Spent yesterday trying to make Sense of Things; ended up mired knee-deep in a bayou of codswallop, up to my eyeballs in flummery and logorrhea. All is snake oil, Alice. So I decided that what is needed today is more whimsy; hence, Gertrude Stein. These are from Tender Buttons:
A FRIGHTFUL RELEASE
A bag which was left and not only taken but turned away was now found. The place was shown to be very like the last time. A piece was not exchanged, not a bit of it, a piece was left over. The rest was mismanaged.
A PURSE
A purse was not green, it was not straw color, it was hardly seen and it had a use a long use and the chain, the chain was never missing, it was not misplaced, it showed that it was open, that is all that it showed.
A MOUNTED UMBRELLA
What was the use of not leaving it there where it would hang what was the use if there was no chance of ever seeing it come there and show that it was handsome and right in the way it showed it. The lesson is to learn that it does show it, that it shows it and that nothing, that there is nothing, that there is no more to do about it and just so much more is there plenty of reason for making an exchange.
_______________________
Thanks, Gert, for putting my day in perspective. (What was the use of not leaving it there?...)
And, to cap things off, Stephen Crane:
XXI (from War is Kind)
A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
______________________
Don't forget the contest: send poems about fireworks before Monday, get a free copy of The Battered Bride Overture by Mary Zeppa.
—Medusa (who can gas and flapdoodle with the best of 'em)
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Never Enough Moonshine
Dale "Crawdad" Nelson reads at Luna's Cafe tomorrow night at 8pm; here's a tasty sample of his work:
MOONSHINE
—Dale Nelson, Sacramento
There are only so many stars
many of them owned already,
and just a little light
that can really be called yours
out of all that pours through heaven.
Let's call tonight's moon property.
That makes us thieves
who lie out aching
or hungry, sick of being clay
pieces with that angry illumination.
Can't be fed without driving a knife
into something and can't get home
without burning that last bucket
of fat cut from the land.
Always hard to be alive
I mean hard
and when the old folks
lean under the moon to take a drink
they can never get enough
of that moonshine passing
through carved hands.
___________________________
Don't forget the fireworks contest: send in a poem about fireworks and receive a free copy of Mary Zeppa's book, The Battered Bride Overture. We already have one winner, but room for at least two more. (We'll save up the poems, let 'em all explode on the 4th.)
Also on the 4th is the picnic/Whitman reading at Crocker Park, hosted by Art and Christina Mantecon. Picnic starts at 3, reading from 4-6pm: many local poets of note will read Leaves of Grass and Song of Myself. Free; bring food, drink, blankets to sit on; no fireworks or booze.
—Medusa
MOONSHINE
—Dale Nelson, Sacramento
There are only so many stars
many of them owned already,
and just a little light
that can really be called yours
out of all that pours through heaven.
Let's call tonight's moon property.
That makes us thieves
who lie out aching
or hungry, sick of being clay
pieces with that angry illumination.
Can't be fed without driving a knife
into something and can't get home
without burning that last bucket
of fat cut from the land.
Always hard to be alive
I mean hard
and when the old folks
lean under the moon to take a drink
they can never get enough
of that moonshine passing
through carved hands.
___________________________
Don't forget the fireworks contest: send in a poem about fireworks and receive a free copy of Mary Zeppa's book, The Battered Bride Overture. We already have one winner, but room for at least two more. (We'll save up the poems, let 'em all explode on the 4th.)
Also on the 4th is the picnic/Whitman reading at Crocker Park, hosted by Art and Christina Mantecon. Picnic starts at 3, reading from 4-6pm: many local poets of note will read Leaves of Grass and Song of Myself. Free; bring food, drink, blankets to sit on; no fireworks or booze.
—Medusa
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Rock 'n Roll
Taylor Graham has written a poem about the earthquake that rattled the eastern part of our state this weekend. She reports no damage. I think that, from now on, all news should be reported in poetic form:
4.8
—Taylor Graham, Somerset, CA
Did you hear it? That rattle
of door against sill
as if cloud heaped on storm-cloud
upcountry too high/far off
for thunder, or fingers over the black
keys not quite touching
music. Silence. Did you feel
it? A giddiness between
steps, the earth not easy
in its glide underfoot.
Something sticks, an inter-
stice, as if you saw
the leaving of the fox, and not
the creature herself.
_______________
In other news, also reporting from up that way is Phil Weidman, who sends us this:
TARGET PRACTICE
—Phil Weidman, Pollock Pines, CA
Around here abandoned cars
become senseless scapegoats.
How many days and nights
before a rock is bounced
off a window? If there’s no
intervention, this tired, two
tone Buick becomes a prime target.
More cracked and broken glass.
Tires vanish or get punctured.
Seats are torn loose and flung
aside. Hood’s sprung and twisted
into an odd configuration.
Dented doors and fenders
(one door hanging awkwardly
from a single hinge) are
riddled with bullet holes.
An undamaged headlight
dangles from its socket.
_______________
See what I mean? News could take on a whole different slant.
