Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Food! Glorious Food!


Photo by Alan Satow, Stockton


PRESERVING WORDS
—D.R. Wagner and Tom Kryss

We’ve had some of them stored for years in that wooden pantry just below the cellar stair, where mom kept the plums and tomatoes and pickles. They were the words. The special ones we didn’t use everyday. When guests came we would open some and they would spark conversation. After dinner with a slice of pie and slice of cheese those deeper ones that stuck to the sides of the jars would be scrapped carefully and served up. The ones that mattered, like blood and its engines, famine and tumult. They are gone now. So much time has passed since childhood that even the pantry is difficult to remember, let alone those words. Still they pulse through our bodies. Unlike cells they are not replaced every seven years by a new one. We hold them in our hearts and mouths and call to one another across time
as if it were a fence between yards.

___________________

OLEANDER WINE
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

Come taste the wines in my cellar:
old wines, as tempting as desire—
dark wines in old dark casks, long-saved,
growing as bitter as my kiss—

love never more bitter than this:
dark wines in old dark casks, long-saved,
old wines, as tempting as desire.
Come taste the wines in my cellar.

__________________

Poets are still bringing up poems from Down in the Cellar, last week's Seed of the Week. I'll let Michelle Kunert have the last word. By the way, if you saw the "early edition" of yesterday's Medusa (before 9am), you caught me giving Michelle credit for Mitz Sackman's poem! Wow—I really AM on vacation—first the wrong date in Poetry Now for Carol Frith's reading, then mis-labeling poems... *sigh*

Anyway, it's a new week, time for a new SOW. Alan Satow is a loyal photographer at some of the readings around town; one of the photos he sent me recently was the one of his cupboard with the intriguing skull—which is there, I suppose, to remind him to stay away from the chips and dip. Let's write about Food! Glorious food! Send your food poems to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. No deadline on SOWs.


What’s new?

•••Upstairs Poetry reading tomorrow, Wednesday, Mar. 24 from 6-7pm at The Upstairs Art Gallery, 420 Main St (2nd floor), Placerville. It's a poetry open-mike read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen. No charge.

•••Be sure to drop in at Luna's Cafe (1414 16th St., Sacramento) at 8pm this Thursday night for Martha Ann Blackman, Sandy Thomas, and Kimberly White at Poetry Unplugged.

•••The new issue of Canary has arrived at www.hippocketpress.com/canary.cfm/.

•••Phantom Seed Lit-Mag, a creative publication embodying the essence of the California (and other) deserts, is seeking submissions for issue #4. Prose, poetry, essays, memoir, novel excerpts, strange and experimental writing all welcome, focusing on any idea, concept, truth or fabrications embracing the spirit of the desert. Pieces depicting the fringes of California's deserts are also welcome. Phantom Seed is not a nature magazine, and it is a print-publication published twice/year. They especially like edgy pieces that contain unexpected humor and embodiment of all or nothing that might be described as "desert noir." Deadline is June 15, 2010 for a publication date of September 1, 2010. For submissions guidelines and info, go to ruthnolan.blogspot.com/2008/07/phantom-seed-literary-magazine.html/.

•••Monika Rose of Manzanita writes: Only a few short days are left to enroll in the Fifth Annual Gold Rush Writers Conference! On March 30, the current introductory price of $145 rockets to $175. (Of course, $175 is cheap at twice the price, but why pay extra?) The event will be held once again at the Leger Hotel in Mokelumne Hill, CA. Dates are April 30, May 1 and 2. A choice of 16 workshops run the gamet from mystery to memoir writing. A writer whose first novel sold for $100,000 will tell you step by step how she did it. Or, if you don't wish to go that route, every aspect of self publishing will be demonstrated by a successful indie who went on to establish her own publishing company. You'll find workshops tailored to craft enhancement—dialogue, POV, plot and character development—as well as poetry, screen writing andcurrent marketing trends. Tom Johnson, Gold Rush's computer genius, will be back this year to demonstrate just how effective social media marketing can be. Best-selling author Mary Mackey will lead her much-talked-about memoir class and discuss historical fiction. But those are only a few of many workshops that can change your writing life. Remember, too, that the current price of $145 includes a picnic supper, lunch, dinner and brunch—besides the extra panels and talks. It hardly pays to stay home! For additional information or to register, go to www.goldrushwriters.com/.


