Namaya Vermont Poet: Poetry: July 2008

Introduction

Om, mani padmi Ku, Om mani pad mi kum,

om mani padmi kum,

Kwam, Kwam. Kwam. Kwam. Om Mani Padmi

kumm

Om. mani padmi katti kati Om. Om mani padmi

kati Me. Ka Me. Ka Me Om. Om Mani Om Mani

Love. Love. Ka. Ka Mi. Ka Ma. Ommm Kammma

Kamma Om. Ommmani padd mi kaddmi

ommm.

Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku KuOm Kap kaddda

omn.

KuoooooO. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love Kamma

Love kamma mu. Love kamma mu. Love kamma

kamma. love kamma kamma mu.

don’t worry, this

won’t be some far out

instigation of madness, some

meandering words that

vanish in a sentence or

leaves us dumbfounded

and flottering on the flotilla

of irrationality,

flumfloxed by vowels and

consonants that

refuse to behave in the rise,

fall, declination

and the silences that occur

between each note

in the key of Ku.

Jazz has become excessively

addicted to rationality,

a victim of its success and

its failure to venture

into the key of Ku.

Flats? Sharps? Minor chords

that lead to a window,

an insight.

In the key of Ku the obvious

would be that there is

a Kool Olgy, mentholated of course,

since all Jazz Kats and Kitties

aspire to some degree

of hip step kool.

2. Be Bop: the Cool Bee Bop Thrill of Ku ology

The Ku of Kuology

Kool ology is something like Be bop blues

descending once to the minor

key of ku

transposed to a sixth

A… P!

Not just your ordinary sloppy pea

hanging out on the edge of your

fork waiting for the buttery comfort of

mashed potatoes:

No,

ordinary Peas in a pod nor

a podunk piddly pish tosh P:

this was one who wore a high top,

spats, tails, and did a two step

while rap tapping of the sixth suavely

opened the door to T hanging out

on the 9th of T. Curious, how a ninth to

the 3rd will leave you six more than

the 21st letter of the alphabet.

The Tautology of Tu tantalizing to

the tumescent reality of

Te Deum in the glorious swinging

of the 9th that rests so easily

to swinging on the saloon doors where

kUuuuu most easily hangs.

The Kutology of Ku wherever phoneme

enKapsulates the kwintissential

Konspiracy of love.

Bee Bop Blues

is transmuted to the sharps and

flats of love:

redemption:

fire!

In the inspiration and exhalation of love,

the minor rolling keys

One, six, and nine with a fleeting scat

and rip tap thrill to the third.

A periwinkle sagacious blue

sailing out to the

potent personal

tu.

Sotto voce, mi amour

Sotto voce.

Who could argue with perfection?

Kuology of Ku is a bee bop thrill

of words

dancing

the round resonant

kuuu esscence of Kool

2. Kuba Libre

After all that hard voyaging on the seasons of love, there is nothing like a rum and coke,

drinking to the revolution, to the liberation of all sentient beings.

3. Kwanza KU

Ku A ba Ku A ba Ku

Ku a Baa Ku. Ku a Ba KU

Cante Libra

4. Kudos for the Kosmology of love

In the first and last syllable of

time, when god first

breathed and whispered to being

the infinite colors of

love

in a minor key

that will open

the soul to a more

profound loving.

4. Change of Profession: Ku to the Nth Degree of Love

Reverend’Jazz AKA Dr. Namaya has given notice that he will abandon his

homeopathic clinic, his avocation as a performance artist

and poet, tennis maven, humanitarian, vagabond, poseur, aspiring pimp, and the miscellaneous tasks associated…he is devoting all of his creative and professional talents to his new profession as a Ku-ologist.

In this nascent emerging field that Kombines kutaneous kumbustion,

constant kinetic motion that incorporates the 2nd law of Kosmetology

and its relationship to kosmology, kastor oil and Kastididitation and

personal flagillation of love unlimited. To paraphrase, reiterate and hold the mirror of the sainted first Bishop of Ku Olgy – the Hip Gan, “Dig infinity.”

“But Rev’jAz what of your parishioners? Oued Kirk? Isn’t this your chapel?

Isn’t redemption worth more than the price of bread? What of the salvation of the A minor, the comforting kind of words that leads to a narrative, and the chambered nautilus of desire?”

The Rev reported to have said, “Ïbbbidy bibbiddy bop.”

Appointments are available on request at 1 800 Ku Ology. Of course needing

to find the right band frequency of Ku is imperative. You Kan NOT, even

hope to wander in the klinik or Kuerk of Ku without some earned karma. To be an initiate in the Kingdom of Ku one must first speak some basic Ku.

One Kan not enter into the Kingdom without some kind of Klue, key or kwaint kombination of Kuessence.

Reverend jazz will abandon his profession! Dr.Namaya will fall away in the Ku essence of words and sounds:

K falling,

Ku whispering

of Kacophony

Ku Ology

The Rev and Doc will fuse to a new identity Ku as the kwintissentially Koolest KuOlogist of Love.

But Rev’what exactly is kuology and one of your verbal presdigitation?

Ku is the indefatigable derrigible that sails serenely in the face of such maddeness.

Konnaissaince? Por Que Pas! In the kingdom of Ku there are Mu and Loos, secret potties that lead to the chamber KaKaphony, where Karping Karp o philiaXs, Kopulate at noon in the Kwiet river of Kwai. It is better for kwiet when one is communing with their kolon.

I shall not walk or tumble, find my way

Don’t fraternize with the inmates! she said. I am the Queen of Ku, what ever that fool by the name of the King should decrees it is Ka Ka Kakophony. A distant sound resounding in the far circle of hell where the K mart fled. A flatulent fleeing fleecing of sanity. All the K’s are on sale, having rowed down to aisle 3, lingerie, kitchen ware, kar parts.