Interested in what poets in the Bay Area are up to? Sign up for Cynthia Bryant's free Literary List at poetslane@comcast.net. Cynthia (bless her) has taken it upon herself to become the poetry publicity hub of the Bay Area, sending out regular (several a week!) e-mails to list members about readings, workshops—all kinds of poetry-related news and events. I personally am not able to get down there for most of what goes on; still, it's interesting to know about it all and to be able to make the occasional choice based on what I see. Keep an eye on 'em, so to speak.
July 4th is coming; let's have another contest. Write about fireworks. The first three poets to send in poems about fireworks will receive a free copy of Mary Zeppa's new rattlechap, The Battered Bride Overture. On your mark...
—Medusa
4.8
—Taylor Graham, Somerset, CA
Did you hear it? That rattle
of door against sill
as if cloud heaped on storm-cloud
upcountry too high/far off
for thunder, or fingers over the black
keys not quite touching
music. Silence. Did you feel
it? A giddiness between
steps, the earth not easy
in its glide underfoot.
Something sticks, an inter-
stice, as if you saw
the leaving of the fox, and not
the creature herself.
_______________
In other news, also reporting from up that way is Phil Weidman, who sends us this:
TARGET PRACTICE
—Phil Weidman, Pollock Pines, CA
Around here abandoned cars
become senseless scapegoats.
How many days and nights
before a rock is bounced
off a window? If there’s no
intervention, this tired, two
tone Buick becomes a prime target.
More cracked and broken glass.
Tires vanish or get punctured.
Seats are torn loose and flung
aside. Hood’s sprung and twisted
into an odd configuration.
Dented doors and fenders
(one door hanging awkwardly
from a single hinge) are
riddled with bullet holes.
An undamaged headlight
dangles from its socket.
_______________
See what I mean? News could take on a whole different slant.
Interested in what poets in the Bay Area are up to? Sign up for Cynthia Bryant's free Literary List at poetslane@comcast.net. Cynthia (bless her) has taken it upon herself to become the poetry publicity hub of the Bay Area, sending out regular (several a week!) e-mails to list members about readings, workshops—all kinds of poetry-related news and events. I personally am not able to get down there for most of what goes on; still, it's interesting to know about it all and to be able to make the occasional choice based on what I see. Keep an eye on 'em, so to speak.
July 4th is coming; let's have another contest. Write about fireworks. The first three poets to send in poems about fireworks will receive a free copy of Mary Zeppa's new rattlechap, The Battered Bride Overture. On your mark...
—Medusa
Monday, June 27, 2005
Sorry, Walt!
We neglected to note Walt Whitman's birthday (May 31, 1819), coming, as it did, on Medusa's second day of publishing, when we were still wet behind the ears. In addition to the poetry he wrote, Whitman was a publishing and marketing inspiration to all us micro-pressers. Celebrate with me his Spider:
A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
________________________
Taylor Graham writes: What a surprise to find Song Kowbell in Medusa's Kitchen! A fellow SAR (Search and Rescue) dog handler; I've known her for years, but didn't know she wrote poetry. Should've suspected, I guess. How about it, Taylor (and our other friends in the hills)? Any damage from the 'quake up there yesterday?
Some of the members of the Sac. Poetry Center Tues. night workshop will be reading tonight: 7:30 pm at HQ, 25th and R Streets in Sacramento. Also this week: Crawdad Nelson will read at Luna's, 8pm. Crawdad, who lives in Sacramento now, has been a poetry and publishing force on the Northern California coastal scene for many years, and we're grateful to be able to spend some time with him down here in the hot Valley.
Feel free to send poems! Medusa's Kitchen is always cookin'... Thanks to you!
—Medusa
A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
________________________
Taylor Graham writes: What a surprise to find Song Kowbell in Medusa's Kitchen! A fellow SAR (Search and Rescue) dog handler; I've known her for years, but didn't know she wrote poetry. Should've suspected, I guess. How about it, Taylor (and our other friends in the hills)? Any damage from the 'quake up there yesterday?
Some of the members of the Sac. Poetry Center Tues. night workshop will be reading tonight: 7:30 pm at HQ, 25th and R Streets in Sacramento. Also this week: Crawdad Nelson will read at Luna's, 8pm. Crawdad, who lives in Sacramento now, has been a poetry and publishing force on the Northern California coastal scene for many years, and we're grateful to be able to spend some time with him down here in the hot Valley.
Feel free to send poems! Medusa's Kitchen is always cookin'... Thanks to you!
—Medusa
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Just Poetry Two
SHE SCHOOLS THE FLIGHTY PUPILS
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
She schools the flighty pupils of her eyes,
With levell'd lashes stilling their disquiet;
And puts in leash her pair'd lips lest surprise
Bare the condition of a realm at riot.
If he suspect that she has ought to sigh at
His injury she'll avenge with raging shame.
She kept her love-thoughts on most lenten diet,
And learnt her not to startle at his name.
_________
Wild nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile—the Winds—
To a Heart in port—
Done with the Compass—
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
In Thee!
—Emily Dickinson
________
Who says my poems are poems?
My poems are not poems.
After you know my poems are not poems,
Then we can begin to discuss poetry!
