That Which Is Still In Transit (Then Again, Aren't We All?)

ON LOSING MY SHOWERCAP
(Moving House, Christmas, 2006)
—Kathy Kieth, Pollock Pines

It’s cold up here: freezing, in fact:
falling snow: I feel stuffy, so
no wet head allowed: hair dryer’s lost
[we went through that yesterday], so

where is the showercap: I think
it’s in that green box under two
or three others [put away this ‘n that,
feed the cat, take out the garbage]:

back to that green box again: where
is my showercap? Damn this sealing
tape, go hunt for the scissors [turn up
the heat, shut the curtains, find something

for Sam]: where are those scissors [trip
over boxes that weren’t there five minutes
ago]: order a pizza and hunt for ten
minutes for the tissues [still stuffy]: where

is my purse to pay the pizza guy; it was
right here! And no, the showercap
wasn’t in the green box…

_______________________

Need I say more? The new Rattlesnake Reviews are still in Transit Limbo (and no, they're not in the green box); I'll get my act together soon, really I will.

Meanwhile, enjoy your holidays! A couple of events this weekend:

•••Saturday, Dec. 30, 7-9 PM: The Show Poetry Series features Rodzilla, Red Fox Underground Poet and soon-to-be rattlechapper Brigit Truex, Brittney Robinson, and Luke Breit. Wo'se Community Center, 2863 35th St., Sac. $5. 916-208-7638.

•••Sunday, Dec. 31, 4-7 PM: Community Kwanzaa includes music, dancing, and spoken-word performances, plus children's crafts, with a potluck to follow the program. Center for Spiritual Awareness, 1020 W. Capitol Ave., West Sac. Free. 916-374-9177.

•••Remember: No Sacramento Poetry Center Reading on New Year's Day. Instead, head over to Davis. The Other Voice Reading Series, hosted by James Lee Jobe at the Unitarian Church, is always on the first Monday of the month, usually with featured readers followed by an open reading. But when that Monday happens to be a holiday, it is all open mic. For Monday, January 1st, it is an anti-war open reading. Bring those political poems, your own or ones you've come across in your reading, and come on out to Davis. This is New Year's NIGHT, not New Year's Eve, so your parties will all be over; come make a statement. For details, directions, and even a map, please check out http://uupoetry.blogspot.com. [And see below for a poem by JLee.]

_______________________

Alas, Medusa isn't officially back yet, though; I shall return to regular posts after New Year's, at which point we'll start advertising the release of the next rattlechap, Vic 'n Me, by Pearl Stein Selinksy (reading/release party Jan. 10). Meanwhile, the kind and merciful JLJobe has leapt into the breach with a fine Yule poem which yule enjoy, I'm sure:

YULE 2006
—James Lee Jobe, Davis

Yule. A quarter moon southwesters in early evening.
From the darkness above, the lonely sounds of geese.

An uneasiness, an uncertainty lies across the earth.
An old cat with no tail watches the empty street.

Valley oaks, long nude of leaves, whisper in a chill wind.
Commanding clouds slide in, covering the moon; thick, strong.

In some other world, it's war. Iraq. Somalia. Afghanistan.
Soldiers die, civilians die—hard politics. Hatred.

Not here. Here, in bottomland, wild herons hunt. Free.
People go to the market and buy tomatoes, oranges.

No one believes that this evil will happen to their children.
And no one speaks out against the evil that they cannot see.

_______________________

Thanks, James Lee! And Happy New Year to Jim and to everyone else!!

—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.)

We're Only Taking the Flammables...

photo by Katy Brown, Davis








MOVING DAY
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

We sorted through and left it without boxes—
forty-five years of invoices and bills,
three goldfish grown too big for their bowl.
We only took the flammables, a charcoal nude,
Stravinsky, Baudelaire, our own rough rhymes
which, in drought conditions, might spark.
What will the movers and the shakers make
of all these odds and ends of days? The soul
is long flown my mother’s cape of foxes.
A drawer-full of your dead father’s pills
we leave, expired like the rent on dark,
cold storage. For our acquisitive times,
no forwarding address. We’re in no mood
for this stuff we leave. What must we take?

_______________________

Thanks for the poem, TG—an unrhymed sonnet, by my reckoning.

You may've heard; the Snake is moving house, as the British say—or I guess moving nest, in this case. So the Kitchen will be cold; no cookin' from now through, well, probably Christmas, as we disconnect and reconnect and snowshoe up the hill and unbox and unbox and unbox... My biggest regret is that I didn't get the rest of the Rattlesnake Review 12's into the mail; I've decided to wait until next week, after the Christmas rush. I'm sorry for that.

Ex-Sacramento Poet Debbie Guerrette sent us a fitting poem, though, to leave posted until we get back to what we call normal around here:

THE SNAKE IS:

Not expecting any pardon
Not allowed at nativity
Not invited to the garden

but

God put him in the arc
made him a home in Kansas
where he left his mark

for

On every flag we see
sincerely he says,
“Don’t tread on me”

and

to honor this holiday we take
he sends rich dreams to you
Happy Christmas from that snake

—Debbie Guerrette

_______________________

Thanks, Debbie! My sentiments, exactly. Rich dreams to everybody, and a Happy Christmas.

—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.)

Over Our Shoulders, the Wind

MY TREE
—Rolf Jacobsen

It's the cedar - the mother of lingonberry - that is my tree.
It doesn't need summer - rain and snow are enough.

Its top is high and ragged, no one hears its sound.
It has a tough, long root that it sinks into gravel.

Over its shoulder is wind, over its hair, clouds.
Storms don't bring it down. It may kneel. But it stays there.

Maybe it has some destination in mind - the white bed of
crowfoot flowers
At the end of the world where glaciers rule.

Among all the trees on earth it is nearest to the great snows,
To the blind sun of the glacier. I want to be a tree like that.

_____________________

Yesterday's post of Rolf Jacobsen led to Stephani Schaefer of Los Molinos sending me another Jacobsen poem, and thanks to her. We share an interest in Robert Bly's anthologies of poems with a more clearly spiritual bent (or is it "bend"?); the Jacobsen poems from yesterday appeared in Bly's News of the Universe (1980, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco). Steph says Jacobsen is Norwegian.

