THE PLEASURES OF THE DOOR
—Francis Ponge
Kings do not touch doors.
They know nothing of this pleasure: pushing before one gently or brusquely one of those large familiar panels, then turning back to replace it—holding a door in one's arms.
...The pleasure of grabbing the midriff of one of these tall obstacles to a room by its porcelain node; that short clinch during which movement stops, the eye widens, and the whole body adjusts to its new surrounding.
With a friendly hand one still holds on to it, before closing it decisively and shutting oneself in—which the click of the tight but well-oiled spring pleasantly confirms.
____________________
Pearl and Victor Selinsky write: N Magazine’s 2nd Saturday Art Show features their cover artists for the past year. Vic Selinsky is the featured artist for November, 2005. You are invited to attend the free opening reception on Saturday, April 8, from 5:30-8:30 p.m. There will be refreshments and entertainment. The exhibit will be held at the South Natomas Community Center, 2921 Truxel Rd., Sac. If you cannot make the opening, the work will still be exhibited there on Sunday from 12 noon to 4 p.m. Love to see you there.—Vic & Pearl
Tonight (Friday, 3/31) will be the Poems-For-All Exhibit Finale at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac, 8 pm, featuring readers Robert Roden, Michael Pulley, Barbara Noble, Gene Bloom, Mary Zeppa, Manny Gale, and Rebecca Costello, with readings of poems by William Wantling, d.a.levy, and Jack Micheline. Music by J. Greenberg and Joe Hill.
This will be your LAST CHANCE to see the Poems-For-All Fifth Anniversary exhibit.
THE PIGEON
—Francis Ponge
Grain-fed belly, come down over here,
Saintly gray pigeon belly...
The way a storm rains, walks on broad talons,
Floats over, takes over the lawn,
Where first you rebounded
With the charming cooings of the thunder.
Show us soon your rainbow throat...
Then fly away obliquely, in a great flapping of wings
that pull, pleat, or rent the silken cover of the clouds.
_________________________
THE FROG
—Francis Ponge
When little matchsticks of rain bounce off drenched fields, an amphibian dwarf, a maimed Ophelia, barely the size of a fist, sometimes hops under the poet's feet and flings herself into the next pond.
Let the nervous little thing run away. She has lovely legs. Her whole body is sheathed in waterproof skin. Hardly meat, her long muscles have an elegance neither fish nor fowl. But to escape one's fingers, the virtue of fluidity joins forces with her struggle for life. Goitrous, she starts panting... And that pounding heart, those wrinkled eyelids, that drooping mouth, move me to let her go.
(Today's poems were translated from the French by Beth Archer)
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Wiser and Older (& Older & Older...)
THE SOUND OF TREES
—Robert Frost
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of place,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
___________________
Last Sunday would've been Robert Frost's 132nd birthday. Did you know he was born in San Francisco?
Richard and Rachel Hansen and I have decided: no more "sides-sies" at The Book Collector. Poets will no longer be allowed to reserve—have the Hansens set aside—Rattlesnake Reviews for them. Do remember, though, that issues do NOT have limited runs; I keep making copies as long as anyone wants one, and that includes back issues, too. And if copies run out at The Book Collector, let me know, and I'll make sure you get one. There is always the subscription ("snail bux") option, too—$15 for a year of the Review, Vyper, Snakelets, and assorted broadsides mailed right to your house. But I will try to make sure copies of The Snake are always available on The Book Collector shelves. (Actually, as problems, go, this is not a bad one to have...)
Tonight (3/30), Frances Mayes will be in Sacramento at 6 pm at the Tsakopoulos Library Galleria, 828 I St., for a question-and-answer session and to sign her new book, A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveller,which will be available there at 30% off. The event, sponsored by The Bee Book Club in conjunction with the Sacramento Public Library Foundation, is free and open to the public. Info: 916-321-1792. Through tonight, the following bookstores will offer a 30% discount on the title: Borders, Borders Express, Barnes & Noble, Tower, East-West Bookstore, Underground Books, Avid Reader, Hornet Bookstore, UC Davis Bookstore, and Next Chapter (in Woodland). Frances Mayes is best known for her "Tuscany" series, including Under the Tuscan Sun, but she is also the author of a wonderful poetry text, The Discovery of Poetry: A Field Guide to Reading and Writing Poems, Harcourt, Inc., 2001. Doors open tonight at 5:15; seating is first come, first served.
Also tonight (3/30), Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac, presents poets/performers Sabrina Mathis and Alan Satow, 8 pm.
Need a poem about snails? Trees? Boomerangs? Recently I ran across poemhunter.com, which has hundreds of poems catagorized by subject, with hundreds of poets represented. Just in case you happen to need a poem about snails... or boomerangs...
THE SILKEN TENT
—Robert Frost
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease.
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strickly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondange made aware.
_______________________
NEITHER OUT FAR NOR IN DEEP
—Robert Frost
The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be—
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
_______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Robert Frost
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of place,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
___________________
Last Sunday would've been Robert Frost's 132nd birthday. Did you know he was born in San Francisco?
Richard and Rachel Hansen and I have decided: no more "sides-sies" at The Book Collector. Poets will no longer be allowed to reserve—have the Hansens set aside—Rattlesnake Reviews for them. Do remember, though, that issues do NOT have limited runs; I keep making copies as long as anyone wants one, and that includes back issues, too. And if copies run out at The Book Collector, let me know, and I'll make sure you get one. There is always the subscription ("snail bux") option, too—$15 for a year of the Review, Vyper, Snakelets, and assorted broadsides mailed right to your house. But I will try to make sure copies of The Snake are always available on The Book Collector shelves. (Actually, as problems, go, this is not a bad one to have...)
Tonight (3/30), Frances Mayes will be in Sacramento at 6 pm at the Tsakopoulos Library Galleria, 828 I St., for a question-and-answer session and to sign her new book, A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveller,which will be available there at 30% off. The event, sponsored by The Bee Book Club in conjunction with the Sacramento Public Library Foundation, is free and open to the public. Info: 916-321-1792. Through tonight, the following bookstores will offer a 30% discount on the title: Borders, Borders Express, Barnes & Noble, Tower, East-West Bookstore, Underground Books, Avid Reader, Hornet Bookstore, UC Davis Bookstore, and Next Chapter (in Woodland). Frances Mayes is best known for her "Tuscany" series, including Under the Tuscan Sun, but she is also the author of a wonderful poetry text, The Discovery of Poetry: A Field Guide to Reading and Writing Poems, Harcourt, Inc., 2001. Doors open tonight at 5:15; seating is first come, first served.
Also tonight (3/30), Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac, presents poets/performers Sabrina Mathis and Alan Satow, 8 pm.
Need a poem about snails? Trees? Boomerangs? Recently I ran across poemhunter.com, which has hundreds of poems catagorized by subject, with hundreds of poets represented. Just in case you happen to need a poem about snails... or boomerangs...
THE SILKEN TENT
—Robert Frost
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease.
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strickly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondange made aware.
_______________________
NEITHER OUT FAR NOR IN DEEP
—Robert Frost
The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.
The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be—
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
_______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
A Rinsing of Myself
THE MOOR
—R.S. Thomas
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions—that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
_____________________
Ronald Stuart Thomas would've been 93 years old today. He passed away in 2000. I was able to sift back through old Medusas and find his first and middle names (which Taylor Graham tracked down for me last year) because I've spent some time recently cataloguing Medusa’s messy kitchen, making lists of all the poets who have appeared on these pixels over the almost-one-year of her life. I also went through all the comments, some of which I missed the first time around, including a wonderful poem by David Humphreys which was buried in the Comments section on Oct. 16. David says:
Magpie davidhumphreys, artinheaven
A magpie hops across the road,
cottonwoods rustling
in summer dusty wind.
A magpie loops into a tree,
black and white and royal blue.
I found a feather beside the road,
dirt red with iron,
sagebrush smelling clean
as ozone after thunder.
The magpie’s call is
shrill and clear,
the raven’s cousin without fear,
scavenger asphalt shimmer.
Handsome as a prince
or bird of prey,
bowing with a smile.
(This is a response to #4 Dogen haiku posted on Oct. 16, 2005)
__________________________
Thanks for that, David! I also discovered that “splogging” was huge last fall—you know, that thing where spammers use the Comments section of your blog to tell you how great your blog is and, by the way, howzabout checking out theirs (which turns out to be an ad for knives or condoms or whatever…)—but has definitely tapered off. I just wish the comments thing could be accessible to all, without having to sign up for a blog, but feel free to drop your comments to kathykieth@hotmail.com. She's knows Medusa well enough to pass such things along...
Anyway, thanks for helping keep Medusa on the "air", but our job isn't over yet. Poetry, poetry, poetry. It's hard, messy work, but somebody's gotta........
Last-minute addition to the calendar: Poet and teacher Catherine Fraga will be reading tonight (Wednesday, 3/29) in the CSUS library gallery at 7:00. Poet's Corner Press published her chapbook, Running Away with Gary the Mattress Salesman, in 2005. The event is free and open to the public.
NIGHT SKY
—R.S. Thomas
What they are saying is
that there is life there, too;
that the universe is the size it is
to enable us to catch up.
They have gone on from the human;
that shining is a reflection
of their intelligence. Godhead
is the colonisation by mind
of untenanted space. It is its own
light, a statement beyond language
of conceptual truth. Every night
is a rinsing of myself of the darkness
that is in my veins. I let the stars inject me
with fire, silent as it is far,
but certain in its cauterising
of my despair. I am a slow
traveller, but there is more than time
to arrive. Resting in the intervals
of my breathing, I pick up the signals
relayed to me from a periphery I comprehend.
_____________________
Speaking of birthdays, yesterday was The Day for littlesnake broadsider Judy Halebsky, whose Almost Turning Over is still available free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., along with the brand new Rattlesnake Review. Getcherself one of each, toot sweet... And Happy B-Day, Judy!
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—R.S. Thomas
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions—that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
_____________________
Ronald Stuart Thomas would've been 93 years old today. He passed away in 2000. I was able to sift back through old Medusas and find his first and middle names (which Taylor Graham tracked down for me last year) because I've spent some time recently cataloguing Medusa’s messy kitchen, making lists of all the poets who have appeared on these pixels over the almost-one-year of her life. I also went through all the comments, some of which I missed the first time around, including a wonderful poem by David Humphreys which was buried in the Comments section on Oct. 16. David says:
Magpie davidhumphreys, artinheaven
A magpie hops across the road,
cottonwoods rustling
in summer dusty wind.
A magpie loops into a tree,
black and white and royal blue.
I found a feather beside the road,
dirt red with iron,
sagebrush smelling clean
as ozone after thunder.
The magpie’s call is
shrill and clear,
the raven’s cousin without fear,
scavenger asphalt shimmer.
Handsome as a prince
or bird of prey,
bowing with a smile.
(This is a response to #4 Dogen haiku posted on Oct. 16, 2005)
__________________________
Thanks for that, David! I also discovered that “splogging” was huge last fall—you know, that thing where spammers use the Comments section of your blog to tell you how great your blog is and, by the way, howzabout checking out theirs (which turns out to be an ad for knives or condoms or whatever…)—but has definitely tapered off. I just wish the comments thing could be accessible to all, without having to sign up for a blog, but feel free to drop your comments to kathykieth@hotmail.com. She's knows Medusa well enough to pass such things along...
Anyway, thanks for helping keep Medusa on the "air", but our job isn't over yet. Poetry, poetry, poetry. It's hard, messy work, but somebody's gotta........
Last-minute addition to the calendar: Poet and teacher Catherine Fraga will be reading tonight (Wednesday, 3/29) in the CSUS library gallery at 7:00. Poet's Corner Press published her chapbook, Running Away with Gary the Mattress Salesman, in 2005. The event is free and open to the public.
NIGHT SKY
—R.S. Thomas
What they are saying is
that there is life there, too;
that the universe is the size it is
to enable us to catch up.
They have gone on from the human;
that shining is a reflection
of their intelligence. Godhead
is the colonisation by mind
of untenanted space. It is its own
light, a statement beyond language
of conceptual truth. Every night
is a rinsing of myself of the darkness
that is in my veins. I let the stars inject me
with fire, silent as it is far,
but certain in its cauterising
of my despair. I am a slow
traveller, but there is more than time
to arrive. Resting in the intervals
of my breathing, I pick up the signals
relayed to me from a periphery I comprehend.
_____________________
Speaking of birthdays, yesterday was The Day for littlesnake broadsider Judy Halebsky, whose Almost Turning Over is still available free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., along with the brand new Rattlesnake Review. Getcherself one of each, toot sweet... And Happy B-Day, Judy!
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Lump-et-y Dump-et-y
when hair falls off and eyes blur And... (L)
—e.e. cummings
when hair falls off and eyes blur And
thighs forget(when clocks whisper
and night shouts)When minds
shrivel and hearts grow brittler every
Instant(when of a morning Memory stands,
with clumsily wilted fingers
emptying youth colour and what was
into a dirtied glass)Pills for Ills
(a recipe against Laughing Virginity Death)
then dearest the
way trees are made leaves
open Clouds take sun mountains
stand And oceans do Not sleep matters
nothing;then(then the only hands so to speak are
they always which creep budgingly over some
numbered face capable of a largest nonglance the
least unsmile
or whatever weeds feel and fish think of)
___________________________
Sacramento Poetry Center President Mary Zeppa writes: Friends: Circumstances beyond our control prevented us from getting the March issue of Poetry Now out on time. That issue will be released simultaneously with the April issue. Clearly, the March calendar information will be past its usefulness, but poetry (as we all know) has no Read-By date. We regret this lapse in consistency. Can you help us pass this info on? We’d all be grateful. Thanks!—Mary
Frank Taber will be reading for the Sacramento Poetry Center on Monday, April 17, which is one day before the anniversary of the San Francisco Earthquake. He's looking for earthquake poems—either your own or somebody else's—to read that night. Send them to FTaber@aol.com. His reading will be at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac.; more about that later.
