A pleasant surprise. Searching for something else (isn’t that always the case?) I found these manuscripts and chapbooks of mine:
The Waterfalls of the Broken Sky 1966 (Poem on a page torn out of a notebook)
The Jupiter Connection 1966 (My first Novel — long thought lost — wrote it as a school assignment when they wanted me to write a short story over the weekend. I got D- for that. Teacher said the novel was great but the D- was for not writing a short story)
Poem Speaking to Kenneth Koch 1971 (Chapbook)
Torture and Affliction 1971 (Chapbook)
Ich Bin Deutsch 1972 (Poem published in Germany somewhere)
Whiskey Poem 1972 (Chapbook)
Ygdrasail Vol 1. No 1. Spring 1973 (First print issue 50 copies — only the typed mss left)
The Last Party 1974 (Short Story)
This Novel… 1974 (Short Story)
Four Sixty Second Plays 1975 (Chapbook)
The Last Joy by Emmy Hemmings 1931 (Translation 1981)
The April issue of Ygdrasil, containing work by Carolyn Gregory, Allison Grayhurst, Scott Thomas Outlar, Donal Mahoney, Michael Ceraolo, Danielle Hope, Taylor Bond, John Grey and a translation by Khaloud Al-Muttalibi, is now available at http://users.synapse.net/kgerken/
I try to emulate my cats:
when I’m nice to them
they show me affection;
if I weren’t
they would show me claws;
I’m always nice to them,
and they always show me affection.
Simplicity is the way to peace.
in the springtime of the season
when the scent of lilac reasons
with the rising sun of amber
and passion raises clamour
love grows in the meadows
and lovers hide in shadows
where sunlight does not gather
and lovers know no failure
the spring is like a sailor
somewhat drunk to know her
yet strong enough to offer
the apple to the woman
she does not eat…the omen
wakes her intuition.
Hot day. Brilliant sun. It was difficult to wear the hooded robe. It
was a hated artifact; but it would have attracted too much attention not to wear it. After all ever since the treatment was proscribed by law, it was a criminal offense to anyone who missed a treatment to go without it.
And NC1847 had gone without a treatment for a number of weeks. Under normal circumstances this would have had dire consequences, but NC1847 had friends in the Ministry of Youth and the official explanation was that he was hunting in a remote are of the Yukon where treatment centres were not available. This was lie, but a lie, that was at least believe by someone, although with skepticism.
NC1847 had missed a number of treatment before, but never several weeks at one time. The ministry of Youth and the Youth Police had already opened a file. They had already marked it in their minds, “Final Chance.” And indeed it was NC1847’s wife who persuaded him to submit to another treatment. She implored him in the name of his unborn children, his dying mother, and his long dead father. He did not believe any of this, yet his sense of duty and his confusion of what his role in life should be, made him consent. It was a forced consent, fraught with guilt and fear, and he hated himself for being such a coward.
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