Both Rain And Snow...

...can indeed keep Medusa from her appointed rounds; this Gorgon was trapped in Yreka overnight as we traveled home from our Thanksgiving jaunt to the wilds of Coos Bay. Chains were required on the pass south of Ashland, as well as over Mt. Shasta's sisters, so we stopped in-between to spend the night with a cozy cave and a hot meal. Hence, Medusa lied in her last post; she was not online yesterday as promised. Future jaunts may well include my laptop, though, since cable will be hooked up by then, and our wee refuge by the sea will be a "hot" spot, as they say.

Meanwhile, check out my last post for all the poetry doin's this week in the flatlands of Sacramento, where snow is a Christmas card, and not thirty miles of clunk clunk clunk with chains on your tires. Tomorrow (12/1) is the SPC Benefit, of course, with the added bonus of poetry books and special broadsides to be auctioned. And don't forget that Taylor Graham, Phil Weidman and myself will read at the “Our House Defines Art” Gallery, 4510 Post St., El Dorado Hills, 7 pm. on Friday (12/2).

This just in, for those of you who are reading this later edition of today's Kitchen: Susan Kelly-DeWitt writes: I'm reading this Friday night (it's a big week!) in Davis, a benefit reading for the Women's Wisdom Project here in Sacramento, where, as many of you know, I was the program director for several years. I'll be reading with Sandra McPherson, Pamela Moore Schneider and Virginia Wiegand. The art from WWP artists will be on display and for sale, and Five Figs Couture is donating a portion of any sale to the WWP. It would be great to see you there if you can make it—I know this is a busy time of year, and a busy week. That's Friday (tomorrow, 12/2) at 7 pm at Five Figs Couture, 803 Second St., #307 (upstairs above Shuz), Davis. RSVP: 530-756-3500.

Another special event this week: Sunday (12/4), one of Sacramento’s first Poets Laureate, Dennis Schmitz, will be featured at PoemSpirits, 6 pm. Co-host JoAnn Anglin will also do a brief presentation on current U.S. Poet Laureate Ted Kooser from Nebraska. Location: Rooms 7-8 at the Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., Sac. (2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd., between Howe and Fulton Avenues). Refreshments and open mic: we invite you to bring a favorite poem to read. Questions? 916-481-3312 (Tom Goff, Nora Staklis) or 916-451-1372 (JoAnn Anglin). An emeritus professor of English, Dennis began at Sac State in 1966, teaching writing, literature and translation. He became a mentor and model for many regional poets [including Medusa]. His first collection, We Weep for Our Strangeness, came out in 1969. His poetry collections have since been published by major literary presses and his work has been in the American Poetry Review, Poetry Magazine, The Nation and Chicago Review, among others; he has also appeared in and edited many anthologies. A former Guggenheim fellow, Dennis has also been awarded six annual fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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When I think of snow, I think of Robert Frost:

STORM FEAR
—Robert Frost

When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The lower chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
"Come out! Come out!"—
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,—
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away,
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether 'tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.

___________________

LOOKING FOR A SUNSET BIRD IN WINTER
—Robert Frost

The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.

In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.

No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.

From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn't show.

A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.

_________________

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING
—Robert Frost

Whose woods there are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

_____________________

—Medusa (who's still clunk-clunk-clunking in her sleep)

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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)