DISTANT HOWLING
—Miroslav Holub
In Alsace,
on July 6, 1885,
a rabid dog knocked Joseph Meister down
and bit him fourteen times.
Meister was the first patient
saved by Pasteur's
vaccine, in thirteen
gradually increased doses
of weakened virus.
Pasteur died of ictus
ten years later.
Fifty years later
the watchman Meister
committed suicide
when the Germans
occupied Pasteur's Institute
including the poor dogs.
Only the virus
never got involved.
_______________________
Rockin' Thursday:
•••8 PM: Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac) presents Bill Gainer, Ann Menebroker and Neeli Cherkovski. Open mic.
•••7 PM: Hidden Passage Bookstore, 352 Main St., Placerville, presents Taylor Graham, reading from her award-winning book, The Downstairs Dance Floor.
•••6-8 PM: The Sacramento Poetry Center's Annual Fall fundraiser features a silent auction, raffle, food, music by Mary Zeppa and Bob Stanley, and poetry by Carol and Laverne Frith. That's $25 in advance or at the door; RSVP Sandra at 916-979-9706 or poetrynow@sacramentopoetrycenter.org. The event will be held at the home of Mimi and Burnett Miller, 1224 40th St., Sac.
•••And if that's not enough for tonight, Vibe Sessions presents Chas from LA Slam at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac., 8-11 PM. $5, hosted by Flo-Real. Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••And if you're of a mind to travel farther tonight, The Writers Read Poetry Series meets at the Colored Horse Studio, 780 Waugh Lane, Ukiah, 7-9:30 PM. Tonight, Writers Read presents a special reading by seven authors whose work appears in Reads: An Anthology of Writings by The Lakeside Writers Guild. If time permits, an open mike session will follow the featured reading. Refreshments available. Donation requested. For more info: (707)275-9010 or (707)463-6989. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant from the James Irvine Foundation, and by Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio.
Terry Moore at Mem Aud tomorrow:
•••Tomorrow (Friday, 12/1), 7 PM: Terry Moore will open for Brian McKnight at the Memorial Auditorium, 1401 J St., Sac. Also featured will be LaToya London. Ticket info: www.isoundtracks.net. Watch for an interview with Terry in the next Rattlesnake Review, due out Dec. 13.
Dec. 22 deadline for love poems:
The Benicia Historical Museum is sponsoring a poetry contest with the its fifth annual Valentine’s Day celebration of the early California romance of Conception Arguello and Nikolai Rezanov. The romantic story has been told by novelist Gertrude Atherton in her novel, Rezanov, and by playwright Eve Iversen in her Voyage of the Juno. See details on the internet at http://www.nps.gov/prsf/history/bios/concep.htm or http://www.abcbookworld.com/?state=view_author&author_id=6369.
The Museum is looking for original love poems. The poems need not be about Conception and Nikolai, but can be about love and lovers in general. A charge of $5/poem is assessed to pay the judge for time and critique of your work. A check or money order, made out to BENICIA HISTORICAL MUSEUM, must accompany submission. All poems must be received by 22 December 2006 at The Benicia Historical Museum, Attn: Poetry Contest, 2060 Camel Road, Benicia, CA 94510. The poetry judge has agreed to comment on poems, which will be judged by Ida Fasel, Emerita Professor of English at the University of Colorado at Denver. Her poetry has won numerous prizes. She is a Milton specialist, a balletomane, and an angel collector. Note— Dr. Fasel will not know the identity of poets.
Provide a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE) with your submission. Submit up to three original poems. Revisions and additions will not be accepted once poems have been received. Original unpublished poems are sought; however, poems which poets have self-published in chapbooks are acceptable. Cite publication title in which they appear. Send two cover sheets; on cover sheet ‘A’ include poet’s name, address, phone number, and list of titles of the poem(s) attached. Cover sheet ‘B’ should list ONLY the titles of the poems attached. Submit two copies of each poem. Poet’s name or other identification may not appear on poems. Each poem should be typed on 8.5x11” paper, double or single spaced, 12 pt. type, no more than one page in length. The SASE and cover sheet A are held at the Benicia Historical Museum awaiting the judge’s comments. After the contest, your poems plus the judge’s comments will be returned to you, or you may pick up your poems at the Benicia Historical Museum after the contest. The winner will receive publicity, acclaim, a plaque and have his/her name inscribed on a trophy to be on permanent display at the Benicia Historical Museum.
_______________________
WHAT ELSE
—Miroslav Holub
What else to do
but drive a small dog
out of yourself
with a stick?
Scruff bristling with fright
he huddles against the wall,
crawls in the domestic zodiac,
limps,
bleeding from the muzzle.
He would eat out of your hand
but that's no use.
What else
is poetry
but killing that small dog
in yourself?
And all around the barking, barking,
the hysterical barking
of cats.
______________________
THE BOMB
—Miroslav Holub
Murder in the lithosphere.
Clay burst from the rock,
fire flowed from the clay.
At the base of the crater
a naked, tender, loving
frog's heart
still beats.
_______________________
BEHIND THE HOUSE
—Miroslav Holub
Behind the house the cracked pots of human fate,
the child's scooter, wise in its old age.
On the clothesline, a cloud of elderly breath.
Nitrogen oxide. A drop of blood.
And in the shed, in a heap,
torn rags, rusted rasps and ratchets, new regrets, old quarrels
and angels.
______________________
And Medusa sends congrats to Rattlechapper Patricia Wellingham-Jones (Voices on the Land) for winning the Palabra Productions Chapbook Contest! We'll let you know when her book comes out.
—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, November 30, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Right Back to the Roots
SOMETIMES IT ALL WORKS OUT
—William S. Gainer, Grass Valley
There’s an odd guy
that used to live around here.
He lost his tongue in the war,
had trouble communicating.
They sent him
one of those phones
for the disabled,
but it was for a blind guy,
had Braille buttons.
He had trouble
calling to complain,
had to write a letter,
“What are ya, a fucking idiot?
I don’t have a tongue,
now send over the right phone.”
I heard he became a drummer
for a punk rock band,
they thought he was into self-mutilation,
figured he'd fit right in.
They say he made lots of money,
got a tattoo,
bought himself a prosthesis.
I heard the color is almost
a perfect match.
_______________________
The irreverent Bill Gainer will read at Poetry Unplugged tomorrow night, along with Ann Menebroker and Neeli Cherkovski. That's 8 PM on Thursday at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Open mic before and after.
Tonight:
•••Weds. (11/29), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/29), 6 PM: The Hidden Passage poetry series meets in Placerville. This is an open mic/read-around; bring your poems or somebody else's. Address is 352 Main St., Placerville.
Calendar addition for tomorrow night:
Thursday (11/30), 7-9:30 PM: The Writers Read Poetry Series meets at the Colored Horse Studio, 780 Waugh Lane, Ukiah. This Thursday evening, Writers Read presents a special reading by seven authors whose work appears in Reads: An Anthology of Writings by The Lakeside Writers Guild. If time permits, an open mike session will follow the featured reading. Refreshments available. Donation requested. For more info: (707)275-9010 or (707)463-6989. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant from the James Irvine Foundation, and by Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio.
Get your tickets NOW:
I Began To Speak, a movie of the history of poetry in the City of Sacramento c. 1960 to 2006, features some 41 area poets who tell the story of the evolution of a single poetry community in their own voices. Produced, written and directed by B.L. Kennedy, with Linda Thorell as Director of Photography, Editing and Design, and funded in part by an ArtScapes Grant from the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission, this unique film will premier at the legendary Crest Theatre in the heart of downtown Sacramento on Wednesday, December 6 at 7 PM. Advance tickets now on sale at the Crest, 1013 K St., Sac., 916-442-5189 or sid@thecrest.com. Tickets are $10, and can also be purchased via ticket agencies like www.tickets.com—though you save on fees if you buy them directly from the Crest. Limited seating, so get your tickets now!
_______________________
Here's another poem from the interesting Pascale Petit:
WHAT SHE WANTED
—Pascale Petit
What she wanted was to return
to the original rainforest
hear water pushing
through the sapwood
and leaves eating light
as she wanted to eat light.
She knew her nature
was to be water, not wood.
She knew there was a grove
of vertical rivers
of roaring waterfall-trees,
and a grove of whirlpool-trees
with vortices she could dive through,
past the hollow years of her life
right back to the roots.
______________________
—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
There’s an odd guy
that used to live around here.
He lost his tongue in the war,
had trouble communicating.
They sent him
one of those phones
for the disabled,
but it was for a blind guy,
had Braille buttons.
He had trouble
calling to complain,
had to write a letter,
“What are ya, a fucking idiot?
I don’t have a tongue,
now send over the right phone.”
I heard he became a drummer
for a punk rock band,
they thought he was into self-mutilation,
figured he'd fit right in.
They say he made lots of money,
got a tattoo,
bought himself a prosthesis.
I heard the color is almost
a perfect match.
_______________________
The irreverent Bill Gainer will read at Poetry Unplugged tomorrow night, along with Ann Menebroker and Neeli Cherkovski. That's 8 PM on Thursday at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Open mic before and after.
Tonight:
•••Weds. (11/29), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/29), 6 PM: The Hidden Passage poetry series meets in Placerville. This is an open mic/read-around; bring your poems or somebody else's. Address is 352 Main St., Placerville.
Calendar addition for tomorrow night:
Thursday (11/30), 7-9:30 PM: The Writers Read Poetry Series meets at the Colored Horse Studio, 780 Waugh Lane, Ukiah. This Thursday evening, Writers Read presents a special reading by seven authors whose work appears in Reads: An Anthology of Writings by The Lakeside Writers Guild. If time permits, an open mike session will follow the featured reading. Refreshments available. Donation requested. For more info: (707)275-9010 or (707)463-6989. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant from the James Irvine Foundation, and by Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio.
Get your tickets NOW:
I Began To Speak, a movie of the history of poetry in the City of Sacramento c. 1960 to 2006, features some 41 area poets who tell the story of the evolution of a single poetry community in their own voices. Produced, written and directed by B.L. Kennedy, with Linda Thorell as Director of Photography, Editing and Design, and funded in part by an ArtScapes Grant from the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission, this unique film will premier at the legendary Crest Theatre in the heart of downtown Sacramento on Wednesday, December 6 at 7 PM. Advance tickets now on sale at the Crest, 1013 K St., Sac., 916-442-5189 or sid@thecrest.com. Tickets are $10, and can also be purchased via ticket agencies like www.tickets.com—though you save on fees if you buy them directly from the Crest. Limited seating, so get your tickets now!
