If Only I Had a Polaroid of Alexander Leschetizky

By jonLyndon

In Vienna I found stupidity, tragedy, comedy
but I never did find myself. In all the blue cafés
and brownstone Bostonian hotels where so
many Blue Russian cats sleep lazily, I found
myself laying down on the warm wet stones
of a doorway to a strange room, a strange
accident. I cannot remember ever being in
Berlin, London or Boston,
I forget the way in which
I found myself,
wanton,
thrilled,
alone

desperate?

I hear the bitter emphasis in Time's tones, yet
I ignore them, always seeing them as places.
Sparks in the constellations, with stars.
Old oceans and the leviathan whales,
Blue avenues of burned and bruised curiosities...
the city's tenements in contempt.
We reach for our own Darwin dogmas of self-perception
yet always seem to find the opposites
the other ways
the other sides
the other mirrors
the less attractions.

(I had never carried a camera).
Should I blame the pulse and
pupils of Alexander Leschetizky?
(cousin to the great Polish composer Theodor).
The months and hours and days of borrowed
Hungarian notebooks slip by...
He'd say, "your father never gave you
any maps en route to the Great Opus Discovery;
the courses of language; Thelema, True Will,
the endlessly catalogued enigmas of seasons;
those great Bacchanalian beaches." And of course I
never understood a single word from his
winter's overcoat single malt breath. But he was there.
Among the suburban libraries
or booklined labyrinths; I'd see him through
the blue clouds of cigar smoke
in the old pubs, the Rathaus, the Staatsoper
in the off-mazes with no tour guides...
He introduced me to the hypocrisies of the Orchestra
and politics; how to recall time in familiar smells...
"There is always logic in this fucked up world."
(How now I wish I had a Polaroid of Alexander Leschetizky).
"Find the kind in kindling and you'll find
your kin...". Some seven odd years ago.
I heard he died horribly in a train crash
outside of Munich. Or Warszawa.
In Schwarzwald.
It was winter.

Venus shone bright in that dead-black night-sky,
eldritch and nebulous like the night beyond...
the lesser for Mars.
I've forgotten what he'd look like
but whenever I smell tobacco I get
an odd feeling that he is close by.

So I wandered, wondering, down the Blue Danube
and find, found, myself lost on some other
grim geography, lost highway, scatttering through
the elements of history in a new, different country
vanished at each street corner,
with the lost market vendors
those market square heroes;
the cats always already  there,
the smell of dried potpourri,
heavy drapes drawn thru dull golden yellows
while old lovers discover their lines,
familiar features
the music; white lillies and blue orchids
in the backyard gardens...
Restless dogs in the distance with the police sirens
and the street punks like gunshots,
human fraility relinquished in the smells
of lemon scented teas

     (I recall how he loved Bach and Mozart. Later Beethoven
     and even later, the Beatles. Not the Stones.
     How he'd laugh when I'd say how the English
     band Yes are classically inspired; progressive...
     "Only Wakeman," he'd utter in his mysterious way,
     then whistle the melody of Roundabout
     ~perfectly~
     I think now he might have come to like Opeth,
     particularly Blackwater Park, and more...
     given the chance).

Life is so full of spiritual difficulties, so it's
important to count the cracks in the sidewalks,
those dark steps in Morhdorh...

Those precious, priceless experiences
only poets and comedians ever conceive.
This life designed for pomp and calvacades;
torn down M. Strasse Boulevard to rediscovery,
the red tomorrows. Perhaps they were the same
man, in a sense (Leschetizky & my father)?

somewhere, elsewhere, always

They were both occult mystics in the Aleister Crowley way
and had fought in the Second War, together;
only Leschetizky came back; my mum then overdosed
on Valium and Vodka Tonics.
I was reborn that autumn, but not in a religious way...
leaves falling all around. A sonata...

Some day I'll return to Vienna, someday
I'll even remember to return to myself.

"Maybe".

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2010 jonLyndon
Published on Wednesday, December 8, 2010.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "If Only I Had a Polaroid of Alexander Leschetizky"

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  • carlosjackal On Wednesday, September 7, 2016, carlosjackal (1923)By person wrote:

    This was some journey into the mind greatly travelled and still finding confusion ruling...So much logic in the ways of the world and so much beauty, too. And so much madness and wonder also. 3rd asylum from the sun. Brilliant as always, Jon.

