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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 10 of 10. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Atticus on August 11, 2004, at 16:22:32
Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978
The Incredible Hulk's gone ballistic,
Face twisted, features frozen
In a molded plastic
Facsimile
Of feral ferocity,
Crooked teeth gritted
Like two uneven rows
Of white picket
Fence posts,
Giant fists clenched
At the ends of
Jointed arms
So ripe with muscles
That they look
Like deflated green balloons
Overstuffed with walnuts.
His shirt dangles in tatters
Over purple pants
Reduced to rags,
And he's staring
Across the floor
Of my bedroom
At his opponent,
The Virgin Mary.I clench
The foot-high
Hulk action figure
With a 7-year-old boy's
Aggressive enthusiasm,
And my sister Julie holds
The painted plaster
Statuette of the Madonna
With equal intensity.
And for a moment,
One that I'll think about
For years to come,
I wonder if this
Is such a hot idea
And whether I,
As the Hulk's cornerman,
Should stop this fight
Before it even starts.Can't remember
Who thought
Of taking Mary
From my grandmother Na's dresser,
But the whole thing's
So screwy,
I figure
It was me.
Julie's tired
Of Ken
Getting his ass kicked
With such frequency
By the Hulk,
So we've enlisted
A bit
Of divine intervention,
Of miracle-makin' mojo
To even up the odds.Hulk rushes forward,
His right arm
Locked straight
As a battering ram.
Julie makes
A humming noise
And I ask,
What's up with that?
"Mary's magic," she replies.
"He can't touch her."
The plaster figure
Of Mary,
Her arms extended
Open-palmed,
A blue veil
Hanging above
Her ankle-length
White robes
Trimmed in gold paint,
Is crushing
A writhing serpent
With a bright red apple
In its mouth
Under her feet,
So clearly,
She's no pantywaist.And suddenly
The Hulk's fist
Connects
With her jaw,
And we hear
An almost
Inaudible snap
As Mary's head
Flies clean off
And bounces
Under my bed.
Our eyes goggle
Wide
With indescribable
Horror,
And Julie's gone
Like a shot
Back
To her own room.I scramble
Under my bed,
Digging frantically
Among tilting stacks
Of comic books,
Amid long-lost socks,
Behind a baseball bat,
But can find
No sign
Of the Virgin's
Missing melon.
Panic shoots
Up my spine,
Sweat breaks
On my brow,
And I figure
Even Jesus
Won't go easy
On the guy
Who knocked
His mom's
Block off.Then I spot it,
Nestled
In my Craig Nettles
Autograph-model
Baseball glove,
And heave a sigh
Of relief
That nothing
Ever seems to get past
The Yankees' third baseman.
I gingerly retrieve
The head, noting the nose
Is chipped
And the chin
Is missing a piece.
I hold the body
In my left hand,
Cradle the head
In my right,
Then try to fit
The two together.
Not impossible, I think.Squeezing Testor's
Model Cement onto
Each side
Of the break,
I glance up
At the large
Wooden crucifix
Hanging over
My headboard,
A piece of long
Dried leaf
From Palm Sunday
Pinned behind it,
And press the parts
Together.
After 10 minutes
Of motionless,
Breathless,
Suspended
Animation,
I slowly pull
My right hand back
And the head stays put
For now,
But now
Is all that matters.
I replace it
On Na's dresser
And slip back
To my own room.
Jesus is still
Watching from
His cross.
Just my luck
The Son of God
Would be the
One eyewitness.I decide
I'll clear this up
In confession
On Sunday,
Tell Father Feenan
About it
From behind the safety
Of the confessional booth's
Screen.
Na hasn't noticed
The crack
In Mary's neck,
And with every
Passing day,
I'm more convinced
I'll pull this off.I slip
Into the confessional,
Hear the murmur
Of voices
As the priest
Finishes up
With the person
On the other side
Of his booth,
Which is flanked
By two smaller ones
For penitents.