_______________________
Here's another poem from the interesting Pascale Petit:
WHAT SHE WANTED
—Pascale Petit
What she wanted was to return
to the original rainforest
hear water pushing
through the sapwood
and leaves eating light
as she wanted to eat light.
She knew her nature
was to be water, not wood.
She knew there was a grove
of vertical rivers
of roaring waterfall-trees,
and a grove of whirlpool-trees
with vortices she could dive through,
past the hollow years of her life
right back to the roots.
______________________
—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, November 28, 2006
The Moon With a Serpent's Mouth
THE GARDEN OF LOVE
—William Blake
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires.
_______________________
Yikes. Been there! Today William Blake would've been 249 years old.
The crush of a busy Tuesday:
•••As usual, the Davis folks have been shy in advertising their readers. Tonight (11/28), 8:30 PM: Joshua McKinney, distinguished poet and Sac State English professor, will read from his work as part of Bistro 33's on-going "Literature Night" series. Bistro 33, 3rd and F Sts., Davis. Open mic to follow.
•••Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center TONIGHT at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Those reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York].
_______________________
GACELA OF THE DARK DEATH
—Federico Garcia Lorca
I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemeteries,
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
that labors before dawn.
I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that I have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that I am the small friend of the West wind;
that I am the immense shadow of my tears.
Cover me at dawn with a veil,
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.
For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me of the earth;
for I want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
(translated from the Spanish by Stephen Spender and J.L. Gili)
_______________________
GACELA OF THE FLIGHT
—Federico Garcia Lorca
I have lost myself in the sea many times
with my ear full of freshly cut flowers,
with my tongue full of love and agony.
I have lost myself in the sea many times
as I lost myself in the heart of certain children.
There is no one who in giving a kiss
does not feel the smile of faceless people,
and no one who in touching a newborn child
forgets the motionless skulls of horses.
Because the roses seach in the forehead
for a hard landscape of bone
and the hands of man have no other purpose
than to imitate the roots below the earth.
As I lose myself in the heart of certain children,
I have lost myself in the sea many times.
Ignorant of the water I go seeking
a death full of light to consume me.
(translated by Stephen Spender and J.L. Gili)
_______________________
—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 Blake
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires.
_______________________
Yikes. Been there! Today William Blake would've been 249 years old.
The crush of a busy Tuesday:
•••As usual, the Davis folks have been shy in advertising their readers. Tonight (11/28), 8:30 PM: Joshua McKinney, distinguished poet and Sac State English professor, will read from his work as part of Bistro 33's on-going "Literature Night" series. Bistro 33, 3rd and F Sts., Davis. Open mic to follow.
•••Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center TONIGHT at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Those reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York].
_______________________
GACELA OF THE DARK DEATH
—Federico Garcia Lorca
I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemeteries,
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
that labors before dawn.
I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that I have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that I am the small friend of the West wind;
that I am the immense shadow of my tears.
Cover me at dawn with a veil,
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.
For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me of the earth;
for I want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
(translated from the Spanish by Stephen Spender and J.L. Gili)
_______________________
GACELA OF THE FLIGHT
—Federico Garcia Lorca
I have lost myself in the sea many times
with my ear full of freshly cut flowers,
with my tongue full of love and agony.
I have lost myself in the sea many times
as I lost myself in the heart of certain children.
There is no one who in giving a kiss
does not feel the smile of faceless people,
and no one who in touching a newborn child
forgets the motionless skulls of horses.
Because the roses seach in the forehead
for a hard landscape of bone
and the hands of man have no other purpose
than to imitate the roots below the earth.
As I lose myself in the heart of certain children,
I have lost myself in the sea many times.
Ignorant of the water I go seeking
a death full of light to consume me.
(translated by Stephen Spender and J.L. Gili)
_______________________
—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, November 27, 2006
Huge Thursday
GACELA OF UNFORESEEN LOVE
—Federico Garcia Lorca
No one understood the perfume
of the dark magnolia of your womb.
No one knew that you tormented
a hummingbird of love between your teeth.
A thousand Persian ponies fell asleep
in the moonlit plaza of your forehead,
while through four nights I embraced
your waist, enemy of the snow.
Between plaster and jasmines, your glance
was a pale branch of seeds.
I sought in my heart to give you
the ivory letters that say always,
always, always: garden of my agony,
your body elusive always,
the blood of your veins in my mouth,
your mouth already lightless for my death.
(translated from the Spanish by W.S. Merwin)
_______________________
GACELA OF THE TERRIBLE PRESENCE
—Federico Garcia Lorca
I want the water reft from its bed,
I want the wind left without valleys.
I want the night left without eyes
and my heart without the flower of gold.
And the oxen to speak with great leaves
and the earthworm to perish of shadow.
And the teeth of the skull to glisten
and the yellows to overflow the silk.
I can see the duel of the wounded night
writhing in battle with noon.
I resist a setting of green venom
and the broken arches where time suffers.
But do not illumine your clear nude
like a black cactus open in the reeds.
Leave me in an anguish of dark planets,
but do not show me your cool waist.
(translated by W.S. Merwin)
_______________________
Check out Thursday!
Lots going on this week, most of it on Thursday:
•••Don't forget that the Monday night Sacramento Poetry Center reading has been moved to Tuesday this week! Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York].
•••Tonight (Monday, 11/27), 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series presents Alta Raye at "A Taste of Laguna", 9080 Laguna Main in Laguna. $5, open mic. Hosted by Ms. LaRue, music by DJ Barney B.
•••Weds. (11/29), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/29), 6 PM: The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving. This is an open mic/read-around; bring your poems or somebody else's. Address is 352 Main St., Placerville.
The big night this week, though, is Thursday, with six of our local heavy-hitters reading—but, unfortunately, not in the same place!
•••8 PM: Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac) presents Bill Gainer, Ann Menebroker and Neeli Cherkovski.
•••7 PM: Hidden Passage Bookstore, 352 Main St., Placerville, presents Taylor Graham, reading from her award-winning book, The Downstairs Dance Floor.
•••6-8 PM: The Sacramento Poetry Center's Annual Fall fundraiser features a silent auction, raffle, food, music by Mary Zeppa and Bob Stanley, and poetry by Carol and Laverne Frith. That's $25 in advance or at the door; RSVP Sandra at 916-979-9706 or poetrynow@sacramentopoetrycenter.org. The event will be held at the home of Mimi and Burnett Miller, 1224 40th St., Sac.
•••And if that's not enough, Thursday (11/30), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions presents Chas from LA Slam at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac. $5, hosted by Flo-Real. Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Then Sunday (12/3), 6 PM: PoemSpirits will present Albert Garcia & Skunk Talk. December may bring mixed feelings of home and family. Our featured poet Albert Garcia—like Merwin, Hall and Williams—writes on ‘ordinary wonders’ of work, family and rural life with, as Gary Short wrote, “love, complexity, sadness and celebration.” Published in many literary journals, and in U.S. Poet Laureate [and UU] Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry column, Albert lives in Wilton, has taught English for 17 years and is Dean of the Language and Literature Division, Sacramento City College. We have invited him to bring his books, Rainshadow and Skunk Talk, to sell. Also, Nora Laila Staklis will present a brief overview of poet and essayist Carolyn Forche, famous for her anthology, Against Forgetting: Twentieth-Century Poetry of Witness, on poetic remembering of events of trauma and tragedy. Free. Location: Location: Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues; the UUSS Foyer/Lounge. Snacks available. Info: Tom Goff or Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312, or JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372. Open mic; All are invited to bring a poem of your own or another’s to read.
________________________
—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.)
—Federico Garcia Lorca
No one understood the perfume
of the dark magnolia of your womb.
No one knew that you tormented
a hummingbird of love between your teeth.
A thousand Persian ponies fell asleep
in the moonlit plaza of your forehead,
while through four nights I embraced
your waist, enemy of the snow.
Between plaster and jasmines, your glance
was a pale branch of seeds.
I sought in my heart to give you
the ivory letters that say always,
always, always: garden of my agony,
your body elusive always,
the blood of your veins in my mouth,
your mouth already lightless for my death.
(translated from the Spanish by W.S. Merwin)
_______________________
GACELA OF THE TERRIBLE PRESENCE
—Federico Garcia Lorca
I want the water reft from its bed,
I want the wind left without valleys.
I want the night left without eyes
and my heart without the flower of gold.
And the oxen to speak with great leaves
and the earthworm to perish of shadow.
And the teeth of the skull to glisten
and the yellows to overflow the silk.
I can see the duel of the wounded night
writhing in battle with noon.
I resist a setting of green venom
and the broken arches where time suffers.
But do not illumine your clear nude
like a black cactus open in the reeds.
Leave me in an anguish of dark planets,
but do not show me your cool waist.
(translated by W.S. Merwin)
_______________________
Check out Thursday!
Lots going on this week, most of it on Thursday:
•••Don't forget that the Monday night Sacramento Poetry Center reading has been moved to Tuesday this week! Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York].
•••Tonight (Monday, 11/27), 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series presents Alta Raye at "A Taste of Laguna", 9080 Laguna Main in Laguna. $5, open mic. Hosted by Ms. LaRue, music by DJ Barney B.
•••Weds. (11/29), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/29), 6 PM: The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving. This is an open mic/read-around; bring your poems or somebody else's. Address is 352 Main St., Placerville.
The big night this week, though, is Thursday, with six of our local heavy-hitters reading—but, unfortunately, not in the same place!
•••8 PM: Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac) presents Bill Gainer, Ann Menebroker and Neeli Cherkovski.
•••7 PM: Hidden Passage Bookstore, 352 Main St., Placerville, presents Taylor Graham, reading from her award-winning book, The Downstairs Dance Floor.
•••6-8 PM: The Sacramento Poetry Center's Annual Fall fundraiser features a silent auction, raffle, food, music by Mary Zeppa and Bob Stanley, and poetry by Carol and Laverne Frith. That's $25 in advance or at the door; RSVP Sandra at 916-979-9706 or poetrynow@sacramentopoetrycenter.org. The event will be held at the home of Mimi and Burnett Miller, 1224 40th St., Sac.
