Buttons, Hooks & Eyes
by
Holly Crawford



Five baby strollers--


Now Adam knew Eve was his wife
married yesterday, my wife's keeping her name.
I have a private practice of psychiatry in Scarsdale;
my three step-children live near the Sea of Galilee.
I'm there for five days every month.
My own children live in Westchester.

Abel is the keeper of sheep
Remarried about five years ago,
and Cain, a tiller of the ground.
Previous marriage...


ended in divorce.








Three dogs--


Give me something to do with my hands,
a painting, a poem,
an Angus cow-calf operation with forty cows,
three dogs, and an old house.


One and the same civilization produces two such different things.
All are on the order of culture,
and ostensibly, parts of the same culture,
products of the same society
here, however, their connections seems to end.




Does the fact that a disparity such as this exists
within the frame of a single cultural tradition
indicate that the disparity is a part of the natural order?


Or is it something entirely new,


and particular to our age?












Band-aid--

I reached the epitome of success in talent shows
combining singing with board breaking.
Unfortunately, I injured my shoulder.
I'm a broken down mediocre tennis player.
Shall I be a fugitive and wanderer on the earth
Maybe my daughter will support me.



A-1 sauce--

Up in time for lunch

spent most of the day resting

then, off for a steak dinner.




Art and loose change--



I am still working on the Sidewinder missile program.
Complex devices and an art that I find interesting.


It appears to me that it is necessary to examine more closely the relationship between aesthetic experience,
the individual, and the social.



One red umbrella--

A society, as it becomes less and less able
in the course of its development,
to justify its particular forms,
important issues are left untouched.



A political kidnapper had me in front of an AK-47
and very much wanted to pull the trigger.
Did you ever think of the zillions of leaves
that come into our view in the fall?
Every fall, every year?


Two tricycles--

I went to the opera for a nickel.
While I was there, over two hundred people,
mostly civilians, were killed.


How strange
that this could happen to a chronically healthy child. We'd thought
most diseases had been covered by shots or outgrown.


Narrowing and raising
to the expression of an absolute
in which all relatives and contradictions would be either resolved
or beside the point. We must not be deceived
by superficial phenomena.




Old houses and chocolate--

Hence it developed that the true
and most important function was to find a path.
To keep culture moving, in the midst
of ideological confusion and violence.



I moved to California, came out and
bought and sold old houses.
After that, I was alone with my chocolate.
For some reason this gigantic apparition has always been taken for granted.
As for the rest.
I guess you had to be there.


The shopping carts--

It is time we look into the whys and wherefores.
I spent seven years doing research.
Every now and then, I give a speech where people seem interested,
But at dinner parties I've learned not to talk too much.


Hot water bottles--

Marriage endures, children develop independence,
parents age and pass on.
Still waiting for grandchild
I cope with insufficient exercise and excess paper.




Seventeen cars--


Attempting to keep communications functioning,
and dust out of the whiskey. But,
this train is broken by too many recollections.



Post-it--



I have taken my ticket.




Common patrimony--



They meet at a party.
She bore him a son.
Now Adam knew Eve was his wife.


Post-it II--

Arrested and thrown in jail for four hours.
Ideas about money and taxes.



Film and Transparencies--

I remember struggling with Nino Scalia over a note
And scuffling with him over some soap.


Red and White Billiard Ball Stripped--

I authorized the import of 500,000 handguns.
Rationalization came easily
There were already 200,000,000 handguns in the country.

Days spent visiting lovely austere churches
and abandoned manor houses.
Out the window a tractor plows a field.
I hunger for my friends.


Train schedules--

Lunch on the terrace
lots of time to sit and think.
A talk about government with the doorman
discussing things in general.
Those cute little shields along the streets
against the buildings
and the beautiful train stations.


Transitional Objects--

Changed collecting interests
Down come quilts, up go rugs.


Post-It III--

I have figured out what a book titled
Dewey, Women and Feminism should look like.


Take-out menu--

Same cork screw,
same job, same wife, same house
we still like classical music
and French wine.

Arrested for eating dandelions
and not yet a pure vegetarian
I love a medium-rare steak.



Stethoscope--

I thought he was cute.






Button, Hooks & Eyes--


We met for lunch.
I feed her violets.
Plates flew,
tables tipped.
We never really broke up.


The cell phone--
One more question.



Lounge Chairs and Back Stairs--

Up at noon
Brandy Egg Nog for breakfast

A visit to a French movie in first class, but
Silly Symphony was the only thing I could understand
Back to the man with the bushy eye-brows



Postcard--

Five years ago I wrote from a mental hospital
On Monday at 5:05 p.m.,
I recovered.



