I. Sugar Discipline: Dental Poems 11
II. Academy of Fragments 17
III. Singular Room Occupancy: Cantos from Main & Hastings 43
IV. This Holy Room/the great listeners 65
Notes on the Poems and Hodayot 97
There is no refuge from listening to your own silence in the academy,
in the pulpit, or in the safety of institutional bureaus and boards.
—Noah Eli Gordon, The Source
Long-Lined Sonnet For Dr. Young
At the end of my benefits my mouth holds a temporary crown.
Along the Naugahyde arms of the tilted-back chair, my arms are
smooth and thick—the skin of an endangered African animal.
My iPod holds a slight density against the swell of bare belly,
cold beneath my T-shirt. One earphone is in, Eliot speaks with
the voice of the poet—St. Louis faking Queen’s English—over
the buzzing insistence of the drill, latex fingers pulling at
my swollen, etherized gums: these were the bones that were his eyes?
The hygienist, middle-aged, Mexican, comments on the plasma screen
“the one hockey game I went to was Queen Elizabeth in her red dress,
dropping the—what do you call the rubber disk?—onto the ice.”
Dr. Young, twenty-four and carving, ignores her. Beneath her breath
she remarks that beneath amalgams there is almost always decay.
Shaved calcium, dental cement, in my raised chair: I am enthroned.
Reasons You Love The Dentist
1. Your mouth straightjacketed
you can finally stop
2. You will be rewarded
with paste and waxed paper
for keeping still.
3. The drill is white noise: you
creatively attend to silence.
4. A rush of water squirted into the
lower bowl of your mouth
reassures you: you won’t ever be thirsty.
5. In the late 1980S, Dr. Killick patiently
explained his sterilization techniques to your
eight-year-old sister so she wouldn’t fear
6. The chair is a classroom:
you are privy to a new
discourse, new words, old
7. You are
the centre of
8. There are minerals in your mouth
that you have never even considered.
9. Soon your swollen lips will thaw.
Your gums will resurrect and your tongue
will explore Dr. Young’s architecture.
10. Now this hygienist
whose Christian name you’ve forgotten
acts as a pushy yoga instructor,
forcing you to focus on breathing:
through your nose, through your nose.
11. You grind your teeth,
a war vet digs holes in your molars,
carves crevices at the back of your incisors.
Yet Dr. Young patiently rebuilds,
adds height, matches shades of off-white
and says that despite the grinding, the acid erosion,
the slant of your bite, your damaged sibilants,
you are “the most relaxed patient” she’s ever had and
12. also you are lucky, you are still young
you still have good bones.
the specifics of
mass of porcelain;
Cripple your sibilants.
Go to bed.
II. Academy of Fragments
“Erase everything you have written, but keep the notes in the margins.”
The Committee Meeting
Jet-lagged, you say to the Doctors
who have gathered before you:
Whenever I stand to present
a paper I feel like a charlatan.
Your Swedish Doctor (associate)
bald with ginger stubble, responds:
I am afraid this noun is not part
of my English vocabulary.
Pop quiz: How many synonyms
can you think up in the next
twenty seconds? You say: a faker.
Suddenly there is scholarly consensus.
Your American Doctor (assistant)
clean-shaven with a Tyrolean chin
and the faint scent of a near-forgotten
stint at a Jerusalem Bible College, says:
There was a recent article about
this—peer reviewed—in the
Journal of Higher Education:
80% of academics feel the same way.
Your Head Doctor, the white-haired nun,
is outnumbered. Smiles ensue and satisfy.
It’s never scholarship until statistics
The Assistant Professor: The Job Talk
Freshly doctored, straight off the plane from a town in Indiana eponymous with a cathedral in France—
he is a Bachelor of Business Administration from an Ivy State and a Master of Theology from an Old Jerusalem Bible College. (Or is it BBA from Jerusalem Bible College and MTS from Ivy State? The chronology on the CV isn’t clear).
Three times in one hour he says, That’s the best question I’ve heard all day.
One time he even says it to you.
His attention is focused on uncovering the Semitic antecedents of the past participle used in the
Beatitudes. He has proven that Syriac manuscripts found in caves circling the Dead Sea convey the
word blessed as linguistically identical to the word lucky.
There are blue silk patches adhering to his elbows. He could have done anything with his life. He
could have managed a furniture warehouse in Michigan; pastored a predestined congregation of fourth
generation Dutch immigrants; he could have been the Governor of California—
but he chose to venture north to this Instro-University town to read Hebrew with you in the
basement seminar room, with the reproduction of Raphael’s Madonna and Child a