•••And if that's not enough, Thursday (11/30), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions presents Chas from LA Slam at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac. $5, hosted by Flo-Real. Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Then Sunday (12/3), 6 PM: PoemSpirits will present Albert Garcia & Skunk Talk. December may bring mixed feelings of home and family. Our featured poet Albert Garcia—like Merwin, Hall and Williams—writes on ‘ordinary wonders’ of work, family and rural life with, as Gary Short wrote, “love, complexity, sadness and celebration.” Published in many literary journals, and in U.S. Poet Laureate [and UU] Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry column, Albert lives in Wilton, has taught English for 17 years and is Dean of the Language and Literature Division, Sacramento City College. We have invited him to bring his books, Rainshadow and Skunk Talk, to sell. Also, Nora Laila Staklis will present a brief overview of poet and essayist Carolyn Forche, famous for her anthology, Against Forgetting: Twentieth-Century Poetry of Witness, on poetic remembering of events of trauma and tragedy. Free. Location: Location: Unitarian Universalist Society of Sacramento, 2425 Sierra Blvd., 2 blocks north of Fair Oaks Blvd, between Howe and Fulton Avenues; the UUSS Foyer/Lounge. Snacks available. Info: Tom Goff or Nora Staklis, 916-481-3312, or JoAnn Anglin, 916-451-1372. Open mic; All are invited to bring a poem of your own or another’s to read.
________________________
—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, November 26, 2006
Paradise in the Dust
CITY PSALM
—Denise Levertov
The killings continue, each second
pain and misfortune extend themselves
in the genetic chain, injustice is done knowingly, and the air
bears the dust of decayed hopes,
yet breathing those fumes, walking the thronged
pavements among crippled llives, jackhammers
raging, a parking lot painfully agleam
in the May sun, I have seen
not behind but within, within the
dull grief, blown grit, hideous
concrete façades, another grief, a gleam
as of dew, an abode of mercy,
have heard not behind but within noise
a humming that drifted into a quiet smile.
Nothing was changed, all was revealed otherwise;
not that horror was not, not that the killings did not continue;
not that I thought there was to be no more despair,
but that as if transparent all disclosed
an otherness that was blesséd, that was bliss,
I saw Paradise in the dust of the street.
_______________________
—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.)
—Denise Levertov
The killings continue, each second
pain and misfortune extend themselves
in the genetic chain, injustice is done knowingly, and the air
bears the dust of decayed hopes,
yet breathing those fumes, walking the thronged
pavements among crippled llives, jackhammers
raging, a parking lot painfully agleam
in the May sun, I have seen
not behind but within, within the
dull grief, blown grit, hideous
concrete façades, another grief, a gleam
as of dew, an abode of mercy,
have heard not behind but within noise
a humming that drifted into a quiet smile.
Nothing was changed, all was revealed otherwise;
not that horror was not, not that the killings did not continue;
not that I thought there was to be no more despair,
but that as if transparent all disclosed
an otherness that was blesséd, that was bliss,
I saw Paradise in the dust of the street.
_______________________
—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, November 25, 2006
News From the Ark
A GENERATION
—Gu Cheng (China, 1956-1993)
The pitch black night gave me two deep black eyes
with which to search for light.
(translated from the Chinese by Sam Hammill)
_______________________
DISCOVERY
—Gu Cheng
Of all the people who went into the snowy mountains,
Only Bulin discovered the path.
Though there's just a few meters of it,
Though Venus
Broke a tooth there,
None of this prevented
An Englishman from dying,
Lying in the middle of the road, smiling,
Orchids and tender leaves sprouting
From his ears,
And a rosy glow on his face.
What did that mean?
Bulin frowned
And at last he remembered:
When he was nine, he had come
To spend summer, and had planted a box of matches.
They sprouted, and bore
Berries the size of match heads.
The Englishman gobbled them up
Out of greed.
What a discovery!
Unprecedented, perhaps—
the berry a match bears is poisonous!
Bulin started the trip downhill
And reached the Lama temple made of manure.
He stood stock still, ready to be robbed of his secret
At knifepoint.
But it didn't work out that way. He could only
Sob his heart out
And lash thin copper cables around his stockings
To escape into the deep marshes.
There
Slippers clamored in a frenzy
And turned into a cluster of frogs.
(translated by Eva Hung)
_______________________
ARK
—Gu Cheng
The ship you've boarded
is doomed to go under—
vanish into the breathing sea.
But you will still have time to stare at the flag,
or at the dark, unfolding plain,
or at the white birds twittering
over their watery grave.
You still have time to lean on the rail,
puzzled by a sound in the passageway—
though the whole ship is empty,
though every door is ajar—
till cool flames float up
from every cabin.
(translated by Donald Finkel)
_______________________
—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.)
—Gu Cheng (China, 1956-1993)
The pitch black night gave me two deep black eyes
with which to search for light.
(translated from the Chinese by Sam Hammill)
_______________________
DISCOVERY
—Gu Cheng
Of all the people who went into the snowy mountains,
Only Bulin discovered the path.
Though there's just a few meters of it,
Though Venus
Broke a tooth there,
None of this prevented
An Englishman from dying,
Lying in the middle of the road, smiling,
Orchids and tender leaves sprouting
From his ears,
And a rosy glow on his face.
What did that mean?
Bulin frowned
And at last he remembered:
When he was nine, he had come
To spend summer, and had planted a box of matches.
They sprouted, and bore
Berries the size of match heads.
The Englishman gobbled them up
Out of greed.
What a discovery!
Unprecedented, perhaps—
the berry a match bears is poisonous!
Bulin started the trip downhill
And reached the Lama temple made of manure.
He stood stock still, ready to be robbed of his secret
At knifepoint.
But it didn't work out that way. He could only
Sob his heart out
And lash thin copper cables around his stockings
To escape into the deep marshes.
There
Slippers clamored in a frenzy
And turned into a cluster of frogs.
(translated by Eva Hung)
_______________________
ARK
—Gu Cheng
The ship you've boarded
is doomed to go under—
vanish into the breathing sea.
But you will still have time to stare at the flag,
or at the dark, unfolding plain,
or at the white birds twittering
over their watery grave.
You still have time to lean on the rail,
puzzled by a sound in the passageway—
though the whole ship is empty,
though every door is ajar—
till cool flames float up
from every cabin.
(translated by Donald Finkel)
_______________________
—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, November 24, 2006
May Your Mind Be Reviewed, Renewed
SEEDTIME
—Denise Levertov
There are weeds that flower forth in fall
in a gray cloud of seed that seems
from a not so great distance
plumblossom, pearblossom,
or first snow,
as if in a fog of feather-light
goosedown-silvery seed-thoughts
a rusty mind in its autumn
reviewed, renewed
its winged power.
_______________________
Strap on the boots:
Sunday (12/3) to Friday (12/8) is Molly Fisk’s next Poetry Boot Camp! If you don't know about Poetry Boot Camp, here's the place to find out:
http://www.poetrybootcamp.com, where you can also see the dates for 2007. Molly writes: Poetry Boot Camp is a bunch of fun and real work: writing six poems in six days, and critiquing six poems, too, in community with fellow poets. It's a great gift to give a poet-friend, or to ask for in your own stocking. Speaking of stockings, you can participate in Boot Camp wearing nothing but stockings, because it's all done via e-mail. So it's great when you want to get some serious writing done and forego the schmooze-factor of in-person writers' conferences. (Not that schmoozing isn't fun when you're in the mood!)
This weekend:
•••Saturday (11/25), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Divine, Talaam Acey, Chas Jackson, and LSB at Wo'se Community Center, 2863 35th St. (Off Broadway), Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
•••And don't forget that the Monday night Sacramento Poetry Center reading has been moved to Tuesday next week! Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York].
_______________________
STEMS
—Denise Levertov
(after Jules Supervielle)
A poplar tree under the stars,
what can it do.
And the bird in the poplar tree
dreaming, his head
tucked into
far-and-near exile under his wing—
what can either of them
in their confused alliance of
leaves and feathers
do to avert destiny?
Silence and the
ring of forgetting
protect them until the moment when
the sun rises
and the memory with it.
Then the bird
breaks with his beak the thread
of dream within him,
and the tree unrolls
the shadow that will guard it
throughout the day.
______________________
THE WILLOWS OF MASSACHUSETTS
—Denise Levertov
Animal willows of November
in pelt of gold enduring when all else
has let go all ornament
and stands naked in the cold.
Cold shine of sun on swamp water,
cold caress of slant beam on bough,
gray light on brown bark.
Willows—last to relinquish a leaf,
curious, patient, lion-headed, tense
with energy, watching
the serene cold through a curtain
of tarnished strands.
_______________________
—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.)
—Denise Levertov
There are weeds that flower forth in fall
in a gray cloud of seed that seems
from a not so great distance
plumblossom, pearblossom,
or first snow,
as if in a fog of feather-light
goosedown-silvery seed-thoughts
a rusty mind in its autumn
reviewed, renewed
its winged power.
_______________________
Strap on the boots:
Sunday (12/3) to Friday (12/8) is Molly Fisk’s next Poetry Boot Camp! If you don't know about Poetry Boot Camp, here's the place to find out:
http://www.poetrybootcamp.com, where you can also see the dates for 2007. Molly writes: Poetry Boot Camp is a bunch of fun and real work: writing six poems in six days, and critiquing six poems, too, in community with fellow poets. It's a great gift to give a poet-friend, or to ask for in your own stocking. Speaking of stockings, you can participate in Boot Camp wearing nothing but stockings, because it's all done via e-mail. So it's great when you want to get some serious writing done and forego the schmooze-factor of in-person writers' conferences. (Not that schmoozing isn't fun when you're in the mood!)
This weekend:
•••Saturday (11/25), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Divine, Talaam Acey, Chas Jackson, and LSB at Wo'se Community Center, 2863 35th St. (Off Broadway), Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
•••And don't forget that the Monday night Sacramento Poetry Center reading has been moved to Tuesday next week! Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York].
_______________________
STEMS
—Denise Levertov
(after Jules Supervielle)
A poplar tree under the stars,
what can it do.
