Gary Blankenburg has degrees from Illinois University (B.S., M.S.), Johns Hopkins University (M.L.A.), and Carnegie-Mellon University (D.A.). A retired English teacher, he is the author of several books of poetry and fiction and has published widely in small magazines, literary journals, and anthologies. He was a founding editor of The Maryland Poetry Review and edited weekly poetry columns for a number of newspapers. His doctoral dissertation treated the confessional poets: John Berryman, Robert Lowell, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, and W. D. Snodgrass. During the writing of the dissertation, he often met and consulted with Professor Snodgrass while he was at University of Delaware. He just begun to write again after a seven year hiatus. His most recent publication was in Gargoyle.
Mostly, nowadays, he reads Victorian novels, smokes cigars, grows fat, and waits for the rapture.
Fall 2011
Table of Contents - Vol. VII, No. 3
Poetry Fiction Translations Reviews
Gary Blankenburg
What do you think—
I said to the Mutt & Jeff
bikers—
about guys who
don’t ride Harleys
but instead
choose Triumphs,
old Indians,
or Hondas.
Mutt said,
I don’t care
if he’s a pimply-faced
kid on a moped
as long as he’s out there
in the wind.
Yes, I thought, it’s all ok
as long as you are
out there in the wind.
After the bars closed
I would wander
with my bottle down
to the train station
to watch the trains come
from the South
on their way to Chicago.
I’d watch the tall
dark porters sway
as they walked the aisles
with starchy pillows
for the sleepy passengers.
In the club car the men
of business drank
whiskey and smoked cigars.
The dining car passed
empty, but bright and gleaming.
All night they clacked by
and I would wave to each
caboose, wishing
I were aboard and roaring
through the corn and soybeans
on my way to concrete and asphalt.
Before his reading
to my high school
creative writing class,
I took him aside
and asked him not
to use the word “fuck.”
He looked immediately
stricken and hurt
like a child.
Then he drew me close
and whispered
in my ear,
You know,
I just took a ‘fuck’ out of one
of my poems yesterday.
© Gary Blankenburg
