DAYLIGHT
—Dawn DiBartolo, sacramento
between the shutters
sunrise beckons,
sways bright upon my belly;
daylight silently slithering playful
like a serpent
~ and slides thru,
reposing morn in delicious hues;
my eyes, hypnotized, as I
~ desire ~
fall captive to the sunshine.
_______________________
Thanks, Dawn!
This week:
•••The Marathon ends at noon today; join BL Kennedy and friends for closing ceremonies at 11 AM at Java City, 18th & Capitol, Sac.
•••There will be no Sacramento Poetry Center reading tonight (Monday, 7/31).
•••Wednesday (8/2), 7:30 PM: Lake Tahoe Writing Club open mic at the Grand Hall at Valhalla Estates on the water. Bring poems and a bathing suit! Take Hwy. 50 to the Y; take 89 north about 5 miles to Valhalla Estates, which are on the right, just past Camp Richardson.
•••Also Wednesday (8/2), 10 PM-Midnight: Mahogany Poets presents Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features & Open Mic hosted by Khiry Malik. Info: www.malikspeaks.com or 916-492-9336. Ages 21 and over; $5 cover.
•••Thursday (8/3), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged, Nick Pai. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free.
•••Also Thurs. (8/3), 8-11 PM: Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac. Hosted by Flo Real and Malikspeaks. All ages, $5. Info: www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Saturday (8/5), 7 PM: First Saturday Poetry Series returns! Sojourner Truth Art Center, 2251 Florin Rd. (corner of Tamoshanter & Florin), Sac. Hosted by Noah Hayes & Felicia McGee. All ages, $5. Come early for workshop. Info: www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Also Saturday (8/5), 4 PM: Quinton Duval will be reading at ArtsBenicia, a community gallery in Benicia. The gallery is located at 991 Tyler Street #114 in Benicia's Historical Arsenal district. Admission is free. Info: call 707-747-0131 or e-mail info@artsbenicia.org.
Deadlines!
•••There is the still time to enter Bright Hill Press's 12th Annual Poetry Chapbook Competition; the postmark deadline is—today! Complete guidelines for the competition may be found at www.brighthillpress.org/brighthillbooks/brighthillpoetrybookchapbooksubmissionguidelines.html. Info: BHP at 607-829-5055 or e-mail wordthur@stny.rr.com.
•••Quercus Review Poetry Series Annual Book Award, 2006 will get you $500.00 and 50 books! Deadline to submit your manuscript: Tuesday, August 1st, 2006—that’s tomorrow! Send submissions to Quercus Review Press, MJC English Dept., 435 College Ave, Modesto, CA 95350. For complete guidelines and/or to review past winners: http://www.quercusreview.com/index.html. The Quercus folks say: Open to all poets, with or without previous book publication. New and emerging writers are especially invited to submit. No restrictions on content, style or subject matter. We are simply looking for the best poetry we can find.
Use Your Net:
Interviewer-in-Residence JoAnn Anglin writes: I accidentally came upon this website, and encourage you to check it out. Many, many poets and poems, mostly contemporary I think, with some fine and interesting expressions: http://www.poetryporch.com/list.html. Enjoy!
_______________________
THE SIGN OF THE BITE
—Ronny Someck
In the morning after the great chaos concert the faces emptied
like beer bottles.
Who turned to look saw that between the women’s lips an apple
shuddered
and in the apple—the sign of the bite.
And love? Love was threaded in elastic in underwear:
what holds it up is
what exerts the pressure.
_____________________
BLUES FOR ELLIOT SHARP
—Ronny Someck
His guitar has a severed neck.
He plays like someone sweeping plucked feathers
from the slaughterhouse floor. The feathers long for the body as
the flower in the pot licks, till it withers, the ground water
that flowed in its leaves.
Music is never the last wish
uttered through the victim’s clenched lips
anticipating the chords from the rifle barrels.
It is the escape route through the rusty heart
of barbed wire fences.
_______________________
TIL WHEN WILL WE SLEEP AFTER THE WHORE
—Ronny Someck
Till when will we sleep after the whore
and awaken before the milkman.
He who stays awake dreams the distance
between the baby and the victim,
and by the door lies the memory of the dead
like milk bottles brought by the milkman of death
from the battlefields.
(The Lebanese border, 1997)
Ronny Someck’s poetry was translated from the Hebrew by Vivian Eden; it appears in Iraqi Poetry Today, ed. by Daniel Weissbort.
_______________________
—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, July 31, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Too Precious Not to Pick
BAMBOO
—Ryokan
The thick bamboo grove near my hut
Keeps me nice and cool.
Shoots proliferate, blocking the path,
While old branches reach for the sky.
Years of frost give bamboo spirit;
They are most mysterious when wrapped in mist.
Bamboo is as hardy as pine and oak,
And more subtle than peach or plum blossoms.
It grows straight and tall,
Empty inside but with a sturdy root.
I love the purity and honesty of my bamboo,
And want them to thrive here always!
_______________________
Wild peonies
Now at their peak
In glorious full bloom:
Too precious to pick,
Too precious not to pick.
O lonely pine!
I'd gladly give you
My straw hat and
Thatches coat
To ward off the rain.
—Ryokan
_______________________
How can I possibly sleep
This moonlit evening?
Come, my friends,
Let's sing and dance
All night long.
Stretched out,
Tipsy,
Under the vast sky:
Splendid dreams
Beneath the cherry blossoms.
Wild roses,
Plucked from fields,
Full of croaking frogs:
Float them in your wine
And enjoy every minute!
—Ryokan
________________________
SUMMER EVENING
—Ryokan
The night advances toward dawn,
Dew drips from the bamboo onto my brushwood gate.
My neighbor to the west has stopped pounding his mortar;
My little hermit's garden grows moist.
Frogs croak near and far,
Fireflies flit high and low.
Wide awake, it's not possible to sleep tonight.
I smooth my pillow and let my thoughts drift.
_____________________________
Still going on:
•••The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon continues through today (Sun.) at Java City, 18th & Capitol, Sac., ending at noon on Monday, July 31.
•••There will be no Sacramento Poetry Center reading this Monday (7/31).
There is the still time
(well, barely) to enter Bright Hill Press's 12th Annual Poetry Chapbook Competition; the postmark deadline is Monday, July 31, 2006. Complete guidelines for the competition may be found at www.brighthillpress.org/brighthillbooks/brighthillpoetrybookchapbooksubmissionguidelines.html. Info: BHP at 607-829-5055 or e-mail wordthur@stny.rr.com. [Sorry for the late notice; I just got this and figured you might still want to give it a shot.]
_______________________
Spring rains,
Summer showers,
A dry autumn:
May nature smile on us
And we all will share in the bounty.
Please don't mistake me
For a bird
When I swoop
Into your garden
To eat the cherry apples.
I went there
To beg rice
But the blooming bush clover
Among the stones
Made me forget the reason.
(Today's poetry is from Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf: Zen Poems of Ryokan, trans. by John Stevens)
—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.)
—Ryokan
The thick bamboo grove near my hut
Keeps me nice and cool.
Shoots proliferate, blocking the path,
While old branches reach for the sky.
Years of frost give bamboo spirit;
They are most mysterious when wrapped in mist.
Bamboo is as hardy as pine and oak,
And more subtle than peach or plum blossoms.
It grows straight and tall,
Empty inside but with a sturdy root.
I love the purity and honesty of my bamboo,
And want them to thrive here always!
_______________________
Wild peonies
Now at their peak
In glorious full bloom:
Too precious to pick,
Too precious not to pick.
O lonely pine!
I'd gladly give you
My straw hat and
Thatches coat
To ward off the rain.
—Ryokan
_______________________
How can I possibly sleep
This moonlit evening?
Come, my friends,
Let's sing and dance
All night long.
Stretched out,
Tipsy,
Under the vast sky:
Splendid dreams
Beneath the cherry blossoms.
Wild roses,
Plucked from fields,
Full of croaking frogs:
Float them in your wine
And enjoy every minute!
—Ryokan
________________________
SUMMER EVENING
—Ryokan
The night advances toward dawn,
Dew drips from the bamboo onto my brushwood gate.
My neighbor to the west has stopped pounding his mortar;
My little hermit's garden grows moist.
Frogs croak near and far,
Fireflies flit high and low.
Wide awake, it's not possible to sleep tonight.
I smooth my pillow and let my thoughts drift.
_____________________________
Still going on:
•••The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon continues through today (Sun.) at Java City, 18th & Capitol, Sac., ending at noon on Monday, July 31.
•••There will be no Sacramento Poetry Center reading this Monday (7/31).
There is the still time
(well, barely) to enter Bright Hill Press's 12th Annual Poetry Chapbook Competition; the postmark deadline is Monday, July 31, 2006. Complete guidelines for the competition may be found at www.brighthillpress.org/brighthillbooks/brighthillpoetrybookchapbooksubmissionguidelines.html. Info: BHP at 607-829-5055 or e-mail wordthur@stny.rr.com. [Sorry for the late notice; I just got this and figured you might still want to give it a shot.]
_______________________
Spring rains,
Summer showers,
A dry autumn:
May nature smile on us
And we all will share in the bounty.
Please don't mistake me
For a bird
When I swoop
Into your garden
To eat the cherry apples.
I went there
To beg rice
But the blooming bush clover
Among the stones
Made me forget the reason.
(Today's poetry is from Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf: Zen Poems of Ryokan, trans. by John Stevens)
—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, July 29, 2006
What Loads My Hands Down?
For those of you on the road:
HOME IS SO SAD
—Philip Larkin
Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft
And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.
_______________________
HOW DISTANT
—Philip Larkin
How distant, the departure of young men
Down valleys, or watching
The green shore past the salt-white cordage
Rising and falling,
Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Simply to get away
From married villages before morning,
Melodeons play
On tiny decks past fraying cliffs of water
Or late at night
Sweet under the differently-swung stars,
When the chance sight
Of a girl doing her laundry in the steerage
Ramifies endlessly.
This is being young,
Assumption of the startled century
Like new store clothes,
The huge decisions printed out by feet
Inventing where they tread,
The random windows conjuring a street.
_______________________
WIRES
—Philip Larkin
The widest prairies have electric fences,
For though old cattle know they must not stray
Young steers are always scenting purer water
Not here but anywhere. Beyond the wires
Leads them to blunder up against the wires
Whose muscle-shredding violence gives no quarter.
Young steers become old cattle from that day,
Electric limits to their widest senses.
________________________
NO ROAD
—Philip Larkin
Since we agreed to let the road between us
Fall to disuse,
And bricked our gates up, planted trees to screen us,
And turned all time's eroding agents loose,
Silence, and space, and stranger—our neglect
Has not had much effect.
Leaves drift unswept, perhaps; grass creeps unmown;
No other change.
So clear it stands, so little overgrown,
Walking that way tonight would not seem strange,
And still would be allowed. A little longer,
And time will be the stronger,
Drafting a world where no such road will run
From you to me;
To watch that world come up like a cold sun,
Rewarding others, is my liberty.
Not to prevent it is my will's fulfillment.
Willing it, my ailment.
_______________________
GOING
—Philip Larkin
There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.
Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.
Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to the sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?
What loads my hands down?
_______________________
A couple (or three) program notes:
•••The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon continues through today (Sat.) and tomorrow (Sun.) at Java City, 18th & Capitol, Sac., ending at noon on Monday, July 31. There will be no Sacramento Poetry Center reading this Monday (7/31), due to mass exhaustion from the Marathon [which I checked out yesterday: lots of shade (thanks be that it's this weekend and not last!) and, as advertised, folks reading poetry 24/3. The PA system makes it easy to hear, even indoors in the air conditioning.].
•••While you're downtown tonight (Sat., 7/29), head over to 35th and Broadway from 7-9 PM: “The Show” Poetry Series features Michelle Ala Chappelle, Lee Knight Jr. from Palo Alto (2005 King of the Mic Champion), Claudia Epperson from Modesto. Wo’se Community Center, 2863 35th St., Sac. (off 35th & Broadway). $5. Info: 916-455-POET.
•••Headed up to the Lake this week? Ray Hadley of South Lake Tahoe writes: Lake Tahoe Writing Club is having an open mic Wed., August 2 at the Grand Hall at Valhalla Estates, right on the water. Bring poems and a bathing suit. Take Hwy 50 to the Y; take 89 north about 5 miles to Valhalla Estates, which are on the right, just past Camp Richardson. Reading starts at 7:30 PM. While you're there, visit Ray's Keynote Bookstore in South Lake Tahoe. Jeanine Stevens reports that she got two used poetry books there earlier this month. And check out the June Rattlesnake Review (Snake 10) for more on the Tahoe poetry scene.
—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.)
HOME IS SO SAD
—Philip Larkin
Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft
And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.
_______________________
HOW DISTANT
—Philip Larkin
How distant, the departure of young men
Down valleys, or watching
The green shore past the salt-white cordage
Rising and falling,
Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Simply to get away
From married villages before morning,
Melodeons play
On tiny decks past fraying cliffs of water
Or late at night
Sweet under the differently-swung stars,
When the chance sight
Of a girl doing her laundry in the steerage
Ramifies endlessly.
This is being young,
Assumption of the startled century
Like new store clothes,
The huge decisions printed out by feet
Inventing where they tread,
The random windows conjuring a street.
_______________________
WIRES
—Philip Larkin
The widest prairies have electric fences,
For though old cattle know they must not stray
Young steers are always scenting purer water
Not here but anywhere. Beyond the wires
Leads them to blunder up against the wires
Whose muscle-shredding violence gives no quarter.
Young steers become old cattle from that day,
Electric limits to their widest senses.
________________________
NO ROAD
—Philip Larkin
Since we agreed to let the road between us
Fall to disuse,
And bricked our gates up, planted trees to screen us,
And turned all time's eroding agents loose,
Silence, and space, and stranger—our neglect
Has not had much effect.