And the bird in the poplar tree
dreaming, his head
tucked into
far-and-near exile under his wing—
what can either of them
in their confused alliance of
leaves and feathers
do to avert destiny?
Silence and the
ring of forgetting
protect them until the moment when
the sun rises
and the memory with it.
Then the bird
breaks with his beak the thread
of dream within him,
and the tree unrolls
the shadow that will guard it
throughout the day.
______________________
THE WILLOWS OF MASSACHUSETTS
—Denise Levertov
Animal willows of November
in pelt of gold enduring when all else
has let go all ornament
and stands naked in the cold.
Cold shine of sun on swamp water,
cold caress of slant beam on bough,
gray light on brown bark.
Willows—last to relinquish a leaf,
curious, patient, lion-headed, tense
with energy, watching
the serene cold through a curtain
of tarnished strands.
_______________________
—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, November 23, 2006
An Embarrassment of Riches
Like most people, I have 'way too much to be thankful for. But near the top of the list is the ever-widening circle of poets who keep the whole Snake enterprise going. Judy Taylor Graham is one of our staunchest supporters; recently I heard her read these two poems, and insisted she send them to Medusa:
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Thanksgiving Eve at Motel 6,
a day from home, five hundred miles
of brake-lights, everybody trying
to gather back together into family.
Most of what I know of family
is with me in these one-night
rented walls.
Bedtime, time to walk the dog.
Behind the dumpster she wags her tail,
smiles, and here’s a man’s
face, by reflected light. I can’t tell,
he might be somebody’s old
high school teacher, squatting
beside the cardboard box
where he’ll be spending the night.
His breath haloes in the cold.
I don’t know him.
My dog licks him in the face
as if she did.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.
A laden table, warmth between the walls.
People who greet me by name.
_______________________
THANKSGIVING MORNING
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
(for Roxy)
The wheels rolled you under, turned you back up
out of loam, out of cut grain and stubble,
so your eyes startled wide with the fright of day-
light, way past pain. You should have been dead
on that day of harvest. Surely it killed you.
But this is the day after. I’m using first-light
for mending, such scant daylight when it isn’t easy
to thread a needle. But mending is a way
to give thanks for time: regaining what used to be
ours, the things we’ve torn and used up, finished off,
not thought of. The doors that no longer open
because we slammed them too hard shut,
and simply boarded them up instead of pulling nails
and hinges, putting them back together
right. Where have we left the imprint of our fingers,
the dusting of our breath on a good day’s work?
Last night a surgeon stitched you back
to your life, and not for love of you,
but knowing his tools, how they take and
give back, how they implant and cut.
All night I dreamed how we’ve taken things apart
to parts, none so beautiful as the whole,
seen in a slanting, sharpened blade of light.
_______________________
Thanks, TG, for the TG poems on TG! "Home for the Holidays" just appeared on Centrifugal Eye; "Thanksgiving Day" appeared in The MacGuffin and is also in TG's Lies of the Visible. Head up to Hidden Passage Books in Placerville next Thursday, Nov. 30 at 7 PM to hear TG read from her award-winning chapbook, The Downstairs Dance Floor. That's 352 Main St., Placerville; stay for the refreshments and meet'n'greet.
And Happy Thanksgiving to the rest of you!
—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.)
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
Thanksgiving Eve at Motel 6,
a day from home, five hundred miles
of brake-lights, everybody trying
to gather back together into family.
Most of what I know of family
is with me in these one-night
rented walls.
Bedtime, time to walk the dog.
Behind the dumpster she wags her tail,
smiles, and here’s a man’s
face, by reflected light. I can’t tell,
he might be somebody’s old
high school teacher, squatting
beside the cardboard box
where he’ll be spending the night.
His breath haloes in the cold.
I don’t know him.
My dog licks him in the face
as if she did.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.
A laden table, warmth between the walls.
People who greet me by name.
_______________________
THANKSGIVING MORNING
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
(for Roxy)
The wheels rolled you under, turned you back up
out of loam, out of cut grain and stubble,
so your eyes startled wide with the fright of day-
light, way past pain. You should have been dead
on that day of harvest. Surely it killed you.
But this is the day after. I’m using first-light
for mending, such scant daylight when it isn’t easy
to thread a needle. But mending is a way
to give thanks for time: regaining what used to be
ours, the things we’ve torn and used up, finished off,
not thought of. The doors that no longer open
because we slammed them too hard shut,
and simply boarded them up instead of pulling nails
and hinges, putting them back together
right. Where have we left the imprint of our fingers,
the dusting of our breath on a good day’s work?
Last night a surgeon stitched you back
to your life, and not for love of you,
but knowing his tools, how they take and
give back, how they implant and cut.
All night I dreamed how we’ve taken things apart
to parts, none so beautiful as the whole,
seen in a slanting, sharpened blade of light.
_______________________
Thanks, TG, for the TG poems on TG! "Home for the Holidays" just appeared on Centrifugal Eye; "Thanksgiving Day" appeared in The MacGuffin and is also in TG's Lies of the Visible. Head up to Hidden Passage Books in Placerville next Thursday, Nov. 30 at 7 PM to hear TG read from her award-winning chapbook, The Downstairs Dance Floor. That's 352 Main St., Placerville; stay for the refreshments and meet'n'greet.
And Happy Thanksgiving to the rest of you!
—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, November 22, 2006
Of Monkeys and Hummingbirds
AIR OF NOVEMBER
—Denise Levertov
In the autumn brilliance
feathers tingle at fingertips.
This tingling brilliance
burns under cover of gray air and
brown lazily
unfalling leaves,
it eats into stillness zestfully
with sound of plucked strings,
steel and brass strings of the zither,
copper and silver wire
played with a gold ring,
a plucking of crinkled afternoons and
evenings of energy, thorns under the pot.
In the autumn brilliance
a drawing apart of curtains
a fall of veils
a flying open of doors, convergence
of magic objects into
feathered hands and crested heads, a prospect
of winter verve, a buildup to abundance.
_______________________
Tonight under the clouds:
•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••And remember: The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving. No reading there tonight.
Two deadlines coming up 12/15:
Deadline is 12/15 for this year’s Sacramento Poetry Center’s Poetry Contest; judge will be Sacramento Poet Laureate Julia Connor. First prize $100, second prize $50, third prize $25, ten honorable mentions ($10 gift certificates from Barnes & Noble). Entry fee $3 per poem. Send your poems to SPC 2006 Contest, 1719 25th Street, Sacramento, CA 95816. Winners will be notified in January, featured in Poetry Now, and invited to read at a special reading at SPC. Please submit one anonymous copy of each poem along with a cover sheet listing titles, first lines and contact information. Further info: click the SPC blog next to this.
And Song of the San Joaquin accepts submissions of poetry having to do with life in the San Joaquin Valley of California; next deadline is 12/15. This area is defined geographically as the region from Fresno to Stockton, and from the foothills on the west to those on the east. Send typed manuscripts to: Cleo Griffith, Editor, Song of the San Joaquin, PO Box 1161, Modesto, CA 95353-1161. Please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE) for return of unused poems and/or notification of acceptance. Be sure your return envelopes have the right amount of postage. Notification time may range from three weeks to three months. Send up to three poems per issue, name and contact information on each poem. E-mail submissions accepted. Please send a three to five line bio. For more information e-mail ssjq03psj@yahoo.com. For samples of poetry from previous issues: www.ChaparralPoets.org/SSJarchives.html. Photographs and art-work may be submitted for consideration for use on the cover, but should be identified as valley scenes.
______________________
Last night I learned about a British poet named Pascale Petit, thanks to Snake-pal Katy Brown. Here are some of Petit's poems; Google her to learn more:
SELF-PORTRAIT WITH MONKEY AND PARROT
—Pascale Petit
I who painted this with brushes of flame
cannot tell you where I have been
this morning. But I can't silence Bonito.
He perches just below my left ear, repeating
sounds he learnt form the sun, when he flew
into its core. Fulang-Chang went with him,
swinging through the canopies of fire forests,
searching for the tree that burns
at the centre of my life.
These gold leaves are the few he brought back—
they still hum many years
after my body has cooled. And you—
how long will you listen to these colours
before you hear the language of light?
________________________
SKINS
—Pascale Petit
I am sewing the skins of birds end to end.
Snakeskins, woodskins, even the skin on water
must be dried, conserved, worn.
I am wearing my grandmother's spirits.
Her skin was rough from too much work—
I flay a tree, proof the bark for the river.
Her skin was soft from too much rain
but I cannot wear water.
So I have come to the world's loudest storm
to hear her sing. The sky-skin rips.
Her cheeks appear, wrinkled with lightning.
________________________
THE STRAIT-JACKETS
—Pascale Petit
I lay the suitcase on Father's bed
and unzip it slowly, gently.
Inside, packed in cloth strait-jackets
lie forty live hummingbirds
tied down in rows, each tiny head
cushioned on a swaddled body.
I feed them from a flask of sugar water,
inserting every bill into the pipette,
then unwind their bindings
so Father can see their changing colours
as they dart around his room.
They hover inches from his face
as if he's a flower, their humming
just audible above the oxygen recycler.
For the first time since I've arrived
he's breathing easily, the cannula
attached to his nostrils almost slips out.
I don't know how long we sit there
but when I next glance at his face
he's asleep, lights from their feathers
still playing on his eyelids and cheeks.
It takes me hours to catch them all
and wrap them in their strait-jackets.
I work quietly, he's in such
a deep sleep he doesn't wake once.
_______________________
—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.)
—Denise Levertov
In the autumn brilliance
feathers tingle at fingertips.
This tingling brilliance
burns under cover of gray air and
brown lazily
unfalling leaves,
it eats into stillness zestfully
with sound of plucked strings,
steel and brass strings of the zither,
copper and silver wire
played with a gold ring,
a plucking of crinkled afternoons and
evenings of energy, thorns under the pot.
In the autumn brilliance
a drawing apart of curtains
a fall of veils
a flying open of doors, convergence
of magic objects into
feathered hands and crested heads, a prospect
of winter verve, a buildup to abundance.
_______________________
Tonight under the clouds:
•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••And remember: The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving. No reading there tonight.