I kneel
On the raised
Red-carpeted board
Before the closed
Little window
Between him and me,
The dark confined space
Smelling
Of lemon-scented furniture polish
And ancient wood.With an abrupt thump,
The tiny opening
Connecting
The Father's booth
And mine
Snaps open,
His head a gray silhouette
Behind the mesh,
And I go into
My well-memorized
Spiel.
"Bless me, Father,
For I have sinned.
It has been
One week since my
Last confession."
We work our way
Through the ritual
Until I get
To the preamble,
"These are my sins."I brace myself,
Hyperventilating,
Then begin.
"I was mean
To my little brother,"
(And punched Mary's
Head off, I think to myself)
"I was disrespectful
To my parents,"
(And punched Mary's
Head off)
"I lied, and"
(Punched Mary's
Head off)
"And that's it.
I am sorry
For all my sins."
I get one Our Father
two Hail Marys,
and an Act of Contrition
As penance,
Comparing notes afterward
With Julie
To see what she got."Did you tell?"
I ask, and she says,
"No, did you?"
I answer, "No way,
He'd give me
Two billion whole rosaries
To say."
We file back
To the pew
And rejoin Na
And our parents.
I'm thinking,
That's it,
Game over,
Now I've gone
And lied
To Father Feenan,
Too.
No purgatory
For this boy,
I'm goin'
Straight to Hell.
And the only
Tiny glimmer
Of self-respect
I can summon
Comes from the fact
That at least
I didn't
Rat out
The Hulk.
-- Atticus
Posted by malthus on August 11, 2004, at 19:51:58
In reply to poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978, posted by Atticus on August 11, 2004, at 16:22:32
Atticus:
Your delightful poem made me actually laugh out loud, something I rarely do as I don't find many things funny. All day I've been working on a lesson plan about how Spanish children were affected by the Spanish Civil War (what a downer for my students but I have to get the history in).
Thank you for making my day lighter.
malthus
Posted by Jai Narayan on August 11, 2004, at 21:06:26
In reply to poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978, posted by Atticus on August 11, 2004, at 16:22:32
I remember sitting and waiting for the priest in the confessional. I always developed gas. My gut would groan and as the bubbles made their way toward the nearest exit. I would sit there praying that the exit would be quiet and no one would know or even wonder. Everyone always knew.
I would get up and go into the darkened booth. It smelled of incense and wood. I loved the deep dark color of the wood.
My knees issued out sharp painful signals to stop bending them and putting all my weight on this hard bench.
All was quiet.
I would wait there straining to hear what the other person was saying. Maybe getting a hint on a new confession. There were mumbles and whispers.
I had my confession down pat it was the same everytime.
I disobeyed my parents three times and lied once.
I like the sound of the three two ratio.
I never never talked about sex. I didn't know it was on the sin roster. I didn't even know what my older cousin was doing to me was called sex.My heart would flutter when the screen was raised. I was so worried I couldn't hold the gas. Then I would begin with my voice in hushed tones. I would try to inhale the words worried that my breath was bad. I knew he could smell my breath. His was very holy. He would lean into my face and whisper my penitence.
Exiting I would retreat to the white marbel alter railing. There on my knees again naked against the cold marbel I would begin the Hail Marys....
I worked it out and I would say...
Hail Mary
Hail Mary
Hail Mary
full of grace
full of grace
full of grace
and so on till all my Hail Marys were said
then moving onto the Our Fathers.
I would end up feeling quite stimulated and maybe a little uplifed. I would genuflect and exit the church where upon I would release all the pent up gas.
It was so good to be outside and in the sun. Glancing up at the towers I thought I would fly up to god if I could.
Posted by Atticus on August 12, 2004, at 7:59:00
In reply to Re: poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978, posted by malthus on August 11, 2004, at 19:51:58
My pleasure, Malthus. I really liked your limerick, by the way. Very clever wordplay, which, of course, is the essence of a really successful limerick. Anyway, for the past 26 years, only my sister and I really knew how that plaster statuette got that crack in its neck. I've confessed at last, though a bit belatedly. :) Atticus
Posted by Atticus on August 12, 2004, at 8:14:19
In reply to Re: poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978, posted by Jai Narayan on August 11, 2004, at 21:06:26
Hi Jai,
I used to feel that same jolt of fear when the little door slid open and the priest was suddenly mere inches away, waiting for me to perform, and I was always afraid I'd screw up my lines. I always found confession the scariest part of church. Like you, I always went in with the same standardized set of sins, and they're included in this poem. I guess I went for variety, and I liked giving three. Two, I reasoned, would sound like I was either ready for beatification or holding something back. Four sins struck me as too many. Father Feenan was a softie and always let you off with a penetential slap on the wrist. Father Rice, on the other hand, would heap on the Our Fathers and Hail Marys like it was an all-you-can-pray buffet. I'm not sure what being raised Roman Catholic in an Irish household has done for my soul, but it sure is fertile ground for my writing. Ta. :) That rogue Atticus of Atlantis, whose ancestors actually did do dirty work for High King Niall's brother, Fiachra, and is proud to carry on the family tradition
Posted by swe on August 31, 2004, at 13:54:56
In reply to poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978, posted by Atticus on August 11, 2004, at 16:22:32
Atticus, love this poem. I would like permission to reprint it in DisciplesWorld magazine. Will pay for first rights. SWE
Posted by Atticus on August 31, 2004, at 19:07:11
In reply to Re: poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978, posted by swe on August 31, 2004, at 13:54:56
SWE,
I'm glad you enjoyed the poem. However, I need to know more about this publication called "DisciplesWorld" before I agree to anything. Who sponsors it? Is is connected to any specific organized religion? What is its agenda? Is it at all connected to any political parties or organizations of any kind? Is there a place on the Web where I can check out its other content? I must tell you, the title makes me somewhat leery. Atticus
Posted by swe on September 1, 2004, at 9:53:39
In reply to Re: poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978 » swe, posted by Atticus on August 31, 2004, at 19:07:11
Hi Atticus. DisciplesWorld is the journal of news, opinion, and mission of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in North America. The Disciples are a small, mainline Protestant denomination, more liberal than conservative. The magazine is an independent unit. We receive no funding from the church. We rely entirely on subscriptions, advertising, and gifts for our financial survival. Currently, we have just over 13,000 subscribers.
Our "agenda" is simply to report on the happenings of the church truthfully. Sometimes that gets us in hot water with the church hierarchy, but mostly they let us be.
We do a theme focus each month. The Nov. issue will focus on hell -- the "traditional" Judeo-Christian view, views from other faith traditions, non-traditional views. We have a chaplain who works with death-row inmates writing from that perspective.
That's the issue I'd like to run your poem in.
We try to include some lighter material in each issue. We run a monthly cartoon, and each month we run either a short work of fiction or a poem or selection of poems. Sometimes we do both.
To find out more about the magazine, you can check out our website, www.disciplesworld.com. I'd also be glad to send you a couple back issues, so you can see what the magazine is.
Thanks for considering this. And whether you let us run the poem or not, thanks for posting it. It made me laugh out loud!
SWE
Posted by Atticus on September 1, 2004, at 15:44:27
In reply to Re: poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978, posted by swe on September 1, 2004, at 9:53:39
OK, SWE, I'm game. But how do I get copyright protection, get paid, get about 25 copies, and maintain my anonymity on Babble? Do you have any ideas about the logistics of this? We'd have to handle this via e-mail because Babble clearly isn't an appropriate forum in which to conduct a business transaction. Post an e-mail address where I can contact you directly and in privacy -- one with no connection with Babble, and we'll continue this discussion there. Atticus
Posted by swe on September 1, 2004, at 16:56:34
In reply to Re: poem ... Why I'm Goin' Straight to Hell, 1978 » swe, posted by Atticus on September 1, 2004, at 15:44:27
Hi Atticus,
You can email me at editor@disciplesworld.com
Thanks!
This is the end of the thread.
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