SPC Writing Conference Announced!

Sacramento Poetry Center has announced its FREE 2010 SPC Annual Writing Conference, to be held Friday, April 16 (7:30pm) and Saturday, April 17 (10am-6:30pm) at R25, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Joseph Lease, Toni Mirosevich, Donna de la Perrière, Flatman Crooked, Tim Kahl, Indigo Moor, Peter Grandbois and Foshang (with Lawrence Dinkins and Mario Ellis Hill) will be the presenters; watch the SPC website for further information. Registration: Tim Kahl at tnklebnny@frontiernet.net/.

__________________

DOWN IN THE CELLAR
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

I've heard fond memories and stories of cellars
that served as makeshift WWII bomb shelters
and places to go during tornadoes and hurricanes
Supposed to help in case your house was swept away
For disasters they were stocked with supplies
But of course that wouldn't help during a flood
as of course would an attic
But many houses in Northern Cal suburbia don't have either
especially if they were new ones built in 1950's and after
But those that do likely are just stuffed with junk
from all the things people bought and later couldn't use
Or discoveries of "illegal" plants growing or possible meth labs
or else just plain too creepy to go down the stairs
for which they could be where ghosts or creatures live
And maybe as a kid you were dared to go down there
having a door always giving an eery creak opening
that some WD-40 just couldn't fix…
Nope—so many houses just have crawl space
under my parents' it’s just like two feet high
One time recently my Dad opened up his home's venting hole
"Please, pull some wires through to my new stereo speakers
it would just be very difficult for me to do it now,
and I don't want all these sticking out on the living room floor."
Sarcastically I sang at him the Indiana Jones' theme song
when I arrived with old clothes and a hard hat
to see my fears of it being filled with webs of black widows
Along with claustrophobic fears
of also arousing rats and possibly snakes
Crawling around upon dirty cement on my belly
navigating around in utter darkness using only a flash light
Meanwhile during the journey,
I recovered a pack of Camels left years ago
as well as a beer bottle from previous workers
I pulled out, ended up aborting the mission

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

WAITER, PLEASE
—Anonymous

An epicure, dining at Crewe,
Found quite a large mouse in his stew.
Said the waiter, "Don't shout,
And wave it about,
Or the rest will be wanting one, too!"



Alan Satow

______________

—Medusa


Monday, March 22, 2010

Spring, Cellars & Squeaky Doors

Three bees keep their distance
allowing each an equal space;
when they return to the crowded colony,
will three more come to take their place?
Photo and Caption by Carl Bernard Schwartz



SPRING AGAIN
—Carl Bernard Schwartz, Sacramento

Awake and rejoice

Night sneaks out the back door,
sunflowers stifle the breeze,
while timid petals advertise
to be chosen by the bees.

The rooster crows, just on and on,
not content to have it quiet.
Squirrels chase each other up and down;
what one does, the other will try it.

Dew drops, gently sleeping
atop blades of grass and leaves,
now start their daily journey
ever skyward, past the eaves.

Birds gather on their perch
discussing breakfast down below,
while the sun brings hope and promise
like a baker’s rising dough.

Ever onward

A toddler finds a charming bug and
clasps his fingers tight around it;
his mother trains him with a hug,
“Put it back right where you found it.”

Like a great, frozen river
now renewed by warming streams,
schools release their eager students
to go off and chase their dreams.

Our spirit is high, the season’s done,
we can shed our coats and chortle,
as Spring is more than Winter’s end,
it is Summer’s yawning portal.

_________________

JUST A TEEN AT HEART
—Mitz Sackman, Murphys

Down in the cellar
Down in the dark
I can think what I want
No one there to bark
Hah! I’ll get even
Wait and see

Down in the cellar
Down in the dark
I can eat what I want
No one there to bark
Hey look out—ice cream
Yippee!

__________________

Thanks to today's contributors! Mitz Sackman's Seed of the Week poem (Down in the Cellar) is about dastardly dietary deeds; Joyce Odam (see the LittleNip) wrote about a squeaky door. On the other hand, Carl Bernard Schwartz and Ann Wehrman are thinking spring thoughts. Meanwhile...


Eek eek eek—kk errata!

Unfortunately, I put the wrong date in the current Poetry Now for our next reading: it's April 14, not the 7th! Join us then for Rattlesnake Press's sixth birthday party, featuring a reading by Carol Frith from her new full-length book from David Robert Books, two for a journey. That's at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento, 7:30pm.

