Jack Micheline
BEAUTY IS EVERYWHERE
—Jack Micheline
Beauty is everywhere
Baudelaire
Even the worm is beautiful
The thread of a beggar's dress
The red eye of a drunkard
On a rainy night
Chasing the red haired girl
Baudelaire
Across the sky
Your raggy pants
Laughing at the rain
Beauty is everywhere
Baudelaire
Today Jack Micheline would've been 78 years old. A.D. Winans sends us this:
POEM FOR JACK MICHELINE
—A.D. Winans, San Francisco
He was the high note of a wailing saxophone
The spark that ignites a fire
He was a fifth of Jack Daniel's
A glass of imported beer
A shaman
A vagabond poet shuffling words
Like a river-boat gambler
Ravished by illness
Ravished by time
He painted his visions on canvass
In parks in bars and coffee houses
His poems singing out across the
Streets of America
Pure innocence
Pure genius
Spinning words that hung in the air
Like a hummingbird drunk on the
Pollen of life
______________________
Thanks, A.D.! Watch for more from A.D. Winans tomorrow.
Speaking of Baudelaire (and San Francisco), frank andrick (who, coincidentally has a littlesnake broadside coming out this month!) will be hosting The Pomo Literati radio program this Sunday from 2-4 PM on KUSF (90.3 FM in SF and/or www.kusf.edu), featuring William S. Gainer, Chris Olander, Josh Fernandez and Neeli Cherkovski, plus pre-recorded rare stuff from Philip Lamantia, Frank O'Hara, and Patti Smith.
Then, on Wednesday, November 14 at The Book Collector, come hear frank read from his brand-new, free broadside from Rattlesnake Press, Home Is Where You Hang Your Wings. Be there!
_____________________
David Humphreys sent us this poem in response to Jeanine Stevens' poems about Donner yesterday:
DONNER LAKE
—David Humphreys, Stockton
We had a cabin on the south side,
spent summers swimming in cold
melt-off water fishing from our
dock catching stocked rainbows
with salmon eggs. The Mogenson
kids joined us that summer ’63, Mika
so blond in her home-made bikini,
’62 winter we’d all gone skiing to
Badger Pass staying in little cabins.
It was the first time I ever swore a
“God Damn It”, or something equivalent.
Scared the hell out of me. I’ll never forget
the light through the curtains. Donner
was an idyllic place though I shot a hole
through an east side window not knowing
the gun was loaded. No one had died
as one of the Woodside boys had from an
accidental discharge of a .22. That was
almost as sad as was the death of Jerry
Rumelfanger at 14 killed by some vicious
heart virus. Don’t tell me how I should
tell this story. No one else could ever come
close to telling it right. The Corrums had
a big A-frame cabin two lots to the west.
They owned a liquor store in Sacramento.
They were rich as hen shit. Their son, Butch
Corum was an only spoiled child who raped
a girl later on and ruined his life. They had
a nice wood sided ski boat with a deep throated
V-8 engine. Walt Vorhees was a friend of my
parents who saved my life by carrying me out
through the snow on snowshoes one December
day a year before I came down with Rheumatic Fever.
He was a gun-nut iconoclast who lived up on
La-Honda and was later convicted of an early
seventies drug violation. I only heard there were
airplanes and made my own conclusions, this
a bit different from that era, Mike Milepsy corralled
by the Royal Canadian Police on snowmobiles in
Canada. Mike used to love doing the John Wesley
Hardin move with a Colt cap and ball six-gun.
My brothers and I went hunting for squirrels at the
Lake one day and ran into a black bear. Danny, my
youngest brother, let out a scream that lifted the top
off the world and scared us out of our skins as the
bear thundered off to die of fright somewhere very
soon... We took pennies, dimes and nickels up to
the railroad tracks on the pass to flatten them out
when the trains ran by. Mika who was so movie
star beautiful she never got over the attention we
paid her so she got into the 60’s drug scene and
gained a lot of weight to get away from it. The
cabin burned down later after we sold it when my
dad got a whiff of what was coming and pulled a
fast one on my mom and had her sign away the deed
before the divorce. None of us ever really dealt
very well with the cannibalism of the Donner Party
up at the east end of the lake where they have a State
Park now, to commemorate the winter of 1846-47.
Now, it all just feels like there was a curse on the place.
______________________
—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 9572V6. Next deadline is November 15—yikes! That's less than ten days away!
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, 1008 24th St., Sacramento.
—Jack Micheline
Beauty is everywhere
Baudelaire
Even the worm is beautiful
The thread of a beggar's dress
The red eye of a drunkard
On a rainy night
Chasing the red haired girl
Baudelaire
Across the sky
Your raggy pants
Laughing at the rain
Beauty is everywhere
Baudelaire
Today Jack Micheline would've been 78 years old. A.D. Winans sends us this:
POEM FOR JACK MICHELINE
—A.D. Winans, San Francisco
He was the high note of a wailing saxophone
The spark that ignites a fire
He was a fifth of Jack Daniel's
A glass of imported beer
A shaman
A vagabond poet shuffling words
Like a river-boat gambler
Ravished by illness
Ravished by time
He painted his visions on canvass
In parks in bars and coffee houses
His poems singing out across the
Streets of America
Pure innocence
Pure genius
Spinning words that hung in the air
Like a hummingbird drunk on the
Pollen of life
______________________
Thanks, A.D.! Watch for more from A.D. Winans tomorrow.
Speaking of Baudelaire (and San Francisco), frank andrick (who, coincidentally has a littlesnake broadside coming out this month!) will be hosting The Pomo Literati radio program this Sunday from 2-4 PM on KUSF (90.3 FM in SF and/or www.kusf.edu), featuring William S. Gainer, Chris Olander, Josh Fernandez and Neeli Cherkovski, plus pre-recorded rare stuff from Philip Lamantia, Frank O'Hara, and Patti Smith.
Then, on Wednesday, November 14 at The Book Collector, come hear frank read from his brand-new, free broadside from Rattlesnake Press, Home Is Where You Hang Your Wings. Be there!
_____________________
David Humphreys sent us this poem in response to Jeanine Stevens' poems about Donner yesterday:
DONNER LAKE
—David Humphreys, Stockton
We had a cabin on the south side,
spent summers swimming in cold
melt-off water fishing from our
dock catching stocked rainbows
with salmon eggs. The Mogenson
kids joined us that summer ’63, Mika
so blond in her home-made bikini,
’62 winter we’d all gone skiing to
Badger Pass staying in little cabins.
It was the first time I ever swore a
“God Damn It”, or something equivalent.
Scared the hell out of me. I’ll never forget
the light through the curtains. Donner
was an idyllic place though I shot a hole
through an east side window not knowing
the gun was loaded. No one had died
as one of the Woodside boys had from an
accidental discharge of a .22. That was
almost as sad as was the death of Jerry
Rumelfanger at 14 killed by some vicious
heart virus. Don’t tell me how I should
tell this story. No one else could ever come
close to telling it right. The Corrums had
a big A-frame cabin two lots to the west.
They owned a liquor store in Sacramento.
They were rich as hen shit. Their son, Butch
Corum was an only spoiled child who raped
a girl later on and ruined his life. They had
a nice wood sided ski boat with a deep throated
V-8 engine. Walt Vorhees was a friend of my
parents who saved my life by carrying me out
through the snow on snowshoes one December
day a year before I came down with Rheumatic Fever.
He was a gun-nut iconoclast who lived up on
La-Honda and was later convicted of an early
seventies drug violation. I only heard there were
airplanes and made my own conclusions, this
a bit different from that era, Mike Milepsy corralled
by the Royal Canadian Police on snowmobiles in
Canada. Mike used to love doing the John Wesley
Hardin move with a Colt cap and ball six-gun.
My brothers and I went hunting for squirrels at the
Lake one day and ran into a black bear. Danny, my
youngest brother, let out a scream that lifted the top
off the world and scared us out of our skins as the
bear thundered off to die of fright somewhere very
soon... We took pennies, dimes and nickels up to
the railroad tracks on the pass to flatten them out
when the trains ran by. Mika who was so movie
star beautiful she never got over the attention we
paid her so she got into the 60’s drug scene and
gained a lot of weight to get away from it. The
cabin burned down later after we sold it when my
dad got a whiff of what was coming and pulled a
fast one on my mom and had her sign away the deed
before the divorce. None of us ever really dealt
very well with the cannibalism of the Donner Party
up at the east end of the lake where they have a State
Park now, to commemorate the winter of 1846-47.
Now, it all just feels like there was a curse on the place.
______________________
—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 9572V6. Next deadline is November 15—yikes! That's less than ten days away!
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, 1008 24th St., Sacramento.