As a conclusion to our recent spate of love poems, send yours to Benecia!

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.

________________________

THE JOURNEY
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton

Lord, the wind blows cold;
a wrong time of year for travel.

Not to worry; we must go.
Journeys can be demanding.

Riding on this animal must be
uncomfortable and wearisome.

The donkey sways and hooves tap
rhythms for me to hum lullabies.

We need to stop please. Somewhere,
even a stall in a barn would work.

Only straw for a bed in a stable;
what a place for you to birth a child!

Look at the sky; how bright the starlight;
do you hear music surrounding us?

The light shines on our newborn son;
the music echoes our voices of joy.

_______________________

Thanks, Peggy! Woman's work is never done...

—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.)

Change—what the hell is this??

ROAD'S END
—Rolf Jacobsen

The roads have come to their end now,
they don't go any farther, they turn here,
over on the earth there.
You can't go any farther if you don't want
to go to the moon or the planets. Stop now
in time, and turn to a wasp's nest or a cow track,
a volcano opening or a clatter of stones in the woods—
it's all the same. Something else.

They won't go any farther as I've said
without changing, the engine to horseshoes,
the gear shift to a fir branch
which you hold loose in your hand
—what the hell is this?

______________________

Steve Williams, former Sacramentan now living in Portland, who will be releasing a rattlechap in March, sends us this poetry site: http://poetryandpoetsinrags.blogspot.com. Check it out.

In case you missed the premiere of the B.L. Kennedy/Linda Thorell film about Sacramento poetry, I Began To Speak, the DVD is available from Bari for $19.95 (plus $2.50 s/h); send a check to him at 2619 Q St. #9, Sacramento, CA 95816.

There will be no Sacramento Poetry Center readings for the rest of December.

______________________

COUNTRY ROADS
—Rolf Jacobsen

A pale morning in June 4 AM
the country roads still greyish and moist
tunnelling endlessly through pines
a car had passed by on the dusty road
where an ant was out with his pine needle working
he was wandering around in the huge F of Firestone
that had been pressed into the sandy earth
for a hundred and twenty kilometers.
Fir needles are heavy.
Time after time he slipped back with his badly balanced
load
and worked it up again
and skidded back again
travelling over the great and luminous Sahara lit by clouds.

________________________

SUNFLOWER
—Rolf Jacobsen

What sower walked over earth,
which hands sowed
our inward seeds of fire?
They went out from his fists like rainbow curves
to frozen earth, young loam, hot sand,
they will sleep there
greedily, and drink up our lives
and explode it into pieces
for the sake of a sunflower that you haven't seen
or a thistle head or a chrysanthemum.

Let the young rain of tears come.
Let the calm hands of grief come.
It's not all as evil as you think.

(Today's poetry was 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.)

Simply Wait...

THE SECOND POEM THE NIGHT-WALKER WROTE
—Goethe

Over all the hilltops
Silence,
Among all the treetops
You feel hardly
A breath moving.
The birds fall silent in the woods.
Simply wait! Soon
You too will be silent.

(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.)

More About Snow

photo by Katy Brown, Davis






THE CARDINAL IN THE SNOWSTORM
—Wayne Robinson, Lodi

Love flew by the wayside like the Cardinal in the
snowstorm. See him in the stark branches of the
leafless pecan tree, red against angry gray as silent
as the snow fall. Wishing for spring, waiting for
sunshine and eyeing the neighbor's bird feeder. The
mean bluejay is dining there, the red one waits his
turn. Like the hungry cardinal I await my turn. My
turn at love, the warmth of the sun, like the breath
of a woman on my neck while she sleeps against me. My
turn at the feeder, to slake my starvation, the deep
hunger for a mated soul, the craving for the caramel
frosting of a lover’s-lipstick-smearing-kiss. Red,
dark red like the cardinal’s bloody feathers. To hear
his song when the grass starts to turn green and the
flowers amass in grandma’s garden again. To hear the
sweetness of a devoted woman’s voice welcome me home
and smell the fullness of a love prepared meal, a man
could die happy. But the gray sky is broken only by
the black silhouette of barren branches and the
crimson of the lone cardinal at the top.

_______________________

SLEIGH RIDE
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama

The sleigh leans against the barn, ready
for snow always near.
Over waxed polished runners
wildflowers bloom. Pink roses in paint
cover the long narrow frame, scramble
across low back in faded disorder.
Not a single rail lines its side.

I picture the old Russian tale:
bride and groom bundled in fur,
mittened hands grip the boards. Faces
glow with thoughts of wedding night.
Behind on sleigh runners, best man
guides the horse. They race homeward
in pale light of crescent moon.

Wolves howl, blood chills,
something happens, someone spills.
By morning only red
spatters the ice.

I stand in summer sunlight
of Norway's looming green.
Icicles twitch
down my spine.

_______________________

HOMING
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

Almost weightless,
both wings
absorbed in repetitious
snow

he remembers the narrow
way he got here,
blinded by thin
north sun, so many
spired cities.
All clear, light of the mind,
and ice,
till he saw himself
transparent.

Now he sings
small as the charitable
seeds.

(first appeared in Bitterroot)

_______________________

Thanks to these three area poets for poems about the snow!

—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.)

Snow Joke

TONIGHT THE SILENCES
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

Tonight the silences converge and blend.
What is left of summer now? The days
are long and gold, the colors hum all night.
I want to tread the musics that I hear,
surrender like a dancer made of snow . . .

It’s funny that I just now think of snow;
the way it falls as nothing I can hear,
although I listened to it once all night . . .
the way it folded down around the days . . .
but this is how things separate and blend—

how one thing is another—how I blend
the farthest with the nearest of my days—
all shifted and unsorted—how this night
disturbs me with the ghosts that gather here,
the ones of shadow and the ones of snow.

Inside the night there is a dream of snow
as perfect as the silence that I hear,
and in that dream another dreaming night
helps gather all the old and newest days
and melts them down together till they blend.

