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Postmodern Village
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Blues, Bean, and the Sinatratization of Mid-Postmodernity
by E.W. Wilder

The Great American Songbook was among Bean Newton's sometime obsessions/distractions/hated arch-fiends. It, and an equal and occasionally opposite reaction to the blues and early rock 'n' roll/rockabilly, left Newton in a bit of a psychic buzz.

Probably written around the time of Frank Sinatra's death in 1998, and towards the end of Newton's known life, the following two poems were discovered on a discarded, mouse-nibbled, filthy, steno pad in a Milwaukee diner that was shut down last year. They reflect the manner in which Modernism was a fading part of American life as well as Newton's own conflicted views.

 

Bo Diddly Sez “Cimbley”
by Bean Newton

  1. Accentuate the apposite
  2. Ameliorate the massage mo-chine
  3. Accelerate the bear-rometer
  4. Pear
  5. Demonstrate igneous tenebrities
  6. Dig it! On the flo'! Gimme some mo'!
  7. Move to the grewve
  8. Doodle disconsolate on the massive overbeak
  9. Reconstitute badnissss
  10. Revalorize the tenth army in the valley of the disunderstood
  11. Ignoritize patience
  12. Virtualize chas-titty
  13. Orientalize your chilblains
  14. Domocratize your sock drawer!
  15. Interiorize your Sinatra
  16. Glorify your descriptive civilibilities
  17. Anodize your stylus
  18. Deny your anthropomorphizing of Chz-zits
  19. Pepper your private palaces of deep holio
  20. Sex your pistol
  21. Greeze your lightnin'
  22. Stamp your ticklebottom
  23. grieve.

 

Retro Phunk Punk, ca. Nostalgia '77 (In Memory of . . .)
by Bean Newton

The way we remember is never the same from time
                                                                         to time, bolts
flagging pink and red,
                           fungible blocks, the road
and accident among errant tracks.

Paisley

was once, too, something we could believe in.

Tendencies Toward Solid Anarchism (In Banjo Breakdown)

Licking quick and peeling free,
shining like a lost dime,
rhyming, sometimes not
like a shot down the brow
of inconsistency, a ripplin' twitch
to believe in, to bubble over
boiler pot, shit
and giggle, slick as snot,
crumbling brick and firebomb,
cock sure and bleary
brain and jangling nerve.

Regrets

A shoe I once threw out with just a little too much
                                                                       tread.

Pulled Pork

Like you thought of in Medina,
and was that guilt or pleasure,
that wan, squelched smile?

I

Did Sinatra find anything amusing?
Was he joy-capable?
Is it possible in America to not also be Sinatra?