IN A CLEARING
—W.S. Merwin
The unnumbered herds flow like lichens
Along the darkness each carpet at its height
In silence
Herds without end
Without death
Nothing is before them nothing after
Among the hooves the hooves' brothers the shells
In a sea
Passing through senses
As though bright clearings surrounded with pain
Some of the animals
See souls moving in their word death
With its many tongues that no god could speak
That can describe
Nothing that cannot die
The word
Surrounds the souls
The hide they wear
Like a light in the light
And when it goes out they vanish
In the eyes of the herds there is only one light
They cherish it with the darkness it belongs to
They take their way through it nothing is
Before them and they leave it
A small place
Where dying a sun rises
________________________
WATCHERS
—W.S. Merwin
The mowers begin
And after this morning the fox
Will no longer glide close to the house in full day
When a breath stirs the wheat
Leaving his sounds waiting at a distance
Under a few trees
And lie out
Watching from the nodding light the birds on the roofs
The noon sleep
Perhaps nothing
For some time will cross the new size of the stubble fields
In the light
And watch us
But the day itself coming alone
From the woods with its hunger
Today a tall man saying nothing but taking notes
Tomorrow a colorless woman standing
With her reproach and her bony children
Before rain
________________________
William Stanley Merwin was born on this day in 1927.
This Weekend:
•••Tonight (Sat., 9/30), 7-9 PM: “The Show” Poetry Series features Prentice (2006 Oakland/San Francisco Grand Slam Champion) Powell, Noah “SuperNova” Hayes, Lawrence Brooks, Jason Banks, Miss Ashleigh in Love Jones Poetry Night. Wo’se Community Center (off 35th & Broadway), 2863 35th St., Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
•••Tomorrow (Sun., 10/1), 6 PM: Local poet/artist/musician José Montoya is the first Fall featured reader at PoemSpirits, which will begin its fifth year this Sunday. Series co-facilitator JoAnn Anglin will also present a brief overview of the work of Poet Sharon Olds. Also open mic: All are invited to bring a poem of your own (or another’s) to read. Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues. UUSS Foyer/Lounge. Snacks available. Info: JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372, or Tom Goff/Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312.
•••Monday (10/2), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Andy Jones, who teaches writing and literature classes at UC Davis after having run the English Department's Computer-Aided Instruction Program for many years. He also hosts "Dr. Andy's Poetry and Technology Hour" on KDVS each Wednesday afternoon at 5 PM. In February, 2006, Andy's book of poetry, Split Stock, was published by John Natsoulas Press. The co-author of Split Stock is Brad Henderson. That's Monday at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac.
•••Also Monday (10/2), 7:30 PM: Snake Pal, Rattlechapper (Living with Myth) and Rattlesnake Review columnist-in-residence Taylor Graham will be reading in Davis at The Other Voice, hosted by James Lee Jobe. The Other Voice meets in the library of the Unitarian Church at 27074 Patwin Road in Davis. Open mic follows, so bring along a poem to share. Taylor's newest book, The Downstairs Dance Floor, is winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press; this year's judge was well-known poet and educator R.S. Gwynn.
•••OR—catch Taylor Graham on KXJZ radio during the "Insight" program at 2 PM on Monday! (The local NPRs just traded frequencies; KXJZ is 90.9 now.)
_______________________
FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH
—W.S. Merwin
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
_______________________
PROVISION
—W.S. Merwin
All morning with dry instruments
The field repeats the sound
Of rain
From memory
And in the wall
The dead increase their invisible honey
It is August
The flocks are beginning to form
I will take with me the emptiness of my hands
What you do not have you find everywhere
_______________________
AIR
—W.S. Merwin
Naturally it is night.
Under the overturned lute with its
One string I am going my way
Which has a strange sound.
This way the dust, that way the dust.
I listen to both sides
But I keep right on.
I remember the leaves sitting in judgment
And then winter.
I remember the rain with its bundle of roads.
The rain taking all its roads.
Nowhere.
Young as I am, old as I am,
I forget tomorrow, the blind man.
I forget the life among the buried windows.
The eyes in the curtains.
The wall
Growing through the immortelles.
I forget silence
The owner of the smile.
This must be what I wanted to be doing,
Walking at night between the two deserts,
Singing.
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
The Endless Patience of the Light
LONG AFTERNOONS
—Adam Zagajewski
Those were the long afternoons when poetry left me.
The river flowed patiently, nudging lazy boats to sea.
Long afternoons, the coast of ivory.
Shadows lounged in the streets, haughty manikins in shopfronts
stared at me with bold and hostile eyes.
Professors left their schools with vacant faces,
as if the Iliad had finally done them in.
Evening papers brought disturbing news,
but nothing happened, no one hurried.
There was no one in the windows, you weren't there;
even nuns seemed ashamed of their lives.
Those were the long afternoons when poetry vanished
and I was left with the city's opaque demon,
like a poor traveler stranded outside the Gare du Nord
with his bulging suitcase wrapped in twine
and September's black rain falling.
Oh, tell me how to cure myself of irony, the gaze
that sees but doesn't penetrate; tell me how to cure myself
of silence.
______________________
Auburn Poet Receives Quill Nomination:
Speaking of translations, I see in yesterday's "Scene" section of The Sacramento Bee that Auburn poet William O'Daly has been nomoinated for a Quill Award in Poetry for his translation of 28 cantos by Chilean Poet Pablo Neruda. The book is entitled Still Another Day. Books in 20 categories are nominated by 6000 librarians and booksellers, then readers can vote for their favorites online. (You can vote at www.quillsvote.com by Saturday, Sept. 30.) Winners will be announced at the awards ceremony in New York City on Oct. 10; MSNBC will webcast the complete ceremony, or see an edited version on Channel 3 at 10 AM Dec. 10.
O'Daly, a recipient of an NEA grant, is up against competition such as Garrison Keillor, Mary Oliver, Billy Collins and Maya Angelou. Root for the local boy—log in and vote for him, in fact! The Bee says it took him eight years to do this project.
Off Hiatus:
Richard Hansen of Poems-for-All/Book Collector fame has a new weekly e-mail, The Weekly Inch ("Inch", not "Itch"), a newsletter listing up-coming po-events on Sacramento's plate, including his Poems-For-All reading series and teensy books. If you're not on his list, write to him at richard@poems-for-all.com. Or see the Inch by clicking on the Richard Hansen link to the right of this column, then go to "blog" on the menu. As I mentioned yesterday, Richard and I will be co-sponsoring a reading by Taylor Graham at 4 PM on Oct. 22 at The Book Collector (Home of the Snake); see also Richard's up-coming Small Press Poetry Fair Oct. 14—20% off all Snake books!—even the free ones! :-)
_______________________
NIGHT
—Adam Zagajewski
Dances beautifully
and has great desires.
Seeks the road.
Weeps in the woods.
Is killed by dawn, fever,
and the rooster.
_______________________
I WASN'T IN THIS POEM
—Adam Zagajewski
I wasn't in this poem,
only gleaming pure pools,
a lizard's tiny eye, the wind
and the sounds of a harmonica
pressed to not my lips.
_______________________
LETTER FROM A READER
—Adam Zagajewski
Too much about death,
too many shadows.
Write about life,
an average day,
the yearning for order.
Take the school bell
as your model
of moderation,
even scholarship.
Too much death,
too much
dark radiance.
Take a look,
crowds packed
in cramped stadiums
sing hymns of hatred.
Too much music,
too little harmony, peace,
reason.
Write about those moments
when friendship's footbridges
seem more enduring
than despair.
Write about love,
long evenings,
the dawn,
the trees,
about the endless patience
of the light.
(Today's poetry was translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh.)
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—Adam Zagajewski
Those were the long afternoons when poetry left me.
The river flowed patiently, nudging lazy boats to sea.
Long afternoons, the coast of ivory.
Shadows lounged in the streets, haughty manikins in shopfronts
stared at me with bold and hostile eyes.
Professors left their schools with vacant faces,
as if the Iliad had finally done them in.
Evening papers brought disturbing news,
but nothing happened, no one hurried.
There was no one in the windows, you weren't there;
even nuns seemed ashamed of their lives.
Those were the long afternoons when poetry vanished
and I was left with the city's opaque demon,
like a poor traveler stranded outside the Gare du Nord
with his bulging suitcase wrapped in twine
and September's black rain falling.
Oh, tell me how to cure myself of irony, the gaze
that sees but doesn't penetrate; tell me how to cure myself
of silence.
______________________
Auburn Poet Receives Quill Nomination:
Speaking of translations, I see in yesterday's "Scene" section of The Sacramento Bee that Auburn poet William O'Daly has been nomoinated for a Quill Award in Poetry for his translation of 28 cantos by Chilean Poet Pablo Neruda. The book is entitled Still Another Day. Books in 20 categories are nominated by 6000 librarians and booksellers, then readers can vote for their favorites online. (You can vote at www.quillsvote.com by Saturday, Sept. 30.) Winners will be announced at the awards ceremony in New York City on Oct. 10; MSNBC will webcast the complete ceremony, or see an edited version on Channel 3 at 10 AM Dec. 10.
O'Daly, a recipient of an NEA grant, is up against competition such as Garrison Keillor, Mary Oliver, Billy Collins and Maya Angelou. Root for the local boy—log in and vote for him, in fact! The Bee says it took him eight years to do this project.
Off Hiatus:
Richard Hansen of Poems-for-All/Book Collector fame has a new weekly e-mail, The Weekly Inch ("Inch", not "Itch"), a newsletter listing up-coming po-events on Sacramento's plate, including his Poems-For-All reading series and teensy books. If you're not on his list, write to him at richard@poems-for-all.com. Or see the Inch by clicking on the Richard Hansen link to the right of this column, then go to "blog" on the menu. As I mentioned yesterday, Richard and I will be co-sponsoring a reading by Taylor Graham at 4 PM on Oct. 22 at The Book Collector (Home of the Snake); see also Richard's up-coming Small Press Poetry Fair Oct. 14—20% off all Snake books!—even the free ones! :-)
_______________________
NIGHT
—Adam Zagajewski
Dances beautifully
and has great desires.
Seeks the road.
Weeps in the woods.
Is killed by dawn, fever,
and the rooster.
_______________________
I WASN'T IN THIS POEM
—Adam Zagajewski
I wasn't in this poem,
only gleaming pure pools,
a lizard's tiny eye, the wind
and the sounds of a harmonica
pressed to not my lips.
_______________________
LETTER FROM A READER
—Adam Zagajewski
Too much about death,
too many shadows.
Write about life,
an average day,
the yearning for order.
Take the school bell
as your model
of moderation,
even scholarship.
Too much death,
too much
dark radiance.
Take a look,
crowds packed
in cramped stadiums
sing hymns of hatred.
Too much music,
too little harmony, peace,
reason.
Write about those moments
when friendship's footbridges
seem more enduring
than despair.
Write about love,
long evenings,
the dawn,
the trees,
about the endless patience
of the light.
(Today's poetry was translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh.)
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Meaning to Try
OCEAN BREEZE
—Theresa McCourt, Sacramento
Here in the valley,
the sycamores toss back and forth
against gray sky, the trees rhythmic turbulence
a leafy echo of great waves assailing a rocky shore.
Beneath our rose-covered archway
the glass bell booms lightly,
mimicking the warnings found at sea.
Outside, I stand on the concrete step,
pull in the freshness of the air,
a reprieve from heat and dust.
Suddenly, what I yearn to do
is send you the insistent rustling of our trees,
the way salt water reaches even those of us
who live so far inland.
_______________________
Thanks, Theresa! Pick up a copy of the latest Rattlesnake Review at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., for a very interesting article by Theresa McCourt, describing her experiences at the Napa Valley Writers Conference this summer. Theresa is a member of the SPC Hart Center Workshop that meets on Tuesday. Hopefully she will send us more of her wonderful poems in the future.
Tonight:
•••Thurs. (9/28), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater). Hosted by Flo Real. $5. Open mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Also Thurs. (9/28), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Matt Amott, Bill Carr and Alexus Luna, w/open mic before and after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: www.lunascafe.com or 916-441-3931. Free. Matt Amott, co-founder of Six Feet Swells Press with Todd Cirillo and Julie Valine, is a poet with the combined attitude of Lou Reed and Dean Martin. Matt has developed this unqiue style and laid-back delivery which tend to cut through the moment with sweet cynicism and sentiment. See the latest issue of Rattlesnake Review for a sample of his work. Bill Carr, Poet, Artist, Dramatist, Teacher, has been a contributor to the Sacramento poetry community for some 20+ years. Bill has a very interesting approach to his specialize poetics in the way that he manipulates and incorporates voice and sound, always keeping track of audience and space. In the words of Poet B.L. Kennedy, Bill Carr is one of those special treasures that must be experienced in presentation. Alexus Luna, a young poet who is new to the Sacramento scene, promises an enteraining delivery with her self-styled confessional City poetics that will pull the audience into a whirlwind of sensous exploration. All of this tonight at Luna's, and open mic, besides!