Two deadlines coming up 12/15:
Deadline is 12/15 for this year’s Sacramento Poetry Center’s Poetry Contest; judge will be Sacramento Poet Laureate Julia Connor. First prize $100, second prize $50, third prize $25, ten honorable mentions ($10 gift certificates from Barnes & Noble). Entry fee $3 per poem. Send your poems to SPC 2006 Contest, 1719 25th Street, Sacramento, CA 95816. Winners will be notified in January, featured in Poetry Now, and invited to read at a special reading at SPC. Please submit one anonymous copy of each poem along with a cover sheet listing titles, first lines and contact information. Further info: click the SPC blog next to this.
And Song of the San Joaquin accepts submissions of poetry having to do with life in the San Joaquin Valley of California; next deadline is 12/15. This area is defined geographically as the region from Fresno to Stockton, and from the foothills on the west to those on the east. Send typed manuscripts to: Cleo Griffith, Editor, Song of the San Joaquin, PO Box 1161, Modesto, CA 95353-1161. Please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE) for return of unused poems and/or notification of acceptance. Be sure your return envelopes have the right amount of postage. Notification time may range from three weeks to three months. Send up to three poems per issue, name and contact information on each poem. E-mail submissions accepted. Please send a three to five line bio. For more information e-mail ssjq03psj@yahoo.com. For samples of poetry from previous issues: www.ChaparralPoets.org/SSJarchives.html. Photographs and art-work may be submitted for consideration for use on the cover, but should be identified as valley scenes.
______________________
Last night I learned about a British poet named Pascale Petit, thanks to Snake-pal Katy Brown. Here are some of Petit's poems; Google her to learn more:
SELF-PORTRAIT WITH MONKEY AND PARROT
—Pascale Petit
I who painted this with brushes of flame
cannot tell you where I have been
this morning. But I can't silence Bonito.
He perches just below my left ear, repeating
sounds he learnt form the sun, when he flew
into its core. Fulang-Chang went with him,
swinging through the canopies of fire forests,
searching for the tree that burns
at the centre of my life.
These gold leaves are the few he brought back—
they still hum many years
after my body has cooled. And you—
how long will you listen to these colours
before you hear the language of light?
________________________
SKINS
—Pascale Petit
I am sewing the skins of birds end to end.
Snakeskins, woodskins, even the skin on water
must be dried, conserved, worn.
I am wearing my grandmother's spirits.
Her skin was rough from too much work—
I flay a tree, proof the bark for the river.
Her skin was soft from too much rain
but I cannot wear water.
So I have come to the world's loudest storm
to hear her sing. The sky-skin rips.
Her cheeks appear, wrinkled with lightning.
________________________
THE STRAIT-JACKETS
—Pascale Petit
I lay the suitcase on Father's bed
and unzip it slowly, gently.
Inside, packed in cloth strait-jackets
lie forty live hummingbirds
tied down in rows, each tiny head
cushioned on a swaddled body.
I feed them from a flask of sugar water,
inserting every bill into the pipette,
then unwind their bindings
so Father can see their changing colours
as they dart around his room.
They hover inches from his face
as if he's a flower, their humming
just audible above the oxygen recycler.
For the first time since I've arrived
he's breathing easily, the cannula
attached to his nostrils almost slips out.
I don't know how long we sit there
but when I next glance at his face
he's asleep, lights from their feathers
still playing on his eyelids and cheeks.
It takes me hours to catch them all
and wrap them in their strait-jackets.
I work quietly, he's in such
a deep sleep he doesn't wake once.
_______________________
—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, November 21, 2006
As Leaves Turn to Rust
OLD BATTLEFIELD
—Amy Whitcomb, Davis
Old battlefield
I am running through it,
setting loose the shots
against him—
I am cursing this sacred ground
where men and men before me
fell, collapsed
to a more severe fate;
Mine was just a stumble
over this root in the path,
and so I don’t begrudge them any,
for our measured conversations
are just as unsuccessful at gaining ground;
We, too, have strategized to no avail,
and have found that the only way
to reconcile is like this
Blood, soaking through
the knee on my sweatpants—
the opening of old
battle wounds.
_______________________
Thanks, Amy! Davis Poet Amy Whitcomb is another of those local writers who have taken mercy on Medusa and sent her poems lately.
Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. [Note: this is a change-of-date for SPC, which usually meets on Mondays.] Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York]. Here are poems from a couple of the upcoming readers:
AFTER A MIGRAINE
—David Koehn
Peeled potato,
Backyard damp with rain.
Sliced fennel,
Concentric rings align
On the cutting board.
A wince of anise and the light
Of bitter lemon on the air.
Everything seems sharpened.
The weave and ochre weft
Underlies the Kilim.
A grid of linen blossom
Wallpaper, the graph of mauve
Kitchen tile, X.
Breathing this air
Brightens a net, Y.
Celery stalk strings
Curl beside the arc
Of an avocado pit
Toward my seamlessness, Z.
What pinch of garlic, bulb
Flattened under knife blade,
Lights sliced red bell
Pepper in a steel bowl?
Clockwork wheels of tomato
Seep a single seed
Aside crushed black pepper
Suspended in olive oil.
_______________________
AFTER READING HAIKU, I STEP OUTSIDE
AND CONTEMPLATE
THREE PINK DOGWOOD BLOSSOMS
—Shawn Pittard, Sacramento
1.
A scrub jay hunts for insects below the half-stare of our garden Buddha. Its gray legs and black beak sift through a shroud of scattered blossoms. I sit under the dogwood tree, sketch gestures of its supple limbs with a yellow stub of pencil—sharpened to a crisp, fine point by my pocketknife’s small blade.
2.
Issa wrote—
What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.
3.
When she was too weak to walk outside, my wife’s grandmother watched the dogwood tree bloom from her kitchen table. While her hatred of the color pink was fierce, she would tolerate its presence on her tree each spring. “Wait until fall,” she would say. “The leaves turn a wonderful rust red.”
_______________________
Thanks, David and Shawn! Check out The Great American Pin-up site, as well as Shawn's rattlechap, These Rivers. And don't forget: Next week's SPC reading will be held on Tuesday, not Monday!
—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.)
—Amy Whitcomb, Davis
Old battlefield
I am running through it,
setting loose the shots
against him—
I am cursing this sacred ground
where men and men before me
fell, collapsed
to a more severe fate;
Mine was just a stumble
over this root in the path,
and so I don’t begrudge them any,
for our measured conversations
are just as unsuccessful at gaining ground;
We, too, have strategized to no avail,
and have found that the only way
to reconcile is like this
Blood, soaking through
the knee on my sweatpants—
the opening of old
battle wounds.
_______________________
Thanks, Amy! Davis Poet Amy Whitcomb is another of those local writers who have taken mercy on Medusa and sent her poems lately.
Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. [Note: this is a change-of-date for SPC, which usually meets on Mondays.] Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York]. Here are poems from a couple of the upcoming readers:
AFTER A MIGRAINE
—David Koehn
Peeled potato,
Backyard damp with rain.
Sliced fennel,
Concentric rings align
On the cutting board.
A wince of anise and the light
Of bitter lemon on the air.
Everything seems sharpened.
The weave and ochre weft
Underlies the Kilim.
A grid of linen blossom
Wallpaper, the graph of mauve
Kitchen tile, X.
Breathing this air
Brightens a net, Y.
Celery stalk strings
Curl beside the arc
Of an avocado pit
Toward my seamlessness, Z.
What pinch of garlic, bulb
Flattened under knife blade,
Lights sliced red bell
Pepper in a steel bowl?
Clockwork wheels of tomato
Seep a single seed
Aside crushed black pepper
Suspended in olive oil.
_______________________
AFTER READING HAIKU, I STEP OUTSIDE
AND CONTEMPLATE
THREE PINK DOGWOOD BLOSSOMS
—Shawn Pittard, Sacramento
1.
A scrub jay hunts for insects below the half-stare of our garden Buddha. Its gray legs and black beak sift through a shroud of scattered blossoms. I sit under the dogwood tree, sketch gestures of its supple limbs with a yellow stub of pencil—sharpened to a crisp, fine point by my pocketknife’s small blade.
2.
Issa wrote—
What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.
3.
When she was too weak to walk outside, my wife’s grandmother watched the dogwood tree bloom from her kitchen table. While her hatred of the color pink was fierce, she would tolerate its presence on her tree each spring. “Wait until fall,” she would say. “The leaves turn a wonderful rust red.”
_______________________
Thanks, David and Shawn! Check out The Great American Pin-up site, as well as Shawn's rattlechap, These Rivers. And don't forget: Next week's SPC reading will be held on Tuesday, not Monday!
—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, November 20, 2006
For the Connoisseuse
FALL MORNINGS
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
Before the fringe of earth's edge tinges
with light, I rouse before my mind;
the body loathes to leave warm bed.
For a few more minutes of quiet,
I listen to life begin to wake up.
Kitchen blinds open to morning's brilliance.
A thin veil of tulle weaves through cool pastures;
moisture on grass glitters
like night forgot to take her stars.
A cup of coffee tastes richer on fall days;
a refreshing fragrance of pine snags
my dusty mind from sleepy haze.
After the family's weekday rituals
and another cup of coffee later, I smile
to see background colors have been brushed
on today's canvas. How I complete the picture
depends on me.
_______________________
A FEW ROWS OF CORN
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
have been left at the edge of a vast field.
The stalks lean against each other for support.
Around them, plowed ground awaits
autumn rains for spring planting.
I wonder why this patch was left alone.
No crows strut through dry leaves looking for food.
Maybe I missed a notice posted on a fence.
The farmer has gone home.
_______________________
Thanks, Peggy! Margaret Ellis Hill heeded my plea for poems and mercifully sent me some. Watch for more of her work in the upcoming Snake 12 (an even dozen!) which will be coming out Dec. 13. (Peggy is not to be confused with Mario Ellis Hill, by the way—what are the odds that two local folks would have such similar names?!?!?)
NorCal poetry this week:
•••Tonight, Monday (11/20), Sacramento Poetry Center will be dark; no reading.
•••Instead, tonight, 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series presents Royal at "A Taste of Laguna", 9080 Laguna Main in Laguna. $5, open mic. Hosted by Ms. LaRue, music by DJ Barney B.
•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/22): The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving.
