f: REMOTE V -L Q , STORAGE ' -. “ ".".t:l.‘; [Date liilillliiil This is to certify that the thesis entitled LOVE THROUGH THE FLOORBOARDS A COLLECTION OF POEMS presented by Michael Rodriguez has been accepted towards fulfillment of the requirements for M.A. English degree in M Major professor 28 July 1989 0-7 639 MS U is an Affirmative Action/Equal Opportunity Institution F ‘N LIBRARY Michigan State University \ I REMOTE STORAGE ESP PLACE IN RETURN BOX to remove this checkout from your record. TO AVOID FINES return on or before date due. DATE DUE DATE DUE DATE DUE FEB 1 09129187 20:: Blue 10/13 p:/CIRC/DateDueForms_2013.undd - 09.5 LOVE THROUGH THE FLOORBOARLS A COLLECTION OF POEMS BY Michael Rodriguez A THESIS Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of MASTER OF ARTS Department of English 1989 ABM f \ g} (3 ABSTRACT LOVE THROUGH THE FLOORBOARDS A COLLECTION OF POEMS By Michael Rodriguez A life is itself a story. If art is a reflection on the life, if it contains any of the personality that the life is capable of, then it too should be story. This book is a collection of poems that show how one personality transforms the everyday story into poetry. "Love Through the Floorboards" is the title poem for the collection because it illustrates how the persona of that poem adjusts himself to the situation that develops around him. He realizes his dilemma and even physically brings himself into its consequences. He knows that to live with everyday adversity, to accept it and to endure, is sometimes all one can do. He is a survivor, a warrior. Because more attention is paid to poem as a story, less attention is paid to meditation. Meditation and analysis are given up to the mind of the reader--only the universe of others can determine what is universal. For my folks, Joseph and Pauline Rodriguez; the muse, Lisa McLennan; and the teacher, Diane Wakoski. ii ACKNOWLEDGMENT Thank you to Catherine Kaikowska for a mind and a friendship that helped in completing the manuscript. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS THE THRESHOLDS OF PAIN SWEET DREAMS AN UPHILL BATTLE A LOUD, SNORING WOMAN SENSORY DEPRIVATION THE EDITOR NIGHT OF THE NOVA ALL QUIET ON THE INSPIRATIONAL FRONT SELF DENIAL THE WAITING ROOM A SENSE OF TORTURE . IV 10 IA 19 22 25 29 34 CRUCIFIXION AT 3 A.M. THE LATE SHOW THE SPIRIT OF ELVIS PRESLEY POSSESSED MY ROOMMATE'S PET RAT LOVE THROUGH THE FLOORBOARDS RUN FOR COVER SATAN SMILES OUT OF THE CORNER OF HER EYE EASY ARCHEOLOGIST THE RED AND THE BLACK 36 38 42 46 as 51 54 58 61 THE THRESHOLDS OF PAIN She would sit on my lap and pull at the front of my trousers and kiss me and then she would gently tug at the back of my hairline and say does this hurt? and for some reason I would always say no, that doesn't hurt and she would tug a little harder and say does THIS hurt? he he he and this would continue until my eyes were popped out a bit from the flesh pulled taut from her grip at the back of my head and I would finally ask her if we could please try something else to which she would answer I love you and somehow I believed her. Like the slamming of doors it was reoccurring and like a pet I gave it a name. "The Thresholds of Pain" would come out of the cupboards and parade itself under yellow lamps and the silence when we were physically close; she would simply reach over for a chunk of flesh a wad of hair a digit and appendage-— and then those searing questions and the necessary replies; NO...that doesn't hurt he he he I love you and as one makes a game out of the weakness of others I too once seized the opportunity and reached up for a small victory in the fairness of play and she SCREAMED and I said I love you and she screamed louder JESUS--THAT HURT and somehow I believed her. SWEET DREAMS I never did like cats; their cock-suredness in the face of affection and their natural insomnia always told me that they were certainly more troubled than I, and when she brought one home to her one-bedroom studio, which meant no door to keep the little beast out, I knew I was in for something unsettling. Every night before bedtime I would be on the floor rolling balls, swinging Shoelaces and tossing objects in the futile effort to wear the cat down to the point of my own span of sleep, but it was always the 6 a.m. feline playpen the next morning; his teeth into my ankles, my armpits, his ass on my head. When it became apparent that the cat was certainly too lonely to be left by itself and that I certainly did not love her anymore if I wouldn't even sleep there I learned to get used to it, which is not to say that things got better. It was a period of adjustment learning to ignore those advances of domestic sadism each morning when the cat went for my body and each morning I would have the same dream of my last visit to NYC where, sleeping in a room full of strangers, a large and heavy-breathing man attempted to pull off my pants as I slept, and just like that naked son-of-a-bitch and the air leaving his lungs as I unconsciously kicked him in the nuts, I would always awaken to the