Thursday, October 12, 2006

Flower: The Day Has Begun

BOMBARDMENT
—D.H. Lawrence

The Town has opened to the sun.
Like a flat red lily with a million petals
She unfolds, she comes undone.

A sharp sky brushes upon
The myriad glittering chimney-tips
As she gently exhales to the sun.

Hurrying creatures run
Down the labyrinth of the sinister flower.
What is it they shun?

A dark bird falls from the sun.
It curves in a rush to the heart of the vast
Flower: the day has begun.

_______________________

•••Tonight (Thursday, 10/12), 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge with Flo-Real features Random Abiladeze and open mic. The Cobbler Soul Food Restaurant, 3520 Stockton, Blvd., Sac. $5. 916-613-0776.

•••Also tonight (Thursday), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged, reader TBA. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free. Congrats to Poetry Unplugged, by the way, for winning Sacramento News & Review's "Best of open mic: Poetry" Award!


Grass Valley Poets on Pomo:

Sunday (10/15), 2-4 PM: The Pomo Literati is part of the KUSF Spotlight Series, a 2-hour literary program that interpolates poetry, soundscapes, and live spoken word performance. This chapter features in-studio readings by Poet/publisher William S. Gainer, Poet and spoken word impressario Chris Olander, and Poet/publisher Todd Cirillo and friends. Classic poetic rarities and contemporary spoken word. KUSF Spotlight 90.3FM San Francisco, or on the internet where we go global at www.live365.com/stations/kusf. The Pomo Literati is hosted by poet/producer frank andrick. Special guest host Jim ‘The Germ’ Smith. Info: frank andrick (209-727-5179) or fandrickfabpub@hotmail.com


________________________

AUTUMN RAIN
—D.H. Lawrence

The plane leaves
fall black and wet
on the lawn;

the cloud sheaves
in heaven's fields set
droop and are drawn

in falling seeds of rain;
the seed of heaven
on my face

falling—I hear again
like echoes even
that softly pace

heaven's muffled floor,
the winds that tread
out all the grain

of tears, the store
harvested
in the sheaves of pain

caught up aloft,
the sheaves of dead
men that are slain

now winnowed soft
on the floor of heaven;
manna invisible

of all the pain
here to us given;
finely divisible
falling as rain.

_______________________

PIANO
—D.H. Lawrence

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

________________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com 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.)
Posted by at

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

I Wouldn't Be Surprised

SPLEEN
—Ernest Dowson

I was not sorrowful, I could not weep,
And all my memories were put to sleep.

I watched the river grow more white and strange,
All day till evening I watched it change.

All day till evening I watched the rain
Beat wearily upon the window pane.

I was not sorrowful, but only tired
Of everything that ever I desired.

Her lips, her eyes, all day became to me
The shadow of a shadow utterly.

All day mine hunger for her heart became
Oblivion, until the evening came,

And left me sorrowful, inclined to weep,
With all my memories that could not sleep.

_______________________

•••Tonight (Weds., 10/11), 7:30 PM: Rattlesnake Press presents Sharyn Stever at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., celebrating the release of her new chapbook, Heron’s Run. Sharyn Stever was born in Lodi, California and grew up roaming the riverbanks and wetlands of the Central Valley. She lives in the small farming community of Dixon and teaches writing and literature at Solano Community College. Also emerging that night will be Mysterious Rebus, littlesnake broadside #28 from Sacramento Poet and SPC Board Member Tim Kahl. Come hear Tim read a poem or two from his latest creation. Refreshments and a read-around will follow Sharyn and Tim's readings; bring your own poems or somebody else's. (More info: kathykieth@hotmail.com)

•••Also tonight, 10-midnight: Mahogany Poets presents Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and Open Mic; 21 and older. $5. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.


