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May
2007
F. Keith Wahle
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F.
Keith Wahle is a Cincinnati, Ohio native. Wahle’s
poems have appeared in a diverse array of literary
journals including “The Paris Review”, “Ellipsis” and
the “Cornfield Review”; this feature
represents the first collection of Wahle’s
writings and performances presented in the web medium.
Off the page, Wahle worked in the mid 1990's to help
develop the now annual Cincinnati “Performance
and Time Arts Series”, Wahle is also a three
time Ohio Arts Council Fellow, first, in 1984, in
1990 and again in 2003. On stage, Wahle is known
for his memorable collaborations with dancers Judith
Mikita, Cheryl Wallace, any many others, to bring
physical form to his incisive use of vernacular.
Seven books of poetry in all, Wahle's last three
books, “A Choice of Killers” (1998), “Farewell
to Happytown” (2004) and "The Invitations" (2006),
feature photographs by Brad Austin Smith and Amberlyn
Nelson. Feature
includes work from "A Choice of Killers", "Farewell
to Happytown" and includes video perfomance
of "Secrets", and an exclusive "Secrets" broadside
poster.
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| f.
keith wahle, cincinnati, ohio, poet, performance artist, performance
and time art series, dancing to poetry, iowa writers workshop,
secrets, paris review, ohio arts council fellow |
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The
Job
from "Farewell
to Happytown" (Morgan Press, 2004)
Do
not tell us that you were happier in prison.
Don’t say that your head is getting bigger and smaller.
You were the man who peeped through our windows when
we got
undressed, when we made love, when we were in the
bathroom.
You were the friendly bus driver who drove us into work
at the factory where we worked all day sewing baseball gloves
together
In the fourties you were our favorite band leader.
That was the summer we worked at the amusement park,
running the miniature train and taking the money.
Jobs are so wonderful, in steel mills or on fishing boats.
All kinds of people have jobs-blind people and stupid people,
happy people, sad people, people with everything to lose,
fat people, men with mustaches, girls with long, thin legs.
You can watch them working if you want to,
going in and out their doors marked, “Employees Only.”
So don’t stand too close to that bottle capping machine.
Don’t let your lunch fall into that typesetter.
We want you to go for a walk in the industrial park.
If I were in Morocco right now I would write you a letter
describing the sunset over the minarets, the dirty vegetables
in the market. But what can I write from the city of free
enterprise?
What can I say about the elevator operators, the frozen fish?
How can I describe the people falling out of skyscrapers?
If we were not at work we would go to the racetrack every day
and lose our money. We love to drink coffee in the morning.
We love to read the newspapers, death and international crisis.
Some people wear ballet slippers in their work,
while others wear rubber boots, or steel toed shoes.
Some people don’t wear anything at all in their work
-like artists’ models, what a life! But rodeo riders
could never get away with that; they could never work in the
nude.
Sometimes I want to be like the rodeo riders; sometimes
I want to be like you, like a man who writes poems
about traveling through the West in a station wagon.
You are well liked for your kindness and your drinking.
I like you for what you taught me about syllabic poetry.
I love you for your attention to detail, and for your mildness
toward all living things. I have been happy with other men’s
wives.
I have been happy sitting at the typewriter in my underwear.
At work we are initiating a new publicity campaign; we want
to
really
“sell” the public on the idea of exercise machines
for Siamese
twins.
This will be the biggest promotion since plastic milk bottles.
I have a wife and many, many cars. My boss has a set of real
gold
cuff links. The weekends seem to get longer and longer.
I have five good pairs of shoes. Soon I will have another job
and a sport coat with padded shoulders. I was happier in
prison.
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