Powers of the Paraclete

Area 51
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

AREA 51
—Katy Brown

Skins and seeds,
pulp and juice and stems,
and the memory of August sun
coalesce
into proto-Merlot
in the dark belly
of this holding tank.

Alchemy happens here:
April rain,
March wind,
and the high call
of a sharp-shinned hawk
meld with new-picked grapes
in a slurry of bits and juice
the color of garnet, amethyst, peridot.

In the darkness of this tank,
summer's iridescent energy
is freed from skin:
released to a greater purpose
than the individual bunches of grapes;
transformed into essence
far-removed from the simple sun
of grapes grown from dust.

__________________

Thanks, Katy! Katy Brown, SpiralChapper (The Quality of Light) and our Snake Eyes columnist for Rattlesnake Review, is frequently seen in Medusa's Kitchen as well, with her wonderful photos and equally wonderful poetry. She also helps us with our HandyStuff series, producing a perpetual calendar (A Poet's Book of Days) last winter and a blank journal (Musings) of photos and prompts to help start your muse up on cold mornings. Now she has produced Musings2: Vices, Virtues and Obsessions, a second book of prompts which includes some of Katy's current obsessions (moose, wine-making and chocolate) and much, much more. Musings2 will be available a week from today on September 10 at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento. Join us at 7:30 PM!

And read more about Katy in the Medusa post that featured her on March 24, 2007. Just go to the list at the right of this column, click on March 2007 and scroll down to the 24th.

This just in: rattlechapper Bill Gainer has a snazzy new website (billgainer.com). Check it out!

And Taylor Graham sends us this poem she never wanted to write in response to yesterday's Seed of the Week. It originally appeared in Weber Studies. Thanks, TG!


OLD DOG’S LAST WEEK
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

The light of her eyes is leaking
inside. It’s hiding out
in her organs that are failing,
x-rays layering shadows.
She won't eat, her body consumes
everything she's been: the sparks
of puppy wonder, hunger, chew-
bone of wanting.

Belly-heavy, she sways on stiff
legs, her feet splay out
for balance. Door to water-dish,
window-draft to shade, she accepts
our hands as if from strangers.
We call her "good dog" anyway,
as light goes leaking, white to
black, a negative.

Daylight cuts,
the sharpest ray.

___________________

Tonight at the Bistro:

•••Tonight, Weds., 9/3, 9 PM: Poetry Night at Bistro 33 (226 F St., Davis) presents Richard Beban, who has an accomplished literary career spanning nearly five decades, first as a journalist, then as a screenwriter, and for the past 15 years as a poet. His books of poetry include What The Heart Weighs (Red Hen Press, 2004) and Young Girl Eating a Bird (Red Hen Press, 2006). His poetry has been published in more than 50 journals and magazines, and can be found in more than 25 anthologies. Mr. Beban has given hundreds of readings, having been invited to read in Berkeley, California; Atlanta, Georgia; Lewiston, Maine; and Paris, France. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and for the position of California Poet Laureate. The event is free.

___________________

FIRST AUTUMN
—May Sarton

What do the trees in the window have to tell
The lovers wrapped in their strange grief,
The lovers wrapped in their strange delight?
What do they hear in the rain, caught in its spell?
What do they see in the turning of a leaf?
What more to be told before the coming of night?

These two who are far apart and yet so near,
These two together and so much alone
Like stars set somewhere out in darkest space—
The trees may say they have nothing to fear.
The rain may tell of wearing down a stone,
But the moody lovers tremble before a face.

The trees in the window are turning toward sleep,
Their light a changing light at the year's turning,
And the rain repeats its lonely plaintive phrase.
How can these fragile lovers hope to keep
A crimson leaf from falling, or this burning
Maintain forever some hint of their great days?

___________________

THE LADY OF THE LAKE
—May Sarton

Somewhere at the bottom of the lake she is
Entangled among weeds, her deep self drowned.
I cannot be with her there. I know she is bound
To a dead man. Her wide open eyes are his.
Only a part of her surfaces to my arms
When I can lift her up and float her there
Gently to breathe life-giving natural air,
Wind in the leaves, the bright summer's charms.

For I know I can be hers, hers for a while
But she can never be mine for a year or a day,
Long ago married, her deep self given away,
Though she turns to me sometimes with a luminous smile.
But what I cannot have or cannot keep
Draws me down under the waters, and I come
With him, with her, into a strange communion,
And all is well where the drowned lovers sleep.

__________________

OLD LOVERS AT THE BALLET
—May Sarton

In the dark theatre lovers sit
Watching the supple dancers weave
A fugue, motion and music melded.
There on the stage below, brilliantly lit
No dancer stumbles or may grieve;
Their very smiles are disciplined and moulded.

And in the dark old lovers feel dismay
Watching the ardent bodies leap and freeze,
Thinking how age has changed them and has mocked.
Once they were light and bold in lissome play,
Limber as willows that could bend with ease—
But as they watch a vision is unlocked.

Imagination springs the trap of youth.
And in the dark motionless, as they stare,
Old lovers reach new wonders and new answers
As in the mind they leap to catch the truth,
For young the soul was awkward, unaware,
That claps its hands now with the supple dancers.

And in the flesh those dancers cannot spare
What the old lovers have had time to learn,
That the soul is a lithe and serene athlete
That deepens touch upon the darkening air.
It is not energy but light they burn,
The radiant powers of the Paraclete.

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

I went through a period once when I felt like I was dying. I wasn't writing any poetry, and I felt that if I couldn't write I would slpit. I was recording in my journal, but no poems came. I know now that this period was a transition in my life. The next year, I went back to my journal, and here were these incredible poems I could almost lift out of it... These poems came right out of the journal. But I didn't see them as poems then.

—Audre Lorde

__________________

—Medusa


SnakeWatch: What's Up With Rattlesnake Press

September 10, we shall roar back onto the scene with Thirteen Poems, a new chapbook from Patrick Grizzell; #2 in Katy Brown's series of blank journals (Musings2: Vices, Virtues and Obsessions); a littlesnake broadside (Wind Physics) from Jordan Reynolds; plus Issue #19 of Rattlesnake Review (next deadline, for Issue #20, is November 15.) Meanwhile, look in on Medusa every day, and, for heaven's sake, keep sending stuff! The snakes of Medusa are always hungry...


Medusa's Weekly Menu:

(Contributors are welcome to cook up something for 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 (sometimes): 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 favorite tools.

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 future issues of 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 ravenous poetic souls.

And poetry! Every day, poetry from writers near and far and in-between! The Snakes of Medusa are always hungry.......!

_________________

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.