Food sex:

This Sunday (10/15), 7-9 PM: Get Lit @ CAV in San Francisco presents SexyFood, an evening of genre-bending fun for cunning linguists. Celebrate acclaimed wordsmiths as they unleash their vibrant sexy side, as they deftly seduce a room full of people with food as their weapon of choice. Mingle and sip exotic wines from Cav’s excellent, sophisticated cellar. Featuring: Christie Nelson, Kit Kennedy, Roxi Power Hamilton, Warren Longmire, Christine Rosakranse and surprise readings. No-host bar and light appetizer menu. CAV Wine Bar, 1666 Market St. (next to Zuni Café) at Franklin & Gough, San Francisco. Info: 415.437.1770 or www.cavwinebar.com. Email questions, ideas, writing submissions for future shows, etc: sexyfood@gmail.com


_______________________

UNTITLED
—Archilochus

There's nothing now
We can't expect to happen!
Anything at all, you can bet,
Is ready to jump out at us.
No need to wonder over it.
Father Zeus has turned
Noon to night, blotting out
The sunshine utterly,
Putting cold terror
At the back of the throat.
Let's believe all we hear.
Even that dolphins and cows
Change places, porpoises and goats,
Rams booming along in the offing,
Mackerel nibbling in the hill pastures.
I wouldn't be surprised,
I wouldn't be surprised.

________________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com 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.)
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Tuesday, October 10, 2006

A Rush of Cochineal

A TURN OF THE HEAD
—Denise Levertov

Quick! there's that
low brief whirr to tell

Rubythroat is at the
tigerlilies—

only a passionate baby
sucking breastmilk's so

intent. Look
sharply after your thoughts said
Emerson, a good
dreamer.

Worlds may lie
between you
and the bird's return. Hummingbird

stays for a fractional sharp
sweetness, and's gone, can't take

more than that.
The remaining
tigerblossoms have rolled their petals
all the way back,

the stamens protrude entire,
there are no more buds.

________________________

1463
—Emily Dickinson

A Route of Evanescence
With a revolving Wheel—
A Resonance of Emerald—
A Rush of Cochineal—
And every Blossom on the Bush
Adjusts its tumbled Head—
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy Morning's Ride—

_______________________

HUMMINGBIRDS ARE VICIOUS—

weaving in and out of each other's
misery, looping tight wires of nastiness
around each other's need to drain
the rose, sip from the feeder. Look—

there's the beefy one now, coiled up
tight, ready to click and clatter and
strike, red throat flaming like dragon's
breath... Arcing over his naked

ladies, he is all heat, a tiny vector of
intent. Size is not the point here. But,
then again, it rarely is...

—Kathy Kieth, Fair Oaks

(I know, I know—how presumptious of me to publish my own poem in the midst of all these Big Kids. But oh well, it's my blog...)

_______________________

HUMMING-BIRD
—D.H. Lawrence

I can imagine, in some otherworld
Primeval-dumb, far back
In that most awful stillness, that only gasped and hummed,
Humming-birds raced down the avenues.

Before anything had a soul,
While life was a heave of Matter, half inanimate,
This little bit chipped off in brilliance
And went whizzing through the slow, vast, succulent stems.

I believe there were no flowers, then,
In the world where the humming-bird flashed ahead of creation.
I believe he pierced the slow vegetable veins with his long beak.

Probably he was big
As mosses, and little lizards, they say were once big.
Probably he was a jabbing, terrifying monster.
We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time,
Luckily for us.

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com 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.)
Posted by at

Monday, October 09, 2006

A Deep Blue Past

THE HOUSE
—Adam Zagajewski

Do you still remember what the house was like?
The house—a pocket in a snowstorm's overcoat,
houses, low and bulging like Egyptian vowels.
Sheltered by green tongues of trees—
the most faithful was the linden, it shed
dry tears each fall.
Outmoded dresses dangled in the attic
like hanged men. Old letters flamed.
The old piano dozing in the parlor,
a hippo with black and yellow teeth.
on the wall a cross from a failed uprising
hung crookedly, and a photo
of a sad girl—a failed life.
The air smelled like vermouth,
bitter and sweet at once.
Houses, houses, where are you,
under what ocean, in what memory,
beneath the roof of what existence?
While the wind was opening windows, a deep blue
past sneaked into the rooms
and stifled the muslin curtains' breathing.
The fire was death's intended
and brought her bouquets of pale sparks.