_____________________

Thanks, Joyce! Those of you who know I'm moving to Pollock Pines know that snow is very much on my mind these days. So we're starting a series of snow poems, including some that appear in the current Rattlesnake Review, available now for free at The Book Collector (contributors and subscribers will get theirs next week).


This weekend:

•••Friday (12/15), 7:30 PM: Hope & Humor & Unsafe Topics (A Poetry Reading by Luke Warm Water) will be presented by Los Escritores Del Nuevo Sol at La Raza Galeria Posada (LRGP), 1024 22nd Street, Sac. American Indian Poet Luke Warm Water, an enrolled member of the Oglala Lakota tribe, was born and raised in Rapid City, South Dakota. Many of his poems contain unsafe topics; they have perspectives of racial issues past and present, along with adult themes and content. But his poems also have a sense of hope and a thread of humor—often dark humor. Since 2000, Luke has featured at poetry venues throughout the U.S. and in Europe. He also won several Poetry Slams from Oregon to Germany. Recent publication credits include: Drumvoices Revue, Cold Mountain Revue and Red Ink. In 2005, Luke released his latest collection of poems, entitled On Indian Time, along with his animated short film, Iktomi And The Food Stamp Incident. Luke is an activist for Indigenous people's rights, especially in the cause to help end the unjust incarceration of American Indian activist Leonard Peltier. His latest book and short film (on DVD) will be available for sale. Also, information brochures will be available on Leonard Peltier. This reading is sponsored by Writers of the New Sun / Escritores del Nuevo Sol. a writing group founded in 1993. Its philosophy is similar to the philosophy of LRGP, which serves to foster, preserve and present the best of Chicano/Latino and Native American culture. Info at www.escritoresdelnuevosol.com Or, call 916-456-5323. Donation: $5 or as you can afford.

•••Friday (12/15), 7 PM: Our House Poetry Series features Mary Field and Taylor Graham. Open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take the Latrobe Road exit south and turn east into the shopping center. There is no charge.

•••Bob Stanley, President of Sacramento Poetry Center, writes: Friday, December 15 is our day to wrap presents for customers and garner donations at Barnes and Noble (Sunrise), 9 AM-11 PM. We are looking for volunteers to spend a few hours wrapping. (This is different from “rapping,” which used to mean talking intently with others, but now has a more rhythmic connotation.) Brad Buchanan is keeping track of who will be there when—probably afternoon and evening will be the busiest times—so please let him know what you can do. If you have questions, you can contact Brad at buchanan@saclink.csus.edu. Please help if you can, and bring a friend!

•••Saturday (12/16), 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series presents Mario Ellis Hill, Jamie Kilstein, Born 2B Poets and Bloom Beloved, plus open mic. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (off Broadway), $3.

•••Sacramento Poetry Center will have no readings for the rest of December, or on January 1. The reading series will resume on January 8.


And a couple of deadlines TODAY:

•••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.

•••Friday (12/15) is also the next deadline for Song of the San Joaquin, a quarterly publication of the Poets of the San Joaquin chapter of the Calif. Federation of Chaparral Poets, Inc. Song of the San Joaquin accepts submissions of poetry having to do with life in the San Joaquin Valley of California. 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. Sample copies of past issues may be obtained for $4.50. Beginning with the Winter Issue 2006, Vol. III, No. 1 a single issue will be $5.00, the annual subscription $18. Send to address above. Make checks out to Song of the San Joaquin.

_______________________

THE SNOW AS PERFECT SNOW
—Tom Goff, Carmichael

I’ve never known the snow as perfect snow.
It looms too steep, a summit shock of ice
blurred driveby in the window of our car,

or purls downhill unseen too sheer below,
identity dissolved, a shivering witness
protected by running somewhere new-named and far.

But every so often we stop. A snow-oasis!
Diamantine, near-iceless white… translucent
dust heap only the bluest shadows tint…
slope’s shoulder pad, satin stitched by osmosis

under the skin. We dub this mound Mount Play.
Then horse around, scuff up embankment skirts,
stomp roadside rime. Each fishstick finger smarts,
stung crushing out ice-weaponry, fisting blades.

_______________________

GETTING LOST AND LOVING IT
—Stephani Schaefer, Los Molinos

The practical and worldly person waits for
the snowstorm to stop, before shoveling his
front walk. But here, lured by the light
within snow, is the bedraggled poet, with
make-shift shovel, who plunges into the
deep woods downslope, full of windfalls,
happy accidents… He tosses each spadeful,
not to one side or the other, to make a
careful path, but right over his shoulder,
obliterating his own tracks. He looks back
a moment, happy to be lost again. The fat
flakes are coming faster now, and he is a
small dark shape, rapidly turning grey,
fading into the blizzard of white winged words…

_______________________

—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.)

Of Love and Discipline

Snakes in Bath; photo by Katy Brown, Davis



No, not Snakes IN a bath, Snakes in Bath—England, that is. This is one of the wonderful photos Katy took in England this year, and it also appears in Rattlesnake Review #12, now available for free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac.






FLOWERS BY THE SEA
—William Carlos Williams

When over the flowery, sharp pasture's
edge, unseen, the salt ocean

lifts its form—chicory and daisies
tied, released, seem hardly flowers alone

but color and the movement—or the shape
perhaps—of restlessness, whereas

the sea is circled and sways
peacefully upon its plantlike stem

_______________________

THE MANOEUVRE
—William Carlos Williams

I saw the two starlings
coming in toward the wires.
But at the last,
just before alighting, they

turned in the air together
and landed backwards!
that's what got me—to
face into the wind's teeth.

_______________________

THE WELL DISCIPLINED BARGEMAN
—William Carlos Williams

The shadow does not move. It is the water moves,
running out. A monolith of sand on a passing barge,
riding the swift water, makes that its fellow.

Standing upon the load the well disciplined bargeman
rakes it carefully, smooth on top with nicely squared
edges to conform to the barge outlines—ritually: sand.

All about him the silver water, fish-swift, races
under the Presence. Whatever there is else is moving.
The restless gulls, unlike companionable pigeons,

taking their cue from the ruffled water, dip and circle
avidly into the gale. Only the bargeman raking
upon his barge remains, like the shadow, sleeping.