Leaves drift unswept, perhaps; grass creeps unmown;
No other change.
So clear it stands, so little overgrown,
Walking that way tonight would not seem strange,
And still would be allowed. A little longer,
And time will be the stronger,
Drafting a world where no such road will run
From you to me;
To watch that world come up like a cold sun,
Rewarding others, is my liberty.
Not to prevent it is my will's fulfillment.
Willing it, my ailment.
_______________________
GOING
—Philip Larkin
There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.
Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.
Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to the sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?
What loads my hands down?
_______________________
A couple (or three) program notes:
•••The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon continues through today (Sat.) and tomorrow (Sun.) at Java City, 18th & Capitol, Sac., ending at noon on Monday, July 31. There will be no Sacramento Poetry Center reading this Monday (7/31), due to mass exhaustion from the Marathon [which I checked out yesterday: lots of shade (thanks be that it's this weekend and not last!) and, as advertised, folks reading poetry 24/3. The PA system makes it easy to hear, even indoors in the air conditioning.].
•••While you're downtown tonight (Sat., 7/29), head over to 35th and Broadway from 7-9 PM: “The Show” Poetry Series features Michelle Ala Chappelle, Lee Knight Jr. from Palo Alto (2005 King of the Mic Champion), Claudia Epperson from Modesto. Wo’se Community Center, 2863 35th St., Sac. (off 35th & Broadway). $5. Info: 916-455-POET.
•••Headed up to the Lake this week? Ray Hadley of South Lake Tahoe writes: Lake Tahoe Writing Club is having an open mic Wed., August 2 at the Grand Hall at Valhalla Estates, right on the water. Bring poems and a bathing suit. Take Hwy 50 to the Y; take 89 north about 5 miles to Valhalla Estates, which are on the right, just past Camp Richardson. Reading starts at 7:30 PM. While you're there, visit Ray's Keynote Bookstore in South Lake Tahoe. Jeanine Stevens reports that she got two used poetry books there earlier this month. And check out the June Rattlesnake Review (Snake 10) for more on the Tahoe poetry scene.
—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, July 28, 2006
Dragon Food
SEE HOW SPRING OPENS
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
See how Spring opens with disabling cold,
And hunting winds and the long-lying snow.
Is it a wonder if the buds are slow?
Or where is strength to make the leaf unfold?
Chilling remembrance of my days of old
Afflicts no less, what yet I hope may blow,
That seed which the good sower once did sow,
So loading with obstruction that threshold
Which should ere now have led my feet to the field.
It is the waste done in unreticent youth
Which makes so small the promise of that yield
That I may win with late-learnt skill uncouth
From furrows of the poor and stinting weald.
Therefore how bitter, and learnt how late, the truth!
________________________
Today Hopkins would've been 162 years old. Exactly 100 years after he was born, Snakebuddie Judy Taylor Graham joined us; today is her birthday, too. (Well, now I've given away her age....) JTG sends us this birthday tribute to GMH:
COUNTING BIRDS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
and with ah! bright wings. —Gerard Manley Hopkins
Brother Gerard, in this rainy California June
(could it be global warming?) your Windhover stays
low — Kestrel to us, “AMKE” in scientific code.
But today it’s flycatchers and bluebirds I record,
while the toil and trod of traffic goes by at 70,
blind windshields under sky. Such strange weather
all this year; what have we done? We’ve fenced
and lopped and leveled. Where will new birds fly?
I curse the thistles, and despair for birds, for
the land, the human race. Along this stock-wire
right-of-way, I’m leather-shod with gaitered legs.
A roadkill swallow lies among the littered cans.
I ask, how many sparrows has He seen fall? And
yet, here’s a feather nest with six warm eggs.
_______________________
Thanks, TG! The rest of us will find a small corner and a small moment today to read "The Windhover" and "Pied Beauty" and let all that word-music rock'n'roll over our ears.
Poetry-a-Rama:
The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon, which will feature poetry readings 24 hours a day for three days, starts today at noon (with opening ceremonies at 11) and runs 24 hours/day through Saturday and Sunday, ending at noon on Monday, July 31. Java City (18th & Capitol, Sac.). Info: 452-5493.
Worldwide Peace Project:
The Peace Library (and friends) write:
You are invited to join a peace project. Sit down for a moment and think about a peaceful world, what does that look like? What can we do to make changes? Where do we begin? Please take a little more time to write down your ideas.
This project is part of a worldwide Peace Day celebration. In 1983 the United Nations declared September 21 the International Day of Peace (www.internationaldayofpeace.org.) Peace Day gatherings are being planned all over the world in support of a single day of global cease-fire, and in the hope of a future without the violence of war.
The Peace Library (www.thepeacelibrary.org), based in San Luis Obispo, California, and ARTS Obispo, SLO County Arts Council are sponsoring an art installation in the new ARTS Space Obispo gallery in honor of this important day — September 21, 2006. The installation will be composed of your ideas in letter-form, creating an international chorus for peace.
Email this invitation to friends and family, including those in other countries. Ask them to invite their friends and families to join the project. It is our hope to create a forum for positive change, a dialogue shared by all who wish to be a part of a global movement for peace.
••• All letters received by September 7, 2006 will be included.
••• Write the letter in your own handwriting if possible; if not, typed is fine, or email thepeacelibrary@aol.com. No response is too short or too long.
••• Write the letter in your own language; part or all of it could be translated into English if you like.
••• Include in the letter the country of origin.
••• Send or email a picture of yourself and/or your family and friends
••• Use interesting paper, perhaps something commonly used in your community, and attractive stamps on the envelope.
••• Ask everyone you know to send a letter.
••• Send the letters to…
The Peace Library
17100 Walnut
Atascadero, California 93422
______________________
ANDROMEDA
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
Now Time's Andromeda on this rock rude,
With not her either beauty's equal or
Her injury's, looks off by both horns of shore,
Her flower, her piece of being, doomed dragon food.
Time past she has been attempted and pursued
By many blows and banes; but now hears roar
A wilder beast from West than all were, more
Rife in her wrongs, more lawless, and more lewd.
Her Perseus linger and leave her to her extremes?—
Pillowy air he treads a time and hangs
His thoughts on her, forsaken that she seems,
All while her patience, morselled into pangs,
Mounts; then to alight disarming, no one dreams,
With Gorgon's gear and barebill/thongs and fangs.
________________________
Happy Birthday, Gerry and Judy! What a great day to write a poem about peace!
—Medusa (and that other Gorgon, Time...)
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.)
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
See how Spring opens with disabling cold,
And hunting winds and the long-lying snow.
Is it a wonder if the buds are slow?
Or where is strength to make the leaf unfold?
Chilling remembrance of my days of old
Afflicts no less, what yet I hope may blow,
That seed which the good sower once did sow,
So loading with obstruction that threshold
Which should ere now have led my feet to the field.
It is the waste done in unreticent youth
Which makes so small the promise of that yield
That I may win with late-learnt skill uncouth
From furrows of the poor and stinting weald.
Therefore how bitter, and learnt how late, the truth!
________________________
Today Hopkins would've been 162 years old. Exactly 100 years after he was born, Snakebuddie Judy Taylor Graham joined us; today is her birthday, too. (Well, now I've given away her age....) JTG sends us this birthday tribute to GMH:
COUNTING BIRDS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
and with ah! bright wings. —Gerard Manley Hopkins
Brother Gerard, in this rainy California June
(could it be global warming?) your Windhover stays
low — Kestrel to us, “AMKE” in scientific code.
But today it’s flycatchers and bluebirds I record,
while the toil and trod of traffic goes by at 70,
blind windshields under sky. Such strange weather
all this year; what have we done? We’ve fenced
and lopped and leveled. Where will new birds fly?
I curse the thistles, and despair for birds, for
the land, the human race. Along this stock-wire
right-of-way, I’m leather-shod with gaitered legs.
A roadkill swallow lies among the littered cans.
I ask, how many sparrows has He seen fall? And
yet, here’s a feather nest with six warm eggs.
_______________________
Thanks, TG! The rest of us will find a small corner and a small moment today to read "The Windhover" and "Pied Beauty" and let all that word-music rock'n'roll over our ears.
Poetry-a-Rama:
The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon, which will feature poetry readings 24 hours a day for three days, starts today at noon (with opening ceremonies at 11) and runs 24 hours/day through Saturday and Sunday, ending at noon on Monday, July 31. Java City (18th & Capitol, Sac.). Info: 452-5493.
Worldwide Peace Project:
The Peace Library (and friends) write:
You are invited to join a peace project. Sit down for a moment and think about a peaceful world, what does that look like? What can we do to make changes? Where do we begin? Please take a little more time to write down your ideas.
This project is part of a worldwide Peace Day celebration. In 1983 the United Nations declared September 21 the International Day of Peace (www.internationaldayofpeace.org.) Peace Day gatherings are being planned all over the world in support of a single day of global cease-fire, and in the hope of a future without the violence of war.
The Peace Library (www.thepeacelibrary.org), based in San Luis Obispo, California, and ARTS Obispo, SLO County Arts Council are sponsoring an art installation in the new ARTS Space Obispo gallery in honor of this important day — September 21, 2006. The installation will be composed of your ideas in letter-form, creating an international chorus for peace.
Email this invitation to friends and family, including those in other countries. Ask them to invite their friends and families to join the project. It is our hope to create a forum for positive change, a dialogue shared by all who wish to be a part of a global movement for peace.
••• All letters received by September 7, 2006 will be included.
••• Write the letter in your own handwriting if possible; if not, typed is fine, or email thepeacelibrary@aol.com. No response is too short or too long.
••• Write the letter in your own language; part or all of it could be translated into English if you like.
••• Include in the letter the country of origin.
••• Send or email a picture of yourself and/or your family and friends
••• Use interesting paper, perhaps something commonly used in your community, and attractive stamps on the envelope.
••• Ask everyone you know to send a letter.
••• Send the letters to…
The Peace Library
17100 Walnut
Atascadero, California 93422
______________________
ANDROMEDA
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
Now Time's Andromeda on this rock rude,
With not her either beauty's equal or
Her injury's, looks off by both horns of shore,
Her flower, her piece of being, doomed dragon food.
Time past she has been attempted and pursued
By many blows and banes; but now hears roar
A wilder beast from West than all were, more
Rife in her wrongs, more lawless, and more lewd.
Her Perseus linger and leave her to her extremes?—
Pillowy air he treads a time and hangs
His thoughts on her, forsaken that she seems,
All while her patience, morselled into pangs,
Mounts; then to alight disarming, no one dreams,
With Gorgon's gear and barebill/thongs and fangs.
________________________
Happy Birthday, Gerry and Judy! What a great day to write a poem about peace!
—Medusa (and that other Gorgon, Time...)
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, July 27, 2006
Rumorous Rain
KEEPING TIME IN THE JAPANESE GARDEN
—Steve Williams, Portland, OR
The day we lose an hour, I find octaves
of spinal chimes midst four seasons of shrouds,
my vertebrae petrified in garden
granite. Koi sleep-swim, hug the pond’s bottom.
Blood water pools, steeps in cirrus and sweetgum—
my mother’s face peers up from the liquid.
Behind the upslope, peal of a great bell;
the wavering tone ebbs from audible,
harrows the silence; submerges the humid
air with pressured presence on my ear drums.
As a parent hears a child’s cries blossom,
koi swim deep, keep from the cold as ardent
rains struggle to reach past the current clouds.
Mother loves it here—her age, I forgive.
________________________
Ex-Sacramentan Steve Williams sent us his mirror rhymed sonnet (it's all about reflection) to help us celebrate our mirror-fest which took place this week. Thanks, Steve! The author of littlesnake broadside #1, Steve has a book coming out from Rattlesnake Press next spring, and he also hosts wildpoetryforum.com. Check it out!
A new local voice heard from! David Anderson of Lincoln sent us some poems:
FOR NOW
—David Anderson, Lincoln
Now shrouded in a plastic envelope
the flag with fifty stars once covered his coffin,
covered the boy, the man who did not return.
His mother and his fiancee, like this flag,
hang upon a peg in time.
They wait for grief to rise, to knot, and to unravel.
The flag waits, the decision pends
whether it will unfurl in the wind
or be closeted—a momento mori.
_______________________
Thanks, David! More about the Lincoln poetry scene later.
Tonight, Three Choices (or go to all three!—well, two at least):
•••Thursday (7/27), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Mario Ellis Hill, Terrill & Eric. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com.
•••Tonight, 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge with Flo-Real, guests and open mic. The Cobbler Soul Food Restaurant, 3520 Stockton, Blvd., Sac. $5. 916-613-0776.
•••Also tonight: If you missed the SF reading by Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young last Friday, they will read together again, this time at Olympic Village Lodge in Squaw Valley (1901 Chamonix Place), 8:15 PM. $5, $10. Info: 530-581-5200.
And Tomorrow, The Marathon Begins!
Here is some last-minute buzz about this weekend’s Java City Poetry Marathon (18th & Capitol, Sacramento), which begins at noon on Friday (well, actually there's the opening ceremony at 11 AM) and ends at noon on Monday:
1. The 18th St. side of Java City will be closed off to traffic from the corner to the alley/parking lot for the entire Marathon.
2. Opening ceremonies will start at 11 AM Friday, with Ann Marie Gold, BL Kennedy, Tom Weborg, Jan Jacobs, and others. Special opening poet: D.R. Wagner, who has a book coming out from Rattlesnake Press next spring.
3. Streaming 24-hour web cast available on Access Sacramento website.
4. 2006 Commemorative Coffee Event Cups and Limited Edition Event T-shirts will be available, and a PA system has been obtained to expand the experience. Java City will remain open, serving refreshments during the entire Marathon.
This promises to be quite an event, and BL says it's the last of its kind. Be there!
