   Searching the City for Pam
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
   
   by
   
   Klaus J. Gerken
   
   
   
   	for Pamela Kinsey
   
   
   I arrive at shops displaying
   posters of Russen Mig Jets
   piloted by some inane adolescent
   or solitary mute
   It is here that I stop
   Stop to telephone the operator
   to hear her voice reject the ideology in mine
   I ask her to connect me to God
   God? she says, Who's God?
   I tell her it's an unlisted number
   Oh, she says, That explains it then
   That explains what? I ask
   We are not allowed to give out
   unlisted numbers
   Oh, I said, and hung up
   
   I seem to remember the day as hot
   and sticky, overcast, humid
   and other things which the weather bureau 
   does not report
   I walk down Bank street feeling
   like I was just shot out of a cannon
   That was about 11 a.m.
   I had some magazines under my arm
   Mike wanted them
   but he hadn't arrived
   So I went on to Spark's Street Mall
   sat down at the empty fountain
   and watched this girl on the next bench
   staring at me
   well dressed and red hair
   had bag made from some hide or perhaps
   she skinned a cat
   She smiled and I smiled back
   Said, Hell, I've been through that
   Besides I'm tired now
   Just got up
   So naturally I premeditated the murder
   of some famous personage
   Decided against it
   when I found 
   my watch had stopped
   and the world remained inane to all
   my wants and needs
   So I got up and moved on to Wellington Street
   Tried to pass the time by thinking poetically
   drawing from the inspired dogma
   of carbon dioxide
   and other forms of pollution
   
   So on past the U.S. Embassy
   and the Rideau club
   where all the rich polititians gather
   Thought of throwing a rock 
   through the window
   just to stir things up
   Start a fight or two
   (Do I dare disturb the universe)
   The clock on the Peace Tower
   struck 11:30
   so naturally I took it to be the truth
   the whole truth
   and nothing but the truth
   and set my watch
   accordingly
   five minutes back
   so I wouldn't miss the bus
   
   On down Elgin street
   past the Langevin building
   where the Prime Minister's
   office is
   and the the post office
   with its great statues of
   stately lions gurding what
   I never knew
   There turned back to Sparks
   and into W.H. Smith books
   trying to get my deposit back
   for a book I didn't order
   but they had misplaced all the invoices
   and told me to come back another day
   I left without a cent
   Oh well
   ain't starving yet
   So through the noon time crowd
   and back to Bank Street
   where I still found no one
   that I knew
   so headed back up the mall
   (The girl still sitting there
   now joined by a man
   smoking fag and reading mag)
   I get down to the theatre
   and there find Mike
   coming down the street
   with a load of underground newspapers
   --Ah you're here, he says
   --Yes, you're late, I say
   --You got the magaines?
   --Yeah, but could only get my hands on three
   --That'll be alright
   --35 each, I said
   --That's fine
   He pulls out a two dollar bill
   --Haven't any change, I say
   --Wait here, I'll get some
   He introduces me to some blond
   sitting by the fountain
   We make small talk
   but get nowhere 
   Mike comes back
   giving me a dollar and a dime
   --I owe you a nickle
   --That's all right
   --If you come back later
   I'll have some change then
   --Fine
   --See you in a while
   The blond smiles at me
   but leaves with Mike
   
   In the mean time I head down
   To the Arts Centre
   needing time to think
   about things said to me
   by the telephone operator
   Who's God, she said
   Who's God indeed?
   
   I finally get there
   without my share of no-essentials
   meeting people and friends
   along the way
   talking of inconsequential things
   and hoping to get by
   I decide I need
   some quiet time
   and walk into the book store
   browsing
   Finding a nice comfortable chair
   I settle in begin reading
   Thomas Wolfe's You Can't Go Home Again
   The writing's so engrossing
   I loose all sense of time
   After about twenty pages
   Begin to grow tired
   and mark the page that I am at
   for another time
   get up slowly
   put the book back
   on the shelf
   and head out to the brilliant
   afternoon sunblast
   Up the tarrace
   overlooking the so pretty
   pretty green canal
   Make some notes on what
   was swimming ceramoniously
   upon the murky water
   I called the list
   Requiem for a Dead Canal
   Pepsy Cola can
   Ice cream wrapper
   Pyro film
   Newspaper
   Some feathers (allowed)
   Plastic Straws
   Empty cheeze carton
   some losts, and twigs and wood (also allowed)
   and some discarded pop bottles
   To quote a friend
   "Reason for our sanity"
   Note:
   I am beginning to feel
   like a death certificate
   
   I head back up the mall
   to see if Mike has found that nickle
   
   On the way
   my eyes are haunted by some spider webs
   and somehow the mind
   retains a picture of snipers at Berkley
   and the human element
   I turn my head away
   