________________________

Patricia Wellingham-Jones sent us a poem about Love; we've been tossing the subject around lately, as you'll recall. She says this was a tough one, came to her many years after the events.

THE SHERIFF KNOCKED ON MY DOOR
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama

He didn't have
to tell me.

You were dead
I was far away
our house had just sold.

Feet on backwards
took me to the phone
numb fingers
dialled your daughter.

Her scream
pierced my skull
blamed my love
for your death.

We got through
those first days
in unshared pain.

Moving day came
four weeks later.
Boxes, bundles
cat and I
howled our way north
in driving rain.

The new roommate
is soft and cuddly
but she comes
with litter pan.

When I work in the garden
I hear you call my name
through petals of lilies
the prick of a rose.

On your death corner
glass shards
bounce in the sun.

______________________

Thanks, Patricia. Watch for more of her work in Rattlesnake Review.

—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.)

Of Literary Bashes & Mouse-like Teeth

THE BEST ROOM, or INTERPRETATION OF A POEM
—Miroslav Holub

And now tell it to me
in other words,
says the stuffed owl
to the fly
which, with a buzz,
is trying with its head
to break through the window-pane.

______________________

THE AUTUMN ORCHARD
—Miroslav Holub

Some pawky,
black apple
executed on a naked twig.

Two pigeons
on a rundown fence
tearing white feathers from themselves
because there's nothing else
worth sorting.

Cinderella has smeared herself
with ashes, trying
to discourage
her father's incest.

Through an open window
a bunch of poets
are cursing violently.

Although, in fact, everything's
just the way they like it.

______________________

Tonight:

•••Weds. (12/13), 7:30 PM: The Finklemans will be premiering their new SnakeRings SpiralChap, Poems in Two Voices, a collection of their two-voice poems and Joe's art, at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. The readers will also be accompanied by flute and percussion! Also premiering that evening will be Grace Notes, a littlesnake broadside by Bob Stanley, and Bob will be on hand to read from that, too; plus, new issues of Rattlesnake Review and the teen journal, VYPER, will be there in a free for all free-for-all! Refreshments and a read-around will follow; bring your own poems or somebody else's and join us for the Rattlesnake Press Holiday Extravaganza.

•••Then, later tonight (10 PM-midnight): Mics and Moods features New York Slam Poet Jamie Kilstein at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Open mic.

_______________________

LITERARY BASH
—Miroslav Holub

Like eggs of hail
from the blue sky,
the buzz of greasy bluebottles,
the twitter of eggheads.

Interior sounds
of matter fatigue.

Never stopping.

But even Orpheus
when things got togher
and he was leading Eurydice
out of the underworld
was quiet as a grave,
the only sound
his crunching step
on the bodies of snails
shedding indigo blood.

In those days, of course,
there were no
literary bashes.

_______________________

THE RAIN AT NIGHT
—Miroslav Holub

With mouse-like teeth
the rain gnaws at stone.
The trees parade through the town
like prophets.

Perhaps it's the sobbing
of the monstrous angels of darkness,
perhaps the suppressed laughter
of the flowers out there in the garden,
trying to cure consumption
by rustling.

Perhaps the purring
of the holy drought
under any kind of cover.

An unspeakable time,
when the voice of loudspeakers cracks
and poems
are made not of words
but of drops.

_______________________

—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.)

Snakes with New Faces (With Love)

WHEN LOVE COMES
—Stephani Schaefer, Los Molinos

When love comes

the limbs of those who cannot stand

will be sweet as rushes on riverbanks.

White clouds will mass themselves

high and higher

to fan the light down in gold showers

that touch the drunk

who lies comatose

at the edge of the city dump

by blue daisies.

When love comes

those who face death will ascend lightly

over salt marshes and desert dunes

in a great procession against the blue sky

like birds migrating.

When love comes

the woman with liver spotted hands

will no longer be bitter

and her daughter

will sing at her kitchen sink that day.

When love comes

we will wait for whatever we wait for

with great sweetness.

While standing in line

we will touch one another and sing

when love comes.

_______________________

Thanks, Steph! Stephani Schaefer is helping us continue the "Love: Can't Live With It/Can't Shoot It In the Head" ruminations that Medusa has posted recently. Here's another:

BACK PORCH
—Stephani Schaefer

Tonight I dream
you show up at my door
summer night like this
moths gaining entry
while I hold the screen wide
as wide as I want to hold
my arms for you but don't
guard my heart instead
give friendly but casual greeting
talk without listening
without fully receiving you
confused by your appearance
where I had woven a careful blank
erased expectancy
settled for an empty back porch.

_______________________

Watch for more of Stephani's work in Rattlesnake Review #12, due out tomorrow. Come to the reading at The Book Collector tomorrow night at 7:30 PM and pick one up for free! We gave the Wiley Varmint a new printer as an early Christmas present, and I think you'll be pleased at how great the photos look, how sharp the text is. And MAN! is it easier for me—twice the copies in half the time! NOW we're cookin'...

Two more poems, this time from Rattlechapper Allegra Jostad Silberstein, who also has poems in the upcoming issue:

CALVARY GLIMPSED
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein, Davis

The sun at two o'clock
cuts a narrow path across
my living room floor.

Low in the sky it pokes through
the upper branches of the old jack pine
that spreads wide at the base.

I gather up newspapers
for recycle
death and carnage folded over.

Through closed windows I hear
the wind hum, see the limbs
of the valley oak whipped back and forth.

How the leaves have thinned.
How green the valley grass.
So loud, the ticking of my clock

Hour by hour, the crossing over.

______________________

THE EMPTIED PAIL
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein

The road:
these broken lines,
the hooded rectangles
that voice our crossing over.

The sky:
a scatter of stars
above the pale horizon
touched with the sun's rouge.

The distance:
lifts and turnings
to marked destinations
and miles in unmarked territory.

The silence:
that damp shine
in the emptied pail:
all the words poured out.

_______________________

Thanks, Allegra!

—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.)

Did I Mention It Was An Even Dozen?

THE MOON CATCHER
—Richard Zimmer, Sacramento

The Story Teller settled in his chair,
lit his pipe and asked his audience
what story they would like to hear.

