LISTENING
—Virginia Hamilton Adair
On the margin of sleep
I am talking to myself
in silence, silence.
I read the transcription
strung out in seaweed
which the waves shuffle and erase.
My thumb stirring
under the pillow
sounds like footsteps.
But no one comes
only the words walking
connecting and recombining.
A shadowy poem joins them
and I come awake quickly
to catch what it is saying.
My senses tremble
but the poem is untranslatable
with runic gestures pointing
to silence, silence.
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Sleep. Arnold Bennett says, "A man of sixty has spent twenty years in bed and over three years in eating." Now there's a thought...
Sleep is Medusa's Seed of the Week: write poems about sleep and all that surrounds it: dreams, nightmares, insomnia, Rip Van Winkle, Sleeping Beauty... Wake up your muse and write about sleep. (This isn't a giveaway, but then again, for some of us, sleep never is.) Today's poems might set you in the right direction, but hopefully they won't cause you to go... to... zzzzzzzz.......
WHILE WE SLEPT...
—Joyce Carol Oates
...snow piled without effort
blown through the windows' rusty screens, driftingthinly on the porch
silences fell while we slept
moths in last night's warm lamplight
stilled now in these dunes
of white silence
as we sleptin the wise vacuum of those
who desire sorrow without the effort
of tears
...the sleeping secret in us
embryo-breathing that breathes ussnow-freshened air in its own rhythms, breathing
into us who sleep, breathing
us as we sleep...the blankets, already damp, turned heavy
with the long nightthe cabin's low ceiling pressed nearer
cobwebs teasing our faces
while we slept
hoping to survive this spellhoping for a morning's strident anger
shouting No! no!
we are too young for this—
always too young for this—
there is a place for death and a place for love
a place where finally a sky will emerge damply-blue
there are birds in the evergreen bushes—
already the new snow is tracked—
and sleep has no wisdom
great as daylight.
__________________
TWO INSOMNIACS
—Joyce Carol Oates
if one rises to stare out a window
the other feels the tugging, the draft of air
if one shuts his eyes
the other feels the leap of a half-vision
that does not take hold
between them a few miles
the chopped-up ridges of a city
others' dreams that whine
like nighttime sirens
this is what they wanted
this is what the legends promised them
and if one telephones the other, the ringing
will anger the night and then subside
to nothing: they will both listen then to nothing
because this is what they wanted
and this is what they got
___________________
THE SLEEPING BAG
—Virginia Hamilton Adair
Feathers and down, down
of our double bag enfold us
in the winter night.
This warmth had wings once
crossing the moon.
One candle at our heads
as for a wake.
One downy feather trembling
in your dark hair.
Your hands over my ears
hold off the buoy bell
the pistol crack of ice.
Wind through our flapping tent
blows out the candle
tugs at guy ropes
makes the trees cry out.
Silence the wind,
deafen me with love, love
in the winged darkness
of down, down.
__________________
THE BOULDER
—Virginia Hamilton Adair
This was the rock
where the last eagle's farsighted gaze
from this height
beheld the first wagon train
coming from the desert to the sea,
preceding the planters and the smog.
And when the eagle
melted into the sky and was gone
smaller birds knew the boulder
for a holy place.
Unlike the lesser stones of the mountain
it will not loosen in the darkside ice
or relax in the summer rain.
It will not rumble, tumble, crumble.
Remember its silence
in a long night when sleep will not come.
Remember it in the long sleep
when the rare flowers come up
through the grains of sand around our bones
and the ghostly eagle carries away the sun.
__________________
Today's LittleNip (and a bonus Nip. As Tom Goff says, we could all use a little nip now and then. Lord knows, a bonus nip wouldn't hurt, either—especially at bedtime... )
I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king
of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
—William Shakespeare
All men whilst they are awake are in one common world:
but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.
but each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.
—Plutarch
Don't give brandy to your cats, though. It just makes them silly...
___________________
—Medusa
Here's Medusa's weekly menu of features. Contributors are welcome to submit to any and all of these!
Monday: Weekly NorCal poetry calendar
Tuesday: Seed of the Week: Tuesday is Medusa's day to post poetry triggers such as quotes, forms, photos, memories, jokes—whatever might tickle somebody's muse. Pick up the gauntlet and send in your poetic results; and don't be shy about sending in your own triggers, too! All poems will be posted and a few of them will go into Medusa's Corner of each Rattlesnake Review. Send your work to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. No deadline for SOW; respond today, tomorrow, or whenever the muse arrives. (Print 'em out, maybe, save 'em for a dry spell?) When you send us work, though, just let us know which "seed" it was that inspired you.
Wednesday: HandyStuff Quickies: Resources for the poet, including whatever helps ease the pain of writing and/or publishing. Favorite journals to read and/or submit to; books, etc., about writing; organizational tools—you know—HandyStuff! Tell us about your favorites.
Thursday: B.L.'s Drive-Bys: Micro-reviews by our irreverent Reviewer-in-Residence, B.L. Kennedy. Send books, CDs, DVDs, etc. to him for possible review (either as a Drive-By or in Rattlesnake Review) at P.O. Box 160664, Sacramento, CA 95816.
Friday: NorCal weekend poetry calendar
Daily (except Sunday): LittleNips: SnakeFood for the Poetic Soul: Daily munchables for poetic thought, including short paragraphs, quotes, wonky words, silliness, little-known poetry/poet facts, and other inspiration—yet another way to feed our ever-hungry poetic souls.
And poetry! Every day, poetry from writers near and far! The Snakes of Medusa are always hungry.......!
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SnakeWatch: News from Rattlesnake Press
New in April: Ann Menebroker’s new chapbook (Small Crimes); Ted Finn's SnakeRings SpiralChap of his poetry and art (Damn the Eternal War); and Katy Brown's blank (well, not really) journal of photos and prompts, MUSINGS (For Capturing Creative Thought). All of these are now available at The Book Collector and will soon be available through rattlesnakepress.com.
Coming in May: Join us on Wednesday, May 14 for the release of Among Summer Pines by Quinton Duval; a littlesnake broadside, Before Naming, by Stephani Schaefer; and Volume Three of Conversations, our third book of interviews by B.L. Kennedy. That's at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, 7:30 PM.
Also in May: Deadline for Issue #18 of Rattlesnake Review is May 15. Free copies of Issue #17 are available at The Book Collector, or send me two bux and I'll mail you one.
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). And be sure to sign up for Snakebytes, our monthly e-newsletter that will keep you up-to-date on all our ophidian chicanery.