A week from tomorrow, on Weds. April 5, the 25th Annual Northern California Book Awards will be held in the Koret Auditorium of the San Francisco Main Library, 100 Larkin St., Civic Center, San Francisco. The free Awards Ceremony will take place from 6-8 pm, preceded by a book signing and reception from 5-6 pm. Diane di Prima, Poet, Memoirist, Teacher and Activist will receive the Fred Cody Lifetime Achievement Award. Nominees for the best published poetry works of 2005 by Northern Cal. authors include The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart by Gabrielle Calvocoressi (Persea Books), Poems in Spanish by Paul Hoover (Omnidawn), Corruption by Camille Norton (Harper Perennial), Company of Moths by Michael Palmer (New Directions), The Niagara River by Kay Ryan (Grove Press), and Here, Bullet by Brian Turner (Alice James Books). Special Recognition Award: Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan, ed. by Jan Heller Levi and Sara Miles, Foreword by Adrienne Rich (Copper Canyon Press). Info: 510-525-5476 or www.poetryflash.org/NCBA.html.
Oceana Lott writes: I am the guest editor for Clive Matson's Crazy Child Scribbler this month. If you don't already know, the Scribbler is an 8-page hard-copy journal for writers dedicated to writing from the core and keeping the pen moving. The Scribbler is published four times a year. All materials in the publication remain copyrighted by the authors. The theme for the summer edition is Birth—Life—Death. You may submit pieces that have to do with any or all three aspects of the theme. Please submit all poems (40 lines or less) and prose (500 words or less) as plain text in the body of a single e-mail message (no attachments) to oceana@oceanasphere.com. Please type "Submission" in the subject heading of your email message to minimize the chance of your email becoming lost among the spam. Simultaneous submissions are fine. Deadline is May 1st. Response time is typically two to eight weeks. Please query if you do not receive a response by the end of that period. Thanks so much!
Coming later in May; mark your calendars:
Thursday, May 4, Jane Hirschfield will be appearing at the Sutter Cancer Center, 2800 L St., Sacramento, at 7 PM. This outstanding event will be free of charge. Please mark your calendars now, and plan to attend.
Saturday, May 20: Celebrate California's distinctive heritage of poets, poetry, and presses at Poetry Center San José's first annual California Poets Festival. This all-day outdoor festival will be held at History Park San José, 1650 Senter Road, San José from 10am to 4:30pm. It is open to the public and free of charge. Listen to readings throughout the day by California poets. Stroll through the small press fair. Meet editors, purchase books, journals, subscriptions, and obtain submission guidelines from a variety of California publications. Enjoy a picnic or glass of wine from local restaurants offered in this historical park setting, and hang out with lovers of poetry—old and new friends. Spend a memorable day with people from San José, the greater Bay Area and beyond. Info: californiapoetsfestival.org
The new Rattlesnake Review (#9) is out and about; pick one up at The Book Collector (1008 24th St., Sac.) or at readings here and there. The last of the contrib/subscription copies went into the mail yesterday; if you don't receive one by the end of the week, let me know. This one, our Second Anniversary Issue, is packed to the scales with features and poetry—including a page on Double Dactyls by Patricia D'Alessandro, along with a challenge to write your own. Which prompted Hatch and Taylor Graham to send the following, among others:
NOT HARDLY EDIBLE
—Hatch Graham, Somerset
Hokery, Poetry
Frost's isn't credible.
Semimethodical,
Homey and warm.
Double dactylians—
More highly resonant,
Splendidly radical—
Favorite form.
_________________
WATER RIGHTS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Slivery-shivery
Diamondback Rattlesnake
coils on the creek-bank and
cools off his scales.
Not that I'm really so
anti-reptilian,
still I won't venture to
fill up my pails.
_____________________
Thanks! The rest of you are welcome to try your hand at this lump-et-y dump-et-y form and send 'em along, both to Medusa and to the Snake for Issue #10—which will be here sooner than you think!
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—e.e. cummings
when hair falls off and eyes blur And
thighs forget(when clocks whisper
and night shouts)When minds
shrivel and hearts grow brittler every
Instant(when of a morning Memory stands,
with clumsily wilted fingers
emptying youth colour and what was
into a dirtied glass)Pills for Ills
(a recipe against Laughing Virginity Death)
then dearest the
way trees are made leaves
open Clouds take sun mountains
stand And oceans do Not sleep matters
nothing;then(then the only hands so to speak are
they always which creep budgingly over some
numbered face capable of a largest nonglance the
least unsmile
or whatever weeds feel and fish think of)
___________________________
Sacramento Poetry Center President Mary Zeppa writes: Friends: Circumstances beyond our control prevented us from getting the March issue of Poetry Now out on time. That issue will be released simultaneously with the April issue. Clearly, the March calendar information will be past its usefulness, but poetry (as we all know) has no Read-By date. We regret this lapse in consistency. Can you help us pass this info on? We’d all be grateful. Thanks!—Mary
Frank Taber will be reading for the Sacramento Poetry Center on Monday, April 17, which is one day before the anniversary of the San Francisco Earthquake. He's looking for earthquake poems—either your own or somebody else's—to read that night. Send them to FTaber@aol.com. His reading will be at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac.; more about that later.
A week from tomorrow, on Weds. April 5, the 25th Annual Northern California Book Awards will be held in the Koret Auditorium of the San Francisco Main Library, 100 Larkin St., Civic Center, San Francisco. The free Awards Ceremony will take place from 6-8 pm, preceded by a book signing and reception from 5-6 pm. Diane di Prima, Poet, Memoirist, Teacher and Activist will receive the Fred Cody Lifetime Achievement Award. Nominees for the best published poetry works of 2005 by Northern Cal. authors include The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart by Gabrielle Calvocoressi (Persea Books), Poems in Spanish by Paul Hoover (Omnidawn), Corruption by Camille Norton (Harper Perennial), Company of Moths by Michael Palmer (New Directions), The Niagara River by Kay Ryan (Grove Press), and Here, Bullet by Brian Turner (Alice James Books). Special Recognition Award: Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan, ed. by Jan Heller Levi and Sara Miles, Foreword by Adrienne Rich (Copper Canyon Press). Info: 510-525-5476 or www.poetryflash.org/NCBA.html.
Oceana Lott writes: I am the guest editor for Clive Matson's Crazy Child Scribbler this month. If you don't already know, the Scribbler is an 8-page hard-copy journal for writers dedicated to writing from the core and keeping the pen moving. The Scribbler is published four times a year. All materials in the publication remain copyrighted by the authors. The theme for the summer edition is Birth—Life—Death. You may submit pieces that have to do with any or all three aspects of the theme. Please submit all poems (40 lines or less) and prose (500 words or less) as plain text in the body of a single e-mail message (no attachments) to oceana@oceanasphere.com. Please type "Submission" in the subject heading of your email message to minimize the chance of your email becoming lost among the spam. Simultaneous submissions are fine. Deadline is May 1st. Response time is typically two to eight weeks. Please query if you do not receive a response by the end of that period. Thanks so much!
Coming later in May; mark your calendars:
Thursday, May 4, Jane Hirschfield will be appearing at the Sutter Cancer Center, 2800 L St., Sacramento, at 7 PM. This outstanding event will be free of charge. Please mark your calendars now, and plan to attend.
Saturday, May 20: Celebrate California's distinctive heritage of poets, poetry, and presses at Poetry Center San José's first annual California Poets Festival. This all-day outdoor festival will be held at History Park San José, 1650 Senter Road, San José from 10am to 4:30pm. It is open to the public and free of charge. Listen to readings throughout the day by California poets. Stroll through the small press fair. Meet editors, purchase books, journals, subscriptions, and obtain submission guidelines from a variety of California publications. Enjoy a picnic or glass of wine from local restaurants offered in this historical park setting, and hang out with lovers of poetry—old and new friends. Spend a memorable day with people from San José, the greater Bay Area and beyond. Info: californiapoetsfestival.org
The new Rattlesnake Review (#9) is out and about; pick one up at The Book Collector (1008 24th St., Sac.) or at readings here and there. The last of the contrib/subscription copies went into the mail yesterday; if you don't receive one by the end of the week, let me know. This one, our Second Anniversary Issue, is packed to the scales with features and poetry—including a page on Double Dactyls by Patricia D'Alessandro, along with a challenge to write your own. Which prompted Hatch and Taylor Graham to send the following, among others:
NOT HARDLY EDIBLE
—Hatch Graham, Somerset
Hokery, Poetry
Frost's isn't credible.
Semimethodical,
Homey and warm.
Double dactylians—
More highly resonant,
Splendidly radical—
Favorite form.
_________________
WATER RIGHTS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Slivery-shivery
Diamondback Rattlesnake
coils on the creek-bank and
cools off his scales.
Not that I'm really so
anti-reptilian,
still I won't venture to
fill up my pails.
_____________________
Thanks! The rest of you are welcome to try your hand at this lump-et-y dump-et-y form and send 'em along, both to Medusa and to the Snake for Issue #10—which will be here sooner than you think!
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Monday, March 27, 2006
Fly-a-Thon Finis, Plus Events 3/27-4/2
THE DEATH OF THE FLY
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
With eagerness he drinks the treach'rous potion,
Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled;
Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motion
He finds has from his tender members fled;
No longer has he strength to plume his wing,
No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing!
E'en in enjoyment's hour his life he loses,
His little foot to bear his weight refuses;
So on he sips, and ere his draught is o'er,
Death veils his thousand eyes for evermore.
______________________________
The week's events:
•••Tonight (3/27), Red Fox Underground (not to be confused with the Red Fox poets in Placerville) will read for the Sacramento Poetry Center at Headquarters for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac., 7:30 pm.
•••Thursday (3/30), Frances Mayes will be in Sacramento at 6 pm at the Tsakopoulos Library Galleria, 828 I St., for a question-and-answer session and to sign her new book, A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveller, which will be available there at 30% off. The event, sponsored by The Bee Book Club in conjunction with the Sacramento Public Library Foundation, is free and open to the public. Info: 916-321-1792. Through March 30, these bookstores will offer a 30% discount on the title: Borders, Borders Express, Barnes & Noble, Tower, East-West Bookstore, Underground Books, Avid Reader, Hornet Bookstore, UC Davis Bookstore, and Next Chapter (in Woodland). Frances Mayes is also the author of a wonderful poetry text, The Discovery of Poetry: A Field Guide to Reading and Writing Poems, Harcourt, Inc., 2001.] See today's Sacramento Bee Scene section for a long article about Ms. Hayes.
•••Also Thursday (3/30), Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac, presents poets/performers Sabrina Mathis and Alan Satow, 8 pm.
•••Friday (3/31) will be the Poems-For-All Exhibit Finale at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac, 8 pm, featuring readers Robert Roden, Michael Pulley, Barbara Noble, Gene Bloom, Mary Zeppa, Manny Gale, and Rebecca Costello, with readings of poems by William Wantling, d.a.levy, and Jack Micheline. Music by J. Greenberg and Joe Hill.
•••On Saturday, April 1, ranting will be the order of the day at Carol’s Books, 300 Florin Road, Sac., where mother/daughter poets Straight Out Scribes V.S. Chochezi and Staajabu will MC the second annual Rant-A-Thon, Read-a-thon, Speak-a-thon, Speak up, Speak out, poetry reading and open mic. This is for all those who are just itching to let folks know what’s on their mind, get something off their chest, inform, entertain, apologize, complain, congratulate, lament or commiserate. Just one thing to remember: those who address the audience are asked to donate $1 a minute. The fun begins at 1 p.m. and ends at 5 p.m. There will be refreshments, door prizes, networking and lots of fun. Info: 916-452-1290.
•••Also Saturday (4/1) 7-11 pm: Adios party at KINKS International, 619 15th St. Sac. (corner of 15th & G). The Scribe matriarch Staajabu is moving back home to New Jersey, so come by and wish her well. Music, food, and lots of fun. For more info, call BJ or Gail (www.itsabouttimebpp.org), 916-455-0908.
•••Sunday (4/2), come hear Nevada City Poet Molly Fisk at PoemSpirits in Room 11, Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd. (2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avs.), 6 pm. A radio host and essayist on Grass Valley’s KVMR, Molly has published widely and received grants from the California Arts Council, the National Endowment for the Arts, and others. She teaches Writing to Heal classes, poetry critique workshops, and an Internet Poetry Boot Camp. Co-host Nora Staklis will make a brief presentation on Anne Sexton, a key figure in modern confessional poetry. As always, you are welcome to bring a favorite poem or two, your own or by another, to read. Free, and snacks, too!
•••Sunday (4/2): This year the Nevada County Poetry Series is celebrating National Poetry Month by holding its annual April open-mic readings at Booktown Books & Tomes. Open-mic readers are invited to submit their poems for possible inclusion in the NCPS 2006 Anthology. The readings are free, from 12 to 3pm, Sundays, April 2, 9, 23 and 30 at Booktown Books and Tomes, 107 Bank Street (corner of South Auburn) in Grass Valley. For more information call: (530) 432-8196 or (530) 272-4655. That's every Sunday in April except the 16th, which is Easter.
_____________________
Taylor Graham writes: Ah, flies! You know Karl Shapiro's, of course—one of Hatch's very favorite poems. Here's one of mine that was on Thunder Sandwich a few years back:
GADABOUT
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
You’ve been to buzz the sights
and taste the smells, all
the tiny lenses of your eyes
and skinny legs with road-dust
from a day of flight, alight
and fugiting. You’ve sipped
a baby’s tears and the dead
man’s wine. You’ve been
here/there/here & everywhere
from excrement to sky. Slut,
you keep nothing to yourself.
