THE DEAD DANCING
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
In her Spanish shawl, my mother swirls
in Heber’s arms — the man who first crossed
the polished sill
50 years before her. In this upstairs
hall, he draws a halo spotlight to himself,
so young and square-jawed, her forever-
heart’s desire. She remembers still.
And in a farther corner, my gray father
circa 1989 laughs as I never knew him
into Esther’s marcelled hair.
Buck-tooth smiling, she gives a saucy
fillip with one pump; her skirt
is just the rage for 1927.
A pity Esther had to go home early
from that earthly ball; nor could Heber stay —
leaving my parents
to take each other’s hand in a wordless
foxtrot, measuring out the downstairs dance-
floor all those years.
Look, how very happy each one looks
now, dancing in these pairs.
_______________________
Thanks, TG! Rattlesnake Press is proud to share the news that Snake Pal and columnist Taylor Graham has a new book out ("The Dead Dancing" is a wee sample), this time from Texas Review Press. Titled The Downstairs Dance Floor and winner of the 2005 Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Award, TG says it’s “the book I didn't want to write—being not much of a family person, and it's all about family.” For more info, check out www.tamu.edu/upress/BOOKS/2006/graham.htm. Perfect-bound, due out in August, $8.95 plus s&h; you can order it from the Texas A&M Consortium next month. TG will celebrate with a reading in Stockton for Poet's Corner Press, and a reading at The Book Collector in Sacramento (co-sponsored by Poems-For-All and Rattlesnake Press) on Sunday, October 22 at 4 PM.
TG also sends us a fly villanelle:
END-OF-SUMMER PICNIC, FLY
—Taylor Graham
How many infinitely small deaths you carry,
whimsical fiddler at this outdoor meal.
Dainty dancer over men who think to marry —
your life-span short, but on wings so airy
they draw attention from what germs conceal:
how many infinitely small deaths you carry
that reproduce fly-fashion, making merry
of maggots. Kid-talk, how grave-worms reel,
dainty dancers over men who think to marry.
Family reunion, graduation, births — nary
a thought for Fly’s spin of a turning wheel.
How many infinitely small deaths you carry
from your brief generation to ours. Bury
the thought as Cousin Sue espouses Neal,
dainty dancer among men who think to marry.
Frosted wedding cake with ice cream (berry
or vanilla), swat flies, a family deal.
How many infinitely small deaths we carry:
dainty dancers, men who think to marry.
_______________________
If you're up to it in the heat:
•••Continuing (tonight and Sunday 7/15-16) at Sacramento Poetry Center's neighbor, California Stage: Fastened to a Dying Animal: Eros, revelation & the life of the great Irish poet William Butler Yeats, a world premiere written and performed by local dramaturgist Rick Foster. California Stage is a non-profit professional theatre company dedicated to supporting and encouraging arts created by local artists for local audiences; it’s located right across the parking lot from SPC, at 1723 25th St. (25th & R), Sac. Runs through Sunday, July 23: Fridays and Sat. at 8 PM, Sunday at 2 PM. Reservations: 916-451-5822. For more info on Cal. Stage and on Rick Foster, check out www.calstage.org.
•••Tonight (7/15), The Underground Poetry Series features Twa'Lea Randolph and the Black Men Expressing Tour (on love, sex & relationships) plus open mic. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (35th & Broadway), Sac., 7-9 PM. $3. Hosted by La-Rue'. If you would like to be a featured poet at future events, please contact Terry Moore at 916-455-POET.
•••Today (7/15) is also supposedly the last day to sign up for this year’s Poetry Marathon(hosted by Java City and B.L. Kennedy), which will start Friday, July 28 at noon and end on Monday, July 31 at 1 PM. Each poet will read for approximately 30 minutes, with 15-minute open-mike readings from community members who sign up in advance. Those who want to participate in the open-mic readings can sign up (and should do so NOW) by calling 916-452-5493 before July 15, or until all spots are taken. (Well, it was originally listed as the last day; maybe it is, maybe it isn't... Call him and see. In any case, remaining spots are in very short supply.)
•••Monday (7/17), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Hot Thoughts: Two-Voice Poetry featuring Susan Hennies and Joe Finkelman. Jazz flute and Vocals by Francesca Reitano; Percussion and Sound Texture by Sharon McCorkell. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569. Free. Open Mic.
•••Sutterwriters will begin four new six-week writing workshops the week of July 17. Participants can sign up for Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays or Thursdays, meeting at a variety of times. All workshops will be held at the Sutter Cancer Center, 28th & L Sts., Sac. $10 donation for six sessions. Info: 916-454-6802, or spannc@sutterhealth.org.
_______________________
One more fly poem:
ON A FLY DRINKING OUT OF HIS CUP
—William Oldys (who was, by the way, yes, born yesterday—July 14, 1696)
Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
Drink with me and drink as I:
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short and wears away.
Both alike are mine and thine
Hastening quick to their decline:
Thine's a summer, mine's no more,
Though repeated to threescore.
Threescore summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one!
_______________________
Finally, in a change of tone, my lovely sea-green Honda bit the dust this week in a rear-ender of my own doing. No human injuries, praise be, but that final, fatal word for the Honda: Totalled. (By the way, I don't recommend that people go see their cars at the wrecker's.) Herewith I'm posting two poems that I've written over the years; please forgive this indulgence of mine, but what else is a poet to do in remembrance of fine friends, even though they be of the mechanical ilk?
LUST IN THE AFTERNOON
—Kathy Kieth
Bumper to bumper, metal nose to metal
butt, we sit stuck on the freeway like a string
of elephants, waiting in August heat for someone
to clear whatever the current folly is that blocks
our trail. . . I start admiring that BMW ahead
of me: daydream about all that chrome and
sass: scorn my aging Honda with its door that
always sticks. There's a Corvette two lanes
over: cherry red with creamy seats: I'm sure
its door never sticks. Or the sexy
Lexus, the studly SUV, that ladies' man
of a gold Lincoln Continental. . . Eventually
the elephants start to lumber out of the quicksand
of roadwork. But my afternoon is ruined
by the sight of all that tight muscle
stretching away from my wrinkled Honda. . .
_______________________
Well, okay, maybe that's not the best memorial for the poor car, chronicle of infidelity that it is. Here's something more fitting, a reminder of the many miles and adventures she made possible for Sam and me:
TOUCHING THE BLUE
—Kathy Kieth
Teal drops off into cobalt in this lake
with its bays named for the precious:
Emerald, Crystal. A tiny sea-green car
tats along the shore, pulling in tight
at this beach and that, as two people
get out here and there to stretch hands
toward whatever blue they can reach.
Along pebbled edges to the south,
other visitors: Canada geese upending
in this warmer water, tipping into teal
to wash off all those miles, all those storms
and the chill of the faraway North.
Watching them, the couple pulls in tight
at this beach and that, stretches toward
the cobalt and each other, reaches for
whatever blue our cold hands can touch.
_______________________
Stay cool—and drive carefully!
—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.)