sound of that cat hitting hard against the wall. It was self-defense and I did not much like it. AN UPHILL BATTLE She lives only two blocks away and down a steep hill and when she asks you over you usually say yes, certainly. But tonight the winter is busy dumping itself all over everything and you are warm under the bedcovers and you are contemplating sleep when the phone rings and she asks in a drunken voice "Why don't you come over?" to which you repeat to her your state of being and nothingness and she comes back at you like the storm outside "Tonight I had six guys SIX GUYS buy me drinks and I turned them all DOWN for you. Do you want me to go back there?" Of course the result is you sliding down that hill Olympic fashion in your five years' worn boots and after twenty minutes you are knocking on every door, window, flat surface to no answer when you look in the corner of a window and see her passed out fully clothed all the lights on to which you turn yourself back into your previous tracks and begin the uphill climb with treadless boots. A LOUD, SNORING WOMAN I heard Stukas on the roof and jackhammers and J.P. Sousa on the coffeetable as my sleep was pinned to the ceiling as my body was pasted to the freshly painted wall. And as I began to wrench an arm free to plug her nostrils, her knee inched up my leg, inched up just far enough to let me ignore the whole thing-— at least for a while. SENSORY DEPRIVATION "Sir-— do you need help?" she said "I want to send roses-- one white, one black-— do you have black roses?" I said first noticing her face; vacuous, like the broad side of an egg. Grade A jumbo I thought to myself. "We can spray them" she said "That's perfect..." I said I was pretty well fucked up from a disengaged 10 ll romance and the deprivation of sleep and food so I picked a blank card the blankest the store had and she watched me closely the whole time like the way a dog watches a person eat and I stood there at that desk in front of that unhatchedness wanting to ram my pen into her eye sockets. But I didn't, I just pushed the ink over the card. A bell rang and a large man slumped up to the counter. I looked back down at my hands. 12 "Do you need help sir?" she said again "BOY do I ever..." he said I was waiting for a punch line when two days of nothing but tap water, beer and cigarettes started inching up my throat and I gasped for laughter "YOU NEED HELP..." I thought. After my solitary chuckle I could hear his neck crack, I could feel all four eyes on me, and I didn't look up. 13 "My best friend died yesterday in a car wreck" he said. I never did look up but when I left the store I at least felt like saying "thanks," and the black rose was paid for and sent on its way. THE EDITOR tuesday afternoon and I was there on the couch just out of bed in my shorts and t-shirt drapes closed door closed contemplating the whiteness of my skin when she came rushing in like boulders over a cliff A JOB I THINK I GOT A JOB she screamed ...and the man asked me to come back IN AN HOUR with my RESUME and I NEED YOUR HELP CAN YOU PROOFREAD MY RESUME she said and pulled out a half-crinkled wad and gave it to me-- three or four handwritten sheets 14 15 and I looked them over I don't know much about this kind of thing I said do your best she said BUT HURRY what little I did know was that if you made it all at least LOOK good then they thought you had SOMETHING... and so I got to the typewriter and began to space it out nicely; good, neat-looking margins and began correcting the words the punctuation the diction... 16 the material was what I had imagined it would be; PLACE OF BIRTH: SCHOOLING: WORK EXPERIENCE: until it came to a summary of HOBBIES AND LEISURE: and CAREER GOALS: and it became phlegmatic and her prose was worse and it was all dreadful so I decided to liven it all up pepper the words, the phrases. she then came back to me and began to read the first sheet over my shoulder she said THESE MARGINS ARE ALL WRONG YOU'RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT 17 I've never done one of these before I said and then she picked up the next sheet; HEY...WHAT IS THIS SHIT... THIS ISN'T ME well, I said it's not what YOU wrote THIS IS A BUNCH OF SHIT she said YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A WRITER GODDAMMIT and she kept this up screaming into the other room and I began to let the misspelled words go by... the bad diction... the punctuation... 