In the stew you sprinkle secret
spices on the sly. I’d swat
you flat and call you fly.
____________________
Thanks, TG! I think you've had the definitive word, but I'll throw in another one or two here...
THE SPIDER AND THE GHOST OF THE FLY
—Vachel Lindsay
Once I loved a spider
When I was born a fly,
A velvet-footed spider
With a gown of rainbow-dye.
She ate my wings and gloated.
She bound me with a hair.
She drove me to her parlor
Above her winding stair.
To educate young spiders
She took me all apart.
My ghost came back to haunt her.
I saw her eat my heart.
_____________________
Enough, already! Let's kill this thing off with a little whimsey:
FLY IN MY SOUP
—Cheryl Adair
theres a fly in my soup
should i let him drown?
theres a fly in my soup
i can't eat it now!
theres a fly in my soup
he's paddling frantically
i see a fly in my soup
d'ya reckon he sees me?
is he pleading to me in silence
'help me help me please'?
apparently he doesn't know
i detest flies and fleas
he's doing the backstroke now
begging me for his life
he should be so lucky!
where’s my butter knife?
should i smash him
should i fish him out
should i quietly depart
or should i scream and shout
should i toss a royal snit fit
or affect a dainty faint
hard to say but this i know:
eating it—i ain't!
________________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
With eagerness he drinks the treach'rous potion,
Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled;
Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motion
He finds has from his tender members fled;
No longer has he strength to plume his wing,
No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing!
E'en in enjoyment's hour his life he loses,
His little foot to bear his weight refuses;
So on he sips, and ere his draught is o'er,
Death veils his thousand eyes for evermore.
______________________________
The week's events:
•••Tonight (3/27), Red Fox Underground (not to be confused with the Red Fox poets in Placerville) will read for the Sacramento Poetry Center at Headquarters for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac., 7:30 pm.
•••Thursday (3/30), Frances Mayes will be in Sacramento at 6 pm at the Tsakopoulos Library Galleria, 828 I St., for a question-and-answer session and to sign her new book, A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveller, which will be available there at 30% off. The event, sponsored by The Bee Book Club in conjunction with the Sacramento Public Library Foundation, is free and open to the public. Info: 916-321-1792. Through March 30, these bookstores will offer a 30% discount on the title: Borders, Borders Express, Barnes & Noble, Tower, East-West Bookstore, Underground Books, Avid Reader, Hornet Bookstore, UC Davis Bookstore, and Next Chapter (in Woodland). Frances Mayes is also the author of a wonderful poetry text, The Discovery of Poetry: A Field Guide to Reading and Writing Poems, Harcourt, Inc., 2001.] See today's Sacramento Bee Scene section for a long article about Ms. Hayes.
•••Also Thursday (3/30), Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac, presents poets/performers Sabrina Mathis and Alan Satow, 8 pm.
•••Friday (3/31) will be the Poems-For-All Exhibit Finale at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac, 8 pm, featuring readers Robert Roden, Michael Pulley, Barbara Noble, Gene Bloom, Mary Zeppa, Manny Gale, and Rebecca Costello, with readings of poems by William Wantling, d.a.levy, and Jack Micheline. Music by J. Greenberg and Joe Hill.
•••On Saturday, April 1, ranting will be the order of the day at Carol’s Books, 300 Florin Road, Sac., where mother/daughter poets Straight Out Scribes V.S. Chochezi and Staajabu will MC the second annual Rant-A-Thon, Read-a-thon, Speak-a-thon, Speak up, Speak out, poetry reading and open mic. This is for all those who are just itching to let folks know what’s on their mind, get something off their chest, inform, entertain, apologize, complain, congratulate, lament or commiserate. Just one thing to remember: those who address the audience are asked to donate $1 a minute. The fun begins at 1 p.m. and ends at 5 p.m. There will be refreshments, door prizes, networking and lots of fun. Info: 916-452-1290.
•••Also Saturday (4/1) 7-11 pm: Adios party at KINKS International, 619 15th St. Sac. (corner of 15th & G). The Scribe matriarch Staajabu is moving back home to New Jersey, so come by and wish her well. Music, food, and lots of fun. For more info, call BJ or Gail (www.itsabouttimebpp.org), 916-455-0908.
•••Sunday (4/2), come hear Nevada City Poet Molly Fisk at PoemSpirits in Room 11, Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd. (2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avs.), 6 pm. A radio host and essayist on Grass Valley’s KVMR, Molly has published widely and received grants from the California Arts Council, the National Endowment for the Arts, and others. She teaches Writing to Heal classes, poetry critique workshops, and an Internet Poetry Boot Camp. Co-host Nora Staklis will make a brief presentation on Anne Sexton, a key figure in modern confessional poetry. As always, you are welcome to bring a favorite poem or two, your own or by another, to read. Free, and snacks, too!
•••Sunday (4/2): This year the Nevada County Poetry Series is celebrating National Poetry Month by holding its annual April open-mic readings at Booktown Books & Tomes. Open-mic readers are invited to submit their poems for possible inclusion in the NCPS 2006 Anthology. The readings are free, from 12 to 3pm, Sundays, April 2, 9, 23 and 30 at Booktown Books and Tomes, 107 Bank Street (corner of South Auburn) in Grass Valley. For more information call: (530) 432-8196 or (530) 272-4655. That's every Sunday in April except the 16th, which is Easter.
_____________________
Taylor Graham writes: Ah, flies! You know Karl Shapiro's, of course—one of Hatch's very favorite poems. Here's one of mine that was on Thunder Sandwich a few years back:
GADABOUT
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
You’ve been to buzz the sights
and taste the smells, all
the tiny lenses of your eyes
and skinny legs with road-dust
from a day of flight, alight
and fugiting. You’ve sipped
a baby’s tears and the dead
man’s wine. You’ve been
here/there/here & everywhere
from excrement to sky. Slut,
you keep nothing to yourself.
In the stew you sprinkle secret
spices on the sly. I’d swat
you flat and call you fly.
____________________
Thanks, TG! I think you've had the definitive word, but I'll throw in another one or two here...
THE SPIDER AND THE GHOST OF THE FLY
—Vachel Lindsay
Once I loved a spider
When I was born a fly,
A velvet-footed spider
With a gown of rainbow-dye.
She ate my wings and gloated.
She bound me with a hair.
She drove me to her parlor
Above her winding stair.
To educate young spiders
She took me all apart.
My ghost came back to haunt her.
I saw her eat my heart.
_____________________
Enough, already! Let's kill this thing off with a little whimsey:
FLY IN MY SOUP
—Cheryl Adair
theres a fly in my soup
should i let him drown?
theres a fly in my soup
i can't eat it now!
theres a fly in my soup
he's paddling frantically
i see a fly in my soup
d'ya reckon he sees me?
is he pleading to me in silence
'help me help me please'?
apparently he doesn't know
i detest flies and fleas
he's doing the backstroke now
begging me for his life
he should be so lucky!
where’s my butter knife?
should i smash him
should i fish him out
should i quietly depart
or should i scream and shout
should i toss a royal snit fit
or affect a dainty faint
hard to say but this i know:
eating it—i ain't!
________________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Fly-a-Thon, Two
THE FLY
—Ogden Nash
God in his wisdom made the fly
And then forgot to tell us why.
_______________________
I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,—and then
There interposed a fly,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.
—Emily Dickinson
_______________________
NULLA FIDES
—Patrick Carey (1623-1657)
For God's sake mark that fly:
See what a poor, weak, little thing it is.
When thou hast marked, and scorned it, know that this,
This little, poor, weak fly
Has killed a pope; can make an emp'ror die.
Behold yon spark of fire:
How little hot! how near to nothing 'tis!
When thou hast done despising, know that this,
This contemned spark of fire,
Hast burnt whole towns; can burn a world entire.
That crawling worm there see:
Ponder how ugly, filthy, vile it is.
When thou hast seen and loathed it, know that this,
This base worm thou dost see,
Has quite devoured thy parents; shall eat thee.
Honor, the world, and man,
What trifles are they; since most true it is
That this poor fly, this little spark, this
So much abhorred worm, can
Honor destroy; burn worlds; devour up man.
_______________________
THE SHITTY LIFE OF A FLY
—Vincent Turner
i was born in shit,
lived in shit,
procreated in shit,
and died in shit.
_______________________
THE DEATH OF A FLY
—Russell Edson
There was once a man who disguised himself as a
housefly and went about the neighborhood depositing
flyspecks.
Well, he has to do something hasn't he? said someone to
someone else.
Of course, said someone else back to someone.
Then what's all the fuss? said someone to someone else.
Who's fussing? I'm just saying that if he doesn't get off the
wall of that building the police will have to shoot him off.
Oh that, of course, there's nothing so engaging as a dead
fly.
I love dead flies, the way they remind me of individuals
who have met their fate . . .
________________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Ogden Nash
God in his wisdom made the fly
And then forgot to tell us why.
_______________________
I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,—and then
There interposed a fly,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.
—Emily Dickinson
_______________________
NULLA FIDES
—Patrick Carey (1623-1657)
For God's sake mark that fly:
See what a poor, weak, little thing it is.
When thou hast marked, and scorned it, know that this,
This little, poor, weak fly
Has killed a pope; can make an emp'ror die.
Behold yon spark of fire:
How little hot! how near to nothing 'tis!
When thou hast done despising, know that this,
This contemned spark of fire,
Hast burnt whole towns; can burn a world entire.
That crawling worm there see:
Ponder how ugly, filthy, vile it is.
When thou hast seen and loathed it, know that this,
This base worm thou dost see,
Has quite devoured thy parents; shall eat thee.
Honor, the world, and man,
What trifles are they; since most true it is
That this poor fly, this little spark, this
So much abhorred worm, can
Honor destroy; burn worlds; devour up man.
_______________________
THE SHITTY LIFE OF A FLY
—Vincent Turner
i was born in shit,
lived in shit,
procreated in shit,
and died in shit.
_______________________
THE DEATH OF A FLY
—Russell Edson
There was once a man who disguised himself as a
housefly and went about the neighborhood depositing
flyspecks.
Well, he has to do something hasn't he? said someone to
someone else.
Of course, said someone else back to someone.
Then what's all the fuss? said someone to someone else.
Who's fussing? I'm just saying that if he doesn't get off the
wall of that building the police will have to shoot him off.
Oh that, of course, there's nothing so engaging as a dead
fly.
I love dead flies, the way they remind me of individuals
who have met their fate . . .
________________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Wrinkling to Fulfillment
HARRIETT
—Robert Lowell
A repeating fly, blueblack, thumbthick—so gross,
it seems apocalyptic in our house—
whams back and forth across the nursery bed
manned by a madhouse of stuffed animals,
not one a fighter. It is like a plane
dusting apple orchards or Arabs on the screen—
one of the mighty...one of the helpless. It
bumbles and bumps its brow on this and that,
making a short, unhealthy life the shorter.
I kill it, and another instant's added
to the horrifying mortmain of
ephemera: keys, drift, sea-urchin shells,
you packrat off with joy...a dead fly swept
under the carpet, wrinkling to fulfillment.
___________________
I won't give you the gory details of why we have a steady progression of flies in our house, but they're very much on my mind these days. Maybe because of that, I'm finding more and more poems about The Fly, so brace yourselves.
Escape tonight to The Show (hosted by Terry Moore @ Wose’ Community Center, 2863 35th Street, Sac.), featuring The Straight Out Scribes along with Jammin' Jay Lamont (BET Comedian), and Chamber 7 from Monterey. Donation is $5. Info (and to get on the email list): T.Mo at 916-455-POET or fromtheheart1@hotmail.com
Today is also the last day to register for the 5th Annual Pleasanton Poetry, Prose & Arts Festival which will be held on Saturday, April 1 at the CarrAmerica Conference Center, 4400 Rosewood Drive, Pleasanton. It's a full-day poetry event for writers of all ages, sponsored by the Pleasanton Cultural Arts Council (PCAC) and the City of Pleasanton. If you need to stay overnight, discounted hotel reservations are available. Festival brochure and registration form is on-line, available at: www.PleasantonArts.org.
Speaking of flies, tomorrow night (3/26) at 7 pm, Kabinet and frank andrick present an Alejandro Jodorowsky double-feature at HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.): Fando and Lis, plus The Holy Mountain. frank says: If you attended our presentation last year of Kenneth Anger's "Lantern Cycle" then you know this won't be your usual run-of-the-mill screening—even by Kabinet's odd standards. Not only do you get two cinematic freak-out experiences. Oh no, there's more...
Between films, we will have Tarot Card readers on hand to offer readings to any and all in attendance. And while you're waiting to hear what the future has in store for you, we'll be offering you a choice selection of images and sounds from EL TOPO, Jodorowsky's amazing re-imagining of the Western.
But be warned: these aren't films for the faint of heart. Violence, nudity, and various bodily functions are the rule, rather than the exception. So no hard feelings if you feel these films might not be your cup of tea. But Jodorowsky's intention is less to shock than to SHAKE: to use the power of cinema to rouse people from their slumber and get them thinking about where we're at, how we got here, and where we're headed next. If anything, his films feel even more relevant today than they did when they were made some 30 or 40 years ago. He's a true cinematic savant, and this is sure to be a night to remember...
* PLEASE NOTE THE EARLY START TIME FOR THIS DOUBLE-FEATURE!!!
And as an added incentive to join us this Sunday, we'll have Kabinet calendars available, featuring not only the above screenings, but the schedule for the entire month of April as well.
