asinine spotlight on:
Arthur Radley
Arthur Radley made a name for himself in the '80s working at
such men's sophisticate magazines as The Ankler (now defunct), I.Q. Girls
(also defunct), and Gallery. It wasn't a
very nice name, but it was a living. In the '90s, he gravitated toward fiction and then
toward poetry and then toward Broadway. And down Sixth, to the PATH train and New Jersey,
where he resides today. Radley emerged as one of the top asinine poets and continues
to produce volumes in his origami-lined office.
We met there on an October day in 2003. His wife, who greeted me at the door,
said only, ''Don't ask him to stand. Today is a no-pants day.'' The office was off to the right of
the vestibule. Radley sat on a small day-bed that had been redecorated to resemble a NASCAR vehicle.
Three or four cats, one covered in Post-It notes, went in and out of the room. Next to him was his
laptop, and next to that a small urn containing the remains of his mustache. That seemed like
as good a place to start as any.—Richard Cairo
RC: You dropped out of the asinine poetry movement in 2000, after
the demise of your first mustache, which I see you have there. [Radley holds up
the urn with a look of manic glee on his face.] So, what have you been up to since?
AR: The letter ''L.'' But that was then. Now I am a nomad. At the
Shaolin Temple, they told me my brother disappeared into the wilderness.
I thought I might find him there. I have not but still I keep walking.
I've swallowed lightning and crapped thunder. I eat guys like you for breakfast.
I had seasons in the sun. Then after that I grew a new mustache, but by then
the Masons had changed the requirements and they wouldn't let me in.
RC: Speaking of crapping thunder, your colonoscopy poems are well known.
Tell us about how you've been embraced by the medical community.
AR: I've been embraced with a firm handshake—a little too firm,
if you get my meaning. Unfortunately, they now look at me as some kind of
experiment. I don't like doctors chasing me with two fingers extended, yelling
out things like, ''Write about me next! Write about ME!'' It brings me right back
to my days in Turkey.
RC: Cue the Midnight Express theme. Some say it's because
of your colonoscopy series of poems, such as
''First Visit to the Doctor in Seven years'' and
''The Doctor Sends Me to a Specialist,'' that
it's you who put the ass in asinine. Is this true? Do you
think asinine poetry is too anally fixated?
AR: This implies somehow that it's possible to be too anally fixated about
anything. Ever since Sigmund Freud answered a question about animal husbandry at a
1927 Medical Conference in Paris with the question, ''Are you shitting me?'' we've
all been free to regard anality as a fixation worth fixating about in a big way,
depending on the size of the rump. And remember, anal is the root of analysis.
Actually, it's not. But it should be.
RC: Wow, that's a lot of ass talk.
AR: You mean ''back talk''?
RC: Niiice.
AR: Who's the man?
RC: You da man.
AR: Thas right.
RC: Let's switch gears here. Dale Earnhardt, Jr. Greatest ever?
AR: That's what she said prom night.
RC: I see. Can you explain the inspiration behind ''Bob and
Woody?''
AR: If you want to get to the root of it, it was doing all that peyote with
Carlos and the Mescalitos. Actually, that's not a bad name for a band. Wait—isn't
that Celine Dion's backup group?
RC: You may be right. Barry Bostwick recently portrayed you in the recent David Lynch
film, Asinine City, about the asinine poetry movement. First of all, what did
you think of the film, and what did you think of Bostwick's performance?
Where did he get that accent?
AR: I'll answer the third question second, the second question first,
and the first question fourth. And I am Third. Look, Barry is a fine actor but
he's not nearly well endowed enough. And that's another story.
RC: Shall we ask Mrs. Radley about that?
AR: No, we shall not.
RC: Phillip Lee once said you hugged him.
For years, this caused rumors of a gay affair. Or that he was burping you.
Your appearance together at the opening of Elton John's Aida didn't help,
even though you two went on separate nights. What's the truth behind these rumors,
and what was behind the hug?
AR: Behind the hug was the kind of respect and warmth that a man
like you will never understand. But in fact Phillip Lee is not an actual
person, at least not anymore. It is a brand name. Saying I hugged Phillip
Lee is like saying I hugged Stella Doro. And I never took snack cakes to
Aida, even though I did make loud, crunching noises during the finale.
RC: Did it help the music?
AR: Yes it did.
RC: Didn't get the cast album?
AR: No, sir, I did not.
RC: Your wife, Mrs. Radley, is an asinine poet in her own right.
Are you two competitive? How does poetry get done in the Radley household?
AR: In our home, poetry gets shouted out in the throes of powerful orgasms.
Or when we're crocheting.
RC: That reminds me, thank you for this lovely sweater.
AR: It looks great on you.
RC: Thank you.
AR: Is that a stain on it? Sorry about that.
RC: Many other poets describe their relationship with
Houghton Piker as love-slash-hate. How would you describe yours?
AR: Lactose-slash-intolerant. Next question.
RC: Asinine is…?
AR: [Breaking into song] Finding a pencil. Pizza with sausage. Telling the time.
Asinine is learning to whistle, tying your shoe for the very first tiiiiiiime.
Asinine is playing the drum in your own … school … band. And asinine is
walking hand in hand.
RC: That was lovely.
AR: Yes it was.
RC: Dale Earnhardt, Jr. Greatest ever?
AR: Leave me alone! Can't you see my wife and I are writing poetry?