•••Thurs. (11/23, Thanksgiving): Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe will have no reading.
•••Saturday (11/25), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Divine, Talaam Acey, and LSB at Wo'se Community Center, 2863 35th St. (Off Broadway), Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
_______________________
THE CONNOISSEUSE OF SLUGS
—Sharon Olds
When I was a connoisseuse of slugs
I would part the ivy leaves, and look for the
naked jelly of those gold bodies,
translucent strangers glistening along the
stones, slowly, their gelatinous bodies
at my mercy. Made mostly of water, they would shrivel
to nothing if they were sprinkled with salt,
but I was not interested in that. What I liked
was to draw aside the ivy, breathe the
odor of the wall, and stand there in silence
until the slug forgot I was there
and sent its antennae up out of its
head, the glimmering umber horns
rising like telescopes, until finally the
sensitive knobs would pop out the ends,
delicate and intimate. Years later,
when I first saw a naked man,
I gasped with pleasure to see that quiet
mystery reenacted, the slow
elegant being coming out of hiding and
gleaming in the dark air, eager and so
trusting you could weep.
_______________________
Yesterday was Sharon Olds' 64th birthday.
—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.)
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
Before the fringe of earth's edge tinges
with light, I rouse before my mind;
the body loathes to leave warm bed.
For a few more minutes of quiet,
I listen to life begin to wake up.
Kitchen blinds open to morning's brilliance.
A thin veil of tulle weaves through cool pastures;
moisture on grass glitters
like night forgot to take her stars.
A cup of coffee tastes richer on fall days;
a refreshing fragrance of pine snags
my dusty mind from sleepy haze.
After the family's weekday rituals
and another cup of coffee later, I smile
to see background colors have been brushed
on today's canvas. How I complete the picture
depends on me.
_______________________
A FEW ROWS OF CORN
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
have been left at the edge of a vast field.
The stalks lean against each other for support.
Around them, plowed ground awaits
autumn rains for spring planting.
I wonder why this patch was left alone.
No crows strut through dry leaves looking for food.
Maybe I missed a notice posted on a fence.
The farmer has gone home.
_______________________
Thanks, Peggy! Margaret Ellis Hill heeded my plea for poems and mercifully sent me some. Watch for more of her work in the upcoming Snake 12 (an even dozen!) which will be coming out Dec. 13. (Peggy is not to be confused with Mario Ellis Hill, by the way—what are the odds that two local folks would have such similar names?!?!?)
NorCal poetry this week:
•••Tonight, Monday (11/20), Sacramento Poetry Center will be dark; no reading.
•••Instead, tonight, 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series presents Royal at "A Taste of Laguna", 9080 Laguna Main in Laguna. $5, open mic. Hosted by Ms. LaRue, music by DJ Barney B.
•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/22): The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving.
•••Thurs. (11/23, Thanksgiving): Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe will have no reading.
•••Saturday (11/25), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Divine, Talaam Acey, and LSB at Wo'se Community Center, 2863 35th St. (Off Broadway), Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
_______________________
THE CONNOISSEUSE OF SLUGS
—Sharon Olds
When I was a connoisseuse of slugs
I would part the ivy leaves, and look for the
naked jelly of those gold bodies,
translucent strangers glistening along the
stones, slowly, their gelatinous bodies
at my mercy. Made mostly of water, they would shrivel
to nothing if they were sprinkled with salt,
but I was not interested in that. What I liked
was to draw aside the ivy, breathe the
odor of the wall, and stand there in silence
until the slug forgot I was there
and sent its antennae up out of its
head, the glimmering umber horns
rising like telescopes, until finally the
sensitive knobs would pop out the ends,
delicate and intimate. Years later,
when I first saw a naked man,
I gasped with pleasure to see that quiet
mystery reenacted, the slow
elegant being coming out of hiding and
gleaming in the dark air, eager and so
trusting you could weep.
_______________________
Yesterday was Sharon Olds' 64th birthday.
—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, November 19, 2006
Eating Poetry
HOW SHALL I BEGIN MY SONG?
—Owl Woman
How shall I begin my song
In the blue night that is settling?
In the great night my heart will go out,
Toward me the darkness comes rattling.
In the great night my heart will go out.
Brown owls come here in the blue evening,
They are hooting about,
They are shaking their wings and hooting.
Black Butte is far.
Below it I had my dawn.
I could see the daylight
coming back for me.
The morning star is up.
I cross the mountains
into the light of the sea.
(translated by Frances Densmore)
_______________________
THE WIND, ONE BRILLIANT DAY
—Antonio Machado
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"
_______________________
EATING POETRY
—Rumi
My poems resemble the bread of Egypt—one night
Passes over it, and you can't eat it any more.
So gobble them down now, while they're still fresh,
Before the dust of the world settles on them.
Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
Out in the world it dies of cold.
You've seen a fish—put him on dry land,
He quivers for a few minutes, and then is still.
And even if you eat my poems while they're still fresh,
You still have to bring forward many images yourself.
Actually, friend, what you're eating is your own imagination.
These poems are not just some old sayings and saws.
(translated by Robert Bly)
________________________
—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.)
—Owl Woman
How shall I begin my song
In the blue night that is settling?
In the great night my heart will go out,
Toward me the darkness comes rattling.
In the great night my heart will go out.
Brown owls come here in the blue evening,
They are hooting about,
They are shaking their wings and hooting.
Black Butte is far.
Below it I had my dawn.
I could see the daylight
coming back for me.
The morning star is up.
I cross the mountains
into the light of the sea.
(translated by Frances Densmore)
_______________________
THE WIND, ONE BRILLIANT DAY
—Antonio Machado
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"
_______________________
EATING POETRY
—Rumi
My poems resemble the bread of Egypt—one night
Passes over it, and you can't eat it any more.
So gobble them down now, while they're still fresh,
Before the dust of the world settles on them.
Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
Out in the world it dies of cold.
You've seen a fish—put him on dry land,
He quivers for a few minutes, and then is still.
And even if you eat my poems while they're still fresh,
You still have to bring forward many images yourself.
Actually, friend, what you're eating is your own imagination.
These poems are not just some old sayings and saws.
(translated by Robert Bly)
________________________
—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, November 18, 2006
The Black Snake With Gold Bones
NOVEMBER GEESE
—David Humphreys, Stockton
About three weeks ago you heard them
for the first time calling in the clouds
above you and then again ever since
occasionally in different places like the
front door this morning in the dark as
you reached down for the fog-wrapped
newspaper. A few days ago it was in the rain,
lovely sound cutting time’s fabric with the saw
teeth of seamstress scissors, cutting like a
memory of hip-waders in muddy rice fields
setting decoys before dawn in the smell of
Pop’s pipe tobacco. The sound of geese is
like loons haunting the Maine woods hung
like a portrait above the living room piano.
________________________
Thanks, David! You may have noticed that Medusa posts a lot of David Humphrey's poems; this is partly because he sends a lot to us! Remember: Medusa may be a cranky harridan in some regards, but she is remarkably cheerful about posting NorCal poets' work! Send some to kathykieth@hotmail.com NOW.
Here's a dandy one from Michelle Kunert, another Snake-pal:
DOLLAR TREE TROUBLES
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
I took a holiday job at Dollar Tree
and they've been out of helium
I have to let customers who want mylar balloons
(which really just add to the national garbage heap
and get eaten as jellyfish by sea creatures everywhere)
a lot more is sold here than cheap hot air
but often they look like they just don't care
they don't want to party with, or send instead with flowers
perhaps a plastic light-up disco dinosaur
or glow-in-the-dark plastic jewelry, or a toy car
or just a bunch of colored gift wrap paper
And certainly DVD's of Flash Gordon, Ozzie and Harriet, Bonanza
Surely these T.V. shows warm the heart far more
than something that could deflate or pop tomorrow
Dollar Tree also has candles for prayers
especially to Our Lady of Guadalupe and Saint Jude
While I am a Protestant
Maybe I'll kneel and put together my hands
to these saints enshrined in aisle two
the helium shipment comes from Texas on angels' wings
and also that nobody cooks in the aluminum pans
_______________________
A busy day and night!
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway), Sac.
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
_______________________
NIGHT FEEDING
—Muriel Rukeyser
Deeper than sleep but not so deep as death
I lay there sleeping and my magic head
remembered and forgot. On first cry I
remembered and forgot and did believe.
I knew love and I knew evil:
woke to the burning song and the tree burning blind,
despair of our days had the calm milk-giver who
knows sleep, knows growth, the sex of fire and grass,
and the black snake with gold bones.
Black sleeps, gold burns; on second cry I woke
fully and gave to feed and fed on feeding.
Gold seed, green pain, my wizards in the earth
walked through the house, black in the morning dark.
Shadows grew in my veins, my bright belief,
my head of dreams deeper than night and sleep.
Voices of all black animals crying to drink,
cries of all birth arise, simple as we,
found in the leaves, in clouds and dark, in dream,
deep as this hour, ready again to sleep.
_______________________
—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
About three weeks ago you heard them
for the first time calling in the clouds
above you and then again ever since
occasionally in different places like the
front door this morning in the dark as
you reached down for the fog-wrapped
newspaper. A few days ago it was in the rain,
lovely sound cutting time’s fabric with the saw
teeth of seamstress scissors, cutting like a
memory of hip-waders in muddy rice fields
setting decoys before dawn in the smell of
Pop’s pipe tobacco. The sound of geese is
like loons haunting the Maine woods hung
like a portrait above the living room piano.
________________________
Thanks, David! You may have noticed that Medusa posts a lot of David Humphrey's poems; this is partly because he sends a lot to us! Remember: Medusa may be a cranky harridan in some regards, but she is remarkably cheerful about posting NorCal poets' work! Send some to kathykieth@hotmail.com NOW.
Here's a dandy one from Michelle Kunert, another Snake-pal:
DOLLAR TREE TROUBLES
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
I took a holiday job at Dollar Tree
and they've been out of helium
I have to let customers who want mylar balloons
(which really just add to the national garbage heap
and get eaten as jellyfish by sea creatures everywhere)
a lot more is sold here than cheap hot air
but often they look like they just don't care
they don't want to party with, or send instead with flowers
perhaps a plastic light-up disco dinosaur
or glow-in-the-dark plastic jewelry, or a toy car
or just a bunch of colored gift wrap paper
And certainly DVD's of Flash Gordon, Ozzie and Harriet, Bonanza
Surely these T.V. shows warm the heart far more
than something that could deflate or pop tomorrow
Dollar Tree also has candles for prayers
especially to Our Lady of Guadalupe and Saint Jude
While I am a Protestant
Maybe I'll kneel and put together my hands
to these saints enshrined in aisle two
the helium shipment comes from Texas on angels' wings
and also that nobody cooks in the aluminum pans
_______________________
A busy day and night!