____________________
Thanks, Francois! Back to my preoccupation with flies....
SHE ALWAYS PREFERRED FLIES
—Kathy Kieth, Fair Oaks
The chip-on-the-wing
'tudinous-ness of them—
go anywhere/land-on-
anything/suck-it-in-ness
stirring up the bad girl
in her: curiosity about
dead things: smelly
things: blood/guts/fecal
debris. The buzz they
carried from pile to
pile: colorful company
and dirty politics: blue-
bottled honesty, like
that metallic cobalt of
a sports car: grizzled:
hairy: guy she dated in
'62: a little greasy: a little
flip: a little wry. . .
______________________
PROGRESS AND RETROGRESSION
—Julio Cortazar
They invented a kind of glass which let flies through. The fly would come, push a little with his head and pop, he was on the other side. Enormous happiness on the part of the fly.
All this was ruined by a Hungarian scientist when he discovered that the fly could enter but not get out, or vice versa, because he didn't know what gimmick was involved in the glass or the flexibility of its fibers, for it was very fibrous. They immediately invented a fly trap with a sugar cube inside, and many flies perished miserably. So ended any possible brotherhood with these animals, who are deserving of better luck.
_______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Robert Lowell
A repeating fly, blueblack, thumbthick—so gross,
it seems apocalyptic in our house—
whams back and forth across the nursery bed
manned by a madhouse of stuffed animals,
not one a fighter. It is like a plane
dusting apple orchards or Arabs on the screen—
one of the mighty...one of the helpless. It
bumbles and bumps its brow on this and that,
making a short, unhealthy life the shorter.
I kill it, and another instant's added
to the horrifying mortmain of
ephemera: keys, drift, sea-urchin shells,
you packrat off with joy...a dead fly swept
under the carpet, wrinkling to fulfillment.
___________________
I won't give you the gory details of why we have a steady progression of flies in our house, but they're very much on my mind these days. Maybe because of that, I'm finding more and more poems about The Fly, so brace yourselves.
Escape tonight to The Show (hosted by Terry Moore @ Wose’ Community Center, 2863 35th Street, Sac.), featuring The Straight Out Scribes along with Jammin' Jay Lamont (BET Comedian), and Chamber 7 from Monterey. Donation is $5. Info (and to get on the email list): T.Mo at 916-455-POET or fromtheheart1@hotmail.com
Today is also the last day to register for the 5th Annual Pleasanton Poetry, Prose & Arts Festival which will be held on Saturday, April 1 at the CarrAmerica Conference Center, 4400 Rosewood Drive, Pleasanton. It's a full-day poetry event for writers of all ages, sponsored by the Pleasanton Cultural Arts Council (PCAC) and the City of Pleasanton. If you need to stay overnight, discounted hotel reservations are available. Festival brochure and registration form is on-line, available at: www.PleasantonArts.org.
Speaking of flies, tomorrow night (3/26) at 7 pm, Kabinet and frank andrick present an Alejandro Jodorowsky double-feature at HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.): Fando and Lis, plus The Holy Mountain. frank says: If you attended our presentation last year of Kenneth Anger's "Lantern Cycle" then you know this won't be your usual run-of-the-mill screening—even by Kabinet's odd standards. Not only do you get two cinematic freak-out experiences. Oh no, there's more...
Between films, we will have Tarot Card readers on hand to offer readings to any and all in attendance. And while you're waiting to hear what the future has in store for you, we'll be offering you a choice selection of images and sounds from EL TOPO, Jodorowsky's amazing re-imagining of the Western.
But be warned: these aren't films for the faint of heart. Violence, nudity, and various bodily functions are the rule, rather than the exception. So no hard feelings if you feel these films might not be your cup of tea. But Jodorowsky's intention is less to shock than to SHAKE: to use the power of cinema to rouse people from their slumber and get them thinking about where we're at, how we got here, and where we're headed next. If anything, his films feel even more relevant today than they did when they were made some 30 or 40 years ago. He's a true cinematic savant, and this is sure to be a night to remember...
* PLEASE NOTE THE EARLY START TIME FOR THIS DOUBLE-FEATURE!!!
And as an added incentive to join us this Sunday, we'll have Kabinet calendars available, featuring not only the above screenings, but the schedule for the entire month of April as well.
____________________
Thanks, Francois! Back to my preoccupation with flies....
SHE ALWAYS PREFERRED FLIES
—Kathy Kieth, Fair Oaks
The chip-on-the-wing
'tudinous-ness of them—
go anywhere/land-on-
anything/suck-it-in-ness
stirring up the bad girl
in her: curiosity about
dead things: smelly
things: blood/guts/fecal
debris. The buzz they
carried from pile to
pile: colorful company
and dirty politics: blue-
bottled honesty, like
that metallic cobalt of
a sports car: grizzled:
hairy: guy she dated in
'62: a little greasy: a little
flip: a little wry. . .
______________________
PROGRESS AND RETROGRESSION
—Julio Cortazar
They invented a kind of glass which let flies through. The fly would come, push a little with his head and pop, he was on the other side. Enormous happiness on the part of the fly.
All this was ruined by a Hungarian scientist when he discovered that the fly could enter but not get out, or vice versa, because he didn't know what gimmick was involved in the glass or the flexibility of its fibers, for it was very fibrous. They immediately invented a fly trap with a sugar cube inside, and many flies perished miserably. So ended any possible brotherhood with these animals, who are deserving of better luck.
_______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Friday, March 24, 2006
Chaos Unscrambled (Constantly Risking Absurdity)
CONSTANTLY RISKING ABSURDITY
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrachats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence
____________________
L.F. is 87 years old today—Happy Birthday!
Sacramento Poetry Center President Mary Zeppa writes: For a variety of reasons, the HQ Anniversary Celebration originally scheduled for Saturday 3/25 has been postponed. It will be rescheduled! We hope the new date will be sometime in April. Thank you!—Mary
Tonight (3/24), Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac.) will host the opening of an art show featuring the work of B.L. Kennedy, 7-10 pm. Music is provided by Spoken Blues, and Bari also plans to have local poets talk and read poetry. All art that sells (and it's priced very cheap, he says) goes to help The Archives Group (T.A.G.) Project. Bari says, The major thing with the art show is to raise $$$ for T.A.G. through the sale of the art. The second reason is to celebrate 30 years in the Sac art/poetry community.
The South Natomas Library will hold a book sale from 9 am-3:30 pm tomorrow (Saturday, 3/25) at 2901 Truxel Rd., Sacramento, to benefit the library branch's activities, including children's programs. Info: 916-264-2920.
____________________
A VAST CONFUSION
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Long long I lay in the sands
Sounds of trains in the surf
in subways of the sea
And an even greater undersound
of a vast confusion in the universe
a rumbling and a roaring
as of some enormous creature turning
under sea and earth
a billion sotto voices murmuring
a vast muttering
a swelling stuttering
in ocean's speakers
world's voice-box heard with ear to sand
a shocked echoing
a shocking shouting
of all life's voices lost in night
And the tape of it
someow running backwards now
through the Moog Synthesizer of time
Chaos unscrambled
back to the first
harmonies
And the first light
_____________________
SEASCAPE WITH SUN AND EAGLE
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Freer
than most birds
an eagle flies up
over San Francisco
freer than most places
soars high up
floats and glides high up
in the still
open spaces
flown from the mountains
floated down
far over ocean
where the sunset has begun
a mirror of itself
He sails high over
turning and turning
where seaplanes might turn
where warplanes might burn
He wheels about burning
in the red sun
climbs and glides
and doubles back upon himself
now over ocean
now over land
high over pinwheels suck in sand
where a rollercoaster used to stand
soaring eagle setting sun
All that is left of our wilderness
______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrachats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence
____________________
L.F. is 87 years old today—Happy Birthday!
Sacramento Poetry Center President Mary Zeppa writes: For a variety of reasons, the HQ Anniversary Celebration originally scheduled for Saturday 3/25 has been postponed. It will be rescheduled! We hope the new date will be sometime in April. Thank you!—Mary
Tonight (3/24), Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac.) will host the opening of an art show featuring the work of B.L. Kennedy, 7-10 pm. Music is provided by Spoken Blues, and Bari also plans to have local poets talk and read poetry. All art that sells (and it's priced very cheap, he says) goes to help The Archives Group (T.A.G.) Project. Bari says, The major thing with the art show is to raise $$$ for T.A.G. through the sale of the art. The second reason is to celebrate 30 years in the Sac art/poetry community.
The South Natomas Library will hold a book sale from 9 am-3:30 pm tomorrow (Saturday, 3/25) at 2901 Truxel Rd., Sacramento, to benefit the library branch's activities, including children's programs. Info: 916-264-2920.
____________________
A VAST CONFUSION
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Long long I lay in the sands
Sounds of trains in the surf
in subways of the sea
And an even greater undersound
of a vast confusion in the universe
a rumbling and a roaring
as of some enormous creature turning
under sea and earth
a billion sotto voices murmuring
a vast muttering
a swelling stuttering
in ocean's speakers
world's voice-box heard with ear to sand
a shocked echoing
a shocking shouting
of all life's voices lost in night
And the tape of it
someow running backwards now
through the Moog Synthesizer of time
Chaos unscrambled
back to the first
harmonies
And the first light
_____________________
SEASCAPE WITH SUN AND EAGLE
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Freer
than most birds
an eagle flies up
over San Francisco
freer than most places
soars high up
floats and glides high up
in the still
open spaces
flown from the mountains
floated down
far over ocean
where the sunset has begun
a mirror of itself
He sails high over
turning and turning
where seaplanes might turn
where warplanes might burn
He wheels about burning
in the red sun
climbs and glides
and doubles back upon himself
now over ocean
now over land
high over pinwheels suck in sand
where a rollercoaster used to stand
soaring eagle setting sun
All that is left of our wilderness
______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Watering a Stony Place
XII (from The North Ship)
—Philip Larkin
Like the train's beat
Swift language flutters the lips
Of the Polish airgirl in the corner seat.
The swinging and narrowing sun
Lights her eyelashes, shapes
Her sharp vivacity of bone.
Hair, wild and controlled, runs back:
And gestures like these English oaks
Flash past the windows of her foreign talk.
The train runs on through wilderness
Of cities. Still the hammered miles
Diversify behind her face.
And all humanity of interest
Before her angled beauty falls,
As whorling notes are pressed
In a bird's throat, issuing meaningless
Through written skies; a voice
Watering a stony place.
________________________
Snake 9 has emerged from hibernation; he made his shameless appearance at two readings last night: Hidden Passage in Placerville, and Poems-For-All in Sacramento. Rachel Hansen took a fistful for The Book Collector; they should be there today. If you are a contributor to this issue or a subscriber, books will go into the mail this week and next in batches as they roll off the presses. Stay tuned...
Meanwhile, Cynthia Bryant, Pleasanton Poet Laureate and mistress of the Poet's Lane cybersite lists the following intriguing pages on her site:
•••Poet’s Lane is accepting poems for April (under the New Year Poems) with multi-themes of Fools, Child Abuse, Earth Day and Poems about Poetry. Please include your name, your picture and any credits with the poem and say it is for April poems.
•••Poet’s Lane has added a new page called “Get it Off Your Chest” Mental Health Poems, so if you have some poem that fits a rant/blast of “I am mad as Hell and…” or “I just don’t get it” send those poems, include name and your picture—and remember to say which page it is for.
•••Send your poetry venue pictures to shares with other poets on our Poetry in Motion page; please include people’s names and where the pictures are taken.
•••Take this opportunity to have your face/bio and contact information available to folks who want to know about you; I will post you on Poets in the Know.
•••If you have poetry related e-zine, group or publishing for poetry, send your link and information to me and I will post you on the Links page.
•••If you have a special thing going on that uses poetry to help the community, I will gladly post it on my site under Special Poetry Related page.
Send to PoetsLane@comcast.net. Check us out at www.poetslane.com
____________________
•••Thursday (3/23), Poetry Unplugged features Crawdad Nelson at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac., 8 pm. Free. Info: 916-441-3931. Currently the proprietor of Flyway Press, Crawdad has long been a publisher, poet and journalist, both in Sacramento and on the northern coast.
David Humphreys was inspired by Rhony Bhopla's "Ions" poem [posted here on 3/21] and by Bliss, her anthology of erotic poems by other poets—inspired enough to send us a poem of his own:
WHAT PLANET
—David Humphreys, Stockton
Sedna is about three-fourths the size of Pluto.
The Inuit goddess Sedna rules over the seas
and the Kuiper Belt is a disk-shaped region
past the orbit of Neptune extending roughly
from 30 to 50 AU. In 1950 Jan Oort observed
that no comet had been observed with an orbit
to indicate that it came from interstellar space.
There is a strong tendency for aphelia of long
period comet orbits to lie at a distance of about
50,000 AU, and there is no preferential direction
from which comets come. This being the case,
midnight's galaxy spills back to dusk shimmering
a vortex vector gradient as she smells the rose ripple
scent swoon and takes his strength upon her very nipple.
_____________________
Thanks, David! More now from Philip Larkin:
XIII (from The North Ship)
—Philip Larkin
I put my mouth
Close to running water:
Flow north, flow south,
It will not matter,
It is not love you will find.
I told the wind:
It took away my words:
It is not love you will find,
Only the bright-tongued birds,
Only a moon with no home.
It is not love you will find:
You have no limbs
Crying for stillness, you have no mind
Trembling with seraphim,
You have no death to come.
____________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Philip Larkin
Like the train's beat
Swift language flutters the lips
Of the Polish airgirl in the corner seat.
The swinging and narrowing sun
Lights her eyelashes, shapes
Her sharp vivacity of bone.