Molly's August Boot Camp and Utah Workshop:
Molly Fisk writes: I hope you can squint through the heat waves rising off your desk to read this e-mail. I invite you to join us for the August Boot Camp August 20-25: write six poems in six days, something you can do while up to your neck in a swimming pool (pond/lake/creek/lagoon)—as long as you don't get the laptop wet. You will feel so cool afterward you won't need air conditioning. Info: http://www.poetrybootcamp.com
We also have two remaining spots in the Utah workshop, Writing in Place (August 28-September 2), in case you want to join us. For more on that, go to http://www.mollyfisk.com and click on "Teaching."
Poetry Workshop With Dorianne Laux & Joe Millar:
August 18, 1-5 PM at The Frank Bette Center for the Arts, 1601 Paru St., Alameda, CA. Info: 510-523-6957 (the Center) or Patricia Edith (510-521-2655). To register, send a check for $45 to The Frank Bette Center for the Arts. (Class limited to 15 students.) Dorianne and Joe will give a reading in the evening at 7:30 PM to benefit the literary arts programs at the Frank Bette Center for the Arts. (Suggested Donation, $2)
DORIANNE LAUX's fourth book of poems, Facts about the Moon, was published by W.W. Norton in 2005. She is also author of three collections of poetry from BOA Editions and co-author, with Kim Addonizio, of The Poet's Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry (W.W. Norton, 1997). Her work has appeared in the Best of the American Poetry Review, The Norton Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, and has been twice included in Best American Poetry. She has been awarded with a Pushcart Prize for poetry, two fellowships from The National Endowment for the Arts, and a Guggenheim Fellowship. Laux is a Professor in the University of Oregon’s Creative Writing Program. She lives in Eugene, Oregon with her husband, poet Joseph Millar.
JOSEPH MILLAR is the author of Overtime from Eastern Washington University press. His second collection, Fortune, is due out from EWU this fall. Millar grew up in Pennsylvania, attended Johns Hopkins University and spent 25 years in the San Francisco Bay area, working at a variety of jobs, from telephone repairman to commercial fisherman. His poems have appeared in numerous magazines including TriQuarterly Review, Ploughshares, New Letters, Manoa, and River Styx, and he has won fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts in Poetry, the Moncalvo Center for the Arts, and from Oregon Literary Arts.
_______________________
Two from Delmore about summer rain. (We can dream, can't we....?)
THE DARK AND FALLING SUMMER
—Delmore Schwartz
The rain was full of the freshness
and the fresh fragrance of darkening grapes,
The rain was as the dark falling of hidden
And fabulous grapes ripening, great blue thunderheads moving slowly,
slowly blooming.
The dark air was possessed by the fragrance of freshness,
By a scattered and confused profusion until
After the tattering began, the pouring down came
And plenitude descended, multitudinous:
Everywhere was full of the pulsing of the loud and fallen dark.
_______________________
DARKLING SUMMER, OMINOUS DUSK, RUMOROUS RAIN
—Delmore Schwartz
1.
A tattering of rain and then the reign
Of pour and pouring-down and down,
Where in the westward gathered the filming gown
Of grey and clouding weakness, and, in the mane
Of the light's glory and the day's splendor, gold and vain,
Vivid, more and more vivid, scarlet, lucid and more luminous,
Then came a splatter, a prattle, a blowing rain!
And soon the hour was musical and rumorous:
A softness of a dripping lipped the isolated houses,
A gaunt grey somber softness licked the glass of hours.
2.
Again, after a catbird squeaked in the special silence,
And clouding vagueness fogged the windowpane
And gathered blackness and overcast, the mane
Of light's story and light's glory surrendered and ended
—A pebble—a ring—a ringing on the pane,
A blowing and a blowing in: tides of the blue and cold
Moods of the great blue bay, and slates of grey
Came down upon the land's great sea, the body of this day
—Hardly an atom of silence amid the roar
Allowed the voice to form appeal—to call:
By kindled light we thought we saw the bronze of fall.
_______________________
Rumorous rain? How cool is that....!
—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.)
—Steve Williams, Portland, OR
The day we lose an hour, I find octaves
of spinal chimes midst four seasons of shrouds,
my vertebrae petrified in garden
granite. Koi sleep-swim, hug the pond’s bottom.
Blood water pools, steeps in cirrus and sweetgum—
my mother’s face peers up from the liquid.
Behind the upslope, peal of a great bell;
the wavering tone ebbs from audible,
harrows the silence; submerges the humid
air with pressured presence on my ear drums.
As a parent hears a child’s cries blossom,
koi swim deep, keep from the cold as ardent
rains struggle to reach past the current clouds.
Mother loves it here—her age, I forgive.
________________________
Ex-Sacramentan Steve Williams sent us his mirror rhymed sonnet (it's all about reflection) to help us celebrate our mirror-fest which took place this week. Thanks, Steve! The author of littlesnake broadside #1, Steve has a book coming out from Rattlesnake Press next spring, and he also hosts wildpoetryforum.com. Check it out!
A new local voice heard from! David Anderson of Lincoln sent us some poems:
FOR NOW
—David Anderson, Lincoln
Now shrouded in a plastic envelope
the flag with fifty stars once covered his coffin,
covered the boy, the man who did not return.
His mother and his fiancee, like this flag,
hang upon a peg in time.
They wait for grief to rise, to knot, and to unravel.
The flag waits, the decision pends
whether it will unfurl in the wind
or be closeted—a momento mori.
_______________________
Thanks, David! More about the Lincoln poetry scene later.
Tonight, Three Choices (or go to all three!—well, two at least):
•••Thursday (7/27), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Mario Ellis Hill, Terrill & Eric. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com.
•••Tonight, 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge with Flo-Real, guests and open mic. The Cobbler Soul Food Restaurant, 3520 Stockton, Blvd., Sac. $5. 916-613-0776.
•••Also tonight: If you missed the SF reading by Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young last Friday, they will read together again, this time at Olympic Village Lodge in Squaw Valley (1901 Chamonix Place), 8:15 PM. $5, $10. Info: 530-581-5200.
And Tomorrow, The Marathon Begins!
Here is some last-minute buzz about this weekend’s Java City Poetry Marathon (18th & Capitol, Sacramento), which begins at noon on Friday (well, actually there's the opening ceremony at 11 AM) and ends at noon on Monday:
1. The 18th St. side of Java City will be closed off to traffic from the corner to the alley/parking lot for the entire Marathon.
2. Opening ceremonies will start at 11 AM Friday, with Ann Marie Gold, BL Kennedy, Tom Weborg, Jan Jacobs, and others. Special opening poet: D.R. Wagner, who has a book coming out from Rattlesnake Press next spring.
3. Streaming 24-hour web cast available on Access Sacramento website.
4. 2006 Commemorative Coffee Event Cups and Limited Edition Event T-shirts will be available, and a PA system has been obtained to expand the experience. Java City will remain open, serving refreshments during the entire Marathon.
This promises to be quite an event, and BL says it's the last of its kind. Be there!
Molly's August Boot Camp and Utah Workshop:
Molly Fisk writes: I hope you can squint through the heat waves rising off your desk to read this e-mail. I invite you to join us for the August Boot Camp August 20-25: write six poems in six days, something you can do while up to your neck in a swimming pool (pond/lake/creek/lagoon)—as long as you don't get the laptop wet. You will feel so cool afterward you won't need air conditioning. Info: http://www.poetrybootcamp.com
We also have two remaining spots in the Utah workshop, Writing in Place (August 28-September 2), in case you want to join us. For more on that, go to http://www.mollyfisk.com and click on "Teaching."
Poetry Workshop With Dorianne Laux & Joe Millar:
August 18, 1-5 PM at The Frank Bette Center for the Arts, 1601 Paru St., Alameda, CA. Info: 510-523-6957 (the Center) or Patricia Edith (510-521-2655). To register, send a check for $45 to The Frank Bette Center for the Arts. (Class limited to 15 students.) Dorianne and Joe will give a reading in the evening at 7:30 PM to benefit the literary arts programs at the Frank Bette Center for the Arts. (Suggested Donation, $2)
DORIANNE LAUX's fourth book of poems, Facts about the Moon, was published by W.W. Norton in 2005. She is also author of three collections of poetry from BOA Editions and co-author, with Kim Addonizio, of The Poet's Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry (W.W. Norton, 1997). Her work has appeared in the Best of the American Poetry Review, The Norton Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, and has been twice included in Best American Poetry. She has been awarded with a Pushcart Prize for poetry, two fellowships from The National Endowment for the Arts, and a Guggenheim Fellowship. Laux is a Professor in the University of Oregon’s Creative Writing Program. She lives in Eugene, Oregon with her husband, poet Joseph Millar.
JOSEPH MILLAR is the author of Overtime from Eastern Washington University press. His second collection, Fortune, is due out from EWU this fall. Millar grew up in Pennsylvania, attended Johns Hopkins University and spent 25 years in the San Francisco Bay area, working at a variety of jobs, from telephone repairman to commercial fisherman. His poems have appeared in numerous magazines including TriQuarterly Review, Ploughshares, New Letters, Manoa, and River Styx, and he has won fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts in Poetry, the Moncalvo Center for the Arts, and from Oregon Literary Arts.
_______________________
Two from Delmore about summer rain. (We can dream, can't we....?)
THE DARK AND FALLING SUMMER
—Delmore Schwartz
The rain was full of the freshness
and the fresh fragrance of darkening grapes,
The rain was as the dark falling of hidden
And fabulous grapes ripening, great blue thunderheads moving slowly,
slowly blooming.
The dark air was possessed by the fragrance of freshness,
By a scattered and confused profusion until
After the tattering began, the pouring down came
And plenitude descended, multitudinous:
Everywhere was full of the pulsing of the loud and fallen dark.
_______________________
DARKLING SUMMER, OMINOUS DUSK, RUMOROUS RAIN
—Delmore Schwartz
1.
A tattering of rain and then the reign
Of pour and pouring-down and down,
Where in the westward gathered the filming gown
Of grey and clouding weakness, and, in the mane
Of the light's glory and the day's splendor, gold and vain,
Vivid, more and more vivid, scarlet, lucid and more luminous,
Then came a splatter, a prattle, a blowing rain!
And soon the hour was musical and rumorous:
A softness of a dripping lipped the isolated houses,
A gaunt grey somber softness licked the glass of hours.
2.
Again, after a catbird squeaked in the special silence,
And clouding vagueness fogged the windowpane
And gathered blackness and overcast, the mane
Of light's story and light's glory surrendered and ended
—A pebble—a ring—a ringing on the pane,
A blowing and a blowing in: tides of the blue and cold
Moods of the great blue bay, and slates of grey
Came down upon the land's great sea, the body of this day
—Hardly an atom of silence amid the roar
Allowed the voice to form appeal—to call:
By kindled light we thought we saw the bronze of fall.
_______________________
Rumorous rain? How cool is that....!
—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, July 26, 2006
A Leaky Saucepan of Destinies
CINDERELLA
—Miroslav Holub
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
bad ones those, good ones these,
yes and no, no and yes.
No cheating. No untruthfulness.
From somewhere the sound of dancing.
Somebody's horses are prancing.
Somebody's riding in state.
The slipper's no longer too small,
toes have been cut off for the ball.
This is the truth. Never doubt.
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
bad ones those, good ones these,
yes and no, no and yes.
No cheating. No untruthfulness.
Coaches drive to the palace door
and everybody bows before
the self-appointed bride.
No blood is flowing. Just red birds
from distant parts are clearly heard
as, plumage ruffled, they alight.
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
bad ones those, good ones these,
yes and no, no and yes.
No little nuts, no prince that charms
and we all long for mother's arms,
yet there is but one hope:
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
softly as one fits joints together
with finger gentle as a feather,
or as one kneads the dough for bread.
________________________
WHAT ELSE
—Miroslav Holub
What else to do
but drive a small dog
out of yourself
with a stick?
Scruff bristling with fright
he huddles against the wall,
crawls in the domestic zodiac,
limps,
bleeding from the muzzle.
He would eat out of your hand
but that's no use.
What else
is poetry
but killing that small dog
in yourself?
And all around the barking, barking,
the hysterical barking
of cats.
________________________
Headed North?
Poets, poetry sympathizers and fellow travelers are invited to Colored Horse Studio at 780 Waugh Lane in Ukiah for an open mike poetry reading. They write: Time is limited to 6 minutes per participant, but we expect to have time for two or more rounds. We will be starting at 7 PM and going till about 9:30. Refreshments will be available. Donations are always welcome; they help us keep this series going. We are also grateful to Poets & Writers, Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio for helping to keep us afloat.
In August (Thurs., Aug. 31) we will resume our featured reader series as we begin our 8th year. Featured poet will be Armand Brint, former Ukiah Poet Laureate and author of Schools of Light and The League of Slow Cities. Armand was one of the first featured readers when we began this series at the Emerald Cafe in 1998. For more info: 463-6989, 275-9010, 468-9488 or poetry@coloredhorse.com (All phone numbers are area code 707.)
Closer to Home:
Tonight (Wed., 7/26), 6-7 PM: Hidden Passage Poetry Reading 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.
_______________________
THE FOREST
—Miroslav Holub
Among the primary rocks
where the bird spirits
crack the granite seeds
and the tree statues
with their black arms
threaten the clouds,
suddenly
there comes a rumble,
as if history
were being uprooted,
the grass bristles,
boulders tremble,
the earth's surface cracks
and there grows
a mushroom,
immense as life litself,
filled with billions of cells
immense as life itself,
eternal,
watery,
appearing in this world for the first
and last time.
________________________
BEHIND THE HOUSE
—Miroslav Holub
Behind the house is a leaky saucepan of destinies.
A scooter grown wise with age.
On a clothesline a wisp of stale breath.
Nitrogen oxide.
A drop of blood.
And in the shed in a heap
rags, ropes, rumpuses
and angels.
________________________
—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.)
—Miroslav Holub
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
bad ones those, good ones these,
yes and no, no and yes.
