The European Six Pack of Sonnets
by John Kendall Hawkins
.
I. Luxembourg City Blues
Back then Icelandair ran bargain jaunts to Europe.
I was in the VA and shared a room
with a bohemian who painted from photos.
He made suave sophisticates out of dodos;
from what I could see, his business was in a boom.
His subjects were nurses, aides, and the gym guy who'd lope.
Anyway, he was humping a Greek dilettante
who pitied me and gave me cash for travelling,
looking to help out a poet my roomie praised,
and I got to Lux with my backpack, somewhat dazed
by freedom, hitching to Metz, but unravelling
as I saw bombed out buildings to snap -- all I could want.
I got back to the VA and the painter was gone;
I moved in with the Greek. Think Leda and the Swan.
II. The Ugly American Boots Down in Munich
It was a side tour from Prague, came in on the train.
Visions of beer maids holding pitchers going, Ja?
There she'd be German akimbo. My heart all oompah.
I've got blue eyes. I'd hear far off a Wagner strain.
There would be Ludwig castles by the placid sea,
where we would frà hlich und read each other Heine;
lyrical passages -- ihre Augen meine --
merge MÃ dchen epiphanal singularity.
Spell broken when the beer maid plonked the pitcher down,
like she fuckin hated American tourists --
win a war, come to Europe, all of them whore-ists
prowling for poon. I switched to liebfraumilch, sad clown.
And I didn't stay long, when putsch came to shove, paintbrush
moustache motherfuckers with their sour master race goosh.
III. Prague Is the Home of Budweiser (and Defenestration)
Don't drink Bud, and I didn't much appreciate
how Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind" was selling beer
at halftime of the superbowl. Gee whiz, in fact,
two beers, "Man in Me" for Artois. Crass. Where's the tact?
In my bar, working class fellas began to jeer
when Lebowski sold out. Yelled, "Get a job!" More hate.
I dunno. It reminded me of a sports bar
off Wenceslaus Square where I watched the Boys beat the Bills
back in '94. Jenny, bar stool next to me,
fuckin around, turning. I go, Spinning Jenny,
cut the sh*t, I'm watching the game. Prague has some hills
with wow views, but I'm not an easily hooked gar.
I came for Kafka, Pilsner, and the murder giants,
but found neoliberal yankee doodle tyrants.
IV. Disneyland Paris
The kids loved the place, Daffy and Goofy,
all the exploitative clowns on display --
so much happiness you didn't know who
you'd cold co*k first. What are you gonna do?
The Rock and Roll Cafe for lunch? No way.
Yeah, way. Some faux James Dean looking doofy.
I dunno. The kids and Jen ordered food;
my thoughts wandered, as they are wont to do,
and Doctorow's Mindish lit up in me;
the crazy Disney scene in the end. Weeee!
went the old man on the kids rides. And you
see, with Daniel, evil co-opting good.
Sure, it's some serious hyperbole,
but, still, you feel dirty and unholy.
V. In Paris, Set Free
Jenny bought me a solo weekend in Paris
for my birthday and I was keened to enjoy it.
I would seek out a jazz club, Black Yank exiles. Sit
way back, chilly blue. I'd try to not embarrass
myself at a cafe smoking Gauloises ciggies,
channeling Camus, a stranger with some questions.
I'd seek Papa's ghost at the Ritz, make suggestions
for cuts in Also Rises. I'd Louvre. Chase hippies.
But I brought a shitload of baggage from England.
I dunno. I was depressed. Ordered Beaujolais.
Took long walks in the rain. Began to hate the place.
I moped. Whatever was once lively now seemed bland.
I threw a sucky croissant against the far wall.
Then the phone rang. But I didn't take Jenny's call.
VI. Dunkirk on 9/11
Well, whatever had happened there was over by the time
I arrived with Jen and the kids. The beach, empty.
They were surrounded by Nazis, pinned at the sea.
But the far-stretching sands had no sign of the crimes ---
probably war crimes. Bombing, strafing, glib pamphlets.
You recall those murder bodies encircled by chalk,
the tape border indicating where you can't walk,
then, later, like nothing happened. World full of sets.
Back in Calais at the Chunnel, immigration
officers said that America was at war
and described the towers coming down -- far
away it all seemed, a lost faraway nation.
We are engulfed by dark global terrorism now.
We have lost track of civilization somehow.