Hair, wild and controlled, runs back:
And gestures like these English oaks
Flash past the windows of her foreign talk.
The train runs on through wilderness
Of cities. Still the hammered miles
Diversify behind her face.
And all humanity of interest
Before her angled beauty falls,
As whorling notes are pressed
In a bird's throat, issuing meaningless
Through written skies; a voice
Watering a stony place.
________________________
Snake 9 has emerged from hibernation; he made his shameless appearance at two readings last night: Hidden Passage in Placerville, and Poems-For-All in Sacramento. Rachel Hansen took a fistful for The Book Collector; they should be there today. If you are a contributor to this issue or a subscriber, books will go into the mail this week and next in batches as they roll off the presses. Stay tuned...
Meanwhile, Cynthia Bryant, Pleasanton Poet Laureate and mistress of the Poet's Lane cybersite lists the following intriguing pages on her site:
•••Poet’s Lane is accepting poems for April (under the New Year Poems) with multi-themes of Fools, Child Abuse, Earth Day and Poems about Poetry. Please include your name, your picture and any credits with the poem and say it is for April poems.
•••Poet’s Lane has added a new page called “Get it Off Your Chest” Mental Health Poems, so if you have some poem that fits a rant/blast of “I am mad as Hell and…” or “I just don’t get it” send those poems, include name and your picture—and remember to say which page it is for.
•••Send your poetry venue pictures to shares with other poets on our Poetry in Motion page; please include people’s names and where the pictures are taken.
•••Take this opportunity to have your face/bio and contact information available to folks who want to know about you; I will post you on Poets in the Know.
•••If you have poetry related e-zine, group or publishing for poetry, send your link and information to me and I will post you on the Links page.
•••If you have a special thing going on that uses poetry to help the community, I will gladly post it on my site under Special Poetry Related page.
Send to PoetsLane@comcast.net. Check us out at www.poetslane.com
____________________
•••Thursday (3/23), Poetry Unplugged features Crawdad Nelson at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac., 8 pm. Free. Info: 916-441-3931. Currently the proprietor of Flyway Press, Crawdad has long been a publisher, poet and journalist, both in Sacramento and on the northern coast.
David Humphreys was inspired by Rhony Bhopla's "Ions" poem [posted here on 3/21] and by Bliss, her anthology of erotic poems by other poets—inspired enough to send us a poem of his own:
WHAT PLANET
—David Humphreys, Stockton
Sedna is about three-fourths the size of Pluto.
The Inuit goddess Sedna rules over the seas
and the Kuiper Belt is a disk-shaped region
past the orbit of Neptune extending roughly
from 30 to 50 AU. In 1950 Jan Oort observed
that no comet had been observed with an orbit
to indicate that it came from interstellar space.
There is a strong tendency for aphelia of long
period comet orbits to lie at a distance of about
50,000 AU, and there is no preferential direction
from which comets come. This being the case,
midnight's galaxy spills back to dusk shimmering
a vortex vector gradient as she smells the rose ripple
scent swoon and takes his strength upon her very nipple.
_____________________
Thanks, David! More now from Philip Larkin:
XIII (from The North Ship)
—Philip Larkin
I put my mouth
Close to running water:
Flow north, flow south,
It will not matter,
It is not love you will find.
I told the wind:
It took away my words:
It is not love you will find,
Only the bright-tongued birds,
Only a moon with no home.
It is not love you will find:
You have no limbs
Crying for stillness, you have no mind
Trembling with seraphim,
You have no death to come.
____________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Large Things (including the new Snake)
THE LARGE THING
—Russell Edson
A large thing comes in.
Go out, Large Thing, says someone.
The Large Thing goes out, and comes in again.
Go out, Large Thing, and stay out, says someone.
The Large Thing goes out, and stays out.
Then that same someone who has been ordering the Large Thing out begins to be lonely, and say, come in, Large Thing.
But when the Large Thing is in, that same someone decides it would be better if the Large Thing would go out.
Go out, Large Thing, says this same someone.
The Large Thing goes out.
Oh, why did I say that? says the someone, who begins to be lonely again.
But meanwhile the Large Thing has come back in anyway.
Good, I was just about to call you back, says the same someone to the Large Thing.
____________________
In the links column to the right of this >>>>>>
note the new SPC Blog (check it out!) and a link to Poet's Corner Press, which has just awarded Medusa a gold medal for "consistent blog excellence and special inspiration". Thanks, David! See yesterday's post for one of David's poems, as well as the latest Snake..........which is done! Snake 9 will appear around town and in mailboxes this week and next.
Tonight (3/22) is the monthly Hidden Passage Poetry Reading from 6 to 7 p.m. at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St. in Placerville. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
Also tonight (3/22), after you get back from Placerville, there will be a Poems-For-All Poets Reading at 8 pm, HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.) featuring Ann Menebroker, Crawdad Nelson, S.V. Taylor, Do Gentry, Rachel Hansen, Rhony Bhopla, Kimberly White, Susan Kelly-DeWitt, and readings of poems by Kenneth Patchen, Anatole Lubovich, and Charlie Macdonald. Info: 916-442-9295.
Speaking of Charlie Macdonald, Snake 9 contains a nice selection of his poems, including his well-known "Why We Anthropomorphize the Penis". Coincidentally, Billy Marshall Stoneking sent us a penis poem, all the way from Australia! To wit:
VENTRILOQUIST
—Billy Marshall Stoneking, Australia
I remember that summer
when she’d pull out Charlie—
which was what she affectionately
called my prick—
& being an artist,
she’d draw a face on it.
Then, without moving her lips,
she’d go to work:
"Hello, how’re you?
My name’s Charlie."
The first time, I laughed.
It was like meeting a stranger.
We stared at each other.
"What do you do?
What’s your name?"
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
After a while,
Charlie started taking over.
He was the center of attention,
the life of the party.
He’d stay up all night.
Next morning, she’d ring me:
"How’s Charlie?
"Are you looking after him?"
Sure... sure, I’d say,
giving him a reassuring pat.
He was the picture of confidence.
He gave me a helluva time.
One day, inexplicably,
she added eyelashes, a beauty spot
& bright-red lipstick.
The transformation was remarkable.
Charlie had changed into a woman.
It called me "big boy" in a squeaky voice;
it pouted & pulled faces.
I blushed.
The rest of me was speechless.
Then it became political.
Overnight I became a total shit;
a chauvinist pig.
It wanted to know
what kind of relationship is this, anyway?
It chastised me for not being able
to see beyond the end of my dick.
Later, the ventriloquist split,
taking her paints, her pens,
her mandolin & clothes.
"You never talk to me anymore,"
she said.
"So long."
She left Charlie behind.
He slept all day;
the old eloquence was gone.
I couldn’t put words in his mouth.
Then his face disappeared
entirely.
It was a shock at first, but
I survived.
Now, taking a piss, sometimes,
I actually smile, remembering
those days & nights of indelible lust
when love was neither deaf nor dumb
nor altogether blind.
___________________
Thanks, Billy! See more of Billy in Snake 10, coming in June. Strange: right now he's getting ready to go to bed, and it's yesterday (or is it tomorrow?). Billy found Medusa in cyberspace; turns out he's related (by ex-marriage) to one of our rattlechappers.....!
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Russell Edson
A large thing comes in.
Go out, Large Thing, says someone.
The Large Thing goes out, and comes in again.
Go out, Large Thing, and stay out, says someone.
The Large Thing goes out, and stays out.
Then that same someone who has been ordering the Large Thing out begins to be lonely, and say, come in, Large Thing.
But when the Large Thing is in, that same someone decides it would be better if the Large Thing would go out.
Go out, Large Thing, says this same someone.
The Large Thing goes out.
Oh, why did I say that? says the someone, who begins to be lonely again.
But meanwhile the Large Thing has come back in anyway.
Good, I was just about to call you back, says the same someone to the Large Thing.
____________________
In the links column to the right of this >>>>>>
note the new SPC Blog (check it out!) and a link to Poet's Corner Press, which has just awarded Medusa a gold medal for "consistent blog excellence and special inspiration". Thanks, David! See yesterday's post for one of David's poems, as well as the latest Snake..........which is done! Snake 9 will appear around town and in mailboxes this week and next.
Tonight (3/22) is the monthly Hidden Passage Poetry Reading from 6 to 7 p.m. at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St. in Placerville. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
Also tonight (3/22), after you get back from Placerville, there will be a Poems-For-All Poets Reading at 8 pm, HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.) featuring Ann Menebroker, Crawdad Nelson, S.V. Taylor, Do Gentry, Rachel Hansen, Rhony Bhopla, Kimberly White, Susan Kelly-DeWitt, and readings of poems by Kenneth Patchen, Anatole Lubovich, and Charlie Macdonald. Info: 916-442-9295.
Speaking of Charlie Macdonald, Snake 9 contains a nice selection of his poems, including his well-known "Why We Anthropomorphize the Penis". Coincidentally, Billy Marshall Stoneking sent us a penis poem, all the way from Australia! To wit:
VENTRILOQUIST
—Billy Marshall Stoneking, Australia
I remember that summer
when she’d pull out Charlie—
which was what she affectionately
called my prick—
& being an artist,
she’d draw a face on it.
Then, without moving her lips,
she’d go to work:
"Hello, how’re you?
My name’s Charlie."
The first time, I laughed.
It was like meeting a stranger.
We stared at each other.
"What do you do?
What’s your name?"
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
After a while,
Charlie started taking over.
He was the center of attention,
the life of the party.
He’d stay up all night.
Next morning, she’d ring me:
"How’s Charlie?
"Are you looking after him?"
Sure... sure, I’d say,
giving him a reassuring pat.
He was the picture of confidence.
He gave me a helluva time.
One day, inexplicably,
she added eyelashes, a beauty spot
& bright-red lipstick.
The transformation was remarkable.
Charlie had changed into a woman.
It called me "big boy" in a squeaky voice;
it pouted & pulled faces.
I blushed.
The rest of me was speechless.
Then it became political.
Overnight I became a total shit;
a chauvinist pig.
It wanted to know
what kind of relationship is this, anyway?
It chastised me for not being able
to see beyond the end of my dick.
Later, the ventriloquist split,
taking her paints, her pens,
her mandolin & clothes.
"You never talk to me anymore,"
she said.
"So long."
She left Charlie behind.
He slept all day;
the old eloquence was gone.
I couldn’t put words in his mouth.
Then his face disappeared
entirely.
It was a shock at first, but
I survived.
Now, taking a piss, sometimes,
I actually smile, remembering
those days & nights of indelible lust
when love was neither deaf nor dumb
nor altogether blind.
___________________
Thanks, Billy! See more of Billy in Snake 10, coming in June. Strange: right now he's getting ready to go to bed, and it's yesterday (or is it tomorrow?). Billy found Medusa in cyberspace; turns out he's related (by ex-marriage) to one of our rattlechappers.....!
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Bargaining Towards Opposites
IONS
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento
Crossing isthmi
swiping against borders,
ions splay entire
pulsing anatomy.
Zipping and aligning
towards narrow
openings in lumens,
bargaining towards opposites.
They dance sensually
flash independently—
We know nothing
of their past, or future.
Commissioning sense, motion
and particulate
geographic warmth
within us, they whirl.
___________________________
Thanks, Rhony!
Here's an addition to yesterday's calendar for this week: Friday (3/24), Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac.) will host the opening of an art show featuring the work of B.L. Kennedy, 7-10 pm. Music is provided by Spoken Blues, and Bari also plans to have local poets talk and read poetry. All art that sells (and it's priced very cheap, he says) goes to help The Archives Group (T.A.G.) Project. Bari says, The major thing with the art show is to raise $$$ for T.A.G. through the sale of the art. The second reason is to celebrate 30 years in the Sac art/poetry community.
On Thursday, March 30, 6 pm at Luna’s Café, the first presentation workshop of THINK POSTCARD! takes place. The Mail Arts Project, one of Sacramento Poet Laureate Julia Connor’s projects, is part of the Poet Laureate program under the auspices of the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission. This event involves multi-artist and multi-media makings of unique Postcard Art, culminating in collaborative works that represent individual and collective efforts, with some to be part of a curated exhibition at a later date. But the real treasure is in the act of creating together. So please bring materials of a personal nature (small mementos, photos, found stuff, lists, receipts, yarn, special pens, etc. that can be used or affixed to the post card and sent through the U.S. mail; basic supplies will also be provided on site) to Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. on 3/30. Bring an art partner or meet one there and create a one-of-a-kind art piece to be mailed to The Sacramento Arts Commission, 2030 Del Paso Blvd., Sac. 95815.
The list and scope of participants is all-inclusive; all are encouraged to take part, and it reflects the diversity of the Sacramento Nor-Cal area, already dubbed one of the most diverse in America. Open to all, we hope to reach and touch all levels of society in an all-encompassing art form common to us all and the human experience. Join us, please, and join the rapidly evolving list of people to put thought, text, and image into mail. The list is growing and includes such notable poet/text artists and visual artists as Julia Connor, Jose Montoya, Stan Padilla, Armando Cid, Steve Vanoni, D.R. Wagner, B.L. Kennedy, Vincent Kobelt, Xico Gonzales, Francisco Alarcon, frank andrick, Traci Gourdine, Ann Tracy, Art Luna, Mary Zeppa, Richard Hansen, Frankie Hansbearry, Alan Satow, Keely Dorran, JoAnn Anglin, Barbara Noble, and Victor and Pearl Selinsky, just to name a few.
