Tired Dog Richard Kalvar, Paris, 1974 (Magnam Photos)
—Steve Williams, Portland
Gray, cracked—façade and stone.
Unashamed of naked age—Old beagle woman
do you see him sniffing a bit of weed?
Or do you watch an empty sidewalk
while arthritis creeps up your bones
like a wagon train of biting ants?
You cannot see or smell your owner—
he is crumbling concrete sand
roiling in your belly, warmed by the sun.
There is a jagged hole beside you,
a blind corner at the end of the building row,
you are on the verge of adventure.
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Thanks, Steve! Rattlechapper Steve Williams sends us this poem and photo for our Seed of the Week. Use it to trigger your thoughts and get your muse a-goin'. Tuesday is Medusa's day to post poetry triggers that you have come up with, such as quotes, forms, photos, memories, jokes—send us whatever you think might tickle somebody's muse. I'll pick one and post it on a Tuesday, then Medusa readers are encouraged to rise to the occasion with their responses to your triggers. All poems will be posted and a few of them will go into Medusa's Corner of each Rattlesnake Review, starting with the up-comer issue (#17) which is due out tomorrow. Send your work to me at kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. No deadline for SOW; respond today, tomorrow, or whenever the muse arrives. Print 'em out, maybe, save 'em for a dry spell? When you send us work, though, just let us know which "seed" it was that inspired you.
Speaking of triggers, check out the new Rattlesnake Review, which will be available at The Book Collector beginning tomorrow night at the rattle-read. This "trigger-happy" issue is full of ideas that should get you started on writing. Plus, Steve Williams reminds us that Wild Poetry Forum has an active "trigger" section on it, besides. Look it up at: http://wildpoetryforum.com/~wildpoet/discus/messages/32729/33591.html?1203391863
Dancing Poetry deadline:
Deadline is May 15 for Artists Embassy International’s Fifteenth Annual Dancing Poetry Contest. All DPF prize winners will receive a prize certificate suitable for framing, a ticket to the Dancing Poetry Festival ’08, and be invited to read their prize winning poem at the 2008 Dancing Poetry Festival, September 27, 2008, Noon-4 PM in the Florence Gould Theater in the California Palace of the Legion of Honor Art Museum in San Francisco. Three Grand Prizes will receive $100 each, plus their poems will be danced and videotaped for the winners. Each Grand Prize Winner will be invited onstage for photo ops with the dancers and a bow in the lime light. In addition, five First Prizes will receive $50 each; ten Second Prizes will receive $25 each, and 25 Third Prizes will receive $10 each (over $1000 in prizes!). For any additional info, including submission guidelines, please visit www.dancingpoetry.com.
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And in case you haven't heard, tomorrow (Wed., 3/12), Rattlesnake Press will be releasing a chapbook from Ann Privateer (Attracted to Light), a littlesnake broadside from Jeanine Stevens (Eclipse), Conversations Vol. 2 of B.L. Kennedy's Rattlesnake Interview Series, and a brand-new issue of Rattlesnake Review (#17—next deadline is May 15). Join us to celebrate all of this at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, on Wednesday, March 12 at 7:30 PM.
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RAINBOW
—Max Jacob
It was the hour when night makes the mountains lament
And the crags creak under the footsteps of animals,
The birds flew away from the countryside like poison
To get to the sea, to get to a better horizon.
Pursuing a poet then the devil went.
The poet stared at the sea as if he were dead,
For there the sea powdered the edge of a bay
And covered the skin of the giant rocks with scales.
But Jesus, with fire shining behind his head,
Came to climb up the black crags, bearing the cross.
The poet stretched out his arms towards the Savior
And everything vanished: the somber night and the beasts.
The poet followed God for his happiness.
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PATIENCE OF AN ANGEL
—Max Jacob
You can beat me, beat me! beat me, said the demon who stood near the stoup of holy water, but you cannot destroy me. I am the rebel angel but I am an angel and my face that you so often mar bears at least the trace of one virtue: patience. You can beat me! beat me! My time will come.
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BANKS
—Max Jacob
I complain like the flute,
Dreaming of greater Art?
So many stops and looks
But never any listens
For a poor man who traps
A snowstorm that glistens.
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HELL IS GRADUATED
—Max Jacob
When I was employed at Cooperative Fashions, in spite of the dark, ugly old maid, I tried to steal some garters. I was pursued down the superb staircases, not for the theft, but for my laziness at work and for my hatred of the innocent finery. Descend, you are pursued. The staircases are less beautiful in the offices than in the part open to the public. The staircases are less beautiful in the "service" quarters than in the offices. The staircases are still less beautiful in the cellar! But what can I say of the marsh where I arrived? What can I say of the laughter? Of the animals that brushed by me, and of the whisperings of unseen creatures? Water gave place to fire, to fear, to unconsciousness; when I came to myself I was in the hands of silent and nameless surgeons.
(Max Jacob's poetry was translated by Elizabeth Bishop.)
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—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).
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BANKS
—Max Jacob
I complain like the flute,
Always the same tune
No rests in the water-cress
The toad sounding "do"
Would prefer the bassoon.
Elves whose forces beguile
Must I, for my part,
Go to bed all my lifeNo rests in the water-cress
The toad sounding "do"
Would prefer the bassoon.
Elves whose forces beguile
Must I, for my part,
Dreaming of greater Art?
So many stops and looks
But never any listens
For a poor man who traps
A snowstorm that glistens.
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HELL IS GRADUATED
—Max Jacob
When I was employed at Cooperative Fashions, in spite of the dark, ugly old maid, I tried to steal some garters. I was pursued down the superb staircases, not for the theft, but for my laziness at work and for my hatred of the innocent finery. Descend, you are pursued. The staircases are less beautiful in the offices than in the part open to the public. The staircases are less beautiful in the "service" quarters than in the offices. The staircases are still less beautiful in the cellar! But what can I say of the marsh where I arrived? What can I say of the laughter? Of the animals that brushed by me, and of the whisperings of unseen creatures? Water gave place to fire, to fear, to unconsciousness; when I came to myself I was in the hands of silent and nameless surgeons.
(Max Jacob's poetry was translated by Elizabeth Bishop.)
_______________________
—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).