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway), Sac.
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
_______________________
NIGHT FEEDING
—Muriel Rukeyser
Deeper than sleep but not so deep as death
I lay there sleeping and my magic head
remembered and forgot. On first cry I
remembered and forgot and did believe.
I knew love and I knew evil:
woke to the burning song and the tree burning blind,
despair of our days had the calm milk-giver who
knows sleep, knows growth, the sex of fire and grass,
and the black snake with gold bones.
Black sleeps, gold burns; on second cry I woke
fully and gave to feed and fed on feeding.
Gold seed, green pain, my wizards in the earth
walked through the house, black in the morning dark.
Shadows grew in my veins, my bright belief,
my head of dreams deeper than night and sleep.
Voices of all black animals crying to drink,
cries of all birth arise, simple as we,
found in the leaves, in clouds and dark, in dream,
deep as this hour, ready again to sleep.
_______________________
—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, November 17, 2006
Serpent Country
SERPENT COUNTRY
—A.R. Ammons
Rolled off a side of mountains or
hills, bottomed
out in flatland but getting
away, winding,
will be found a
scale-bright snake—brook, stream, or river, or
in sparest gatherings,
a wash of stones or a green
streak of chaparral across sand.
_______________________
Thanks, Archie!
Poetry near and far this weekend:
•••Tonight (Friday, 11/17), 7 PM: Our House poetry reading features Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway).
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg.
frank andrick, the Lockeford-San Francisco-Sacramento poet who has given so much of himself to the Sacramento literary scene, has suffered from a series of health setbacks that have led to hospital stays and mounting medical expenses. His friends have assembled this event in an effort to help him financially. We ask those attending give what they can at the door ($2-20). Additionally, items will be available for sale and auctioned, with all the money going to frank. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
Several folks have asked how they can donate to frank's medical fund if they aren't coming to the event. Cards, well-wishes and donations can be sent or dropped off in a sealed envelope at The Book Collector. frank has no checking account, so checks should be made out to The Book Collector, and we will give him cash. Or mail them to:
frank andrick
c/o The Book Collector
1008 24th Street
Sacramento, CA 95816
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
•••Next Monday (11/20), there will be no reading at the Sacramento Poetry Center.
_______________________
EARLY STONES
—A.R. Ammons
Returning from the thawed creek
and winter-hungry for early
slugs or mole crickets, he
turns a stone on
the clear-woods floor, thinks to
pick it up, steadying his pace
back to the cave porch where
he drops it,
an investment against the fireless
summer nights when the tiger
moves too near in, hard to scare.
_______________________
FLURRIES
—A.R. Ammons
Streaks, drifts, mounds
of meaning build,
flare: roof-lochs spill,
catching at the eaves
meanings
icicle-clear:
glaciers grind visionary
meanings down nordic gorges,
letting fall
rivers to rustle
narrows amply clean cut:
hold still, the
spirit cries, hold this,
but motion
undermines meaning with meaning.
_______________________
PACKAGING
—A.R. Ammons
Roll
up the edges of
the squared-off, flattened-out,
two-dimensional
mind,
pull the corners up and tie them
off at the top,
a sphere or bag, so that
anyone thinking
will
have to think about more sides
at once than one,
get volume
within his
definitions,
and become less secure
that summer with him is
summer everywhere,
his ice cap feeling's
only leaning.
_______________________
—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.)
—A.R. Ammons
Rolled off a side of mountains or
hills, bottomed
out in flatland but getting
away, winding,
will be found a
scale-bright snake—brook, stream, or river, or
in sparest gatherings,
a wash of stones or a green
streak of chaparral across sand.
_______________________
Thanks, Archie!
Poetry near and far this weekend:
•••Tonight (Friday, 11/17), 7 PM: Our House poetry reading features Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway).
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg.
frank andrick, the Lockeford-San Francisco-Sacramento poet who has given so much of himself to the Sacramento literary scene, has suffered from a series of health setbacks that have led to hospital stays and mounting medical expenses. His friends have assembled this event in an effort to help him financially. We ask those attending give what they can at the door ($2-20). Additionally, items will be available for sale and auctioned, with all the money going to frank. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
Several folks have asked how they can donate to frank's medical fund if they aren't coming to the event. Cards, well-wishes and donations can be sent or dropped off in a sealed envelope at The Book Collector. frank has no checking account, so checks should be made out to The Book Collector, and we will give him cash. Or mail them to:
frank andrick
c/o The Book Collector
1008 24th Street
Sacramento, CA 95816
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
•••Next Monday (11/20), there will be no reading at the Sacramento Poetry Center.
_______________________
EARLY STONES
—A.R. Ammons
Returning from the thawed creek
and winter-hungry for early
slugs or mole crickets, he
turns a stone on
the clear-woods floor, thinks to
pick it up, steadying his pace
back to the cave porch where
he drops it,
an investment against the fireless
summer nights when the tiger
moves too near in, hard to scare.
_______________________
FLURRIES
—A.R. Ammons
Streaks, drifts, mounds
of meaning build,
flare: roof-lochs spill,
catching at the eaves
meanings
icicle-clear:
glaciers grind visionary
meanings down nordic gorges,
letting fall
rivers to rustle
narrows amply clean cut:
hold still, the
spirit cries, hold this,
but motion
undermines meaning with meaning.
_______________________
PACKAGING
—A.R. Ammons
Roll
up the edges of
the squared-off, flattened-out,
two-dimensional
mind,
pull the corners up and tie them
off at the top,
a sphere or bag, so that
anyone thinking
will
have to think about more sides
at once than one,
get volume
within his
definitions,
and become less secure
that summer with him is
summer everywhere,
his ice cap feeling's
only leaning.
_______________________
—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, November 16, 2006
For Talk, For Dalliance
EPITAPH ON A TYRANT
—W.H. Auden
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
_______________________
NOCTURNE
—W.H. Auden
Make this night loveable,
Moon, and with eye single
Looking down from up there,
Bless me, One especial
And friends everywhere.
With a cloudless brightness
Surround our absences;
Innocent be our sleeps,
Watched by great still spaces,
White hills, glittering deeps.
Parted by circumstance,
Grant each your indulgence
That we may meet in dreams
For talk, for dalliance,
By warm hearths, by cool streams.
Shine lest tonight any,
In the dark suddenly,
Wake alone in a bed
To hear his own fury
Wishing his love were dead.
________________________
Poetry Tonight:
•••Thurs., 11/16, 8 PM: Poems-For-All free-for-all at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. An evening celebrating Richard Hansen, publisher of the Poems-For-All mini-chap series. Selected poets will read from their works published in the series. Free.
•••Also tonight (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5, or $1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.
Get them tickets NOW:
I Began To Speak, a movie of the history of poetry in the City of Sacramento c. 1960 to 2006, features some 41 area poets who tell the story of the evolution of a single poetry community in their own voices. The film will premier at the legendary Crest Theatre in the heart of downtown Sacramento on Wednesday, December 6 at 7 PM. Advance tickets now on sale at the Crest, 1013 K St., Sac., 916-442-5189 or sid@thecrest.com. Tickets are $10, and can also be purchased via ticket agencies like www.tickets.com—though you do save on fees if you buy them directly from the Crest. Limited seating, so get your tickets early!
This will be the only 2006 showing of a unique and very special film. I Began To Speak, a film by The Archives Group, was produced, written and directed by B.L. Kennedy; Director of Photography, Editing and Design was Linda Thorell. It was funded in part by an ArtScapes Grant from the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission, and filmed with equipment from Access Sacramento. Three years in production, I Began To Speak relied on more than one thousand hours of rare archival performance footage and interviews with Sacramento poets to illustrate the unique story of one single poetry community—ours! Be there!
_______________________
THE WAY
—W.H. Auden
Fresh addenda are published every day
To the encyclopedia of the Way.
Linguistic notes and scientific explanations,
And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustration.
Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse,
Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse
And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to:
Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to,
The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock
For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock.
Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men
Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then.
And how reliable can any truth be that is got
By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not?
_______________________
BUT I CAN'T
—W.H. Auden
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
_______________________
—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.)
—W.H. Auden
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
_______________________
NOCTURNE
—W.H. Auden
Make this night loveable,
Moon, and with eye single
Looking down from up there,
Bless me, One especial
And friends everywhere.
With a cloudless brightness
Surround our absences;
Innocent be our sleeps,
Watched by great still spaces,
White hills, glittering deeps.
Parted by circumstance,
Grant each your indulgence
That we may meet in dreams
For talk, for dalliance,
By warm hearths, by cool streams.
Shine lest tonight any,
In the dark suddenly,
Wake alone in a bed
To hear his own fury
Wishing his love were dead.
________________________
Poetry Tonight:
•••Thurs., 11/16, 8 PM: Poems-For-All free-for-all at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. An evening celebrating Richard Hansen, publisher of the Poems-For-All mini-chap series. Selected poets will read from their works published in the series. Free.
•••Also tonight (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5, or $1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.
Get them tickets NOW:
I Began To Speak, a movie of the history of poetry in the City of Sacramento c. 1960 to 2006, features some 41 area poets who tell the story of the evolution of a single poetry community in their own voices. The film will premier at the legendary Crest Theatre in the heart of downtown Sacramento on Wednesday, December 6 at 7 PM. Advance tickets now on sale at the Crest, 1013 K St., Sac., 916-442-5189 or sid@thecrest.com. Tickets are $10, and can also be purchased via ticket agencies like www.tickets.com—though you do save on fees if you buy them directly from the Crest. Limited seating, so get your tickets early!