18 until she ripped out the last page herself without reading it and slammed the door... GOOD LUCK I said latching the door behind her and throwing my white butt back onto the sofa; my best literary imitation. NIGHT OF THE NOVA I was sleeping for a change at 4 a.m. when an old black Nova pulled up in front next door it had no exhaust and because it was so cold outside it kept stalling. This guy in the Nova kept revving his engine and stalling revving and stalling. I looked out my window to see what satan looked like 19 20 but his windows were completely frosted. REVVING and stalling REVVING and stalling this is IT I thought, I'm going to hell in a four-door black Nova in the middle of winter and I hate four-doors. I lit a cigarette and waited. Later, a little blond-haired girl about ten came out of the house next door and got in 21 "field trip" I thought. The Nova revved and drove away still on the wrong side of the street he stopped a few doors down further revving and stalling. ALL QUIET ON THE INSPIRATIONAL FRONT all is shit and you want more you want LIFE after execution you want perfect chaos in black and white so you set yourself guidelines like never getting up from that machine before anything is written down and you allow yourself extravagances that you may call artillery, things like beer but naturally those extravagances are abused 22 23 and mostly you are left with only a spinning room and a desktop covered with empties and then you do things like go to the window or maybe to the bar and sometimes something hits you but when you come back at your desk the typewriter is besieged like falling castles like the alamo by the army of empty bottles bastards you say I'll show them and you carefully reach over the top and hit the power button fists on each side like a cannon, right thumb on the return 24 and twenty seconds later the landscape is leveled finally taking the seat under your ass, your arms dangle over the smooth pine and broken glass like dead soldiers on a beach you feed the machine blank sheets of paper and sometimes there is even poetry SELF DENIAL "NO Rodriguez DOES NOT live here" I said dripping wet after running from out of the shower which I am always consequently sorry for doing. Nobody ever says anything important enough worth freezing your ass off for. THE LOAN CENTER is not a welcome call even when I'm dressed and warm in my clothes. Now freezing watching a puddle collect itself on the stone floor pissed off because I owe something and they want me to pay up covered only at the crotch I began to assume 25 26 my almost alter ego "Look" I said "I don't have a forwarding address I never really knew the poor bastard, I just lived with him awhile and if I were him I'd be running too." There was a pause and I could picture even began to have empathy for this sorry jerk on the other end of the line thinking to himself what a shitty job he has and wishing he was home kissing his girlfriend on the cheek when he shocked me by saying "Thank you for your help..." "You're welcome..." I said. 2? Shaving my face and dressing I thought how easy it can be to fool people who don't exactly know how to get exactly what they want and as I was toweling up the concrete floor the phone rang again. I sat down this time and I picked it up and an unfamiliar woman's voice came through soft, low, and breathy asking for a name that I knew could not be my own "...is that you?" she said "uhhh...this is HE" I said 28 "HI baby how are YOU?"‘ "J-UST FINE" I said. THE WAITING ROOM I was happy to be there in the hospital as I was beginning to understand how hangings and executions were once very popular events as I sat there in that waiting room packed in with all the other waiting people and in-going patients. They had mostly sat quietly waiting for their own particular cures or the cures for whom they waited on, thumbing their chins watching the pregnant women and staring at the television until a college kid was dragged in by the armpits 29 30 covered with blood and reeling. At the top of his lungs, "FUCK YOU IT'S ONLY BLOOD" he screamed the others stopped staring at the television. The sight of this bleeding man DRUNK uncooperative and berating the world was attractive to them it was not a disturbance, it was entertainment like the great and mad composer scoring his last twisted bars. Each particular motion was noted-- the head rolls the smears the pool sinking into the carpet... 31 It came to be known that the wounds were not self inflicted, but now that he was opened up he just wanted to bleed screaming GET AWAY IT'S MY BLOOD until he finally passed out saturated in his own self. The crowd still wanted more, they kept staring laughing out of the sides of their mouths-- begging for an encore. They got it when he was still out cold a nurse stripped him down and sponged him off revealing the pranks of a drunken evening; slogans tattooed with indelible ink 32 across his belly read ANTICHRIST and on his back FUCK ME when the nurse had finished he was clean and still out cold propped up in that chair no longer reeling but still giving it off and myself thinking "YES man, you're still doing it, no more props but it's even getting better KEEP IT UP YOU'RE STILL ALIVE..." and I had hope for myself and the paltry existence of others but not quite... as I was leaving with my buddy on crutches that body was still in that chair, 33 but the others had cocked their heads back towards the television. A SENSE OF TORTURE The violinist on the radio slowly drags his bow across my smokey apt. at 1:00 a.m. like death grinding against the eyelids of existence, and while I am being impressed by his sense of torture an entire and