Tuesday, February 24, 2009

If The Pen Is Mightier


Genelle Chaconas


IF
—Genelle Chaconas, Sacramento


If the pen is mightier
Kindly let me brandish it gainst the sun
And torch the rotten metropolis
Thundering bareback, angry, bloodthirsty
Howling obscene romance cut-ups
On a stallion on glossolia
Under the menstrual drowned heavens
Ready to give cesaerian birth
To antimatter.

If the pen is mightier
Kindly allow me to disembowel Webster
Boil Strunk in oil
Let the vultures pick grammars bones to dust
And sandstorms swallow their cities.

If the pen is mightier
Then surely
Let me carve my holy war in my flesh
And carry it
In the voice of my spine.


__________________

Thanks, Genelle! Genelle Chaconas says she’s not used to writing bios, but she’ll sure give it try. She is currently a student at Sac State seeking her BA in English with a focus in Creative Writing. She lives alone in a Midtown apartment and has recently begun to discover the vibrant, compassionate poetry scene thriving in Sacramento which has so graciously begun to accept her. Genelle has been writing seriously for four years, but has only in the last year rustled the courage to become part of the creative community. Her favorite haunts have been the Open Mic and special readings at Sacramento’s own Luna’s Café, where she has read her own work and enjoyed the diverse and powerful works of an amazing array of veteran and new poets, and in several other locations in the area, including the Grass Valley and Davis poetry scenes. Her publication history is short: she has recently been published in Rattlesnake Review #20 and Sac State’s Calaveras Station. She has also helped author a book of poetry entitled P.S. Don’t Read This: The Psychik Transmissions of The Psychic Bouncing Vagina with Master local poet and Urban Shaman B.L. Kennedy, which is awaiting publication.

Genelle tries to make a point to work on her poetry and first novel (in first draft, so you all know how tenuous that can be), but doesn’t pretend she achieves that goal (between school, laziness, young angst, and frequent migraines, the challenges exist only to be overcome). She is working to get more of her work published and has even started collecting rejection letters. She plans to hang them on the wall as an art piece (something useful ought to be done with them). Her philosophy on poetry? It’s about farting to the right tune in the right direction at the right time and still being humble about it, playing it off like a mistake, good luck, or a wound in your own side. A joke on yourself. A game. A long, beautiful, devious farce through which truth can sometimes come. That’s what poetry is. Or at least that’s what she’s saying.

__________________

ROMANCE CUT
—Genelle Chaconas

I have a leech on my neck
That eats my brain
And makes me walk
On four times mended knuckles.

And we walk
To white boxes.

Under the warm-high blanket,
The red circle chases.
I make a mint passing Go.
You stand on the whitewatered corner,
Aesthete,
In thrift store heels and pearls
And broadcast eyes.
You watch past me.

The rain strangles, executes,
Merciful.
If only we could play more than accomplices.

__________________

VOODOO HOTEL
—Genelle Chaconas

Through a window barely known
I'm sure I've seen it before, but I think they do it up there
That scattered about
Grease pencil
Leading me on the ladder up those maniac stairs
Spelling something I know I can't read
But know what says.

Above, that veil
A bit of string
Falling out.

I know they doing some bad voodoo baby up there
I know they do it like Charlie and the rest of them, luv

I bet they got the psychedelic reverb up there that snaps through generations
Back to the old days where Renaissance and Haight meet in the middle
And old blackadder Poe dances with that Byron cat to the tune of Joy Division
Remixed by Dj Eris and her company of Chorozon the bad old mackdaddy of them all
Doing that jungle chaos boogie on the head of a pin
Vortex written like new language
Du it lik th baybees on Sahturn du

I bet they got it going baby,
That new dimensional party at night.
I can hear them gainst that old backdrop of the gotho scaries
Dead and cold on the city scape flat baby on that coal kinda Bauhaus sky (good, but no like make me sing)
Mind game I don't get the rules I don't wanna hear it the point is baby the point is baby
Ooh but I know they do it up there.

I know, I know the done it up there
Cause I hear them when I'm awake

And frightened of the things I dream.

Outside, it’s a dead dead
Inside, up there, doing something bad.
I know they got that voodoo there
That I know, but just can't read.

__________________

It's Tuesday! Time for a Seed of the Week! How about this:

I want to make myself an empty room:
Quiet whitewashed walls with slant sunshine
And a fresh breeze through open windows.