This will be the only 2006 showing of a unique and very special film. I Began To Speak, a film by The Archives Group, was produced, written and directed by B.L. Kennedy; Director of Photography, Editing and Design was Linda Thorell. It was funded in part by an ArtScapes Grant from the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission, and filmed with equipment from Access Sacramento. Three years in production, I Began To Speak relied on more than one thousand hours of rare archival performance footage and interviews with Sacramento poets to illustrate the unique story of one single poetry community—ours! Be there!
_______________________
THE WAY
—W.H. Auden
Fresh addenda are published every day
To the encyclopedia of the Way.
Linguistic notes and scientific explanations,
And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustration.
Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse,
Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse
And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to:
Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to,
The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock
For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock.
Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men
Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then.
And how reliable can any truth be that is got
By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not?
_______________________
BUT I CAN'T
—W.H. Auden
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
_______________________
—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, November 15, 2006
To the Edge of the Earth
ON THE WAY HOME FROM JACKSON
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
I see a hodgepodge of logs, nearly naked,
appear to have suffered a beating, great
gouges exposed, oozing dark sap,
pines stripped of branches and birthright,
pines stripped of branches and birthright,
stacked together between steel ribs.
And I notice the growth-rings' life-
And I notice the growth-rings' life-
spans highlighted in the afternoon light,
color-coded with pink or green paint.
color-coded with pink or green paint.
I watch a missed limb flap in the wind.
Maybe they will become a group of chairs
Maybe they will become a group of chairs
like the fifty or so I saw huddled and roped
together in Barry's Furniture parking lot
together in Barry's Furniture parking lot
reduced in price for a quick sale.
________________________
She tangos after work:
comes dressed in fluid skirts,
hoop earrings,
bangle bracelets
and sling-back pumps.
Her spine is a little straighter
as she flows down the hall.
She leans against the wall,
flirting with a co-worker,
flips her dark hair and
laughs through siren red lipstick:
She tangos. . . .
—Katy Brown, Davis
________________________
•••This Friday, 11/17, 7 PM, Our House will feature the poetry of Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
Tonight:
•••Wednesday, 11/15, 6:30 PM will be the final Urban Voices reading, hosted by BL Kennedy. It will feature Kathryn Hohlwein and Pat Grizzell. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac.
•••Also tonight, 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••And don't forget: today (11/15) is the deadline for sending poems/art/photos/etc. to Rattlesnake Review!
_______________________
The last of the "change" poems, and thanks to all of you who participated:
repeating
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento
every day
i come home,
purge,
and cover myself
with mother-hat...
but before that
find Dawn in the dusk;
gloaming brings about
the night,
of which I am a child,
raised on the nectar
of drug addicts, alcoholics,
and dreamers.
and so
to find my center,
step to the edge
of the earth
and watch the sun die.
_______________________
THE DEMISE OF SELECTED SHORT SUBJECTS
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
Lights in the Tower Theater begin to dim.
The little guy, looking like Ziggy, slips
into a celluloid art gallery at closing time.
At first he doesn’t notice Atlas and Apollo,
sculptures in Claymation, mostly head
and shoulders. Then, he jumps as they twist,
stretch sinews, choke on their chunky rubble.
He sits in front of a painting: fish fins
harping on rocks, stubborn puffins
standing in line to feed, webbed feet fluttering,
lock-jawed orange beaks like vice-grips.
He has a headache, but minds his own business.
Now a large sketch reaches out, charcoal
horses, plaster faces galloping, blunt
munching mouths all muscles and manes.
Then, a metallic taste, a bronzy ballerina
spinning on point. Startled, by the intruder,
she topples headfirst, clutters the checkered tiles.
He didn’t know he would instigate such a ruckus.
Lights scream a frantic mazurka, a warning—
You should not be here! He tumbles out the door
like a sow bug, lands on his feet, blinks back
at the dark museum, hands in pockets, looks down,
sees clay forming around his tiny brown shoes.
________________________
—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.)
________________________
She tangos after work:
comes dressed in fluid skirts,
hoop earrings,
bangle bracelets
and sling-back pumps.
Her spine is a little straighter
as she flows down the hall.
She leans against the wall,
flirting with a co-worker,
flips her dark hair and
laughs through siren red lipstick:
She tangos. . . .
—Katy Brown, Davis
________________________
•••This Friday, 11/17, 7 PM, Our House will feature the poetry of Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
Tonight:
•••Wednesday, 11/15, 6:30 PM will be the final Urban Voices reading, hosted by BL Kennedy. It will feature Kathryn Hohlwein and Pat Grizzell. South Natomas Library, 2901 Truxel Rd., Sac.
•••Also tonight, 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••And don't forget: today (11/15) is the deadline for sending poems/art/photos/etc. to Rattlesnake Review!
_______________________
The last of the "change" poems, and thanks to all of you who participated:
repeating
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento
every day
i come home,
purge,
and cover myself
with mother-hat...
but before that
find Dawn in the dusk;
gloaming brings about
the night,
of which I am a child,
raised on the nectar
of drug addicts, alcoholics,
and dreamers.
and so
to find my center,
step to the edge
of the earth
and watch the sun die.
_______________________
THE DEMISE OF SELECTED SHORT SUBJECTS
—Jeanine Stevens, Sacramento
Lights in the Tower Theater begin to dim.
The little guy, looking like Ziggy, slips
into a celluloid art gallery at closing time.
At first he doesn’t notice Atlas and Apollo,
sculptures in Claymation, mostly head
and shoulders. Then, he jumps as they twist,
stretch sinews, choke on their chunky rubble.
He sits in front of a painting: fish fins
harping on rocks, stubborn puffins
standing in line to feed, webbed feet fluttering,
lock-jawed orange beaks like vice-grips.
He has a headache, but minds his own business.
Now a large sketch reaches out, charcoal
horses, plaster faces galloping, blunt
munching mouths all muscles and manes.
Then, a metallic taste, a bronzy ballerina
spinning on point. Startled, by the intruder,
she topples headfirst, clutters the checkered tiles.
He didn’t know he would instigate such a ruckus.
Lights scream a frantic mazurka, a warning—
You should not be here! He tumbles out the door
like a sow bug, lands on his feet, blinks back
at the dark museum, hands in pockets, looks down,
sees clay forming around his tiny brown shoes.
________________________
—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, November 14, 2006
The Deconstruction of Freckles
why change is often overrated
—debee loyd, modesto
like the words to a song in a strange tongue
they must at the very least rhyme, for god’s sake
at least let me tell it the way i saw it
reflecting on all the changes i have seen
i can tell you stories
of time, work, struggle misshapen into
adventure or stuffed in a closet for a half century
to become legend at least a black cloud hovering
change by its nature an uneasy guest
we like the way we were the way we perceive
life and our living of it at least that is what we
tell each other in the stories and familial chisme
that breeds like river moss under shade
we deny knowing when we do
we hope it doesn’t look like we know
we steamroll the innocents among us
wring every last word from their gaping and
surprised mouths grab those as they fall from
denying lips, stuff them into our own mouths
chew until we can speak around them
and repeat the never changing refrain ...did you know
_______________________
Thanks, debee! Rattlechapper debee loyd, a past Poet Laureate of Modesto, is one of the editors of hardpan, a fine new journal of poetry which will be celebrating its second issue this Saturday (11/18) at the Mistlin Gallery in Modesto [see yesterday's post].
Send me any poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) by midnight tonight (Tues., Nov. 14) and I'll send you Jane Blue's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review (deadline is tomorrow, Weds., November 15!); just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.
Calendar addition for this Thursday:
•••Thursday (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents the NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5/$1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.
_______________________
END OF FRECKLING TIME UP NORTH
—Marie Riepenhoff-Talty, Sacramento
This green and golden grappled leaf
wraps up my summer in its folds.
It's seen the flint of tiny grapes,
covered them from hail and rain,
let them blush with simple pleasure,
turning red, then darker, richer
into luscious purple Concords,
making scent that salivates;
leaf hangs speckled, freckled, dying.
And I beside the vineyard know, the
time for juice and wine has come.
I’ll don my mittens, coat and scarf
and like the wise and noisy
geese, will head due south;
taking with me speckles, freckles
of a brief and sun-tanned summer.
_______________________
Thanks, Marie!
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.)
—debee loyd, modesto
like the words to a song in a strange tongue
they must at the very least rhyme, for god’s sake
at least let me tell it the way i saw it
reflecting on all the changes i have seen
i can tell you stories
of time, work, struggle misshapen into
adventure or stuffed in a closet for a half century
to become legend at least a black cloud hovering
change by its nature an uneasy guest
we like the way we were the way we perceive
life and our living of it at least that is what we
tell each other in the stories and familial chisme
that breeds like river moss under shade
we deny knowing when we do
we hope it doesn’t look like we know
we steamroll the innocents among us
wring every last word from their gaping and
surprised mouths grab those as they fall from
denying lips, stuff them into our own mouths
chew until we can speak around them
and repeat the never changing refrain ...did you know
_______________________
Thanks, debee! Rattlechapper debee loyd, a past Poet Laureate of Modesto, is one of the editors of hardpan, a fine new journal of poetry which will be celebrating its second issue this Saturday (11/18) at the Mistlin Gallery in Modesto [see yesterday's post].
Send me any poem about change (seasons, moving, or otherwise) by midnight tonight (Tues., Nov. 14) and I'll send you Jane Blue's wonderful new chapbook, Turf Daisies and Dandelions. Or Sharyn Stever's equally-wonderful chap, Heron's Run. Or something else, if you have those two. Send your change poem to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662. Or send it in a bunch with your submission for Rattlesnake Review (deadline is tomorrow, Weds., November 15!); just mark which is which. All "change" poems you send will be posted on Medusa.
Calendar addition for this Thursday:
•••Thursday (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents the NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5/$1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.
_______________________
END OF FRECKLING TIME UP NORTH
—Marie Riepenhoff-Talty, Sacramento
This green and golden grappled leaf
wraps up my summer in its folds.
It's seen the flint of tiny grapes,
covered them from hail and rain,
let them blush with simple pleasure,
turning red, then darker, richer
into luscious purple Concords,
making scent that salivates;
leaf hangs speckled, freckled, dying.
And I beside the vineyard know, the
time for juice and wine has come.
I’ll don my mittens, coat and scarf
and like the wise and noisy
geese, will head due south;
taking with me speckles, freckles
of a brief and sun-tanned summer.
_______________________
Thanks, Marie!
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.)
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