unexpected orchestra comes in like an unwanted guest as loaded planes blast into space I am thinking of women in fast-looking sneakers and waiting for that forsaken violin to drag its way back 34 35 as the phone rings six times and my ass sinks one-half inch deeper into the cushion of this chair. CRUCIFIXION AT 3 A.M. Like a bug on a horse's ass it comes back and crawls up the inside of your shirt and rests in that place that cannot be reached-- this kind of restlessness walks to the store at 1:00 a.m. for the twelve-pack and stops off for snacks at 1:30 to return home to hang over the toilet with nothing flowing, it brushes your teeth without toothpaste and flushes while the room fills with smoke 36 37 it hangs up the telephone after 20 rings and chooses to smoke another cigarette-- its justification is MORE and like the dream of the hungry animal this kind of restlessness feeds off the sleeplessness and rests on your belly as the soup on the stove bubbles over, its crucifixion pins your back to the sofa while you feed the spider in the corner ants that crawl across the floor. THE LATE SHOW I had passed out staring at THE LATE SHOW and awoke to find a large cigarette hole burned into the belly of my shirt, startling me into the realization of the delicacy of existence; CHRIST, I thought, if I am to die in my own home I at least want to choose the manner... switching off the television I bathed my skull in cold water and sat down at the typewriter thinking that this recent brush with THE GREAT BEYOND would certainly be keen food for the poetic appetite. 38 39 I began checking all windows but could see nothing. I checked them again-- the noise rose always as I was in a different room, always confirming its existence. If it wants to be deceiving FINE I won't play its game, I thought as I lay on the couch cradling a baseball club. I wasn't going out there, IT would have to come to me. In the morning I rose to check on death outside I found a large white possum belly up, two legs chewed off, a hole in its neck 40 I typed a few lines: death wears expensive tennis shoes that pad softly... and then there came a gentle rustle of leaves outside my basement level apartment window I listened, it got louder it got louder until it reached the spot directly outside my window and it began kicking leaves against the pane. I rose quickly and hit the lights I could then see out the window but the noise had fallen off-- all that appeared was the next house over. #1 and I stood grinning, appreciating its sacrifice. I dug a shallow grave with a snow shovel-- the winter had left the soil too hard to go deeper. THE SPIRIT OF ELVIS PRESLEY POSSESSED MY ROOMMATE'S PET RAT "Elvis is everywhere." --Mojo Nixon Just out of the shower I heard the screams of my roommate's pet rat coming up through the tiles. I had never heard a rat or any other rodent scream before so I thought I should probably go check on things. That white albino rat was spread-eagled on his belly his arms and legs kicking at the litter, his own feces flying at the sides of his cage 42 43 as I dripped water onto his helpless body. Gasping and clawing he looked very near some kind of death when I noticed a large turd hanging out of his rear end. I'd seen this happen to other animals and quickly dismissed the case as severe constipation and went to get a towel to unplug the little fellow's problem. When I returned he wasn't struggling, just gasping and 44 looking up at me with those pink pink eyes like a head on the blocks. "Possessed by the ghost of Elvis" I said "There's no hope for you now little friend." It took him only a few more moments and a few more gasps. The death of THE KING fit the last years of his life; red faced and on the pot, trying hard to squeeze out that last big one; an unglamorous death and exactly, it would seem, like that of the rat. 45 The difference being that at least the rat went kicking and screaming. LOVE THROUGH THE FLOORBOARDS For the second time in 2 and 1/2 weeks you FEEL like sleep and you're on the bed vibrating from the music below as the calls come up through the floorboards for more beer and you place the pillow over your left ear and they turn up the stereo and you reach for a cigarette while the toilets flush twice and those cracks on the ceiling get 2 inches wider ' and they holler a little #6 louder as a new voice comes up and says "HI EVERYBODY" and you recognize THAT voice and of course you KNOW that voice and as the cigarette goes out and the trousers and your heaviest skin come on you open your door and those sounds hit you like a fist and then you grab hold of the railing and of course you pull yourself down. 47 RUN FOR COVER (For J.D., who warns me over and over not to sleep with anyone you're not in love with.) You first tell yourself: the other one is six states away and at least 1500 miles and this one is 5000 close that just this ONE can't hurt but by the time you are in the car driving her to her downtown apartment you are already referring to each other by fictitious name because neither of you can remember