Anyone who reads this blog will know why I like this poem, one of Culleny’s
dailies.
Cat Dance Music
Jim Culleny
Dance!
Delphiniums winddance
with phlox in Pat’s garden.
They sway in quiet concord,
rooted in motion.
Dancing’s a vital sign of endless youth;
even my grandmothers danced.
One danced to accordianed polkas,
corseted cantileverd bosom bouncing.
The other jigged across her chicken yard
with handfuls of eggs –having just left her hens
without yield– acting goofy for a camera.
I once danced with abandon
to big-holed 45s
spun by a DJ named Jocko
who sent four-part doowop through my radio:
the Prisonaires, the Cadillacs, the Moonglows…
When was the last time I danced with abandon?
How did I do that beautiful thing?
It’s best to dance with others, real gurus say.
It’s lonely dancing with a mirror,
leading and following in one motion,
thinking breaking it would be bad luck.
Our cats dance to deep cat vibrations always,
alert as…… cats to music far beyond our ears:
cat dance music.
Zorba knew. Have you seen
Quinn, the Greek, dance?
Felt life spring in rhythms?
Watched it prance on toes to a bouzouki
even in the embrace of despair?
Never. Never forget how to dance.
All innocents dance.
Only the troubled are still.