—Deng Ming-Dao

_________________

Wrap your mind around those lines and see what comes out of your pen; send the fruit to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. Meanwhile, Patricia Hickerson continues to work her way through the seven deadly sins, this time about wrath. Watch for Pat's littlesnake broadside, At Grail Castle Hotel, coming March 11 from Rattlesnake Press.


THE WRATH OF KARENIA BREVIS
—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

red tide they call you
I call you wrathful tide
your angry swelling
clears the beach in no time
signaled by a sudden draft of dark red
coloring the currents
like blood gone bad in the gut
the ulcerous bleed of the
Gulf's digestive tract

your flowering algae blooms
catch us by the throat
cough
wheeze
don't step on the shore
you'll be choked
by Karenia brevis
explosion of dinoflagellates
toxins winged through the sea
by twin propellers

do you come from the Caribbean
via the Loop Current?
along a dense-patched phytoplankton route?
I demand to know
why you live
where you come from
how you arrive

but there you go,
in retreat,
leaving unanswered questions behind
and a trail of dead fish on the wet sand

_________________

Today's LittleNip:

We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute
of eternity. We are pain
and what cures pain, both. We are
the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.

—Rumi

_________________

—Medusa


SnakeWatch: What's New from Rattlesnake Press:

Rattlesnake Review: The latest issue (RR20) is currently available at The Book Collector, or send me four bux and I'll mail you one. Deadline for RR21 was Feb. 15; the issue will appear in mid-March. Next deadline is May 15 for RR22: send 3-5 poems, smallish art pieces and/or photos (no bio, no cover letter, no simultaneous submissions or previously-published poems) to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. E-mail attachments are preferred, but be sure to include all contact info, including snail address. Meanwhile, the snakes of Medusa are always hungry; let us know if your submission is for the Review or for Medusa, or for either one.

Also available (free): littlesnake broadside #46: Snake Secrets: Getting Your Poetry Published in Rattlesnake Press (and lots of other places, besides!): A compendium of ideas for brushing up on your submissions process so as to make editors everywhere more happy, thereby increasing the likelihood of getting your poetry published. Pick up a copy at The Book Collector or write to me and I'll send you one. Free!

New for February: Now available! A new rattlechap from Sacramento's Poet Laureate, Julia Connor (Oar); a free littlesnake broadside from Josh Fernandez (In The End, It’s A Worthless Machine); and the premiere of our new Rattlesnake Reprints, featuring The Dimensions of the Morning by D.R. Wagner, which was first published by Black Rabbit Press in 1969. Available from the poets or at The Book Collector (1008 24th St., Sacramento) or (soon) from rattlesnakepress.com/.

WTF is out!

Be sure to stop by The Book Collector to pick up your free copy of Rattlesnake Press's latest spawn, WTF—our new quarterly journal which premiered last night in a rousing event hosted by frank andrick which ran into the wee hours at Luna's Cafe. WTF #1 features 22 poets, artists and photogs from the Poetry Unplugged scene; next deadline is April 15 (oooo...tax day!). Guidelines are pretty much the same as the RR ones listed below, except that frank wants three poems (instead of 3-5), and you must be over 18 to submit. Send poems, artwork, and photos to fandrickpub@hotmail.com or the RPress snail address. If you can't get to The Book Collector, send me two bux and I'll mail you one, or I suspect they're available at Luna's.

What's the difference between Rattlesnake Review and WTF? The over-18 thing should give you a clue.
WTF is leaner (smaller), meaner, and more geared to the "Luna's voice", if there is such a thing—and if you ever go to Poetry Unplugged on Thursday nights at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sacramento, you'll see what I mean. Its material also tends to be more X-rated. The Review is big and fat, has articles and other features, and represents a wide variety of styles and genres. But if you're over 18, you're welcome to submit to either one. I edit the Review; frank andrick edits WTF.

Coming in March: On Wednesday, March 11, Rattlesnake Press will be releasing a new chapbook from Norma Kohout (All Aboard); a littlesnake broadside from Patricia Hickerson (At Grail Castle Hotel); and a new issue of Rattlesnake Review (the Snake turns 21)! Join us at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, 7:30. Refreshments and a read-around will follow; bring your own poems or somebody else's.


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 SOWs; 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, or any other day!): 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.