Speaking of Poetry Now, Frank Graham, current Editor, writes that the March/April issue is his last. Our thanks to Frank for his hard work! He says: Best of luck to Trina Drotar, who will be taking over as Editor, and to Richard Hansen, who will be providing layout/design work for SPC. No doubt, it will be a sharply-crafted poetry pubication in their expert hands! Much of the rest of the staff, content, and material will remain the same, so you may rest assured you'll be getting the same product, only with a new twist.
A big thank you to every one of you who helped me make Poetry Now happen for the last two years. I couldn't have done it without you!


Come up the hill to the Peace Show!

•••Sat. (3/27), 3:30-5pm: El Dorado County’s 2010 Season for Nonviolence will conclude this Saturday with a celebration of Peace through words, music and dance at Town Hall, 549 Main St., Placerville. Free and open to the public, the fourth annual “Peace Show” will feature the New Freedom Choir from Sacramento, the Sacramento Women’s Chorus, the Hill Country Band, Dance El Dorado, storyteller Martha De Aquino, poets from Red Fox Underground, and the Barefoot Singers Drumming Circle. There are also some art displays around town; Red Fox’s Irene Lipshin has some of her photography showing at Cozmic Café on Main Street. The Season for Nonviolence (www.agnt.org/snv02.htm) encompasses 64 days (Jan. 30-Apr. 4) commemorating the lives of Mahatma Gandhi, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Cesar Chavez. This is the fifth year in El Dorado County that organizations, churches and individuals have joined communities around the world to get out the message about the hope for and necessity of creating a more peaceful world through nonviolence. Join us for the festivities on Saturday!


Also this week in NorCal poetry:

(for a more complete listing, go to eskimopie.net)

•••Monday (3/22), 7:30pm: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Kel Munger and Robert M. Stanley at HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Host: Bob Stanley (the other one).

•••Six Wednesday nights: March 24, 31 and April 14, 21, 28 and one other date, 7-9pm: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Kathryn Hohlwein and “The Homeric Imagination” at SPC/Room to Write, 1719 25th St., next to Alliance Francaise in the R25 Arts Complex at 25th and R in Sacramento. The cost is $150 for each six-week session. Please contact Professor Hohlwein with any questions, or to register: khohlwein@mindspring.com. [For a more complete description of this workshop on The Iliad and The Odyssey, see last Wednesday's post.]

•••Thurs. (3/25), 7-9pm: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-Making with John Fox at HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. This talk will invite participants to consider the healing power of poetry. $25. [See www.poeticmedicine.org/bio.johnfox.html or the Ticket section of last Saturday’s Sacramento Bee for an article about Fox’s work.]

•••Friday (3/26), 7-9pm: Introduction to Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-Making with John Fox. Sierra Foothills Unitarian Universalists, 190 Finley St., Auburn. $25; open to all.

•••Sat. (3/27), 9am-4pm: Poetry, Community & The Flourishing Heart: workshop with John Fox at Sierra Foothills Unitarian Universalists, 190 Finley St., Auburn. $75, limited to 18 participants. Reg. with John Bowman at 916-751-9189 or john.bowman58@gmail.com/.

___________________

NOT YET SPRING
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento

passion has built
a shimmering
wall of tears
rendering me rigid
love peers through
fresh green
gingko leaves tremble
new redwood tips extend
sun unwilling to set
as am I,
body immobilized
after leaving you
love undeclared
I drink the warm wind

tears shake within me
wind moves the trees
dance in patterns
before my clouded eyes
it seemed you leaned close
as I walked by you
leaving tonight

__________________

NIGHT AND DAY
—Ann Wehrman

your voice
its sound changing
listening
more than sight
the sound
of your voice
by day
in my mind
I turn
exact as a blade
one degree
per note
per remembered tone
per sound
sounds inside
inner sound
sound is feeling
is spirit
comes to me
through the night
in waves
through our minds
your voice silent
I know you
again in my mind
middle of night
folded in
night’s black wings
tangled sheets
alone, I
turn once more
one more word
sound of your voice

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

THE HOUSE SQUEAKS
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

The hinge on the door lets out a sound:

fear with its secret, here again —
enters and seeks you out. Oh, friend,
fear with its secret— old and thin.

