Transcript: Poems on Air, Episode 59 - Douglas Kearney

The following transcript is provided for accessibility only. Layout, formatting, and typography of poems may differ from the original text. We recommend referring to the original, published works when possible to experience the poems as intended by their authors.

[Music intro]

LYNNE THOMPSON: Hello! My name is Lynne Thompson, Poet Laureate for the City of Los Angeles and I’m so happy to welcome listeners to this installment of Poems on Air, a podcast supported by the Los Angeles Public Library. Every week, I’ll present the work of poets I admire, poets who you should know, and poets who have made a substantial and inimitable contribution to the art and craft of poetry.

LYNNE THOMPSON: Douglas Kearney’s website describes him as a poet, performer, and librettist; all true, but I would add that he is a force of nature. A Cave Canem Fellow and Silver Medalist for the California Book Award, among other awards, his recent collection Sho was not only a finalist for the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award and short-listed for the 2022 Griffin Poetry Prize, but it also won the Minnesota Book Award. Raised in Altadena, California, Kearney teaches Creative Writing at the University of Minnesota–Twin Cities where he is a McKnight Presidential Fellow.

LYNNE THOMPSON: Today’s poem is "Eulogy for a Pair of Kicks" by Douglas Kearney.

Eulogy for a Pair of Kicks


Almighty Lord, give unto me two pair
of wings to hie them unto Thee on high!
Permit these worn gums take the sky.

       ♧	

			O my soles!

Where’er your tread pressed
the rugged earth’s crust,
there you bore me home.
Now I walk bare and alone.

God have mercy, 
let be blessed 
what shod me,
now, unbound for rest.

			O my shoes!

Stony the roads you trodded!
Storied how woe you cardboarded!
Brown bustered tot you untied!
Pennies of loafs you tithed!

Tween feets too grown you squooshed!
Scores of just do you clean swooshed!
Every little step you big buckled!
Grip of skip skips you face chucked!
Flip of cheap for you half flapped!
Slick winter slips you black tracked!

This cold morning, yea, your whole body laced up,
eye stay to eye stay for you to go
in there, your last box, o hollow shell-toe:
	Did you know, did you do,
	was you, was you
	mad me feel
	10 feet tall?

	All day, I’d dream about seeming
	tougher by your leather upper,
			you rubber under.
	Always you’d hold me in
			your suede sides,
		your fresh holey mesh,
		your canvas coke-white
		as Death’s icy cheek—

I pray you make your way unknotted
on the plum, custom shelves
	of Heaven’s luxe walk-in.

I pray you remain mated
over Celestial telephone wire,
		my dank slum cherries.

You who made stardust of crack vial,
mushed the mutt-mess pile,
crushed Kool butts, left roaches snuffed,
and stutter-stepped Satan’s scuffing hoof:

Is God has watched, has numbered your steps
as barefoot cherubim hovered and cheered:

	It’s the—! The—! It’s gotta be the —!

So, kick back, my kicks.
Kick yourself off my toenails
till that Great Quickstrike
with you, headstock anew,
tonal gold, the Lord’s own grail.

		May the hellhound’s marring maw
		snare only air
		as you ascend clear
		of Judgment’s concertina barbs.

LYNNE THOMPSON: The Los Angeles Poet Laureate was created as a joint program between the City’s Department of Cultural Affairs and the Los Angeles Public Library and this podcast is available wherever you get your podcasts. Thanks for listening!

[Music outro]

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    • DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a certified or verbatim transcript, but rather represents only the context of the class or meeting, subject to the inherent limitations of real-time captioning. The primary focus of real-time captioning is general communication access and as such this document is not suitable, acceptable, nor is it intended for use in any type of legal proceeding. Transcript provided by the author.

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