He then told a tale of the Chinese poet
Li Po, who was reading a poem to the moon.
He leaned over to catch its reflection,
and fell into the Yellow River and drowned.

The Story Teller smiled, as he added—
Li Po then, was carried away on the back
of a dolphin, for a trip to join the Immortals.

_______________________

Thanks, Richard! Watch for more of Richard Zimmer's work in the outcoming Rattlesnake Review #12, which will be available starting this coming Wednesday night at The Book Collector (or winging your way if you are a contributor or subscriber).


Also this week (a busy Friday!):

•••Today (Mon. 12/11), Rattlechapper Susan Kelly-DeWitt will have a poem featured on Garrison Keillor's "Writer's Almanac”. Go to the following site to locate the poem: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/

•••Tonight (Monday, 12/11), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Mendocino County Poets Teresa Whitehall, Linda Noel, and Devreaux Baker. HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 916-979-9706. Or heck—get there at 5:45 PM for the Poetry Center Board meeting—the public is invited.

•••Also tonight (12/11), 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series meets at A Taste of Laguna (Southern cuisine), 9080 Laguna Main, in Laguna. $5.

•••Tuesday (12/12), 8:30 PM: Bistro 33 Poetry Series meets in Historic Davis City Hall, 226 F St. (3rd & F) in Davis. Open mic follows.

•••Weds. (12/13), 7:30 PM: The Finklemans will be premiering their new SnakeRings SpiralChap, Poems in Two Voices, a collection of their two-voice poems and Joe's art, at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. The readers will also be accompanied by flute and percussion! Also premiering that evening will be Grace Notes, a littlesnake broadside by Bob Stanley, and Bob will be on hand to read from that, too; plus, new issues of Rattlesnake Review and the teen journal, VYPER, will be there in a free for all free-for-all! Refreshments and a read-around will follow; bring your own poems or somebody else's and join us for the Rattlesnake Press Holiday Extravaganza.

•••Also Weds. (12/13), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods features New York Slam Poet Jamie Kilstein at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Open mic.

•••Thurs. (12/14), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater). $5, all ages, open mic.

•••Friday (12/15), 7:30 PM: Hope & Humor & Unsafe Topics (A Poetry Reading by Luke Warm Water) will be presented by Los Escritores Del Nuevo Sol at La Raza Galeria Posada (LRGP), 1024 22nd Street, Sac. American Indian Poet Luke Warm Water, an enrolled member of the Oglala Lakota tribe, was born and raised in Rapid City, South Dakota. Many of his poems contain unsafe topics; they have perspectives of racial issues past and present, along with adult themes and content. But his poems also have a sense of hope and a thread of humor—often dark humor. Since 2000, Luke has featured at poetry venues throughout the U.S. and in Europe. He also won several Poetry Slams from Oregon to Germany. Recent publication credits include: Drumvoices Revue, Cold Mountain Revue and Red Ink. In 2005, Luke released his latest collection of poems, entitled On Indian Time, along with his animated short film, Iktomi And The Food Stamp Incident. Luke is an activist for Indigenous people's rights, especially in the cause to help end the unjust incarceration of American Indian activist Leonard Peltier. His latest book and short film (on DVD) will be available for sale. Also, information brochures will be available on Leonard Peltier. This reading is sponsored by Writers of the New Sun / Escritores del Nuevo Sol. a writing group founded in 1993. Its philosophy is similar to the philosophy of LRGP, which serves to foster, preserve and present the best of Chicano/Latino and Native American culture. Info at www.escritoresdelnuevosol.com Or, call 916-456-5323. Donation: $5 or as you can afford.

•••Friday (12/15), 7 PM: Our House Poetry Series features Mary Field and Taylor Graham. Open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take the Latrobe Road exit south and turn east into the shopping center. There is no charge.

•••Bob Stanley, President of Sacramento Poetry Center, writes: Friday, December 15 is our day to wrap presents for customers and garner donations at Barnes and Noble (Sunrise), 9 AM-11 PM. We are looking for volunteers to spend a few hours wrapping. (This is different from “rapping,” which used to mean talking intently with others, but now has a more rhythmic connotation.) Brad Buchanan is keeping track of who will be there when—probably afternoon and evening will be the busiest times—so please let him know what you can do. If you have questions, you can contact Brad at buchanan@saclink.csus.edu. Please help if you can, and bring a friend!

•••Saturday (12/16), 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series presents Mario Ellis Hill, Jamie Kilstein, Born 2B Poets and Bloom Beloved, plus open mic. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (off Broadway), $3.

_______________________

A couple of deadlines this Friday:

•••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.

•••Friday (12/15) is also the next deadline for Song of the San Joaquin, a quarterly publication of the Poets of the San Joaquin chapter of the Calif. Federation of Chaparral Poets, Inc. Song of the San Joaquin accepts submissions of poetry having to do with life in the San Joaquin Valley of California. 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. Sample copies of past issues may be obtained for $4.50. Beginning with the Winter Issue 2006, Vol. III, No. 1 a single issue will be $5.00, the annual subscription $18. Send to address above. Make checks out to Song of the San Joaquin.


a survival guide
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento

the world is full of assholes
and it drains me being one of them.

~*~

i shall never love again,
for to do so would be
admitting that i still believe
and i'm far too jaded for such things.

~*~

"i don't care" can guide me
thru the valleys of other's indecision
but can't lead me toward
the fullness of my own soul.

~*~

to bathe oneself in the
fiery spit-sweat-tears-and-cum
of one's own past
makes for the newborn organism,
each day, the phoenix
rising from one's own
sea of mirrors ~
for mirrors never lie.

~*~

trust no one ~ not even yourself ~
and leave nothing to chance
~ inherit only decisiveness
and make a lifetime of your choices.

~*~

and in the unavoidable fades-to-black,
fight hard to keep the color as it dies
because, trust me,
you'll want to remember soon enough.

