Auteur Challenge: Do you know your poets?

[CharleyH]

Angeline
champagne1982
chipbutty
EroticOrogeny
Lauren Hynde
PandoraGlitters
Remec
The Fool
Tristesse2
Wicked Eve
​

9 of these 10 poets rose to the challenge and wrote a poem about Chelsea Hotel. Do you know their voices well enough to figure out who wrote which poem and who is the red herring?

The guilty should feel free to hide their own identities in their responses.

 

[CharleyH]

poem #1

Midnight in Chelsea
Chipbutty

and a sad-eyed lady, all punked out
lounges in a bathroom
not surprised your stairway
stopped longways short of heaven

is Kerouac still dreaming
of his long and winding road?
is Lillie dancing, still, for modern kings?
do pale ghosts wail and whisper
to the wainscot, periodically
as Thomas, Wolfe, and Cohen philosophically ching?

your red red bricks keep tally
of each sheet each towel each key
each peachy prince and princess
damned and dreaming glitterati
dine upon their souls as they
weave magic through the night
spinning with their muses as they
burn their candles oh so bright
oh

would i were a
fly
high
on fumes of birth and
death
breath
studying the wall art
in this hothouse
heaving
mess cess
pit
of ideas sweating life
lovers lost and anguish
rife on every well-heeled one of your twelve floors
with listening walls, their en-suites, and those enigmatic doors ...

i'll never stay in your rooms, although it's deemed a 'must'
but will draw some comfort from this thought:
dear Quentin's free of dust

 

[CharleyH]

poem #2

for Chelsea
Lauren Hynde

through the blemishes of that paper
sacrificed to fire and to the seagulls' screams
I could still make out some words
of the letters you had written me

my project revolved around
the mythology of your escape into the city

standing inside, you assured me
would be you
melancholic and naked
acknowledging that love is possible

there was the word love

further down
something like unmade beds
and twice the word kiss
one of them close to the word destiny

you assured me, in your letters
that the city was like the map of my desire
only bigger, even more linear

I saved that image in the corner of my eye
kept it serene and available
with a feeling I would return to it
if not to find you
to find myself from the unknown light
from the imponderable fables of architecture
the abstract canvas of women in high-heels

there was the word blood
and next to it a drop of blood

I bleed with the city
even if I had never been here before

(unlike 99 percent of the world: everyone has been to New York and they know all about every corner on Broadway)

you told me, in your letters
of your hatred for birds
which flew back and forth
across your cloudless blue sky
and I immediately knew
why vagrant cats started appearing
early in the morning
as well as some dead dogs

I chased the texts
the geometry of authors
of poets, of artists, musicians
drank whisky, hardly slept

(on hotel stationery where multicolored bones were tattooed, I started to write down a list of names, enormous, unbearable, a sculpture of gods, twelve-stories high, with crosses of razors and dull blue lights, and on corners the pillars of words and the whores who envelop the air in tulle, a breath, a kiss)

made gods out of sounds
of the tiniest words

number 222
west, 23rd

 

[CharleyH]

poem #3

Chelsea
The Fool

So what Passion Play
as passions play in brick and stone.
Edifice erect,
yes I get a hard-on
for the unspoken word
as poetry plays through song
and cine flickers in the windows.

He puts his writing hand
on my left knee
and I lean into his kiss.
Only he is she
and I am once again
a closet hetero.
Don’t call me avant-garde,

I need no label
as I moan and groan
in a bed that isn’t mine,
was once his,
or hers,
or theirs as they consummated

some sin or another.
Sinful sequence yields
until written in stone
or on manual typewriters.
Old ribbons make excellent knots
that tie me down
around my thought.

Don’t wound me with your wit,
acrid knife across your own throat
as you seek my tendency
to spit out of turn
on things I know nothing about
or something about nothing.
Just another tenant.

 

[CharleyH]

poem #4

Timeless Transients
EroticOrogeny

Sweeping staircase, solace for seeking souls.
Aggregation of artists, spectrum of science, stage and sounds.
Dylan Thomas died drunk,
Bob Dylan developed ‘Sad-eyed Lady of the Lowlands’ for Sara.
The beat goes on, Ginsburg, Kerouac and Corso coming,
congress of concern and carnality.
Ferlinghetti stayed at City Lights,
my love left me in San Francisco.

