With your generous end-of-the-year support of Fence— through a tax-deductible contribution of $100 or more—you will receive this fine, limited edition broadside, signed by the poet artist (and so much more) Wayne Koestenbaum, printed with letterpress by Empyrean Press for Fence on handmade Moriki Kozo paper. The words are excerpted from Wayne’s poem “Kugel Exercises,” to be published in Fence magazine issue #42, coming early next year, and for you to preview here below.
KUGEL EXERCISES
you could decide whether you wanted a bisexual for dinner
you could decide how many bisexuals to ask for
you could get as many bisexuals as you wanted
do you include cinnamon in your kugel
keep control of the kugel and hone it by diligent practice
rivulets of the kugel
she made kugel and discussed its merits but also made fun of it
and then you start grieving for butter’s sake
as if butter were a member of the family or a devoted neighbor
the butter was meant to be ignored
keep the butter far away from the gentle faculties
I did a great job of shaming the butter
kugel we would classify among the irretrievables
related to the romantic figure of the swan
the reign of the disciplinarian ended at noon
when she distributed the flash cards
each containing a declension
you could clench the kugel
like an oration divided into mother and son
and delivered without shame at the funeral
she threw a party in the Taft Hotel
Lerner and Lowe lounged on the couch
each convinced that the other man had made a mistake
I fell asleep at the party
I was in my thirties and I despised the word human
like hummus it belonged to the realm of wedding registries
with no one alive could I discuss his suicide
even after decades you may still feel bruised by his departure
his ex-husband never came up in conversation
an Elysian Fields of ex-husbands
he shamed you on the steps of the fire station
impersonate the tyrant who forbids
dirge and barcarolle and rondo and bridge
some toys last for decades and some toys perish
don’t hold on forever to one toy
create a toy out of each day’s offering
—Wayne Koestenbaum
