photo by Katy Brown, Davis
JAZZONIA
—Langston Hughes
Oh, silver tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
In a Harlem cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
Lifts high a dress of silken gold.
Oh, singing tree!
Oh, shining rivers of the soul!
Were Eve's eyes
In the first garden
Just a bit too bold?
Was Cleopatra gorgeous
In a gown of gold?
Oh, shining tree!
Oh, silver rivers of the soul!
In a whirling cabaret
Six long-headed jazzers play.
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Today Langston Hughes would've been 105 years old.
Tom Goff of Carmichael writes: You've read, I take it, about the woman who fended off the mountain lion in the park not too far from San Francisco. I admire her, but I wondered what [Robinson] Jeffers would have to say about the animal...this, in something like the RJ style:
HONOR THE MOUNTAIN LION
—Tom Goff
Will the injured man forever see, feel, only
broken images, disjunct hindquarters, tensed neck, incisor-
studded mouth, as victims of certain head traumas perceive shape?
(Exaggeration of ways we ourselves see; only the flash of a haunch
in the grass and gravel of Bannister Park…and yetÑüthe revealed beast,
back to a fence, skin taut upon skull, glaring force at us open-mouthed
in our car near Volcano.)
The woman fought well, she who jabbed
at a mountain lion with a log four inches in diameter,
with a ballpoint pen snatched from the pocket
of her bleeding husband, aiming sharpness at the eyes,
blunt force at the muzzle, of the strange, implacable
tawny-skin. The lady blameless, as we humans
count fellow humans blameless; the loving pair were simply
walking in a park redwood-blessed; so does the judge
decide with clear impartiality, though it is his
class of citizens that profits by the opinion, the dictum.
Nothing nobler than that the woman should protect
her mate, even when the instinctual message thrilling
her legs was surely to run. Did the mountain lion
have a legal basis upon which to proceed? Did it petition, rail
of encroachment, of boundaries, rights, permissions to hunt?
There being no tribunal under the trees, the cougar
sprang from hiding, from behind a fat boulder, from
behind a stout pine or fir, charged with one noble truth
its blood, its artful teeth, its fifteen-foot-vertical-leap legs,
must respect, must come running for:
savagery ungovernable, need sprouting fangs and flashes
from deep yellow unfathomable eyes. It too had a mate
or a sibling. Honor also the mountain lion.
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Thanks, Tom! Particularly pertinent, since there is also a mountain lion wandering along beside the American River right now; last sighting was about a mile from our old house near the Hazel Avenue bridge. Can't we all just get along?......
Bay Area Poets Coalition winners:
BAPC (www.bayareapoetscoalition.org) presents The Maggi H. Meyer Memorial Contest 27 Winners Celebration on Saturday, February 3rd, from 3-5 PM in the Dining Hall at Strawberry Creek Lodge (senior housing complex), 1320 Addison St., Berkeley (Addison is one block south and parallel to University Ave. between Acton & Bonar St.; parking on the street, NOT in the S.C.L. parking lot). Open reading follows; microphone available. All winning poems will be read (winners present will be invited to read their poems). Awards will be presented at the event or mailed to the poets who are not able to attend. Congratulations to Contest 27 Winners Al Averbach, C.W. Buckley, Rafaella Del Bourgo, Ellen Peckham, Ross Plovnick, Marian Shapiro, Theresa McCourt, Jeanine Stevens & Patricia Wellingham-Jones. The last three winners are Valley people and Snake-pals; Medusa will have more to say about Theresa and Patricia in the next couple of days. As usual, Valley people snag awards in these high-fallutin' contests...
________________________
APRIL RAIN SONG
—Langston Hughes
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
______________________
I, TOO
—Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
I, too, am America.
______________________
—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.)