundreds Of little white windows Light up after 7PM And the people Who feed us And clothe us And (still) make us Put on our masks Park their little Nissans after work, And walk down to the minimart, Some holding hands with a wife, Some supporting a kid On their shoulders – They walk Past the open Toyota trucks Where, lying stretched In the trunks, Men in kurtas Browse phones, Call their homes – Or just stare into alien skies As the evening draws on And their future Gets closer. @verse

Spirit of Dubai / An unwilling, slow Camel of sand, Buried deep underground, Flat and featureless, Fluffy like baby fur, Cold as the night, Dry – of such powerful Dryness no sprinkler Can ever defeat, Dry like the powdered bones Of old people In a bag on the belt Of a mountain climber – Take one pinch, And your fingers are gone, Desiccated forever. One day he will stand up, And shake us all off And move further inland, Step after giant step, Entombing these shallow Parks, trees and flowers – And all of the lipsticks And cigarette lighters Of concrete and glass That we build on his skin – In a sand pit, To be munched shut By water, wave after wave, From the sea we came out of So long, long ago – But shouldn't have bothered (as far as he is concerned). 30.01/22 @verse

A brief introduction to Argentine Tango to make poems like this one accessible to more than just my tango friends 1. In Argentine tango, you don't learn steps. You learn a universal system of communication that two people can use to create a fully improvised dance tailored to any music that is playing. 2. This means you can dance with people you met for the first time – to music you've never heard before. 3. A "milonga" is a dancing event where people dance tango (in Argentina, it's also a venue where such events are regularly held). To confuse the hell out of everybody, the same name is also used for a jolly genre of music with a faster beat, which is also played in milongas – along with valses, to add some variation for the tango dancers. 4. People usually dance to tango music recorded somewhere between 1930-1970 (a smaller number of songs recorded by contemporary bands may also be used). That's a lot of very different musical styles, tempos, and moods. 5. To make it easier to adjust to your partner and the music, at a milonga, songs are arranged into "tandas" – each tanda is made up of 3-4 songs by the same orchestra from the same era. A tanda is usually 12-15 minutes long. 6. People dance the whole tanda with the same partner. When it's over, a "cortina" is played for 30-60 seconds. During the cortina, couples leave the dance floor and find new partners. Depending on the DJ's preferences, this can be any music – from jazz to pop to death metal – what's important is that it should not be confused with tango. 7. Milongas usually last between 3-5 hours. If you dance 15 tandas, you'll likely be quite tired. 8. If you were thinking of learning to dance something – learn Argentine tango and get a second life for free.

Saturday night, post-milonga / My shower just got warmer, So I know you've finished yours. We started dancing Fifteen years ago; For ten of those We have been sharing Breakfasts, beds and stories – Yet it is the tango That connects us best: You'll know your one true love When you have faced another dozen In an evening. A courtship in four songs – And onwards, Into someone else's arms: Fifteen embraces, fifteen Rhythms a night, romances Like there's no tomorrow – And there isn't: Just fifteen minutes, And another lifetime ends, And with it – all the dreams And joys and drama That you've conjured into being While whirling, floating, buzzing With the waves Of that moth-eaten music Which can bring you Such Exhilarating Joy When you discover pathways Through its vintage waters, Holding on for dear life To your temporary love. And then it stops. You say goodbyes And, leaning on each other, Get home, take showers, Go to bed – and know That you will wake up On a Sunday, Still together. @verse

Something like this would probably be playing in your head if you were to write this poem.

Finland – Dubai / I recall the silence Of a wooden home On a windless day Of a northern summer, When the buzz of an insect Alone strives to prove That the outside exists – And is barely convincing. Not so in a tower, Awash with construction And cars, AC-rattled. Its neighborly noises: The whine of the plumbing, The mop of a maid, Dong, dong, donging Against someone’s balcony Right before your alarm at eleven, And the chimes of the lifts, Hauling infidel souls That much closer to heaven. 7.04/22 @verse

Channel photo updated

Sanctions Wishlist / A Khatam box that ran from Iran, And a book someone took On their flight out of Russia, One Korean-made cracker With the likeness of Kim Jong Un, And a bucket of tar From a Vene-zuelan abuela. None of these Could be paid for By card. 7.04/22 @verse