The Way of the Trumpet

Peter M.C. Josyph

Description

Peter Josyph's the way of the trumpet is the first novel written in haiku form. Read equally well aloud or alone, the way of the trumpet creates its own rhythm while bringing us into the lives of Josyph's highly original, often hilarious and frequently profound characters. This is a departure from literary convention with a highly literate style. The way of the trumpet shows us the novel in truly rare form.

Sujets

• Visionary
• Metaphysical
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780982350003
• Langue: English

Extrait

the way of the trumpet
 
A Haiku Novel
 
by Peter Josyph

Copyright © Peter Josyph 2012
[e-mail]
 
 
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by Boone's Dock Press LLC
Converted by http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
Cover art: Portrait of Tim Hagans #2, by Peter Josyph
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-0-9823-5000-3
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

 
 
 
for Tim Hagans

 
 
 
I’m in the process of imagining a guitar.
 
—Picasso
 

one
night cat wails in my
garden—once again must I
dwell on earth’s troubles
 
winter leaves under
feet, knowing as much about
the past as I do
 
that spider again
daring me to unbuild him
one strand at a time
 
guests of the poet
declining his rum so that
he can work tonight
 
mistress snoring as
if we’ve left behind a job
well done… shhh… don’t tell
 
squirrel paws the page
as I paw the garden… or…
no… I think that’s right…
 
preferring the slush
of pipes on sand, gulls with their
backs to the ocean
 
egret likes to stand
in the whirl of the rapids
swan dunks down for food
 
trumpet likes to blow
in the whirl of the rapids—
what choice do I have?
 
NO FISHING FROM BRIDGE
NO TRUMPET FROM BRIDGE . haiku?
fine from bridge okay
 
now post a sign: I
DIDN’T HIT THE BEACHES AT
NORMANDY FOR DOGS
 

two
whoot~whoot~whoot… whoot~whoot—
that you owl?—or… some sly dove
playing you? whoo’t?
 
whoot~whoot~whoot… whoot~whoot
that’s owl kept me up, that’s me
listening—whoot~whoot!
 

three
chinese shavingbrush
from montmartre—too bad it’s
not for painting, huh?
 
 
you crazy want more
chinese shavingbrush—one you
got last forever
 
somewhere the old tapes
from this old tape recorder—
somewhere the old me
 
here’s why I keep that
filthy brushwater—see?—the
muck surprises me
 
yes I like the rich
ink from this pen, but it bleeds
through the rice paper
 
samurai trumpet
attacks the corners—should I
do that with a broom?
 
I could never find
a trumpet now—I don’t… yet…
know… what it sounds like
 
look at this—five~ten
and only beginning the
way of the trumpet
 
useless to tell me
what a trumpet is—trumpet
you tell me yourself
 
(trumpet don’t care you
see so so, see beau tifully
or… can’t see for shit)
 
(this floater—size of
a mosquito—christ! flashers
like lightning) trumpet!
 
what if these eyes don’t
last forever? shouldn’t I
know where to listen?
 
hello? trumpet? old
peteybird’s here! I’m a late
comer but I’ve come
 
figure… you and I…
pal around a bit… you know…
hang together, hmm?
 
do unto others—
ask and you receive—that’s how
it works for jazz, no?
 
“one more, steph!” says the
gypsy. “one more!”—and he gets
it. that’s some system…
 
these crazy trumpets
wow—they… blow notes that fly through
the air all the time
 
this boston harbor?
boat beat fish… jet beat boat, but…
trumpet beat them all
 
if I teach you how
to hold the brush, that’s fine—but
who then holds the paint?
 
say there’s a bird in
my studio, a bird in
your trumpet— then what?
 
promise me, trumpet:
don’t let me live to be an
old art character …
 
catch me a zero—
fine... catch me picasso—fine…
no crap in between
 
we can each produce
muted tones—that’s nice—and we
can die, too—so what?
 
here’s what I’d like to
bring mother: eggs, oranges
cheese—more syllables
 
together we watch
tv, she in her house, me
in mine—love you mom!
 
she’s a lot like this
rice paper—fragile, tough to
tear, veined, porous—mine
 
( don’t bring mom oatmeal—
had it in the orphanage—
stop—don’t remind her
 
foster home where they
killed her brother on the stair—
stop—don’t remind me )
 
mom in providence
the one in rhode island—no
trumpet there all day
 
mom in providence—
the one that’s forever—shoot!
trumpet all the time
 

four
double corona
english market selection
punch! punch! punch! punch! punch!
 
what’s that cigarbox
assemblage haiku doing
on this gig? not much
 

five
in sweden somewhere
there’s an axe factory—met
the girl who runs it
 
invited me to
come up and see it some time
walk through the axes
 
I have her business
card right here—she’s legit, it’s
an axe factory
 
it’s a fine swedish
axe she’s making up there— and
my axe girl’s a peach
 

six
fire escape trumpet
blues in the twilight zone— and —
jack klugman’s alive
 
I know all about
van gogh’s trumpet—I told that
tale when it was me
 
angry young men, each
with a horn: burton, douglas
clift—all so handsome
 
paul butterfield—he
mainlined the real gone, but I
saw him alive—whoah
 
I said improvise
to these classical horn guys…
yeah… well… forget it
 
mangled mozart in
dragsville’s what I got— man
those horns were nerv ous—uh
 
eternity takes
up four syllables— four —that’s
a lot for haiku
 
montgomery clift in
from here to eternity —
that’s all I can say
 
clift toots that mouthpiece
to “reenlistment blues”: got
paid out on monday…
 
…not a dog soldier
no more… they give me all that
money … very cool
 
clift, too, tried the way
of the trumpet, but that’s not
him in the movie
 
so, maybe this is
not me here in the haiku—
I’ve been looped in too
 

seven
trumpet full of race
riots, freedom fighters, bull
connor, rfk
 
trumpet full of I
don’t mind and you don’t matter
trumpet overcome
 
trumpet full of rice
paper, pens, paint, ink, brushes
in streetheart mornings
 
trumpet full of shit
don’t matter whose—mine, his, ours
yours, theirs—where’s the rain?
 
trumpet full of black
n white newsreel footage in