Aprokrophia the Memory of Love

“I was a child and she was a child there be the kingdom of the seas…”

As a voyager I am kareful to leave bread krumbs on the trail, kasual reminders where I left all the k’s the Cu’s, the reminders of love, the sheltering and shadowy images that saunter like a mistress on Place Pigalle shaking from the jones, tubercular coughing, and mascara tearing. She was a marionette with exaggerated mascara dripping from her eyes as we parted.

I paid for the visit and we stepped inside the cubicle, the size of a confessional or a koffin depending on your perspeKtive, she was a frail, but to me a holy grail, her tubercular white skin stretched like a corpse, her blue bulging veins at the temples throbbing, needing a fix in an hour or two, bonny blue eyes that dared to look eye to eye with the black Krow, her feet filthy comme une pied noire, mais cette femme habite dan les soutterain de Paris pres de catacomb. Peut etre aprez quelle que mois elle reste ca, avec les autre que reve les memoire des autre, toujoure nous avon le memoire de soleile, le memoire de vivre, le memoire respire

Yes, I am paying, and I would like you completely undressed. Mais oui, complete, pas de vestment.

She turned the lights down, but the blue muslin curtains blew back. She was a cadaver posing as a young woman. I was a vulture posing as a saint. The stained bra thickly padded fell to the floor, flat chested as a boy. Yes, the underpants, the pelvis as clear as a skeleton in an anatomy class; black tracks on the arms, behind the legs, and speckled on the pulsing blue veins. I took my undershirt ripped it in half, dipped it into the sink, and with the shard of soap washed her slowly.

Ultimate of kinky ain’t it? I was naked sitting on a stool in a room that size of a large coffin washing Marie who was sweating and shaking simply wanting to get the 50 euros and buy a fix, but she stayed and sweated while I bathed. The other girl outside the room was shouting and screaming, “Fifteen minutes. What the fuck do you think you are – A courtesan! Get out bitch!”

I threw ten Euros out to the hallway. For a day or more, we stayed, laid naked in the room, but oddly we didn’t fuck: We sweated, puked, and cold turkeyed in the cubicle. Tout le meme. Hundreds of clients who fucked on this foam thin bed, the hundreds of hits of heroin shot up here.

A child is starving in Darfur, I’m spending a 100 euros on salvation. A 9 year girl is sold as a slave in a Mumbai brothel. A six year old black boy is working in the tiniest seam of a coal mine in Brazil; the fat rich man in Hollywood dying of loneliness, the last tree in barren north Dakota chopped down: More pain on the planet that the heart can hold in an hour.

At 3 am Marie had a seizure, the bed rattled, banging on the walls, as if some demon was trying to escape, and then she died.

I left her there on the bed, covered in the white sheet, the blue pulsing veins disappearing into the alabaster skin, the face drawn like a cadaver, she was already half way to a skeleton when I met her, now a few centimeters closer to redemption

I walked through the catacombs later that day. I snorted a bag of heroin for courage, I couldn’t take the needle, it violated my privacy and her memory. I tuckedher blouse in the crevice where two skulls met: the hollow eyed sockets peered out through

Yum manni padmi. yum mani paddmi yum yum manni paddmi yum

Yum mani padmi yum many paddmi yum manni padddi manni padmi ku

Yuman Manni padd mi Kummm. Kummm mani padmi Kum

Yo mani paddi manni kadd mi yom paddni kom many pad me kom.

Duhm

Dah

Dahm

Dahm. Mani padmie dah mani. Mum. Mooom Mooomm Mooom paddi

yum paddi yummm, paddi, mummmmmm, paddi yummmmm, dumn paddi kom,

paddit humm

Redemption. Love. Fire.

Five votive candles in each eye socket and made a pentagram on the floor. In the five points of Kardinal love – the immutability of love or desire – each placed in the corner:

Ku to the nth

Mu in a minor key of love

Tu a transparent intimacy

jAz as Murder

Ineffable: In the effable instinct is murder

The Immutability of Murder in the House of Love:

As far as I am Koncerned she said with the well flossed vowels of the Windsors

Speaking of which for a Kommerical notice: There is a Blue Light Special at K Mart. Have you noticed how strange the customers are? Not quite from Kweens or Kondordia, the Place de Koncorde, where the Kween Herself was severed from her spinal Kord, another kord of wooden souls stacked up in the shed of karmic retribution. Innocently she said, “Eat Kake,” That begat the revolution. Did she know there was no bread in the humblest of hovels. If a gateaux would it have inspired them to nibble on toes?

IN the Konstellation of Ku, light transcendent from here a million miles up the Kolon of the Universe, with none of the charm of Kologne before of the war. Do you remember the sekret alleyways in the narrow steps that lead to the inner sanctum of the Kathedral, a winding spiral step down in to the belly of church, the Navum, where the first stone was placed. A church is kryptonite to spirituality.

If a god wanted to make a True church he would say, “In this meadow: On this field of grass: All shoes removed, all soks, all Klothes: Naked as the moment of birth. Niene de Kirke. IN truest sanitorium is Oued Kirke, Neue Kirk, all the children of Babylon gather by the river to pray and ask for redemption.

` The Anti-krist in drag comes strolling in like Marlena Detreicht in the Blue Angel; not that I didn’t not love and adore Marlena: Adolf did and why can’t I. When the allied destroyed the old Kathedral of Kologne, a thousand years of prayers fell beneath the bombs. The leaded glass with the stations of the kross, the ardor of god’s love