*
[“My god, why have you forsaken me?” tells of the tragic
bout between Nigel Benn and Gerald McClellan, fought on
February 25, 1995 at London Arena. Although he had put
his opponent on the mat twice, McClellan lost the fight in
the tenth round, ending up blind and in a wheelchair.]
*
My god, why have you forsaken me?
it should not
not have ended
this way
struck as
he’d never been
struck before
Benn vanished
beyond the ropes
and came back
powerful body
furious anger
brute force
he lashed
at the other
mortal blows
my god
my god
why have you
forsaken me?
Gerald McClellan
shouts
with his gaze
fixed
as it is still.
*
*
[“Kid” was the nickname of Bernardo Paret, the Cuban boxer
who died in 1962 in Madison Square Garden at the hands
of Emile Griffith, in the first death in the ring televised live.]
*
Kid
tell me
how
it could happen
the champ
who danced
in the ring
and knew
how to hit
tell me
how
it could happen
the one
Griffith laid out
with a perfect
right hook
he thought
he’d won
and instead
he’s asleep
on a hillside
Benny “Kid” Paret
on a hillside
in the Bronx
with
a champion’s belt
carved
in his headstone
they said
“there’s no reason
to have a show
like that
anymore”
that boxing
should be done
that the show
is “too cruel”
Benny Kid Paret
had called him
maricon
he wound up
penned
in a corner
crucified
he slid
slowly down
lifeless
in the
12th round
we mourn him
Paret is dead.
*
*
[“Lament” was written in memory of Diego Corrales, a boxer
as gentlemanly in the ring as he was cursed outside of it.
His victorious match over José Luis Castillo in 2005 constitutes
the most incredible epilogue in the history of modern
boxing.]
*
Lament
for Diego
and his youth
strike up
the band
in memory
of an artist
of the body
cut down
still young
by mighty death
instantaneous
beyond
all sense
yet
the image
lives on
of a man
capable
of miracles
the image
lives on
of a man
covered in glory
with mourning held at bay
wash the blood
from his face
from his eyes.
*
*
[“Jersey Son” tells of Frankie de Paula, unlucky meteor of
1960s boxing. Though little known today, his encounters with
Dick Tiger and Bob Foster in Madison Square Garden were
acclaimed as the most spectacular of the time. His career
was controlled by the Mafia, which was apparently also involved
in the mysterious circumstances of his murder.]
*
Jersey Son
in an alley
dark
and empty
at the heart
of Harrison Ave
one day
in Jersey City
shots
were heard
in the afternoon
Frankie de Paula
fell
cut down
where
there’s
no heaven
or earth
defeated
he sleeps
now
now
and forever
the one
who
never went
fifteen rounds
who
never had
to train
to achieve
a thing
force
doesn’t always win
often fortune does.
*
*
[“Boom! Boom!” reenacts a real tragedy. Ray “Boom Boom”
Mancini, one of the most famous Italian-American boxers
ever, was defending his title against the South Korean
Duk Koo Kim at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas on
November 13, 1982. The match went to the fourteenth round
and was lethal for the Korean, who went into a coma in the
arena and died in the hospital four days later as a result of
damage to his skull and brain. Mancini fell into a deep depression
and was never again the same boxer. Months later
the Korean boxer’s mother committed suicide, followed by
the referee, victimized by a sense of guilt for not having put
a stop to the match. In his hotel room before the bout, Duk
Koo Kim had written, prophetically: “Live or die”.]
*
Boom! Boom!
Boom! Boom!
lethal blows
from every side
Boom! Boom!
faces swollen
Boom! Boom!
Duk’s still there
Boom! Boom!
with each blow
Ray splits him
open more
Boom! Boom!
he’s lifting
him up
round
after round
with fury
Boom! Boom!
he’s crushing him
slowly
Boom! Boom!
Duk responds
weakly
or tries to
but he’s
pawing
at air
now
he’s
wobbling
Boom! Boom!
it’s
the twelfth
round
it could be
the end
but it’s just
the beginning
Boom! Boom!
