Of Monkeys and Hummingbirds

AIR OF NOVEMBER
—Denise Levertov

In the autumn brilliance
feathers tingle at fingertips.

This tingling brilliance
burns under cover of gray air and

brown lazily
unfalling leaves,

it eats into stillness zestfully
with sound of plucked strings,

steel and brass strings of the zither,
copper and silver wire

played with a gold ring,
a plucking of crinkled afternoons and

evenings of energy, thorns under the pot.
In the autumn brilliance

a drawing apart of curtains
a fall of veils

a flying open of doors, convergence
of magic objects into
feathered hands and crested heads, a prospect
of winter verve, a buildup to abundance.

_______________________

Tonight under the clouds:

•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.

•••And remember: The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving. No reading there tonight.


Two deadlines coming up 12/15:

Deadline is 12/15 for this year’s Sacramento Poetry Center’s Poetry Contest; judge will be Sacramento Poet Laureate Julia Connor. First prize $100, second prize $50, third prize $25, ten honorable mentions ($10 gift certificates from Barnes & Noble). Entry fee $3 per poem. Send your poems to SPC 2006 Contest, 1719 25th Street, Sacramento, CA 95816. Winners will be notified in January, featured in Poetry Now, and invited to read at a special reading at SPC. Please submit one anonymous copy of each poem along with a cover sheet listing titles, first lines and contact information. Further info: click the SPC blog next to this.

And Song of the San Joaquin accepts submissions of poetry having to do with life in the San Joaquin Valley of California; next deadline is 12/15. This area is defined geographically as the region from Fresno to Stockton, and from the foothills on the west to those on the east. Send typed manuscripts to: Cleo Griffith, Editor, Song of the San Joaquin, PO Box 1161, Modesto, CA 95353-1161. Please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE) for return of unused poems and/or notification of acceptance. Be sure your return envelopes have the right amount of postage. Notification time may range from three weeks to three months. Send up to three poems per issue, name and contact information on each poem. E-mail submissions accepted. Please send a three to five line bio. For more information e-mail ssjq03psj@yahoo.com. For samples of poetry from previous issues: www.ChaparralPoets.org/SSJarchives.html. Photographs and art-work may be submitted for consideration for use on the cover, but should be identified as valley scenes.

______________________

Last night I learned about a British poet named Pascale Petit, thanks to Snake-pal Katy Brown. Here are some of Petit's poems; Google her to learn more:

SELF-PORTRAIT WITH MONKEY AND PARROT
—Pascale Petit

I who painted this with brushes of flame
cannot tell you where I have been
this morning. But I can't silence Bonito.
He perches just below my left ear, repeating
sounds he learnt form the sun, when he flew
into its core. Fulang-Chang went with him,
swinging through the canopies of fire forests,
searching for the tree that burns
at the centre of my life.
These gold leaves are the few he brought back—
they still hum many years
after my body has cooled. And you—
how long will you listen to these colours
before you hear the language of light?

________________________

SKINS
—Pascale Petit

I am sewing the skins of birds end to end.
Snakeskins, woodskins, even the skin on water
must be dried, conserved, worn.
I am wearing my grandmother's spirits.
Her skin was rough from too much work—
I flay a tree, proof the bark for the river.
Her skin was soft from too much rain
but I cannot wear water.
So I have come to the world's loudest storm
to hear her sing. The sky-skin rips.
Her cheeks appear, wrinkled with lightning.

________________________

THE STRAIT-JACKETS
—Pascale Petit

I lay the suitcase on Father's bed
and unzip it slowly, gently.
Inside, packed in cloth strait-jackets
lie forty live hummingbirds
tied down in rows, each tiny head
cushioned on a swaddled body.
I feed them from a flask of sugar water,
inserting every bill into the pipette,
then unwind their bindings
so Father can see their changing colours
as they dart around his room.
They hover inches from his face
as if he's a flower, their humming
just audible above the oxygen recycler.
For the first time since I've arrived
he's breathing easily, the cannula
attached to his nostrils almost slips out.
I don't know how long we sit there
but when I next glance at his face
he's asleep, lights from their feathers
still playing on his eyelids and cheeks.
It takes me hours to catch them all
and wrap them in their strait-jackets.
I work quietly, he's in such
a deep sleep he doesn't wake once.

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)