_______________________

The Kieths continue to exorcise their deep blue pasts, or at least the seedier purple ones. But at least we're back online.


Poetry this week:

•••Monday (10/9), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center will present Richard Beban, author of Young Girl Eating a Bird, at SPC, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento. (See last Thursday's post for a bio.)

•••Tuesday (10/10): Rae Gouirand at the Bistro, at 3rd & F in downtown Davis, around 8 PM. Rae writes: Some of you may know, and others won't, that Andy Jones, of "Dr. Andy's Poetry and Technology Hour", [5 PM on Wednesdays at KDVS-90.3 FM] has taken on the task of coordinating a new poetry reading series there; it promises to lend a certain long-awaited tangible connection between the on-campus and off-campus writing communities. They say it's at 8, but that's the time for people to get there if they want to read some work of their own, too, because there's a sign-up process, then Andy (and possibly Brad Henderson) read a little bit around 8:30-ish, and then I read for a bit after them, and then anyone who wants to read reads. I think of this and I think of bento!

So: if you'd like to come, do. The fun thing for me is that my intimate writing community—spread across SF, the midwest, and Germany at the moment—is deciding for me what I'm going to read, so not even I know, though I do know it'll all be new.

•••Weds. (10/11), 7:30 PM: Rattlesnake Press presents Sharyn Stever at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., celebrating the release of her new chapbook, Heron’s Run. Sharyn Stever was born in Lodi, California and grew up roaming the riverbanks and wetlands of the Central Valley. She lives in the small farming community of Dixon and teaches writing and literature at Solano Community College. Also emerging that night will be Mysterious Rebus, littlesnake broadside #28 from Sacramento Poet and SPC Board Member Tim Kahl. Come hear Tim read a poem or two from his latest creation. Refreshments and a read-around will follow Sharyn and Tim's readings; bring your own poems or somebody else's. That's next Wednesday at The Book Collector. Be there. (More info: kathykieth@hotmail.com)

•••Wed. (10/11), 10-midnight: Mahogany Poets presents Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and Open Mic; 21 and older. $5. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.

•••Thursday (10/12), 8 PM: Vibe Sessions Neo-Soul Lounge with Flo-Real features Random Abiladeze and open mic. The Cobbler Soul Food Restaurant, 3520 Stockton, Blvd., Sac. $5. 916-613-0776.

•••Thursday (10/12), 8 PM: Poetry Unplugged, reader TBA. Open mic before/after. Luna’s Café, 1414 16th St., Sac. Info: 441-3931 or www.lunascafe.com. Free.

•••Saturday (10/14), 12 noon: For the first time in its 12-year history, the Window Art Project of Chico, CA incorporates poetry. Downtown businesses invite artists in all genres to display their work in windows available to the public for the full month of October. Skyway Poets, a critique group which also holds occasional readings, has mounted poems at the Chamber of Commerce, 300 Salem Street (opposite the parking garage); phone 530-891-5556. Participating poets are Ann Doro, Renee Goularte, Lara Gularte, Joy Harold Helsing, Sally Allen McNall, Sylvia Rosen, Audrey C. Small and Patricia Wellingham-Jones. Check out other artistic activities during the month-long Artoberfest celebration at http://www.artoberfest.org/ , including the Skyway Poets’ public reading to launch their new anthology, Skyways, (PWJ Publishing, www.wellinghamjones.com) at noon on Saturday, October 14, 2006 in Diamond Alley between 3rd and 4th Streets downtown. Everybody is welcome!


10,000 poems!

The Steinbeck Center is looking for all kinds of poets—school students to retirees, novice beginners to published Pulitzer Prize-winning poets—to create 10,000 poems over one year (www.10000poems.com). Application has been made to the Guinness Book of World Records.

The 10,000 Poems Project seeks to celebrate the lives of our fellow residents and their personal journeys. Poems can be on whatever topic you wish, and do not need to relate to or mention John Steinbeck. We are looking for writers from diverse perspectives and backgrounds. Poems can reflect the rich cultural heritage of the Salinas Valley or are representative of the specific place you call home.