Check out SPC:
•••Monday, Oct. 2 (7:30 PM): Sacramento Poetry Center presents Andy Jones, who teaches writing and literature classes at UC Davis after having run the English Department's Computer-Aided Instruction Program for many years. He also hosts "Dr. Andy's Poetry and Technology Hour" on KDVS each Wednesday afternoon at 5 PM. In February, 2006, Andy's book of poetry, Split Stock, was published by John Natsoulas Press. The co-author of Split Stock is Brad Henderson. That's Monday at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac.
NEW! Check out the .mp3s of Camille Norton’s reading on Sept. 25 at http://sacramentopoetrycenter.blogspot.com/2006/09/camille-nortonsept-25.html
Hint, Hint:
Give 'em Shelter Poetry Chapbook Competition sponsored by Pudding House Publications, the largest literary small press in America, is looking for chapbook contest entries NOW. Postmark deadline 9/30: 10-36 pages of poems, any style or form or subject. PH often offers publication of up to 20 from the pool of favorite entries. Mss are not returned. Include $15 reading fee, SASE, send to Pudding House, 81 Shadymere Lane, Columbus Ohio 43213. Judge is PH editor Jennifer Bosveld. See http://www.puddinghouse.com for more info and to explore publishing company's attitudinal sense. [Jennifer says she is low on manuscripts this year; take the hint, guys and gals—get ‘em in there!]
Taylor Graham-a-Thon:
On Monday, Oct. 2 (7:30 PM), Snake Pal and Rattlechapper (Living with Myth) Taylor Graham will be reading in Davis at The Other Voice, hosted by James Lee Jobe. The Other Voice meets in the library of the Unitarian Church at 27074 Patwin Road in Davis. Open mic follows, so bring along a poem to share. Taylor's newest book, The Downstairs Dance Floor, is winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press; this year's judge was well-known poet and educator R.S. Gwynn. TG will also read in Sacramento on Sunday, Oct. 22 at 4 PM in an event co-sponsored by The Book Collector and Rattlesnake Press; more about that later. Here's a sample from TG, whose work regularly appears among the pixels of Medusa:
HIS MOTHER’S GARLIC PRESS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
The only thing of hers you ever wanted.
She could strike an argument
quick as a kitchen match. She could chop
and mince and slice your words
and serve them with sauce for dinner.
You’ve never had a press that worked
as well, squeezing each clove
to smithereens. Now you’ve got hers
over her dead body. Tonight,
this must be a mother-in-law head
of garlic that you’re crushing,
so pungent, your eyes sting
with old tears.
______________________
Thanks, TG!
Speaking of Jim Jobe, he sent me another Fall poem (just in time), in the form of a letter addressed to me. What a silver-tongued devil he is...
AUTUMN
-for Kathy Kieth-
Dear Kathy,
The singing leaves and punted footballs drop, and the valley
suddenly seems to have sprouted pumpkins, and a surprising
chill in the early morning brings rosy youth to my braced cheeks.
Autumn returns like my wildest cousin, the one who chased girls
and rode bulls and died young, and now the strong light of day
balances with the sweet lure of night, a wildness, a softness,
an easy sort of golden yellow. Careless. Dear.
This is the autumn I pass fifty years—I match the season!
Summer has passed, but I don't miss it, I loved most of it,
and the rest I can let go. Winter is coming, I'll be ready.
But first I think I'll hold each single autumn day, windy and crisp.
At least this: I'll try to hold them, Kathy, I do mean to try.
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
______________________
We all mean to try, JJ—we all do mean to try.
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—Theresa McCourt, Sacramento
Here in the valley,
the sycamores toss back and forth
against gray sky, the trees rhythmic turbulence
a leafy echo of great waves assailing a rocky shore.
Beneath our rose-covered archway
the glass bell booms lightly,
mimicking the warnings found at sea.
Outside, I stand on the concrete step,
pull in the freshness of the air,
a reprieve from heat and dust.
Suddenly, what I yearn to do
is send you the insistent rustling of our trees,
the way salt water reaches even those of us
who live so far inland.
_______________________
Thanks, Theresa! Pick up a copy of the latest Rattlesnake Review at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., for a very interesting article by Theresa McCourt, describing her experiences at the Napa Valley Writers Conference this summer. Theresa is a member of the SPC Hart Center Workshop that meets on Tuesday. Hopefully she will send us more of her wonderful poems in the future.
Tonight:
•••Thurs. (9/28), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater). Hosted by Flo Real. $5. Open mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Also Thurs. (9/28), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Matt Amott, Bill Carr and Alexus Luna, w/open mic before and after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: www.lunascafe.com or 916-441-3931. Free. Matt Amott, co-founder of Six Feet Swells Press with Todd Cirillo and Julie Valine, is a poet with the combined attitude of Lou Reed and Dean Martin. Matt has developed this unqiue style and laid-back delivery which tend to cut through the moment with sweet cynicism and sentiment. See the latest issue of Rattlesnake Review for a sample of his work. Bill Carr, Poet, Artist, Dramatist, Teacher, has been a contributor to the Sacramento poetry community for some 20+ years. Bill has a very interesting approach to his specialize poetics in the way that he manipulates and incorporates voice and sound, always keeping track of audience and space. In the words of Poet B.L. Kennedy, Bill Carr is one of those special treasures that must be experienced in presentation. Alexus Luna, a young poet who is new to the Sacramento scene, promises an enteraining delivery with her self-styled confessional City poetics that will pull the audience into a whirlwind of sensous exploration. All of this tonight at Luna's, and open mic, besides!
Check out SPC:
•••Monday, Oct. 2 (7:30 PM): Sacramento Poetry Center presents Andy Jones, who teaches writing and literature classes at UC Davis after having run the English Department's Computer-Aided Instruction Program for many years. He also hosts "Dr. Andy's Poetry and Technology Hour" on KDVS each Wednesday afternoon at 5 PM. In February, 2006, Andy's book of poetry, Split Stock, was published by John Natsoulas Press. The co-author of Split Stock is Brad Henderson. That's Monday at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac.
NEW! Check out the .mp3s of Camille Norton’s reading on Sept. 25 at http://sacramentopoetrycenter.blogspot.com/2006/09/camille-nortonsept-25.html
Hint, Hint:
Give 'em Shelter Poetry Chapbook Competition sponsored by Pudding House Publications, the largest literary small press in America, is looking for chapbook contest entries NOW. Postmark deadline 9/30: 10-36 pages of poems, any style or form or subject. PH often offers publication of up to 20 from the pool of favorite entries. Mss are not returned. Include $15 reading fee, SASE, send to Pudding House, 81 Shadymere Lane, Columbus Ohio 43213. Judge is PH editor Jennifer Bosveld. See http://www.puddinghouse.com for more info and to explore publishing company's attitudinal sense. [Jennifer says she is low on manuscripts this year; take the hint, guys and gals—get ‘em in there!]
Taylor Graham-a-Thon:
On Monday, Oct. 2 (7:30 PM), Snake Pal and Rattlechapper (Living with Myth) Taylor Graham will be reading in Davis at The Other Voice, hosted by James Lee Jobe. The Other Voice meets in the library of the Unitarian Church at 27074 Patwin Road in Davis. Open mic follows, so bring along a poem to share. Taylor's newest book, The Downstairs Dance Floor, is winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press; this year's judge was well-known poet and educator R.S. Gwynn. TG will also read in Sacramento on Sunday, Oct. 22 at 4 PM in an event co-sponsored by The Book Collector and Rattlesnake Press; more about that later. Here's a sample from TG, whose work regularly appears among the pixels of Medusa:
HIS MOTHER’S GARLIC PRESS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
The only thing of hers you ever wanted.
She could strike an argument
quick as a kitchen match. She could chop
and mince and slice your words
and serve them with sauce for dinner.
You’ve never had a press that worked
as well, squeezing each clove
to smithereens. Now you’ve got hers
over her dead body. Tonight,
this must be a mother-in-law head
of garlic that you’re crushing,
so pungent, your eyes sting
with old tears.
______________________
Thanks, TG!
Speaking of Jim Jobe, he sent me another Fall poem (just in time), in the form of a letter addressed to me. What a silver-tongued devil he is...
AUTUMN
-for Kathy Kieth-
Dear Kathy,
The singing leaves and punted footballs drop, and the valley
suddenly seems to have sprouted pumpkins, and a surprising
chill in the early morning brings rosy youth to my braced cheeks.
Autumn returns like my wildest cousin, the one who chased girls
and rode bulls and died young, and now the strong light of day
balances with the sweet lure of night, a wildness, a softness,
an easy sort of golden yellow. Careless. Dear.
This is the autumn I pass fifty years—I match the season!
Summer has passed, but I don't miss it, I loved most of it,
and the rest I can let go. Winter is coming, I'll be ready.
But first I think I'll hold each single autumn day, windy and crisp.
At least this: I'll try to hold them, Kathy, I do mean to try.
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
______________________
We all mean to try, JJ—we all do mean to try.
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Rewinding the Scene
THE PLAN
—William S. Gainer, Grass Valley
Fall is on the ground
and it's going to lay there
until winter decides
to bully it around—
not me,
I ain't that tough.
My plan
is to pull my collar up,
turn into the wind
and let blow.
________________________
AUGUST 31
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
The air is different today, dog days done,
Duncan dead, sorrel turns crimson,
and sea crows fly off the Irish Coast.
Autumn is nervous, weary of summer’s gushing,
yet in no mood for the coarse comfort of winter’s
grizzled chest, not ready for paper pilgrims,
and chubby squash tacked to windows,
will do anything to delay, postpone,
even sign a waver to reschedule this bargain.
Meanwhile, at stream’s edge, rusty
sedum fondle her leg—burgundy tipped sedge
gently opens to expose an overgrown thicket.
She looks back, surprised to see yarrow,
dianthus, feverfew still in full bloom,
she wants to disappear, but suddenly,
sun turns ice white, dry shadows fade petals
of golden mums, black walnut’s pungent oil
stains a frayed hem. She hears
the hollow sound of wild rye grass, blood
oranges crush under her feet, the sweet
decay calmly inhaled, begins spinning her claret
cloak, weaves a lapel of purple vines gathered
along the canal, glimpses him over her shoulder.
_______________________
Thanks to Rattlechappers Bill Gainer and Jeanine Stevens for sending Fall poems. The current Snake-a-Thon ended last night at midnight, but we still have more local poems about Fall to come, and they are, of course, all dandies! Medusa thanks all of you who sent us your work and participated in the current frivolity...
Still in the Mood to Write?
Cynthia Bryant, Pleasanton Poet Laureate and Mistress of Poets Lane writes: Poets Lane (www.poetslane.com) is accepting poems for the page for October: False Heroes, Shadow and Time poetry. Or if you prefer, send a poem for the "Get it Off Your Chest" page of mental-health rant poems, your choice of topics. Poet's Lane is also accepting poems for The Gift of Words, Poems for the Iraqi People; for more information, go to www.poetslane.com and click on the "Special Poetry Related" page and scroll down to the book. Also: If you are interested in having your picture/bio and contact information put on Poet’s Lane’s "Poets in the Know" page, send the information to Cynthia at PoetsLane@comcast.net.
Tonight:
•••Weds. (9/27), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and Open Mic hosted by Khiry Malik. $5, 21 and over. Info: www.malikspeaks.com or 916-492-9336.
•••Weds. (9/27), 6 PM: Open mic/read-around at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St., Placerville. Come join us (and the skeleton under the floor) for an hour of poetry; bring your own poems or somebody else’s. Free.
The Inimitable Jane Blue:
Sacramento's Jane Blue writes: I have poems in Innisfree Poetry Journal 3, which you can find at http://www.innisfreepoetry.org. I think it's a very good e-zine. Watch for Jane's new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions, coming from Rattlesnake Press in November. Jane was kind enough to send Fall poems:
THE FALL
—Jane Blue, Sacramento
Yesterday a woman crumpled
on the sidewalk outside the coffee house patio.
I saw her shoes disembodied
under the hedge. She was carrying
a plastic cup of amber tea
and some other things. One arm
suddenly went up. Then she refracted
into parts: the glass, the arm, strips
of leather on flat-soled sandals.
The trees above her were losing their leaves.
Three people called out simultaneously,
“Are you all right?” There was
a pause. Then she answered weakly,
“Yes,” and I saw her reassemble herself,
gathering her papers and her dignity.
They gave her another cup of tea
and she rewound the scene
without falling this time.
(previously appeared in Poetry Depth Quarterly, 2005)
_______________________
FALL, SACRAMENTO
—Jane Blue
1
Cabbage butterfly grazes,
wings slightly chartreuse,
stalk by stalk, the broccoli:
wings with two dark spots low,
close to the body, fake
and tempting, fluttering—
when the veil is lifted:
startling eyes; it alights
and caresses, sniffs
like a lover the dusky
broccoli leaves, blind
and instinctual, following
cabbage scent, wills food
from curled young leaves
mimicking the petals of flowers—
weary with thirst
and butterfly weight.
Later
I water the broccoli
and the broccoli thanks me,
stands straight up,
unfurling its shadowy
crenelated leaves
in a salute.
