PuggiLola

Gay “Pride” Month and Behind the Candelabra This month of June will be filled with international global events celebrating gay “pride.”  In New York City, the site of the June 1969 riot at the Stonewall Inn, the Gay Pride march occurs the last Sunday in June, to occur the same day as San Francisco’s Gay Pride March, signifying a bi-coastal commemoration of the history of the lgbt struggle for civil rights and in what cities these major struggles were organized, fought for and won. As a pre-Stonewall teenager I watched the popular celebrity television “Nance” style performers, followed weekly by American audiences on our small black and white televisions. The vaudeville era of “nance” performers was long gone but their television counterparts were prime time entertainment. In the 1950’s Liberace, began his piano playing with this trademark candelabra, successfully entertaining us in our living rooms for over seventeen years, as if he was family. Liberace exuded enormous, appealing happiness, with his flamboyant “Let me entertain you” weekly performances.  Those were the days of television entertainment taking us away from the threat of nuclear war, and opening our eyes to the reality of racial discrimination. I was learning first hand about the stigma and discrimination of being lesbian. Years later, long after Liberace’s death, I became an activist in the streets of my hometown, as an “out” adult lesbian, working in Connecticut to pass our “gay” rights bill. Back to our current times, it was a surprise, that across America of the post Stonewall era, the entire cable nation was witness to the largest watched HBO movie, “Behind the Candelabra” documenting the life and largess of Liberace, who we learn, targeted under age, under parented teen age boys, for his personal lifestyle indulgences and improper manner of “taking care” of them, all while promoting the lie of his lifestyle, even towards  the end of his life, with a purposely misleading story in the publication of his “life.” Instead of pride, there should have been a public outcry that this privileged personality used his celebrity, much in the same manner as Michael Jackson, to promote predator protected behaviors, by well paid staff, well aware of Liberace, the “generous benefactor” of young boys just arriving at their legal ages of adulthood.   What pride can we take in this? None. And, certainly none given the response to the HBO event and public discussion afterwards. While ordinary citizens were fighting for civil rights for all lbgt people Liberace was living the “torment” of being an openly gay man, openly exploiting teenagers, frequenting sex clubs, and being serviced by cute men in tight shorts, having succeeded in court in a lawsuit against the “lie” of his sexual orientation. Every community has its heroes and its privileged members exploiting the conditions and circumstances of their times.  Liberace was a talented, gifted piano player. His legacy can take pride in his contribution to the entertainment industry.  No one can take “pride” in promoting a television event that thought his life was worthy of anything more.

Gay “Pride” Month and Behind the Candelabra

This month of June will be filled with international global events celebrating gay “pride.” 

In New York City, the site of the June 1969 riot at the Stonewall Inn, the Gay Pride march occurs the last Sunday in June, to occur the same day as San Francisco’s Gay Pride March, signifying a bi-coastal commemoration of the history of the lgbt struggle for civil rights and in what cities these major struggles were organized, fought for and won.

As a pre-Stonewall teenager I watched the popular celebrity television “Nance” style performers, followed weekly by American audiences on our small black and white televisions.

The vaudeville era of “nance” performers was long gone but their television counterparts were prime time entertainment.

In the 1950’s Liberace, began his piano playing with this trademark candelabra, successfully entertaining us in our living rooms for over seventeen years, as if he was family. Liberace exuded enormous, appealing happiness, with his flamboyant “Let me entertain you” weekly performances. 

Those were the days of television entertainment taking us away from the threat of nuclear war, and opening our eyes to the reality of racial discrimination.

I was learning first hand about the stigma and discrimination of being lesbian. Years later, long after Liberace’s death, I became an activist in the streets of my hometown, as an “out” adult lesbian, working in Connecticut to pass our “gay” rights bill.

