Sharp Edges of the Night

The new Poetry Now is out; watch for it in the mail if you're a member of Sacramento Poetry Center. If you're not, then pick it up around town, or join!
(www.sacramentopoetrycenter.org) Poetry Now remains the heart of Sacramento poetry communications, with its poetry, calendar and reviews and news about what's coming up here in Poetry Town, USA. I saw the "old" editor, Heather Hutcheson, who served so long and admirably, the other day, and she reminded me that Robbie Grossklaus has been the editor for a year, now! (Yikes! SURELY Medusa is not a whole year older!) Robbie is doing a great job—keep up the good work, Robbinator, and those who help you! Robbie has also accepted the job of Office Manager—paid, yippee!!—to help SPC organize after their recent move and to keep "stuff" flowing smoothly in and out of the office.

Don't forget tonight's open mic at Barnes & Noble, 6111 Sunrise Blvd. in Citrus Heights, hosted by Brad Buchanan, 7 pm. Kudos to B&N and Brad for getting something going out here in the hinterlands.

Tomorrow is Escritores del Nuevo Sol's writing workshop and putluck, 11 am, second floor at La Raza Galeria Posada, 15th & R. Info: Graciela Ramirez at 456-5323 or JoAnn Anglin at joannpen@comcast.net. Escritores meets on first Saturdays.

There will be no reading at SPC this Monday, due to Labor Day.

Speaking of time, three from Amy Lowell:


TIME

Looking at myself in my metal mirror,
I saw, faintly outlined,
The figure of a crane
Engraved upon its back.


A YEAR PASSES

Beyond the porcelain fence of the pleasure garden,
I hear the frogs in the blue-green ricefields;
But the sword-shaped moon
Has cut my heart in two.


AUTUMN

All day I have watched the purple vine-leaves
Fall into the water.
And now in the moonlight they still fall,
But each leaf is fringed with silver.

________________________


Can you handle one more?


THE TAXI
—Amy Lowell

When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me.
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?

_______________________

Thanks, Amy!

Enjoy your Laborless Day; be safe if you're going somewhere. At least most of us have food, shelter...

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.