2
The light hurt at first
when you unthreaded my lids
and made me see
days' unhinged visions:
in the backyard, one mauve zinnia
pops up in the crack
between concrete, seed carried
from a ragged bed with last
straggles of eggplant, green
streaked midnight globes
hidden in gangly mildewed zinnias—
phosphorescent volunteers
panicked by the end of summer—
and in the front yard
fat black beetles,
rimmed in red and green, roam
lanky dry alyssum bed, flowers
pale green like lace on water, so
fragrant that suddenly a street
I've walked in another life, a house
I've lived in, flickers into now—
all the aromas, all the heart-pangs,
intangible and hopelessly real.
In the morning a silent star
moves toward me, over the roof,
slowly, as I gaze
out the kitchen window
and rising from the ground
through the black pre-dawn
the long hoot of a train—
takes two days for me to understand
the star is only a plane
getting out of here.
(from Now that I am in the Light I See by Jane Blue. Konocti Books, Winters, CA, 1996)
_______________________
Thanks, Jane!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—William S. Gainer, Grass Valley
Fall is on the ground
and it's going to lay there
until winter decides
to bully it around—
not me,
I ain't that tough.
My plan
is to pull my collar up,
turn into the wind
and let blow.
________________________
AUGUST 31
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
The air is different today, dog days done,
Duncan dead, sorrel turns crimson,
and sea crows fly off the Irish Coast.
Autumn is nervous, weary of summer’s gushing,
yet in no mood for the coarse comfort of winter’s
grizzled chest, not ready for paper pilgrims,
and chubby squash tacked to windows,
will do anything to delay, postpone,
even sign a waver to reschedule this bargain.
Meanwhile, at stream’s edge, rusty
sedum fondle her leg—burgundy tipped sedge
gently opens to expose an overgrown thicket.
She looks back, surprised to see yarrow,
dianthus, feverfew still in full bloom,
she wants to disappear, but suddenly,
sun turns ice white, dry shadows fade petals
of golden mums, black walnut’s pungent oil
stains a frayed hem. She hears
the hollow sound of wild rye grass, blood
oranges crush under her feet, the sweet
decay calmly inhaled, begins spinning her claret
cloak, weaves a lapel of purple vines gathered
along the canal, glimpses him over her shoulder.
_______________________
Thanks to Rattlechappers Bill Gainer and Jeanine Stevens for sending Fall poems. The current Snake-a-Thon ended last night at midnight, but we still have more local poems about Fall to come, and they are, of course, all dandies! Medusa thanks all of you who sent us your work and participated in the current frivolity...
Still in the Mood to Write?
Cynthia Bryant, Pleasanton Poet Laureate and Mistress of Poets Lane writes: Poets Lane (www.poetslane.com) is accepting poems for the page for October: False Heroes, Shadow and Time poetry. Or if you prefer, send a poem for the "Get it Off Your Chest" page of mental-health rant poems, your choice of topics. Poet's Lane is also accepting poems for The Gift of Words, Poems for the Iraqi People; for more information, go to www.poetslane.com and click on the "Special Poetry Related" page and scroll down to the book. Also: If you are interested in having your picture/bio and contact information put on Poet’s Lane’s "Poets in the Know" page, send the information to Cynthia at PoetsLane@comcast.net.
Tonight:
•••Weds. (9/27), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and Open Mic hosted by Khiry Malik. $5, 21 and over. Info: www.malikspeaks.com or 916-492-9336.
•••Weds. (9/27), 6 PM: Open mic/read-around at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St., Placerville. Come join us (and the skeleton under the floor) for an hour of poetry; bring your own poems or somebody else’s. Free.
The Inimitable Jane Blue:
Sacramento's Jane Blue writes: I have poems in Innisfree Poetry Journal 3, which you can find at http://www.innisfreepoetry.org. I think it's a very good e-zine. Watch for Jane's new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions, coming from Rattlesnake Press in November. Jane was kind enough to send Fall poems:
THE FALL
—Jane Blue, Sacramento
Yesterday a woman crumpled
on the sidewalk outside the coffee house patio.
I saw her shoes disembodied
under the hedge. She was carrying
a plastic cup of amber tea
and some other things. One arm
suddenly went up. Then she refracted
into parts: the glass, the arm, strips
of leather on flat-soled sandals.
The trees above her were losing their leaves.
Three people called out simultaneously,
“Are you all right?” There was
a pause. Then she answered weakly,
“Yes,” and I saw her reassemble herself,
gathering her papers and her dignity.
They gave her another cup of tea
and she rewound the scene
without falling this time.
(previously appeared in Poetry Depth Quarterly, 2005)
_______________________
FALL, SACRAMENTO
—Jane Blue
1
Cabbage butterfly grazes,
wings slightly chartreuse,
stalk by stalk, the broccoli:
wings with two dark spots low,
close to the body, fake
and tempting, fluttering—
when the veil is lifted:
startling eyes; it alights
and caresses, sniffs
like a lover the dusky
broccoli leaves, blind
and instinctual, following
cabbage scent, wills food
from curled young leaves
mimicking the petals of flowers—
weary with thirst
and butterfly weight.
Later
I water the broccoli
and the broccoli thanks me,
stands straight up,
unfurling its shadowy
crenelated leaves
in a salute.
2
The light hurt at first
when you unthreaded my lids
and made me see
days' unhinged visions:
in the backyard, one mauve zinnia
pops up in the crack
between concrete, seed carried
from a ragged bed with last
straggles of eggplant, green
streaked midnight globes
hidden in gangly mildewed zinnias—
phosphorescent volunteers
panicked by the end of summer—
and in the front yard
fat black beetles,
rimmed in red and green, roam
lanky dry alyssum bed, flowers
pale green like lace on water, so
fragrant that suddenly a street
I've walked in another life, a house
I've lived in, flickers into now—
all the aromas, all the heart-pangs,
intangible and hopelessly real.
In the morning a silent star
moves toward me, over the roof,
slowly, as I gaze
out the kitchen window
and rising from the ground
through the black pre-dawn
the long hoot of a train—
takes two days for me to understand
the star is only a plane
getting out of here.
(from Now that I am in the Light I See by Jane Blue. Konocti Books, Winters, CA, 1996)
_______________________
Thanks, Jane!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Strains of Katmandu
PINE STRAW
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama
This tree has curly hair
a small friend chortled
spying the contorted white pine
In autumn I tug
from its branches tufts of needles
seared by the sun
Gather handfuls of pine straw
each strand curved
in a gentle brown arc
They create a natural nest
in my palm
I tuck the crisp-feathered cluster
into a hollow
at the base of an oak
Picture the creature
who might find it
claim it as home
The turn-pat-settle
of some small animal safe
in the dark
______________________
Thanks, PWJ! Today is the last day of the Fall Snake-a-Thon; send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26 (that's tonight!), and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems—or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book.
Tonight (9/26), after you send me your Fall poems, go hear Craig Paulenich read at 7 PM from his new book of poetry, Drift of the Hunt, the first offering from nobodaddies press. CSUS Library Gallery, Sacramento. Free.
______________________
PoemSpirits Resumes:
Local poet/artist/musician José Montoya is the first Fall featured reader at PoemSpirits, which will begin its fifth year this Sunday. Series co-facilitator JoAnn Anglin will also present a brief overview of the work of Poet Sharon Olds. Also open mic: All are invited to bring a poem of your own (or another’s) to read. Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues. UUSS Foyer/Lounge. Snacks available. Info: JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372, or Tom Goff/Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312.
rainflowers.org needs you!
Donald Anderson of Stockton writes: We've cleaned up and added content! I am looking for music, poetry, art, drama, writing, in audio, visual, and/or written original creations, or event-listing information, or references to arts-related websites. The main links are all accessable from http://www.rainflowers.org/home.html
Also, our upcoming paperback book, Sun Shadow Mountain, has added web content to view, linked at http://www.rainflowers.org/books.html
So if you have time, please help me with your...
1. links to any arts-related websites or resources, OR
2. events in any California area that qualify the above, OR
3. submissions to publish on our website, OR
3. submissions that you have for the book, OR
4. submissions that you have for the newsletter.
You may reach me (Donald Anderson) at emailtoo_live_forever@yahoo.com, by phone (209-943-2449) or by post mail at Donald Anderson, P.O. Box 121, Farmington, CA 95230. And you may reach my co-publisher at Nikki Quismondo, pisces03142001@yahoo.com, or by phone at (209-570-7917).
_______________________
Here's a lovely collection of Fall poems from Pat Pashby, whose littlesnake broadside, Potpourri, is available for free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Or send me an SASE and I'll mail you one.
FALL CALL
—Patricia A. Pashby, Sacramento
Piles of leaves, nudged loose
by the brisk winds of autumn—
patchwork quilt for lawns.
Blushing, pumpkin-shaped
persimmons, hang like lanterns
awaiting moonlight.
_______________________
GREEN TOMATOES
—Patricia A. Pashby
I undress the garden and surrender to fall—
digging, hoeing, stripping the veggie decay.
Hidden under the leggy spindly sprawl—
orphaned, lime-green, stunted stowaways.
I'll make salsa dip or pan fry for a tasty buffet.
_______________________
A WALK IN THE PARK
—Patricia A. Pashby
They drift down, falling softly at her feet—
a crackling, crunchy, comforter of leaves.
She strolls along and all her woes retreat.
Embroidery of color drapes the trees
as strains of Katmandu float on the breeze.
_______________________
SHE TALKS TO THE OPEN WINDOW
and the fresh fall breeze
answers back
brushing her face and hair
and the wind chimes
chant to the persimmons
as they slowly blush orange
and the joyful squirrels
sputter as they sample
each fruit for ripeness
and she hears
the answers
in the wind
—Patricia A. Pashby
_______________________
NOT AN ORDINARY DAY
—Patricia A. Pashby
The scent of autumn mingles with the
remnants of the waning summer heat
as we drive down the curved road in
pale morning light, passing emerald
lawns, dotted with granite headstones,
faded plastic flowers clinging
to niched walls. Here and there balloons
whisper of young residents not yet settled.
A small white canopy shades rows
of folding chairs filled with family,
talking about his kindness and generosity
toward everyone fortunate enough to have known him.
A closed, flag-draped casket rests near pictures
of a youthful smiling man.
Four uniformed veterans, from a war long forgotten,
stand at attention, rifles in hand.
They fire a salute, followed by the melancholy strains
of Taps—echoing our last goodbys across the green.
We linger awhile
feeling the slight chill of fall in the air.
_______________________
Thanks, Pat! Everybody else—last chance! Get those Fall poems in toot-sweet!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama
This tree has curly hair
a small friend chortled
spying the contorted white pine
In autumn I tug
from its branches tufts of needles
seared by the sun
Gather handfuls of pine straw
each strand curved
in a gentle brown arc
They create a natural nest
in my palm
I tuck the crisp-feathered cluster
into a hollow
at the base of an oak
Picture the creature
who might find it
claim it as home
The turn-pat-settle
of some small animal safe
in the dark
______________________
Thanks, PWJ! Today is the last day of the Fall Snake-a-Thon; send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26 (that's tonight!), and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems—or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book.
Tonight (9/26), after you send me your Fall poems, go hear Craig Paulenich read at 7 PM from his new book of poetry, Drift of the Hunt, the first offering from nobodaddies press. CSUS Library Gallery, Sacramento. Free.
______________________
PoemSpirits Resumes:
Local poet/artist/musician José Montoya is the first Fall featured reader at PoemSpirits, which will begin its fifth year this Sunday. Series co-facilitator JoAnn Anglin will also present a brief overview of the work of Poet Sharon Olds. Also open mic: All are invited to bring a poem of your own (or another’s) to read. Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues. UUSS Foyer/Lounge. Snacks available. Info: JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372, or Tom Goff/Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312.
rainflowers.org needs you!
Donald Anderson of Stockton writes: We've cleaned up and added content! I am looking for music, poetry, art, drama, writing, in audio, visual, and/or written original creations, or event-listing information, or references to arts-related websites. The main links are all accessable from http://www.rainflowers.org/home.html
Also, our upcoming paperback book, Sun Shadow Mountain, has added web content to view, linked at http://www.rainflowers.org/books.html
So if you have time, please help me with your...
1. links to any arts-related websites or resources, OR
2. events in any California area that qualify the above, OR
3. submissions to publish on our website, OR
3. submissions that you have for the book, OR
4. submissions that you have for the newsletter.
You may reach me (Donald Anderson) at emailtoo_live_forever@yahoo.com, by phone (209-943-2449) or by post mail at Donald Anderson, P.O. Box 121, Farmington, CA 95230. And you may reach my co-publisher at Nikki Quismondo, pisces03142001@yahoo.com, or by phone at (209-570-7917).
_______________________
Here's a lovely collection of Fall poems from Pat Pashby, whose littlesnake broadside, Potpourri, is available for free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Or send me an SASE and I'll mail you one.
FALL CALL
—Patricia A. Pashby, Sacramento
Piles of leaves, nudged loose
by the brisk winds of autumn—
patchwork quilt for lawns.
Blushing, pumpkin-shaped
persimmons, hang like lanterns
awaiting moonlight.
_______________________
GREEN TOMATOES
—Patricia A. Pashby
I undress the garden and surrender to fall—
digging, hoeing, stripping the veggie decay.
Hidden under the leggy spindly sprawl—
orphaned, lime-green, stunted stowaways.
I'll make salsa dip or pan fry for a tasty buffet.
_______________________
A WALK IN THE PARK
—Patricia A. Pashby
They drift down, falling softly at her feet—
a crackling, crunchy, comforter of leaves.
