A great recent satiric corporate dystopia, depicting a world
in which even people's family names have been coopted by
corporate interests, interests that think nothing of shooting
up a bunch of teenagers to raise the gangsta cache of a new
shoe, is Max Barry's 'Jennifer Government.'
Kenneth Fearing's 'The Big Clock' is a fairly conventional
noir tale, but decked out with a lot of feeling for the
dehumanization of the 'company man,' and Fearing's wonderful
(noir-infused) poetry is crammed with similar sentiments,
perhaps most famously in his 'Dirge,':
1-2-3 was the number he played but today the number came
3-2-1; Bought his carbide at 30 and it went to 29; had the
favorite at Bowie but the track was slow-
O executive type, would you like to drive a floating-power,
knee-action, silk-upholstered six? Wed a Hollywood star?
Shoot the course in 58? Draw to the ace, king, jack? O fellow
with a will who won't take no, watch out for three cigarettes
on the same, single match; O democratic voter born in August
under Mars, beware of liquidated rails-
Denouement to denouement, he took a personal pride in the
certain, certain way he lived his own, private life, But
nevertheless, they shut off his gas; nevertheless, the bank
foreclosed; nevertheless the landlord called; nevertheless,
the radio broke,
And twelve o'clock arrives just once too often, Just the same
he wore one gray tweed suit, bought one straw hat, drank one
straight Scotch, walked one short step, took one long look,
drew one deep breath, Just one too many,
And wow he died as wow he lived, Going whop to the office and
blooie home to sleep and biff got married and bam had
children and oof got fired, Zowie did he live and zowie did
he die,
With who the hell are at the corner of his casket, and where
the hell we're going on the right-hand silver knob, and who
the hell cares walking second from the end with an American
Beauty wreath from why the hell not,
Very much missed by the circulation staff of the New York
Evening Post; deeply, deeply mourned by the B.M.T. Wham, Mr.
Roosevelt; pow, Sears Roebuck; awk, big dipper; bopy, summer
rain; Bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong, Mr., bong.
Fearing's complete poems is a treat for any noir fan.
David Wright - Seattle Public Library Fiction Dept.
"Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity."
-G.K.
Chesterton
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