Duk
doesn’t give in
but it’s
a mask
of fatigue
and pain
Boom! Boom!
again!
one!
two!
three!
twelve!
fifteen!
twenty!
how much
can a man
take!?
Boom! Boom!
Ray lands
another
it’s the
thirteenth round
Duk
isn’t going
down
he grabs
onto him
exhausted
Boom! Boom!
holds
onto him
looking
for comfort
for shelter
Boom! Boom!
you can feel
in the air
that something
isn’t right
Boom! Boom!
the crowd
freezes
Boom! Boom!
the sound
loudly
echoes
Boom! Boom!
Ray’s just
throwing
punches
now
Boom! Boom!
but
he’s still
landing them
with great
force
below
above
to the body
to the temples
Boom! Boom!
you can
hear
people
shouting
the crowd
is excited
it urges
them on
it always
wants more
wants to see
them
more
and
more
into it
Boom! Boom!
Ray pauses
for a moment
Duk takes
advantage
he gets
his left
good
and
ready
Boom! Boom!
sunlight
bathes
the battle
it gently
hovers over
the flexing
bodies
Boom! Boom!
their eyes
are shut
in death
masks
Boom! Boom!
the public
is excited
Duk is
on the ground
wasn’t it
just a shove?
Boom! Boom!
it’s an omen
but on it goes
the round
won’t end
Boom! Boom!
it could be
the trumpet
of the last
judgment
it’s only
the bell
Boom! Boom!
it all
begins
again
the sky
seems
to stand
still
everything
stops
Boom! Boom!
a tremendous
right hook
a decisive
straight right
by Ray
Boom! Boom!
Duk
is finished
KO’d
Boom! Boom!
he’s
collapsed
into utter
darkness
an infinite
pitch dark
Boom! Boom!
for an instant
he tries
to raise
himself up
the champion
is carried off
in triumph
it’s Ray
all around
there’s only
noise and
confusion
Duk
is slumped
in the corner
his body
has been
dumped
like a sack
he crawls
away
slowly
in a warrior’s
death.
*
*
[“The poet is a boxer” pays homage to Arthur Cravan.
Born in Lausanne in 1887, Fabian Avenarius Lloyd changed
his name to the more resonant Arthur Cravan when he was
twenty-four. In 1911, on his own, he founded, wrote, and distributed
the journal Maintenant!, in which he ridiculed many
of the works of art exhibited at the Salon des Indépendants,
as well as many ideas prevalent among intellectuals of the
day. Nearly 6’5″, with a sculpted physique, his encounter in
the ring with the world boxing champion Jack Johnson was
his life’s masterwork. Convinced that “an artist’s first lesson is
to know how to face defeat,” he met the champ in an exhibition,
and was promptly dispatched in the first round (this is confirmed
by a majority of credible sources, but contradicted
by the online encyclopedia of boxing, boxrec.com, which
has Cravan losing in the sixth round. Presumably this is a
legacy of Cravan’s fanciful account upon his arrival in the
States). When Marcel Duchamp invited him to lecture in the
Grand Central Gallery, Cravan–blind drunk–undressed
in front of the public, inviting the crowd to do the same. He
then trashed the works on display. Naturally, he was arrested;
his fine was paid by the millionaire Walter Arensberg. Afraid
of being drafted, he fled, swimming across the Rio Grande
into Mexico. There he tried to make a living through boxing,
but the (usually fixed) matches in which he participated were
unsuccessful, and ended each time with the risk of inciting
a lynch mob. In 1918 he married Mina Loy, the American
poetess, whom he’d met in New York. Intending to join her
in Argentina, he set off into the Gulf of Mexico in a little
sailboat, his final act in life and art. From that point on,
nothing more is known about his fate. “Signor Gide,” he began
an irreverent letter to the famous French writer years before,
“I would come to visit you, but I think I’d better tell you straight
off that to literature I much prefer, for example, boxing.”]
*
The poet is a boxer
many
saw me
set sail
that day
then nothing
I vanished
I was
thirty-two
you don’t
realize it
but
I’m still
handsome
elegant
with the same
arresting
physique
because
I am
all things
all men
all creatures
I am
Arthur Cravan
this is
my body
given
to you.