She strolls along and all her woes retreat.
Embroidery of color drapes the trees
as strains of Katmandu float on the breeze.
_______________________
SHE TALKS TO THE OPEN WINDOW
and the fresh fall breeze
answers back
brushing her face and hair
and the wind chimes
chant to the persimmons
as they slowly blush orange
and the joyful squirrels
sputter as they sample
each fruit for ripeness
and she hears
the answers
in the wind
—Patricia A. Pashby
_______________________
NOT AN ORDINARY DAY
—Patricia A. Pashby
The scent of autumn mingles with the
remnants of the waning summer heat
as we drive down the curved road in
pale morning light, passing emerald
lawns, dotted with granite headstones,
faded plastic flowers clinging
to niched walls. Here and there balloons
whisper of young residents not yet settled.
A small white canopy shades rows
of folding chairs filled with family,
talking about his kindness and generosity
toward everyone fortunate enough to have known him.
A closed, flag-draped casket rests near pictures
of a youthful smiling man.
Four uniformed veterans, from a war long forgotten,
stand at attention, rifles in hand.
They fire a salute, followed by the melancholy strains
of Taps—echoing our last goodbys across the green.
We linger awhile
feeling the slight chill of fall in the air.
_______________________
Thanks, Pat! Everybody else—last chance! Get those Fall poems in toot-sweet!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Monday, September 25, 2006
Fruits of the Vine & Po-Events, 9/25-10/1
DANIEL
—David Humphreys, Stockton
I was the oldest brother
while you ran circles around everything,
rays of daylight binding up hay bails
with the wire of a quick witted harvest
dressed in fall’s fire dropping like a runaway sled
from Labor Day’s rough beach towel
down through a pile of fallen leaves
to midnight champagne.
You were in all the other seasons as well
but we’re locked up here
in this haunted house of ghouls and goblins
pledging allegiance before roll call remembering
the smell of chalk, pencil lead,
and fresh clothing dye of a new attitude’s
pins and cardboard behind a collar
of clean dry tissue paper,
neglected homework and broken playground rules
crumpled up with a primary motivation
from the years we still lived together.
I’ve carried your adolescent cluttered scrapbook
like perpetual youth ‘til yesterday
filled you out and grew you up
to a never expected stature’s maturity
with Dad and brother Richard
now showing plainly in your silhouette.
So where did our baby brother go,
with his scrimshawed marlin-spike splicing
circumnavigations into the
Wall of the Early Morning Light?
Thanksgiving this year may be a crystal table,
Christmas a Byzantine treasure.
(previously appeared in Delta Pastel by David Humphreys)
________________________
Thanks, David!
AUTUMN’S HERE
—Richard Zimmer, Sacramento
The changing colors of autumn.
A transitional time of the year.
Leaves will be tumbling down,
soon blanketing the ground.
Our vegetable garden’s gone.
Winds scatter leaves on the lawn.
Spring marks the beginning of things.
Summer’s the time for trips,
with happy words on our lips.
Fall means that holidays are near—
Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas;
the family times we all hold dear.
The years go by fast—autumn’s here.
_______________________
Thanks, Richard! Richard Zimmer and David Humphreys are two of today's poets in the Fall Snake-a-Thon. Send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26 (that's tomorrow!), and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems—or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book.
A Cornucopia of Poetry Events for the Week:
•••Tonight, Sept. 25, 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Camille Norton, winner of the 2004 National Poetry Series Award winner for her new book, Corruption. Camille is on the faculty in the English Department at The University of the Pacific. She has recently been published in Field: Contemporary Poetry and Poetics; The Colorado Review; Tiferet; Iris; Ekphrasis; The White Pelican Review; The Gail Scott Reader; and How2: On-line Journal of Women and Experimental Writing. She has received numerous awards and fellowships in poetry, including and NEA fellowship at The MacDowell Colony in 2002. That's tonight at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569.
•••Tuesday (9/26), 7 PM: Craig Paulenich reads from his new book of poetry, Drift of the Hunt, the first offering from nobodaddies press. CSUS Library Gallery, Sacramento. Free.
•••Weds. (9/27), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and Open Mic hosted by Khiry Malik. $5, 21 and over. Info: www.malikspeaks.com or 916-492-9336.
•••Weds. (9/27), 6 PM: Open mic/read-around at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St., Placerville. Come join us (and the skeleton under the floor) for an hour of poetry; bring your own poems or somebody else’s. Free.
•••Thurs. (9/28), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Matt Amott and Jennifer Jeanne O’Neil-Pickering, w/open mic before and after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: www.lunascafe.com or 916-441-3931. Free.
•••Thurs. (9/28), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater). Hosted by Flo Real. $5. Open mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Sat. (9/30), 7-9 PM: “The Show” Poetry Series features Prentice (2006 Oakland/San Francisco Grand Slam Champion) Powell, Noah “SuperNova” Hayes, Lawrence Brooks, Jason Banks, Miss Ashleigh in Love Jones Poetry Night. Wo’se Community Center (off 35th & Broadway), 2863 35th St., Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
•••Local poet/artist/musician José Montoya is the first Fall featured reader at PoemSpirits, which will begin its fifth year this Sunday. Series co-facilitator JoAnn Anglin will also present a brief overview of the work of Poet Sharon Olds. Also open mic: All are invited to bring a poem of your own (or another’s) to read. Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues. UUSS Foyer/Lounge. Snacks available. Info: JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372, or Tom Goff/Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312.
_______________________
Recently, R.E. Graswich, columnist for the Metro section of The Sacramento Bee, mentioned B.L. Kennedy's search for a theater in which to show the poetry documentary produced by The Archives Group. Today's column lists all sorts of responses that Graswich got; hopefully one of these will pan out. Thanks to Graswich for trying, at least, thereby supporting local poetry.
_______________________
More Fall poems, these from Ann Wehrman. Ann also has a poem in the current Poetry Now:
THE SEPTEMBER MOON
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
Moonrise, orange-yellow, swollen soft,
ready as a peach to shed its sweetness,
ready as the harvest pumpkin
which we lug to the table, chunk up, steam.
The house fills with luscious smells
cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice;
the pie bakes to perfection.
Harvest moon,
baked sweetness,
fruits of the vine
of the body's harvest,
of the soul's.
Fully risen, dreamy, silver,
the moon filters through our curtains
as we lie sheltered in each other's arms.
Slowly I caress the curve of your face,
your soft lips;
your eyes glow, luminous;
I tremble as I stroke your hair.
We drape over each other,
drowsy and pleased,
until our child's cry surprises us.
_______________________
FROSTED
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
Snap, crackle, pop—the
stiff autumn grass scat-sings an
ode to fall's first chill.
_______________________
MUDDY DAWN PALETTE
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
Fireflies stumble home
through soft blue,
growing lighter as sunrise kindles
a lonely pine and lesser trees,
all bend in rising breeze,
dark flocks skim high,
a hummingbird pauses
above a shadowed branch.
Last night's electric lights still flicker,
cast dirty salmon ribbons
through the pool outside glass doors
open to cool pre-dawn.
I let autumn wash my feet,
sip hot, bitter coffee,
watch a jet tear a peach trail
through warming, azure sky,
its steady low buzz blending
with the rush of cars
on Watt Avenue.
_______________________
Thanks, Ann! Everybody else—keep them Fall poems a-comin’…
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—David Humphreys, Stockton
I was the oldest brother
while you ran circles around everything,
rays of daylight binding up hay bails
with the wire of a quick witted harvest
dressed in fall’s fire dropping like a runaway sled
from Labor Day’s rough beach towel
down through a pile of fallen leaves
to midnight champagne.
You were in all the other seasons as well
but we’re locked up here
in this haunted house of ghouls and goblins
pledging allegiance before roll call remembering
the smell of chalk, pencil lead,
and fresh clothing dye of a new attitude’s
pins and cardboard behind a collar
of clean dry tissue paper,
neglected homework and broken playground rules
crumpled up with a primary motivation
from the years we still lived together.
I’ve carried your adolescent cluttered scrapbook
like perpetual youth ‘til yesterday
filled you out and grew you up
to a never expected stature’s maturity
with Dad and brother Richard
now showing plainly in your silhouette.
So where did our baby brother go,
with his scrimshawed marlin-spike splicing
circumnavigations into the
Wall of the Early Morning Light?
Thanksgiving this year may be a crystal table,
Christmas a Byzantine treasure.
(previously appeared in Delta Pastel by David Humphreys)
________________________
Thanks, David!
AUTUMN’S HERE
—Richard Zimmer, Sacramento
The changing colors of autumn.
A transitional time of the year.
Leaves will be tumbling down,
soon blanketing the ground.
Our vegetable garden’s gone.
Winds scatter leaves on the lawn.
Spring marks the beginning of things.
Summer’s the time for trips,
with happy words on our lips.
Fall means that holidays are near—
Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas;
the family times we all hold dear.
The years go by fast—autumn’s here.
_______________________
Thanks, Richard! Richard Zimmer and David Humphreys are two of today's poets in the Fall Snake-a-Thon. Send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26 (that's tomorrow!), and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems—or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book.
A Cornucopia of Poetry Events for the Week:
•••Tonight, Sept. 25, 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Camille Norton, winner of the 2004 National Poetry Series Award winner for her new book, Corruption. Camille is on the faculty in the English Department at The University of the Pacific. She has recently been published in Field: Contemporary Poetry and Poetics; The Colorado Review; Tiferet; Iris; Ekphrasis; The White Pelican Review; The Gail Scott Reader; and How2: On-line Journal of Women and Experimental Writing. She has received numerous awards and fellowships in poetry, including and NEA fellowship at The MacDowell Colony in 2002. That's tonight at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569.
•••Tuesday (9/26), 7 PM: Craig Paulenich reads from his new book of poetry, Drift of the Hunt, the first offering from nobodaddies press. CSUS Library Gallery, Sacramento. Free.
•••Weds. (9/27), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and Open Mic hosted by Khiry Malik. $5, 21 and over. Info: www.malikspeaks.com or 916-492-9336.
•••Weds. (9/27), 6 PM: Open mic/read-around at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St., Placerville. Come join us (and the skeleton under the floor) for an hour of poetry; bring your own poems or somebody else’s. Free.
•••Thurs. (9/28), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Matt Amott and Jennifer Jeanne O’Neil-Pickering, w/open mic before and after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: www.lunascafe.com or 916-441-3931. Free.
•••Thurs. (9/28), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater). Hosted by Flo Real. $5. Open mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Sat. (9/30), 7-9 PM: “The Show” Poetry Series features Prentice (2006 Oakland/San Francisco Grand Slam Champion) Powell, Noah “SuperNova” Hayes, Lawrence Brooks, Jason Banks, Miss Ashleigh in Love Jones Poetry Night. Wo’se Community Center (off 35th & Broadway), 2863 35th St., Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
•••Local poet/artist/musician José Montoya is the first Fall featured reader at PoemSpirits, which will begin its fifth year this Sunday. Series co-facilitator JoAnn Anglin will also present a brief overview of the work of Poet Sharon Olds. Also open mic: All are invited to bring a poem of your own (or another’s) to read. Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues. UUSS Foyer/Lounge. Snacks available. Info: JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372, or Tom Goff/Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312.
_______________________
Recently, R.E. Graswich, columnist for the Metro section of The Sacramento Bee, mentioned B.L. Kennedy's search for a theater in which to show the poetry documentary produced by The Archives Group. Today's column lists all sorts of responses that Graswich got; hopefully one of these will pan out. Thanks to Graswich for trying, at least, thereby supporting local poetry.
_______________________
More Fall poems, these from Ann Wehrman. Ann also has a poem in the current Poetry Now:
THE SEPTEMBER MOON
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
Moonrise, orange-yellow, swollen soft,
ready as a peach to shed its sweetness,
ready as the harvest pumpkin
which we lug to the table, chunk up, steam.
The house fills with luscious smells
cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice;
the pie bakes to perfection.
Harvest moon,
baked sweetness,
fruits of the vine
of the body's harvest,
of the soul's.
Fully risen, dreamy, silver,
the moon filters through our curtains
as we lie sheltered in each other's arms.
Slowly I caress the curve of your face,
your soft lips;
your eyes glow, luminous;
I tremble as I stroke your hair.
We drape over each other,
drowsy and pleased,
until our child's cry surprises us.
_______________________
FROSTED
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
Snap, crackle, pop—the
stiff autumn grass scat-sings an
ode to fall's first chill.
_______________________
MUDDY DAWN PALETTE
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
Fireflies stumble home
through soft blue,
growing lighter as sunrise kindles
a lonely pine and lesser trees,
all bend in rising breeze,
dark flocks skim high,
a hummingbird pauses
above a shadowed branch.
Last night's electric lights still flicker,
cast dirty salmon ribbons
through the pool outside glass doors
open to cool pre-dawn.
I let autumn wash my feet,
sip hot, bitter coffee,
watch a jet tear a peach trail
through warming, azure sky,
its steady low buzz blending
with the rush of cars
on Watt Avenue.
_______________________
Thanks, Ann! Everybody else—keep them Fall poems a-comin’…
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Sunday, September 24, 2006
And It Is All Over
AUTUMN
—Miroslav Holub
And it is all over.
