Saturday, September 11, 2010

Yesterday's Moments Tremble

Richard Hansen and Annie Menebroker
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

—Ann Menebroker, Sacramento

Art work from Sweden, representational,
but houses; they are houses, sort of imposed
upon one another. I can't tell doors from windows.
Well, one is distinctly a window. It's blue. And
around the houses, blue on all sides. That's
what it's trying to be in this city, blue; a lengthening
of light drawing itself onto the sidewalks. Rows
of light, a garden of light, planted this late morning
in a mood of desperation. Are these houses many enough
to hold a lot of selves? Can the flat image
enter them?
What holds it together? Can a small spot
of dark be removed from the light and be re-
placed with yellow sun-tulips?


Lots going on in NorCal poetry this weekend; see the b-board for details. Among the many offerings: today you could travel to Grass Valley to hear the Women's Writing Salon, or to Davis to hear Louise Nayer read from her book, Burned. Tomorrow, travel to SF and hear Ann Menebroker and Bill Gainer read with Art Beck and A.D. Winans at Bird and Beckett Books and Records, or up to Lincoln to hear Taylor Graham read from her new book, Walking With Elihu. (And thanks to Annie and Bill for today's poems, and to Art and Katy for the pix!)

Tule Review editors Theresa McCourt and Linda Collins remind us that deadline for submissions to the Winter issue is Sept. 30. Tule is now 50-60 pages and perfect-bound, with an anticipated publication date of January, 2011. They consider "poetry of all styles and forms from both local and far-flung places, as long as the poems are strong and well-crafted." For the new, complete submission guidelines, go to And
go to Medusa's SNAKE ON A ROD, click on Up-Coming Deadlines and Local Presses That Want YOU! for more submissions opportunities, as well as Submissions Etiquette for Publishing Virgins (and the rest of us)—a quick review of how to mind your manners in that department.

Katy Brown is a fan of the poetry section of the Guardian (; she sends us this article (even though they're not really haiku):


—William S. Gainer, Grass Valley

She asked,
how can you sleep
on a night like this?

I can’t.
I’ll wait on the porch
under a thin blanket.
Listen to the night sounds—
for the screen door to whisper,
her footsteps
to wake
whatever stars
still nap...

Sleep can find us
in the morning
when the cats
to play...


—William S. Gainer

Everyone went back
to living,
like it was the only
thing to do,
left the memories
to the past,
forgot about what

as if
it never did...

and yesterday’s
knowing they are
the future
of our history...

they weren’t...


—William S. Gainer

Even when he’s trying
not to be
an asshole,
he still is
an asshole.

Is it something
he needs to unlearn,
or just is?
The heavy money is on—
just is.

It’s been going on
for so long
that most people
don’t even ask his name
just refer to him
for what he is,

“You know,
your friend—
the asshole...”


—William S. Gainer

When I was a kid
I could fly.

I remember it like it was
being launched,
over their heads,
looking down into those faces
and out into the forever...

With time gravity
becomes heavy.
They tell you,
you need to
touch the concrete,
to walk,
to follow them
wherever they are going—
even if
in different directions.

It’s been sixty years,
they’ve all gone now,
the ground has become
an old friend,
but lately
I’m having trouble
keeping my feet

It’s coming back,
I’m not scared...
I used to fly...
The forever
tells me
I will


Today's LittleNip:

—William S. Gainer

you just need
to believe
the lie—

even when she says,
I’m sorry...



Photo by Art Beck, San Francisco