________________________

november, 5:13 p.m.
—dawn dibartolo, sacramento

the air is biting cold
and the moon is rising tainted,
consuming a horizon
that's murky, at best.
and it happens that
the freeway i'm on
goes on into the center.
and then its just me and the moon,
and the hundreds of swarming cars
don't exist ~
i'm being called into perfection.
the freeway goes on forever
and isn't moving,
and the darkness is reaching for me,
pulling into my center,
and i'm thinking, there are those
i've tried so hard to love,
and loved so very hard,
in good times, in bad,
and in way past done,
that cannot hear me.
i've screamed from the top of my pain
and been silenced.
there are those i've loved
whose womb cradled my expression
into art ~
and all art is born of a love
for something ~
and been hand-fed my own waste
in the name of righteousness.
and,
there are those i've loved
that are not perfect at all,
yet, our love is
~ perfection ~
so i know i'm fully capable
of the deed,
yet the sepia shade of the moon
alludes otherwise, pulling,
and suddenly i'm losing ground
and giving in to gravity again.

_______________________

Thanks, Dawn! Watch for more of dawn dibartolo's work in Rattlesnake Review #12 (an even dozen!)—did I mention it was coming out this Wednesday...?

—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.)

To Gather Paradise

#657
—Emily Dickinson

I dwell in Possibility—
A fairer House than Prose—
More numerous of Windows—
Superior—for Doors—

Of Chambers as the Cedars—
Impregnable of Eye—
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky—

Of Visitors—the fairest—
For Occupation—This—
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise—

________________________

As imperceptibly as Grief
The summer lapsed away—
Too imperceptible, at last,
To seem like Perfidy—
A Quietness distilled
As twilight long begun,
Or Nature spending with herself
Sequestered Afternoon—
The Dust grew earlier in—
The Morning foreign shone—
A courteous, yet harrowing Grace,
As Guest who would be gone—
And thus, without a Wing
Or service of a Keel
Our summer made her light escape
Into the Beautiful.

—Emily Dickinson
_______________________

My life closed twice before its close—
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me

So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

—Emily Dickinson

______________________

Emily Dickinson would have been 176 years old today.

—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.)

They Call Him the Wrapper...

Kandinsky's Dance, by Joseph Finkleman

COSMIC INTERSECTION
—Susan Hennies Finkleman, Sacramento

For months, the small clicks of the tumblers aligning,
parallel universes drawing close as jam on toast.
Time is molasses but the light has such clarity
that I am dancing in the choreography of each shining mote of dust.
And then the convergence –
for one luminous instant I can choose to step into an alternate world
or not
and then it’s all rushing away at 186,000 miles per second,
setting its new course.

_______________________

Thanks, Susan and Joe! The Finklemans will be premiering their new SnakeRings SpiralChap, Poems in Two Voices, a collection of their two-voice poems and Joe's art this coming Wednesday (12/13) at 7:30 PM at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento. The readers will also be accompanied by flute and percussion! Refreshments and a read-around will follow; bring your own poems or somebody else's and join us for our holiday extravaganza.

Also premiering that evening will be Grace Notes, a littlesnake broadside by Bob Stanley, and Bob will be on hand to read from that, too.

LONG STORY SHORT
—Bob Stanley, Sacramento

Sure, Mr. G’s a friend of mine, great friend
of mine, he has this big company, everybody
goes to him for what they make. I’m not quite
sure – electronics, you know – but they love him.
He’s leading edge, top of his game.

Always was a little left of center, anyway,
he gets involved with this artist crowd, a theater
fund-raiser, a walk on the bridge, too many drinks,
then we hear there’s a girl in the picture, she gets
hold of him, problems with the wife, that sort of thing.

Before you know it he’s lost it completely – the kids,
boat at the lake, divorce is final, and he’s playing
violin for Christ’s sake at a bluegrass bar in the tenderloin
and they give him beers and he walks home loaded
till even the girl gives up on him and he’s got nowhere to go.

Long story short he gets the prostate deal, fast like
fire in the wind, two months and he’s gone, big
strong guy withered away to nothing in a heartbeat.
I didn’t go, but everybody’s at the funeral – junkies,
banjo players, the whole industry, the goddamn
Governor was there I tell you, yeah, he’s my pal, great friend of mine.

_______________________

SWEET FIRE
—Bob Stanley, Sacramento

When the Mongolian cellist astounded Charlie Parker in ’55,
it was shot glasses of rice-liquor all around; the singer
began singing in two voices at once, and lamb
arrived at the table, its roasted ribs splayed like a
Bach fugue, going both directions at the same time.

Ghengis Khan was there, and the first emperor of the Qin.
“Not Ching,” he laughed loudly, food in his mouth, but “Chin,
Like on your face,” then, “Smile when you say that,”
He looked nervously around the joint with all its cats,
wishing he was safely in his tomb with eight thousand men.

All the music rolled into one that night, Lionel Hampton
rang them bronze bells, and Chairman Mao, (his musical career
having been cut short by the cultural revolution) really aired it out
on a flugelhorn solo. If you’ve never heard the Dalai Lama scat
over rhythm changes, you’ve really missed something.

After midnight when eunuchs tore down the sound system,
Reporters and agents waited by the Great Wall
smoking camels, expecting some good to come of it,
but all we had was memories of drumbeats - perforations on maps
and the sweet fire that sometimes blows from one man’s horn.

_______________________

Thanks, Bob! Also premiering that night will be Rattlesnake Review #12 (an even dozen!) and Issue #5 of VYPER, the journal of poetry from youngsters 13-19. Be there!

By the way, Bob Stanley, President of Sacramento Poetry Center, writes: Friday, December 15 is our day to wrap presents for customers and garner donations at Barnes and Noble (Sunrise), 9 AM-11 PM. We are looking for volunteers to spend a few hours wrapping. (This is different from “rapping,” which used to mean talking intently with others, but now has a more rhythmic connotation.) Brad Buchanan is keeping track of who will be there when—probably afternoon and evening will be the busiest times—so please let him know what you can do. If you have questions, you can contact Brad atbuchanan@saclink.csus.edu. Please help if you can, and bring a friend!

_______________________

—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.)

Love...sick...