   Man it's hot
   The sun blazing away
   in omneiscience
   I try to read the signs 
   in people's eyes
   Hope to meet them 
   on a rainy day
   and bring myself back
   to this collective
   insecurity
   
   So
   At the corner or Sparks
   and Bank 
   Mike sells his newspapers
   Yelling
   Octopus
   Creem
   Berkley Barb
   and a hundred other assorted
   varieties
   I say, How's it gong? sold any yet?
   --You've come for the nickle, I suppose
   --Well, if you have the time
   --Wait here, I'll have to get some change
     Want to watch the papers for me?
   --Sure, I've got the time
   He leaves
   I stand there
   The day grabs me in a free-for-all
   And I pretend to be the self-appointed
   saviour of the people
   A meagre beginnning
   but none the less
   there come's a time
   when the solution is so
   obvious that nothing else
   matters anymore
   
   It is one p.m.
   the sun beyong the gaze if clouds
   hot and sticky humid
   I sell these papars
   like a madman
   Sales pitches
   'Hot day--cool newspaper"
   He'll was just feelin' good
   and ain't no sin
   Doin' this thing
   My thing for a time
   Helping Mike
   Arguing over who gets the dough
   He will naturally
   But I'm meeting lost of people
   Feel fine
   Drunk--happy
   Wonder if it lasts
   
   About three I'm in a riotous mood
   Stopping everyone I can
   regardless of the law
   and cops standing by
   Here is someone
   coming up to me in sunglasses
   I say "There's a sale I'll get"
   So I come up with a new angle
   "Would you care to support
   a poet who is just trying to get some money
   to buy stamps to send his manuscripts
   off to publishers?"
   --Oh, poetry, she says almost too excitedly
   --Yes poetry, I say in my best
   Leonard Cohen voice
   She searches her purse for a quarter
   Can't seem to find one
   So I talk to her a bit
   I--I'm a poet too, she says
   --Good we should talk
   --Yes we should
   Just then some bum
   buds in says 
   How about a dime?
   How about you leave?
   He grumbles
   but he leaves
   So I turn back to this
   mysterious dark lady
   --How about a cup of coffee
   or a little bit to eat?
   Which was a logical suggestion
   since I hadn't eaten all day
   Just then someone walks past
   Pinches her says hi goes by
   --That's my fiancee and my travelling
   companiom...
   --Oh I see
   (do you? well?)
   We go into the dark coolness
   of the local Honey Dew cafe
   Take the farthest most 
   secluded booth
   Asking to be excused
   I go downstairs to wipe off
   all the ink 
   which rubbed off easily
   on my sweaty hands
   get most of it off
   and go back up
   remove my corderoy jacket
   --So you write poetry also?
   --Yes
   --What kind? trying hard to communicate
   for I seem to have forgotten
   the act of communcation
   in the past year or so
   living above a delapidated garage
   near the queensway
   But Pam is nice
   She understands
   She smiles so gently
   with a sparkle in her eye
   that's almost magical
   We communicate
   The first true communication
   with someone who would
   understand the meaning
   of my thoughts
   
   
   We spoke of things
   so many things
   encompassing the whole experience
   of trying
   searching eyes for glimmer
   or a tear
   a strength or weakness
   
   With the music softly
   playing in the background
   it had the dreamlike quality
   and I felt so sad
   and happy all togther
   Generally I do not
   believe in the word trust
   but this time found
   trust in eyes and
   I believed in the divinity of Pam
   I believed her alibi
   believed in the generation of her brothers
   The photographs she showed me
   explaining very carefully who was who
   and the processess involved
   in memory
   I felt for her as she explained
   her many step-fathers
   how
   her mother had been married trice
   and how she was shuffled
   from one household to another
   
   We discussed the problems of the home
   how when parents always argue
   it affects the children
   
   Oh how I believed her eyes
   although there were things 
   I did not understand about them
   as if she were holding
   something back
   some though or wants
   or needs that even she
   had hidden from herself
   
   That perfect ordinance of understanding
   knew the nonsense meaning of our world
   was a serious endeavour
   in the chaotic fluctuation of the universe
   
   We spoke of books we had not read
   compared ideologies calculating
   the precise age of our wordliness
   
   I believed strongly in the predictions she had made
   while reading my palms
   'a long life
   but the road is difficult'
   
   I believed in her touch
   although we never revealed
   that which concealed our final destinies
   
   And I loved her smile
   So warm and full of meaning
   The almost unnoticables space
   between her two front teeth
   and her ideal precise mastery of words
   which I could only struggle with
   and yet
   there was something
   something that makes me now certain
   that she could never be sheltered 
   from the world
   And yet I felt a child surrounded by her charms
   And I loved Pam for that
   as a child to its mother
   something in her made me feel alive
   brother unto sister
   man to woman
   universal love
   upheld by any bond 
   that brought us close to each
   