No cheating. No untruthfulness.
From somewhere the sound of dancing.
Somebody's horses are prancing.
Somebody's riding in state.
The slipper's no longer too small,
toes have been cut off for the ball.
This is the truth. Never doubt.
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
bad ones those, good ones these,
yes and no, no and yes.
No cheating. No untruthfulness.
Coaches drive to the palace door
and everybody bows before
the self-appointed bride.
No blood is flowing. Just red birds
from distant parts are clearly heard
as, plumage ruffled, they alight.
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
bad ones those, good ones these,
yes and no, no and yes.
No little nuts, no prince that charms
and we all long for mother's arms,
yet there is but one hope:
Cinderella is sorting her peas:
softly as one fits joints together
with finger gentle as a feather,
or as one kneads the dough for bread.
________________________
WHAT ELSE
—Miroslav Holub
What else to do
but drive a small dog
out of yourself
with a stick?
Scruff bristling with fright
he huddles against the wall,
crawls in the domestic zodiac,
limps,
bleeding from the muzzle.
He would eat out of your hand
but that's no use.
What else
is poetry
but killing that small dog
in yourself?
And all around the barking, barking,
the hysterical barking
of cats.
________________________
Headed North?
Poets, poetry sympathizers and fellow travelers are invited to Colored Horse Studio at 780 Waugh Lane in Ukiah for an open mike poetry reading. They write: Time is limited to 6 minutes per participant, but we expect to have time for two or more rounds. We will be starting at 7 PM and going till about 9:30. Refreshments will be available. Donations are always welcome; they help us keep this series going. We are also grateful to Poets & Writers, Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio for helping to keep us afloat.
In August (Thurs., Aug. 31) we will resume our featured reader series as we begin our 8th year. Featured poet will be Armand Brint, former Ukiah Poet Laureate and author of Schools of Light and The League of Slow Cities. Armand was one of the first featured readers when we began this series at the Emerald Cafe in 1998. For more info: 463-6989, 275-9010, 468-9488 or poetry@coloredhorse.com (All phone numbers are area code 707.)
Closer to Home:
Tonight (Wed., 7/26), 6-7 PM: Hidden Passage Poetry Reading 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.
_______________________
THE FOREST
—Miroslav Holub
Among the primary rocks
where the bird spirits
crack the granite seeds
and the tree statues
with their black arms
threaten the clouds,
suddenly
there comes a rumble,
as if history
were being uprooted,
the grass bristles,
boulders tremble,
the earth's surface cracks
and there grows
a mushroom,
immense as life litself,
filled with billions of cells
immense as life itself,
eternal,
watery,
appearing in this world for the first
and last time.
________________________
BEHIND THE HOUSE
—Miroslav Holub
Behind the house is a leaky saucepan of destinies.
A scooter grown wise with age.
On a clothesline a wisp of stale breath.
Nitrogen oxide.
A drop of blood.
And in the shed in a heap
rags, ropes, rumpuses
and angels.
________________________
—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, July 25, 2006
Uncertain Morning
Three from the Spanish:
SONNET XVII
—Pablo Neruda
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
(Translated from the Spanish by Stephen Mitchell)
________________________
THE GRADE-SCHOOL ANGELS
—Rafael Alberti
None of us understood the dark secret of the blackboards
nor why the armillary sphere seemed so remote when we looked at it.
We knew only that a circumference does not have to be round
and that an eclipse of the mooon confuses the flowers
and speeds up the timing of birds.
None of us understood anything:
not even why our fingers were made of India ink
and the afternoon closed compasses only to have the dawn open books.
We knew only that a straight line, if it likes, can be curved or broken
and that the wandering stars are children who don't know arithmetic.
(Translated from the Spanish by Mark Strand)
_______________________
PAINTED WINDOWS
—Gloria Fuertes
I lived in a house
with two real windows and the other two painted on:
Those painted windows caused my first sorrow.
I'd touch the sides of the hall
trying to reach the windows from inside.
I spent my whole childhood wanting
to lean out and see what could be seen
from the windows that weren't there.
(Translated from the Spanish by Philip Levine)
_______________________
The Mirror-Fest On-goes:
Two more mirror poems, this time from David Humphreys and Taylor Graham. You have until midnight tonight (7/25) to send in your own poems about mirrors and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked by midnight tonight) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662.
AQUARIUM
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Uncertain morning, just the fish-lamp on.
The mirror’s eye glows dim before a dawn.
You fed the goldfish, then you drove away
behind a pair of headlights. Saturday
comes overcast with all its curtains drawn.
Two fish, one brackish and the other wan,
swim circles, ripples as on water drawn.
Their tank is cozy as a teacup bay.
Uncertain morning,
and we’re so very far from Avalon.
Fish swim. As if this one phenomenon
gave hope or courage in its wordless way.
I open drapes. The mirror, silver-gray,
casts shimmers like the feather of a swan.
Uncertain morning.
________________________
GREY BEARD
—David Humphreys, Stockton
You walk through life as though
each moment was meant for you alone
hung in a gallery for private viewing.
Of course, there was no one else who might have
seen it through your eyes exactly or from
the perspective bottled up in your particular skull.
You've always moved from one
room of gilt framed artwork to the next,
taken by a splash of color or line of detail,
approving this, but not perhaps of that.
After innumerable miles strolling along
sipping chardonnay with crackers and brie,
you finally turn the corner and confront a stranger
in the mirror self portrait, beard gone from ocher
to ghostly gray, mortality abruptly overtaking you
as if you weren't actually the center of the universe
after all.
_______________________
—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.)
SONNET XVII
—Pablo Neruda
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
(Translated from the Spanish by Stephen Mitchell)
________________________
THE GRADE-SCHOOL ANGELS
—Rafael Alberti
None of us understood the dark secret of the blackboards
nor why the armillary sphere seemed so remote when we looked at it.
We knew only that a circumference does not have to be round
and that an eclipse of the mooon confuses the flowers
and speeds up the timing of birds.
None of us understood anything:
not even why our fingers were made of India ink
and the afternoon closed compasses only to have the dawn open books.
We knew only that a straight line, if it likes, can be curved or broken
and that the wandering stars are children who don't know arithmetic.
(Translated from the Spanish by Mark Strand)
_______________________
PAINTED WINDOWS
—Gloria Fuertes
I lived in a house
with two real windows and the other two painted on:
Those painted windows caused my first sorrow.
I'd touch the sides of the hall
trying to reach the windows from inside.
I spent my whole childhood wanting
to lean out and see what could be seen
from the windows that weren't there.
(Translated from the Spanish by Philip Levine)
_______________________
The Mirror-Fest On-goes:
Two more mirror poems, this time from David Humphreys and Taylor Graham. You have until midnight tonight (7/25) to send in your own poems about mirrors and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked by midnight tonight) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662.
AQUARIUM
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Uncertain morning, just the fish-lamp on.
The mirror’s eye glows dim before a dawn.
You fed the goldfish, then you drove away
behind a pair of headlights. Saturday
comes overcast with all its curtains drawn.
Two fish, one brackish and the other wan,
swim circles, ripples as on water drawn.
Their tank is cozy as a teacup bay.
Uncertain morning,
and we’re so very far from Avalon.
Fish swim. As if this one phenomenon
gave hope or courage in its wordless way.
I open drapes. The mirror, silver-gray,
casts shimmers like the feather of a swan.
Uncertain morning.
________________________
GREY BEARD
—David Humphreys, Stockton
You walk through life as though
each moment was meant for you alone
hung in a gallery for private viewing.
Of course, there was no one else who might have
seen it through your eyes exactly or from
the perspective bottled up in your particular skull.
You've always moved from one
room of gilt framed artwork to the next,
taken by a splash of color or line of detail,
approving this, but not perhaps of that.
After innumerable miles strolling along
sipping chardonnay with crackers and brie,
you finally turn the corner and confront a stranger
in the mirror self portrait, beard gone from ocher
to ghostly gray, mortality abruptly overtaking you
as if you weren't actually the center of the universe
after all.
_______________________
—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, July 24, 2006
Watching the Stars Bleed (& Po-Events 7/24-30)
First, the fix-its. This poem was posted last week, but due to some e-mail confusions, half of it was left off. I've posted it here in its entirety:
FENCED IN
—Dawn DiBartolo, Sacramento
i fenced the hours
but minutes trickled thru
sticky puddles like
waffle syrup
to carefully crafted crevices —
space reserved for my
dripping / drizzling
the screaming, screaming
~ fragments of day:
morning shower steam
makes me cough;
coffee dribbles hitler's face
to khaki colored skirt front;
keyboard tick-tick-ticking
in the far corners
of mundane;
traffic lights with obscure colors
and audio singing
"we shall overcome".
undone, i am
naked in the blazing sun,
a swinging wind chime
of fragile glass,
see thru for all who pass
without ever hearing my tune.
_______________________
Thanks, Dawn—A heat poem! For everyone else: be sure your poems are clearly separated when you send them anywhere via e-mail—little asterisks, maybe, or a long, straight line. Extra space is not enough; I've had several come through lately where confusion was possible.
Here is another one by Dawn:
DIFFERENT DENIALS
—Dawn DiBartolo, Sacramento
the gathering
seemed far less
personal than previous
years, everyone
swallowing smoke
and useless expressions.
forced by the weight
of her cross, she bled
uncontrollable once the
walls thinned, unable
to define her religion
even when given
the freedom to do so.
he sat outside of earshot
straining not to believe
that time was ending —
even as he watched
the stars bleed.
and even when she came
to him in darkness,
he forewent depth
for the surface sky,
stretching up his aged arms,
futilely bracing against
its imminent descent.
_______________________
While I'm errata-ing:
A couple of weeks ago, I said that the 20th Annual Focus on Writers Contest, sponsored by the Friends of the Sacramento Public Library, has a deadline of August 1. Actually, the deadline is August 15, so you have more time than you thought—but don't fritter it away! Get those poems in now, while you're thinking about it. Awards in each category (short story; first chapter of a novel; poetry; non-fiction article or first chapter; book/article for children; first chapter of book for young adults) are $250 for 1st, $150 for 2nd, $75 for 3rd. Info/rules: 916-264-2880 or www.saclibrary.org (click on Friends, then on Focus on Writers), or watch for one of the yellow flyers around town, including at The Book Collector.
Also August 15:
August 15 is the (postmark) deadline to enter The Ina Coolbrith Circle’s 87th Annual Poetry Contest. Their rules are very exact, so you need to get a copy of them; write to me and I’ll send them to you. For more information about The Ina Coolbrith Circle itself, try www.coolpoetry.com. ICC is an ancient, venerable society of poets...
Submissions for the second issue of Hardpan, the new journal centered in the Modesto area, are also due Aug. 15. No line limit. Open subject. e or snail mail: hardpanpoetry@sbcglobal.net ....or P.O. Box 1065, Modesto 95353.
Newlyweds Susan and Joe Finkleman:
This dynamic poetry/art duo invite you to sample their new website, visionsandviews.com, with visuals and audios of their two-person poetry, coming events, and other art and photography. Susan and Joe will be putting out a book for Rattlesnake Press in December.
This Week (as the Heat Goes On—115° in Stockton! Redding! Modesto! Distract Yourself With Poetry!):
•••Tonight (Monday, 7/24), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Christian Kiefer. Kiefer's latest book of poems is Feeding into the Winter from March Street Press, but other work more representative of his current output can be found at http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v2n2/poetry/kiefer_c/walk.htm. He is finishing up his Ph.D. in American Literature at UC Davis, and he keeps a blog [http://xiankiefer.blogspot.com] to record his musings about the music and recording business, including his lively Crowtown podcast. He has released two albums this year: The Black Dove with Sharon Kraus, and a solo project, Czar Nicholas is Dead. Both have MP3 tracks available at his Christian Kiefer website [http://www.christiankiefer.com]. Later this year, he plans to release a psychedelic-folk guitar freak-out with Tom Carter called A Rather Solemn Promise, and he expects several other projects to be released next year. Host: Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569. Free. Open Mic. [Note: I hear that SPC has done something about the air conditioning "situation"!]
•••Wednesday (7/26), 6-7 PM: Hidden Passage Poetry Reading 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.
•••Thursday (7/27), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Mario Ellis Hill, Terrill & Eric. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com.
•••Thursday, 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge with Flo-Real, guests and open mic. The Cobbler Soul Food Restaurant, 3520 Stockton, Blvd., Sac. $5. 916-613-0776.
•••Also Thursday (7/27): If you missed the SF reading by Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young last Friday, they will read together again, this time at Olympic Village Lodge in Squaw Valley (1901 Chamonix Place), 8:15 PM. $5, $10. Info: 530-581-5200.
•••The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon, which will feature poetry readings 24 hours a day for three days, starts this Friday, July 28 at noon and runs 24 hours/day through Saturday, Sunday, ending at noon on Monday, July 31. Java City (18th & Capitol, Sac.). Info: 452-5493. (The Sacramento Bee printed a jaunty picture of Host B.L. Kennedy in yesterday's Sunday "Ticket" section, page 3.)
•••Saturday, 7/29, 7-9 PM: “The Show” Poetry Series features Michelle Ala Chappelle, Lee Knight Jr. from Palo Alto (2005 King of the Mic Champion), Claudia Epperson from Modesto. Wo’se Community Center, 2863 35th St., Sac. (off 35th & Broadway). $5. Info: 916-455-POET.
And Then There Are the Mirrors:
You have until midnight on Tuesday (7/25) to send in your own poems about mirrors and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662. Here are two of the ones we've received so far:
MIRRORS
—Jane Blue, Sacramento
The mirror in my childhood bedroom
tucked in a corner. The mirror
of the Haunted House ride at Disneyland,
someone you didn’t expect
grimacing by your shoulder.
The mirror of my history.
Why should I live elsewhere?
You write and discover. The mirror
of discovery. Once in the town of Willows
I saw the mirror of blooming almond orchards.
