Friday, December 22, 2023

Three Poems by George Anderson

The Haunted

While writing the opening 2 chapters of Part II 

of The Idiot in Geneva, Dostoyevsky’s daughter Sofya

developed inflammation of the lungs 

& died, aged 2 months.

 

His second wife Anna Grigoryevna

wrote that he stood in front of

Sofya’s body until it grew cold & 

covered her tiny white face & hands 

with burning kisses & he “sobbed like a woman.”

 

Ten years later while working on his masterpiece

The Brothers Karamazov his 3 year old son Alyosha 

had an epileptic fit that lasted 12 hours & 40 minutes 

and he subsequently horribly died.

 

Dostoyevsky wept inconsolably 

the entire evening on his knees

beside his son’s bed, crushed,

helpless in the notion that Alyosha

had died from a disease that he had

most likely inherited from him.

 

Despite his grief & his mounting

health & financial worries, Dostoyevsky

picked himself up & toiled relentlessly 

on his novel until it was completed,

shortly before his death, aged 59.

 

 

The Bigger Picture

 

I like it

that I have

no goals

 

that I’m past

my prime

 

that I’m not

on TicTock

or X

 

that I don’t

pray to an

imaginary 

being

 

that I hate

the profit

motive in

capitalism

 

that I don’t

have to work

for a living

anymore.

 

I truly dig it 

that this obsessive

life-long

accumulation

of wealth

of friends

of knowledge

 

can ALL

be lost

 

in an instant.

 

 

Too Much Coke

 

I was on another beer

the other bloke was on a pint of vodka

& orange juice.

 

We talked about growing up

below the tracks in NDG-

of Pinto, Big Larry, Mich, Rocko,

Toe, The Mechanic, Pud & several others.

 

Most of them now dead

many from enlarged hearts.

 

Too much coke

He reckoned.

Fucks you up real bad.

 

Hey Buds, do you remember

that crazy motherfucker 

who used to chase us down the dump 

when we raided his garden

so we could chuck his tomatoes

at passing cars on the Decarie Expressway?

 

Pinocello.

 

Yeah, that's him. What ever happened to the bastard?

 

He cacked it. Too much fucking coke.

 

We laugh ourselves stupid, imagining that 80 something psycho

snorting a few solid white lines & then charging at us in full fury!

 

 

Bio: George Douglas Anderson is a teacher and writer who lives in Wollongong, Australia. He edits the blog Bold Monkey Review and sometimes adds to the pile. Jump Out of Any Window (Backroom Poetry, UK, 2024) is his latest publication.

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