Back of an Envelope--

I am writing on too many subjects
poetics of intimacy,
whatever the occasional verse-maker diehard will pounce.



One deflated ball--


Years rolled on years
and after turning fifty,
with plastic surgery

I had hoped to leave behind on the carousel

guarded by the clown

a good deal of baggage.




Spirits--


I apologize tremendously for having to tell you this


in an email, but


Mother passed away.


She went to the hospital


about 10 days ago or so, a week ago Friday


she was as bright


mentally and in good spirits.


I was informed


they decided to keep her longer after

finding the cause... a hair sized piece of wire.

They tried several times to bring her back but her blood pressure was just too low.

It sounds as though she passed away peacefully and has moved on now to be with Dad.

I have been in close contact with Barbara
(a good friend of Mother's).

She told me, but I can also tell from speaking to Tim, that

he is extremely emotionally upset
as he has been so close to her,
living and taking care of her the last 4-5 years.

I love you... Bill

I´m sorry that I had to tell you through an email,
but your phone number is on my powerbook.



Post-it IV--


I've been compiling data on marathon-related deaths
black mittens with yellow strips.



Hooks and Eyes--


I know this is an extremely difficult time for you. It is not very easy for my either.


But... you have been living and taking care of mother

(and dad)

for the best part of the last 20-30 years or so...

when they weren't taking care of you.


You have experienced the best
and worst of times with them twenty-four hours a day,

seven days a week.


I actually do wish that I could be there

with you to help you through your grief and sorrow,

and to help sort out all of their personal belongings. I do not wish to see them just thrown away either. I've been there

all of the boxes of memories that you will have to deal with,

the vivid memories.



FileMaker issues.


Lots of sleepless nights.



Remote control--

These accidental and isolated instances
have fooled people. And then

those puzzling borderline cases appear.

The net result is always to the detriment of true culture, in any case.


Please accept my sincere apology

for going against Mother's wish,

of not telling Holly when she passed away.

And I do hope someday,

possibly when you get over the emotions you're experiencing now

that it is the right thing to do.


The same point can be made with respect to kitsch literature:
it provides vicarious experience. And Eddie Guest

and the Indian Love Lyrics,

which are more poetic.






Stacked chairs--

I received this email and an enclosure from Barbara.

Note: I copied and appended the letter rather than having to deal with .zip files.


---------------------


Your mother was a dear, dear lady.
She was always friendly and outgoing.

I am happy to have been able to spend time around her.


She actually declared herself my "second mom."

Tim, having been his mother's caretaker, is particularly overwhelmed.

As the daughter,


Holly deserves to be told that her mother passed away.


Please know that you are welcome to attend the memorial service next Sunday,


May 15, from 11-2. It is my privilege to be hostess for this event.

More and more people are saying they want to attend.


People liked and loved your mother.

I've attached a letter to your sister.

PLEASE, please, please forward it to her.




Cards and Letters--


You don't know me, but

please accept my sympathies at the death of your mother.

We had even spent recent holidays together.

Tim is overwhelmed.

I am holding an informal Memorial Service

Brunch from 11 to 2 pm.


You are invited to attend.

Please appreciate that I'm trying to empathize with you.

Along with your husband and any other family or friends,

though I don't quite know how since I don't know you.

I've been told there is a rift

and that you are currently out of the country.

All of that aside, I know you would want to be invited.
Your mother was a very nice lady

If there's anything I can do, relative to family dynamics
or anything else.



Please let me know.




The Cell phone II--

The echoing silence is punctuated by

the neatness of this antithesis, which is more contrived;

it corresponds to and defines the tremendous interval that separates.

And this interval is too great to be closed by all the infinite.



Postcard III--


Sharpening the chainsaw,

we are growing weary of distractions.

We're feed up seeking solace from a satellite.



Postcard IV--


In 1993, I conducted two performances of an opera in Yokohama.



Nobody got hurt.



I couldn't tell you when it's likely to happen again.



Post-It V--



Whether or not



the avant-garde could possible flourish under a totalitarian regime



is not pertinent at this point.




Files--



Two months later, I emerged from a coma with total amnesia



and became immediately unemployed.







A jade vase dislodged by automatic weapon fire landed on my head



my memory has now returned,







But each morning I wake up acoustically obsessed with the question:



how in the future, lacking a stern but stabilizing influence, will Dhabbah do?







We can see then that although from one point of view



the personal is not accidental to the roles they play,



from another point of view it is only an incidental factor.















Buttons, Hooks & Eyes © Holly Crawford, 2002-2006



Posted on the 2nd anniversary of my mother's death. --HC 5/7/06