startled into life like fire
—Charles Bukowski
in grievous deity my cat
walks around
he walks around and around
with
electric tail and
push-button
eyes
he is
alive and
plush and
final as a plum tree
neither of us understands
cathedrals or
the man outside
watering his
lawn
if I were all the man
that he is
cat—
if there were men
like this
the world could
begin
he leaps up on the couch
and walks through
porticoes of my
admiration.
________________________
Send me a cat poem of yours before midnight on May 31, previously published or not, and I’ll send you a free copy of Song Kowbell’s new rattlechap, Lick Your Wounds and Want Again. Or, if you have that one, I’ll send you something else.
Feel like writing a few masterpieces, cat or otherwise, in France? Selene Steese writes: You, your journal, a good supply of pens, and eight days of writing in the South of France! My name is Selene Steese, and together French Escapade and I are offering a writing workshop in the French Alps in May 2007. During the day we'll tour gorgeous countryside near Lyon and write about many things—what we see, how the newness and beauty stir our writerly souls. What we bring with us—our current writing projects and our ideas for new pieces. In the evenings, at the 19th-century farmhouse that will be our home for eight days, we will share our words with each other and receive positive and helpful feedback. All tours, accommodations, most meals, and the writing workshop are included in the total cost. To find out the cost, read more about this amazing trip, and see photos from past tours, see: http://www.frenchescapade.com/writing-trips.html. Or for info about me: http://www.matchlessgoddess.com. I look forward to writing with you in the South of France!
More cat poems:
SAVOIRE FAIRE
—Claribel Alegria, El Salvador
My black cat doesn’t know
he will die one day
he doesn’t cling to life
as I do
he leaps from the rooftop
light as air
climbs the tamarind tree
barely scratching it
doesn’t dread crossing bridges
or dark alleyways
nor the perfidious scorpion
my black cat falls in love
with every cat he meets
he refuses to be snared
by a single love
the way I did.
(for Erik; translated from the Spanish by D. J. Flakoll)
________________________
THE CAT AS CAT
—Denise Levertov
The cat on my bosom
sleeping and purring
—fur-petalled chrysanthemum,
squirrel-killer—
is a metaphor only if I
force him to be one,
looking too long in his pale, fond,
dilating, contracting eyes
that reject mirrors, refuse
to observe what bides
stockstill.
Likewise
flex and reflex of claws
gently pricking through sweater to skin
gently sustain their own tune,
not mine. I-Thou, cat, I-Thou.
________________________
Also: please keep Hatch and Judy Taylor Graham in your thoughts. Hatch underwent unexpected surgery last Monday. He’s doing okay, now, but it has been an intense time for the Grahams. Hatch graciously M.C.’s both the Hidden Passage and the Our House poetry readings, and has been known to turn the occasional fine phrase, as well. See previous Snakes and Medusas for some of his work, as well as some dandy double-dactyls in the upcoming Snake 10. Get well soon, Hatch!
—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. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)