No more sweetpeas,
no more wide-eyed bunnies
dropping from the sky.
Only a reddish boniness
under the sun of hoarfrost,
a thievish fog,
an insipid solution of love,
hate
and crowing.
But next year
larches will try
to make the land full of larches again
and larks will try
to make the land full of larks.
And thrushes will try
to make all the trees sing,
and goldfinches will try
to make all the grass golden,
and burying beetles
with their creaky love will try
to make all the corpses
rise from the dead,
Amen.
_______________________
PHILOSOPHY OF FALL
—Miroslav Holub
Fingers of the autumn sun
fiddle with yellow foliage
outside. The window reflects
a book and a silhouette
and a silhouette, a halo of hair,
this year we are
immersed in history
like a web in light.
I'm asking whether the existing
lack of genius
is caused by the elimination
of tertiary stages of syphilis.
Some God's spider
hovering above you, above me,
and above the Alka Seltzer.
(trans. from the Czech by Stuart Friebert and Dana Habova)
_______________________
Miroslav Holub helps us with our Fall Snake-a-Thon. Today he would've been 83 years old.
Send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26, and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book).
Here are a couple from James Lee Jobe. Check out his blog (link to the right of this); he is also the new host of The Other Voice in Davis, which has switched to First Mondays. (October 2 will feature Taylor Graham; more about that later.)
the first day of fall
—james lee jobe, davis
it is far too late for amphetamines—your blood
races, your pupils are dilated, you can't remember
why you came here or if there is any meaning
to your psychosis—the doctor doesn't face you
as he reads from notes scribbled on a stained napkin—
his cigarette ashes are as long as can be
without falling, or longer, and a passionless voice
from a loudspeaker in the hall announces
an extended exercise period outside,
in honor of the first day of fall
_______________________
MY SON NOTICES THE WARDROBE
OF MAX CHRIST POET SOMETIME
EARLY IN THE NEW MILLENNIA
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
“Dad, who is that man?”—asked my son, eleven at the time.
“Max Christ Poet.”—said I, knowing he must mean the tall,
deathly thin, 60ish man with no shirt on a cool autumn evening,
a frightening tuft of white chest hair pooching out
from behind his dirty vest, a long, gray pony-tail,
odd bits of jewelry, bones and whatnot,
and various tools hanging from his belt.
This, in a restaurant, at a poetry reading.
“Is he a Hippie, Dad?”
“Yes, Son, I believe he is.” I lean closer,
“Careful! Some say he’s insane!”
“Why does he have two crescent wrenches
hanging off of him?” Good question.
“Max Christ Poet must be prepared for the possibility
of being confronted by a situation
that only one crescent wrench could not handle.”
“Yeah, or maybe he’ll meet a real nut!”
_______________________
Thanks, James Lee!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—Miroslav Holub
And it is all over.
No more sweetpeas,
no more wide-eyed bunnies
dropping from the sky.
Only a reddish boniness
under the sun of hoarfrost,
a thievish fog,
an insipid solution of love,
hate
and crowing.
But next year
larches will try
to make the land full of larches again
and larks will try
to make the land full of larks.
And thrushes will try
to make all the trees sing,
and goldfinches will try
to make all the grass golden,
and burying beetles
with their creaky love will try
to make all the corpses
rise from the dead,
Amen.
_______________________
PHILOSOPHY OF FALL
—Miroslav Holub
Fingers of the autumn sun
fiddle with yellow foliage
outside. The window reflects
a book and a silhouette
and a silhouette, a halo of hair,
this year we are
immersed in history
like a web in light.
I'm asking whether the existing
lack of genius
is caused by the elimination
of tertiary stages of syphilis.
Some God's spider
hovering above you, above me,
and above the Alka Seltzer.
(trans. from the Czech by Stuart Friebert and Dana Habova)
_______________________
Miroslav Holub helps us with our Fall Snake-a-Thon. Today he would've been 83 years old.
Send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26, and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book).
Here are a couple from James Lee Jobe. Check out his blog (link to the right of this); he is also the new host of The Other Voice in Davis, which has switched to First Mondays. (October 2 will feature Taylor Graham; more about that later.)
the first day of fall
—james lee jobe, davis
it is far too late for amphetamines—your blood
races, your pupils are dilated, you can't remember
why you came here or if there is any meaning
to your psychosis—the doctor doesn't face you
as he reads from notes scribbled on a stained napkin—
his cigarette ashes are as long as can be
without falling, or longer, and a passionless voice
from a loudspeaker in the hall announces
an extended exercise period outside,
in honor of the first day of fall
_______________________
MY SON NOTICES THE WARDROBE
OF MAX CHRIST POET SOMETIME
EARLY IN THE NEW MILLENNIA
—James Lee Jobe, Davis
“Dad, who is that man?”—asked my son, eleven at the time.
“Max Christ Poet.”—said I, knowing he must mean the tall,
deathly thin, 60ish man with no shirt on a cool autumn evening,
a frightening tuft of white chest hair pooching out
from behind his dirty vest, a long, gray pony-tail,
odd bits of jewelry, bones and whatnot,
and various tools hanging from his belt.
This, in a restaurant, at a poetry reading.
“Is he a Hippie, Dad?”
“Yes, Son, I believe he is.” I lean closer,
“Careful! Some say he’s insane!”
“Why does he have two crescent wrenches
hanging off of him?” Good question.
“Max Christ Poet must be prepared for the possibility
of being confronted by a situation
that only one crescent wrench could not handle.”
“Yeah, or maybe he’ll meet a real nut!”
_______________________
Thanks, James Lee!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Tattoos of Autumn
Today is the first day of Fall, and we're ushering it in with a Snake-a-thon Giveaway. Send Medusa (kathykieth@hotmail.com) your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26, and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book). Here are a couple of contributions from local poets. The first is by Rhony Bhopla, which does mention Fall—and a lot of other things...
THE TATTOOER
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento
Pulsing needle, sewing skin of an
unmoving body, bent over in a fast—
pressing flame and deliverable imagination
A lip of moon, bright blue days absorbed by
macrophages, skin pumped with
self-loving fingers against black ice
Hidden unbled tattoos under fall’s zippered trousers
unyielding, stretched
seemless nylon cotton, skin is decided
How does one show off
that pain, ecstacy and transitory illusion
presently in finitely sensuous imagination?
It is under those wrestled white blooming sheets,
unexpected triumphs,
freshly cracked from night’s lovemaking
It is in the glory found in deep
flesh penetration, erect liquid and
pulsing arrhythmatic sexuality.
_______________________
Thanks, Rhony! Here's another, from Taylor Graham:
YERBA SANTA
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
I eat chilled melon
at the cusp of equinox,
then set out with my dogs;
the last of summer summoning us
like scent:
past the great oak that stands
a graceful skeleton overlooking canyon.
I watched woodpeckers at work here,
that almost-autumn when the last
old dog was dying.
We pass through goat-pasture,
annual grasses brittle
as old paper. Only yerba santa
glistens, stiff and spiny, evergreen
as life in the driest places.
Holy herb, they say, it frees
the heart and lungs so the body
can breathe and the soul can grieve.
At last we reach the graves
of dead dogs past.
My three live dogs
go trotting on ahead.
Our morning’s walk
has brought us
into fall.
________________________
Thanks, TG! A fitting duet for the change of seasons from these two fine poets.
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
THE TATTOOER
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento
Pulsing needle, sewing skin of an
unmoving body, bent over in a fast—
pressing flame and deliverable imagination
A lip of moon, bright blue days absorbed by
macrophages, skin pumped with
self-loving fingers against black ice
Hidden unbled tattoos under fall’s zippered trousers
unyielding, stretched
seemless nylon cotton, skin is decided
How does one show off
that pain, ecstacy and transitory illusion
presently in finitely sensuous imagination?
It is under those wrestled white blooming sheets,
unexpected triumphs,
freshly cracked from night’s lovemaking
It is in the glory found in deep
flesh penetration, erect liquid and
pulsing arrhythmatic sexuality.
_______________________
Thanks, Rhony! Here's another, from Taylor Graham:
YERBA SANTA
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
I eat chilled melon
at the cusp of equinox,
then set out with my dogs;
the last of summer summoning us
like scent:
past the great oak that stands
a graceful skeleton overlooking canyon.
I watched woodpeckers at work here,
that almost-autumn when the last
old dog was dying.
We pass through goat-pasture,
annual grasses brittle
as old paper. Only yerba santa
glistens, stiff and spiny, evergreen
as life in the driest places.
Holy herb, they say, it frees
the heart and lungs so the body
can breathe and the soul can grieve.
At last we reach the graves
of dead dogs past.
My three live dogs
go trotting on ahead.
Our morning’s walk
has brought us
into fall.
________________________
Thanks, TG! A fitting duet for the change of seasons from these two fine poets.
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Friday, September 22, 2006
Fall is a Cold Keen Edge
ONE
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento
black sky.
no stars.
cavernous, pulling me in.
curling inward
doesn't shorten its reach ~
still stings the skin,
the soul.
maybe if i'm quiet
(like a mouse, like
a mouse),
dark won't find me;
maybe if i pretend
that its gravity doesn't affect,
limitless won't take me;
or maybe black sky
is just who i am.
_______________________
Thanks, Dawn!
THE BIGGEST QUESTIONS*
—David Humphreys, Stockton
The day starts as days usually do nosing into
the paper and a cup of coffee, nothing much
out of place or sequence except for something
nagging in the distant background like storm
clouds on the high mountain horizon, plateau
edged with sagebrush, tan sandstone and red
salty iron. Shades of gray graduate perspectives.
In physics it is why are there particles that have
mass while others have none, lead heavy or
neutrino phantom. The front page glares its
usual tragedies into the morning, weather
breathing down the neck of page two. By what
series of chemical reactions did atoms form
the first living things? This is enough to crack
an egg into the sizzling skillet and drop a slice
of bread into the toaster. The local section with
its inevitable crimes and punishments comes next.
Biology and what the complete structure and
function of the proteome gestates with the
undoubtedly enhanced and muscled up sports
section. Wondering if geologically accurate
weather forecasting will ever help anything has
more to do with the entertainment section since
everyone can use a good laugh. This brings us
finally to the money section and want ads where
breakfast is finally finished with the bottom line
and we can safely say that we would like to one
day know why in astronomy the universe is
expanding faster and faster, something clearly
seen in the red shift spectral evidence. You return
to your hot valley town through the front door
to shade trees of a thick canopy over sweltering
summer heat. Early summer sweet jasmine has
gone but the bougainvillea is rich in cardinal red.
Fall is a cold keen edge that warms up in the afternoon.
You consider these various questions and it occurs
to you that the only really important thing about
science for you is really pretty good looking after
all and has somehow been around for as long as
you would care to remember. You sort the paper's
sections on the counter next to the water boiler and
head off to do whatever it is you still may have to do.
*See: The Five Biggest Questions in Science by
Wiggins & Wynn. John Wile & Sons, Inc., 2003
_______________________
Thanks, David, and thanks for the idea for the title of today's Medusa.
Time for a give-away! Send me your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26, and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book).
This weekend's poetic adventures:
•••This weekend (Sept. 23-24), the West Sacramento Friends of the Library book sale will take place from 9 AM-4 PM on Saturday and from 10 AM-2 PM on Sunday. Books range in price from five to fifty cents, and the Sunday sale features books at $1/bag. Arthur F. Turner Branch Library, 1212 Merkley Av., West Sac. For info or to donate books: 916-375-6465.
•••Saturday (9/23), 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announce a poetry reading at the gallery, 1015 J St., Downtown Modesto. This event will be celebrating the poetry of George Rogers, a much-beloved teacher and artist, by readings from his posthumous chapbook, about to fly. The chapbook was published by friends of George Rogers in April 2006 in Modesto, CA. All proceeds from the sale of about to fly will be donated to the George A. Rogers Neighborhood Park, a fund with the Stanislaus Community Foundation. Copies will be available at the reading, or by contacting Ken White at Ken1White@aol.com. There will also be an "Open Mic" at the reading.
•••Also Sat. (9/23), 10 AM-4 PM: The Children's Book Celebration at Fairytale Town offers demonstrations, poetry, music, puppets, the library's Wonder Wagon, and more. 3901 Land Park Dr., Sac.. Free. Info: 916-264-5233.
•••Sunday (9/24), 4-6 PM: Poems-For-All presents a book release party for Bill Pieper's latest novel, Belonging, a tale of Downieville and California's modern Gold Country. The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-442-9295.
And a couple more:
•••Sunday (9/24), 2-4 PM: Gail Entrekin presents the Sunday Salon, a quarterly reading of women writers, including Elizabeth Appell, Liz Collins, Molly Fisk, Miki Lanseadel, Donna Hanelin and Robin Wallace. Jason's Studio Cafe, 134 S. Auburn St., Grass Valley, in Book Town Books. Info: Gail 265-1996 or Ronnie 265-0478.
