Embedded Files
Born in Nuremberg, Germany, while his family served in the U.S military, Adrian Matejka was raised in Indianapolis, Indiana, in the United States. He is a graduate of Indiana University Bloomington and the MFA program at Southern Illinois University Carbondale.
He is the author of The Devil’s Garden (Alice James Books, 2003) [...] and Mixology (Penguin, 2009) [...]. His third collection, The Big Smoke (Penguin, 2013), focuses on Jack Johnson, the first African American heavyweight champion of the world.
He teaches literature and creative writing at Indiana University,[9] and was the Indiana State Poet Laureate for 2018 and 2019. In 2022, he was named editor of Poetry magazine.
Live Readings
Live Readings
Poems
Poems
Battle Royale
Back then, they’d chain a bearin the middle of the bear garden& let the dogs loose. Iron chainsaround a bear’s neck don’t slowhim too much. A bear will alwaysmake short work of a dog. Shakespearesaid Sackerson did it more than twentytimes to dogs & wildcats alike.& since most creatures are naturallyafraid of bears, there wouldn’talways be much of a show in the beargarden. So the handlers sometimes putthe bear’s eyes out or took his teethto make the fight more sporting.I believe you need eyesmore than you need teeth in a fight,but losing either makes a bear a littleless mean. Once baiting was againstthe law, some smart somebodyfigured coloreds would fight justas hard if hungry enough. So theyrounded up the skinniest of us,had us strip to trousers, then blindfoldedus before the fight. They turned usin hard circles a few times onthe ring steps like a motor car enginebefore pushing us between the ropes.When the bell rang, it seemedlike I got hit from eight directions.I didn’t know where those punchescame from, but I swung so hardmy shoulder hasn’t been right sincebecause the man said only the lastdarky on his feet gets a meal.
-from The Big Smoke (2013)
Back then, they’d chain a bearin the middle of the bear garden& let the dogs loose. Iron chainsaround a bear’s neck don’t slowhim too much. A bear will alwaysmake short work of a dog. Shakespearesaid Sackerson did it more than twentytimes to dogs & wildcats alike.& since most creatures are naturallyafraid of bears, there wouldn’talways be much of a show in the beargarden. So the handlers sometimes putthe bear’s eyes out or took his teethto make the fight more sporting.I believe you need eyesmore than you need teeth in a fight,but losing either makes a bear a littleless mean. Once baiting was againstthe law, some smart somebodyfigured coloreds would fight justas hard if hungry enough. So theyrounded up the skinniest of us,had us strip to trousers, then blindfoldedus before the fight. They turned usin hard circles a few times onthe ring steps like a motor car enginebefore pushing us between the ropes.When the bell rang, it seemedlike I got hit from eight directions.I didn’t know where those punchescame from, but I swung so hardmy shoulder hasn’t been right sincebecause the man said only the lastdarky on his feet gets a meal.
-from The Big Smoke (2013)
Rememory
I’ve forgotten some prizefights,the names of men I beat morethan they beat me, but how canI forget Divine Interventionwith a scar dividing my thighlike Wabash splits Chicago?That horse back-kicked so hardmy leg bone broke, split skinlike a lazy plum. I layed backin that stall bleeding & holleringin the dirty hay, that horse lookingover his shoulder at me likeit was my fault & the flies& the flies’ humming stutteringlike telegraph type until Jimfound me. I couldn’t tend horsesafter that. The scar is purple now.Jagged as a pant’s hem.Even though the bone healedall right, I rub the scar for luck.Most times, I forget I’m rubbinguntil Etta reminds me.
-from The Big Smoke (2013)
I’ve forgotten some prizefights,the names of men I beat morethan they beat me, but how canI forget Divine Interventionwith a scar dividing my thighlike Wabash splits Chicago?That horse back-kicked so hardmy leg bone broke, split skinlike a lazy plum. I layed backin that stall bleeding & holleringin the dirty hay, that horse lookingover his shoulder at me likeit was my fault & the flies& the flies’ humming stutteringlike telegraph type until Jimfound me. I couldn’t tend horsesafter that. The scar is purple now.Jagged as a pant’s hem.Even though the bone healedall right, I rub the scar for luck.Most times, I forget I’m rubbinguntil Etta reminds me.
-from The Big Smoke (2013)
Recommended Title
Recommended Title
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse