MORNING AT THE WINDOW
—T.S. Eliot
They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.
_______________________
Today is Thomas Stearns Eliot's birthday. I spent part of the summer reading Painted Shadow by Carole Seymour-Jones, which is mostly about Vivienne and Tom's marriage, so the Eliots are very much on my mind. It's nothing like the movie, by the way...
Tonight Stephen Sadler reads at HQ (25th & R Sts., Sac), 7:30 pm, hosted by Sac. Poetry Center.
Thursday, the Placer County Clay Poets (Clay Poet Rodney Mott and others) will showcase their text/spoken work/ceramic work at Luna's, 1414 16th St., 8 pm, hosted by frank andrick. Info: 441-3931.
Saturday, head on down to the gorgeous California Palace of the Legion of Honor to attend the Dancing Poetry Festival, 12-4 pm. Hosted by Artists Embassy International, this annual event features dancing and music and poetry and is very colorful. Poets are chosen from contest winners: local poets who won this year include Laverne and Carol Frith, Allegra Silberstein, and Jeanine Stevens. Info and to purchase tickets: www.dancingpoetry.org.
CONVERSATION GALANTE
—T.S. Eliot
I observe: 'Our sentimental friend the moon!
Or possibly (fantastic, I confess)
It may be Prestor John's baloon
Or an old battered lantern hung aloft
To light poor travellers to their distress.'
She then: 'How you digress!'
And I then: 'Someone frames upon the keys
That exquisite nocturne, with which we explain
The night and moonshine, music which we seize
To body forth our own vacuity.'
She then: 'Does it refer to me?'
'Oh no, it is I who am inane.'
'You, madam, are the eternal humorist,
The eternal enemy of the absolute,
Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist!
With your air indifferent and imperious
At a stroke our mad poetics to confute—'
And—'Are we then so serious?'
___________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.