THE CAPE'S ULYSSES
—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA
Airy crows and egrets
reach a trembling dawn,
in the yellow sun
you gesture July daylight
wanting a bronze oar,
sweating and out of breath
with the sparkle
of your adventurous eyes
like an exiled Ulysses
scarring the surf,
not expecting Minotaurs
and wandering mermaids
to follow the wind and sea
combing the beach
and shifting
your spongy visor
by lighthouse sounds,
you collect shining sails
shells and visions
on the wings of swans.
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Thanks, B.Z.! B.Z. Niditch is a frequent contributor to the Snake; see our latest issue for more of his poems.
VISITING HOURS
—B.Z. Niditch
Hectoring Spanish memories
of the Caribbean Sea
when you lost
your Yucatan cap
on twilight waves
in the frenzied wind
by a sailboat's gaze
along capricious seas.
You were unprepared
at lunch break,
suddenly caught up
in the white walled room
of body worries,
eyeing tubes, water, blood
in a travel of grief,
bed clothed in icy odor
by cheering-on words
of comfort inside.
Your noonday face
stares at mirror, liquids, lilacs
to the rudderless stop
of a dead-end silence,
wishing again
for the mawkish delight
to phantom dance
down river, forever.
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RUST ISLAND
—B.Z. Niditch
Blackbirds call
under a buried sky,
seaflakes depart
on an ocean scent
besieged by clouds
of hibiscus and rose.
You walk a pebbled sand path
as shore winds murmur,
an island flutters
over your sealed lids
till you awaken
in a sleepless dune
between night and shade.
In the barest of grasses
you wander aimlessly,
passing forgotten kayaks,
on a dispersion of shells
till you reach the ocean's
fresh air memory
and sea gulls appear,
gliding over
a daytime's limpid waters.
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WHITE MOUNTAINS
—B.Z. Niditch
On wakened paths
watching puzzles of flakes
slip off deciduous elm
the wind tosses covers
over dizzy branches
icicles hang on downy rocks
haystacks and daybeds,
beaked eyelids
will capture boughs
of hilltop grasslands
transparent as snowbirds
too cautious for morning.
You make no promises
in an abandoned landscape
frozen in your palms
wishing for nature's simplicity
by vanilla garden boxes
an incalculable stone
hedged in for a last time
skywriting your initials
on climbing memory.
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KALEIDOSCOPE
—B.Z. Niditch
An absent time
like a death
in the camera store
someone ages
and an exile
winks nearby
trying to catch
the hair from moving
on his poised cat
by a dusty runaway
looking out
at our daydream
while taking pictures
from a stolen lens
on the sun effaced hour
blades are mowed down
by the butterfly pond
near the aspen tree
caught on audible flesh
the wind removes you
like a memory of footsteps
by the half greensward field
you long for the sea
even for the friendship
of the snowy Atlantic
or eating up photos
of unpronounceable fruit
in a distant country.
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BURDEN DOWN
—Tom Goff, Carmichael
I am my abandoned belongings, loosely packed
mindsets left in terminals, thoughts adrift with
lives, heirlooms, journals, poems, in
an oilstain sea flame-laced, conscience cargo
bobbing applish and elusive,
PT-109 crew already scooped up
one boat over, something having missed,
me having missed some awakeness,
some airlift, some rapture. Where’s
God, now that I’ve kicked away
Her rope ladder in the wave-chop,
certain that desperate I would never need
the scoop-up rescue. What is punishment
enough? I lost a sea-floor array of books,
certain the 1986 flood wouldn’t swamp
the garage. A three-volume Rambler
by Samuel Johnson, reprint from 1806,
went, and schools more of tomes,
vaster and faster than Bishop’s
wasn’t-a-disaster. What I left
now feels like what tore from me in a rage,
rage and neglect the glue
peeling from me chunks of tissue, Hercules’ shirt,
Hercules’ shirt. Sheila the caregiver
persuaded me I could dispense
with scrapbooks, looseleafs, reams
of old mom and grandma photos.
Her mind’s gone, and what you have left
is just luggage. Take; eat; this is my body.
Shred, rip, toss; this was her and me.
Tell me no more to lay my burden,
my burden, my burden down.
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Thanks, Tom, for responding to this week's Seed: What We Leave Behind.
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Today's LittleNip:
To be happy, a man must love death and failure.
—Marvin Bell, from his poem, "Written During Depression: How to be Happy"
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—Medusa
SnakeWatch: What's New from Rattlesnake Press:
Now available at The Book Collector in Sacramento, and (soon) from rattlesnakepress.com/: Thirteen Poems, a new chapbook from Patrick Grizzell; #2 in Katy Brown's series of blank journals (Musings2: Vices, Virtues and Obsessions); a free littlesnake broadside (Wind Physics) from Jordan Reynolds; plus Issue #19 of Rattlesnake Review (also free!). Contributor and subscription copies of RR19 will be going into the mail this week. Next deadline for submissions is November 15.
Coming in October: October’s release at The Book Collector on Weds., Oct. 8, will feature a new rattlechap from Moira Magneson (He Drank Because) and a littlesnake broadside from Hatch Graham (Circling of the Pack). That's at the Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, 7:30 PM. Refreshments and a read-around will follow; bring your own poems or somebody else’s.
Then, on Thursday, Oct. 30, 8 PM, Rattlesnake Press will release two SpiralChaps to honor and celebrate Luna’s Café, including a new collection of art and poetry from B.L. Kennedy (Luna’s House of Words) and an anthology of Luna’s poets, artists and photographs (La Luna: Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Café) edited by Frank Andrick. Come travel with our Away Team as we leave the Home of the Snake for a brief road trip/time travel to Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sacramento to celebrate Art Luna and the 13 years of Luna's long-running poetry series. Who knows what auspicious adventures await us there?
Medusa's Weekly Menu:
(Contributors are welcome to cook up something for any and all of these!)
Monday: Weekly NorCal poetry calendar
Tuesday: Seed of the Week: Tuesday is Medusa's day to post poetry triggers such as quotes, forms, photos, memories, jokes—whatever might tickle somebody's muse. Pick up the gauntlet and send in your poetic results; and don't be shy about sending in your own triggers, too! All poems will be posted and a few of them will go into Medusa's Corner of each Rattlesnake Review. Send your work to 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.
Wednesday (sometimes): HandyStuff Quickies: Resources for the poet, including whatever helps ease the pain of writing and/or publishing: favorite journals to read and/or submit to; books, etc., about writing; organizational tools—you know—HandyStuff! Tell us about your favorite tools.
Thursday: B.L.'s Drive-Bys: Micro-reviews by our irreverent Reviewer-in-Residence, B.L. Kennedy. Send books, CDs, DVDs, etc. to him for possible review (either as a Drive-By or in future issues of Rattlesnake Review) at P.O. Box 160664, Sacramento, CA 95816.
Friday: NorCal weekend poetry calendar
Daily (except Sunday): LittleNips: SnakeFood for the Poetic Soul: Daily munchables for poetic thought, including short paragraphs, quotes, wonky words, silliness, little-known poetry/poet facts, and other inspiration—yet another way to feed our ravenous poetic souls.
And poetry! Every day, poetry from writers near and far and in-between! The Snakes of Medusa are always hungry.......!
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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). And be sure to sign up for Snakebytes, our monthly e-newsletter that will keep you up-to-date on all our ophidian chicanery.