Abe Vigoda Dies At 94 (Not a Hoax) — Orlando Sentinel

I have been trying to limit how many poems from Linebreak I feature on the 'ol blog, but I just had to for this one.

Abe Vigoda Dies At 94 (Not a Hoax)--Orlando Sentinel

by Dorianne Laux

“Abe Vigoda is no longer not dead.” –Thomas Dean, Facebook

First he was, then he wasn’t, now he is. Always
and forever. None of this Get back up and dust
those wings off, not like in The Godfather
when he’s told, “Can’t do it, Sally,” only to
show up a year later in The Don is Dead
and The Devil’s Daughter. Isn’t this just the way?
Everyone thinks we died when we’ve only
been languishing in a string of forgettable movies.
Tessio’s death was memorable for happening
quietly, off-screen. The horror of it
was the inevitability of it: the pageantry
of the six men surrounding him, pallbearers
shouldering him away in their solemn brown suits.
And isn’t that just the way? The worst
is not what comes, but what we can see coming,
the unfolding of the moment, whole lives
unspooled and slopped in a celluloid pool at our feet.
What kills us is Sal’s stoic desperation, the naked
dignity of his calm plea. We forget
his lack of faith, his weakness and betrayal.
We gaze into his sad Italian eyes, upon his long
Modigliani face, and we pity him the way
we pity Judas, the way we pity our own small
selfish selves, dying a little with each violence
we’ve committed until someone more ruthless
brings our suffering to an end.

I have never seen The Godfather, I probably should one day. And I'm sure that and understanding of that movie would help in interpreting this poem. I like the subject of this poem and especially the poetic turn at the end: "and we pity him the way / we pity Judas, the way we pity out own small / selfish selves, dying a little with each violence / we've committed until someone more ruthless / brings our suffering to an end." The comparison to Judas is marvelous, and then brings the poem back around, helping the reader understand what they are to get out of it.

Description in Invisible Man

I have to admit that I am struggling with Invisible Man. I really enjoyed the beginning of this novel: the Battle Royal, the initial chapters where the main character is driving the white donor around, and the subsequent fallout of those events. But once the principle character leaves the college and moves to New York it loses me. I don't know what it is either. This novel has some sections that are nicely written. There isn't anything that truly blows me away, but Ellison has some good descriptive powers. Here is one example:

"It was a beautiful college. The buildings were old and covered with vines and the roads gracefully winding, lined with hedges and wild roses that dazzled the eyes in the summer sun. Honeysuckle and purple wisteria hung heavy from the trees and white magnolias mixed with their scents in the bee-humming air. I've recalled it often, here in my hole: How the grass turned green in the springtime and how the mocking birds fluttered their tails and sang, how the moon shone down on the buildings how the bell in the chapel tower rang out the precious short-lived hours; how the girls in bright summer dresses promenaded the grassy lawn. Many times, here at night, I've closed my eyes and walking along the forbidden road that winds past the girls' dormitories, past the hall with the clock in the tower, its windows warmly aglow, on down past the small white Home Economics practice cottage, whiter still in the moonlight, and on down the road with its sloping and turning, paralleling the black powerhouse with its engines droning earth-shaking rhythms in the dark, its windows red from the glow of the furnace, on to where the road became a bridge over a dry riverbed, tangled with brush and clinging vines: the bridge of rustic logs, made for trysting, but virginal and untested by lovers; on up the road, past the buildings with the southern verandas half-a-city block long, to the sudden forking, barren of buildings, birds, or grass, where the road turned off to the insane asylum."

This is, in essence, just a bunch of lists. The narrator takes us on a journey through the campus, walking us down roads and past buildings. It really works and I felt as if I were able to actually see what Ellison was describing. My absolutely favorite line is: "the bridge of rustic logs, made for trysting, but virginal and untested by lovers." That is an amazing image.

So, I have put Invisible Man aside for now. Maybe I will return to it one day, but I can't spend anymore time reading something that I am struggling with. Time is too short.