All forms of poetry will be accepted. The poems do not have to rhyme! They can be serious, witty, heartfelt, light, pure fantasy, historically based, realistic, free verse, sonnets—in short, what ever strikes your fancy. There is no line limit. Multiple submissions are permitted. Previously published poems are also accepted as long as the rights still belong to the author.

Poems can be emailed to 10000poems@steinbeck.org, faxed to (831) 796-3828, or mailed to: 10,000 Poems Project, National Steinbeck Center, One Main Street, Salinas, CA 93901: Info: 831-775-4724.


Selected Poems by Anatole Lubovich

The long-awaited volume of Selected Poems by Anatole Lubovich has been released by Live Oak Press. Publication was arranged by members of the Foothill Bibliophile Society with the assistance of Do Gentry as editor. The book is hardcover with gilt lettering, contains 144 pages, and includes an Introduction and Preface with biographical information about the author, an index of titles, an index of first lines, and a black-and-white drawing by Anatole. The book is available locally at The Book Collector for $20.

_______________________

A QUICK POEM
—Adam Zagajewski

I was listening to Gregorian chants
in a speeding car
on a highway in France.
The trees rushed past. Monks' voices
sang praises to an unseen God
(at dawn, in a chapel trembling with cold).
Domine, exaudi orationem meam,
male voices pleaded calmly
as if salvation were just growing in the garden.
Where was I going? Where was the sun hiding?
My life lay tattered
on both sides of the road, brittle as a paper map.
With the sweet monks
I made my way toward the clouds, deep blue,
heavy, dense,
toward the future, the abyss,
gulping hard tears of hail.
Far from dawn. Far from home.
In place of walls—sheet metal.
Instead of a vigil—a flight.
Travel instead of remembrance.
A quick poem instead of a hymn.
A small, tired star raced
up ahead
and the highway's asphalt shone,
showing where the earth was,
where the horizon's razor lay in wait,
and the black spider of evening
and night, widow of so many dreams.

(Today's poetry was translated from the Polish by Clare Cavanagh.)

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com 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.)
Posted by at

Friday, October 06, 2006

When They Are Roused

AFTERNOON SUN
—C.P. Cavafy

This room, how well I know it.
Now this one and the one next door are rented
as business offices. The whole house has become
offices for agents, and merchants, and Companies.

Ah, this room, how familiar it is.

Near the door over here was a sofa,
and in front of it a Turkish rug;
close by, the shelf with two yellow vases.
On the right; no, opposite, a closet with a mirror.
In the center the table where he used to write;
and the three large wicker chairs.
Beside the window was the bed
where we made love so many times.

The poor objects must still be somewhere around.

Beside the window was the bed;
the afternoon sun reached it down to the middle.

...One afternooon at four o'clock we separated
for a week only...Ah me,
that week lasted forever.

________________________

Two more book sales:

In addition to the four listed on yesterday's post, Friends of the Davis Public Library have a sale starting at 10 AM on both Saturday (10/6) and Sunday (10/7). That's the Blanchard Room of the Davis Branch Library, 315 E. 14th St., Davis. Info: 530-753-3436.

And the Friends of the Roseville Public Library have a sale Saturday (10/6) from 9 AM-4:30 PM. Prices range from 25 cents to $5. Roseville Civic Center Plaza, 316 Vernon St., Roseville. Info: 916-783-3892.


Also this weekend:

•••Saturday (10/7), 7 PM: First Saturday Poetry Series, hosted by Noah Hayes and Felicia McGee. Sojourner Truth Art Center, 2251 Florin Rd. (corner of Tamoshanter and Florin). All ages/$5. Come early for workshop. Info: www.malikspeaks.com

•••Also Saturday, 11 AM: Escritores del Nuevo Sol's writing workshop/potluck. La Raza Galeria Posada at its new location: 1024 22nd St., Sac. Info: Graciela Ramirez at 916-456-5323 or joannpen@comcast.net

•••Sunday (10/8), 2:30-4:30 PM: Poets on the Ridge meets at Juice & Java, 7067 Skyway, Paradise. Readings and Open Mic. for all ages. Info: 530-872-9633.