Though the kick-off venue for the multi-month event will be at Poetry Unplugged @ Luna’s Café on 3/30, other venues will include the Crocker Art Museum, La Raza Galeria Posada, LAMP @ Sutter Hospital, SPC @ HQ and the Hart Center, Horse Cow Gallery, The Book Collector, and the Center for Contemporary Art, plus many colleges, schools and libraries in the greater Sacramento and northern California area. Can’t make it to a workshop? Create mail art at home and send it in! Blank postcards are available. Info: Anja Aulenbacher at Aulenbacher@cityofsacramento.org or 916-566-3986.
Speaking of Julia Connor, she (and Jim Anderson) write: Poets and fans of William Butler Yeats should not miss the opportunity this coming weekend to see Tied to a Dying Animal at the California Stage, 25th and R Sts., Sac., across the lot from the Sacramento Poetry Center. The title comes from one of his later poems, and the perspective of the playwright/performer is that of a mature Yeats looking back both biographically and poetically on his work and life. It is also a mature man's contemplation on aging and mortality.
The play is handsomely staged, and Rick Foster, who wrote the play, relies on Yeats’ own poetry to tell the story. To his credit, he portrays Yeats with understatement, so that the poetry really is allowed to speak for itself, and yet it is cleverly set in "recollective commentary" to reveal the transformations in Yeats' writing as related to his life experience. The recalled moments and persons are evocative, and informative biography, but never overpower the poetry.
We could not believe that an hour and a half had passed when this intimate visit with Yeats had ended. Not a slack moment in the evening. I highly recommend it, but it only plays this coming weekend: March 24 and 25 at 8 p.m. and Sunday the 26th at 2. A real Sacramento treat!
_____________________
DARK QUARK
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento
Far away is the sparrow’s call
again toward the undulating pitch
Bowing we are towards one another
the stark melody of transfixed limits
Tiptoed ticking twelve twosomes
we below like animals once more
Untidy insane and shredding all frothy
particulates that make us human.
_____________________
Thanks, Rhony. And David Humphreys writes: James [Lee Jobe] is out of town, Kathy, would you please post this dog poem and dedicate it to clan of the dog for me?
SHILOH
—David Humphreys, Stockton
I lost the first poem I wrote about my dog maybe
four years ago. Don't know how it happened except
that it was so clearly out of his young buck cocky
prime I guess I was just a little put out by the
strutting sexual leer of it, dog ears all perked up
with his tongue lolling out in a wide laughing grin
mincing up to sniff out every passing feminine
bustle of attention, eyes rimmed in his handsome
mascara theater, plume tail curling up behind him
like a feather in a Musketeer's velvet hat. I must have
deleted it in some distracted irritation. Anyway, here
it is again, resurrected with all the odd details intact
as we both head out on our morning walk one more
time both of us a bit heavier than before even after
having traveled about 1200 miles further down the road.
________________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento
Crossing isthmi
swiping against borders,
ions splay entire
pulsing anatomy.
Zipping and aligning
towards narrow
openings in lumens,
bargaining towards opposites.
They dance sensually
flash independently—
We know nothing
of their past, or future.
Commissioning sense, motion
and particulate
geographic warmth
within us, they whirl.
___________________________
Thanks, Rhony!
Here's an addition to yesterday's calendar for this week: Friday (3/24), Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac.) will host the opening of an art show featuring the work of B.L. Kennedy, 7-10 pm. Music is provided by Spoken Blues, and Bari also plans to have local poets talk and read poetry. All art that sells (and it's priced very cheap, he says) goes to help The Archives Group (T.A.G.) Project. Bari says, The major thing with the art show is to raise $$$ for T.A.G. through the sale of the art. The second reason is to celebrate 30 years in the Sac art/poetry community.
On Thursday, March 30, 6 pm at Luna’s Café, the first presentation workshop of THINK POSTCARD! takes place. The Mail Arts Project, one of Sacramento Poet Laureate Julia Connor’s projects, is part of the Poet Laureate program under the auspices of the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission. This event involves multi-artist and multi-media makings of unique Postcard Art, culminating in collaborative works that represent individual and collective efforts, with some to be part of a curated exhibition at a later date. But the real treasure is in the act of creating together. So please bring materials of a personal nature (small mementos, photos, found stuff, lists, receipts, yarn, special pens, etc. that can be used or affixed to the post card and sent through the U.S. mail; basic supplies will also be provided on site) to Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. on 3/30. Bring an art partner or meet one there and create a one-of-a-kind art piece to be mailed to The Sacramento Arts Commission, 2030 Del Paso Blvd., Sac. 95815.
The list and scope of participants is all-inclusive; all are encouraged to take part, and it reflects the diversity of the Sacramento Nor-Cal area, already dubbed one of the most diverse in America. Open to all, we hope to reach and touch all levels of society in an all-encompassing art form common to us all and the human experience. Join us, please, and join the rapidly evolving list of people to put thought, text, and image into mail. The list is growing and includes such notable poet/text artists and visual artists as Julia Connor, Jose Montoya, Stan Padilla, Armando Cid, Steve Vanoni, D.R. Wagner, B.L. Kennedy, Vincent Kobelt, Xico Gonzales, Francisco Alarcon, frank andrick, Traci Gourdine, Ann Tracy, Art Luna, Mary Zeppa, Richard Hansen, Frankie Hansbearry, Alan Satow, Keely Dorran, JoAnn Anglin, Barbara Noble, and Victor and Pearl Selinsky, just to name a few.
Though the kick-off venue for the multi-month event will be at Poetry Unplugged @ Luna’s Café on 3/30, other venues will include the Crocker Art Museum, La Raza Galeria Posada, LAMP @ Sutter Hospital, SPC @ HQ and the Hart Center, Horse Cow Gallery, The Book Collector, and the Center for Contemporary Art, plus many colleges, schools and libraries in the greater Sacramento and northern California area. Can’t make it to a workshop? Create mail art at home and send it in! Blank postcards are available. Info: Anja Aulenbacher at Aulenbacher@cityofsacramento.org or 916-566-3986.
Speaking of Julia Connor, she (and Jim Anderson) write: Poets and fans of William Butler Yeats should not miss the opportunity this coming weekend to see Tied to a Dying Animal at the California Stage, 25th and R Sts., Sac., across the lot from the Sacramento Poetry Center. The title comes from one of his later poems, and the perspective of the playwright/performer is that of a mature Yeats looking back both biographically and poetically on his work and life. It is also a mature man's contemplation on aging and mortality.
The play is handsomely staged, and Rick Foster, who wrote the play, relies on Yeats’ own poetry to tell the story. To his credit, he portrays Yeats with understatement, so that the poetry really is allowed to speak for itself, and yet it is cleverly set in "recollective commentary" to reveal the transformations in Yeats' writing as related to his life experience. The recalled moments and persons are evocative, and informative biography, but never overpower the poetry.
We could not believe that an hour and a half had passed when this intimate visit with Yeats had ended. Not a slack moment in the evening. I highly recommend it, but it only plays this coming weekend: March 24 and 25 at 8 p.m. and Sunday the 26th at 2. A real Sacramento treat!
_____________________
DARK QUARK
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento
Far away is the sparrow’s call
again toward the undulating pitch
Bowing we are towards one another
the stark melody of transfixed limits
Tiptoed ticking twelve twosomes
we below like animals once more
Untidy insane and shredding all frothy
particulates that make us human.
_____________________
Thanks, Rhony. And David Humphreys writes: James [Lee Jobe] is out of town, Kathy, would you please post this dog poem and dedicate it to clan of the dog for me?
SHILOH
—David Humphreys, Stockton
I lost the first poem I wrote about my dog maybe
four years ago. Don't know how it happened except
that it was so clearly out of his young buck cocky
prime I guess I was just a little put out by the
strutting sexual leer of it, dog ears all perked up
with his tongue lolling out in a wide laughing grin
mincing up to sniff out every passing feminine
bustle of attention, eyes rimmed in his handsome
mascara theater, plume tail curling up behind him
like a feather in a Musketeer's velvet hat. I must have
deleted it in some distracted irritation. Anyway, here
it is again, resurrected with all the odd details intact
as we both head out on our morning walk one more
time both of us a bit heavier than before even after
having traveled about 1200 miles further down the road.
________________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Monday, March 20, 2006
Between Storms, & Poetry Events 3/20-26
BETWEEN STORMS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
A week of snow, and then
it stopped.
We ventured out
to see how the world had changed.
A broken branch, black
cuneiform on a blank white page,
and farther on, the great oak
almost split in two
by the weight of weather.
We marveled at the quiet—
no birds, no scold of squirrels.
Only the tracks of a pair of deer—
parallel columns of dittos
across a field.
Then clouds pulled apart, the sun
cast shadows skysail blue
on the lee-side of drifts,
magnifying
every crystal facet.
In all this blinding whiteness,
we searched for sign
of a mythic passage, and found
our own footprints
melting
like a trail of breadcrumbs
to lead us home.
______________________
First Day of Spring, so Taylor Graham sends us a poem about snow—which seems to be what our Spring is like this year!
Another action-packed week, poetry-wise:
•••Tonight (3/20), Contance Carter reads at the Sacramento Poetry Center, Headquarters for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento, 7:30 pm.
•••Wednesday (3/22) is the monthly Hidden Passage Poetry Reading from 6 to 7 p.m. at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St. in Placerville. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
•••Also Weds. (3/22), there will be a Poems-For-All Poets Reading at 8 pm, HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.) featuring Ann Menebroker, Crawdad Nelson, S.V. Taylor, Do Gentry, Rachel Hansen, Rhony Bhopla, Kimberly White, Susan Kelly-DeWitt, and readings of poems by Kenneth Patchen, Anatole Lubovich, and Charlie Macdonald. Info: 916-442-9295.
•••Thursday (3/23), Poetry Unplugged features Crawdad Nelson at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac., 8 pm. Free. Info: 916-441-3931.
•••Friday (3/24), Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac.) will host the opening of an art show featuring the work of B.L. Kennedy, 7-10 pm. Music is provided by Spoken Blues, and Bari also plans to have local poets talk and read poetry. All art that sells (and it's priced very cheap, he says) goes to help The Archives Group (T.A.G.) Project. Bari says, The major thing with the art show is to raise $$$ for T.A.G. through the sale of the art. The second reason is to celebrate 30 years in the Sac art/poetry community.
•••Sat., March 25 will be the last day to register for the 5th Annual Pleasanton Poetry, Prose & Arts Festival which will be held on Saturday, April 1 at the CarrAmerica Conference Center, 4400 Rosewood Drive, Pleasanton. It's a full-day poetry event for writers of all ages, sponsored by the Pleasanton Cultural Arts Council (PCAC) and the City of Pleasanton. If you need to stay overnight, discounted hotel reservations are available. Festival brochure and registration form is on-line, available at: www.PleasantonArts.org.
•••Also Saturday (3/25), 7-9 pm, The Show (hosted by Terry Moore @ Wose’ Community Center, 2863 35th Street, Sac.) will feature The Straight Out Scribes along with Jammin' Jay Lamont (BET Comedian), and Chamber 7 from Monterey. Donation is $5. Info (and to get on the email list): T.Mo at 916-455-POET or fromtheheart1@hotmail.com
•••Sunday (3/26) at 7 pm, Kabinet and frank andrick present an Alejandro Jodorowsky double-feature at HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.): Fando and Lis, plus The Holy Mountain. Gratis Tarot readings included! (More about this later...)
________________________
Somewhere in my purple haze of cough medicine and Kleenex piles, I missed the new Sacramento Poetry Center blog. Check out sacramentopoetrycenter.blogspot.com for news and reviews! I've posted a permanent link to the right of this column ("SPC blog").
LIGHT
—Elizabeth Jennings
To touch was an accord
Between life and life;
Later we said the word
And felt arrival of love
And enemies moving off.
A little apart we are,
(Still aware, still aware)
Light changes and shifts.
O slowly the light lifts
To show one star
And the darkness we were.
_____________________
THE BITTER WORLD OF SPRING
—William Carlos Williams
On a wet pavement the white sky recedes
mottled black by the inverted
pillars of the red elms,
in perspective, that lift the tangled
net of their desires hard into
the falling rain. And brown smoke
is driven down, running like
water over the roof of the bridge-
keeper's cubicle. And, as usual,
the fight as to the nature of poetry
—Shall the philosophers capture it?—
is on. And, casting an eye
down into the water, there, announced
by the silence of a white
bush in flower, close
under the bridge, the shad ascend,
midway between the surface and the mud,
and you can see their bodiesred-finned in the dark
water headed, unrelenting, upstream.
___________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
A week of snow, and then
it stopped.
We ventured out
to see how the world had changed.
A broken branch, black
cuneiform on a blank white page,
and farther on, the great oak
almost split in two
by the weight of weather.
We marveled at the quiet—
no birds, no scold of squirrels.
Only the tracks of a pair of deer—
parallel columns of dittos
across a field.
Then clouds pulled apart, the sun
cast shadows skysail blue
on the lee-side of drifts,
magnifying
every crystal facet.
In all this blinding whiteness,
we searched for sign
of a mythic passage, and found
our own footprints
melting
like a trail of breadcrumbs
to lead us home.
______________________
First Day of Spring, so Taylor Graham sends us a poem about snow—which seems to be what our Spring is like this year!
Another action-packed week, poetry-wise:
•••Tonight (3/20), Contance Carter reads at the Sacramento Poetry Center, Headquarters for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento, 7:30 pm.
•••Wednesday (3/22) is the monthly Hidden Passage Poetry Reading from 6 to 7 p.m. at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St. in Placerville. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
•••Also Weds. (3/22), there will be a Poems-For-All Poets Reading at 8 pm, HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.) featuring Ann Menebroker, Crawdad Nelson, S.V. Taylor, Do Gentry, Rachel Hansen, Rhony Bhopla, Kimberly White, Susan Kelly-DeWitt, and readings of poems by Kenneth Patchen, Anatole Lubovich, and Charlie Macdonald. Info: 916-442-9295.
