some of you may know about my Charlie Malurkey poems. i have been thinking for some time to bring them back to this blog. i am very fond of them & often find myself tending them like a ludicrous garden, in which everything is shaped like items from a Sex Shop. i love Charlie, his idiot good nature is likable. i’m proud of him. (new poem at bottom. don’t skip ahead please).
i started writing these years ago. after reading Berryman’s Dream Songs many many years ago— i wanted to write something in the same vein: ludicrous, low brow, narrative junk stacked with bad grammar, insane peculiarities, a density uniquely its own & so much more. i started a long poem soon after reading Berryman— an erudite & austere deformity called The Lucid Sutras, which i simply wasn’t intelligent enough to write, nor had enough experience to write, being in my tender early twenties— i got 50 odd poems in & ran out of steam, really because i was too rigid & i was a pile of shit poet & still stretching into shoes. finding Berryman & considering his jarring style equipped with slang, baby-talk & invective; i figured English slang & idiom would make the Charlie poems a joy to write, because i’d so much freedom, so much of that language is part of me— i wanted to write something that would make Berryman proud. i took my narrative ambitions & blew the knock wide open.
i created Charlie long before Zach Galifianakis came along with his Chip Baskets character, which i love— but my Charlie Malurkey is a good couple of years pre-Baskets. stupider. funnier & more pure.
rather than do the narrative deal, strictly, i have so many of these written i think i’ll just peg ’em up here willy-nilly— sometimes separately as sagas, other times all over the shop as i feel, like a Pollack of posts. i may even give the end away early.
so i’ll return with the Jesus Army Saga: a series of 8 poems in which Charlie, after being abducted by Jesus Army kindness, lives on a farm populated by these religious weirdos called The Jesus Army. the first being the gentle kidnapping of Charlie (below).
i will put a link here to the early ones i posted here some time ago. i recommend you read them as you can read about Charlie’s birth, how he was contacted by Godly God & the dire straits of Godly God’s Heaven-fiasco that is utterly tits up due to economic circumstances.
finally, don’t take these seriously they are just a lark.
here’s the original introduction to them:
This is the often bizarre, worldly misadventures of Charlie Malurkey— orphan. divinely appointed to be the butt of the joke. the modern jester-against-his-will. Godly God’s puppet. the bringer of laughter. the idiot. in equal measure Prince Lev Nikolayevich Myshkin : Harpo Marx : Charlie Kelly. Broca’s Area all shambles beyond repair & Godly God the Culpable. here you’ll find Dashiell Hammett style noire detectives with club foots & odd childhoods. a form of government Hades-bent on destroying any trace of traditional culture. a militant group rampaging the streets murdering any who show signs of none conformity to the Ultra Modern agenda, backed by the new Uber-Modern Party (UMP). a psychological ailment gripping the populace called P.A.N. (Psycho Anachronistic Neuroses) an epidemic, which makes people believe they are personages from our history books, with only theories as to the root cause. Jesus Army weirdos kidnapping the dispossessed with warm cots, ham / tomato sandwiches, breakfast cereals & sinister magnanimity. so much to come.
i was going to make it a straight narrative. but i feel a sort of pulp fiction approach may be best. i have so many of the poems written i will just put episodes on at whim & let you connect the dots.
all of the idiom, scansion, language is sic. there are no mistakes, everything is written as it should be. for this reason, reading should be done carefully so as not to miss the changes in voice. symbols, meaning everything here is geared toward a fully integrated environment for which everything is self contained toward the form & function— there are no accidents here. you may interpret of course, but be cautious not to misunderstand. Charlie is not to be misunderstood. he has enough of that with himself.
Part i: Charlie’s kidnapped by The Jesus Army
After all the higgledy-giggling
Charlie spent most of which complaining round
his fleshed out pulmonary ventures: split from crest-hopes, jokes
only he snickers a-with in the quiet of lamp light.
Attendees heckled him & so he chatter boxed more
irked them to drown their grumblings in liters of ale & stout.
he is out-witted every time by audiences, him got quarter-wit
but Charlie am on the landlord’s side, they laugh at him with drink.
what get most up the shirt sleeves of him is
this midnight hours of gags that fall flat on their arse
: he could be watching tele, drinking rum n’ milk.
How does these gigs be got, there’s lie an mystery
: his manager H. Ghost, calls him at dawn with place & time.
he is never seen. some say he doesn’t exist.
the taxi fare exceeding Charlie’s cob-webbed pockets, him must trudge.
A school boy act him scuff he toe caps in a huff, on pavements
vents furious on the world, him rants his empty pockets, stubborn teeth.
A gang of scallies, baseball capped & tracksuited, smoking
Sovereign Superkings asked him yoo’ze gor eny weed maayte or can yer ger’us some cider?
Charlie motioning to a grass verge teeming with dandelions & various other weeds
yoo tryin ta be funny maayte, we’ll dooo ya!
n’ do they did, kicked the prophetic seven bells of shit out of him
& magpies with the swoop of insurance salesmen swiped his keys.
Seemed ludicrous that much dog shit could horseshoe a lamppost
which Charlie sat in it, all on his Hi-Tec classics.
He composed himself, scratching his knackers like a cat on tweed.
Sulks on the street— at least the rain behaves.
Bumps into Jesus Army brothers while his head is bowed
—cowed in this NAFF Co jacket, pugilist to downpours.
Him got impressed with their glide-in legerity
how rubicund their cheeks like piggy banks
to a man as white as a cassock.
those outdoorsy folk with lungs as happy as
their Jesus-faces endlessly reiterate
—how best contend with such salubrious folk?
just daren’t devise, give in.
They kidnap him with ham-tomato sandwiches
promise him warmer cots than his ramshackle-springless mat
Jesus be with you brother. Let him heal you as you pray.
: Jesus will be beside him in their nests? who this Jeeezoos chap?
his name make me starved for a plump bit of cheddar.
a curious: him thunk Godly God is all his own fiasco
only Oojoo, his Vice Prime Minister
hermaphroditic pal who tends materials
Believe the lord unparalleled has saved
repent your life & live by Jesus, sole ambassador of happiness!
Charlie is not of cares: you is seem innocent as lambs I thinking me
—you make bostin’ sarnies. Where’s this Jeeezoos fella then?
They baffled in the face & challenge of divine purport them read
in geography of Charlie’s ignorance.
(Later that night): him came a prisoner on odder acres now
more so than clockwork of a normative society
— being put up, so shut up Charlie lad, that what his ma Malurkey teached.
Godly God have some oddly plans for Charlie Boy
—what be you up to Godly God? this is a fun I give yer that our kid.