photo by Jane Blue, SacramentoHIRELING
—R.S. Thomas
Cars pass him by; he'll never own one.
Men won't believe in him for this.
Let them come into the hills
And meet him wandering a road,
Fenced with rain, as I have now;
The wind feathering his hair;
The sky's ruins, gutted with fire
Of the late sun, smouldering still.
Nothing is his, neither the land
Nor the land's flocks. Hired to live
On hills too lonely, sharing his hearth
With cats and hens, he has lost all
property but the grey ice
Of a face splintered by life's stone.
_______________________
Thanks to Jane Blue for her Medusa photo! You may've noticed more photos on the blog lately; I'm aiming for one a day, now that I more-or-less have the hang of it. Feel free to send 'em in—any subject—either by e-mail (kathykieth@hotmail.com) or snail (P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA). As with poems, you retain the rights.
THE WAY OF IT
—R.S. Thomas
With her fingers she turns paint
into flowers, with her body
flowers into a remembrance
of herself. She is at work
always, mending the garment
of our marriage, foraging
like a bird for something
for us to eat. If there are thorns
in my life, it is she who
will press her breast to them and sing.
Her words, when she would scold,
are too sharp. She is busy
after for hours rubbing smiles
into the wounds. I saw her,
when young, and spread the panoply
of my feathers instinctively
to engage her. She was not deceived,
but accepted me as a girl
will under a thin moon
in love's absence as someone
she could build a home with
for her imagined child.
_______________________
Poetry tonight:
•••Thursday evening, Jan. 25, at 7:30 PM, University of the Pacific in Stockton will present David Keplinger, winner of the T.S. Eliot Prize for The Rose Inside and author of The Prayers of Others. Reynolds Art Gallery, UOP Campus on Pacific Avenue.
•••Also tonight, 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions Open Mic at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater). $5, all ages.
•••Also tonight, 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. Features and open mic before/after. Free. Info: 916-441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com.
Listen to frank on Sunday:
This Sunday (1/28), hear frank andrick host The Pomo Literati (KUSF, 90.3 FM) from 2-4 PM. Special guests: Beth Lisick, Michelle Tea, Tara Jepsen, Becca Costello, Rachel Leibrock, Rachel Gregg, Rachel Savage. Pre-recorded works include Patti Smith reading Television, Hannah Marcus, The Glove (robert smith), Allen Ginsberg, Mirah, Kristen Hersh, William Burroughs, Edie Lambert, Germ ‘n’ frank, Lisa Gerrard, David Houston, The Haints and more. Hosted by frank andrick, co-hosted and engineered by Jim ‘The Germ’ Smith. The Pomo Literati is part of the KUSF Spotlight series. Also on the global airwaves at www.live365.com/stations/kusf. Questions? fandrickfabpub@hotmail.com or 209-727-5179.
Poet's Espresso deadline is NOW:
Donald Anderson writes: Send in your last minute poetry/art/photo submissions for the February-March 2007 issue of Poet’s Espresso ASAP to: poetsespresso@yahoo.com and maybe we can fit them into this issue! The themes are Valentine's and Black History Month. Limit 31 lines.
________________________
Medusa has fallen off the poets'-birthday wagon, maybe because hers is coming up. Normally we post the birthdays of famous poets; during The Move we've been remiss. Yesterday I was reminded that Robert Burns' birthday is in January; turns out, it's today! Happy Birthday, Bobbie! And in case you're wondering who we've missed, we did talk about William Stafford (1/17), but missed Sandburg (1/6), Philip Levine (1/10), Poe (1/19), and Lord Byron (1/22). Happy B-Day, fellas! Here's one from Bobby; read it out loud and listen to the music:
A VISION
—Robert Burns
As I stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care.
The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant echoing glens reply.
The stream, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roaring swells and fa's.
The cauld blae North was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din;
Athwart the lift they start and shift,
Like Fortune's favors, tint as win.
By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attir'd as Minstrels wont to be.
Had I a statue been o' stane,
His daring look had daunted me;
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain,
The sacred posy—"Libertie!"
And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
Might rous'd the slumb'ring Dead to hear;
But oh, it was a tale of woe,
As ever met a Briton's ear!
He sang wi' joy his former day,
He, weeping, wailed his latter times;
But what he said—it was nae play,
I winna venture't in my rhymes.
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as 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.)
