Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Will they ever find Jimmy Hoffa?

Apparently the FBI has revived the hunt for Jimmy Hoffa in a field in suburban Detroit, after a tip from mobster Tony Zerilli.

* * *

Muffled, hooded and knocked on the head,
steak and baked potato just eaten,
lips greasy, dark wine forever,
then a field, alive.
What matters
in this body of the world
that opened to him before
he was dead,
making his Mother Earth
an accomplice, enfolding him
into his final lap of sleep?
The meaning of life
is that it stops, Kafka said.
And yet we never stop digging.


  1. we're our own black holes:)

    but i squeal, i love how you have gone between something i would not care about (sorry jimmy Hoffa) and something i can not help but be obsessed about (thank you death for tell me where my life begins and ends).


  2. You never know what the Muse will suggest! I love how you touched on death, making us all connect to this man we couldn't possibly be interested in.

  3. Great concluding lines, Ruth.

  4. No, no, no!! He was somewhere in section 111 of the old Giants' Stadium in the Meadowlands (alas in Joisey we care about such things). ; )

    In all seriousness, however, I love the way you take this obscure and particular incident and guide us (for you do not force, you never force) to see the universal in it. No, we never stop digging, and yes, our Mother Earth is always our accomplice. Thank you.

  5. And if they find him, does that mean the digging stops (à la Kafka)???

  6. Wow!! You must have come up with these words in the past few hours!!.....Quite amazing, Ruth!

    These words ring loudly and clearly to the archaeologist in me........no — we never stop digging, do we?

  7. I like the way you progress from the particular to the universal, Ruth — and what a great last three lines!


All responses are welcome.