Ambrose Paul Toussaint Jules Valéry
THE FOOTSTEPS
—Paul Valéry
Your steps, born of my silence here,
Process with slow, religious tread,
Dumbly and icily, to where
I lie awake, on watch, in bed.
Pure person, shade of deity,
Your steps, held back, are doubly sweet.
God!—all the gifts I could foresee
Are coming now on those bare feet!
If you advance your lips to make
A peace with hunger, and to press
The inhabitant of my thoughts to take
The thoughtful nourishment of a kiss,
Don't hurry with their tender dew,
Sweetness complete and incomplete;
For I have lived to wait for you:
My heart was your approaching feet.
______________________
Today, Paul Valéry would've been 136 years old. And Ezra Pound would've been 132:
IN A STATION OF THE METRO
—Ezra Pound
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
______________________
Speaking of cowboy poets:
Were we? Anyway, The Sacramento Bee has an article today in the Metro section about local poet/cowboy/cowboy poet John Greber Jr. and how he uses his poetry to talk about the perils of land development. Check it out!
Calendar addition for Saturday:
•••Saturday (11/10), 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery are announcing a poetry reading, reception, and book signing by Lee Herrick, author of This Many Miles From Desire (WorldTech Editions). The reading will take place in the gallery, 1015 J St., downtown Modesto. Lee grew up in Modesto (he's the son of CCAA artist, Georgia Herrick), and is currently living, writing, and teaching in Fresno. Co-Host Gordon Preston writes: Please rsvp; we will need a head-count for all the logistics of a poetry reading at an art gallery. 530-523-8916, gordonbp@sbcglobal.net/.
___________________
OVERWEENING
—Tom Goff, Carmichael
Halloween weekend, we return
to Calaveras Big Trees State Park.
Overweening feeling that of a dry fall:
the drive there seems a silverback shoulder,
hither and yon boulders occasional
as tongue studs. Tasteless
grasses the cows cud zestlessly.
At the grove rise the sequoias in thicket,
still greenheaded, tall and thickset,
—but a bit less majestic? Or is it that I’m
a bit stumped? I feel coeval
with these big sticks. The shadows
trailing Nora and me, black and spotlit;
a paper-doll scissorline halos each. Behind
them, the flame. Trees devoid-seeming of evil
speak Miwok, a numinous voicelessness
that whispers, Go back. Even roadkill
kicks up on our car, the fender soul-patched
with squirrel. At home, after dark,
the ghoul parties rev up, here a goblin,
there a prince and princess. Here comes a hot
teen getup: black microskirt, Simply Vera hair
helmet, white not-quite knee stockings
shriek High School Hooker. After sequoias,
what might creep me out mildly
looks more wildly weird. Big trees,
powerful Miwoks, I’ll give back
your land when I go, if you’ll keep
a safe distance for now.
_____________________
Thanks, Tom! Let's let Marina Tsvetayeva have the last say on the secret of life:
I KNOW THE TRUTH—GIVE UP ALL OTHER TRUTHS!
—Marina Tsvetayeva
I know the truth—give up all other truths!
No need for people anywhere on earth to struggle.
Look—it is evening, look, it is nearly night:
what do you speak of, poets, lovers, generals?
The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew,
the storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet.
And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we
who never let each other sleep above it.
_____________________
—Paul Valéry
Your steps, born of my silence here,
Process with slow, religious tread,
Dumbly and icily, to where
I lie awake, on watch, in bed.
Pure person, shade of deity,
Your steps, held back, are doubly sweet.
God!—all the gifts I could foresee
Are coming now on those bare feet!
If you advance your lips to make
A peace with hunger, and to press
The inhabitant of my thoughts to take
The thoughtful nourishment of a kiss,
Don't hurry with their tender dew,
Sweetness complete and incomplete;
For I have lived to wait for you:
My heart was your approaching feet.
______________________
Today, Paul Valéry would've been 136 years old. And Ezra Pound would've been 132:
IN A STATION OF THE METRO
—Ezra Pound
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
______________________
Speaking of cowboy poets:
Were we? Anyway, The Sacramento Bee has an article today in the Metro section about local poet/cowboy/cowboy poet John Greber Jr. and how he uses his poetry to talk about the perils of land development. Check it out!
