PAUL KAREEM TAYYAR

July 2008

Paul Kareem Tayyar’s book of poems, "Everyday Magic" (West-Coast Bias Press), was nominated for the 2007 Pushcart Prize.  He is the founding editor of World Parade Books, which recently published Gerald Locklin’s "New and Selected Poems" and Lyn Lifshin’s "Desire," and will be releasing Edward Field’s "Kabuli Days: Travels in Old Afghanistan," Ron Koertge’s "And Through the Woods," Dibakar Barua’s "The Womb of Memory," and Elizabeth Young’s "Witness" in the fall of 2008.  He received his Ph.D. in American Literature at U.C. Riverside, and he has been teaching for the past several years at Golden West College and California State University Long Beach.

FISHERMAN'S WHARF, SAN FRANCISCO

The clouds lathered like a shaving cream
Upon the rugged face of sky, the moon
A shaking hand with razor blade, the
Rain for rinsing age that has gathered
Like regret around his mouth—

This city like a father who has forgotten
Who he was: the man who never owned
A three-piece suit now finds himself in
Black tie for his funeral—

Say goodbye to all the local barbershops,
The mother restaurants with recipes they
Carried on the boats, the cavern clubs
Of chords with young boys howling for
Their suppers—

Say goodbye to the numbered Union Hall,
The old man chess games popping timers
Like alarm clocks, the cable cars that
Rambled like electric troubadours across
The potholed pavements down to foggy
Seas—

Say goodbye to the painted women that
Let you name them for an hour, the
Superhero bus stops where the ghosts
Of Iliad protected you from harm, the
Jazzmen standing on the corners who
Slept inside the parks—

I never thought this could happen to you,
Father, you sold your dignity for fortune,
And left your children with the bill.

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THE ARTIST

It is the story of a man who only knows
The names of streets that he will never
See again, a kind of amnesia in reverse,
The past the only landscape he can
Recognize himself within.

Listen, you will hear him giving directions
To a stranger who is lost, walking him
Through a city that no longer exists,
Telling him to look up those he will
Not find—he keeps appointments
He made many years ago, converses
With the ghosts of friends about
The pending fate of long-decided
Wars, writes letters to lovers
That will never be delivered.

He dreams a world and it emerges,
Wreckage from a failed ship, the rising
Tides he neglects through the simple
Force of his denial.