Back to our current times, it was a surprise, that across America of the post Stonewall era, the entire cable nation was witness to the largest watched HBO movie, “Behind the Candelabra” documenting the life and largess of Liberace, who we learn, targeted under age, under parented teen age boys, for his personal lifestyle indulgences and improper manner of “taking care” of them, all while promoting the lie of his lifestyle, even towards  the end of his life, with a purposely misleading story in the publication of his “life.”

Instead of pride, there should have been a public outcry that this privileged personality used his celebrity, much in the same manner as Michael Jackson, to promote predator protected behaviors, by well paid staff, well aware of Liberace, the “generous benefactor” of young boys just arriving at their legal ages of adulthood.  

What pride can we take in this? None. And, certainly none given the response to the HBO event and public discussion afterwards.

While ordinary citizens were fighting for civil rights for all lbgt people Liberace was living the “torment” of being an openly gay man, openly exploiting teenagers, frequenting sex clubs, and being serviced by cute men in tight shorts, having succeeded in court in a lawsuit against the “lie” of his sexual orientation.

Every community has its heroes and its privileged members exploiting the conditions and circumstances of their times. 

Liberace was a talented, gifted piano player. His legacy can take pride in his contribution to the entertainment industry.  No one can take “pride” in promoting a television event that thought his life was worthy of anything more.

ACR Legacy is something that you search for To follow, as in journeying But what if there was none  Not readily apparent As in, a common language? When first I heard you speak your words Diminutive, behind the chapel podium I felt a coming home to my very soul Barred from speaking Within the same Ivy League walls you once attended, Outsider, outspoken, out Your words reached wounds so deep Scarred over by the silence, lies, That now I could forever leave behind That fall evening of poetry with new possibility I return over and over to the unspoken words of your wholeness Of a different kind Nor longer just a dream Having loved with my whole self and having been loved back I miss your silenced voice as it echoes on each page Of every poem I read, then read again Your poetry became my compass on that autumn night Still is A legacy of language for my life

ACR

Legacy is something that you search for
To follow, as in journeying
But what if there was none 
Not readily apparent
As in, a common language?

When first I heard you speak your words
Diminutive, behind the chapel podium
I felt a coming home to my very soul

Barred from speaking
Within the same Ivy League walls you once attended,
Outsider, outspoken, out
Your words reached wounds so deep
Scarred over by the silence, lies,
That now I could forever leave behind
That fall evening of poetry with new possibility

I return over and over to the unspoken words of your wholeness
Of a different kind
Nor longer just a dream
Having loved with my whole self and having been loved back

I miss your silenced voice as it echoes on each page
Of every poem I read, then read again

Your poetry became my compass on that autumn night
Still is
A legacy of language for my life

Labeled “mad” as in crazy Influenced by propensity As in “Mad about the boy” Even Kings cannot keep claim to their gift of genius When heirs are not apparent Yet, here in high mountaintops A legacy has lasted far beyond that of a wayward child That might have been conceived and born a prince or princess No tourist guide speaks of the obvious except in innuendo Despite that in this country where homosexual was first birthed as a label Forever misapplied, except to you, Mad Ludwig No matter, on this cool spring day, in a castle high with rooms Unfinished, as was your life, your story never really told The truth is all around for those with eyes to see As I have, clearer than the misty clouds that fill the sky

Labeled “mad” as in crazy

Influenced by propensity

As in “Mad about the boy”

Even Kings cannot keep claim to their gift of genius

When heirs are not apparent

Yet, here in high mountaintops

A legacy has lasted far beyond that of a wayward child

That might have been conceived and born a prince or princess

No tourist guide speaks of the obvious except in innuendo

Despite that in this country where homosexual was first birthed as a label

Forever misapplied, except to you, Mad Ludwig

No matter, on this cool spring day, in a castle high with rooms

Unfinished, as was your life, your story never really told

The truth is all around for those with eyes to see

As I have, clearer than the misty clouds that fill the sky

Tonight, ‘no poetry will serve’ Nor daytime, twilight, dawn The words that soothed like salve In wake time hours fall away Tonight no poems console Today a bluebird flies into my morning view And stays And stays So I am lifted from my fallen spirit As hour upon hour a nest appears Then, sounds of new life, that relieves me from the loss of yours My poetry now is bird song rising in the air And memories of you, the messenger