Foothills in summer, baked brown, the absorbent
shimmer of insignificant plants.
The Scarlet Pimpernel.
When I first learned its name, that tiny weed
astonished me. I’d seen the movie,
but the plant was nothing! No hero. To me
even the invading star thistle is beautiful—
heathery purple oldgrowth
like a dry sea in the hills.
A dry snow that occurs only in California.
It’s cold again, an arctic wind blowing down.
The months mean little to me any more.
They are mirrors of other months.
Honeybees have survived an epidemic
of parasites. That means I can grow zucchini
if this rain ever stops.
_______________________
Thanks, Jane! (I think you can plant that zucchini now...) Jane says: I just wrote a wonderful poem about mirrors while I was falling asleep. Of course, I couldn't retrieve it. I've just read a very good biography of Borges, who was fascinated by and actually afraid of mirrors. I'll be reading at 6 PM Saturday in the Java City marathon.
That gives me an idea: Send me the time(s) when you'll be reading at the Marathon, and I'll post them so other folks can come hear you. I'll be reading Monday morning at 9 (I know—yikes!), followed by Joyce Odam and Laverne and Carol Frith.
_______________________
THE CALM OF A MIRROR
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
so often deceives.
It frightens to know
my image is smaller
than what I see.
Two black specs,
minute spiders
float at the edge
of each iris, chipped
imperfections eating
their way out—
growing larger with time.
This flaw, hardly
noticed in summer,
by winter screams
“don’t wear black,”
it reveals creases.
By evening, old
Sycamores cast round
shapes on soft lamps,
furrows disappear
behind walls,
firelight neutralizes
smoke etched mirrors,
and hairline cracks recede
into bone white china.
_______________________
Thanks, Jeanine! More mirror poems from the rest of you tomorrow.
Stay cool!
—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.)
FENCED IN
—Dawn DiBartolo, Sacramento
i fenced the hours
but minutes trickled thru
sticky puddles like
waffle syrup
to carefully crafted crevices —
space reserved for my
dripping / drizzling
the screaming, screaming
~ fragments of day:
morning shower steam
makes me cough;
coffee dribbles hitler's face
to khaki colored skirt front;
keyboard tick-tick-ticking
in the far corners
of mundane;
traffic lights with obscure colors
and audio singing
"we shall overcome".
undone, i am
naked in the blazing sun,
a swinging wind chime
of fragile glass,
see thru for all who pass
without ever hearing my tune.
_______________________
Thanks, Dawn—A heat poem! For everyone else: be sure your poems are clearly separated when you send them anywhere via e-mail—little asterisks, maybe, or a long, straight line. Extra space is not enough; I've had several come through lately where confusion was possible.
Here is another one by Dawn:
DIFFERENT DENIALS
—Dawn DiBartolo, Sacramento
the gathering
seemed far less
personal than previous
years, everyone
swallowing smoke
and useless expressions.
forced by the weight
of her cross, she bled
uncontrollable once the
walls thinned, unable
to define her religion
even when given
the freedom to do so.
he sat outside of earshot
straining not to believe
that time was ending —
even as he watched
the stars bleed.
and even when she came
to him in darkness,
he forewent depth
for the surface sky,
stretching up his aged arms,
futilely bracing against
its imminent descent.
_______________________
While I'm errata-ing:
A couple of weeks ago, I said that the 20th Annual Focus on Writers Contest, sponsored by the Friends of the Sacramento Public Library, has a deadline of August 1. Actually, the deadline is August 15, so you have more time than you thought—but don't fritter it away! Get those poems in now, while you're thinking about it. Awards in each category (short story; first chapter of a novel; poetry; non-fiction article or first chapter; book/article for children; first chapter of book for young adults) are $250 for 1st, $150 for 2nd, $75 for 3rd. Info/rules: 916-264-2880 or www.saclibrary.org (click on Friends, then on Focus on Writers), or watch for one of the yellow flyers around town, including at The Book Collector.
Also August 15:
August 15 is the (postmark) deadline to enter The Ina Coolbrith Circle’s 87th Annual Poetry Contest. Their rules are very exact, so you need to get a copy of them; write to me and I’ll send them to you. For more information about The Ina Coolbrith Circle itself, try www.coolpoetry.com. ICC is an ancient, venerable society of poets...
Submissions for the second issue of Hardpan, the new journal centered in the Modesto area, are also due Aug. 15. No line limit. Open subject. e or snail mail: hardpanpoetry@sbcglobal.net ....or P.O. Box 1065, Modesto 95353.
Newlyweds Susan and Joe Finkleman:
This dynamic poetry/art duo invite you to sample their new website, visionsandviews.com, with visuals and audios of their two-person poetry, coming events, and other art and photography. Susan and Joe will be putting out a book for Rattlesnake Press in December.
This Week (as the Heat Goes On—115° in Stockton! Redding! Modesto! Distract Yourself With Poetry!):
•••Tonight (Monday, 7/24), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Christian Kiefer. Kiefer's latest book of poems is Feeding into the Winter from March Street Press, but other work more representative of his current output can be found at http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v2n2/poetry/kiefer_c/walk.htm. He is finishing up his Ph.D. in American Literature at UC Davis, and he keeps a blog [http://xiankiefer.blogspot.com] to record his musings about the music and recording business, including his lively Crowtown podcast. He has released two albums this year: The Black Dove with Sharon Kraus, and a solo project, Czar Nicholas is Dead. Both have MP3 tracks available at his Christian Kiefer website [http://www.christiankiefer.com]. Later this year, he plans to release a psychedelic-folk guitar freak-out with Tom Carter called A Rather Solemn Promise, and he expects several other projects to be released next year. Host: Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569. Free. Open Mic. [Note: I hear that SPC has done something about the air conditioning "situation"!]
•••Wednesday (7/26), 6-7 PM: Hidden Passage Poetry Reading 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.
•••Thursday (7/27), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Mario Ellis Hill, Terrill & Eric. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com.
•••Thursday, 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge with Flo-Real, guests and open mic. The Cobbler Soul Food Restaurant, 3520 Stockton, Blvd., Sac. $5. 916-613-0776.
•••Also Thursday (7/27): If you missed the SF reading by Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young last Friday, they will read together again, this time at Olympic Village Lodge in Squaw Valley (1901 Chamonix Place), 8:15 PM. $5, $10. Info: 530-581-5200.
•••The 72-hour Java City Poetry Marathon, which will feature poetry readings 24 hours a day for three days, starts this Friday, July 28 at noon and runs 24 hours/day through Saturday, Sunday, ending at noon on Monday, July 31. Java City (18th & Capitol, Sac.). Info: 452-5493. (The Sacramento Bee printed a jaunty picture of Host B.L. Kennedy in yesterday's Sunday "Ticket" section, page 3.)
•••Saturday, 7/29, 7-9 PM: “The Show” Poetry Series features Michelle Ala Chappelle, Lee Knight Jr. from Palo Alto (2005 King of the Mic Champion), Claudia Epperson from Modesto. Wo’se Community Center, 2863 35th St., Sac. (off 35th & Broadway). $5. Info: 916-455-POET.
And Then There Are the Mirrors:
You have until midnight on Tuesday (7/25) to send in your own poems about mirrors and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662. Here are two of the ones we've received so far:
MIRRORS
—Jane Blue, Sacramento
The mirror in my childhood bedroom
tucked in a corner. The mirror
of the Haunted House ride at Disneyland,
someone you didn’t expect
grimacing by your shoulder.
The mirror of my history.
Why should I live elsewhere?
You write and discover. The mirror
of discovery. Once in the town of Willows
I saw the mirror of blooming almond orchards.
Foothills in summer, baked brown, the absorbent
shimmer of insignificant plants.
The Scarlet Pimpernel.
When I first learned its name, that tiny weed
astonished me. I’d seen the movie,
but the plant was nothing! No hero. To me
even the invading star thistle is beautiful—
heathery purple oldgrowth
like a dry sea in the hills.
A dry snow that occurs only in California.
It’s cold again, an arctic wind blowing down.
The months mean little to me any more.
They are mirrors of other months.
Honeybees have survived an epidemic
of parasites. That means I can grow zucchini
if this rain ever stops.
_______________________
Thanks, Jane! (I think you can plant that zucchini now...) Jane says: I just wrote a wonderful poem about mirrors while I was falling asleep. Of course, I couldn't retrieve it. I've just read a very good biography of Borges, who was fascinated by and actually afraid of mirrors. I'll be reading at 6 PM Saturday in the Java City marathon.
That gives me an idea: Send me the time(s) when you'll be reading at the Marathon, and I'll post them so other folks can come hear you. I'll be reading Monday morning at 9 (I know—yikes!), followed by Joyce Odam and Laverne and Carol Frith.
_______________________
THE CALM OF A MIRROR
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
so often deceives.
It frightens to know
my image is smaller
than what I see.
Two black specs,
minute spiders
float at the edge
of each iris, chipped
imperfections eating
their way out—
growing larger with time.
This flaw, hardly
noticed in summer,
by winter screams
“don’t wear black,”
it reveals creases.
By evening, old
Sycamores cast round
shapes on soft lamps,
furrows disappear
behind walls,
firelight neutralizes
smoke etched mirrors,
and hairline cracks recede
into bone white china.
_______________________
Thanks, Jeanine! More mirror poems from the rest of you tomorrow.
Stay cool!
—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, July 23, 2006
The Undying Snake From Chaos Hatched
TO JUAN AT THE WINTER SOLSTICE
—Robert Graves, whose 111th birthday is tomorrow
There is one story and one story only
That will prove worth your telling,
Whether as learned bard or gifted child;
To it all lines or lesser gauds belong
That startle with their shining
Such common stories as they stray into.
Is it of trees you tell, their months and virtues,
Of strange beasts that beset you,
Of birds that croak at you the Triple will?
Or of the Zodiac and how slow it turns
Below the Boreal Crown,
Prison of all true kings that ever reigned?
Water to water, ark again to ark,
From woman back to woman:
So each new victim treads unfalteringly
The never altered circuit of his fate,
Bringing twelve peers as witness
Both to his starry rise and starry fall.
Or is it of the Virgin's silver beauty,
All fish below the thighs?
She in her left hand bears a leafy quince;
When with her right hand she crooks a finger, smiling,
How may the King hold back?
Royally then he barters life for love.
Or of the undying snake from chaos hatched,
Whose coils contain the ocean,
Into whose chops with naked sword he springs,
Then in black water, tangled by the reeds,
Battles three days and nights,
To be spewed up beside her scalloped shore?
Much snow is falling, winds roar hollowly,
The owl hoots from the elder,
Fear in your heart cries to the loving-cup:
Sorrow to sorrow as the sparks fly upward.
The log groans and confesses
There is one story and one story only.
Dwell on her graciousness, dwell on her smiling,
Do not forget what flowers
The great boar trampled down in ivy time.
Her brow was creamy as the long ninth wave,
Her sea-blue eyes were wild.
But nothing promised that is not performed.
_______________________
Thanks to those of you who have sent mirror poems; I'll sort through the mail today and start posting them (and sending out surprise packages) tomorrow. The rest of you have until midnight on Tuesday (7/25) to send in your own poems about mirrors and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662.
Over the weekend I have fallen in love again with Federico Lorca ("They have brought me a snail"). Here are two from him which (coincidentally) include talk of mirrors:
HALF MOON
—Federico Garcia Lorca
The moon goes over the water.
How tranquil the sky is!
She goes scything slowly
the old shimmer from the river;
meanwhile a young frog
takes her for a little mirror.
_______________________
And how can we speak of mirrors without mentioning...
NARCISSUS
—Federico Garcia Lorca
Narcissus.
Your fragrance.
And the depth of the stream.
I would remain at your verge.
Flower of love.
Narcissus.
Over your white eyes flicker
shadows and sleeping fish.
Birds and butterflies
lacquer mine.
You so minute and I so tall.
Flower of love.
Narcissus.
How active the frogs are!
They will not leave alone
the glass which mirrors
your delirium and mine.
Narcissus.
My sorrow.
And my sorrow's self.
_______________________
—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 Graves, whose 111th birthday is tomorrow
There is one story and one story only
That will prove worth your telling,
Whether as learned bard or gifted child;
To it all lines or lesser gauds belong
That startle with their shining
Such common stories as they stray into.
Is it of trees you tell, their months and virtues,
Of strange beasts that beset you,
Of birds that croak at you the Triple will?
Or of the Zodiac and how slow it turns
Below the Boreal Crown,
Prison of all true kings that ever reigned?
Water to water, ark again to ark,
From woman back to woman:
So each new victim treads unfalteringly
The never altered circuit of his fate,
Bringing twelve peers as witness
Both to his starry rise and starry fall.
Or is it of the Virgin's silver beauty,
All fish below the thighs?
She in her left hand bears a leafy quince;
When with her right hand she crooks a finger, smiling,
How may the King hold back?
Royally then he barters life for love.
Or of the undying snake from chaos hatched,
Whose coils contain the ocean,
Into whose chops with naked sword he springs,
Then in black water, tangled by the reeds,
Battles three days and nights,
To be spewed up beside her scalloped shore?
Much snow is falling, winds roar hollowly,
The owl hoots from the elder,
Fear in your heart cries to the loving-cup:
Sorrow to sorrow as the sparks fly upward.
The log groans and confesses
There is one story and one story only.
Dwell on her graciousness, dwell on her smiling,
Do not forget what flowers
The great boar trampled down in ivy time.
Her brow was creamy as the long ninth wave,
Her sea-blue eyes were wild.
But nothing promised that is not performed.
_______________________
Thanks to those of you who have sent mirror poems; I'll sort through the mail today and start posting them (and sending out surprise packages) tomorrow. The rest of you have until midnight on Tuesday (7/25) to send in your own poems about mirrors and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662.
