Step 1. Do a word-cento of Karyn Morrison’s
“Planning a Funeral.” (Congrats to Karyn on
her appointment as treasurer to the newly formed
Oddball Magazine Board!) Listen to Detroit Spinners,
“Rubberband Man,” as a paradoxical complement,
while writing. (In non-shpiggidity-shpaggidity speak,
a word-cento is basically a rearrangement of the words of
a poem however you see fit, but only using the words of the
poet, particularly the words in only one poem of said saint.)
WORD-CENTO
I.
For 14 nice years,
I didn’t need a funeral.
I follow my own patience,
fight for others’ happiness
and embrace it.
I embrace it.
You will get there, hospice—
grateful for the 18th time . . .
Living natural doesn’t plan equally
a family member I never knew.
II.
Learn people that the point travels
Shortly mom and dad died
Ok, I am not afraid
I struggle for tomorrow,
still the opportunity is awoken,
healing me for myself.
I am not a bad boy fighting
happy contact.
I am alive when I pay wonder
with healing.
I am not failed love,
scared to deserve the one day:
Happiness.
It is giving advice
that is hard work,
never worthless.
The word is in no rush
to love your life.
I have tried.
Step 2. Write a meditative insert. (This is kinda
tough to explain. Really, it’s whatever gets your
grooviness going… but in a meditative way
and with a hard-on for poetry.) For instance,
take a shower (a personal Mikvah of song)
and listen to Chassidic literature lecture [1] simultaneously,
after reading the associated Chassidic literature text [2]
you received this morning from an anonymous fellow
on the East Coast.
Be sure to have pen and paper next to the kitchen sink,
so you can write what comes to you from the Divine Muse
immediately after you finish your personal Mikvah of song.
MEDITATIVE INSERT
I.
Golden-red ground
waves irresistibly blissful
I honor looking inward,
and remember you—
who I was, my spirit . . .
so many years ago . . .
which flowed from the elevator
of compassion,
which remembered joyous music
in rapture;
and so, I captured joy in the
present.
Chiseled divinity’s shadows
into my own timer ringing…
ringing… ringing…
throughout eternity.
II.
I want bless to you,
and in turn bless myself:
I want to study how
to be the best me I can possibly
be – try to remember the cords,
the music . . . the melody.
—This is the obvious connection
between me now and my shadow.
Who do you see, as you glimpse
through your own eternal essence,
reveal light to darkness,
darkness to light – bless memory
along the crimson-gold streets,
down elevator shafts,
which shifted chimneys:
smoke, primordial essence
& estrangement
from who I am now,
as I unveil the purple curtain,
peer into your smile,
see the 80th adventure
of Life,
deeper than you could imagine
how wildfire pain strengthened
the light borne from darkness.
Step 3. Combine the meditative insert and
word-cento, but first try doing 30 min of
zazen (sitting meditation) in a park, say
Hotchkiss Park in Santa Monica, CA.
Into My Own Timer Ringing…
I.
For 14 nice years,
I didn’t need a funeral.
This is the obvious connection
between now and my shadow.
I follow my own patience,
Who do you see, as you glimpse
through your own eternal essence,
fight for others’ happiness
and embrace it?
Reveal light to darkness,
I embrace it
along the crimson-gold streets,
You will get there, hospice—
grateful for the 18th time . . .
down elevator shafts,
which shifted chimneys:
smoke, primordial essence
Living natural doesn’t plan equally
a family member I never knew
& estrangement – dark to light – bless memory
for who I am now.
II.
Learn people that the point travels
deeper than you could imagine.
Shortly mom and dad died
in rapture
so many years ago . . .
Ok, waves irresistibly blissful, I am not afraid
of compassion.
And so, I captured joy in the present.
I struggle for tomorrow,
which flowed from the elevator—
still the opportunity is awoken,
chiseled in divinity’s shadows
healing me for myself.
I am not a bad boy fighting
happy contact.
I honor looking inward,
and remember you—
ringing… ringing…
I am alive when I pay wonder
with healing.
I want to bless you,
and in turn bless myself:
I want to study
who I was, my spirit.
I am not failed love,
throughout eternity.
Scared to deserve the one day:
Happiness of Life
deeper than you could imagine
how wildfire pain strengthened
the light borne from darkness.
It is giving advice,
as I unveil the purple curtain,
that is hard work,
never worthless.
Peer into your smile.
See the 80th adventure.
The word is in no rush
be – try to remember the cords,
to love your life.
The music… the melody…
I have tried.
to be the best me I can possibly.
[1] Here’s the Chassidic literature lecture:
“770 Turns 80” by Rabbi Simon Jacobson.
[2] Here’s the Chassidic literature text:
“He had given the Rebbe a note with all his questions. The
Rebbe answered every question and then looked straight
into Ezra Schochet’s eyes.
“‘Is there anything else you want to ask?’
“Ezra froze. He had racked his brain before this private
Audience to think of any question he might have. Every-
thing had been included on the note.
“‘Is there anything else you want to ask?’
“His mind was blank.
“‘I want to finish answering your questions,’ the Rebbe
said, ‘before we discuss the matters that I want to deal
with. My matters.’
“Ezra broke down. ‘Help me do teshuvah Rebbe,’ he
said, tears streaming from his eyes. ‘Help me return
to G-d.’
“But the Rebbe merely replied, ‘It looks like you do not
want to do teshuvah out of happiness,’ and moved on
to other matters.
“Later, Ezra wrote to the Rebbe asking what he had meant.
Remorse was an essential part of teshuvah, and no one
could call remorse a joyful emotion.
“‘What is teshuvah out of joy?’
“Every mitzvah must be performed with joy,
the Rebbe replied. ‘Teshuvah is a mitzvah
like any other and therefore demands joy.’
“Not only that, the Rebbe continued, but the
greater the mitzvah, the greater should be
one’s joy. And teshuvah, which can correct
past misdeeds, is the greatest of all mitzvahs.
“Teshuvah’s power is obvious, the Rebbe wrote,
when one considers that a single impulse,
a single utterance— ‘G-d, I want to do what
you want me to do’—is enough to bring a person
out of wickedness and into righteousness.
“A mitzvah that can transform a person in a split second
is incomparable to any other, the Rebbe concluded,
‘so [its] joy must be incomparable to the joy of other
mitzvahs.’
Step 3, page 1, handwritten
Step 3, page 2, handwritten
Joshua Corwin, a Los Angeles native, is a neurodiverse, Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and Spillwords Press Publication of the Month winner. His debut poetry collection Becoming Vulnerable (2020) details his experience with autism, addiction, sobriety and spirituality. He has lectured at UCLA, performed at the 2020 National Beat Poetry Festival, and his Beat poetry is to be anthologized alongside Ferlinghetti, Hirschman, Ford, Coleman and weiss late this year (Sparring Omnibus, Mystic Boxing Commission). He hosts the poetry podcast “Assiduous Dust” and teaches poetry to neurodiverse individuals and autistic addicts in recovery at The Miracle Project, an autism nonprofit.
Readers are encouraged to submit their own cento (complete with meditative insert) in the comment seciton of the Incentovise column.
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