Soon after I published “POETRY LOVES POETRY,” I got a job as a typesetter at RADIO & RECORDS, an industry trade paper whose editorial and production facilities were in a ten story building in Century City. I had worked as a typesetter at other weekly newspapers, such as the Argonaut, but those weekly newspapers were local affairs. Radio & Records was not just nationally distributed, but also mailed overseas. I worked there for ten years, and during that time a number famous musicians dropped by to talk with editors. Michael Jackson took a break from his rehearsals to come by one night; Julian Lennon, and Tina Turner, who was the most surprising one of all. Tima Turner was much shorter than I expected. It was startling to realize how much energy must have continually been surging throughout her being in order for her to be so much more bigger than life on stage.
I wish I had had a copy of my anthology with me at work when she dropped by unannounced. I do remember that a photographer took a group photograph of the workers in the production room standing with Tina, but we never saw a copy of it. If I had had a copy of PLP, I would have shown her a poem written by David E. James in her honor, which I reprint in recognize the significance of her impact on our culture.
The Fourth Confrontation With Tina Turner
when among the many changes she performs:
Somethings got a hold on me
we share the ecstasy of her possession
& in the relief of her confession we accept
complicity we acknowledge that
through the power of her persuasion
she has made herself credible in all her self
representations the pretender to all parts
in the drama of loving we see her face
to face with the perfection we have found
in her perfect simulation
each morning she retrieves her role
form the heap of clothes on the chair by her mirror
where it lies wrinkled & small
belying what it will gain
with the strutting of her stuff
though itself without depth it defines
the extent of her occupation
she has put it on so many times
that it seems custom made
& tailored to her extreme habit
it is tight like a stocking
she smoothes over her calves
& through the tautness of her thighs
bracing her legs & pushing down
to accommodate it to her essential motion
which begins as she learns forward
slipping into it with a shake through her spine
that allows the fitting play
of her breasts her shoulders & her arms
at last stretching its web
from the spaces between her fingers
it is exactly superficial
& epidermic in its response
to the flex of her bodys dance
she moves absolutely within it
it contains her so completely
you wonder if she can breathe in it
it grips her like a nightmare
where she continuously relives
the opportunity of Annie Mae Bullock
naïve in St Louis & 17
she traded for the image
heralded now by posters on the streets
her apostasy was a churching
& from Ike she took her proper name
& began the history of her own
substantial fabrication the deliberate framing
of a being more intense in which to live
an act replete with arrogance & risk
that she observes over her cheekbones
as from behind her eyes she wakes
into the dream of her personal show
she puts on her face & her final smile
in the mirror is a sigh of recognition
to the public front she beholds
that it becomes her
the assumption is complete
that for her reality will always lie
in a confrontation with Tina Turner
— David E. James
(reprinted by permission)
About Bill Mohr