•••Monday (9/25), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Camille Norton, winner of the 2004 National Poetry Series Award winner for Corruption. Camille is on the faculty in the English Department at The University of the Pacific, where she teaches courses in critical theory, post-colonial world literature and film, modernism and creative writing. She has recently been published in Field: Contemporary Poetry and Poetics; The Colorado Review; Tiferet; Iris; Ekphrasis; The White Pelican Review; The Gail Scott Reader; and How2: On-line Journal of Women and Experimental Writing. She has received numerous awards and fellowships in poetry, including and NEA fellowship at The MacDowell Colony in 2002. That's Monday, at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569.
And one more:
Donna Hanelin writes: Saturday, September 23, I'm giving a free sample class and organizational meeting for writers in the Sacramento to Roseville area, which will be followed by a series of seven Saturday classes between now and February. If you'd like to come to the meeting and/or subsequent classes, please call or email for more information. I also continue to work with writers as a private teacher-consultant on manuscripts.
My classes also begin here in Nevada City over the next two weeks. (For complete information, call or email for a paper brochure or go to www.creativewritingclasses.us, click on Classes.)
•••Light of Day, a bookwriters’ group, meets on Thursdays, 9-Noon, beginning Sept. 28. It's a critique group for those of you who are working on novels, short story collections and memoirs.
•••Creative Writing, in-class writing practices, discussion, for all levels meets either Tuesdays, 7-9 PM or Wednesdays, 10 – Noon, beginning Oct. 3 & 4.
•••Open Door Writing Practice, spontaneous or 'free' writing, suggestions given, meets Tuesdays, 3-5 PM, beginning Oct. 3.
•••Short Story Clinics, monthly Saturday critique-workshops—bring in your short stories or chapters for group feedback. First clinic is September 30, 10 AM-3 PM.
Just call or email for more information. Donna Hanelin, 530-265-8799,
www.creativewritingclasses.us
_______________________
But of course you'll be spending the weekend getting your poem(s) together for Medusa's latest snake-a-thon, yes? [See above.] Here's a WCW to inspire you:
AUTUMN
—William Carlos Williams
A stand of people
by an open
grave underneath
the heavy leaves
celebrates
the cut and fill
for the new road
where
an old man
on his knees
reaps a basket-
ful of
matted grasses for
his goats
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento
black sky.
no stars.
cavernous, pulling me in.
curling inward
doesn't shorten its reach ~
still stings the skin,
the soul.
maybe if i'm quiet
(like a mouse, like
a mouse),
dark won't find me;
maybe if i pretend
that its gravity doesn't affect,
limitless won't take me;
or maybe black sky
is just who i am.
_______________________
Thanks, Dawn!
THE BIGGEST QUESTIONS*
—David Humphreys, Stockton
The day starts as days usually do nosing into
the paper and a cup of coffee, nothing much
out of place or sequence except for something
nagging in the distant background like storm
clouds on the high mountain horizon, plateau
edged with sagebrush, tan sandstone and red
salty iron. Shades of gray graduate perspectives.
In physics it is why are there particles that have
mass while others have none, lead heavy or
neutrino phantom. The front page glares its
usual tragedies into the morning, weather
breathing down the neck of page two. By what
series of chemical reactions did atoms form
the first living things? This is enough to crack
an egg into the sizzling skillet and drop a slice
of bread into the toaster. The local section with
its inevitable crimes and punishments comes next.
Biology and what the complete structure and
function of the proteome gestates with the
undoubtedly enhanced and muscled up sports
section. Wondering if geologically accurate
weather forecasting will ever help anything has
more to do with the entertainment section since
everyone can use a good laugh. This brings us
finally to the money section and want ads where
breakfast is finally finished with the bottom line
and we can safely say that we would like to one
day know why in astronomy the universe is
expanding faster and faster, something clearly
seen in the red shift spectral evidence. You return
to your hot valley town through the front door
to shade trees of a thick canopy over sweltering
summer heat. Early summer sweet jasmine has
gone but the bougainvillea is rich in cardinal red.
Fall is a cold keen edge that warms up in the afternoon.
You consider these various questions and it occurs
to you that the only really important thing about
science for you is really pretty good looking after
all and has somehow been around for as long as
you would care to remember. You sort the paper's
sections on the counter next to the water boiler and
head off to do whatever it is you still may have to do.
*See: The Five Biggest Questions in Science by
Wiggins & Wynn. John Wile & Sons, Inc., 2003
_______________________
Thanks, David, and thanks for the idea for the title of today's Medusa.
Time for a give-away! Send me your autumn poems by midnight on Tuesday, Sept. 26, and I'll send you a free copy of Phil Weidman's new rattlechap, Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (or something else equally dandy, if you already have Phil's book).
This weekend's poetic adventures:
•••This weekend (Sept. 23-24), the West Sacramento Friends of the Library book sale will take place from 9 AM-4 PM on Saturday and from 10 AM-2 PM on Sunday. Books range in price from five to fifty cents, and the Sunday sale features books at $1/bag. Arthur F. Turner Branch Library, 1212 Merkley Av., West Sac. For info or to donate books: 916-375-6465.
•••Saturday (9/23), 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announce a poetry reading at the gallery, 1015 J St., Downtown Modesto. This event will be celebrating the poetry of George Rogers, a much-beloved teacher and artist, by readings from his posthumous chapbook, about to fly. The chapbook was published by friends of George Rogers in April 2006 in Modesto, CA. All proceeds from the sale of about to fly will be donated to the George A. Rogers Neighborhood Park, a fund with the Stanislaus Community Foundation. Copies will be available at the reading, or by contacting Ken White at Ken1White@aol.com. There will also be an "Open Mic" at the reading.
•••Also Sat. (9/23), 10 AM-4 PM: The Children's Book Celebration at Fairytale Town offers demonstrations, poetry, music, puppets, the library's Wonder Wagon, and more. 3901 Land Park Dr., Sac.. Free. Info: 916-264-5233.
•••Sunday (9/24), 4-6 PM: Poems-For-All presents a book release party for Bill Pieper's latest novel, Belonging, a tale of Downieville and California's modern Gold Country. The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-442-9295.
And a couple more:
•••Sunday (9/24), 2-4 PM: Gail Entrekin presents the Sunday Salon, a quarterly reading of women writers, including Elizabeth Appell, Liz Collins, Molly Fisk, Miki Lanseadel, Donna Hanelin and Robin Wallace. Jason's Studio Cafe, 134 S. Auburn St., Grass Valley, in Book Town Books. Info: Gail 265-1996 or Ronnie 265-0478.
•••Monday (9/25), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Camille Norton, winner of the 2004 National Poetry Series Award winner for Corruption. Camille is on the faculty in the English Department at The University of the Pacific, where she teaches courses in critical theory, post-colonial world literature and film, modernism and creative writing. She has recently been published in Field: Contemporary Poetry and Poetics; The Colorado Review; Tiferet; Iris; Ekphrasis; The White Pelican Review; The Gail Scott Reader; and How2: On-line Journal of Women and Experimental Writing. She has received numerous awards and fellowships in poetry, including and NEA fellowship at The MacDowell Colony in 2002. That's Monday, at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 451-5569.
And one more:
Donna Hanelin writes: Saturday, September 23, I'm giving a free sample class and organizational meeting for writers in the Sacramento to Roseville area, which will be followed by a series of seven Saturday classes between now and February. If you'd like to come to the meeting and/or subsequent classes, please call or email for more information. I also continue to work with writers as a private teacher-consultant on manuscripts.
My classes also begin here in Nevada City over the next two weeks. (For complete information, call or email for a paper brochure or go to www.creativewritingclasses.us, click on Classes.)
•••Light of Day, a bookwriters’ group, meets on Thursdays, 9-Noon, beginning Sept. 28. It's a critique group for those of you who are working on novels, short story collections and memoirs.
•••Creative Writing, in-class writing practices, discussion, for all levels meets either Tuesdays, 7-9 PM or Wednesdays, 10 – Noon, beginning Oct. 3 & 4.
•••Open Door Writing Practice, spontaneous or 'free' writing, suggestions given, meets Tuesdays, 3-5 PM, beginning Oct. 3.
•••Short Story Clinics, monthly Saturday critique-workshops—bring in your short stories or chapters for group feedback. First clinic is September 30, 10 AM-3 PM.
Just call or email for more information. Donna Hanelin, 530-265-8799,
www.creativewritingclasses.us
_______________________
But of course you'll be spending the weekend getting your poem(s) together for Medusa's latest snake-a-thon, yes? [See above.] Here's a WCW to inspire you:
AUTUMN
—William Carlos Williams
A stand of people
by an open
grave underneath
the heavy leaves
celebrates
the cut and fill
for the new road
where
an old man
on his knees
reaps a basket-
ful of
matted grasses for
his goats
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Peeping Turks & Moving House
AUTUMN
—T.E. Hulme
A touch of cold in the Autumn night—
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
_______________________
•••Today (Thurs., 9/21) at noon, River City Writers Series presents Denver poet Chris Ransick, whose new collection of poetry, Lost Songs and Last Chances, has just been published by Ghost Road Press. Little Theater (Rm. A6), Sacramento City College.
•••Tonight, 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Todd Mann, Leslie Dramer, and Rachel Gregg, plus open mic before/after. Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-441-3931.
•••Also tonight, 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. (next to Colonial Theater). Open mic for comedians/singers/poets. $5.
_______________________
Where were we?
If Medusa seems a bit foggy these days, it's because I just put my house on the market, with all the work (painting! Yikes!) and nerve-wracking that entails. Sam and I have decided to downsize, giving us more time for our various artistic pursuits, which of course include Hizzoner the Snake. We're getting ready to "move house", as the British say. Medusa and all our other ophidian delights will continue during this fit of painting and crapola-removal, but there may be the occasional hitch in our git-along. And, no, I'm not killing the Snake—horrors!—I just need to shrink my household commitments so I'll have more time for him. It. You.
So where were we? I dumped a fresh load of Snake 11's, the latest issue, at The Book Collector yesterday; get 'em while they're hot. The last of the contributor copies and subscriptions will go into the mail by the end of this week. September's broadside is Potpourri by Patricia A. Pashby; there are plenty of those at TBC, too. All free!
October's releases (10/11) will be Heron's Run by Sharyn Stever, and littlesnake broadside #28 by Tim Kahl. October 1 is the next deadline for Snakelets, our journal of poetry from kids 0-12 years of age; VYPER, the journal for teens 13-19, has a November 1 deadline. Pick up either Snakelets or VYPER free at The Book Collector, too. Next Rattlesnake Review deadline is Nov. 15—sooner than you think!
And from your home, Internet cafe, or spaceship, keep checking in daily on Medusa. (Tune in tomorrow; we'll launch a new contest!) Plus, submission guidelines and all sorts of other chicanery are available on rattlesnakepress.com, our new and 'way-spiffy Web site.
Now back to the Imagists, who I've been posting this week:
________________________
ABOVE THE DOCK
—T.E. Hulme
Above the quiet dock in mid night,
Tangled in the tall mast's corded height,
Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away
Is but a child's balloon, forgotten after play.
________________________
THE EMBANKMENT
—T.E. Hulme
(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)
Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I
That warmth's the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.
_______________________
CONVERSION
—T.E. Hulme
Lighthearted I walked into the valley wood
In the time of hyacinths,
Till beauty like a scented cloth
Cast over, stifled me. I was bound
Motionless and faint of breath
By loveliness that is her own eunuch.
Now pass I to the final river
Ignominiously, in a sack, without sound,
As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorus.
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—T.E. Hulme
A touch of cold in the Autumn night—
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
_______________________
•••Today (Thurs., 9/21) at noon, River City Writers Series presents Denver poet Chris Ransick, whose new collection of poetry, Lost Songs and Last Chances, has just been published by Ghost Road Press. Little Theater (Rm. A6), Sacramento City College.
•••Tonight, 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Todd Mann, Leslie Dramer, and Rachel Gregg, plus open mic before/after. Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-441-3931.
•••Also tonight, 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. (next to Colonial Theater). Open mic for comedians/singers/poets. $5.
_______________________
Where were we?
If Medusa seems a bit foggy these days, it's because I just put my house on the market, with all the work (painting! Yikes!) and nerve-wracking that entails. Sam and I have decided to downsize, giving us more time for our various artistic pursuits, which of course include Hizzoner the Snake. We're getting ready to "move house", as the British say. Medusa and all our other ophidian delights will continue during this fit of painting and crapola-removal, but there may be the occasional hitch in our git-along. And, no, I'm not killing the Snake—horrors!—I just need to shrink my household commitments so I'll have more time for him. It. You.
So where were we? I dumped a fresh load of Snake 11's, the latest issue, at The Book Collector yesterday; get 'em while they're hot. The last of the contributor copies and subscriptions will go into the mail by the end of this week. September's broadside is Potpourri by Patricia A. Pashby; there are plenty of those at TBC, too. All free!
October's releases (10/11) will be Heron's Run by Sharyn Stever, and littlesnake broadside #28 by Tim Kahl. October 1 is the next deadline for Snakelets, our journal of poetry from kids 0-12 years of age; VYPER, the journal for teens 13-19, has a November 1 deadline. Pick up either Snakelets or VYPER free at The Book Collector, too. Next Rattlesnake Review deadline is Nov. 15—sooner than you think!
And from your home, Internet cafe, or spaceship, keep checking in daily on Medusa. (Tune in tomorrow; we'll launch a new contest!) Plus, submission guidelines and all sorts of other chicanery are available on rattlesnakepress.com, our new and 'way-spiffy Web site.
