Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
ONLY AT NIGHT
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
At the gallery under fluorescent lights,
someone has carved a fox from a black-oak burl,
curled her in whorls of woodgrain.
Vixen eyes etch a silence in the room, even
as we read aloud our poems.
After closing, as I drive
the dark way home, my headlights
catch a streak thin as a knife-stroke—
vixen escaped from the wood
in which she was carved.
Can art slip the chain of logic?
Fox has disappeared
into the woods, the dark between
words; night’s silence hiding
beneath our tongue.
__________________
THE LAST NIGHT
—Donald R. Anderson
Castle, stacked block by block.
Cold walls and tapestries of natural dyes,
woven over the courses of years.
At night he hears the piano soft and gentle,
down in one of the far-off rooms,
his love captured in paint looks across the master bedroom,
soft and gentle, pleated skirt, fragile,
delicate glasses perched atop a slender nose.
Eyes that follows him as he looks out the stone hole
in the wall, moving aside the tapestry to look across
moonlit green misty hills wildly grown with the forbidden forest.
In the tender moments he thinks of where she might be,
and wonders when his memory of the piano playing
will fade into the recesses of his mind,
and he will finally, frail and rasping, shudder to sleep.
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
At the gallery under fluorescent lights,
someone has carved a fox from a black-oak burl,
curled her in whorls of woodgrain.
Vixen eyes etch a silence in the room, even
as we read aloud our poems.
After closing, as I drive
the dark way home, my headlights
catch a streak thin as a knife-stroke—
vixen escaped from the wood
in which she was carved.
Can art slip the chain of logic?
Fox has disappeared
into the woods, the dark between
words; night’s silence hiding
beneath our tongue.
__________________
THE LAST NIGHT
—Donald R. Anderson
Castle, stacked block by block.
Cold walls and tapestries of natural dyes,
woven over the courses of years.
At night he hears the piano soft and gentle,
down in one of the far-off rooms,
his love captured in paint looks across the master bedroom,
soft and gentle, pleated skirt, fragile,
delicate glasses perched atop a slender nose.
Eyes that follows him as he looks out the stone hole
in the wall, moving aside the tapestry to look across
moonlit green misty hills wildly grown with the forbidden forest.
In the tender moments he thinks of where she might be,
and wonders when his memory of the piano playing
will fade into the recesses of his mind,
and he will finally, frail and rasping, shudder to sleep.
NIGHT MOVES
—Kevin Jones, Fair Oaks
So I asked
My friend
How he got
The black eye.
Was down
At the tavern,
And after last call
There was this big
Nocturne, drag-out
Fight. Glass
Breaking, then
The lights
Went out.
Too dark to fight.
Think I bashed
Myself.
__________________
NOCTURNE (I ACCOMPANIED YOU)
—Leopold Sedar Senghor, b. 1906, Senegal
(for khalam)
I accompanied you as far as the village of granaries,
To the gates of Night, and I was speechless
Before the golden riddle of your smile. A brief twilight
Fell over your face, like a divine joke.
From the top of a hill shaded from light, I saw your bright pagne
Fade and your crest like a sun drop behind the rice-field shade
When anguish assailed me, ancestral fears more treacherous
Than panthers—the mind cannot expel them farther than the day's
Horizons. Will this night last forever? Departure without good-bye?
I shall cry in the shadows, in the motherly hollow of the Earth,
I shall sleep in my silent tears
Until the milky dawn of your mouth touches my brow.
(translated by Melvin Dixon)
__________________
NOCTURNE (SHE FLIES SHE FLIES)
—Leopold Sedar Senghor
(for two horns and a balafong)
She flies she flies through the white flat lands, and patiently I take my aim
Giddy with desire. She takes her chances to the bush
Passion of thorns and thickets. Then I will bring her to bay in the chain of hours
Snuffing the soft panting of her flanks, mottled with shadow
And under the foolish Great Noon, I will twist her arms of glass.
The antelope's jubilant death rattle will intoxicate me, new palm wine
And I will drink long long the wild blood that rises to her heart
The milk blood that flows to her mouth, odours of damp earth.
Am I not the son of Dyogoye? Dyogoye the famished Lion.
(translated by John Reed and Olive Wake)
__________________
Today's LittleNip:
Oh the evening wind hurries smoke our smoke
into the sky
—Ikkyu
__________________
—Medusa
SnakeWatch: What's New from Rattlesnake Press:
Rattlesnake Review: The latest issue (#20) is currently available at The Book Collector, or send me two bux and I'll mail you one. Deadline for RR21 is February 15: send 3-5 poems, smallish art pieces and/or photos (no bio, no cover letter, no simultaneous submissions or previously-published poems) to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. E-mail attachments are preferred, but be sure to include all contact info, including snail address. Meanwhile, the snakes of Medusa are always hungry; let us know if your submission is for the Review or for Medusa, or for either one.
Also available (free): littlesnake broadside #46: Snake Secrets: Getting Your Poetry Published in Rattlesnake Press (and lots of other places, besides!): A compendium of ideas for brushing up on your submissions process so as to make editors everywhere more happy, thereby increasing the likelihood of getting your poetry published. Pick up a copy at The Book Collector or write to me and I'll send you one. Free!
Coming in February: On Weds., February 11, Rattlesnake Press will be releasing a new rattlechap from Sacramento's Poet Laureate, Julia Connor (Oar); a littlesnake broadside from Josh Fernandez (In The End, It’s A Worthless Machine); and the premiere of our new Rattlesnake Reprints, featuring The Dimensions of the Morning by D.R. Wagner, which was first published by Black Rabbit Press in 1969. That’s February 11 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.
And on February 19, the premiere of our new, free Poetry Unplugged quarterly, WTF, edited by frank andrick, will be celebrated at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sacramento, 8 PM. (For those of you just tuning in, Poetry Unplugged is the long-running reading series at Luna's Cafe.)
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 SOWs; 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, or any other day!): 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.......!
_________________
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.