Craig Nelson was a member
of the 1997 Providence and 2001 Boston Cantab Slam teams. He has
featured, workshopped and slammed throughout New England. A native
of Rhode Island, Craig is presently surviving (survival being a relative
term) as a poet in Worcester, MA. His style of poetry might be described
as humor with a point.
Samples of the poet’s work:
CleopatraI never did find out your real name.
You were so mysterious I didn’t know which
part of your body to try to figure out first.You had a tattoo of a guy with an Escher print
tattoo of a guy with an Escher print tattoo of a
guy with an Escher print tattoo.
Curves like a Bowie knife in the hands of an
angry drunk.
Eyes fashioned by a Swiss clockmaker.When we met, my eyes were the color of shit
hitting the fan.I had never met anyone who could say
something like “let’s make sex”
and it sounded good.When you slept you reminded me of a barbarian
horde on a lunch break.I tried to call the good Sumerian’s help-line to
find out what to do.You were so visceral
I wish it were socially acceptable
to wear hockey pads to bed.I spread your legs like a nun
would open a harlequin novel.
You welcomed me like a lobster trap.I still wake up screaming sometimes
and my sheets are a tuna net.When I asked what you were thinking,
you stared at me like a poem in a foreign
language.
Looking away from you was always like trying to
fold up a map.
When All Else Fails
Head in the General Direction
Of the Amish Nation
With a Raver GirlShakespeare turns into Euripides,
Austin, Dickens, Coleridge, and more
Shakespeare.
I can’t get away from Shakespeare!
It’s a love-hate relationship,
I love reading him, hate having to,
and overloading on English classes this
semester was a great idea
in theory.
In practice having to speed-read Tony Morrison
is not doing much to spread the seeds of
poetry.
I’ve got a thesis due,
structuralism to work through,
I’m only two acts into “Much Ado,”
and I have about seven bills that are
late.I’m reading Ginsberg on ginseng
my brittle eyes held open
through “howl” with a scowl.
The man likes to use the word “Moloch”
I have no time to look it up
so I get the gist by context
look at my pile of books and think “next.”Soon I’m gripping Graham Green by its
bookbinder lapels,
decide to rent the movie, by Orson Welles,
and I’m supposed to work tonight.Evidently thirty hours of data entry
is just the thing to provide me with “character.”
I’ll have the most character out of anyone at the
asylum!Then a friend calls,
a girl who I’ve asked on a date
but haven’t had time to take her on one yet.
I give her my laundry list of problems
until she starts laughing at the other end.
She says “This sounds like a job for—
Me! I’ll be right over.”She pulls a handful from her glove compartment,
says “Pick a map, any map,”
which she unfurls like a sail catching wind.
She looks at me,
says “Close your eyes,”
and I feel the wisps of her hair tickle my neck,
smell her perfume cheap and fruity—
I am in a field of mango trees!
She says “Pick a spot on the map,”
and I pick a spot.She announces with a flair,
“We are taking a road trip to—”
(and she squints at what I pointed to)
“Poo-kee-oopsy.”
My response,
to say “I think you mean Poughkeepsie,
and no, I can’t go”
pales compared to her response,
which is our first kiss
and the only concession I make to practicality is to
pack a few books for the ride.In moments,
we’re in her CRX turbo
the wind in my hair—
we’re listening to the latest by Chumbawumba or
something or other
going off to East Japeepee or Poo-kee-oopsy
for the purpose of This or That.I laugh as I think of a conversation with my advisor
the other day:
“Craig, have a seat… I’m
concerned about your college education.”I laugh again thinking of my father’s attempt at using
bass to possibly instill more hours into my day with a
“SON, I’M
CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR COLLEGE EDUCATION.”And I’m lounging back in deep-blue bucket seat bliss,
blinking into sunbeams
bopping to Bjork tunes
she says “Did you know Bjork’s last name is
Gutmansdottirhundleschlofen?”I say “Yes, but I heard it’s pronounced ‘Poughkeepsie.’”
I share a piece from Tony Morrison that means something
to me
she says “Yeah, I like that.”
Five minutes later we’re screaming “Moloch!
Moloch to the new VW Bug design!
Moloch to the man who came up with the spelling for
Poughkeepsie!”We watch the sky darken,
wile a moment away Whitman style,
make a bet about who spots the night’s first star as the
sun descends,
and I think that
getting an education is exactly what I’m doing.
“Cleopatra” and “When All Else Fails...” appear in Cheaper Than the Red Ones (Selected Poems from the 2001 Boston Cantab Slam Team).
Click here to read the poem “Quitting.”
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