Tonight, ‘no poetry will serve’

Nor daytime, twilight, dawn

The words that soothed like salve

In wake time hours fall away

Tonight no poems console

Today a bluebird flies into my morning view

And stays

And stays

So I am lifted from my fallen spirit

As hour upon hour a nest appears

Then, sounds of new life, that relieves me from the loss of yours

My poetry now is bird song rising in the air

And memories of you, the messenger

On the Trail of Richard Wagner | Euromaxx

youtube.com

R. Wagner, happy birthday!

Minn. House prepares to vote on gay marriage

usatoday.com

DFL leaders in the House say they have the votes to pass the bill.

Wedding bells will be ringing…for June brides and grooms.

In seventh grade because I loved Maria DaBica

I no longer was a child of God

My baptism and communion dresses, stored away, were never to be used again

Not by a child of mine I could never have

Because I loved Maria DaBica

Who confessed to kissing boys

My sins could be forgiven, but damnation forever sealed

Maria, I never stopped saying Maria, long before West Side Story

And that love was forbidden, too

And damned as well

I wonder now if her loves brought her happiness, or joy or life eternal

Knowing what I know, and not in seventh grade

I doubt it very much

The Catholic Church club is an equal opportunity excluder

When the Supreme Court, like the Supreme God

Weighs in, or won’t

With manmade jurisdiction

Loving my Maria will not make any difference

Love cannot be legislated

Regulated

Not the first or last or any in between

So, if I meet Maria, or where, or when, or if

Loving her has brought me happiness, and joy and lifelong memories

About which you cannot ask, nor will I ever tell

Long before I could write I learned I could not be the author of my own story Each sentence of my life was already written Pre- scribed By legal definitions Religious words engrained in sacramental rituals I wanted to know these authors Meet them one by one Still have not With what time I have left I want to have my name inscribed on every page Cover to cover, even the footnotes Re- edited to show that most of all I loved more careful than of anything Outside the law Religious refugee Or tried That I was a lover of lieder And you In every chapter written of my life My words will be my own My story will be written That was mine and ours alone

Long before I could write I learned I could not be the author of my own story
Each sentence of my life was already written
Pre- scribed
By legal definitions
Religious words engrained in sacramental rituals
I wanted to know these authors
Meet them one by one
Still have not
With what time I have left
I want to have my name inscribed on every page
Cover to cover, even the footnotes
Re- edited to show that most of all
I loved more careful than of anything
Outside the law
Religious refugee
Or tried
That I was a lover of lieder
And you
In every chapter written of my life
My words will be my own
My story will be written
That was mine and ours alone
Reaching for your presence to be with me once again I wonder on this full moon night Does a soul have insomnia Does it wander soothing sorrows in the night By happenstance Or answer by supplication grieving widows Orphans Lovers seeking solace Or connection Oh to believe that souls exist Long after ever after Full moon sky where my soul mate lives Send her on a moon beam to me Would you please?

Reaching for your presence to be with me once again
I wonder on this full moon night
Does a soul have insomnia

Does it wander soothing sorrows in the night
By happenstance
Or answer by supplication grieving widows
Orphans
Lovers seeking solace
Or connection

Oh to believe that souls exist
Long after ever after

Full moon sky where my soul mate lives
Send her on a moon beam to me
Would you please?

Solitary Confinement

In solitary silence I reach towards empty space
Forgetting you are gone

In this momentary yearning I remember
Those quiet, gentle nights
You tendered sanctuary

Cradled the truths of our selves in each other’s arms
Till spent with the knowledge of each other we gave ourselves to sleep

Oh, woman of my heart I need you now
To still this longing in me, now, as I remember.