•••Sunday (10/8), 7 PM: Poets Corner Presents Richard Beban @ Barnes & Noble Stockton (Weberstown Mall on Pacific Ave. and March Lane). Info: 209-951-7014 or email David Humphreys at: david324h@yahoo.com.

•••Monday (10/9), 7:30 PM: Sacramento Poetry Center will present Richard Beban, author of Young Girl Eating a Bird, at SPC, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento. See yesterday's post for a bio.


Bari found a place:

According to today's Sacramento Bee, B.L. Kennedy found a spot to show the video he and Linda Thorell produced about the history of poetry in Sacramento. It will be shown at the Crest Theater on December 6. Unfortunately, they were unable to find a venue that would allow them to show it for free, so they'll have to charge $5 a head. But of course it will be well worth it!

_______________________

THE WINDOWS
—C.P. Cavafy

In these darkened rooms, where I spend
oppressive days, I pace to and fro and around,
searching for the windows.—When a window
opens it will be a consolation.—
But the windows are not found, or I cannot
find them. And perhaps it is better I do not find them.
Perhaps the light will be a new tyranny.
Who knows what new things it will show?

_________________________

HE SWEARS
—C.P. Cavafy

Every so often he swears to start a finer life.
But when night comes with its own counsels,
its compromises, and its promises;
but when night comes with its own vigor
of the body, craving and seeking, he returns,
forlorn, to the same fatal joy.

_________________________

WHEN THEY ARE ROUSED
—C.P. Cavafy

Try to guard them, poet,
however few there are that can be kept.
The visions of your loving.
Set them, half hidden, in your phrases.
Try to sustain them, poet,
when they are rosed in your brain
at night, or in the glare of noon.

(Today's poetry was translated by Rae Delven.)

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com 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.)
Posted by at

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Our Quivering Meat

THE HEAVY BEAR WHO GOES WITH ME
—Delmore Schwartz

The heavy bear who goes with me,
A manifold honey to smear his face,
Clumsy and lumbering here and there,
The central ton of every place,
The hungry bearing brutish one
In love with candy, anger, and sleep,
Crazy factotum, dishevelling all,
Climbs the building, kicks the football,
Boxes his brother in the hate-ridden city.

Breathing at my side, that heavy animal,
That heavy bear who sleeps with me,
Howls in his sleep for a world of sugar,
A sweetness intimate as the water's clasp,
Howls in his sleep because the tight-rope
Trembles and shows the darkness beneath.
—The strutting show-off is terrified,
Dressed in his dress-suit, bulging his pants,
Trembles to think that his quivering meat
Must finally wince to nothing at all.

That inescapable animal walks with me,
Has followed me since the black womb held,
Moves where I move, distorting my gesture,
A caricature, a swollen shadow,
A stupid clown of the spirit's motive,
Perplexes and affronts with his own darkness,
The secret life of belly and bone,
Opaque, too near, my private, yet unknown,
Stretches to embrace the very dear
With whom I would walk without him near,
Touches her grossly, although a word
Would bare my heart and make me clear,
Stumbles, founders, and strives to be fed
Dragging me with him in his mouthing care,
Amid the hundred million of his kind,
The scrimmage of appetite everywhere.

_______________________

The pillaging of the snakepit continues, as we gussy up to get our house sold, and my own bear—he is a-howlin'. No world of sugar here! I'm off to the box store for yet another 25 of the size I use for books. Caramba! Is there no end?

Just in case YOU don't have enough books, there are four book sales in our environs this weekend:

•••Saturday, Oct. 7, 8:30 AM-noon: Friends of the Orangevale Library Book Sale, 8820 Greenback Lane, Orangevale.

•••Also Sat. (10/7), 1:30-4:30 PM: Firends of Sylvan Oaks Library Book Sale, Sylvan Oaks Library, 6700 Auburn Blvd., Citrus Heights. Gently used books and magazines may be donated [now THERE's an idea...] during regular library hours. Info: 916-729-6991.

