Dennis Mahagins Comments
Thanks a bunch, for letting me contribute to your fall/winter Shame Issue!
Though as I write, its midsummer here, in southwestern Montana.
Is it a shame, when an editor of a magazine runs his own work in said magazine?
Who knows, Frigg?
Whats in a shame?
I think of a line from the famous Philip Larkin poem, “This Be the Verse”:
They fuck you up, your mum and dad …
Of course they do. They got no choice. Because they were equally fucked up, in their turn.
I think Phil L. pretty well summed it all up, there.
Herein goes the asterisk:
Enough already, of that fucking shame.
In addition to publishing poems in a magazine I help editIm playing music again, Frigg!
Im the first-chair bassist in the Cutler Bros (Best Little Theater in Montana) production of Jesus Christ Superstar. It took me a month and a half to chop the damnable rust off my half-assed musicality, get my all-important fingertip calluses back. And learn the wonderful score by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Lyrics by Tim Rice.
Frigg, weve played two shows; theyve gone over like colorful, fantastical kites.
Im having quite a shitload of fun. Making memories here, in a Montana midsummer.
Fun is, after all, fundamentally antithetical, to shame.
Shame runs off Musics back. Shame is tone deaf, no rhythm, the behemoth in Mice and Men, stomping on unfortunate family pets underfoot (Frankensteins noncontrapuntal corrosive anti-bebop)and yet the thing about Music is simply this: One can hit a bum note, or two, even a whole run of em. But one bears down, sensing the transfiguration (maybe an apotheosis?) hearing it, right around the corner. The next measure, or the one after the one after that …
I love you, Friggunto the abyss.
Why is the editor with no Home for his Pome
like a mattress salesman on a comfortable
Bed o Nails?
Why, frog in lukewarm water, Frigg!
Huckleberry, we shall discuss.
There is time, still.
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