Orion, Orion, has been a powerful constellation for me
all my life.
But I think, probably because I grew up in a city,
the air was pretty funky.
And you couldn't see the stars, but you could always
see Orion, if there were any stars at all.
And also, city boys don't know constellations too well.
And I didn't know very many.
I knew Orion and that was easy, it was big.
And it was lovely, that paradigm of human desire
translated into stars.
And I've written about Orion quite a bit.
My wife says there are malign forces on Orion, evil peoples.
I don't believe it for a minute.
If it's true, I don't care.
Here's a poem, which is called, "I Have
Lived Under Orion All My Life."
And the word Intercourse in the poem is a town.
You know the town, Pete.
Intercourse, Pennsylvania, which I lived near,
when I was teaching one year in Pennsylvania.
Imagine it's a strange name for a town in Pennsylvania
Dutch country.
That's near Blue Balls, Pennsylvania,
which is where Ralph Ginsburg mailed his magazine from.
That was the last straw.
But I feel if people are going to name
their town that, they've got to learn to roll with the punches.
"I Have Lived Under Orion All My Life."
Again, it swings around under a mask of stars.
We are enchanted almost to tears in this carnival
of blood in the only universe.
You must remember the winters in the heartland.
The ones with hair and teeth that go for your throat,
whenever you speak of spring.
I lived near intercourse one whole year
and never had the pleasure.
And when at last I decided to go home,
I didn't know which way to point the car.
All I knew was hope had to be left behind
with the rest of the luggage.
Now, we travel each with his own star.
For I have lived under Orion all my life.
And tonight, leaping directly overhead,
dangling his glittering sword or glittering
sex, this first Thanksgiving, this last life spilling
open like a city of jewels.
He strings a path in the darkness.