•••Also Sat. in Citrus Heights, 9 AM-1 PM: Advent Lutheran Church book sale, including books, VHS tapes, and CDs. Advent Lutheran Church, 5901 San Juan Ave., Citrus Heights. Info: 916-635-5234.

•••Sat., 10 AM-3 PM, Friends of the Fair Oaks Library, 11601 Fair Oaks Blvd., Fair Oaks. The goal is to raise more than $1000 for the libraries in Gulfport, Mississippi. (Last sale raised $996.) Come back on Monday (10/9), 3-7 PM, for a huge clearance sale, with books going for 50 cents each or $5 a bag! Info: 916-264-2770.


New from the North:

Cottonwood author and photographer S.J. Luke, along with Redding authors Don Peery and Linda Boyden, are pleased to announce the publication of their first collaborative endeavor, Cemetery Plots, Stories Beneath the Stones. This 156-page anthology of poetry, prose and photography explores the question of death from various points of view, which are the book’s chapters: Those Left Behind, The Dead Speak, Band of Brothers, Snapshots in Time, Animal Spirits, and Larger Than Life. Whether with words or photographs, S.J. Luke enjoys telling a story. After two families, four children, five dogs, six vocations, and forty years of pursuing a poetry avocation, this first book is, for Don Peery, a culmination of work with “two friends writing.” And Linda Boyden is an author, storyteller and “recovering” elementary teacher whose first picture book, The Blue Roses, was the recipient of Lee & Low Books’ first New Voices Award, the 2003 Paterson Prize and the 2003 Wordcraft Circle of Native American Writers & Storytellers’ Book of the Year, Children’s Literature. In 2006, her poem, “Cedar Songs, Left Behind” won First Prize at the 5th Annual Pleasanton Poetry Festival. Info: Linda Boyden at 530-722-0798 or lboyden@charter.net. Check out her website, too: www.lindaboyden.com


Monday at SPC:

This coming Monday, Oct. 9, at 7:30 PM, Sacramento Poetry Center will present
Richard Beban, author of Young Girl Eating a Bird, who turned to poetry in 1993 after more than thirty years as a journalist, then a television and screen writer. He holds a BA in Liberal Studies, and an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University, Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared since 1994 in more than forty-five periodicals and literary Websites, and in sixteen national anthologies, and he has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. With his wife, the writer Kaaren Kitchell, and three other poets, he helped organize and run one of Los Angeles’ most successful weekly reading series at Venice’s Rose Cafe, and he and Kitchell produced the 2003 Freshwater Marsh Ecopoetry Celebration at Playa Vista, California in a five-hour celebration of the new freshwater marsh constructed to help restore Ballona Wetlands. He has been a featured reader at more than fifty venues, from the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, to Berkeley’s Cody’s Books, to Shakespeare & Company, Paris. He and Kitchell, who co-authored a non-fiction book on mythology, run a monthly poetry and fiction workshop series in their living room in Playa del Rey, California. That's Monday at SPC, 25th & R Sts., Sacramento. Be there.

_______________________

THE WORLD WAS WARM AND WHITE WHEN I WAS BORN
—Delmore Schwartz

The world was warm and white when I was born:
Beyond the windowpane the world was white,
A glaring whiteness in a leaded frame,
Yet warm as in the hearth and heart of light.
Although the whiteness was almond and was bone
In midnight's still paralysis, nevertheless
The world was warm and hope was infinite
All things would come, fulfilled, all things would be known
All things would be enjoyed, fulfilled, and come to be my own.

How like a summer the years of youth have passed!
—How like the summer of 1914, in all truth!—
Patience, my soul, the truth is never known
Until the future has become the past
And then, only, when the love of truth at last
Becomes the truth of love, when both are one,
Then, then, then, Eden becomes Utopia and is surpassed:
For then the dream of knowledge and knowledge knows
Motive and joy at once wherever it goes.

_______________________

ALL OF THE FRUITS HAD FALLEN
—Delmore Schwartz

All of the fruits had fallen,
The bears had fallen asleep,
And the pears were useless and soft
Like used hopes, under the starlight's
Small knowledge, scattered aloft
In a glittering senseless drift:
The jackals of remorse in a cage
Drugged beyond mirth and rage.