•••Thursday (3/23), Poetry Unplugged features Crawdad Nelson at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac., 8 pm. Free. Info: 916-441-3931.
•••Friday (3/24), Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac.) will host the opening of an art show featuring the work of B.L. Kennedy, 7-10 pm. Music is provided by Spoken Blues, and Bari also plans to have local poets talk and read poetry. All art that sells (and it's priced very cheap, he says) goes to help The Archives Group (T.A.G.) Project. Bari says, The major thing with the art show is to raise $$$ for T.A.G. through the sale of the art. The second reason is to celebrate 30 years in the Sac art/poetry community.
•••Sat., March 25 will be the last day to register for the 5th Annual Pleasanton Poetry, Prose & Arts Festival which will be held on Saturday, April 1 at the CarrAmerica Conference Center, 4400 Rosewood Drive, Pleasanton. It's a full-day poetry event for writers of all ages, sponsored by the Pleasanton Cultural Arts Council (PCAC) and the City of Pleasanton. If you need to stay overnight, discounted hotel reservations are available. Festival brochure and registration form is on-line, available at: www.PleasantonArts.org.
•••Also Saturday (3/25), 7-9 pm, The Show (hosted by Terry Moore @ Wose’ Community Center, 2863 35th Street, Sac.) will feature The Straight Out Scribes along with Jammin' Jay Lamont (BET Comedian), and Chamber 7 from Monterey. Donation is $5. Info (and to get on the email list): T.Mo at 916-455-POET or fromtheheart1@hotmail.com
•••Sunday (3/26) at 7 pm, Kabinet and frank andrick present an Alejandro Jodorowsky double-feature at HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac.): Fando and Lis, plus The Holy Mountain. Gratis Tarot readings included! (More about this later...)
________________________
Somewhere in my purple haze of cough medicine and Kleenex piles, I missed the new Sacramento Poetry Center blog. Check out sacramentopoetrycenter.blogspot.com for news and reviews! I've posted a permanent link to the right of this column ("SPC blog").
LIGHT
—Elizabeth Jennings
To touch was an accord
Between life and life;
Later we said the word
And felt arrival of love
And enemies moving off.
A little apart we are,
(Still aware, still aware)
Light changes and shifts.
O slowly the light lifts
To show one star
And the darkness we were.
_____________________
THE BITTER WORLD OF SPRING
—William Carlos Williams
On a wet pavement the white sky recedes
mottled black by the inverted
pillars of the red elms,
in perspective, that lift the tangled
net of their desires hard into
the falling rain. And brown smoke
is driven down, running like
water over the roof of the bridge-
keeper's cubicle. And, as usual,
the fight as to the nature of poetry
—Shall the philosophers capture it?—
is on. And, casting an eye
down into the water, there, announced
by the silence of a white
bush in flower, close
under the bridge, the shad ascend,
midway between the surface and the mud,
and you can see their bodiesred-finned in the dark
water headed, unrelenting, upstream.
___________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Sunday, March 19, 2006
These Cowards, These Champions
BEASTS BOUNDING THROUGH TIME—
—Charles Bukowski
Van Gogh writing his brother for paints
Hemingway testing his shotgun
Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine
the impossibility of being human
Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief
Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town
the impossibility of being human
Burroughs killing his wife with a gun
Mailer stabbing his
the impossibility of being human
Maupassant going mad in a rowboat
Dostoevsky lined up against a wall to be shot
Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller
the impossibility
Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato
Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun
Lorca murdered in the road by the Spanish troops
the impossibility
Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench
Chatterton drinking rat poison
Shakespeare a plagiarist
Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness
the impossibility the impossibility
Nietzsche gone totally mad
the impossibility of being human
all too human
this breathing
in and out
out and in
these punks
these cowards
these champions
these mad dogs of glory
moving this little bit of light toward
us
impossibly.
_______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Charles Bukowski
Van Gogh writing his brother for paints
Hemingway testing his shotgun
Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine
the impossibility of being human
Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief
Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town
the impossibility of being human
Burroughs killing his wife with a gun
Mailer stabbing his
the impossibility of being human
Maupassant going mad in a rowboat
Dostoevsky lined up against a wall to be shot
Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller
the impossibility
Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato
Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun
Lorca murdered in the road by the Spanish troops
the impossibility
Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench
Chatterton drinking rat poison
Shakespeare a plagiarist
Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness
the impossibility the impossibility
Nietzsche gone totally mad
the impossibility of being human
all too human
this breathing
in and out
out and in
these punks
these cowards
these champions
these mad dogs of glory
moving this little bit of light toward
us
impossibly.
_______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Aaa-CHOOO!
FUTILITY
—Wilfred Owen
Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
_________________
Today would've been Wilfred Owen's 113 birthday, had he not been tragically killed in war. In his preface to the collection of his poems that included "Futility," he wrote: "Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The poetry is in the pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense consolatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful..."
Speaking of war, the Snake 9-wrassling continues, hampered by the hacking and honking that accompanies my chest cold. I'm starting to get letters—where the hell's that Snake-varmint? I think people suspect we've hijacked their poems, with no intention of ever publishing them at all! Put your minds to rest; the Snake will emerge. He's just having a little trouble slithering out of hibernation this cold, cold spring...
Meanwhile, Richard Hansen writes: Friends, The Poems-For-All exhibition continues through the end of the month. If you'd like to come take a look this weekend at the many (over 500) covers for books in the series, the gallery will be open from 12 to 4 pm on both Saturday and Sunday. Asylum Gallery | PFA exhibition | 25th & R Streets, Sacramento. Plenty of free poems-for-all chaplets to take away.
Tonight (3/18), Bob Stanley and Larry Uklai Johnson-Redd appear at Underground Books, 2814 35th St., Sac., 7 pm. Info: 916-737-3333. Or...
Also today, travel to Modesto for a poetry reading featuring Licensed Fools at Mistlin Gallery on J St. (between 10th and 11th) in Modesto, 4 pm. See Medusa's Monday post for more details.
And tonight (3/18), 7-9 pm, travel to Palo Alto to hear The Straight Out Scribes Experience: poetry, spoken word and conscious rap, featuring V.S. Chochezi and Staajabu, 910 Moreno Avenue, Palo Alto. Donations will be gratefully accepted to support the legal case of Mumia Abu-Jamal. Info: 916-452-1290.
Stephenie VanCamp Jones sends us two poems:
BRIEF WONDERLAND
—Stephenie VanCamp Jones, Pilot Hill
—Wilfred Owen
Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
_________________
Today would've been Wilfred Owen's 113 birthday, had he not been tragically killed in war. In his preface to the collection of his poems that included "Futility," he wrote: "Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The poetry is in the pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense consolatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful..."
Speaking of war, the Snake 9-wrassling continues, hampered by the hacking and honking that accompanies my chest cold. I'm starting to get letters—where the hell's that Snake-varmint? I think people suspect we've hijacked their poems, with no intention of ever publishing them at all! Put your minds to rest; the Snake will emerge. He's just having a little trouble slithering out of hibernation this cold, cold spring...
Meanwhile, Richard Hansen writes: Friends, The Poems-For-All exhibition continues through the end of the month. If you'd like to come take a look this weekend at the many (over 500) covers for books in the series, the gallery will be open from 12 to 4 pm on both Saturday and Sunday. Asylum Gallery | PFA exhibition | 25th & R Streets, Sacramento. Plenty of free poems-for-all chaplets to take away.
Tonight (3/18), Bob Stanley and Larry Uklai Johnson-Redd appear at Underground Books, 2814 35th St., Sac., 7 pm. Info: 916-737-3333. Or...
Also today, travel to Modesto for a poetry reading featuring Licensed Fools at Mistlin Gallery on J St. (between 10th and 11th) in Modesto, 4 pm. See Medusa's Monday post for more details.
And tonight (3/18), 7-9 pm, travel to Palo Alto to hear The Straight Out Scribes Experience: poetry, spoken word and conscious rap, featuring V.S. Chochezi and Staajabu, 910 Moreno Avenue, Palo Alto. Donations will be gratefully accepted to support the legal case of Mumia Abu-Jamal. Info: 916-452-1290.
Stephenie VanCamp Jones sends us two poems:
BRIEF WONDERLAND
—Stephenie VanCamp Jones, Pilot Hill
Even if only
for a blink of an eye,
she stared with childlike wonder
at the majestic trees
dusted with snow.
What looked like sugar,
tasted of ice.
For a few brief moments
the yard was a wonderland
and time stood still.
for a blink of an eye,
she stared with childlike wonder
at the majestic trees
dusted with snow.
What looked like sugar,
tasted of ice.
For a few brief moments
the yard was a wonderland
and time stood still.
___________________________
As I stand here
spectacular
I stare up at the nighttime sky,
the constellations consume me.
I can't help but wonder
who else may be watching
the same evening canvas
spread out before the world's eyes.
Could you and I
currently gaze at the spectacular halo
that surrounds the silver moon
and imagine the sailor's delight
the very next morning.
the constellations consume me.
I can't help but wonder
who else may be watching
the same evening canvas
spread out before the world's eyes.
Could you and I
currently gaze at the spectacular halo
that surrounds the silver moon
and imagine the sailor's delight
the very next morning.
Could you and I
trace the same stars
with our index finger, and leave behind
smudge trails on the frosty window
that stands between us and the
horizon far away.
Could you and I
make the same wish, right now and
wish for the same wish
without words?
—Stephenie VanCamp Jones, Pilot Hill
_____________________
Thanks, Stephenie!
—Medusa (who's even snottier than usual—hack hack paTOOOOie...)
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.)
Friday, March 17, 2006
Some Irish Voices for St. Pat's
MIDNIGHT FLOWERS
—Eavan Boland
I go down step by step.
The house is quiet, full of trapped heat and sleep.
In the kitchen everything is still.
Nothing is distinct; there is no moon to speak of.
I could be undone every single day by
paradox or what they call in the countryside
blackthorn winter,
when hailstones come with the first apple blossom.
I turn a switch and the garden grows.
A whole summer's work in one instant!
I press my face to the glass. I can see
shadows of lilac, of fuchsia; a dark likeness of blackcurrant:
little clients of suddenness, how sullen they are at
the margins of the light.
They need no rain, they have no roots.
I reach out a hand; they are gone.
When I was a child a snapdragon was
held an inch from my face. Look, a voice said, this
is the color of your hair. And there it was, my head,
a pliant jewel in the hands of someone else.
_______________________
Tonight (3/17), celebrate St. Pat's Day by driving up Hwy. 50 and taking the El Dorado Hills exit for the Our House Defines Art poetry reading at 7 p.m. Featured readers are soon-to-be Rattlechapper Irene Lipshin, plus Homer Christensen and Wendy Patrice Williams, followed by an open mic. There is no charge. Our House Defines Art Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center (next to Ralph's). It's a lovely gallery and a wonderful setting for a reading. Check it out!
Snake Pal, Rattlesnake Review columnist-in-residence and Rattlechapper (Living With Myth) Taylor Graham is one of the spearheads behind the Our House readings. She lives in the wee town of Somerset, over there in south El Dorado County. Coincidentally, The Sacramento Bee Metro section today has an article about the Pioneer Union School District's 28th Annual Festival of Oral Interpretation, wherein 4th-8th graders from the district gathered last Wednesday in Somerset to recite poetry, either their own or others', and receive a rating (it's not a contest), a certificate and a lapel pin. The Snake heartily applauds such attention to poetry for the little ones! It must be in the Somerset water...
THE SATYR'S HEART
—Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Now I rest my head on the satyr's carved chest,
The hollow where the heart would have been, if sandstone
Had a heart, if a headless goat man could have a heart.
His neck rises to a dull point, points upward
To something long gone, elusive, and at his feet
The small flowers swarm, earnest and sweet, a clamor
Of white, a clamor of blue, and black the sweating soil
They breed in...If I sit without moving, how quickly
Things change, birds turning tricks in the trees,
Colorless birds and those with color, the wind fingering
The twigs, and the furred creatures doing whatever
Furred creatures do. So, and so. There is the smell of fruit
And the smell of wet coins. There is the sound of a bird
Crying, and the sound of water that does not move...
If I pick the dead iris? If I wave it above me
Like a flag, a blazoned flag? My fanfare? Little fare
With which I buy my way, making things brave?
No, that is not it. Uncovering what is brave. The way
Now I bend over and with my foot turn up a stone,
And there they are: the armies of pale creatures who
Without cease or doubt sew the sweet sad earth.
_____________________________
LEDA AND THE SWAN
—William Butler Yeats
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
—Eavan Boland
I go down step by step.
The house is quiet, full of trapped heat and sleep.
In the kitchen everything is still.
Nothing is distinct; there is no moon to speak of.
I could be undone every single day by
paradox or what they call in the countryside
blackthorn winter,
when hailstones come with the first apple blossom.
I turn a switch and the garden grows.
A whole summer's work in one instant!
I press my face to the glass. I can see
shadows of lilac, of fuchsia; a dark likeness of blackcurrant:
little clients of suddenness, how sullen they are at
the margins of the light.
They need no rain, they have no roots.
I reach out a hand; they are gone.
When I was a child a snapdragon was
held an inch from my face. Look, a voice said, this
is the color of your hair. And there it was, my head,
a pliant jewel in the hands of someone else.
_______________________
Tonight (3/17), celebrate St. Pat's Day by driving up Hwy. 50 and taking the El Dorado Hills exit for the Our House Defines Art poetry reading at 7 p.m. Featured readers are soon-to-be Rattlechapper Irene Lipshin, plus Homer Christensen and Wendy Patrice Williams, followed by an open mic. There is no charge. Our House Defines Art Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center (next to Ralph's). It's a lovely gallery and a wonderful setting for a reading. Check it out!