   She had something
   something of an easiness
   which made me take certain liberties
   of tongue and heart
   to assess the world
   in different colours
   I who so rarely trust
   a stranger
   I who am alone
   within a crowded room
   of friends and lovers
   
   I loved Pam as I worship the firmament
   as I feel its vast infiniy possess me
   hold me fast
   making me a sole positive
   refrain withing a world
   that I had lost
   
   At one point I said that I had
   a tape recorder
   hidden beneath the table
   at which she went on a safary
   to search for its hidden ears
   I laughed and said that I was
   only joking
   She said The voice was true
   and they make very tiny
   transistorized 
   ones
   these days
   I said The world is becomming much too
   mechanical
   that I would like to pack up my bag
   and head south
   just walking over fields
   and through towns
   in a straight line as the crow flies
   with no obstacles to obstruct
   my foolisf fantacies
   She laughed ever so sweetly
   and whispered Oh Klaus...
   
   I try and acknowledge these moments
   Only the moments pass so quickly
   All too fast when you are mutual 
   in your recognition of a meaning
   It is the knowledge of wanting something
   which you know will never be
   It makes me love her even more
   even more as the time passes
   without her
   
   And now having
   possessed her
   for a short time
   before this travelling lady
   deserts this post
   for locations more mystic
   and less sympathetic
   than this
   the conversation continues
   
   We conversed for the duration
   of six wonderful hours
   trying to merge our profound thoughts
   with the absurd
   to vanish into realms untouched
   before and never to be touched again
   listening to music no one else
   can hear
   only us 
   only we the two poets together
   in a universe we so fleetingly created
   
   The words became less needed
   and what was said was seen through eyes
   and felt through empathy
   whispers without ears
   glances without fears
   Want
   my wanting her wanting
   but we both knew those wants
   would never be fulfilled
   they would remain the ultimate mystery
   between us
   a shadow in our inner soul
   and I am chained like Samson
   to that mystery
   a sad and silent mystery
   Pam, I said, I love you
   When I thought that no one heard
   the whole world bore witness
   to our brief togetherness
   unsullied by the carnal
   adventures of a human bond
   
   Thinking of it now
   I am glad
   there were no secrets that we kept
   in retrospect
   that would have been more difficult
   
   O how alone I feel
   and freigtened like a little child
   lost in a city like New York 
   starved frozen lost
   unknown unwanted and uncared for
   I would like to weep at writing this
   until the oceans overflow
   I would weep the pain
   of parting from my mind
   And leave my heart to mend
   a broken shell
   hollow and bereft
   empty empty empty
   
   Oh Pam your hair so black
   a raven would be proud
   which
   oh yes, I know, you insist
   is the colour red
   But no matter
   it is the eyes that capture me
   And yes, you said
   you always get that which
   you want
   And if only what you want and what
   I want were the same?
   But they are the same
   What pleasures they would bring
   
   I walk through
   empty halls
   and stare through
   broken windows to the sky
   Knowing it could never be
   and just for being kind
   you were the doctor's
   smiling face at death
   
   But I waste this energy
   Life is what I have to talk about
   
   (Oh yes Pam
   I am drunk
   How else could I keep myself
   together?
   I was breaking 
   like a huge land mass quaking
   beneath the thunder of the earth
   The moment I heard your
   telepathic messages
   flash through my numb brain
   I felt the whole weight
   of your loss
   transmit a devistating
   loneliness)
   
   I don't know
   there is an echo of a desperation
   tears that should not come
   come
   
   I am sorry Pam
   for the moments lost
   I am experiencing real emotions
   which focus 
   like a matrix of despair
   an insurmountable emptiness
   nothing else can fill
   perhaps it's only you
   who can release me
   you who have so catured me
   that I no longer am 
   my own
   
   You smiled when we kissed
   and I did too
   I tried hard to merge
   my thoughts with yours
   but there was some reluctance to accept
   the freely offered restitution
   I did not understand then
   and still can't
   fathom what has been 
   and what is now
   
   When we left the restaurant
   (I remember we walked out
   without paying for the last two drinks)
   it began to rain
   fleeting drizzle and you told me how you
   loved the rain
   wanting to remove your shoes
   walking barefoot
   through the streets
   
   We walked down Bank street
   till Wellington
   across the Justice Building
   Talked a few more minutes
   before the bus came
   You asked me if we
   would ever see each other again
   I assured you we would 
   if the wild wind so desired it
   You embraced me
   Then we parted
   knowing we would never
   see the other
   if again
   
   Walking home tormented
   sad and twisted like a poison
   ate my heart away
   I knew the gods had given me 
   something special
   and this special feeling
   young I only knew
   in one great faltering
   incomprhensability
   
   Later I would know...
   
   April 31 1970
   
   Copyright 1970 (c) Klaus J. Gerken

   Published by:
   Ygdrasil Press
   http://www.synapse.net/~kgerken
   kgerken@synapse.net
   alt.centipede