Then, then, the dark hour flowered!
Under the silence, immense
And empty as far-off seas,
I wished for the innocence
Of my stars and my stones and my trees
All the brutality and inner sense
A dog and a bird possess,
The dog who barked at the moon
As an enemy's white fang,
The bird that thrashed up the bush
And soared to soar as it sang,
A being all present as touch,
Free of the future and past
—Until, in the dim window glass,
The fog or cloud of my face
Showed me my fear at last!

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com 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.)
Posted by at

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

My Essential Things

THE MOON RISING
—Federico Garcia Lorca

When the moon rises,
the bells hang silent,
and impenetrable footpaths
appear.

When the moon rises,
the sea covers the land,
and the heart feels
like an island in infinity.

Nobody eats oranges
under the full moon.
One must eat fruit
that is green and cold.

When the moon rises,
moon of a hundred equal faces,
the silver coinage
sobs in the pocket.

(translated by Lysander Kemp)

________________________

Poetry Today:

•••Wed. (10/4), 10-midnight: Mahogany Poets presents Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and Open Mic; 21 and older. $5. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.


And Next Week:

Rattlesnake Press presents Sharyn Stever at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, on Wednesday, October 11 from 7:30-9 PM, celebrating the release of her new chapbook, Heron’s Run. Sharyn Stever was born in Lodi, California and grew up roaming the riverbanks and wetlands of the Central Valley. She lives in the small farming community of Dixon and teaches writing and literature at Solano Community College.

Also emerging that night will be Mysterious Rebus, littlesnake broadside #28 from Sacramento Poet and SPC Board Member Tim Kahl. Come hear Tim read a poem or two from his latest creation. Refreshments and a read-around will follow Sharyn and Tim's readings; bring your own poems or somebody else's. That's next Wednesday at The Book Collector. Be there. (More info: kathykieth@hotmail.com)


Medusa Screams:

Right now, my laptop is crowded onto a TV tray, mouse and all, in the middle of a sea of boxes. Well, not enough boxes—it's 6:45 AM and I need to get all this loose paper boxed up before the carpet people (carpeters? ruggers?) get here at 8. As you may've heard, we're putting our house on the market, with all the fixes and boxes and Prozac that entails.

But enough about me, lest I turn into a blahger (see today's Sacramento Bee). My point is: hopefully Medusa will be plugged in again by tomorrow and will be able to continue her daily snarkiness. If she doesn't, though, now you'll know why.

_______________________

THE LITTLE MUTE BOY
—Federico Garcia Lorca

The little boy was looking for his voice.
(The king of the crickets had it.)
In a drop of water
the little boy was looking for his voice.

I do not want it for speaking with;
I will make a ring of it
so that he may wear my silence
on his little finger.

In a drop of water
the little boy was looking for his voice.

(The captive voice, far away,
put on a cricket's clothes.)

(translated by W.S. Merwin)
_______________________

THE LITTLE MAD BOY
—Federico Garcia Lorca

I said, "Afternoon."
But it was not so.
The afternoon was something else
which had already gone away.

(And the light shrugged
its shoulders like a girl.)

"Afternoon." But it is useless!
This is false, this has
a half-moon made of lead.
The other will never come.

(And the light as everyone sees it
played at being a statue, with the mad boy.)

That other: she was little
and ate pomegranates.

This one is huge and green, I cannot
take her in my arms, nor dress her.
Won't she come? What was she like?

(And the light as it went, for a joke,
parted the mad boy from his shadow.)

(trans. by W.S. Merwin)

_______________________

IN ANOTHER MODE
—Federico Garcia Lorca

The bonfire places on the field of afternoon
the horns of a maddened deer.
All the valley stretches out. The little wind
is prancing on its ridges.

The air turns crystal under the smoke.
—A cat's eye, sad and yellow—.
I, in my eyes, walk through the boughs.
The boughs walk through the river.

They come to me, my essential things.
They are refrains of refrains.
Here in the reeds in the late afternoon,
how strange to be named Federico!

(trans. by Lysander Kemp)

________________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com 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.)
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