Over the weekend I have fallen in love again with Federico Lorca ("They have brought me a snail"). Here are two from him which (coincidentally) include talk of mirrors:
HALF MOON
—Federico Garcia Lorca
The moon goes over the water.
How tranquil the sky is!
She goes scything slowly
the old shimmer from the river;
meanwhile a young frog
takes her for a little mirror.
_______________________
And how can we speak of mirrors without mentioning...
NARCISSUS
—Federico Garcia Lorca
Narcissus.
Your fragrance.
And the depth of the stream.
I would remain at your verge.
Flower of love.
Narcissus.
Over your white eyes flicker
shadows and sleeping fish.
Birds and butterflies
lacquer mine.
You so minute and I so tall.
Flower of love.
Narcissus.
How active the frogs are!
They will not leave alone
the glass which mirrors
your delirium and mine.
Narcissus.
My sorrow.
And my sorrow's self.
_______________________
—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, July 21, 2006
Saturday's Post (AWOL)
Medusa has had it with the heat and is fleeing the scene of the crime, which will mean no post on Saturday, 7/22. Spend your time sending me mirror poems (see Friday's post, below), and here are a couple more from Delmore to keep you company:
FAR ROCKAWAY
—Delmore Schwartz
"the cure of souls." —Henry James
The radiant soda of the seashore fashions
Fun, foam, and freedom. The sea laves
The shaven sand. And the light sways forward
On the self-destroying waves.
The rigor of the weekday is cast aside with shoes,
With business suits and the traffic's motion;
The lolling man lies with the passionate sun,
Or is drunken in the ocean.
A socialist health takes hold of the adult,
He is stripped of his class in the bathing-suit,
He returns to the children digging at summer,
A melon-like fruit.
O glittering and rocking and bursting and blue
—Eternities of sea and sky shadow no pleasure:
Time unheard moves and the heart of man is eaten
Consummately at leisure.
The novelist tangential on the boardwalk overhead
Seeks his cure of souls in his own anxious gaze.
"Here," he says, "With whom?" he asks, "This?" he questions,
"What tedium, what blaze?"
"What satisfaction, fruit? What transit, heaven?
Criminal? justified? arrived at what June?"
That nervous conscience amid the concessions
Is a haunting, haunted moon.
(Yes, Delmore did indeed rhyme "moon" and "June"—and seems to have gotten away with it!)
_________________________
THE BALLAD OF THE FIFTH YEAR
—Delmore Schwartz
Where the sea gulls sleep or indeed where they fly
Is a place of different traffic. Although I
Consider the fishing bay (where I see them dip and curve
And purely glide) a place that weakens the nerve
Of will, and closes my eyes, as they should not be
(They should burn like the street-light all night quietly,
So that whatever is present will be known to me),
Nevertheless the gulls and the imagination
Of where they sleep, which comes to creation
In strict shape and color, from their dallying
Their wings slowly, and suddenly rallying
Over, up, down the arabesque of descent,
Is an old act enacted, my fabulous intent
When I skated, afraid of policemen, five years old,
In the winter sunset, sorrowful and cold,
Hardly attained to thought, but old enough to know
Such grace, so self-contained, was the best escape to know.
_______________________
—Medusa (back on Sunday)
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.)
FAR ROCKAWAY
—Delmore Schwartz
"the cure of souls." —Henry James
The radiant soda of the seashore fashions
Fun, foam, and freedom. The sea laves
The shaven sand. And the light sways forward
On the self-destroying waves.
The rigor of the weekday is cast aside with shoes,
With business suits and the traffic's motion;
The lolling man lies with the passionate sun,
Or is drunken in the ocean.
A socialist health takes hold of the adult,
He is stripped of his class in the bathing-suit,
He returns to the children digging at summer,
A melon-like fruit.
O glittering and rocking and bursting and blue
—Eternities of sea and sky shadow no pleasure:
Time unheard moves and the heart of man is eaten
Consummately at leisure.
The novelist tangential on the boardwalk overhead
Seeks his cure of souls in his own anxious gaze.
"Here," he says, "With whom?" he asks, "This?" he questions,
"What tedium, what blaze?"
"What satisfaction, fruit? What transit, heaven?
Criminal? justified? arrived at what June?"
That nervous conscience amid the concessions
Is a haunting, haunted moon.
(Yes, Delmore did indeed rhyme "moon" and "June"—and seems to have gotten away with it!)
_________________________
THE BALLAD OF THE FIFTH YEAR
—Delmore Schwartz
Where the sea gulls sleep or indeed where they fly
Is a place of different traffic. Although I
Consider the fishing bay (where I see them dip and curve
And purely glide) a place that weakens the nerve
Of will, and closes my eyes, as they should not be
(They should burn like the street-light all night quietly,
So that whatever is present will be known to me),
Nevertheless the gulls and the imagination
Of where they sleep, which comes to creation
In strict shape and color, from their dallying
Their wings slowly, and suddenly rallying
Over, up, down the arabesque of descent,
Is an old act enacted, my fabulous intent
When I skated, afraid of policemen, five years old,
In the winter sunset, sorrowful and cold,
Hardly attained to thought, but old enough to know
Such grace, so self-contained, was the best escape to know.
_______________________
—Medusa (back on Sunday)
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.)
Of Marathons and Mirrors
FENCED IN
—Dawn DiBartolo, Sacramento
i fenced the hours
but minutes trickled thru
sticky puddles like
waffle syrup
to carefully crafted crevices—
space reserved for my
dripping / drizzling
the screaming, screaming
________________________
Thanks, Dawn!
•••Tonight (Friday, 7/21), 7 PM: Our House Defines Art poetry reading features Sacramento Rebecca Morrison (Eskimo Pie Girl) and Grass Valley-ite, After Hours Poet Will Staple. Free; an open mic follows. Our House Defines Art Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; from Sac., take the Latrobe exit off to the right (south); then turn left into the shopping center.
•••Today (Friday, 7/21) is the last day for Early Registration for the Sacramento State Summer Writers' Conference, coming up this August 18-20 at CSUS. Poetry workshops, led by Al Garcia, Josh McKinney, and Mary Mackey, include "The Publishable Poem"; "Invoking the Muse"; "The Sonnet & Its Variations"; "Pitfalls of the Novice Poet"; and "Accident as Method/Nuts & Bolts". Early reg. (by July 21) is $245; after that, it's $285. For an additional (optional) $50, you can reserve an individual 15-min. feedback session with a workshop leader on work you have submitted in advance. Info/reg: www.cce.csus.edu/writersconference or 916-278-4433 (x0), or find one of the many flyers that are travelling around the community, including at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac.
•••Or git outta town: Tonight at 7:30 PM, Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young will read their poetry in the Starr King Room at the First Unitarian Universalist Center of San Francisco (1187 Franklin Street at Geary). This benefit reading will raise money for the Poetry Scholarship Fund at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. Books donated by the poets and their publishers will be available for purchase before and after the reading, and the poets will be available to sign books after the reading. BUY TICKETS NOW: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/4297. (Please note: They will not be taking ticket reservations this year. Tickets are available for advance purchase now, and if they don't sell out, there will be tickets available at the door.) Info: www.squawvalleywriters.org/reading_events.htm or benefit@squawvalleywriters.org
•••Monday (7/24), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Christian Kiefer. Kiefer's latest book of poems is Feeding into the Winter from March Street Press, but other work more representative of his current output can be found at http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v2n2/poetry/kiefer_c/walk.htm. He is finishing up his Ph.D. in American Literature at UC Davis, and he keeps a blog [http://xiankiefer.blogspot.com] to record his musings about the music and recording business, including his lively Crowtown podcast. He has released two albums this year: The Black Dove with Sharon Kraus, and a solo project, Czar Nicholas is Dead. Both have MP3 tracks available at his Christian Kiefer website [http://www.christiankiefer.com]. Later this year, he plans to release a psychedelic-folk guitar freak-out with Tom Carter called A Rather Solemn Promise, and he expects several other projects to be released next year. Host: Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569. Free. Open Mic.
_______________________
Marathon is cookin':
Next week's biggest (well, longest) event will be the Java City Poetry Marathon, which will feature poetry readings 24 hours a day for three days. What started as a birthday celebration for a 100-year-old tree outside of the 18th and Capitol Java City Café in 1986—dubbed the “Poet-tree” marathon—has evolved into a renowned literary event attracting the area’s most talented poets. The event was the brainchild of area poet B.L. Kennedy, who is leading the affair again this year. Starting Friday, July 28, at noon, Java City will host three consecutive days of 24-hour, non-stop poetry readings and performances by more than 150 Sacramento area poets and writers, ending Monday, July 31 at noon. The event will also serve as the public re-grand opening after major interior renovations have been completed at Java City.
The original marathon in 1986 lasted 173 hours and attracted hundreds of poets to the then-fledgling coffee house. To celebrate the 10th anniversary in 1996, B.L. Kennedy and Java City once again joined alliances and set an unparalleled 10-day poetry marathon, with nearly 1,000 people participating. During the 1996 event, prominent poets from across the country made the trek to Sacramento to join local poets, politicians, celebrities and Sacramento residents who partook in the 15-minute open-mike portion between scheduled poets.
Bari tells me that the reading slots for this year's marathon are almost full, except for Sat. at 2:30 AM, and Sunday at 11:30 AM; plus there are some open mic slots left. There ya go—your last chance to participate in what Bari SWEARS will be the last of the marathons...
Mirror, Mirror:
It's time for another Medusa give-away! You may've noticed that this week's Sylvia Plath poems (see Monday's and Tuesday's posts) had poems about mirrors. Send your own poems about mirrors to Medusa before midnight on Tuesday, July 25 and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! That's kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662. To inspire you, two with mirrors from Delmore Schwartz:
THE SIN OF HAMLET
—Delmore Schwartz
The horns in the harbor booming, vaguely,
Fog, forgotten, yesterday, conclusion,
Nostalgic, noising dim sorrow, calling
To sleep is it? I think so, and childhood,
Not the door opened and the stair descended,
The voice answered, the choice announced, the
Trigger touched in sharp declaratioin!
And when it comes, escape is small; the door
Creaks, the worms of fear spread veins; the furtive
Fugitive, looking backward, sees his
Ghost in the mirror, his shameful eyes, his mouth diseased.
_______________________
BY CIRCUMSTANCES FED
—Delmore Schwartz
By circumstances fed
Which divide attention
Among the living and the dead,
Under the blooms of the blossoming sun,
The gaze which is a tower towers
Day and night, hour by hour,
Critical of all and of one,
Dissatisfied with every flower
With all that's been done or undone,
Converting every feature
Into its own and unknown nature;
So, once in the drugstore,
Amid all the poppy, salve and ointment,
I suddenly saw, estranged there,
Beyond all disappointment,
My own face in the mirror.
___________________________
—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.)
—Dawn DiBartolo, Sacramento
i fenced the hours
but minutes trickled thru
sticky puddles like
waffle syrup
to carefully crafted crevices—
space reserved for my
dripping / drizzling
the screaming, screaming
________________________
Thanks, Dawn!
•••Tonight (Friday, 7/21), 7 PM: Our House Defines Art poetry reading features Sacramento Rebecca Morrison (Eskimo Pie Girl) and Grass Valley-ite, After Hours Poet Will Staple. Free; an open mic follows. Our House Defines Art Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; from Sac., take the Latrobe exit off to the right (south); then turn left into the shopping center.
•••Today (Friday, 7/21) is the last day for Early Registration for the Sacramento State Summer Writers' Conference, coming up this August 18-20 at CSUS. Poetry workshops, led by Al Garcia, Josh McKinney, and Mary Mackey, include "The Publishable Poem"; "Invoking the Muse"; "The Sonnet & Its Variations"; "Pitfalls of the Novice Poet"; and "Accident as Method/Nuts & Bolts". Early reg. (by July 21) is $245; after that, it's $285. For an additional (optional) $50, you can reserve an individual 15-min. feedback session with a workshop leader on work you have submitted in advance. Info/reg: www.cce.csus.edu/writersconference or 916-278-4433 (x0), or find one of the many flyers that are travelling around the community, including at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac.
•••Or git outta town: Tonight at 7:30 PM, Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young will read their poetry in the Starr King Room at the First Unitarian Universalist Center of San Francisco (1187 Franklin Street at Geary). This benefit reading will raise money for the Poetry Scholarship Fund at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. Books donated by the poets and their publishers will be available for purchase before and after the reading, and the poets will be available to sign books after the reading. BUY TICKETS NOW: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/4297. (Please note: They will not be taking ticket reservations this year. Tickets are available for advance purchase now, and if they don't sell out, there will be tickets available at the door.) Info: www.squawvalleywriters.org/reading_events.htm or benefit@squawvalleywriters.org
•••Monday (7/24), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Christian Kiefer. Kiefer's latest book of poems is Feeding into the Winter from March Street Press, but other work more representative of his current output can be found at http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v2n2/poetry/kiefer_c/walk.htm. He is finishing up his Ph.D. in American Literature at UC Davis, and he keeps a blog [http://xiankiefer.blogspot.com] to record his musings about the music and recording business, including his lively Crowtown podcast. He has released two albums this year: The Black Dove with Sharon Kraus, and a solo project, Czar Nicholas is Dead. Both have MP3 tracks available at his Christian Kiefer website [http://www.christiankiefer.com]. Later this year, he plans to release a psychedelic-folk guitar freak-out with Tom Carter called A Rather Solemn Promise, and he expects several other projects to be released next year. Host: Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569. Free. Open Mic.
_______________________
Marathon is cookin':
Next week's biggest (well, longest) event will be the Java City Poetry Marathon, which will feature poetry readings 24 hours a day for three days. What started as a birthday celebration for a 100-year-old tree outside of the 18th and Capitol Java City Café in 1986—dubbed the “Poet-tree” marathon—has evolved into a renowned literary event attracting the area’s most talented poets. The event was the brainchild of area poet B.L. Kennedy, who is leading the affair again this year. Starting Friday, July 28, at noon, Java City will host three consecutive days of 24-hour, non-stop poetry readings and performances by more than 150 Sacramento area poets and writers, ending Monday, July 31 at noon. The event will also serve as the public re-grand opening after major interior renovations have been completed at Java City.