The hinge on the door lets out a sound.



Just stopped to browse
along the way.
There is some dinner for me
here, I pray.
Photo and Caption by Carl Bernard Schwartz

___________________

—Medusa

Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Moon in Heat


Photo by Katy Brown, Davis



TWO DRUNK BEAUTIES
—Mira

The moon was perched like a golden hawk on
the mango tree.

I knew the moon was like me—in heat,
crazed and hunting.

So I climbed up there with that wild old gal—
thinking:

Two drunk beauties like us
will surely snag
Krishna

with our
eyes.

________________

—Medusa


Saturday, March 20, 2010

When Spring Begins


Tulip Bed
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis



MOON OVER STOCKTON
—Donald R. Anderson & Marie J. Ross, Stockton

What kind of things can one do
after the sun sets and the night lights glow?
The bars, the coffee shops, the movies, the shows?
What can a group of poets agree on?
As diverse as they were, the ladies of the group
decided on the movies, while the men outnumbered the women.
Sure enough they ended up in a bar to indulge in a game of pool.
They stealthily avoided the gambling pool sharks
and kept trying in vain to make the pool balls in,
when a old strange man in a Greek fisherman’s cap
taught them trick shots from the glory days.
As the click of beer glasses resonated through the room
and the football game was on the TV, the clamor outlasted
their desire to play pool, so they exited the door quickly,
in dismay of what to do next.
They rode together in the caravan minivan,
street lights drawing them on,
until they were so fascinated by the moon aflame with its
amber glow of harvest air, that they simply must write about it.
Then and there.

__________________

Happy beginning of Spring!

Medusa seems to have somewhat slipped off some of our friends’ radar lately, calendar-wise; some of our Snake pals have had/will have readings that they haven’t sent me announcements for. [Insert sad face here.] When I said I was cutting back on calendar postings, I just meant the perpetual kind that no one was sending me announcements for, anyway. For a while I was trying to list everything that was happening, which was (1) making me crazy; (2) causing mistakes, since people sometimes cancel such readings/workshops without notice, making me look ‘way silly; and (3) why re-invent the wheel, since Rebecca Morrison’s Eskimo Pie Girl is so thorough? Still, it makes me sad to find out after the fact about readings that I could’ve done some publicity for. April will be a busy month, I’m guessing (Nat’l Poetry Month), so don’t neglect your poor lonely Medusa… Just lemme know a bit in advance.

Good luck to those intrepid NorCal poets who are headed down to the venerable Berkeley Poets’ Dinner today; may you do us proud! Berkeley Poets’ Dinner is a long-running institution to which hundreds of poets from all over the country send poems in January to be judged; the winners are announced at the lunch (which used to be a fancy dinner) in the spring. You must attend the luncheon and pick up your prize (actual cash!—and yes, people do come from out of state) when it’s announced; otherwise the prize goes to the next poet on the list. About a dozen or so Sacramento/environs poets go down to Berkeley each spring, and they usually bring home a disproportionate number of prizes—which used to mightily discomfit the Bay Area poets (the term “carpetbagger” was used, I believe)—but now they see us as “the ones to beat”. (Of course, and we are.) Anyway, good luck to all of our Snake pals today. Bring home the Berkeley bacon!

Katy Brown is one of the poets who will be going down to Berkeley today. She sent me one of those funny headline lists; my favorites are “Panda Mating Fails, Veterinarian Takes Over”; “Kids Make Nutritious Snacks”; and “Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead”.


John Fox and Poetry Therapy:

•••Thurs. (3/25), 7-9pm: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-Making Discussion with John Fox at HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. This talk will invite participants to consider the healing power of poetry. $25. [See the Ticket section of yesterday’s Sacramento Bee for an article about Fox’s work, or go to www.poeticmedicine.org/bio.johnfox.html.]

•••Friday (3/26), 7-9pm: Introduction to Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-Making with John Fox. Sierra Foothills Unitarian Universalists, 190 Finley St., Auburn. $25; open to all.

•••Sat. (3/27), 9am-4pm: Poetry, Community & The Flourishing Heart: workshop with John Fox. Sierra Foothills Unitarian Universalists, 190 Finley St., Auburn. $75, limited to 18 participants. Reg. with John Bowman at 916-751-9189 or john.bowman58@gmail.com/.

