Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Sexo Gramaticus by: Marvin Gonzalez


Let me give you a history lesson

About sex and grammar:

Clamorous words loaded with meaning

Like Smith & Wessons

Have been dispensed for centuries

Like sentries on the battlefield of Love.

I guess you could say Lucifer was the first poet,

He bore the light of insight,

Which he shone on the darkness inside,

Revealing what he termed “inner-beauty.”

And so, he fell in love with himself and said,

“I could be as God, and create worlds

In six days with time to rest.”

So, he pumped his chest,

And wrote half in jest,

A Sonnet, like the Italians,

In Trochaic Tetrameter,

The First quatrain described the preposition

Of living within a perfectly ordered reality,

The second quatrain wondered

Whether a world whose order was determined

Could fit perfectly with an individual,

And, then he penned then ninth line,

The mother-volta,

A line which literally and literarily

Turned the universe with a stroke of the pen

And, created the precursor to Vanity:

The vocative volta read thusly:

“Lo! Old Lord now new-gods weave worlds!”

The rest was,

As they say, history,

And, with those words he created a rift in heaven,

Drew a line in the clouds,

Seducing the insecure,

Thoughtful weaklings to his side

Creating a race of poets:

Smug, cynical chaps so scared to live,

They created imaginary worlds to inhabit,

Thus ignoring heaven’s loftiness

And overshadowing its clouds

With the Egos they erected,

So then Lucifer became Satan,

And, hosted sex-parties on Wednesday nights

Where androgynous winged-creatures

Scissored each other like Bonobos,

Or, the vapid troglodytic porn stars

Of the San Bernadino valley,

Thus, while Satan’s minions

Concerned themselves with

The latest Warhol exhibit,

And, self-congratulated their clever insights

As their organ-less Ken-like crotches

Swelled congruently to the auto-stimulation

They so generously dispensed,

God rallied the troops,

And, wrecked shop on this

Self-consumed pageantry of pedantry,

And, expelled them from heaven

To the dark, Cthonic nether regions

Of Pandemonium, where this race of

Poetic Pan Paniscus sipped martinis

While they groomed each other

Of the psychic-vermin that populated

Their over-grown mange,

And, ruminated and stewed on the agon

Of their narrative,

Which grew malignantly inside

And metastasized into a toxicity

That spilled over onto mankind,

By the dark-ages the concept of love reemerged

As a fully formed concept:

Courtly love,

Of course, dreamed up

By none other than the French,

Arthurian Romances became the blueprint

For horribly written and cliché-laden

Tales of Knights errant,

By the Renaissance theses tales had

Become so engrained into the collective-psyche

It was reflected in the popular Romances,

Which Cervantes so expertly ridiculed

With an accuracy that was almost scientific

And a cynicism that was almost Post-Modern,

And even though Cervantes received accolades

For his work by academic and philistine alike,

It was too late, of course,

For even a monumental literary achievement

Like Don Quixote to quell what had become

The dominant vision of the Hero,

You see in pre-Christian times

The Epic was the dominant literary form,

Heroes were warriors of great strength

(See Achilles or Beowulf)

Or, great intelligence

(See Odysseus or Aeneus)

Who struggled for a cause greater than themselves

Or against forces greater than themselves,

Even in early Arthurian romances the Heroes

Like Perceval searched for the Holy Grail,

The chalice it was said had contained

The blood of Christ,

They spoke of the restoration of fallen kingdoms or people,

So, whereas the Aeneid spoke of a lost people

And the founding of Rome,

And, Perceval’s was a journey to restore Camelot,

Later stories featured Heroes who

Would risk the destruction of a kingdom

For that sweet, sweet pussy,

I blame Lancelot and Guinevere,

For even though pagan myths such as

Pyramus and Thisbe bespoke of couples

Consumed by desire,

The outcome was tragic only unto themselves,

Even in Tristan and Isolde,

Whose affair dismantled Tristan’s

Uncle Mark’s kingdom,

It was a potion,

And not their own desire,

That was the impetus for the destruction,

But, Lancelot was a warrior,

Following the tradition of other great warriors

From Hercules to Cuchulain to Achilles to Beowulf,

You see, if someone is a badass their actions

Are always much more forgivable,

So, when he and Guinevere entered into

There dangerous liaison,

It made it more palatable for even the men,

Thus, these popular tales of knights errant

Begot a series of popular narrative:

From opera to nineteenth century Romanticism,

To Victorian melodrama,

The Romantic serial pulp of the twentieth century,

To daytime Soap Operas

And telenovelas in Latin America,

To Woody Allen’s Annie Hall,

And every horrible romantic-comedy

Starring Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts, Katherine Heigel

And Antonio Banderas,

So, when you go to the movies this summer

And stuff your face with popped corn

Smothered in processed-grease,

And, slurp on an over-sized vat

Of Carbonated water and high fructose corn syrup,

Just remember that Elizabeth Taylor was no less

The devil’s plaything than Adolf Hitler,

And, as you sit down to write a poem

You are doing the devil’s work,

Trying to play god in a godless time…