 

[CharleyH]

poem #5

Hotel Chelsea
Remec

I'm not sure what I expected.
'Grand and beautiful' was the promise,
and it fulfilled it in so many ways,
but the mood is not what I would
have thought for a place made famous
for mood-evoking clientele.

But it seeps in.

Bit by bit, as you wander about, waiting
for the tour to start and discovering a
painting here, or a bit of sculpture there.
Even the touted architecture begins to become
more than merely detailed moulding,
fancy decor, or simply the trappings of
ancient (as such things go) artistic accommodations.

Even before you've taken it, you
know the tour won't be enough. That
a full understanding will entail coughing up
the money and time to stick around and
savor the wandering ghosts--living and dead--
as they make themselves known to one
sharing the experience, sort of.

24 days is nowhere near enough.

 

[CharleyH]

poem #6

Shirley Clarke to Her Shrink
Pandora Glitters

Some past resident pasted a decal storyboard
in my neighbor's suite of the little Dutch
pair--boy and girl--of course
we were inured to sugar then
so noone remarked on the final
decal with the boy in the canal.
I remembered it a year later when the lover
in that apartment drowned in Amsterdam.
He was living theatre and then he died
in a canal, buying a boat, she said,
the girlfriend. I heard it in the elevator,
thought poor girl, though her suite is lovely,
I'd never live there. She looks like Elaine
from behind ducking into a taxi.
I want to tell her it's better to walk--
to feel the world through the bottoms of your feet,
see it close enough to catch the track marks
on the falling arm. Even when it's ugly.
Especially when it hurts.

I owe that to you; I admit I was reluctant
when you suggested a change, my heart!
My very heart hardened into a fist. Elaine
thinks but never says I am stubborn like
the old man. I swear it wasn't, but romance, two
decades in love with dance. You were right.

It was always the small movements--fingers
snapping like a fan, a slow shrugged shoulder
loose as a pocket. They can't see
it from the third row you have to be there
maybe lying down with the lens
aimed right at that elbow even if
it puts you in kicking range.

I want to tell my neighbor at the Chelsea
Isn't the red of home glorious? Like a whore
in the middle of the street, laced up
in black wrought iron. I saw her packing
boxes in the hall the decals too constant
a ghost. I'm lucky my ghosts
get caught on film. I laugh when
I pack them in cannisters.

 

[CharleyH]

poem #7

Chelsea Girls and Boys
champagne1982

listen for the screams
candelabra drops reflect
the clarity of the cause
and just when daddy gets home
late soft we go not gentle
as the shades twist 'round

don't cry don't
sometimes a robin dies
and leaves an empty nest
but just 'til daddy gets home
there's a song loved best
I can't remember until it flies

watch for the tears
to fall down pallid cheeks
strung out on micro dot
just until daddy gets home
and feelin' good was easy lord
with a monkey on my back

smell the flowers
painted on canvas in plastic
exploding bubbles through velvet
and write when daddy gets home
I dream dream of you lovely
audition for a girls in film
you'll be pink in black and white.

 

[CharleyH]

poem #8

Leonard (a glosa with apologies for liberties taken)
Tristess2

"I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street."

Those were turbulent days of heaven and hell,
of free thought and shackled intent.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
and your subsequent tragic descent.

Uncertain lovers, emotionally beat,
we skidded on endless despair.
You were talking so brave and acting so sweet,
ignoring our fractured affair.

So we laughed at the future, both thought we’d be dead,
you honored my earnestness by
giving me head on the stained, unmade bed
and telling that flattering lie.

Your mouth was like fire and scalded my meat,
then slid up my body like grease
while the limousines waited (below) in the street
and the management called in the police.

 

[CharleyH]

poem #9

Chelsea Hotel
Angeline


When we die
they'll tell our stories everywhere,
how the rooms were whispery
quiet and two gray women
gossiping on the mezzanine
made the only muffled sounds,
then descended in lockstep,
skeletons in fluttery rayon they
were creaking, they held purses
like shields.

Those were slow
news days the doors
revolved forever and dead
breezes made us feel as if
underwater. We moved
carefully from the bar
to the front desk.

I would have fucked you
on the floor there, under
the unblinking eyes
of wooden boxes, envelopes
razor straight and keys
rattling slow like chimes.
I'd hump you against
the bound pile of yesterday's
papers, watch your eyes
change and feel you coil
around me. If only the Sun

didn't hang so long
on the horizon, perennially
drunk yet steady as an oak,
unable to lay itself down.
If only Mrs. Allen weren't calling
(from Five) for gin and a few
limes, honey you bring it up
and I got somethin for you.

