Happy Andy Kaufman Day

CONCEPT

Dear Andy Kaufman,

As you know, you were born on this date in the year 1949. You were an inspired comic, a persistent enigma, and a prophetic voice. You died of cancer on May 16, 1984. I was five at the time.

How are you?

How is Papeete?

I thought you might miss the snow, so I’ll share a couple of poems I’ve written about wintertime in Chicago:

#1

Under the Heat Lamps

Blood stirs – wind whirs

and encircles like ornithopters.

The latest leaves cackling symphonies,

and snow that dusts the ground

while the crazy man with the blue-jean vest,

with the shattered spectacles

staggers on the silent street below

and weaves his arms around.

It’s cold, sub-zero, in Chicago;

the whirring wind circs like an o

and while I love the morning by proxy

I hate the withering moment collapses,

rends our wires and numbs our nose

for praxis by practice, faxes, income taxes

for the benefit of?

Yeah…

Them.

So standing, still, shivering,

under the heat lamps of the Thorndale stop.

6 AM.

On Tuesday.

I am caught with a thought

of those Brighton Beach Russians

who, I’ve heard, will browse books

in the snowy morn.

Who laugh and breathe smoke.

They place tables

on icy curbs.

They play chess.

Drink vodka. Laugh.

I need heat lamps to knead

my knotted midwestern brow,

and a train to rush me downtown.

I’ve always loved the morning by proxy.

I’m always hoping to arrive.

#2

The Cold Moon

And shivering, I see the gibbous moon

as it is strung between the walls and trees

and bobs and dances above the mirroring lake

in tune with my stride, my gaze, my knocking knees.

The air up there is empty in the dome

and no clouds are pressing shadows down,

and trucks report and buses vomit sound,

and the Man up there? His smile is a frown.

He thinks we think it’s chilly when it’s clear.

He thinks, “I know an ice so far beyond

their glass-thin notions of weariness, of wear.

They think they can turn their backs and look beyond.”

He thinks, “I know an ice so old and wide

it passes on the limbs and kills the mind.”

~ Connor

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