Snake Pal, Rattlesnake Review columnist-in-residence and Rattlechapper (Living With Myth) Taylor Graham is one of the spearheads behind the Our House readings. She lives in the wee town of Somerset, over there in south El Dorado County. Coincidentally, The Sacramento Bee Metro section today has an article about the Pioneer Union School District's 28th Annual Festival of Oral Interpretation, wherein 4th-8th graders from the district gathered last Wednesday in Somerset to recite poetry, either their own or others', and receive a rating (it's not a contest), a certificate and a lapel pin. The Snake heartily applauds such attention to poetry for the little ones! It must be in the Somerset water...
THE SATYR'S HEART
—Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Now I rest my head on the satyr's carved chest,
The hollow where the heart would have been, if sandstone
Had a heart, if a headless goat man could have a heart.
His neck rises to a dull point, points upward
To something long gone, elusive, and at his feet
The small flowers swarm, earnest and sweet, a clamor
Of white, a clamor of blue, and black the sweating soil
They breed in...If I sit without moving, how quickly
Things change, birds turning tricks in the trees,
Colorless birds and those with color, the wind fingering
The twigs, and the furred creatures doing whatever
Furred creatures do. So, and so. There is the smell of fruit
And the smell of wet coins. There is the sound of a bird
Crying, and the sound of water that does not move...
If I pick the dead iris? If I wave it above me
Like a flag, a blazoned flag? My fanfare? Little fare
With which I buy my way, making things brave?
No, that is not it. Uncovering what is brave. The way
Now I bend over and with my foot turn up a stone,
And there they are: the armies of pale creatures who
Without cease or doubt sew the sweet sad earth.
_____________________________
LEDA AND THE SWAN
—William Butler Yeats
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
______________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Thursday, March 16, 2006
In And Out of Bed
LOVE IN A WARM ROOM IN WINTER
—James Wright
The trouble with you is
You think all I want to do
Is get you into bed
And make love with you.
And that's not true!
I was just trying to make friends.
All I wanted to do
Was get into bed
With you and make
Love with you.
Who was that little bird we saw towering upside down
This afternoon on that pine cone, on the edge of a cliff,
In the snow? Wasn't he charming? Yes, he was, now,
Now, now,
Just take it easy.
Aha!
_____________________
Lots to do tonight: Keely Sidira Dorran and Bri Pruett read at Poetry Unplugged, Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sacramento, 8 pm. Free. Info: 916-441-3931. Or...
Also tonight (3/16), La-Rue, Rob Anthony and Flo-Real read at Gwen's Caribbean Cuisine, 2355 Arden Way, Sac., 8 pm. $5; open mic. Info: 916-922-3468. Or...
Also, at 7:30 p.m. the Nevada County Poetry Series will present the poets Jack and Billy Shields, Drew Dellinger and Judith Hurley Prosser. These poets will be reading from their works concerning the interplay of man and nature and the influences that interplay has on the environment and the human spirit. Tickets can be purchased at the door for $5 general, seniors and students, and $1 for those under 18. Refreshments and open-mic included. The show will be in Off Center Stage (the Black Box theater, enter from Richardson Street) at the Center for the Arts, 314 W. Main St., Grass Valley, CA. For more information call (530) 432-8196 or (530) 274-8384.
Speaking of Grass Valley, Molly Fisk writes from neighboring Nevada City: The line-up at Squaw looks great this summer (the Community at Squaw Valley Poetry Workshop) and I encourage any of you who haven't had a chance to work this way "live" to check it out. I modeled Poetry Boot Camp on the Squaw workshop's idea of writing every day for a week, just because the process had so changed my own writing. This year's teacher-poets are Sharon Olds, Bob Hass, C.D. Wright, Dean Young, and Harryette Mullen. I've worked with the first four and found them all to be good—and very different—teachers. I'm looking forward to meeting Harryette. (I'm going up to visit, not attending this year.) The dates are July 22-29th, and the contact info is http://www.squawvalleywriters.org/poetry_ws.htm. So if you're looking for a place to get juiced with your writing, I recommend it! Meanwhile, since it isn't summer yet, how about signing up for the Internet March Poetry Boot Camp, 3/26-3/31? There are still some spaces available. [Ed. note from kk: I don't have a contact number for Boot Camp handy, but I'm sure you can find it under "Molly Fisk" on the 'Net. Or I'll find it for you—I have it around here, somewhere...]
By the way, Nevada City Poet Molly Fisk will be reading at PoemSpirits in Sacramento Sunday, April 2 at 6 pm. A radio host and essayist on Grass Valley’s KVMR, Molly has published widely and received grants from the California Arts Council, the National Endowment for the Arts, and others. She teaches Writing to Heal classes, poetry critique workshops, and an Internet Poetry Boot Camp. The reading will be in Room 11, Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues. Info: Tom Goff or Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312; JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372.
Speaking of Interviewer-in-Residence JoAnn Anglin, she read my mind. Well, actually, she preceded me—she wrote to tell me that she has already interviewed Staajabu (see yesterday's post) for the next Rattlesnake Review, due out in June! See why I have columnists? They make the wheels go so much more smoothly while I'm over here, day-dreaming out the window, circling upon my star...
____________________
THE SLEEPWALKER
—Nelly Sachs
The sleepwalker
circling upon his star
is awakened by
the white feather of morning—
the bloodstain on it reminds him—
startled, he drops
the moon—
the snowberry breaks
against the black agate of night
sullied with dream—
No spotless white on this earth—.
____________________
DISILLUSIONMENT OF TEN O'CLOCK
—Wallace Stevens
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
__________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—James Wright
The trouble with you is
You think all I want to do
Is get you into bed
And make love with you.
And that's not true!
I was just trying to make friends.
All I wanted to do
Was get into bed
With you and make
Love with you.
Who was that little bird we saw towering upside down
This afternoon on that pine cone, on the edge of a cliff,
In the snow? Wasn't he charming? Yes, he was, now,
Now, now,
Just take it easy.
Aha!
_____________________
Lots to do tonight: Keely Sidira Dorran and Bri Pruett read at Poetry Unplugged, Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sacramento, 8 pm. Free. Info: 916-441-3931. Or...
Also tonight (3/16), La-Rue, Rob Anthony and Flo-Real read at Gwen's Caribbean Cuisine, 2355 Arden Way, Sac., 8 pm. $5; open mic. Info: 916-922-3468. Or...
Also, at 7:30 p.m. the Nevada County Poetry Series will present the poets Jack and Billy Shields, Drew Dellinger and Judith Hurley Prosser. These poets will be reading from their works concerning the interplay of man and nature and the influences that interplay has on the environment and the human spirit. Tickets can be purchased at the door for $5 general, seniors and students, and $1 for those under 18. Refreshments and open-mic included. The show will be in Off Center Stage (the Black Box theater, enter from Richardson Street) at the Center for the Arts, 314 W. Main St., Grass Valley, CA. For more information call (530) 432-8196 or (530) 274-8384.
Speaking of Grass Valley, Molly Fisk writes from neighboring Nevada City: The line-up at Squaw looks great this summer (the Community at Squaw Valley Poetry Workshop) and I encourage any of you who haven't had a chance to work this way "live" to check it out. I modeled Poetry Boot Camp on the Squaw workshop's idea of writing every day for a week, just because the process had so changed my own writing. This year's teacher-poets are Sharon Olds, Bob Hass, C.D. Wright, Dean Young, and Harryette Mullen. I've worked with the first four and found them all to be good—and very different—teachers. I'm looking forward to meeting Harryette. (I'm going up to visit, not attending this year.) The dates are July 22-29th, and the contact info is http://www.squawvalleywriters.org/poetry_ws.htm. So if you're looking for a place to get juiced with your writing, I recommend it! Meanwhile, since it isn't summer yet, how about signing up for the Internet March Poetry Boot Camp, 3/26-3/31? There are still some spaces available. [Ed. note from kk: I don't have a contact number for Boot Camp handy, but I'm sure you can find it under "Molly Fisk" on the 'Net. Or I'll find it for you—I have it around here, somewhere...]
By the way, Nevada City Poet Molly Fisk will be reading at PoemSpirits in Sacramento Sunday, April 2 at 6 pm. A radio host and essayist on Grass Valley’s KVMR, Molly has published widely and received grants from the California Arts Council, the National Endowment for the Arts, and others. She teaches Writing to Heal classes, poetry critique workshops, and an Internet Poetry Boot Camp. The reading will be in Room 11, Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues. Info: Tom Goff or Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312; JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372.
Speaking of Interviewer-in-Residence JoAnn Anglin, she read my mind. Well, actually, she preceded me—she wrote to tell me that she has already interviewed Staajabu (see yesterday's post) for the next Rattlesnake Review, due out in June! See why I have columnists? They make the wheels go so much more smoothly while I'm over here, day-dreaming out the window, circling upon my star...
____________________
THE SLEEPWALKER
—Nelly Sachs
The sleepwalker
circling upon his star
is awakened by
the white feather of morning—
the bloodstain on it reminds him—
startled, he drops
the moon—
the snowberry breaks
against the black agate of night
sullied with dream—
No spotless white on this earth—.
____________________
DISILLUSIONMENT OF TEN O'CLOCK
—Wallace Stevens
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
__________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
The Ides of March
I RISE WITH AN EFFORT
—Philippe Jaccottet
I rise with an effort and look out
at three different kinds of light—
that of the sky, that which from up there
pours into me and vanishes,
and that whose shadow my hand draws on the page.
The ink might be mistaken for shadow.
The sky descending takes me by surprise.
One would like to believe we suffer
to describe the light from above;
but pain is stronger than flight
and pity drowns everything, shining
with as many tears as the night.
____________________
SWIFTS
—Philippe Jaccottet
At the stormy moment of dawn
at the apprehensive time
these sickles in the corn
Everything suddenly cries higher
than any ear can climb
____________________
THESE WOOD-SHADOWS
—Philippe Jaccottet
These wood-shadows, timid, patient,
lighter even than the grass
that survived the winter,
are the discreet, faithful,
barely perceptible shadows of death
Always in the daytime
circling our bodies
Always in the open field
these tombstones of blue slate
______________________
RIGHT AT THE END OF NIGHT
—Philippe Jaccottet
Right at the end of night
the wind rises
and the candle goes out
Who is there to keep watch
before the first birds?
The river-cold wind knows
A flame, an inverted tear:
a coin for the ferryman
______________________
WEIGHT OF STONES
—Philippe Jaccottet
Weight of stones, of thought
Uneven balance
of mountain and dream
We still live in another world
perhaps the interval
_____________________
Philippe Jaccottet, critic, essayist, editor, translator and poet, was born in Switzerland in 1925. These poems were translated from the French by Derek Mahon, and appear in The Vintage Book of Contemporary World Poetry, ed. by J.D. McClatchy (Random House, Inc., 1996).
Be sure to pop over to South Natomas Library tonight to hear Urban Voices Jim Cardwell (an Oroville poet whose work will appear in the next Snake) and Sacramento poet/publisher Crawdad Nelson. Festivities last from 6:30-8 pm.
DISTANCES
—Philippe Laccottet
Swifts turn in the heights of the air;
higher still turn the invisible stars.
When day withdraws to the ends of the earth
their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand.
We live in a world of motion and distance.
The heart flies from tree to bird,
from bird to distant star,
from star to love; and love grows
in the quiet house, turning and working
servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand.
_____________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
—Philippe Jaccottet
I rise with an effort and look out
at three different kinds of light—
that of the sky, that which from up there
pours into me and vanishes,
and that whose shadow my hand draws on the page.
The ink might be mistaken for shadow.
The sky descending takes me by surprise.
One would like to believe we suffer
to describe the light from above;
but pain is stronger than flight
and pity drowns everything, shining
with as many tears as the night.
____________________
SWIFTS
—Philippe Jaccottet
At the stormy moment of dawn
at the apprehensive time
these sickles in the corn
Everything suddenly cries higher
than any ear can climb
____________________
THESE WOOD-SHADOWS
—Philippe Jaccottet
These wood-shadows, timid, patient,
lighter even than the grass
that survived the winter,
are the discreet, faithful,
barely perceptible shadows of death
Always in the daytime
circling our bodies
Always in the open field
these tombstones of blue slate
______________________
RIGHT AT THE END OF NIGHT
—Philippe Jaccottet
Right at the end of night
the wind rises
and the candle goes out
Who is there to keep watch
before the first birds?
The river-cold wind knows
A flame, an inverted tear:
a coin for the ferryman
______________________
WEIGHT OF STONES
—Philippe Jaccottet
Weight of stones, of thought
Uneven balance
of mountain and dream
We still live in another world
perhaps the interval
_____________________
Philippe Jaccottet, critic, essayist, editor, translator and poet, was born in Switzerland in 1925. These poems were translated from the French by Derek Mahon, and appear in The Vintage Book of Contemporary World Poetry, ed. by J.D. McClatchy (Random House, Inc., 1996).
Be sure to pop over to South Natomas Library tonight to hear Urban Voices Jim Cardwell (an Oroville poet whose work will appear in the next Snake) and Sacramento poet/publisher Crawdad Nelson. Festivities last from 6:30-8 pm.
DISTANCES
—Philippe Laccottet
Swifts turn in the heights of the air;
higher still turn the invisible stars.
When day withdraws to the ends of the earth
their fires shine on a dark expanse of sand.
We live in a world of motion and distance.
The heart flies from tree to bird,
from bird to distant star,
from star to love; and love grows
in the quiet house, turning and working
servant of thought, a lamp held in one hand.
_____________________
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
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