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the archive(s):
issue no. 2:
BORIS: a poem in 29 stanzas / Paul Kremsky
Dedicated to old Boris,
Just in case anyone chose
To not regard you as a GREAT FIGURE,
Or in case anyone made the mistake
Of taking you seriously.
Whenever you show up at some party
Where you don't know barely anyone,
With nothing but a rackofbeer,
The first person you meet will be Boris,
"He had become the HOLY GOOF."
You will recognize Boris because maybe
He will have springy untamed hair, maybe
Tallandlanky,
And he'll come right up to you grinning,
Already longtime drunk.
This time, in Lexington, his name really is Boris,
Or it isn't, but everyone calls him
That, because he is a RussianJew,
Everyone knows him, but he still has no one
Really to talk to except you, or maybe he is just kind.
First he introduces himself, then he introduces
To you some prettyish girl with black
Hair and pointedjawbones,
Her name is like tiffany or something
And you don't really trust her; she moves away.
Then he is midbeer and he spits it all out,
On purpose, maybe; it is comical,
Beersud flyings spittled out
All over, sticky mist,
And he says Hey! Hey! Hey!
I recognize you Paul, I knew you a few
Years ago, we used to spar together,
In that class, chokeholds! and figurefours!
That class with a few fat men in sweatpants
Who nobody wanted to train with, remember those old struggles?
I remember the class but not Boris--
But I lie, saying
Yeah yeah yeah yeahman,
Now I do remember, damn that
Was something, and now this, seeing you here!
But then he gets the stupid idea
That you should know to expect him to get,
Exactly the idea of comicwildness
That he expects of himself,
And he says we should go to the backyard to spar.
Not to be a poor sport, you agree,
And he leads the way out, but first
He walks through a screendoor
Without opening it, and it falls
From its hinges onto a guy named Mike.
Fuck! he says. Sorry! but hey we're going out
To thishere backyard to do
A little sparring, chokeholds et-cetera,
It will be a blast, everyone:
Follow us to see what happens.
(Yes I know this is a ridiculous thing,
For me to be outhere to sprawl with this Boris,
Outside on this wet yardgrass,
But what the hell, hell, hell,
It will be fun, I will probably not lose.)
And of course a monster crowd forms around
To watch Boris and his antics,
And someonebody must've asked me my name,
Because they root me on, because
Ofcourse they won't cheer for Boris.
So we go at it and pretty soon I'm
Sitting on his chest and choking the
Airoutofhim,
Like you do when you're winning
The way we learned to spar.
But the stupid drunk doesn't tap out,
Like you're supposed to when you can't
Breathe, he just gagglesandcoughs,
And grins up at me, and struggles,
And it keeps on going for a real time.
So some other kid, named Fitzy, he starts
In on Boris while he's down under me, delivering
Cheep light cheakslaps,
Laughing and playing
And pissing off poor barelybreathing Boris.
Now Boris sputters up at me, eyes only now
Looking worried and angry
And hotfirefilled, and he chokes
Paul, Paul, Paul man,
Get the fuck off me, that's it now.
I let him up like he asked and wham! He's off
Tackling Fitzy headfirst
Headlow and in his stomach, driving
With his feet and pedalling
Fitzy back, side punches coming liberally and wildly.
And it all looks good until Fitzy figures out
What is going on here! and
He reacts by swinging downon
Boris' back, one, two, wham wham
He starts punching down on him kind of hard.
Meanwhile I am sweating and laughing on the grass
Thinking Boris! Boris! you
Wildman, one match wasn't enough
You drunk! I am grinning and laughing;
We all are for a few moments, mostly.
Then of course we realize that Boris is not
Fucking around right now,
He is headfirstmad, running-
Angry wild for some
Unknown not jokingaround reason. Has he just snapped?
But he is still Boris, and no match for the more
Natural Fitzy, who was blessed and born
With straight shorthair and well-dressed,
With Fenway's Boston accent and
About onehundredsixty pounds and even athletic.
So now we have Boris bleeding from the nose,
And people gasp and finally
Fitzy is pulled offofhim,
And whoa jesus there is
Blood all over this lawn wetgrass now, and I'm laughing in it.
Someone brings Boris in and someone else
Tries to calm Fitzy down who is
Saying sonofabitch sonofabitch
I shouldn't laugh but I can't stop
Who would've thought? Who would've?
So after a while Fitzy is calmed down,
And I go inside and talk to
Angrygirl tiffany, who is angry
About Fitzy, actually,
She is sitting in the corner with a beer saying:
Goddamn Fitzy, he does this all the time.
He knows what buttons to press, and
Boris is a fucking windupdoll;
He's the only one Fitzy can actually pick on
Even though Boris is taller. He's a fucking asshole.
Boris walks past and I quickly leave tiffany,
And stop him to talk,
Heyman yo, I'm sorry if I
Helped to start that fight thing,
Are you alright now, you relaxed and calm and regular?
And he turns on me and says,
Hey man, hey, that was a
GREATMATCH, that was somethin
Huh? You had me down a while
But I didn't tap out, right? it was a match!
And I laugh shocked and say, haha YES,
It was some epic struggle,
Some human pridemess, it was
Amazing, Boris, YES, man,
But what about Fitzy? What about him?
And Boris, who is tallandlanky with
Wild hair and who has been grinning
Allnight, he says grinning wider and wilder,
Wiping leftover blood from his nostril,
"Man," he says, "Man, fuck Fitzy!"
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