The Poems of Golan Cipel

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Golan Cipel, the "golden boy tarnished" of the Gov. Jim McGreevey scandal is constantly referred to as a "published poet." Yet none of his pramery has surfaced so far and according to at least one reporter who looked, it doesn't seem to exist.

Has anyone seen any of his verse? It may be the only thing that will keep this scandal going…

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  1. DB:

    “So, Miss ____, what did you think of my poem?”

    “Um. Uh. Well. The rhyme scheme is. . . well. . . it, uh, rhymes, and the metaphor is. . .um. . .definitely not a simile, since it doesn’t use ‘like’ or ‘as,’ and . . . um. . . ow! OW! OUCH! Dammit, I’m passing another kidney stone! (Baaaarf) I hate how I projectile-vomit every time I pass a kidney stone. (Baaaarf) Sorry, dear, did I splash you? Call the nurse. I need an ambulance. Ouch! Ouch! OUCH!”

    The previous dialogue was completely fictional, but far less painful than real life ever was.

  2. Jennifer,

    Hiring Committee, during my last interview: So, would you have any interest in teaching creative writing on occasion?

    Me: Hell, no!

    Thanks for reminding me why.

  3. Jason, Jennifer,

    It’s like I have a wall around me. It keeps me in and everyone else out. And every time I read post like yours, it’s like another brick gets added to the wall, and it gets higher and thicker.

    Pretty cool, huh?

  4. I used to think I was going to write for a living. Then I took a creative writing seminar in college. It was humiliating. I can’t handle dialogue. At all.

    I’ve never really tried poetry. Let’s see:

    Literary dreams, shattered like Coco Puffs
    At the Bottom of the Box
    The Monsoon of professorial criticism
    Brings rain like tears
    With no dialogue, no rainbow shall come.
    I want me gold.

    Raw talent, no?

  5. Joe-
    No. To be cool, you have to think of a dense metaphor intending to demonstrate how you are much more Sensitive than any others around you, especially the ones who made fun of you in high school. Bonus points if you figure out that “life” rhymes with “strife,” like so:

    O wicked wall that prevents me
    from taking part in joys of life;
    instead, these bricks do lock me in,
    imprisoning me with all strife.

    Of course, a real high-school poet from my old classes would not have had the proper number of syllables per line.

  6. NG, you libertarians at Reason should decry this…It seems no one cares that McGreevey installed an incompetent as a homeland security advisor. Or, for that matter, (as Kaus mentioned) that a 110K New Jersey homeland security advisor job even exists.

    McGreevey has pulled a nice Clinton, i.e., instead of “just about sex,” it’s “just about gay pride.”

    If I were McG, I wouldn’t resign, he’s almost ridden the entire thing out!!!

  7. I’ll bet Reason commenters can finish this limerick!

    “There once was a Guv named McGreevey …”

  8. Well, I wont try to top C, but, Jennifer, yours was great. McGreevy/TV was a master’s stroke!

  9. I’m finding the “-eevey” difficult to reasonably rhyme for the second line …

  10. whose “straight” was a wee bit weavy?

  11. There once was a Guv named McGreevey
    Whose closeted life was quite seamy
    Golan complained
    That his butt was in pain
    Shouting “Jim, will you please not ream me!”

  12. According to a quickie Google search, as a teenager he published a book called “Road of Thorns.” Haven’t been able to find it, but from the title I suspect it’s a lot of pointless free verse talking about how very Sensitive the poet it.

    (Freely admit that I have a prejudice against teenaged poetry confusing depression with depth.)

  13. His incompetent pick
    Wanted dough for his trick
    What else has he got up his sleavy?

  14. Alright, here’s a limerick, which I freely admit is awful:

    There once was a gov named McGreevy;
    I saw him last night on the TV.
    It seems he got laid
    in a manner most gay;
    now the sh*t that he’s in is near knee-deep.

    (I know, an assonance is not a rhyme. And the poem stinks besides that. I wish his last name were something like “Smith.”

  15. There once was a guv named McGreevey
    who we all may agree is quite skeevy.
    But if you need a job,
    and you’ll work on his knob,
    he’ll ignore your irrelevent CV.

  16. Heh! c has it so far …

  17. the phone lay silent
    a watched pot, never boiling
    waiting for your call

    Am I a published poet now?

  18. I give up. What the hell is pramery?

  19. Define “published.” Does blogging count?

  20. Yep, c takes the gold ring. Very nice work.

  21. It’s possible the book was in Hebrew. He grew up in Israel. The “Road of Thorns” title could be a translation.

  22. Good work, c. You’ve got the laurel.

  23. I’m sure “Road of Thorns” was written in Hebrew, but it’s probably still over-sensitive.

    I only taught high school for three years, and during that time read FIVE separate poems wherein tears were metaphorically linked to rain, and then a rainbow was metaphorically linked to later happiness. “Something, something, rain falls like tears/something, something, then a rainbow appears.”

  24. Jennifer,

    Sounds like you were blessed with several uniquely talented young poets as students. You must have been so proud.

  25. Malak-
    Here’s a haiku I thought of ten years ago, when I was working in a nightclub, standing in the dressing room, watching a particularly dense colleague struggle to fix her hair:

    Cold curling iron
    useless for making hairstyles
    plug the damn thing in.

  26. If you want to know the real deal on this story:

    http://www.aljazeera.com/cgi-bin/conspiracy_theory/fullstory.asp?id=153

    Its all so clear now!

  27. the phone lay silent
    a watched pot, never boiling
    waiting for your call

    Cold curling iron
    useless for making hairstyles
    plug the damn thing in.

    Both are exquisite, but better identified as senryu.

  28. Yes, the sheer genius around here is haunting.

  29. I did a whole post on the issue of Cipel’s poetry (here); yesterday Cipel himself said “Someone found a book of poetry, that I published myself when I was 16, and suddenly they made me into a poet. I became a ridiculous character,`a sailor/poet,’ instead of a professional.”

    This still doesn’t explain another story saying that two years later, when he was 18, the “Israeli Institute of Art” gave him an award for the book.

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