  • The Widow Frost On Wednesday, June 5, 2013, The Widow Frost (342)By person wrote:

    Didactic rant at its very finest, sinise jeg. My own attempt was the lame child of Almost and Regret in comparison. Love the flow. I like the Darwinian dogmas of self-perception part. This makes me want to travel that I can come back with some blue urn full of possibilities in which to capture its splendour. So many of my faves have favourited this, now I know why.

  • ButcherBelial On Wednesday, May 15, 2013, ButcherBelial (721)By person wrote:

    Still so amazing. A top work here at DP. Really wished you'd return & bless us with your epic stylings, jL. Still gonna stick to my guns on preferring the Beatles to the Stones. I'm sure I've told you this story, but I've never carried a camera, either. So much undocumented. So much remembered through bitter or rose-colored lenses. That's one of the great things about photographs...there is at least a point of reference to access a memory or an adventure from years ago. I should go out & read this poem aloud to the darkness. I think the skunk hordes & coyote gangs out there in the night would enjoy this one. You go from Bach, Mozart, & Beethoven to Beatles, Stones, & Yes (always loved Roundabout, if you can find a bass player who can play it, have them preform it for you, it's mind-blowing) to Opeth & Blackwater Park. Still an unforgettable journey here, my man, from start to finish. Only one thing left for me to do...

  • jonLyndon On Saturday, August 15, 2015, jonLyndon (117)By person wrote:

    God bless Chris Squire - I saw YES recently (minus some key figures, but Squire & Howe were there); St Kilda this past Feb 2015. I first saw YES in '78 & that remains a Top 10 all time fave concert. Saw Opeth twice since I moved down here to Aussie lands & man they are AMAZING! I can play parts of Roundabout including the awesome Bass riff in the bridge, the intro... love that song: fave album is Tales... I havn't checked in here in quite some time, obvious. Thnx for the new comment on this one of my personal fave poems of mine. Cheers.

  • ButcherBelial On Wednesday, May 15, 2013, ButcherBelial (721)By person wrote:

    & please return soon. This place is improved when you post something. & I just KNOW you're writing writing writing...

  • Lydia Jade On Wednesday, May 15, 2013, Lydia Jade (1509)By person wrote:

    It was my favorite first you know.

  • jonLyndon On Friday, January 29, 2016, jonLyndon (117)By person wrote:

    thank you ...

  • Alchemist On Tuesday, October 2, 2012, Alchemist (848)By person wrote:

    This truely took me on a journey, soulfully wrote and the best thing I have maybe ever read on this site. From Bach to the Beatles to Opeth what's not to love.

  • ForeverHopelessAlwaysLost On Sunday, January 22, 2012, ForeverHopelessAlwaysLost (78)By person wrote:

    Are you an acomplshed poet or author ? Because if not the world is missing out on an incredibile talent. This was amazing.

  • jonLyndon On Friday, June 15, 2012, jonLyndon (117)By person wrote:

    Thank you for your kind comment; sorry for my much belated reply... and no, I am not an accomplished writer. Just an amateur. Cheers.

  • purr_verse On Wednesday, December 8, 2010, purr_verse (1068)By person wrote:

    wistful and enveloping, winding journey that asks for more than one quick foray down its streets. the last three lines of stanza 3 are particularly evocative and effective in bringing tangible depth; simply, beautifully written. reflection and introspection throughout, thoughtful and enveloping, and its understated conclusion marvellously done. (Tinytypo thingy - stanza 4 opens a bracketed segment but never closes it...)

  • A former member wrote: such a rich tapestry of culture and imagery woven with hues of soul searching, tragedy and the suggestion of occult carried along by a wonderment of music...... I did a brief search for the aforementioned..... I read this as a tribute.... but found only a composer named Theodore. A beautiful read... well composed.... beyond well.... and a journey of loss... a journey that is as tragic as at times whimsical and reflective.... a profound conjunction of music and spirituality... at the nexus, where we find ourselves faced with the choice of a lifetime, perhaps..... *bows* thank you for sharing your art.

  • The Dybbuk On Thursday, November 22, 2012, The Dybbuk (1161)By person wrote:

    what this guy said... truly a remarkable read, yes... such melody in word.... the creation of world.

  • jonLyndon On Wednesday, December 8, 2010, jonLyndon (117)By person wrote:

    Thank you. Alexander is fictional in creation for the poem, no true relation to the Polish composer Theodor). Glad you like the musical elements...

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