—Ryokan
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
She schools the flighty pupils of her eyes,
With levell'd lashes stilling their disquiet;
And puts in leash her pair'd lips lest surprise
Bare the condition of a realm at riot.
If he suspect that she has ought to sigh at
His injury she'll avenge with raging shame.
She kept her love-thoughts on most lenten diet,
And learnt her not to startle at his name.
_________
Wild nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile—the Winds—
To a Heart in port—
Done with the Compass—
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
In Thee!
—Emily Dickinson
________
Who says my poems are poems?
My poems are not poems.
After you know my poems are not poems,
Then we can begin to discuss poetry!
—Ryokan
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Just Poetry One
The great sea
Has sent me adrift.
It moves me
As the weed in a great river.
Earth and the great weather
Move me.
Have carried me away
And move my inward parts with joy.
—Uvavnuk (Inuit poem)
SONG FOR THE SUN THAT DISAPPEARED
BEHIND THE RAINCLOUDS
—Anonymous Native American
The fire darkens, the wood turns black.
The flame extinguishes, misfortune upon us.
God set out in search of the sun.
The rainbow sparkles in his hand,
The bow of the divine hunter.
He has heard the lamentation of his children.
He walks along the milky way, he collects the stars.
With quick arms he piles them into a basket
Piles them up with quick arms
Like a woman who collects lizards
And piles them into her pot, piles them
Until the pot overflows with lizards
Until the basket overflows with light.
ELECTRIC KISS
—Song Kowbell, Penn Valley, CA
Clouds to the west
were burning up
the sky above.
Licking the electricity
from the air,
his mouth
a storm
I longed
to be in.
_________________________
—Medusa
Has sent me adrift.
It moves me
As the weed in a great river.
Earth and the great weather
Move me.
Have carried me away
And move my inward parts with joy.
—Uvavnuk (Inuit poem)
SONG FOR THE SUN THAT DISAPPEARED
BEHIND THE RAINCLOUDS
—Anonymous Native American
The fire darkens, the wood turns black.
The flame extinguishes, misfortune upon us.
God set out in search of the sun.
The rainbow sparkles in his hand,
The bow of the divine hunter.
He has heard the lamentation of his children.
He walks along the milky way, he collects the stars.
With quick arms he piles them into a basket
Piles them up with quick arms
Like a woman who collects lizards
And piles them into her pot, piles them
Until the pot overflows with lizards
Until the basket overflows with light.
ELECTRIC KISS
—Song Kowbell, Penn Valley, CA
Clouds to the west
were burning up
the sky above.
Licking the electricity
from the air,
his mouth
a storm
I longed
to be in.
_________________________
—Medusa
Friday, June 24, 2005
Itty Bitty Books
Alternative publishers continue to look for ways to get books into the hands of readers inexpensively, and the 3-1/2" by 4-1/4" size is a popular alternative. Ben Hiatt's ShirtPocket Series comes to mind. The Book Collector has an appealing display of Richard Hansen's 24th Street Irregular Press and Lummox books in that size. I toy with the idea myself, sometimes, for poets whose format is small.
A few poetry journals have taken to that format, as well, choosing the small poem to fit. One of these is Lilliput Review; another is Silt Reader, co-edited by our local Robert Roden. Another, Brevities, is by local poet/editor Joyce Odam. Brevities (also at The Book Collector) is a monthly journal that is already in its 28th issue. Send Joyce 3-5 poems, SASE: 2432 48th Av., Sacramento, CA 95822. Good things can, indeed, come in small packages; the small size allows Joyce to be able to afford fancy papers for inserts, for example. Here is a sample Joyce-poem from the latest issue. (Hey—it's another frog poem!)
ORNAMENTAL FROG
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
In a small green sink-jar
filled with water and
gray river stones
I keep
an old glass frog
with one foot missing—
happy there,
I think.
_________________________
Pick these up at The Book Collector.
Next Monday, the weekly Sac. Poetry Center series will feature members of the SPC Tuesday night workshop at HQ, 25th and R, Sac., 7:30pm. And if you missed Robbie's reading last night at Luna's, well, darn. It was awesome!
—Medusa
A few poetry journals have taken to that format, as well, choosing the small poem to fit. One of these is Lilliput Review; another is Silt Reader, co-edited by our local Robert Roden. Another, Brevities, is by local poet/editor Joyce Odam. Brevities (also at The Book Collector) is a monthly journal that is already in its 28th issue. Send Joyce 3-5 poems, SASE: 2432 48th Av., Sacramento, CA 95822. Good things can, indeed, come in small packages; the small size allows Joyce to be able to afford fancy papers for inserts, for example. Here is a sample Joyce-poem from the latest issue. (Hey—it's another frog poem!)
ORNAMENTAL FROG
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
In a small green sink-jar
filled with water and
gray river stones
I keep
an old glass frog
with one foot missing—
happy there,
I think.
_________________________
Pick these up at The Book Collector.
Next Monday, the weekly Sac. Poetry Center series will feature members of the SPC Tuesday night workshop at HQ, 25th and R, Sac., 7:30pm. And if you missed Robbie's reading last night at Luna's, well, darn. It was awesome!
—Medusa
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