TROUBLE AT THE SACRAMENTO DOUBLE TREE BAR
—Michelle Kunert

I went to the Thursday night Salsa dance for "singles"
at the Double Tree Inn bar
but I wonder if the motel name means where it stands between,
as in the ones in the beginning of the Garden of Eden,
or even closer yet to that infamous tree of knowledge,
being as there were men I got inspired to say to—
look, if you're already married,
what are you looking for here?
If you think you want me as your mistress,
you better be smarter and richer than you are
I said, so please get far away from me
And I thought of asking back what I did pay to leave
not virginal but I still feel used as did Eve—
the first to protest in the world that nothing is fair—
so I am wary of anyone who offers me a drink.
Also immigrants will serenade you at the Double Tree
whose stories sounded pretty much sound like
"I just got to meet that special American lady
and need to get naturalization papers
and then I can bring over my family"
as if love naturally came with green cards, or rather tarja verdes.
Even the fat, middle-aged Mexican who stepped on my feet
'cause he failed miserably at Cuban rumba:
Frankenstein thought he had a chance on me, even slim as it was.
Walking out on a dance with a man old enough to be my dad
I met an East Indian who works for Intel
who was also tired of the floor of rhythmless zombies.
I said "My, you're handsome like those Indians who are TV stars,
almost kind of like those musical opera movies I've seen."
My flattery made him laugh
But I didn't expect to get Mr. Wanna Be Karma Sutra—
After sharing a friendly game of pool and a beer
his hands that suddenly took mine felt almost like ice,
hands that maybe got hired for playing an engineering counsel like a sitar
simply didn't get any warmer as they got worked up next on my body
"You are really getting tense right now..."
As if he were lecturing like Deepak Chopra on spirituality.
I warned him the rule in America for ladies you just met
is, Hey you better not touch any parts you ain't got!
That turned him off, and Lord! was it hard to finally get an apology.
I felt I must've asked for that kind of trouble
from biting into the bad apple that I didn't even pick
but fell rotten to the ground from the Double Tree.

________________________

Thanks, Michelle—I love Michelle's takes on the Sacramento singles scene. Yikes!


This weekend:

•••Sat. (12/9), 7 PM: Poems-For-All’s Second Saturday Series features Other Voices: Thoughts from Sacramento's Left Bank; Poets read from the new limited edition set of handmade books from the Inclusionists. Poetry by the late Gene Black, as well as David Wiley, Leah Levine, Rachel Savage, Laura Llano, Be Davison-Herrera, Carol Gilbert-Wagner and Maggie Bowen Brown. That’s at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Info: richard@poems-for-all.com or 916-442-9295

•••Sat. (12/9), 8 PM: The ILL List III: A Poetry Slam Invitational at the State Theatre, 1307 J St., Modesto. This event will feature 10 nationally-renowned spoken word artists, many of whom have previously appeared on HBO's Def Poetry Jam. Through three rounds of original poetry, poets will match metaphors and battle rhyme for rhyme on their quest for $1000 in cash prizes! Randomly-selected judges from the audience, using Olympic-style scorecards, will award points to poets based on the strength of their poems and the quality of their performance. Audience members are strongly encouraged to root for their favorite poems, as cuts will be made after every round. Cheering, yelling, booing, hissing, whistling, and good-natured heckling are welcome and expected. Admission to this world-class literary boxing match is $15 for general admission, $12 students or $50 for front row, reserved seating, $30 second row, reserved seating. Tickets can be purchased online at www.thestate.org or at Salon Deville and Day Spa, 226 McHenry Avenue, Modesto (Cash-only location). Info: www.slamonrye.com or contact the State Theatre at (209) 527-4697.

•••Sat. (12/9), 3-5 PM: Patricity's In Spirit & Truth Series: featured readers plus open mic. 61 Yuence Smoked BBQ & Grill, 9657 Folsom Blvd., Sac. (off Bradshaw). Free. Info: 916-361-2014.

•••Sunday (12/10), 6 PM: Manzanita poetry and prose reading held at the Barnes & Noble in Weberstown Mall, Stockton (Pacific Ave. and March Lane). Hosted by Poets Corner and Barnes & Noble, this event will feature readers who have poems published in the literary journal, Manzanita (#5). Open mic.

•••Also Sunday (12/10), 2:30-4:30 PM: Poets on the Ridge Open Mic at Juice & Java, 7067 Skyway, Paradise. Info: 530-872-9633. This event meets on the second Sunday of every month.

•••Monday (12/11), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Mendocino County Poets Teresa Whitehall, Linda Noel, and Devreaux Baker. HQ for the Arts, 25th & R Sts., Sac. Info: 916-979-9706.


How is it I want you once again
now that I can't have you anymore?
Your place was a mess
as you threw your stuff on the floor
and I found out that in bed
you were like when I asked you to dance
as you'd prefer to roll over and loudly snore
I had to remind you I wasn't your mother
but you said I had to take you as you were
It made me finally decide to walk out the door
but you changed that all for another
as if somehow she is better?
But I know I need to get over it
or I will live forever in this pain

—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

_______________________

Thanks for this one, too, Michelle, and for helping us continue this week's rather cynical ruminations about love.

—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.)

Becoming a Stone

IF I BECAME A STONE
—So Chong-Ju

If I became
a stone

stone would become
lotus

lotus,
lake

and if I became
a lake

lake would become
lotus

lotus,
stone.

_______________________

Tonight:

•••Thursday (12/7), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sac) presents !X—The Ethnic Theater Ensemble. Open mic before and after. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free.

•••Thursday (12/7), 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac. $5, hosted by Flo-Real. Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets.


Pleasanton Poetry Festival next March:

The sixth annual Pleasanton Poetry, Prose and Arts Festival will be held on Saturday, March 31, 2007 at the CarrAmerica Conference Center, 4400 Rosewood Drive in Pleasanton. This all-day Festival will include poetry and prose workshops for all ages, poetry and prose contests for festival participants (with over $1,200 in prizes), a fine arts show, book signings, “Literary Row,” music, and an Awards Banquet. There will also be presentations by California Poet Laureate Al Young and Pulitzer-Prize winning novelist and screenwriter Michael Chabon.