Now back to the Imagists, who I've been posting this week:
________________________
ABOVE THE DOCK
—T.E. Hulme
Above the quiet dock in mid night,
Tangled in the tall mast's corded height,
Hangs the moon. What seemed so far away
Is but a child's balloon, forgotten after play.
________________________
THE EMBANKMENT
—T.E. Hulme
(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)
Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I
That warmth's the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.
_______________________
CONVERSION
—T.E. Hulme
Lighthearted I walked into the valley wood
In the time of hyacinths,
Till beauty like a scented cloth
Cast over, stifled me. I was bound
Motionless and faint of breath
By loveliness that is her own eunuch.
Now pass I to the final river
Ignominiously, in a sack, without sound,
As any peeping Turk to the Bosphorus.
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
In the Key of Dusk
OGRE
—F.S. Flint
Through the open window can be seen
the poplars at the end of the garden
shaking in the wind,
a wall of green leaves so high
that the sky is shut off.
On the white table-cloth
a rose in a vase
—center of a sphere of odour—
contemplates the crumbs and crusts
left from a meal:
cups, saucers, plates lie
here and there.
And a sparrow flies by the open window,
stops for a moment,
flutters his wings rapidly,
and climbs an aerial ladder
with his claws
that work close in
to his soft, brown-grey belly.
But behind the table is the face of a man.
The bird flies off.
_______________________
Poetry Tonight:
•••Wed., Sept. 20, 6:30 PM: Urban Voices presents Bill Carr and Terry Moore. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Also Weds. (9/20), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods presents the live music of Sparlha Swa at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features & open mic. $5; 21 and older. Info: 916-492-9336.
Kalliope Contest:
Nov. 1 is the deadline for submissions to the Kalliope 2006 Sue Saniel Elkind Poetry Contest: 1st Prize is $1000 and publication in Kalliope, to be awarded to a woman poet. Runners-up will receive consideration for publication. Maximum length is 50 lines. Entry fee $5 per poem or 3 for $12. Send two copies, one with name, address, & phone number on upper right corner and one without identification. For more details on both contests please visit www.fccj.org/kalliope, or kalliope@fccj.edu or send SASE to Kalliope, Florida Community College at Jacksonville, 11901 Beach Blvd., Jacksonville, FL 32246.
Ready to Retreat?
The Fall 2006 Frank Bette Artist Retreat will be held from Saturday, October 14 through Friday, October 20 at the Elk Creek Art Center in Elk Creek, CA—a charming historic schoolhouse converted into a large artist studio with community living area, cozy bedrooms and gardens. Jumpstart your creative juices, explore new mediums and artistic processes. Reconnect with your artistic path. All creative mediums, instruments and outlets welcome. Draw, paint, collage, sculpt, etch, write, perform, play music, and think. Share artistic techniques and inspiration. Launch a new series. You can enjoy feedback, encouragement and connection, join in the group or focus on your own artwork. Kick back. Sleep in, or stay up late. Hike along the river. Hang out in your PJ’s. Enjoy a delightful, low key, self-driven retreat experience.
Retreat package price includes “Home Cooked Dinners” and a “Welcome Reception” with wine & appetizers. Our retreat cook will plan, prepare and serve dinners, and each guest will serve one night on a team helping our cook with dinner prep and clean up. Breakfasts, lunches, snacks and beverages are your choice; bring your favorite foods/beverages or eat at at the small deli/market or café within walking distance, or drive 20 minutes to the restaurants/markets in Willows.
Elk Creek is 2.5 hours north of the Bay Area, 20 miles west of Willows, in the eastern foothills of the Mendocino National Forest. Space is very limited! Sign-up now before rooms sell out. Mail your reservation form with payment by October 1.
[Now here's the strange part: the notice that came around didn't list any contact information! But here's the address and phone for the Frank Bette Center for the Arts; call them if you're interested: 510-523-6957 (1601 Paru St., Alameda, CA 94501).]
Or Head for Mallorca!
The Writing For Our Lives workshop with Ellen Bass will be held in LaSerrania in Mallorca, Spain from April 28 to May 5, 2007. Ellen Bass writes: This workshop will be an inspiring environment in which to share our lives and work, our support, our creativity. In our busy lives, many of us find that there isn’t as much time for writing as we long for. This week will be an opportunity to delve into our writing without distractions or interruptions, to nurture the creative voice. There will be ample time for writing and time for sharing and response, hearing what our work touches in others. We'll help each other to become clearer, go deeper, express our feelings and ideas more powerfully. From beginners to experienced, all writers are welcomed. Whether you are interested in poetry, fiction, nonfiction, memoir or journal writing, this workshop will provide an opportunity to explore and expand your creative world.
This size of the workshop is limited by the capacity of the retreat center to 14 participants. The regular fee for the workshop (which includes accommodations and all meals) is $1625. The early bird fee is $1375 and will be available until December 1. A $400 deposit is required to hold your place. Most rooms are doubles, but there may be single rooms available either at La Serrania or in a small house nearby. If you'd like to register, please email either Tim at retreats@laserrania.com or me at ellen@ellenbass.com.
_______________________
FRAGMENT
—F.S. Flint
...That night I loved you
in the candlelight.
Your golden hair
strewed the sweet whiteness of the pillows
and the counterpane.
O the darkness of the corners,
the warm air, and the stars
framed in the casement of the ships' lights!
The waves lapped into the harbour;
the boats creaked;
a man's voice sang out on the quay;
and you loved me.
In your love were the tall tree fuchsias,
the blue of the hortensias, the scarlet nasturtiums,
the trees on the hills,
the roads we had covered,
and the sea that had borne your body
before the rocks of Hartland.
You loved me with these
and with the kindness of people,
country folk, sailors and fishermen,
and the old lady who had lodged us and supped us.
You loved me with yourself
that was these and more,
changed as the earth is changed
into the bloom of flowers.
_______________________
HOUSES
—F.S. Flint
Evening and quiet:
a bird trills in the poplar trees
behind the house with the dark green door
across the road.
Into the sky,
the red earthenware and the galvanised iron chimneys
thrust their cowls.
The hoot of the steamers on the Thames is plain.
No wind;
the trees merge, green with green;
a car whirs by;
footsteps and voices take their pitch
in the key of dusk,
far-off and near, subdued.
Solid and square to the world
the houses stand,
their windows blocked with venetian blinds.
Nothing will move them.
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—F.S. Flint
Through the open window can be seen
the poplars at the end of the garden
shaking in the wind,
a wall of green leaves so high
that the sky is shut off.
On the white table-cloth
a rose in a vase
—center of a sphere of odour—
contemplates the crumbs and crusts
left from a meal:
cups, saucers, plates lie
here and there.
And a sparrow flies by the open window,
stops for a moment,
flutters his wings rapidly,
and climbs an aerial ladder
with his claws
that work close in
to his soft, brown-grey belly.
But behind the table is the face of a man.
The bird flies off.
_______________________
Poetry Tonight:
•••Wed., Sept. 20, 6:30 PM: Urban Voices presents Bill Carr and Terry Moore. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Also Weds. (9/20), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods presents the live music of Sparlha Swa at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features & open mic. $5; 21 and older. Info: 916-492-9336.
Kalliope Contest:
Nov. 1 is the deadline for submissions to the Kalliope 2006 Sue Saniel Elkind Poetry Contest: 1st Prize is $1000 and publication in Kalliope, to be awarded to a woman poet. Runners-up will receive consideration for publication. Maximum length is 50 lines. Entry fee $5 per poem or 3 for $12. Send two copies, one with name, address, & phone number on upper right corner and one without identification. For more details on both contests please visit www.fccj.org/kalliope, or kalliope@fccj.edu or send SASE to Kalliope, Florida Community College at Jacksonville, 11901 Beach Blvd., Jacksonville, FL 32246.
Ready to Retreat?
The Fall 2006 Frank Bette Artist Retreat will be held from Saturday, October 14 through Friday, October 20 at the Elk Creek Art Center in Elk Creek, CA—a charming historic schoolhouse converted into a large artist studio with community living area, cozy bedrooms and gardens. Jumpstart your creative juices, explore new mediums and artistic processes. Reconnect with your artistic path. All creative mediums, instruments and outlets welcome. Draw, paint, collage, sculpt, etch, write, perform, play music, and think. Share artistic techniques and inspiration. Launch a new series. You can enjoy feedback, encouragement and connection, join in the group or focus on your own artwork. Kick back. Sleep in, or stay up late. Hike along the river. Hang out in your PJ’s. Enjoy a delightful, low key, self-driven retreat experience.
Retreat package price includes “Home Cooked Dinners” and a “Welcome Reception” with wine & appetizers. Our retreat cook will plan, prepare and serve dinners, and each guest will serve one night on a team helping our cook with dinner prep and clean up. Breakfasts, lunches, snacks and beverages are your choice; bring your favorite foods/beverages or eat at at the small deli/market or café within walking distance, or drive 20 minutes to the restaurants/markets in Willows.
Elk Creek is 2.5 hours north of the Bay Area, 20 miles west of Willows, in the eastern foothills of the Mendocino National Forest. Space is very limited! Sign-up now before rooms sell out. Mail your reservation form with payment by October 1.
[Now here's the strange part: the notice that came around didn't list any contact information! But here's the address and phone for the Frank Bette Center for the Arts; call them if you're interested: 510-523-6957 (1601 Paru St., Alameda, CA 94501).]
Or Head for Mallorca!
The Writing For Our Lives workshop with Ellen Bass will be held in LaSerrania in Mallorca, Spain from April 28 to May 5, 2007. Ellen Bass writes: This workshop will be an inspiring environment in which to share our lives and work, our support, our creativity. In our busy lives, many of us find that there isn’t as much time for writing as we long for. This week will be an opportunity to delve into our writing without distractions or interruptions, to nurture the creative voice. There will be ample time for writing and time for sharing and response, hearing what our work touches in others. We'll help each other to become clearer, go deeper, express our feelings and ideas more powerfully. From beginners to experienced, all writers are welcomed. Whether you are interested in poetry, fiction, nonfiction, memoir or journal writing, this workshop will provide an opportunity to explore and expand your creative world.
This size of the workshop is limited by the capacity of the retreat center to 14 participants. The regular fee for the workshop (which includes accommodations and all meals) is $1625. The early bird fee is $1375 and will be available until December 1. A $400 deposit is required to hold your place. Most rooms are doubles, but there may be single rooms available either at La Serrania or in a small house nearby. If you'd like to register, please email either Tim at retreats@laserrania.com or me at ellen@ellenbass.com.
_______________________
FRAGMENT
—F.S. Flint
...That night I loved you
in the candlelight.
Your golden hair
strewed the sweet whiteness of the pillows
and the counterpane.
O the darkness of the corners,
the warm air, and the stars
framed in the casement of the ships' lights!
The waves lapped into the harbour;
the boats creaked;
a man's voice sang out on the quay;
and you loved me.
In your love were the tall tree fuchsias,
the blue of the hortensias, the scarlet nasturtiums,
the trees on the hills,
the roads we had covered,
and the sea that had borne your body
before the rocks of Hartland.
You loved me with these
and with the kindness of people,
country folk, sailors and fishermen,
and the old lady who had lodged us and supped us.
You loved me with yourself
that was these and more,
changed as the earth is changed
into the bloom of flowers.
_______________________
HOUSES
—F.S. Flint
Evening and quiet:
a bird trills in the poplar trees
behind the house with the dark green door
across the road.
Into the sky,
the red earthenware and the galvanised iron chimneys
thrust their cowls.
The hoot of the steamers on the Thames is plain.
No wind;
the trees merge, green with green;
a car whirs by;
footsteps and voices take their pitch
in the key of dusk,
far-off and near, subdued.
Solid and square to the world
the houses stand,
their windows blocked with venetian blinds.
Nothing will move them.
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Persephone Goes Underground Again
PERSEPHONE
—Adam Zagajewski
Persephone goes underground again
in a summer dress, with a Jewish
child's big eyes.
Kites fly, and yellow leaves, autumn dust,
a white plane, black crow wings.
Someone runs down the path clutching an overdue letter.
She'll be cold underground in cork
sandals and her hair won't shield
her from the blind wind, from oblivion—
she disappears into the chestnut trees
and only the ribbon on her braid
shines with resignation's rosy glow.
Persephone goes underground again
and again the same thread of indifference
binds my tiny bird-heart.
________________________
THE LAST STORM
—Adam Zagajewski
Some are leaving.
Others drink silence.
Only storms shriek now in August
like a madman hauled off in an ambulance.
Branches beat our cheeks.
Alder leaves smell of sleep and straw oil.
You must listen, listen, listen.
Tired springs breathe under water.
At four in the morning
the last, lonely bolt of lightning
scribbles something quickly in the sky.
It says, "No." Or "Never."
Or "Take courage, the fire's not dead."
_______________________
ANTHOLOGY
—Adam Zagajewski
That evening I was reading an anthology.
Scarlet clouds grazed outside my window.
The spent day fled to a museum.
And you—who are you?
I don't know. I didn't know
if I was born for gladness?
Sorrow? Patient waiting?
In dusk's pure air
I read an anthology.
Ancient poets lived in me, singing.