 

[bflagsst]

I can't remember if Remec said he wasn't going to or not yesterday. I think he and Eve are the ones who didn't write. I basically just went on first instinct, switched around Fool, Angeline, LHynde, thought about switching Tess and Champagne. One of the poems does remind me of Remec though.

Poem 1 Chipbutty
Poem 2 pandoraG
Poem 3 Champagne
Poem 4 EO
Poem 5 Fool
Poem 6 Angeline
Poem 7 Tess
Poem 8 LHynde
Poem 9 Remec

and I'm not changing anything else.

 

[Angeline]

My educated guesses

I would bet money that I am right about two of them (Lauren and Dora). The rest are guesses. Oh and I think Poem 4 is a trickster (or Charley is), but I could be wrong...


Poem 1
Chipbutty

Poem 2
Lauren Hynde

Poem 3
EroticOrogony

Poem 4
?

Poem 5
The Fool

Poem 6
Wicked Eve

Poem 7
Tristesse

Poem 8
Remec (or maybe Champ)





Did I write one of them? Ask Charley.

 

[CharleyH]

Just a note: I received a late submission and added the poem to the list. There are now 9 poems and one red herring. The two poets who have already posted their thoughts might want to make revisions.

 

[butters]

crikey, i'll have to go do a bit more reading though i'm pretty sure i know a couple here right off the bat.

i'll have my answers in sunday if not before. hopefully before but i'm working tomorrow all day.

btw - some exceptional writes here, ladies n gents

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

ye gods! this is going to be difficult...............

 

[annaswirls]

Holy Crow!!! I am lost! These are some mighty fine poems, though. I have to get to work on figuring out who wrote them! Please give us at least until Monday night?

Next time, I think matching four would be enough of a challenge!!!

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Charley and I are leaving early tomorrow morning for a weekend in the mountains and won't be back until monday. At best, that's when I'll post my guesses - probably only on tuesday - so there's ample time for everyone else to do the same until then.

 

[champagne1982]

Angeline
champagne1982
chipbutty
EroticOrogeny
Lauren Hynde
PandoraGlitters
Remec
The Fool
Tristesse2
Wicked Eve
​

9 of these 10 poets rose to the challenge and wrote a poem about Chelsea Hotel. Do you know their voices well enough to figure out who wrote which poem and who is the red herring?

The guilty should feel free to hide their own identities in their responses.

How freakin' hard was this?
At least Friday gives me a chance to pick the poeticizer guys. I think I've really flubbed since I read music in most... some excellent narrative poetry and wow, seamless rhyme when used. You were all fantastic!

Ange -- poem #1
chip -- poem #4
EO -- poem #3
LH -- poem #2
'dora -- poem #7
Remec -- poem #5
TF -- poem #9
Tess -- poem #8
WE -- poem #6

Ange -- poem #1
LH -- poem #2
EO -- poem #3
chip -- poem #4
Remec -- poem #5
WE -- poem #6
'dora -- poem #7
Tess -- poem #8
TF -- poem #9

 

[EroticOrogeny]

This is quite a challenge!
Going to take quite a bit of reading to decide who's who.
And, Charley, good job in putting it together, including having more names than poems!

 

[UnderYourSpell]

How are you going to guess if you have participated? You can hardly say such and such poem was by somebody else when you know damn well it was yours. I thought it was for non participaters to guess not that this one has the foggiest who did what

 

[The_Fool]

Oh shit. I just thought of something. WHooopsie......

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Oh shit. I just thought of something. WHooopsie......

careful men should not be encouraged to think it's dangerous

 

[The_Fool]

Angeline
champagne1982
chipbutty
EroticOrogeny
Lauren Hynde
PandoraGlitters
Remec
The Fool
Tristesse2
Wicked Eve
​

Place Keeper for my guesses:

1. Tess
2. Dora
3.
4. EO
5.
6. Eve
7. Remec
8. Carrie
9.

 

[Angeline]

Place Keeper for my guesses:

1. Tess
2. Dora
3.
4. EO
5.
6. Eve
7. Remec
8. Carrie
9.

Damn you. You just made me change my mind about my choices.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Damn you. You just made me change my mind about my choices.

I don't know how many times I've juggled mine and I'm STILL baffled. Some great poems though.