Two Poems By Joseph Kalar Essay, Research Paper

POOLROOM FACES

Faces floating in a poolroom fog,

faces flowering out of collars

and shirts like greenhouse cabbages,

faces with eyes tired, eyes like pools

filmed over with fog, sad and vacant eyes

like bright coals burned to grey cinders.

Men sitting on poolroom chairs

staring at the floor with vacant eyes

blinking as the last billiard ball

rolls smooth as hell into the right pocket;

seeing and not seeing, seeing phlegm

glistening like jewels in the yellow light,

smoldering cigarette butts, gum wrappers,

cigaret packages; hearing sharp sudden click

of billiard balls, low loving entreaties

of players finding life concentrated in a cue.

Faces, now so unlovely and sad,

were you ever wise and resolute? 0 corpse faces,

pasty faces, dead faces, did your eyes

ever smoulder with creative hate?

Faces growing on that evil sour apple tree,

withered fruit of sour poisoned stalk,

sad harvest of work and looking for work,

harvest of mine, harvest of factory,

harvest of lumbercamp and sectiongang,

poolroom faces gazing at poolroom floor,

waiting, thinking maybe, wishing a little,

praying for strong men to plow the sour soil!

NOTHING TO LOSE

As piles of sand disintegrate when sucked

by the wet urgent tongue of the sea–

as one about to die finds life escaping

like rush of air from a punctured tire—

as a house gnawed by red teeth of flames

falls at last to ashes and ashes—

so now the land we love, comrade,

so now the dreams we dreamed,

so today and all the hours….

Hunger is with us.

Factory smoke is sour

with the memory of work

to be done

and a wild look in the eye:

no work today, buddy, no work….

Hunger is with us, it is a rodent

that chews flesh from us

that drops dung on our joys

that dogs our steps blackly

a shadow you can’t outrun,

hunger is waiting,

hunger loves you,

hunger is with us, brother.

0 now the grease will surely

leave your fingernails

and cinders will surely

leave those eyes alone

for a wild look in the eye:

no work today, buddy, no work,

no, no work, no work, buddy,

the old system

can’t squeeze out another job for you,

can’t find a loaf of bread for you;

that for you, brother,

a fig for your pains,

a sneer for your love

and spittle on your dreams.

Nothing to lose anymore,

gone now the lies

the beautiful lies

the red white and blue lies,

nothing to lose anymore, comrade,

nothing to lose now but your chains.

This is a new day, brother,

come gird your loins with me,

spit on your hands—

(no more time for dreams)

a big job is waiting

hard work needs completion—

a big job is waiting

and is tired of waiting,

for men like you, brother,

who find Hunger a comrade

with a lean embrace—

and for you too, brother,

with smoke in your eyes

and grease on your nails

and a paycheck smaller and smaller

and hours that seem

never to end

and a boss that demands of your strength

till it seems to snap—

a big job for us today

a big job for us today

Nothing to lose anymore, comrade

nothing to lose but our chains.

Don’t you remember the days

that left us rotting with sleep

and we lay as one etherized

thinking that dreams could last?

don’t you remember the days

when that flag meant something

and the blood thrilled

to the red white and blue?

Listen, comrades, have you forgotten

the lies we embraced,

the lies that offered us dugs

full of milk

to soothe our anger

and embalm our wisdom?

Have you forgotten, comrade,

the finger of scorn we pointed

at comrades who shook us from sleep

and told us a big job was waiting

and sang the wonders

of the workers’ fatherland?

Gone now, all gone, brother,

gone now the lies

the beautiful lies

the red white and blue lies—

nothing left us but this hunger

nothing left us but this hate

nothing left us but these hands

and a job that’s tired of waiting….

Nothing to lose anymore, comrade,

nothing to lose but our chains!