_______________________
SHELL
—Adam Zagajewski
At night the monks sang softly
and a gusting wind lifted
spruce branches like wings.
I've never visited the ancient cities,
I've never been to Thebes
or Delphi, and I don't know
what the oracles once told travelers.
Snow filled the streets and canyons,
and crows in dark robes silently
trailed the fox's footprints.
I believed in elusive signs,
in shadowed ruins, water snakes,
mountain springs, prophetic birds.
Linden trees bloomed like brides
but their fruit was small and bitter.
Wisdom can't be found
in music or fine paintings,
in great deeds, courage,
even love,
but only in all these things,
in earth and air, in pain and silence.
A poem may hold the thunder's echo,
like a shell touched by Orpheus
as he fled. Time takes life away
and gives us memory, gold with flame,
black with embers.
(Today's poems were translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh)
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
—Adam Zagajewski
Persephone goes underground again
in a summer dress, with a Jewish
child's big eyes.
Kites fly, and yellow leaves, autumn dust,
a white plane, black crow wings.
Someone runs down the path clutching an overdue letter.
She'll be cold underground in cork
sandals and her hair won't shield
her from the blind wind, from oblivion—
she disappears into the chestnut trees
and only the ribbon on her braid
shines with resignation's rosy glow.
Persephone goes underground again
and again the same thread of indifference
binds my tiny bird-heart.
________________________
THE LAST STORM
—Adam Zagajewski
Some are leaving.
Others drink silence.
Only storms shriek now in August
like a madman hauled off in an ambulance.
Branches beat our cheeks.
Alder leaves smell of sleep and straw oil.
You must listen, listen, listen.
Tired springs breathe under water.
At four in the morning
the last, lonely bolt of lightning
scribbles something quickly in the sky.
It says, "No." Or "Never."
Or "Take courage, the fire's not dead."
_______________________
ANTHOLOGY
—Adam Zagajewski
That evening I was reading an anthology.
Scarlet clouds grazed outside my window.
The spent day fled to a museum.
And you—who are you?
I don't know. I didn't know
if I was born for gladness?
Sorrow? Patient waiting?
In dusk's pure air
I read an anthology.
Ancient poets lived in me, singing.
_______________________
SHELL
—Adam Zagajewski
At night the monks sang softly
and a gusting wind lifted
spruce branches like wings.
I've never visited the ancient cities,
I've never been to Thebes
or Delphi, and I don't know
what the oracles once told travelers.
Snow filled the streets and canyons,
and crows in dark robes silently
trailed the fox's footprints.
I believed in elusive signs,
in shadowed ruins, water snakes,
mountain springs, prophetic birds.
Linden trees bloomed like brides
but their fruit was small and bitter.
Wisdom can't be found
in music or fine paintings,
in great deeds, courage,
even love,
but only in all these things,
in earth and air, in pain and silence.
A poem may hold the thunder's echo,
like a shell touched by Orpheus
as he fled. Time takes life away
and gives us memory, gold with flame,
black with embers.
(Today's poems were translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh)
________________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)
Monday, September 18, 2006
Wantonly, Over the Kitchen Sink: Po-events 9/18-24
SUMMER
—Richard Aldington
A butterfly,
Black and scarlet,
Spotted with white,
Fans its wings
Over a privet flower.
A thousand crimson foxgloves,
Tall bloody pikes,
Stand motionless in the gravel quarry;
The wind runs over them.
A rose film over a pale sky
Fantastically cut by dark chimneys;
Candles winking in the windows
Across an old city-garden.
_______________________
Check out the Metro section of The Sacramento Bee today (the Graswich column) for mention of B.L. Kennedy's search for theatre space in which to show the results of The Archives Group grant project—interviews with hundreds of poets in this region, shaped into a filmatic tale of the history of Sacramento poetry. The film must be shown to the public, under the terms of their Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Council grant, but so far Bari's (and co-producer Linda Thorell's) efforts to find suitable space within the county have been fruitless. Any ideas?
Another Busy Poetry Week:
•••Tonight (Monday, Sept. 18), 7:30 PM: The Sacramento Poetry Center presents frank andrick and friends. frank andrick is the author of Soluna, a collection of poetry and prose, as well as Aurelia Occultica Lamantia (AOL), a littlesnake broadside from Rattlesnake Press. He produces and anchors "The Pomo Literati," a monthly two-hour spoken word/poetry radio program broadcast on KUSF 90.3 FM in San Francisco, and he is one of the hosts of Poetry Unplugged at Luna's in Sacramento. A genre-bending mixed-media presenter, andrick's work can be found on the Web, as well as in the latest Rattlesnake Review (#11). Google him...he loves it. That's tonight at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. (It will be good to see frank up and around again; he's been seriously under the weather.)
•••Also tonight (Monday, 9/18), 7:30 PM: The Division of Literature & Language Arts at Modesto Junior College presents An Evening of Poetry with Brian Turner, author of Here, Bullet, & Jacqueline Jones LaMon, author of Gravity, USA. Student Center Lounge, East Campus, Modesto Junior College, Free & Open to the Public.
•••Wed., Sept. 20, 6:30 PM: Urban Voices presents Bill Carr and Terry Moore. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Also Weds. (9/20), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods presents the live music of Sparlha Swa at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features & open mic. $5; 21 and older. Info: 916-492-9336.
•••Thurs. (9/21), 12 noon: River City Writers Series presents Denver poet Chris Ransick, whose new collection of poetry, Lost Songs and Last Chances, has just been published by Ghost Road Press. Little Theater (Rm. A6), Sacramento City College.
•••Also Thurs. (9/21), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Todd Mann, Leslie Dramer, and Rachel Gregg, plus open mic before/after. Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-441-3931.
•••Also Thurs. (9/21), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. (next to Colonial Theater). Open mic for comedians/singers/poets. $5.
•••This weekend (Sept. 23-24), the West Sacramento Friends of the Library book sale will take place from 9 AM-4 PM on Saturday and from 10 AM-2 PM on Sunday. Books range in price from five to fifty cents, and the Sunday sale features books at $1/bag. Arthur F. Turner Branch Library, 1212 Merkley Av., West Sac. For info or to donate books: 916-375-6465.
•••Saturday (9/23), 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announce a poetry reading at the gallery, 1015 J St., Downtown Modesto. This event will be celebrating the poetry of George Rogers, a much-beloved teacher and artist, by readings from his posthumous chapbook, about to fly. The chapbook was published by friends of George Rogers in April 2006 in Modesto, CA. All proceeds from the sale of about to fly will be donated to the George A. Rogers Neighborhood Park, a fund with the Stanislaus Community Foundation. Copies will be available at the reading, or by contacting Ken White at Ken1White@aol.com. There will also be an "Open Mic" at the reading.
•••Also Sat. (9/23), 10 AM-4 PM: The Children's Book Celebration at Fairytale Town offers demonstrations, poetry, music, puppets, the library's Wonder Wagon, and more. 3901 Land Park Dr., Sac.. Free. Info: 916-264-5233.
•••Sunday (9/24), 4-6 PM: Poems-For-All presents a book release party for Bill Pieper's latest novel, Belonging, a tale of Downieville and California's modern Gold Country. The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-442-9295.
________________________
EVENING
—Richard Aldington
The chimneys, rank on rank,
Cut the clear sky;
The moon
With a rag of gauze about her loins
Poses among them, an awkward Venus—
And here am I looking wantonly at her
Over the kitchen sink.
_______________________
INSOUCIANCE
—Richard Aldington
In and out of the dreary trenches,
Trudging cheerily under the stars,
I make for myself little poems
Delicate as a flock of doves.
They fly away like white-winged doves.
_______________________
TWO IMPRESSIONS
—Richard Aldington
I.
The colorless morning glides upward
Over the marsh and ragged trees.
Though our mood be sombre
And our bodies angry for more sleep,
This feathered softness of pale light,
Falling negligently upon us,
Delights us.
II.
High above the drab barren ground
Three herons beat across the dawn-blue sky.
They drift slowly away
Until they appear
As three horizontal umber brush-strokes
On finely shaded cobalt.
And the mist, driven by the wind
Up and across the distant hill,
Gleams like soft white hair
Brushed amorously backward!
—Richard Aldington
A butterfly,
Black and scarlet,
Spotted with white,
Fans its wings
Over a privet flower.
A thousand crimson foxgloves,
Tall bloody pikes,
Stand motionless in the gravel quarry;
The wind runs over them.
A rose film over a pale sky
Fantastically cut by dark chimneys;
Candles winking in the windows
Across an old city-garden.
_______________________
Check out the Metro section of The Sacramento Bee today (the Graswich column) for mention of B.L. Kennedy's search for theatre space in which to show the results of The Archives Group grant project—interviews with hundreds of poets in this region, shaped into a filmatic tale of the history of Sacramento poetry. The film must be shown to the public, under the terms of their Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Council grant, but so far Bari's (and co-producer Linda Thorell's) efforts to find suitable space within the county have been fruitless. Any ideas?
Another Busy Poetry Week:
•••Tonight (Monday, Sept. 18), 7:30 PM: The Sacramento Poetry Center presents frank andrick and friends. frank andrick is the author of Soluna, a collection of poetry and prose, as well as Aurelia Occultica Lamantia (AOL), a littlesnake broadside from Rattlesnake Press. He produces and anchors "The Pomo Literati," a monthly two-hour spoken word/poetry radio program broadcast on KUSF 90.3 FM in San Francisco, and he is one of the hosts of Poetry Unplugged at Luna's in Sacramento. A genre-bending mixed-media presenter, andrick's work can be found on the Web, as well as in the latest Rattlesnake Review (#11). Google him...he loves it. That's tonight at HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. (It will be good to see frank up and around again; he's been seriously under the weather.)
•••Also tonight (Monday, 9/18), 7:30 PM: The Division of Literature & Language Arts at Modesto Junior College presents An Evening of Poetry with Brian Turner, author of Here, Bullet, & Jacqueline Jones LaMon, author of Gravity, USA. Student Center Lounge, East Campus, Modesto Junior College, Free & Open to the Public.
•••Wed., Sept. 20, 6:30 PM: Urban Voices presents Bill Carr and Terry Moore. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac. Free.
•••Also Weds. (9/20), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods presents the live music of Sparlha Swa at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features & open mic. $5; 21 and older. Info: 916-492-9336.
•••Thurs. (9/21), 12 noon: River City Writers Series presents Denver poet Chris Ransick, whose new collection of poetry, Lost Songs and Last Chances, has just been published by Ghost Road Press. Little Theater (Rm. A6), Sacramento City College.
•••Also Thurs. (9/21), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged features Todd Mann, Leslie Dramer, and Rachel Gregg, plus open mic before/after. Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-441-3931.
•••Also Thurs. (9/21), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd., Sac. (next to Colonial Theater). Open mic for comedians/singers/poets. $5.
•••This weekend (Sept. 23-24), the West Sacramento Friends of the Library book sale will take place from 9 AM-4 PM on Saturday and from 10 AM-2 PM on Sunday. Books range in price from five to fifty cents, and the Sunday sale features books at $1/bag. Arthur F. Turner Branch Library, 1212 Merkley Av., West Sac. For info or to donate books: 916-375-6465.
•••Saturday (9/23), 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announce a poetry reading at the gallery, 1015 J St., Downtown Modesto. This event will be celebrating the poetry of George Rogers, a much-beloved teacher and artist, by readings from his posthumous chapbook, about to fly. The chapbook was published by friends of George Rogers in April 2006 in Modesto, CA. All proceeds from the sale of about to fly will be donated to the George A. Rogers Neighborhood Park, a fund with the Stanislaus Community Foundation. Copies will be available at the reading, or by contacting Ken White at Ken1White@aol.com. There will also be an "Open Mic" at the reading.
•••Also Sat. (9/23), 10 AM-4 PM: The Children's Book Celebration at Fairytale Town offers demonstrations, poetry, music, puppets, the library's Wonder Wagon, and more. 3901 Land Park Dr., Sac.. Free. Info: 916-264-5233.
•••Sunday (9/24), 4-6 PM: Poems-For-All presents a book release party for Bill Pieper's latest novel, Belonging, a tale of Downieville and California's modern Gold Country. The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Free. Info: 916-442-9295.
________________________
EVENING
—Richard Aldington
The chimneys, rank on rank,
Cut the clear sky;
The moon
With a rag of gauze about her loins
Poses among them, an awkward Venus—
And here am I looking wantonly at her
Over the kitchen sink.
_______________________
INSOUCIANCE
—Richard Aldington
In and out of the dreary trenches,
Trudging cheerily under the stars,
I make for myself little poems
Delicate as a flock of doves.
They fly away like white-winged doves.
_______________________
TWO IMPRESSIONS
—Richard Aldington
I.
The colorless morning glides upward
Over the marsh and ragged trees.
Though our mood be sombre
And our bodies angry for more sleep,
This feathered softness of pale light,
Falling negligently upon us,
Delights us.
II.
High above the drab barren ground
Three herons beat across the dawn-blue sky.
They drift slowly away
Until they appear
As three horizontal umber brush-strokes
On finely shaded cobalt.
And the mist, driven by the wind
Up and across the distant hill,
Gleams like soft white hair
Brushed amorously backward!
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