RON JANOFF began writing performing and publishing poetry in New York in the 1970’s, took a long hiatus as a Director at New York University, earned his Ph.D. there, went on to teach Latin in Brooklyn high schools, served as President of the New York Classical Club, and became a licensed New York City tour guide. He came to Chapala in 2018 with his wife, the artist Diana Leidel, as part of the 360 Xochi Quetzal residency. He takes up writing poems where he left off–sometimes direct, sometimes collage, frequently lyric, often ironic, mercifully brief. He can be reached at chiron.nyc@gmail.com.
EMPIRE’S END
Did you think these bronzes don’t
shed tears? They do. Surrounded
and menaced by worshippers
who grin at monsters and centaurs
and dinosaurs There are no harmonious
sounds when fear moves us forward
that’s the worst we have to stop
how else discover the pictures,
the marbles, the gardens, where once
they celebrated their Dominance,
and beloved slaves brought dinner,
Oh, only in mosaic, no, in bronze,
the heroes shed what looks like sweat,
it’s tears, it’s fear, what happens when
disorder spreads, when you realize
these prisons go both ways I will not
be surprised at the smart mouth red hats
at next week’s estate sales, so much
junk, don’t buy if you’re allergic, death
the number one source of bargains,
and look, so cheap, but still too much
*****
MONSTROSITIES
Even agreeable sounds make me tremble
A change is coming and the next sound may be
A roar so terrible even bronze statues will shed
Tears and sweat Who knows what gorgons
And serpents with their grinning faces lurk
In the corridors where the simplest white collar
Crimes are executed without a shred of conscience
Yes, everyone grinning and mocking and taking
Whatever they can get as fast as possible:
No wonder this torrent of fear has poured into me noises
Everyone is watching what no one is seeing:
The Republic looted by leering professionals
Red smiles pasted on their blondes, and for the men
Red tie, blue suit, white shirt, the pompous uniform
*****
A TRIAL
At the end of eleven minutes
I ask her the effect, is there
Incontestable proof of After-life,
And has she heard a Voice?
She stares at me awkwardly,
The look one gives a stopped
Clock or a hand with one too many
Fingers, and I know she doesn’t
Know, or she won’t say, she
Takes a kind of calculated pause:
“There was a voice,” she says:
“It comes from one not dead, yet
Far away, not heard, but overheard,
Faint, and I think a little frightened;
I couldn’t understand a word.”
I sigh. You’ll have to try again.
Winding the watch, setting out
Another glass of water,
Pulling down the shade, I watch her
Close her eyes, inhale, and move
Her hands into position, tuning in
To what I do not, but beg, to know.
*****
AFTER ECLIPSE
One day the gods send out a demon
To eat the Sun and drive us
Into dark cold windy streets terrified
By the noon shadow uncertain how long
It will last just as winter in its slow
Cold way cultivates a kind of doubt
That spring and green and warmth
Will blossom again and we will have
A moon to pull us into the future
We walk back and forth, disoriented
Pedestrians under this chilly light, its
Prenatural brilliance, until this dark sun
leads us into dream, young again,
Clairvoyant buoyant and brilliant
*****
HEAT WAVE
just at sundown
breaking the heat
the storm comes
violent, sudden, gone:
for the rainbow too
late; for the moon
too early; dripping
wet we look into
cool blank clear dark
star-drenched skies
*****
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After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
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