japonisme: 10/18/09 - 10/25/09

23 October 2009

that old devil moon • part two • (halloween suite)


with Cab Calloway and Betty Boop

Folks, here's the story 'bout Minnie the Moocher
She was a red hot
She was the roughest, toughest frail
Minnie had a heart
as big as a wha-a-le

Heedey-hee-dee-hee-dee hee

She messed around with a bloke named Smoky
She loved him though he was cokey
He took her down to Chinatown
Where he showed her how to kick the gong around

Heedey-hee-dee-hee-dee hee

She had a dream that
the King of Sweden
He gave her things
that she was needin'
He built her a home built
of gold and steel
A diamond car
with platinum wheels


He gave her his townhouse and his racing horses
Each meal she ate was
a dozen courses
She had a million dollars worth of nickels and dimes
She sat around and count them all a million times

Heedey-hee-dee-hee-dee hee

Now Min and Smokie,
they started jaggin'
They got a free ride in a wagon
She gave him money to pay her bail
But he left her flat in the county jail

Whoooa, yeaaaah
Hey de he de he he
Whoa Whoa

Poor Min met old
Deacon Lowdown
He preached to her that she ought to slow down
But Minnie wiggled
her jelly roll
And Deacon Lowdown yelled, "Lord save my soul!"

Hi de hi de hi de hi
Ho de ho de ho de ho
Skiddley doodley doodly do
Skiddly diddly day

They took her where
they put the crazies
Now poor Min's kicking
up those daisies
You've heard my story
this is her song
She was just a good gal,
but they done her wrong

Hi de hi de hi de hi
Skooby de be do
He de he de he de he
Whoa, Whoa Whoa

Poor Min, Poor Min, Poor Min.

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22 October 2009

that old devil moon • (halloween suite)


You brush leaves from a stranger
sleeping beside your gate

and welcome him to your estate,
with its sunny fields and barns.

He admires your bins of wing nuts,
your fine linens and deep well.

You show off your net strung between trees
for capturing sunlight,
your ponds and goldfish.

In the storeroom, you offer him dates and grain,
purified water, buckwheat, and dry ginger.

Take what you need. Rest.
The stranger answers: Follow me.

I will show you where the trail begins
to the encampment of souls in the forest.

You follow him across muddy fields,
past the ox swishing its tail,
tethered to a tree,

past the pond where stocked fish peer through surface clouds.

At the forest edge, you push through brambles and ivy.

You stuff your ears with moss to mute the abacus of trees
and press through spindly pines into thick woods.

Everywhere God goads you
with green ignorance.
The souls of trees shout, Speak! Speak!

One of the moon's thirty names will save you.
You forget your hunger,
the Names of God,
the alef-beit.

Emily Warn

Shadow Architect
Copper Canyon Press

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