__________________

WHEN SPRING BEGINS
—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA

Ice spreads
its paperweight shadows
by the undertow shore
after a muffled winter
white sugar drifts nod
near the bicycle rider
who parks by the beach gazebo
through mountains of sand,
the one-eyed sunshine

unlocks trees
of tasseled snow,
Poseidon waves to his lovers
asking us to break dance
on a frozen morning.

__________________

VERMONT MARCH
—B.Z. Niditch

It must be March
always absurdist
and sleepless
before daybreak
you've stretched your frame
in the chill forsaken air
opening your swollen eyes
to a column of clouds
in the evergreen heights.

An orphan snowstorm
leaves you blinded
on a wooden bridge
scattered snowflakes flicker
in the daylight wind
across nameless borders
soaking your woolen scarf
with a last shuttering breath.

__________________

AFTER WORD
—B.Z. Niditch

Sitting around the table
sunlight slips away
its crystal inconvenience
same old dusk
by the effaced portrait
at the open window
its passing strip of sky
daubed with pink,
expecting guests
at a moment's arrival
with Proustian phrases
tortured confessions
or catching idle gossip
by unveiled fruit
looking like a Cezanne
among the dead of season
suddenly a returning memory,
the dark spotted gesture
a wounded after word
follows me home
and muffled wisdom
boxed in blindness
of a striking voice
from the past
of Grandpa Mendes
saying to a child of ten
"Life is not poetry,
but prose."

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

God, mom, and one's wife, are always, always right.

—Donald R. Anderson, Stockton

__________________

—Medusa



Dianthus (Pinks)
Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove

Friday, March 19, 2010

With This Day's Worn Rag of Hope


Allegra Silberstein and her daughters, Dawn and Maia,
as Mayor Ruth Asmunson reads the proclamation
naming Allegra Poet Laureate of Davis



PSALM
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein, Davis

I have known hills
so tall they seemed like mountains
to Easterners accustomed to the Appalachians.

Walking through the valley
shadowed into hills on either side
I have followed a brook
and stopped by hidden springs
to ease the dry ache of throat dust.

I have looked up the steep ascent
littered with quarried rock
swept down by dynamite
and used broken branches
to aid my climb to limestone walls
above a vast flat floor: a coliseum
of abandoned excavation

and traveled slowly on a forgotten road
to a place where lilacs bloomed each spring
by a crumbling foundation inhabited
by young trees.

In my shadowed youth
I walked through the valley
to the lantern light and dark of my hilltop home.

I have known hills
so tall they seemed like mountains.


(First appeared in Blue Unicorn)

__________________

Rattlesnake Press is proud to congratulate Rattlechapper Allegra Silberstein on being named Poet Laureate of Davis! Allegra Jostad Silberstein was born on a farm in Wisconsin near La Crosse. Her love of poetry began as a child when her mom would recite nursery rhymes while she was working. She also loves dance and performs with Bob Wren’s World Music Ensemble and other groups. More than 100 poems have been published in journals such as Poetry Depth Quarterly, Yolo Crow, Blue Unicorn, Rattlesnake Review, Poetry Now, Iodine Poetry, Poetry of the New West, California Quarterly, and others. Publication in anthologies includes: The Sacramento Anthology: One Hundred Poems; Gatherings: A Woman’s Place; and Where Do I Walk. Her first chapbook, Acceptance, was published in 1999, and In the Folds was published by Rattlesnake Press in 2005. She is currently working on a full-length book of poems and is the Poet Laureate of Davis, California.

Tonight, Allegra will host The Other Voice, sponsored by the UU Church of Davis, presenting two noteworthy poets: Sharon Campbell and Taylor Graham. The reading begins at 7:30pm in the library of the church which is located at 27074 Patwin Road in Davis. Refreshments and Open-mike follow the reading, so bring a poem to share. [For bios of the poets, go to last Monday's post.]

Here's a cellar poem from Taylor Graham:


BRIMSTONE AND APRICOTS
—Taylor Graham, Placerville

If God had decreed not to save us all, would he let mother choose which should go to heaven?
—Elihu Burritt, A Voice from the Back Pews

Guests in the house again, the talk
will be of election—not the next President,
but your small unsatisfactory soul;

not yours specifically, but by implication.
Yes, surely yours specifically, the lost
soul of the dull child in the family.

