Poet George Green isn’t somebody I’d want to meet in the Muse’s dark alley. If his wonderful new book of poetry, Lord Byron’s Foot, is any indication, he swings a mean verbal broadsword.
Here’s a short poem. It’s part of a series titled “Warhol’s Portraits.” This one takes up Warhol’s portrait of Mick Jagger:
He is in my opinion past his prime
already in this print, and he and Keith
are fast becoming tacky little shanks
and sherry-slurping, chicken-headed whores.
They shake their butts and sweat in leather pants,
like ancient drag queens high on Angel dust.
There’s a longer poem about Ana Mendieta and the New York art scene that’s particularly pungent.
Lord Byron’s Foot. It’s a fine book of poetry, winner of The New Criterion Poetry Prize. Great observations about American popular culture. Highly recommended.