The original marathon in 1986 lasted 173 hours and attracted hundreds of poets to the then-fledgling coffee house. To celebrate the 10th anniversary in 1996, B.L. Kennedy and Java City once again joined alliances and set an unparalleled 10-day poetry marathon, with nearly 1,000 people participating. During the 1996 event, prominent poets from across the country made the trek to Sacramento to join local poets, politicians, celebrities and Sacramento residents who partook in the 15-minute open-mike portion between scheduled poets.
Bari tells me that the reading slots for this year's marathon are almost full, except for Sat. at 2:30 AM, and Sunday at 11:30 AM; plus there are some open mic slots left. There ya go—your last chance to participate in what Bari SWEARS will be the last of the marathons...
Mirror, Mirror:
It's time for another Medusa give-away! You may've noticed that this week's Sylvia Plath poems (see Monday's and Tuesday's posts) had poems about mirrors. Send your own poems about mirrors to Medusa before midnight on Tuesday, July 25 and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! That's kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662. To inspire you, two with mirrors from Delmore Schwartz:
THE SIN OF HAMLET
—Delmore Schwartz
The horns in the harbor booming, vaguely,
Fog, forgotten, yesterday, conclusion,
Nostalgic, noising dim sorrow, calling
To sleep is it? I think so, and childhood,
Not the door opened and the stair descended,
The voice answered, the choice announced, the
Trigger touched in sharp declaratioin!
And when it comes, escape is small; the door
Creaks, the worms of fear spread veins; the furtive
Fugitive, looking backward, sees his
Ghost in the mirror, his shameful eyes, his mouth diseased.
_______________________
BY CIRCUMSTANCES FED
—Delmore Schwartz
By circumstances fed
Which divide attention
Among the living and the dead,
Under the blooms of the blossoming sun,
The gaze which is a tower towers
Day and night, hour by hour,
Critical of all and of one,
Dissatisfied with every flower
With all that's been done or undone,
Converting every feature
Into its own and unknown nature;
So, once in the drugstore,
Amid all the poppy, salve and ointment,
I suddenly saw, estranged there,
Beyond all disappointment,
My own face in the mirror.
___________________________
—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, July 20, 2006
They Hanged Him...
THERE WAS A TIME WHEN THE ONLY WORTH
—Dennis Brutus (born 1924 in South Africa)
There was a time when the only worth
was other men—
their saleable value;
one felt the steady venom
in the gaze of another shackled
and knew the relief of escaping,
and in another day bowed down
accepting this ignominious ultimate:
war did not make captors—
for captors one made war:
and captives were the purpose of the war:
so, for alien almost humans
we made hunted beasts of humans.
Till time brings its reverses.
________________________
THEY HANGED HIM, I SAID DISMISSIVELY
—Dennis Brutus
They hanged him, I said dismissively
having no other way to say he died
or that he was a dear friend
or that work wove us most intimately
in common tasks, ambitions, desires.
Now he is dead: and I dare not think
of the anguish that drove him to where he was
or the pain at their hands he must have faced
or how much he was racked by my distress:
now, it is still easiest to say, they hanged him,
dismissively.
_______________________
•••Tonight (Thursday, 7/20), 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge at Cobbler Inn Restaurant, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. $5. Info: 916-457-6177.
•••Also tonight (7/20), doors open at 7 PM, show starts at 8. Ms. La-Rue' writes: Get your SPOKEN WORD ON and your LAUGH ON and get your WEST INDIAN GRUB ON. You all know that laughter is good for the soul and poetry put something on your mind, and DJ BARNEY B got your favorite grooves to get the party jumping. You all know I can't wait to see YOU at the next AN EVENING OF POETRY!!!! Gwen's Caribbean Cuisine, 2355 Arden Way @ Bell, Sac., $5 cover, open mic. Info: 916-922-3468.
•••Also tonight (7/20), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Jim Nolt and Cameron. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free.
________________________
AT NIGHT
—Dennis Brutus
At night
on the smooth grey concrete of my cell
I heard the enormous roar of the surf
and saw in my mind's eye
the great white wall of spray rising
like a sheet of shattering glass
where the surge broke
on the shore and rocks and barbed wire
and going to the shed
in hope of a visitor
I greeted the great cypresses
green and black
dreaming in their poised serenity
in the limpid stillness of the brilliant afternoon
gracious as an Umbrian Raphael landscape
but more brilliant and more sharp.
_______________________
—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.)
—Dennis Brutus (born 1924 in South Africa)
There was a time when the only worth
was other men—
their saleable value;
one felt the steady venom
in the gaze of another shackled
and knew the relief of escaping,
and in another day bowed down
accepting this ignominious ultimate:
war did not make captors—
for captors one made war:
and captives were the purpose of the war:
so, for alien almost humans
we made hunted beasts of humans.
Till time brings its reverses.
________________________
THEY HANGED HIM, I SAID DISMISSIVELY
—Dennis Brutus
They hanged him, I said dismissively
having no other way to say he died
or that he was a dear friend
or that work wove us most intimately
in common tasks, ambitions, desires.
Now he is dead: and I dare not think
of the anguish that drove him to where he was
or the pain at their hands he must have faced
or how much he was racked by my distress:
now, it is still easiest to say, they hanged him,
dismissively.
_______________________
•••Tonight (Thursday, 7/20), 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge at Cobbler Inn Restaurant, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. $5. Info: 916-457-6177.
•••Also tonight (7/20), doors open at 7 PM, show starts at 8. Ms. La-Rue' writes: Get your SPOKEN WORD ON and your LAUGH ON and get your WEST INDIAN GRUB ON. You all know that laughter is good for the soul and poetry put something on your mind, and DJ BARNEY B got your favorite grooves to get the party jumping. You all know I can't wait to see YOU at the next AN EVENING OF POETRY!!!! Gwen's Caribbean Cuisine, 2355 Arden Way @ Bell, Sac., $5 cover, open mic. Info: 916-922-3468.
•••Also tonight (7/20), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Jim Nolt and Cameron. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free.
________________________
AT NIGHT
—Dennis Brutus
At night
on the smooth grey concrete of my cell
I heard the enormous roar of the surf
and saw in my mind's eye
the great white wall of spray rising
like a sheet of shattering glass
where the surge broke
on the shore and rocks and barbed wire
and going to the shed
in hope of a visitor
I greeted the great cypresses
green and black
dreaming in their poised serenity
in the limpid stillness of the brilliant afternoon
gracious as an Umbrian Raphael landscape
but more brilliant and more sharp.
_______________________
—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, July 19, 2006
If I Could Bleed, or Sleep!—
POPPIES IN JULY
—Sylvia Plath
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes that I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep!—
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colourless. Colourless.
_______________________
Sounds like the heat was getting to Sylvia, too...
•••Tonight (7/19), 6:30-8 PM: South Natomas Urban Voices presents Song Kowbell, Terrill & Eric, Rhony Bhopla, hosted by BL Kennedy. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Then later tonight (7/19), at 9 PM: Open-mic poetry by local artists at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac., $5. Info: 916-444-3633.
You might as well go to both— it's too hot to sleep, anyway.
Hardpan Deadline 8/15:
The second issue of the new Modesto poetry journal, Hardpan, is accepting submissions; deadline is August 15. No line limit. Open subject. e or mail: hardpanpoetry@sbcglobal.net ...or p.o. box 1065, Modesto, CA 95353.
Three more of Sylvie's—all with mirrors:
YEARS
—Sylvia Plath
They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not the thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.
O God, I am not like you
In your vacuous black,
Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.
Eternity bores me,
I never wanted it.
What I love is
The piston in motion—
My soul dies before it.
And the hooves of the horses,
Their merciless churn.
And you, great Stasis—
What is so great in that?
Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door?
Is it a Christus,
The awful
God-bit in hiim
Dying to fly and be done with it?
The blood berries are themselves, they are very still.
The hooves will not have it,
In blue distance the pistons hiss.
________________________
MORNING
—Sylvia Plath
Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.
________________________
KINDNESS
—Sylvia Plath
Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is so nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.
What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit's cry may be wilder
But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everthing, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice.
O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anaesthetized.
And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.
_______________________
Be cool.
—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.)
—Sylvia Plath
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes that I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep!—
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colourless. Colourless.
_______________________
Sounds like the heat was getting to Sylvia, too...
•••Tonight (7/19), 6:30-8 PM: South Natomas Urban Voices presents Song Kowbell, Terrill & Eric, Rhony Bhopla, hosted by BL Kennedy. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Then later tonight (7/19), at 9 PM: Open-mic poetry by local artists at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac., $5. Info: 916-444-3633.
You might as well go to both— it's too hot to sleep, anyway.
Hardpan Deadline 8/15:
The second issue of the new Modesto poetry journal, Hardpan, is accepting submissions; deadline is August 15. No line limit. Open subject. e or mail: hardpanpoetry@sbcglobal.net ...or p.o. box 1065, Modesto, CA 95353.
Three more of Sylvie's—all with mirrors:
YEARS
—Sylvia Plath
They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not the thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.
O God, I am not like you
In your vacuous black,
Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.
Eternity bores me,
I never wanted it.
What I love is
The piston in motion—
My soul dies before it.
And the hooves of the horses,
Their merciless churn.
And you, great Stasis—
What is so great in that?
Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door?
Is it a Christus,
The awful
God-bit in hiim
Dying to fly and be done with it?
The blood berries are themselves, they are very still.
The hooves will not have it,
In blue distance the pistons hiss.
________________________
MORNING
—Sylvia Plath
Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.
________________________
KINDNESS
—Sylvia Plath
Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is so nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.
What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit's cry may be wilder
But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everthing, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice.
O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anaesthetized.
And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.
_______________________
Be cool.
—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, July 18, 2006
Sylvia and Her Mirrors
WORDS
—Sylvia Plath
Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road—
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.
_______________________
In Spite of the Heat:
There are quite a few readings and other happenings around this area this week— some of which filtered in to Medusa after I posted yesterday, so I added them later in the morning. Hopefully you didn't miss them; maybe you'd better check yesterday's post again, just to be sure.
Today (Tuesday, 7/18), starting at 10:30 AM, Friends of the Rocklin County Library will offer used books, videos and DVDs for sale. 5460 Fifth St., Rocklin. 916-624-3133.
Strolling Down the Lane:
The indefatigable Cynthia Bryant, Pleasanton Poet Laureate and Poet's Lane Maven writes: I am looking for comments, criticism and praise for The Literary List, the email venue from which Poet’s Lane sends you information on poetry/writing venues, opportunities and special events. I will put comments up on the Literary List page of www.poetslane.com. Tell your friends, poets and other fellow writers about the Literary List and have them email me (Cynthia at PoetsLane@comcast.net) with their request to be included.
Novelist Amy Tan to Appear in Grass Valley in October:
Tickets have just been released for Wordslingers 2006, featuring an evening with famed novelist Amy Tan. The event, presented by Literature Alive!, a Nevada County non-profit, will take place Saturday, October 21, 2006 beginning at 7:30 PM at the Veteran’s Memorial Hall in Grass Valley. It is expected that the event will sell out, so early ticket purchase is advised. Tickets for the main auditorium are $25 in advance, $30 at the door, $22 for Literature Alive! members (must show membership card); bleacher seats are $15. Check the Sacramento Poetry Center (SPC) blog (there's a link to the right of this column) for a listing of places where tickets may be purchased, including The Avid Reader in Sac. and Davis, and The Book Collector in Sac.Info: 530-272-5812 or visit the website at www.litalive.org. Wordslingers 2006 is underwritten by Caseywood, Q&Q Construction, and Back to Health Chiropractic.
_______________________
MIRROR
—Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful—
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
_______________________
CONTUSION
—Sylvia Plath
Colour floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed out,
The colour of pearl.
In a pit of rock
The sea sucks obsessively,
One hollow the whole sea's pivot.
The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.
The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.
_______________________
—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.)
—Sylvia Plath
Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road—
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.
_______________________
In Spite of the Heat:
There are quite a few readings and other happenings around this area this week— some of which filtered in to Medusa after I posted yesterday, so I added them later in the morning. Hopefully you didn't miss them; maybe you'd better check yesterday's post again, just to be sure.
Today (Tuesday, 7/18), starting at 10:30 AM, Friends of the Rocklin County Library will offer used books, videos and DVDs for sale. 5460 Fifth St., Rocklin. 916-624-3133.
Strolling Down the Lane:
The indefatigable Cynthia Bryant, Pleasanton Poet Laureate and Poet's Lane Maven writes: I am looking for comments, criticism and praise for The Literary List, the email venue from which Poet’s Lane sends you information on poetry/writing venues, opportunities and special events. I will put comments up on the Literary List page of www.poetslane.com. Tell your friends, poets and other fellow writers about the Literary List and have them email me (Cynthia at PoetsLane@comcast.net) with their request to be included.
Novelist Amy Tan to Appear in Grass Valley in October:
Tickets have just been released for Wordslingers 2006, featuring an evening with famed novelist Amy Tan. The event, presented by Literature Alive!, a Nevada County non-profit, will take place Saturday, October 21, 2006 beginning at 7:30 PM at the Veteran’s Memorial Hall in Grass Valley. It is expected that the event will sell out, so early ticket purchase is advised. Tickets for the main auditorium are $25 in advance, $30 at the door, $22 for Literature Alive! members (must show membership card); bleacher seats are $15. Check the Sacramento Poetry Center (SPC) blog (there's a link to the right of this column) for a listing of places where tickets may be purchased, including The Avid Reader in Sac. and Davis, and The Book Collector in Sac.Info: 530-272-5812 or visit the website at www.litalive.org. Wordslingers 2006 is underwritten by Caseywood, Q&Q Construction, and Back to Health Chiropractic.
