psychoceramics: classical Elvis poetry

[rev @ halcyon.com (John Tynes)]

I found this on alt.elvis.king. It speaks for itself, but let me step in to
say I don't think it's that bad at all; it's just frigging weird.

(from the poem)
>            When you see them, tell them I am dead,
>            tell them that I died while reading on the toilet.

Fear death by water!

You've really got to look through the whole thing. Don't read the first
stanza and then skip the rest. By the time you hit:

>        But I cannot find my mother
>        anywhere down here.  I walk a lonely street,
>        with this three-headed hound dog who follows me,
>        crying all the time.

you'll know you've struck psychoceramics gold.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: ingebret @ interaccess.com (Mark Ingebretsen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,alt.elvis.king
Subject: Elvis in the Underworld (need C&C)
Date: 10 Jan 1996 06:11:34 GMT
Organization: Hyphen Magazine
Xref: news.halcyon.com rec.arts.poems:112343 alt.elvis.king:4505

This is a poem that I've been working on for years.  I've added and
deleted various sections; believe it or not, it's actually shorter now
than it once was.  There are various references to events and people in
Elvis's life, as well as mythological references, some of them tongue in
cheek, others more serious.  "I walk a lonely street" was on the suicide
note that inspired the song "Heartbreak Hotel."

The c&c I need most is on (a) overall flow and structure, (b) whether it's
too long, and (c) which parts, if any, could be cut.

This poem has burdened me long enough - please help me finish the damn
thing!  --thanks--



        Elvis in the Underworld


            I'm the hillbilly cat from Tupelo
            I was born in a shotgun shack
            I walk a lonely street
            and I have descended now
            into the underworld

                    : : :

        When I awakened from my death, I found myself
        on the shore of a river, fast-flowing, deep, and cold.
        The light was weak, it was an empty hour of the day.
        From the other shore, a ferryman
        poled his way across in a ragged skiff.
        I saw it was my Uncle Vester, my father's brother:
        he who had taught me how to play guitar.
        His boots and hunting cap had wings.
        When he came close,
        he boomed across the water,

            Well, I'm the son of darkness
            and the seventh son of night.
            My rhythm rises
            from the swamp and hollow.
            My rhythm itches,
            makes your feet, hips, fingers twitch
            so that you got to move.

            Elvis it is time
            to put away your spangled jumpsuit
            and dust yourself with ashes.
            Elvis it is time
            to hang up your guitar
            on the wall of the hardware store
            in Tupelo.
            Elvis I have come
            to ferry you across the tide of Acheron
            to endless night, fierce fires, and shriveling cold.

        And I replied:

            I'm caught in a trap, I can't get out.
            I will come with you, Uncle_
            but keep the boat steady as we cross,
            so that the frothing dirty water will not stain
            my blue suede shoes.

        When I landed on the other shore,
        I walked for miles in empty, burned out streets,
        but no one seemed to know me, no one spoke.
        I wandered for days, looking for a face
        I recognized, or a place to get a home-cooked meal.

        When I realized I had come into the underworld,
        I was content. I knew that I could find my mother,
        who had been taken from me.
        I hoped to sway Persephone
        the way I tantalized the teenage girls of Memphis.
        I hoped to lead my mother back up to the living.

        But I cannot find my mother
        anywhere down here.  I walk a lonely street,
        with this three-headed hound dog who follows me,
        crying all the time.

                    : : :

            When you see them, tell them I am dead.
            When you drink wine with them,
            tell them that I died while reading on the toilet.

        It's true, what anxious mothers said,
        I was the sneering voice of chaos,
        I was the enemy
        of the Ed Sullivans of this world.

        Uncle, where did it came from,
        the sway of my hips, the rantings of my pelvis?
        My unborn twin, when he died in our mother's womb_
        Was it his strength he gave me,
        Or did he lay his heavy, futile rage upon me?

        I could feel the rage Ed Sullivan carried coiled within his neck,
        the fear that bound his neck and shoulders.
        They were afraid of me.
        They cut my ducktailed hair,
        they tried to make me their teddy bear,
        put a chain around my neck and led me everywhere,
        led me to Las Vegas, led me to the city of the lost angels,
        where I lost my soul, making such movies as "Clambake."

        When you drink wine
        with those who remember me,
        Tell them that I cannot be their teddy bear,
        their hunk of burning love.

            When you see them, tell them I am dead,
            tell them that I died while reading on the toilet.

                    : : :

        I'm the hillbilly cat from Tupelo
        I was born in a shotgun shack
        I walk a lonely street
        I have descended now
        into the underworld

        I am lonesome tonight.
        I cannot find my mother anywhere.

        Mama, find me!
        Let me drink forgetfulness again.
        Take your son back inside yourself.

        I'll be waiting for you here
        in the place I've found to dwell.
        It's down at the end of Lonely Street
        at Heartbreak Hotel_

            and I feel so lonely
            I feel so lonely, mama
            I feel so lonely


Copyright (c) 1995 by Mark Ingebretsen

--
"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent" -- Wittgenstein

John Tynes   r--@h--.com      []     "If he died in Memphis,
http://www.halcyon.com/rev/       []     wouldn't that be cool?"
Pagan Publishing                  []          -The Replacements,
& Daedalus Entertainment          []              "Alex Chilton"
-see my role-playing game (PUPPETLAND) at the WWW address above-