the real one. Inside you make your way through 48 49 3 very long beers on a couch less than 3 feet wide as she closes the distance by more than 3 inches per beer you are hoping that maybe she will believe that you have passed out when you close your eyes to everything for a long enough period, letting your beer spill over your lap for good measure. But the morning is not so easy; watching the rain beat against the window next to the bed the clang of pans comes at you like gunfire and very soon she pulls the pillow 50 off of your head and the covers away from the rest of you and tells you eggs are on the stove and what is THIS down HERE? as she begins to hover like aircraft and the smoke from the burning eggs begins to fill the room you reach up to open the window and let the cold rain fall on your face. SATAN SMILES OUT OF THE CORNER OF HER EYE I once realized that compatibility can be a synonym for the ridiculousness of existence when I once spent a great deal of time with a woman who enjoyed reading my poems and later at a time when I would least expect it she would mimic the voices and actions of the women I had written about. 51 52 She thought that this was cute and witty, so did I for a while. Sometimes when I woke up she would be at my desk thumbing through old notebooks reading material that should have been and has since been destroyed smiling and staring at me out of the corner of her eye. What's worse and strictly by chance she even got to meet some of the women she had read about, 53 further ingraining these qualities of bewildering mysticism like reoccurring dreams of waking next to satan with horns pointed at your side. Finally, it all came down to name calling; her saying that I was like NO OTHER SON-OF-A-BITCH she'd ever known and myself realizing that she WAS EVERY bitch I'd EVER known. EASY There are so many nice easy ways to drive a person into madness that it is a wonder that anyone would opt for the difficult—- it is a matter of choice-- it must be. Most of the time I had chosen to be in her room, that studio for the terminally lovely like a zoo for the helplessly stuffed, with Monet on the walls and the peach-colored blinds which always opened to the sun always shut to the darkness. 54 55 We could be in any stage of psycho-hostility and still it was Monet and the peach and the eyes of the helplessly stuffed upon me like termites this is WAR and it's so BRIGHT in here, I'd say, I'm blinded THIS ISN'T FAIR give me a beer goddammit let's go into the basement But she could stare at a burning bulb for hours and never get nauseous and could plant the turnaround like a virus 56 you're so cute she would say and I wanted murder I wanted the helpless animals gutted I'd say don't call me THAT call me anything beast slob crazyass dumbass anything YOU'RE NOT LISTENING oooo you're so cute like that as she walked across the floor and eased herself under the peach blanket grinning eyebrows raised and sideways glancing she would say c'mon baby we can leave 57 the lights ON. ARCHEOLOGIST She carried the tools like vowels from the loudspeaker, and consonants the color of pity, envy, and rage. In supermarkets, dept. stores, and restaurants, her finger extended: ' jesus, look at THAT will you LOOK AT THAT she would say loudly, always pointing out the obese, the grotesque, the obscenely beautiful, and against my will I would always have to look. It's not that I don't notice these variations 58 59 on the human condition, I mostly just choose to ignore them. Her tongue like a shovel it was always ' god, will you look AT THAT I can't believe it 400 pounds he must be 400 pounds or: look at her SHEEEEZ BEAUTIFUL and sometimes their actions: what are they DOING LOOK LOOK and mostly it was THEIR eyes looking at US. These people may be strange I would say but they have ears, THEY CAN HEAR YOU. 60 LOOK LOOK she would say my words the only object of neglect, or perhaps she just wasn't interested. THE RED AND THE BLACK I had been a very long time in the red with the redhead so I went to the black (or so I thought) with the brunette who made this very easy but easiness is not necessarily a solution to adversity and very soon I found myself back in the red confusing yes, but it gets worse; we all did it to each other again 61 62 myself back in the red the brunette said she wanted to get out. I didn't blame her and offered to help but then there was the red; "if you help you'll be in her bedroom, you'll be packing the bed and then assembling it when you get there" she did not believe in pure humanitarianism "she needs the help" I said "so will YOU 63 she said "if you go that is IT" but there we were; myself, the brunette, the u-haul, the bedroom ensemble, and the highway under the wheels—- myself thinking that I was indeed a good person, unbeknownst to the redhead until there she was in the rear mirror, coming up fast and then keeping pace to my left, grinning and yelling something waving, she gunned it hard and I watched 64 her car and my altruism diminishing it was a long and thankless ride. “‘TIMTM