_______________________
MIRROR
—Sylvia Plath
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful—
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
_______________________
CONTUSION
—Sylvia Plath
Colour floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed out,
The colour of pearl.
In a pit of rock
The sea sucks obsessively,
One hollow the whole sea's pivot.
The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.
The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.
_______________________
—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, July 17, 2006
Dog-Days! (& Po-Events 7/17-23)
STRAIN
—Amy Lowell
It is late
And the clock is striking thin hours,
But sleep has become a terror to me,
Lest I wake in the night
Bewildered,
And stretching out my arms to comfort myself with you,
Clasp instead the cold body of the darkness.
All night it will hunger over me,
And push and undulate against me,
Breathing into my mouth
And passing long fingers through my drifting hair.
Only the dawn can loose me from it,
And the grey streaks of morning melt it from my side.
Bring my candles,
Though they stab my tired brain
And hurt it.
For I am afraid of the twining of the darkness
And dare not sleep.
______________________
Heads Up, Yolo-ites:
Rae Gouirand, Poet in Residence at Cache Creek Nature Preserve writes: Dear writers-round-here: I thought I'd help spread the news about The Yolo Crow, a new journal that publishes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction (as well as cover artwork) by local writers. The last issue featured a number of poets who attend my workshops at Cache Creek Nature Preserve, and I believe they're now taking submissions for their next issue. [see below] If you're interested, visit http://www.yolocrow.com or email the editor at editor@yolocrow.com for more info. You can buy the current issue at Newsbeat [or The Avid Reader] and some other spots around Davis. It's a nice, small journal that represents the greater community beyond the walls of UCD. [Note from Medusa: I checked the website, and Yolo Crow is open only to writers from Yolo County. They are currently accepting entries for their Halloween contest; check it out!]
Break Out the Coolers for These Po-Events, 7/17-23:
•••Tonight (Monday, 7/17), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Hot Thoughts: Two-Voice Poetry featuring Susan Hennies and Joe Finkelman. Jazz flute and Vocals by Francesca Reitano; Percussion and Sound Texture by Sharon McCorkell. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569. Free. Open Mic.
•••Tuesday (7/18), starting at 10:30 AM: Friends of the Rocklin County Library offer used books, videos and DVDs for sale. 5460 Fifth St., Rocklin. 916-624-3133.
•••Wednesday (7/19), 9 PM: Open-mic poetry by local artists at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac., $5. Info: 916-444-3633.
•••Also Wednesday (7/19), 6:30-8 PM: South Natomas Urban Voices presents Song Kowbell, Terrill & Eric, Rhony Bhopla, hosted by BL Kennedy. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Thursday (7/20), 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge at Cobbler Inn Restaurant, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. $5. Info: 916-457-6177.
•••Thursday (7/20), doors open at 7 PM, show starts at 8. Ms. La-Rue' writes: Get your SPOKEN WORD ON and your LAUGH ON and get your WEST INDIAN GRUB ON. You all know that laughter is good for the soul and poetry put something on your mind, and DJ BARNEY B got your favorite grooves to get the party jumping. You all know I can't wait to see YOU at the next AN EVENING OF POETRY!!!! Gwen's Caribbean Cuisine, 2355 Arden Way @ Bell, Sac., $5 cover, open mic. Info: 916-922-3468.
•••Thursday (7/20), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Jim Nolt and Cameron. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free.
•••Friday (7/21) is the last day for Early Registration for the Sacramento State Summer Writers' Conference, coming up this August 18-20 at CSUS. Poetry workshops, led by Al Garcia, Josh McKinney, and Mary Mackey, include "The Publishable Poem"; "Invoking the Muse"; "The Sonnet & Its Variations"; "Pitfalls of the Novice Poet"; and "Accident as Method/Nuts & Bolts". Early reg. (by July 21) is $245; after that, it's $285. For an additional (optional) $50, you can reserve an individual 15-min. feedback session with a workshop leader on work you have submitted in advance. Info/reg: www.cce.csus.edu/writersconference or 916-278-4433 (x0), or find one of the many flyers that are travelling around the community.
•••Friday (7/21), 7 PM: Our House Defines Art poetry reading features Sacramento Rebecca Morrison (Eskimo Pie Girl) and Grass Valley-ite and After Hours Poet Will Staple. Free; an open mic follows. Our House Defines Art Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; from Sac., take the Latrobe exit and turn left into the shopping center.
•••Friday (7/21) at 7:30 PM, Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young will read their poetry in the Starr King Room at the First Unitarian Universalist Center of San Francisco (1187 Franklin Street at Geary). This benefit reading will raise money for the Poetry Scholarship Fund at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. Books donated by the poets and their publishers will be available for purchase before and after the reading, and the poets will be available to sign books after the reading. BUY TICKETS NOW: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/4297. (Please note: They will not be taking ticket reservations this year. Tickets are available for advance purchase now, and if they don't sell out, there will be tickets available at the door.) Info: www.squawvalleywriters.org/reading_events.htm or benefit@squawvalleywriters.org
•••Closing this Sunday (7/23) at Sacramento Poetry Center's neighbor, California Stage: Fastened to a Dying Animal: Eros, revelation & the life of the great Irish poet William Butler Yeats, a world premiere written and performed by local dramaturgist Rick Foster. California Stage is a non-profit professional theatre company dedicated to supporting and encouraging arts created by local artists for local audiences; it’s located right across the parking lot from SPC, at 1723 25th St. (25th & R), Sac. Runs this Friday and Sat. at 8 PM, Sunday at 2 PM. Reservations: 916-451-5822. For more info on Cal. Stage and on Rick Foster, check out www.calstage.org.
_______________________
NUIT BLANCHE
—Amy Lowell
The chirping of crickets in the night
Is intermittent,
Like the twinkling of stars.
_______________________
NUANCE
—Amy Lowell
Even the iris bends
When a butterfly lights upon it.
_______________________
SPECTACLES
—Amy Lowell
He was a landscape architect.
All day he planned Dutch gardens: rectangular, squared with tulips; Italian gardens: dark with myrtle, thick with running water; English gardens: prim, box-edged, espaliered fruit trees flickering on walls, borders of snap-dragons, pansies, marjoram, rue.
On Saturday afternoons, he did not walk into the country. He paid a quarter and went to a cinema show, and gazed—gazed—at marching soldiers, at guns firing and recoiling, at waste grounds strewn with mutilated dead. When he took off his glasses, there was moisture upon them, and his eyes hurt. He could not see to use a periscope, they said, yet he could draw gardens.
________________________
DOG-DAYS
—Amy Lowell
A ladder sticking up at the open window,
The top of an old ladder;
And all of Summer is there.
Great waves and tufts of wistaria surge across the window,
And a thin, belated blossom
Jerks up and down in the sunlight;
Purple translucence against the blue sky.
"Tie back this branch," I say,
But my hands are sticky with leaves,
And my nostrils widen to the smell of crushed green.
The ladder moves uneasily at the open window,
And I call to the man beneath,
"Tie back that branch."
There is a ladder leaning against the window-sill,
And a mutter of thunder in the air.
________________________
—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.)
—Amy Lowell
It is late
And the clock is striking thin hours,
But sleep has become a terror to me,
Lest I wake in the night
Bewildered,
And stretching out my arms to comfort myself with you,
Clasp instead the cold body of the darkness.
All night it will hunger over me,
And push and undulate against me,
Breathing into my mouth
And passing long fingers through my drifting hair.
Only the dawn can loose me from it,
And the grey streaks of morning melt it from my side.
Bring my candles,
Though they stab my tired brain
And hurt it.
For I am afraid of the twining of the darkness
And dare not sleep.
______________________
Heads Up, Yolo-ites:
Rae Gouirand, Poet in Residence at Cache Creek Nature Preserve writes: Dear writers-round-here: I thought I'd help spread the news about The Yolo Crow, a new journal that publishes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction (as well as cover artwork) by local writers. The last issue featured a number of poets who attend my workshops at Cache Creek Nature Preserve, and I believe they're now taking submissions for their next issue. [see below] If you're interested, visit http://www.yolocrow.com or email the editor at editor@yolocrow.com for more info. You can buy the current issue at Newsbeat [or The Avid Reader] and some other spots around Davis. It's a nice, small journal that represents the greater community beyond the walls of UCD. [Note from Medusa: I checked the website, and Yolo Crow is open only to writers from Yolo County. They are currently accepting entries for their Halloween contest; check it out!]
Break Out the Coolers for These Po-Events, 7/17-23:
•••Tonight (Monday, 7/17), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Hot Thoughts: Two-Voice Poetry featuring Susan Hennies and Joe Finkelman. Jazz flute and Vocals by Francesca Reitano; Percussion and Sound Texture by Sharon McCorkell. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569. Free. Open Mic.
•••Tuesday (7/18), starting at 10:30 AM: Friends of the Rocklin County Library offer used books, videos and DVDs for sale. 5460 Fifth St., Rocklin. 916-624-3133.
•••Wednesday (7/19), 9 PM: Open-mic poetry by local artists at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac., $5. Info: 916-444-3633.
•••Also Wednesday (7/19), 6:30-8 PM: South Natomas Urban Voices presents Song Kowbell, Terrill & Eric, Rhony Bhopla, hosted by BL Kennedy. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Thursday (7/20), 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge at Cobbler Inn Restaurant, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. $5. Info: 916-457-6177.
•••Thursday (7/20), doors open at 7 PM, show starts at 8. Ms. La-Rue' writes: Get your SPOKEN WORD ON and your LAUGH ON and get your WEST INDIAN GRUB ON. You all know that laughter is good for the soul and poetry put something on your mind, and DJ BARNEY B got your favorite grooves to get the party jumping. You all know I can't wait to see YOU at the next AN EVENING OF POETRY!!!! Gwen's Caribbean Cuisine, 2355 Arden Way @ Bell, Sac., $5 cover, open mic. Info: 916-922-3468.
•••Thursday (7/20), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Jim Nolt and Cameron. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free.
•••Friday (7/21) is the last day for Early Registration for the Sacramento State Summer Writers' Conference, coming up this August 18-20 at CSUS. Poetry workshops, led by Al Garcia, Josh McKinney, and Mary Mackey, include "The Publishable Poem"; "Invoking the Muse"; "The Sonnet & Its Variations"; "Pitfalls of the Novice Poet"; and "Accident as Method/Nuts & Bolts". Early reg. (by July 21) is $245; after that, it's $285. For an additional (optional) $50, you can reserve an individual 15-min. feedback session with a workshop leader on work you have submitted in advance. Info/reg: www.cce.csus.edu/writersconference or 916-278-4433 (x0), or find one of the many flyers that are travelling around the community.
•••Friday (7/21), 7 PM: Our House Defines Art poetry reading features Sacramento Rebecca Morrison (Eskimo Pie Girl) and Grass Valley-ite and After Hours Poet Will Staple. Free; an open mic follows. Our House Defines Art Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; from Sac., take the Latrobe exit and turn left into the shopping center.
•••Friday (7/21) at 7:30 PM, Robert Hass, Harryette Mullen, Sharon Olds, C.D. Wright, and Dean Young will read their poetry in the Starr King Room at the First Unitarian Universalist Center of San Francisco (1187 Franklin Street at Geary). This benefit reading will raise money for the Poetry Scholarship Fund at the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. Books donated by the poets and their publishers will be available for purchase before and after the reading, and the poets will be available to sign books after the reading. BUY TICKETS NOW: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/4297. (Please note: They will not be taking ticket reservations this year. Tickets are available for advance purchase now, and if they don't sell out, there will be tickets available at the door.) Info: www.squawvalleywriters.org/reading_events.htm or benefit@squawvalleywriters.org
•••Closing this Sunday (7/23) at Sacramento Poetry Center's neighbor, California Stage: Fastened to a Dying Animal: Eros, revelation & the life of the great Irish poet William Butler Yeats, a world premiere written and performed by local dramaturgist Rick Foster. California Stage is a non-profit professional theatre company dedicated to supporting and encouraging arts created by local artists for local audiences; it’s located right across the parking lot from SPC, at 1723 25th St. (25th & R), Sac. Runs this Friday and Sat. at 8 PM, Sunday at 2 PM. Reservations: 916-451-5822. For more info on Cal. Stage and on Rick Foster, check out www.calstage.org.
_______________________
NUIT BLANCHE
—Amy Lowell
The chirping of crickets in the night
Is intermittent,
Like the twinkling of stars.
_______________________
NUANCE
—Amy Lowell
Even the iris bends
When a butterfly lights upon it.
_______________________
SPECTACLES
—Amy Lowell
He was a landscape architect.
All day he planned Dutch gardens: rectangular, squared with tulips; Italian gardens: dark with myrtle, thick with running water; English gardens: prim, box-edged, espaliered fruit trees flickering on walls, borders of snap-dragons, pansies, marjoram, rue.
On Saturday afternoons, he did not walk into the country. He paid a quarter and went to a cinema show, and gazed—gazed—at marching soldiers, at guns firing and recoiling, at waste grounds strewn with mutilated dead. When he took off his glasses, there was moisture upon them, and his eyes hurt. He could not see to use a periscope, they said, yet he could draw gardens.
________________________
DOG-DAYS
—Amy Lowell
A ladder sticking up at the open window,
The top of an old ladder;
And all of Summer is there.
Great waves and tufts of wistaria surge across the window,
And a thin, belated blossom
Jerks up and down in the sunlight;
Purple translucence against the blue sky.
"Tie back this branch," I say,
But my hands are sticky with leaves,
And my nostrils widen to the smell of crushed green.
The ladder moves uneasily at the open window,
And I call to the man beneath,
"Tie back that branch."
There is a ladder leaning against the window-sill,
And a mutter of thunder in the air.
________________________
—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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