Renown poet and IWS Literary Editor Paul Piatt here once again, in order to share with you some of today’s finest in the world of poetry, prose, and people.
Today, during our monthly journey of words made magical, and life’s pentameters made iambic, I introduce you to a fellow tea pourer of the ginseng type, my friend and fellow, yet yellow poet (pardon me as I snicker), Deng Zhao Hiram.
Hiram is a Chinese Jew, and with the Hebrew holiday of Hanukkah nipping vigorously upon the soles of our soulless, yet plodding, and troubled feet, I thought it a most appropriate time to allow Deng to spread the wisdom of his tea leaves, and the eloquence of his bitter herbs upon the virtual pages of the IWS website.
The last time Hiram was in the states, I met him at an off-the-trolley-path coffee shop in San Francisco. The café, cloistered amongst soiled, story-telling walls of high rises and echoing trolley bell clangs, smelled of Davidian sweat, Boxer Rebellion angst, and pierogies.
Imagining myself to be a Jewish-Chinese warrior fighting off both the Assyrians and the colonialists, I soaked in the aroma of ancient euphoric history like a sponge soaking up a 15th century stain of spaghetti sauce and herbal tea left upon the tablecloth of life by Zehng He or Mehmed the Conqueror .
Sitting down with Deng in that rustic eatery, I felt so alive, and then, while experiencing dizziness and euphoria as my head swayed side to side to the magical rhythm of an unseen metronome, in his perfect, yet broken English, Deng spoke to me…
“Rut the fuck up rith you Paullllll?”
I giggled as most poets do when in the presence of greatness of those who command the gift of words, and then sheepishly looking up from the menu which was a bit Spartan in its offerings, but did make available gluten-free items, I said to Deng…
“In your honor, I think I will be ordering the beef tenderloin in marinara sauce served gingerly upon a bed of angel hair pasta. The angel hair pasta complements your heavenly use of the English language.”Upon the verbalization of my culinary requirements, Deng smirked, and with a look of wonderment said…
“I think I’ll have the half-pound mushwoom burger wif a double order of unwin wings. I am soooo sick of calramarwie and wice.”
After some secretive small chat, our dinners were served, yet before we began the ingestion of our main courses, he recited an appetizing haiku from his newest book, The Bok Choy Burned for Eight Days…
Need wight, temple dark.
Antiochus is a dick.
Ree must jack him off.
For now, as I travel the road less traveled,
Paul Piatt
And as always…Jay and Matt broadcast another epic IWS Radio Show yesterday. If you missed their talk about sitcoms and how their uber-hot friend dissed them, and has bad taste in sitcoms, you can catch it all here:
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Wednesday, December 5, 2012
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