Momma’s Boy
Anaphora for Margarita Zuniga Chavaria.
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy.
Momma gave me my name.
After a passionate afternoon.
Sun streaming through the blind
My daddy on top of her
Thrusting his bow to the strings
of Stravinsky’s joyous rights of Spring
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m My momma’s boy.
Sucking warm milk and egg from a plastic nippled bottle
Eating the peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwhichs
She made to watch over me at the school cafeteria
No sloppy Joe’s for me
I’m a momma’s boy.
I’m my momma’s boy.
Dinner on the table
Daddy gobbling his food
Momma serving her family
Loving her family with her food
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
Daddy punched his fist through the living room wall,
My momma plasters over
Daddy cries at night
While momma holds his head in her hands
Ignoring the bruises on her cheeks.
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
She slaps the faces of the mocking boys
My daddy tells me to ignore
As they kick me on the lawn
Green grass staining jeans like blood
I’m a momma’s boy
She’s my vengeful angel
Who stares policemen in their eyes
I’m My momma’s boy
When she stands behind me
Telling teachers
To love her boy
Telling authorities
To ignore her boy
Telling Doctors
To heal her boy.
Walking 5 miles through the hot sweating jungle to fetch ginger ale for her little boy
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
When I wake up in the hospital bed
When I see her tears stream down her face.
When I see my sister’s scared eyes.
When I know like a freight train that I made the biggest mistake of my young life.
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
When I catch a glimpse
Of her cleavage
Through the curtain of her night dress.
When I see her clutch her dress to her breasts
Ignoring my childish gaze
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
Even when she closes her studio door
And I beg her and beg her to come and play with me
She kisses me on the top of my head and smiles
Then closes her magic door, anyways.And I cry and I cry pounding my tiny fists against her magic door.
How can there be something other than me that she loves more ?
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
When daddy moves out
I stay with her
When she cries I hold her head
In my hands, on my shoulder while her shoulders shake
In the only love in the universe that will never leave me.
Even when momma’s mind leaves me.
Even when momma’s breath leaves her
Even when her eyes leave me
To close forever.
Momma never leaves me
She never, ever, never ever leaves me.
Momma was more Man than me or daddy will ever be,
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
~ Thursday Morning, 5:00 am, October 2024
Igor Goldkind ©2024
IS SHE AVAILABLE? Get My Book and FIND OUT.
NOTHING has prepared you for This. Nothing ever will.
Because whatever is happening Now has never happened before.
This is a web-nurtured collaboration with 27 artists, sculptors and musicians from the world of Comics, Fantasy, Fine Art and Jazz, including Bill Sienkiewicz, David Lloyd, Liam Sharp, Glenn Fabry, Shaky Kane, Lars Henkel and the cutting edge sculptural typography of the highly acclaimed book designer Rian Hughes.
by Bill Sienkiewicz and Rian Hughes ©2014
This illuminated book is a contemporary Dante’s Divine Comedy; a journey through the confessional landscape of a masculine identity. It uses poetry to construct a narrative that explores themes of death and loss, sex and love, and the modern American and Jewish identity design: by the UK’s eminent graphic designer, typographer, illustrator Rian Hughes.
The music is composed and produced by iconoclast, ex-Israeli, Middle-Eastern jazz virtuoso Gilad Atzmon, along with five other jazz artists.
Written by San Diego native Igor Goldkind, this illuminated book will revolutionize the way you view poetry by meshing comics, art, music and animation in a truly unique way. It uses poetry to construct a narrative that explores themes of death and loss, sex and love, and the modern American and Jewish identity. The book is available for download on the iTunes Store and Google Play, as well as in a 166 page, fully illustrated in colour hardbound edition available ORDER HERE.
The eBook edition pushes the edge of what is possible with present EPUB3 technology. It is not an App, it is a true book that marries pop art, comics, avant-garde, jazz, spoken word poetry, video and animations, and type design in a manner that we have not seen before IS SHE AVAILABLE? has the feel of an artefact from the near future – a seminal work of a new genre-fusing poetry, graphic art, music, and animation.
Sample interior pages:
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Shipping included in orders within the US and its territories.
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Reviews ? Sure We Got Reviews. Why You Wanna See Them? Be my guest.
“Igor’s “Illuminated Book” is like a new genre. It is a wonderful ekphrastic expression; a fusion of the arts.” — Poet Mel Takahara
“His collection Is She Available? has the feel of an artefact from the near future – a seminal work of a new genre-fusing poetry, graphic art, music, and animation.” —(San Diego’s) City Beat
“Is SHE Available?” is an experiment, and reading it feels more like an act of discovery… nonetheless there’s a thrill to scrolling through its pages. It’s an ambitious step toward what digital media can (and will) be.”—The Chicago Tribune
You Tube samples: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRnmT_aE0acoowdNBvFtK_VW2OkNN2wWp
SoundCloud samples : https://soundcloud.com/igor-goldkind/sets/is-she-available-spoken-word
The 166 full colour, fully illustrated hard cover deluxe edition is available in discerning and eclectic independent bookstores everywhere. Including Fahrenheit 451 in Carlsbad, Soulscape Bookstore in Encinitas, the Upstart Crow in San Diego, Verbatim Books and Mysterious Galaxy also in San Diego, City Lights and the Cooperfields chain in Marin County and Sonoma County, amongst a growing number of independent book stores.
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Rainbow Bridge
You know I owe it you my friends, those of you who have been generous in your thoughts for the loss of my mother to tell you something: Although it has been a long, arduous road from my mother’s first diagnosis of dementia 4 years ago to her leaving my world 2 weeks ago and in spite of the struggle (not least with the authorities), to see her way clear to a happy death; it has been an extraordinary, indeed enlightening experience.
I’ve been distracted so much of my life by shiny, trivial things and this last year certainly, has brought me into a focus and permitted me insights into things I had never known. The most pedestrian insight being the sorry regard our institutions have for the aged, the infirm and the demented. We don’t treat our weakest very well and I’m afraid that is because
we really don’t treat ourselves very well either.
The insight that I do want to share or at least attempt to convey is what I did feel this past month observing my mother’s diminishing capacity to engage with her surroundings first socially then practically. I had a tactile, visceral sense of an arc of a life; a universal trajectory from birth to death, as something that comes and then goes.
(The Rainbow in Norse mythology 
is the bridge to Asgard and Valhalla, the hall of fallen warriors.) I have no experience of the supernatural.
It’s all natural to me. But I did feel a deep and distinct tone, like the pealing of a bell resonating beneath my feet in her passing.
Between the last evening that I saw her, held her hand and spoke to the steady light in her eyes and the morning I visited her room from where life had been so recently evicted, I knew I had seen a life depart and the place in the world that it had left. I did not catch a glimpse of death.
I saw life very clearly as it fled my mother’s corpse.
That thing, that is everything, that same thing that still animates us all. Until our clocks wind down as well or are tragically, shockingly shut down. I saw life leaving me behind as it disappeared around some bend and I saw the life that was me, within it’s own place, on its own trajectory of escape.
I saw the light in the eyes that created me, that cherished me; fight, fade and extinguish.
I know that I will go there too, following her footsteps and those of my father’s before her and my sister’s before him. A death parade towards an unknown horizon. I don’t know where they went, I just know that they are no longer here; nor any where I will ever be again.
No ‘where’ to go to. Just end. Just stop. Just no longer being.
And these fingers tapping on my keyboard are tapping out time too.
Igor
igorgoldkind
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