Calendar addition for Saturday:
•••Saturday (11/10), 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery are announcing a poetry reading, reception, and book signing by Lee Herrick, author of This Many Miles From Desire (WorldTech Editions). The reading will take place in the gallery, 1015 J St., downtown Modesto. Lee grew up in Modesto (he's the son of CCAA artist, Georgia Herrick), and is currently living, writing, and teaching in Fresno. Co-Host Gordon Preston writes: Please rsvp; we will need a head-count for all the logistics of a poetry reading at an art gallery. 530-523-8916, gordonbp@sbcglobal.net/.
___________________
OVERWEENING
—Tom Goff, Carmichael
Halloween weekend, we return
to Calaveras Big Trees State Park.
Overweening feeling that of a dry fall:
the drive there seems a silverback shoulder,
hither and yon boulders occasional
as tongue studs. Tasteless
grasses the cows cud zestlessly.
At the grove rise the sequoias in thicket,
still greenheaded, tall and thickset,
—but a bit less majestic? Or is it that I’m
a bit stumped? I feel coeval
with these big sticks. The shadows
trailing Nora and me, black and spotlit;
a paper-doll scissorline halos each. Behind
them, the flame. Trees devoid-seeming of evil
speak Miwok, a numinous voicelessness
that whispers, Go back. Even roadkill
kicks up on our car, the fender soul-patched
with squirrel. At home, after dark,
the ghoul parties rev up, here a goblin,
there a prince and princess. Here comes a hot
teen getup: black microskirt, Simply Vera hair
helmet, white not-quite knee stockings
shriek High School Hooker. After sequoias,
what might creep me out mildly
looks more wildly weird. Big trees,
powerful Miwoks, I’ll give back
your land when I go, if you’ll keep
a safe distance for now.
_____________________
Thanks, Tom! Let's let Marina Tsvetayeva have the last say on the secret of life:
I KNOW THE TRUTH—GIVE UP ALL OTHER TRUTHS!
—Marina Tsvetayeva
I know the truth—give up all other truths!
No need for people anywhere on earth to struggle.
Look—it is evening, look, it is nearly night:
what do you speak of, poets, lovers, generals?
The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew,
the storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet.
And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we
who never let each other sleep above it.
_____________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events, to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) 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.) Medusa cannot vouch for the moral fiber of other publications, contests, etc. that she lists, however, so submit to them at your own risk. For more info about the Snake Empire, including guidelines for submitting to or obtaining our publications, click on the link to the right of this column: Rattlesnake Press (rattlesnakepress.com).
SnakeWatch: Up-to-the-minute Snake news:
Journals: The latest issue of Rattlesnake Review (#15) is available for free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, or send $2 to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. Next deadline is November 15. The two journals for youngsters, Snakelets and Vyper, are on hiatus; no deadlines this Fall.
New in October: Rattlesnake Press celebrated Sacramento Poetry Month on Wednesday, October 10 with the release of Spiral, a rattlechap by Kate Wells; Autumn on My Mind, a free littlesnake broadside by Mary Field; and #5 in the free Rattlesnake Interview Series by B.L. Kennedy, this one featuring Sacramento Poet Laureate Julia Connor. Also released that night was Conversations, Volume One of the Rattlesnake Interview Anthology Series (a collection of B.L.'s conversations with eleven Sacramento poets), as well as a free broadside tribute to poet/publisher Ben L. Hiatt, commissioned by Rattlesnake Press and designed by Richard Hansen from poetry by B.L. Kennedy and artwork by Patrick Grizzell. All of these are available at The Book Collector, 100 24th St., Sacramento, or from rattlesnakepress.com, or write to kathykieth@hotmail.com/.
Coming in November: The Snake is proud to announce the release of Among Neighbors, a rattlechap from Taylor Graham; Home is Where You Hang Your Wings, a littlesnake broadside from frank andrick; and A Poet's Book of Days, a perpetual calendar featuring the poetry and photography of Katy Brown. Come celebrate the release of all of these on Wednesday, November 14, 7:30 PM at The Book Collector.
