Old Poem: The Needle Dance

This is an unusual situation where an editor lopped off half of the poem.  To this day, I struggle with whether it was the right decision or not.  The second half is a bit more interesting (and works really well with the illustration by John Elkerr*), but the poem becomes so cryptic without the first half (and it was fairly cryptic to begin with).  I'll start with the published version, then follow with the original (found in The Limited Fix) and then add just a few more comments on what inspired the poem.

Published in A House Divided: A Reaction Press Anthology.  Ann Arbor, MI: Reaction Press, 1991.



Original version:


                                         The Needle Dance 

                      The way he moved
                      —jumping and jerking—
                      reminded me of the needle’s dance
                      and how the skull can smile so sweet 
                      happy in a state near bliss
                      they kiss, stop, bleed
                      kiss again
                      along the walls of the room
                      the rest follow
                      those taut spastic sweaty bodies
                      all trying to work out the junk
                      under the surface of their skin

                                            II. 

too tired to do anything but watch
                                              I find it kind of touching
                      actually
                                  only later in the dark
                                  does it get desperate
                                              two figures clinging together
to push death           that native feeling                              back


The poem was inspired by going to a party -- perhaps at one of the co-ops in Ann Arbor -- and watching white men dancing badly (not that I was ever much better myself) and cuing in on a particular guy who danced as if he were on drugs.  While I would not be surprised if many there had been partaking of weed, I am doubtful that any were actually on heroin.  (This was way before ecstasy and some of the other designer drugs.)  I do like the last three lines in the first section, but generally I can't fault the editor too much.

And while this has nothing to do with this poem, at least directly, I still have fond memories of being invited to a Halloween party near South Quad.  Prince's Purple Rain was playing (probably the first time I had ever heard "Darling Nikki" -- for years afterwards I thought it was on the Black Album).  I was dressed as a vampire and I spent much of the time chatting up a woman dressed as Morticia or a witch (pretty much the same thing).  The first of many missed opportunities, I am sorry to say ...


* Many more of John Elkerr's drawings and paintings can be seen on his website.