Joe Decenzo and Kathabela Wilson
Joe DeCenzo is a vibrant poet full of rhythm and a force for the positive, lyrical forces of life. He is a fantastic percussionist, his poetry born of a natural proclivity for sounds and playful meanings, he’s tapped out the rhythms through all the difficulties he’s confronted, and beyond to the present day.
By Kathabela Wilson
A telescope on the poet
Joe there is so much music in your words, and I am always enchanted when I hear you read. Looking back, where did that start?
It was the inherent rhythm of words that drew me toward poetry. Whenever my friends and I played games as children I always insisted being the caller. I remember when I was eight, composing short rhymes that mostly had to do with my chores around the house or school or playing baseball.
All these years later I still remember one: “The grass is green and I am mean. I’ll go to town and mow it down.”
One fond memory I have is when my parents bought me my first typewriter. It was a manual machine. They had to redeem 8 books of Blue Chip Stamps and it got me started. I listened to its sounds.
A microscope on the poet
Joe DeCenzo
You’ve told me that there was a turning point in your life, when time deepened, when the steam of insight and poetry became stronger, do you want to talk about that?
1989 stands out as my particularly poignant year. Robin Ortiz, the sister of my best friend, perished in the Loma Prieta quake. The Santa Cruz Roasting Co., where she worked, collapsed on her. I lost two close friends earlier in the year to AIDS, but the hardest blow came when my big brother, guide and mentor, Jerry died of hepatitis C, two days before Christmas. I’ll never forget the anguish in my mother’s face that day or my own desolation. I wrote eulogies and condolence letters that year. It was then I realized it’s time to start doing what I want. I’d have to be alone or find some place where I could meditate on my surroundings. I started hearing rhythms in the woodwork; the ticking of a clock or hum of a running appliance would form the framework of the words that would drop in and fill the meter. I began hiking more; listening to wind and water or what dirt sounded like under my shoes. I began tapping cadence everywhere, the dinner table, the dashboard, unconscious of how annoying it was but still reciting words in my head to the beat of my fingertips. I recall sitting in cafes or fast food restaurants near Hollywood where I lived looking fairly aloof or gazing into space as I was trying to compose. No one ever bothered me. I must have fit in.
Pulse of the poet
Joe DeCenzo drumming at the Sunland Tujunga 4th July 2014 Parade.
How did life go after that difficult time, how did your insights affect your daily life and writing?
It was during a time when I needed a fantasy to come to life and sustain me while I was suppressing the memories of 1989. My defense was to live on the surface and take joy in the music I was performing and the activities I scheduled for myself. It took many years, but the time was right to address the underlying feelings that afflicted our family; my feelings of inadequacy that I couldn’t help more or pull some miracle cure from my pocket.
A compass of the poet
Joe DeCenzo reading his poetry.
Where are you now, poetic life and feelings progressed?
Poetry became an integral part of my life when I found an active group of writers in my adopted home of Sunland-Tujunga. I began meeting people who inspired and challenged me to dig deeper; to go beyond the mere rhythm of the words to unearth the essence of the feelings I’m trying to express. I served as Sunland-Tujunga poet laureate from 2004-2006. It was a whirlwind of activity organizing and attending events and festivals. The McGroarty Arts Center has been an ardent sponsor of the laureate program since 1999. I am humbled by the caliber of writers I’ve met since joining Village Poets. It constantly motivates me and expands my vistas in endless directions. Life remains a balancing act for me, but my poetic pursuits allow me to keep my head in the clouds with both feet on the ground.
Flowers
By Joe DeCenzo
I brought flowers that day
Because I thought they might dry her eyes
I brought flowers that day
Because my feeble tongue couldn’t find the words to make her smile
Not that day
I brought flowers that day
Because the ornaments and garland just weren’t bright enough
And the foil tinsel, mockingly hanging,
Like the edges of a thousand knives cutting at her heart
Bore no sense of holiday
Not that day
Hoping that the petals would block her view when she drew them toward her face
Or maybe just lend a dusting of color to her graying cheeks
But had I been thinking, I’d have brought a basket
To catch the heart that was falling from her chest.
I brought flowers that day because nothing added up
Everything was out of order and bass-ackwards
Like winter after spring or darkness after sunrise
To have a child precede a parent just doesn’t make sense
I brought flowers that day
Because the attendant hurried us from the morgue
When he saw the tag that read “communicable”
And refused to let her see
I brought them because I felt useless and powerless
And it’s harder to be angry
When you’re holding flowers
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Joe DeCenzo will be hosting a special POETRY PALOOZA @ McGroarty Arts Center on August 29, 2015.
Thank you Toti and Lois for your sensitive readings and taking the time to comment. Each interview draws me into the unknown depths. Joe stunned and enchanted me with his sharing. This is truly what poetry is made of.
Very poignant poem – together with a playful interview. Joe is capable of such a large range of expressions… Bravo.
We never know the hardships of others. How can a heart hold so much pain, how can it not? Joe is always an inspiration at Bolton Hall, keeping the poets playfully in line, sharing his often humorous and authentic poetry. Thanks for this deeper look into Joe’s history and passions Kathabela. ~Lois