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Portrait of Earl Randal Keener

Earl Randal Keener


About Earl Randal Keener

Bethany, WV

A KEENER, A BROTHER TO THE BANSHEE

I am an ex-gandydancer/retired steelworker/bag of wind who thinks a guitar is a kind of birdhouse (a haunt,inhabited); who thinks that if we cannot be geniuses (though we are all 'genus' and 'species')--that the best alternative is to be distinctively ourselves, to let our pedestrian/native
indigenous genie out of the bottle (out of the bracken and the bog)--so to speak; who dubiously, ambivalently and self-deprecatingly assays that once Anonymous is known/labeled/bagged
tagged-- he is to that extent less than himself. So what is the point? And yet, how sweet to sing one's self away

LANTERN

She called it the patriarch of goldfish
saying, Chinese have proper respec
for carp. He liked its armored look
the way it fought to the end of a line

They talked of sex and art, of livin
even if it meant their undoing
Their own words scared them

He told her about balloon
on a black branch amid ice floes
Filled with sunlight, they were lantern
of inspiration he could not attain
Leaving, he'd almost wept

They watched the carp sift mud
(lone prospector in a poo
of cultivated trout)
then drifted to the cemetery

geese squabbling to the next splash of light
Stanislaus leaning against Goldsmith-
the graveyard a surprise party holding its breath.

More About The Artist

Portrait of Earl Randal Keener
Earl Randal Keener
 
 
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