THE STORM
—Walter de la Mare
First there were two of us, then there were three of us,
Then there was one bird more,
Four of us—wild white sea-birds,
Treading the ocean floor;
And the wind rose, and the sea rose,
To the angry billows' roar—
With one of us—two of us—three of us—four of us
Sea-birds on the shore.
Soon there were five of us, soon there were nine of us,
And lo! in a trice sixteen!
And the yeasty surf curdled over the sands,
The gaunt grey rocks between;
And the tempest raved, and the lightning's fire
Struck blue on the spindrift hoar—
And on four of us—ay, and on four times four of us
Sea-birds on the shore.
And our sixteen waxed to thirty-two,
And they to past three score—
A wild, white welter of winnowing wings,
And ever more and more;
And the winds lulled, and the sea went down,
And the sun streamed out on high,
Gilding the pools and the spume and the spars
'Neath the vast blue deeps of the sky;
And the isles and the bright green headlands shone,
As they'd never shone before,
Mountains and valleys of silver cloud,
Wherein to swing, sweep, soar—
A host of screeching, scolding, scrabbling
Sea-birds on the shore—
A snowy, silent, sun-washed drift
Of sea-birds on the shore.
______________________
This weekend in NorCal poetry:
•••Friday (1/4), 7:30-9 PM: The Other Voice presents the dynamic husband and wife team, Susan and Joseph Finkleman, giving us their unique two-voice poems with music to accompany them, featuring flautist, Francesca Reitano, and percussionist, Mark Halverson. It’s a brand-new year, so come and party in the library of the Davis Unitarian Universalist Church, 27074 Patwin Road, Davis. Refreshments and Open Mike follow the reading, so bring along a poem or two to share. Susan says, We've got 8 brand-new poems for you, as well as a few old favorites. Susan and Joe have a SnakeRings SpiralChap, Poems in Two Voices, available, as well as CDs of their work. Check out their website: www.visionsandviews.com/. They can also be reached at josephfinkleman@yahoo.com/.
•••Saturday (1/5), 8 PM: Special reading: Songs for Maya, featuring Litany with Miles Maniaci, Mario Ellis Hill, Vincent Cobalt, Robert Lozano and others. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sacramento. Info: 916-441-3931. Hosted by B.L. Kennedy.
•••Also Sat. (1/5), 7 PM: Rhythm N Rhymes features Autumn Sky & Fair Trade and Once and Future Poet. Butch and Nellie's, 1827 I St., Sacramento. Free for open mic participants, $5 for others. Open mic sign-ups at 6:30. 916-443-6133.
•••Monday (1/7), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Barbara Jane Reyes and Oscar Bermeo at HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Open mic to follow. Barbara Jane Reyes [http://www.barbarajanereyes.com/] was born in Manila, Philippines and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. She received her undergraduate education at UC Berkeley and earned an MFA at SF State University in 2005. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Asian Pacific American Journal, Chain, Interlope, North American Review, and Tinfish. She is the author of Gravities of Center (SF: Arkipelago Books Publishing, 2003). In September 2005, Reyes was awarded the Academy of American Poets Prize [James Laughlin Award] for her second collection of poems, Poeta en San Francisco, published by Tinfish Press. Listen to her at Fishhouse: [http://www.fishousepoems.org/archives/barbara_jane_reyes/]
Oscar Bermeo was born in Ecuador and raised in the Bronx; he is a BRIO (Bronx Recognizes Its Own) award-winning poet, educator and literary events coordinator who now makes his home in Oakland, where he is the poetry editor for Tea Party magazine and lives with his wife, poeta Barbara Jane Reyes.
______________________
WINTER INSOMNIA
—Raymond Carver
The mind can't sleep, can only lie awake and
gorge, listening to the snow gather as
for some final assault.
It wishes Chekhov were here to minister
something—three drops of valerian, a glass
of rose water—anything, it wouldn't matter.
The mind would lilke to get out of here
onto the snow. It would like to run
with a pack of shaggy animals, all teeth,
under the moon, across the snow, leaving
no prints or spoor, nothing behind.
The mind is sick tonight.
____________________
HOMINY AND RAIN
—Raymond Carver
In a little patch of ground beside
the wall of the Earth Sciences building,
a man in a canvas hat was on
his knees doing something in the rain
with some plants. Piano music
came from an upstairs window
in the building next door. Then
the music stopped.
And the window was brought down.
You told me those white blossoms
on the cherry trees in the Quad
smelled like a can of just-opened
hominy. Hominy. They reminded you
of that. This may or may not
be true. I can't say.
I've lost my sense of smell,
along with any interest I may ever
have expressed in working
on my knees with plants, or
vegetables. There was a barefoot
madman with a ring in his ear
playing his guitar and singing
reggae. I remember that.
Rain puddling around his feet.
The place he'd picked to stand
had Welcome Fear
painted on the sidewalk in red letters.
At the time it seemed important
to recall the man on his knees
in front of his plants.
The blossoms. Music of one kind,
and another. Now I'm not so sure.
I can't say, for sure.
*
It's a little like some tiny cave-in,
in my brain. There's a sense
that I've lost—not everything,
not everything, but far too much.
A part of my life forever.
Like hominy.
Even though your arm stayed linked
in mine. Even though that. Even
though we stood quietly in the
doorway as the rain picked up.
And watched it without saying
anything. Stood quietly.
At peace, I think. Stood watching
the rain. While the one
with the guitar played on.
______________________
THE WINDOW
—Raymond Carver
A storm blew in last night and knocked out
the electricity. When I looked
through the window, the trees were translucent.
Bent and covered with rime. A vast calm
lay over the countryside.
I knew better. But at that moment
I felt I'd never in my life made any
false promises, nor committed
so much as one indecent act. My thoughts
were virtuous. Later on that morning,
of course, electricity was restored.
The sun moved from behind the clouds,
melting the hoarfrost.
And things stood as they had before.
______________________
—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 (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) 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.) Medusa cannot vouch for the moral fiber of other publications, contests, etc. that she lists, however, so submit to them at your own risk. For more info about the Snake Empire, including guidelines for submitting to or obtaining our publications, click on the link to the right of this column: Rattlesnake Press (rattlesnakepress.com).
SnakeWatch: Up-to-the-minute Snake news:
Rattlesnake Review: The new issue of Rattlesnake Review (Sweet 16) is available for free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, or send $2 to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726 and I'll mail you one. Next deadline (for Issue #17, due out in mid-March) is February 15. (Sooner than you think!)
Coming in February: The Snake has crawled into winter hibernation for January: no readings, no books, no broadsides. (Medusa is always awake, however, and will keep posting through most of that time. Send stuff.) Then, on February 13, Rattlesnake Press will roar to life again with a new SnakeRings SpiralChap from Don and Elsie Feliz (To Berlin With Love), plus a new littlesnake broadside from Carlena Wike (Going the Distance), as well as Volume Two of Conversations, B.L. Kennedy's Rattlesnake Interview Series.
