Today's photo is by Katy Brown of Davis: Fall Leaves, Grasmere. Yes, England. Katy will be in England throughout October; hopefully, she will bring back more cool pix. See more of Katy's photos, plus her poetry and her Marketeer-in-Residence column in Snake 11, due out next week.
FUNHOUSE
—Charles Bukowski
I drive to the beach at night
in the winter
and sit and look at the burned-down amusement pier
wonder why they just let it sit there
in the water.
I want it out of there,
blown-up,
vanished,
erased;
that pier should no longer sit there
with madmen sleeping inside
the burned-out guts of the funhouse...
it's awful, I say, blow the damn thing up,
get it out of my eyes,
that tombstone in the sea.
the madmen can find other holes
to crawl into.
I used to walk that pier when I was 8
years old.
_______________________
Moobies About Poets:
While I was in Oregon recently, I found a copy of Screams from the Balcony: Selected Letters 1960-1970 (ed. by Seamus Cooney), the collection of Charles Bukowski's letters to various folks, including some local notables such as Doug Blazek and Annie Menebroker. L.A. Poet Bukowski had a lot of ties to our area; even our Joyce Odam has a brief mention in the book for a poem she sent him. This weekend, the movie, Factotum, opens at the Crest: a movie about Bukowski that follows on the heels of several other movies about him, including 1987's Barfly, and the documentary, Bukowski: Born Into This. This latest movie is getting very positive reviews; guess we better check it out.
(By the way, if you're on the Oregon South Coast and need a poetry fix, check out Gold Beach Books, Inc. Regular poetry readings (with flyers for same), plus lots of display room for area poets, like The Book Collector has. I admire that in a bookstore!)
I confess to a soft spot for Bukowski. Read past the sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll, and he writes about the disenfranchised, the deluded, the dispossessed. Doesn't that include all of us.....?
Also opening this weekend at the Crest is Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man, a documentary portrait of the Canadian singer/songwriter/poet/author who is now 71 years old.
Lots going on at the Crest—not to mention that the taiko drumming group, Shidara, will perform Sunday at 3 PM. Go get your blood pumping and then sit down for one—or both—of the movies.
Also This Weekend: Library Sales
•••The Sacramento Public Library will hold its Fall Warehouse Sale from 12-5 PM on Saturday (9/9) and from 10-4 PM on Sunday (9/10)—books, records, videos, CDs and more. The Book Den, 8250 E. Belvedere Av., Sac. 916-264-2880.
•••The Del Paso Heights Library will hold an arts, crafts, and household items sale to benefit the branch on Saturday (9/9) from 11-4 PM at the DPH Library, 920 Grand Av., Sac. 916-264-2920.
•••Saturday (9/9) and Sunday (9/10): The Friends of the Woodland Public Library, 250 First St., Woodland, will host a book sale in conjunction with the city's annual "Stroll Through History". Sat. 9 AM-4 PM; Sun. 1-4 PM. Info: Phyllis at 530-666-1561.
And Po-Events:
•••Saturday (9/9), 3-5 PM: Slam Poet He Spits Fire, poet and singer Sha-Lo, and jazz vocalist Sabrina Hocker at Queen Sheba Restaurant, 1537 Howe Av., Sac. Free. 916-920-1020.
•••Sunday, 9/10, 7 PM: Poet's Corner Press features Taylor Graham at Barnes & Noble at Weberstown Mall on March Lane and Pacific in Stockton. She'll be reading from her new book, The Downstairs Dance Floor (winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press) and other books, including Harmonics (Poet's Corner Press) and Living with Myth (Rattlesnake Press).
Or, hell, just bag it all and go down to SF for the Chocolate Festival on Sunday: Tastings (!), chef demonstrations, family activities, live music, ice cream sundae-eating contest and more! 12-5 PM, Ghiradelli Square, 900 N. Point St., SF. Free, but tastings are $10-20. 415-775-5500.
Skyway Poets:
Check out the latest online issue of Centrifugal Eye (centrifugaleye.com) for a review of the latest Skyway Poets anthology, written by that slave to the pen, Kathy Kieth.
________________________
ANOTHER ACADEMY
—Charles Bukowski
how can they go on, you see them
sitting in old doorways
with dirty stained caps and thick clothes and
no place to go;
heads bent down, arms on
knees they wait.
or they stand in front of the Mission
700 of them
quiet as oxen
waiting to be let into the chapel
where they will sleep upright on the hard benches
leaning aginst each other
snoring and
dreaming;
men
without.
in New York City
where it gets colder
and they are hunted by their own
kind, these men often crawl under car radiators,
drink the anti-freeze,
get warm and grateful for some minutes, then
die.
but that is an older
culture and a wiser
one;
here they scratch and
wait,
while on Sunset Boulevard the
hippies and yippies
hitchhike in
$50
boots.
out in front of the Mission I heard on guy say to
another:
"John Wayne won it."
"Won what?" said the other guy
tossing the last of his rolled cigarette into the
street.
I thought that was
rather good.
_______________________
AND THE MOON AND THE STARS AND THE WORLD:
—Charles Bukowski
long walks at
night—
that's what's good
for the
soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired
housewives
trying to fight
off
their beer-maddened
husbands.
______________________
MORE OR LESS, FOR JULIE:
—Charles Bukowski
on the Hammond or through the bomb-shadowed window,
through steak turned blue with the rot of drunken days,
through signature and saliva
through Savannah,
dark running streets like veins
caught in a juniper brush, through love spilled
behind a broken shade on an October day;
through forms and windows and line,
through a book by Kafka stained with wine,
through wives and friends and jails,
standing young once
hearing Beethoven or Bruckner,
or even riding a bicycle,
young as that,
impossible,
coming across the bridge
in Philadelphia
and meeting your first whore,
falling on the ice, drunk and numbed,
you picking up she, she picking up he,
until at last, laughing across all barriers,
no marriage was ever more innocent or blessed,
and I remember her name and yes her eyes,
and a small mole on her left shoulder,
and so we go down, down in sadness, sadness,
sitting in a grease-stained room
listening to the corn boil.
_______________________
One last note: our thoughts are with long-time Sacramento Poet and rattlechapper Frank Taber, who has recently become quite ill, necessitating long-term hospitalization. We'll keep you posted as to how to contact him.
—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.)