Morning workshops include:

* The Lyrical Poem (Adult Poetry) presented by Gail & Charles Entrekin;
* Monster Poems: Addressing the Shadow (Adult Poetry) presented by Armand Brint;
* Making It Beautiful, No Matter What (Adult Poetry) presented by Susan Browne;
* The Mask Speaks (Youth Poetry) presented by Grace Marie Grafton;
* The Memory Thief (Adult and Teen Prose) presented by Lewis Buzbee.

Afternoon workshops include:

* The Sensory Experience (Adult Poetry) presented by Gail & Charles Entrekin;
* An Animal Wearing My Clothes (Adult Poetry) presented by Armand Brint;
* Making It Beautiful, No Matter What (Adult Poetry) presented by Susan Browne;
* Writing & Illustrating Children’s Books (Adult and Teen Prose) presented by Elisa Kleven;
* Whose House is This? (Adult and Teen Prose) presented by Lewis Buzbee.

Poetry and prose contest entries by all age groups must be submitted with early registration (must register to enter contests). Registration information and contest entry instructions will be available after December 16, 2006 at the PCAC website, www.pleasantonarts.org, by contacting Michelle Russo at City of Pleasanton Civic Arts, (925) 931-5350, or contacting Kirk Ridgeway at PleasantonPoetry@comcast.net.

______________________

A SNEEZE
—So Chong-Ju

Somewhere
is someone
saying my words?

I stepped out
into the blue autumn day's
winds that touched the ricepaper door.
I sniffed at the weather,
and sneezed.

Somewhere
is someone
saying my words?

Somewhere
as someone says my words,
has a flower overheard and passed them along?

Traces that stir
the waves of an old love.

Is someone
somewhere
saying my words?

As someone says them
has an ox overheard?
Does he pass them along?

(Translated from the Korean by David R. McKann)
______________________

David Humphreys was unhappy with his version of his poem which we posted last week, so he has made some changes and is asking Medusa to re-post. I guess Pearl Harbor Day is a good day to do that:

WAR CRIMES
—David Humphreys, Stockton

Thought it was cold last week but
that was nothing. It's going to be
in the twenties tonight. You remember
walking between buildings only about
a hundred yards at thirty below zero,
having your uncovered head go numb,
knowing you would've frozen solid if
you'd been caught out in it under that
star sparkling huge Colorado sky. You
wonder about the space station and if
temperature is like sound out there
without gravity but you don't really
formulate it into a question. It is like
the prism in the kitchen window, amusing
but remote. The man was testy again at
this morning's press conference. You
imagine him being helped away from
the scene of a roadside bombing, shaken
and smudged with blood and dirt, hair
wild and askew, shouting "But I don't
understand, they just don't seem to get it!"
Watched a show last night on Japan
building the Bridge on the River Kwai,
how they killed so many people, mostly
Asians and POWs, close to two hundred
thousand by the time they finished, regrettable
said the Japanese railway engineer who was
found to be blameless, but that's what seems
to happen in a time of war.

_____________________

Thanks, David!

—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.)

More About Love

ON THE STAIRS
—C.P. Cavafy

As I was going down the infamous stairway,
you were coming through the door, and for a moment
I saw your unfamiliar face and you saw me.
Then I hid so you would not see me again, and you
passed by quickly hiding your face,
and you dove into the infamous house
where you couldn't have found pleasure, as I didn't find it.

And yet, the love you wanted, I had it to give you;
the love I wanted—your eyes told it to me
your tired and distrustful eyes—you had it to give me.
Our bodies sensed and sought each other;
our blood and our skin understood.

But the two of us hid disturbed.

_______________________

AT THE THEATER
—C.P. Cavafy

I was bored looking at the stage,
and I lifted my eyes to the loges
and I saw you in a loge
with your strange beauty, your dissolute youth.
And at once there came back to my mind
all they had told me about you in the afternoon,
and my mind and body were moved.
And while fascinated I gazed
at your tired beauty, your tired youth,
your tastefully selected clothes,
I imagined you and depicted you,
the way they spoke to me of you that afternoon.

_______________________

News from Poet's Lane:

Cynthia Bryant, Pleasanton Poet Laureate, writes: Poet’s Lane needs your poems for December! Anyone, any age, anywhere may submit poetry to PoetsLane@comcast.net to be posted on www.poetslane.com. The four themes are: Pagans, Zealots, Dark Times and Gifts. If you don’t have a poem with those themes and just need to get something off your chest with a poem, send that as well, but state that it is for the Get if Off Your Chest page at www.poetslane.com. And check out Poet’s Lane (www.poetslane.com) Radio Show page and listen to the new interview with Calgarian poet with Iraqi ancestry, Zaid Shlah.

Pleasanton will host its sixth annual Prose, Arts and Poetry Festival again this year, this time on March 31. More about that later.


Tonight:

•••Weds. (12/6), 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. (12/6), 7 PM: 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 Sacramento's 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. 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.

_______________________

JANUARY 1904
—C.P. Cavafy

Ah, the nights of this January,
when I sit and recreate those moments
in my mind and I meet you,
and I hear our last words and I also hear the first.

Despairing nights of this January,
when the vision vanishes and leaves me bereft.
How it vanishes and quickly dissolves—
gone are the trees, gone the streets, gone the houses, gone the lights;
your amorous face fades and is lost.

________________________

BOUQUETS
—C.P. Cavafy

Absinthe, datura and bean plant,
aconite, hellebore anhd hemlock—
all the bitters and the poisons—
will donate their leaves and horrible flowers
to make up the large bouquets
that will be placed upon the bright altar—
ah, the splendid altar of Malachite stone—
of the horrible and very lovely Passion.

_______________________

FROM THE DRAWER
—C.P. Cavafy

I was planning to place it on a wall in my room

But the dampness of the drawer damaged it.

I will not frame this photograph.

I should have guarded it more carefully.

Those lips, that face—
ah, if only their past would return
for one day, for one hour.

I will not frame this photograph.

I will endure looking at it damaged as it is.

On the other hand, even if it were not damaged
it would annoy me to be careful lest some word,
some accent in the voice betray—
should anyone ever ask me about it.

(Today's poetry was translated from the Greek by Rae Dalven.)

_______________________

—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.)