Predestination. How could a loving mother,
much less a loving God, hold to such
a fearsome doctrine? No matter

how mightily she prays for you,
when talk turns to salvation,
you’ll be hiding in the cellar,

or stone-still on the back stoop,
scanning the sky for the Saved, those
immortals chosen by a gracious Lord

to sing psalms all day, every
day, and to eat apricots—not just
after the damning Sunday sermon.


(First appeared in Magnapoets)

__________________

Monday at SPC:

For a more complete listing of this weekend's NorCal events, go to eskimopie.net.

•••Monday (3/22), 7:30pm: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Kel Munger and Robert M. Stanley at HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. Host: Bob Stanley (the other one).

Kel Munger edits the poetry, books and theater sections, among her many other duties at Sacramento News & Review. She was a Pearl M. Hogrefe Fellow at Iowa State University and is the author of The Fragile Peace You Keep: Poems (New Rivers Press, 1998). Her poetry has been published in a number of journals, including Iowa Woman, Sinister Wisdom, The Lesbian Review of Books, The Apalachee Quarterly and Rattle: Poems for the 21st Century. She's recently begun writing fiction, and her story, "Missus Finn" recently won the Mighty River Short Story Contest at Big Muddy: A Journal of the Mississippi River Valley. The novel from which that story was taken is currently under consideration at Southeast Missouri University Press.

Robert M. Stanley (not to be confused with Bob Stanley, Sacramento's current Poet Laureate) wrote his first poem (for a family Christmas card) while serving in the Army occupation forces in Seoul, South Korea right after World War II. After discharge from the Army in 1946, Robert studied poetry at Pasadena City College, and at UCLA where he received a degree in English literature. The poets of the Tang Dynasty (in translation) have long been his main inspiration and models. Their Taoist-Buddhist world view of these poets—along with teachings of modern science—inform the poetry Stanley has been writing, especially since the late 1980s. His poems have been published, first in a national college-poetry anthology (1947), and later in several newspapers and religious magazines.

__________________

LIKE SUNLIGHT
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein

After the white and pink blossoms fall
golden mustard combs the orchard and spreads
across the fence like sunlight…

the roadside inhabited by faith.

In a vacant lot
between tall buildings this upcoming yellow
grows tall as a forest…

redwing blackbirds sing canticles there.


(First appeared in California Quarterly)


__________________

MY JOSEPH
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein

We envied you, the youngest,
as if you ad been singled out
for a coat of many colors.
We said Mom spoiled you.

We were wrong.
Love made you strong.
You grew to manhood with courage
enough to hold at bay

the gnawing years that would
chew upon the heart remorselessly,
the way packs of wild dogs
devour the downed lamb.

You stayed with Mom and Dad—
held back the dark
that folded in on the farm,
holding fast to our mother.

You stayed to tend the fields,
to mind the cattle and we were free
to leave: to embroider our garments
with threads of red and gold.

You stayed,
steadfast in your faded coat.


(First appeared in One Dog Press—Poetry of the New West)

___________________

EARTH SONGS
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein

Full moon, crooning, tells turtle
to come out and dance
on sandy-loam at the edge

of Putah Creek where sandy-loam
learned from grass snake
how to weave grass into melody,

where crawdads teach Putah Creek
the art of cart-wheeling
to laughing water lyrics

and deep beneath the creek
deep beneath the sandy-loam
water thrums a soft song

valley oaks and black walnuts hear
when they touch the tule fog, when
they sing of holding on and letting go.

Vulture hawks preening
in morning light teach amaryllis
the glory of opening

while old fox, wary of hunters,
carries Grandmother
to her new moon.


(First appeared in Poetry Now)


__________________

ON THE WAY
—Allegra Jostad Silberstein

At seven o’clock in the evening
on the way to a poetry reading
I saw by the edge of the road
in a clear space open to mountains
just past the crowding of houses,
a shimmering:
sun polished wild oats,
golden seed pearls
strung on their stalks
swaying in perfect freedom,
easy in a gentle breeze.

For these brief moments
miracles seemed logical:
how certain gifted believers
can be given Mary visions,
how the heart stops momentarily
and then does a little flip-flop
when the beloved appears,
how the cripple can walk
and the blind be given sight,
how rainbows are a promise…

At half-past the next hour
when it came my turn to read
the words had gone astray.
I spoke pale shadows
beside an inner ache
for the wayside
shining I had seen earlier.

Would that I could sprinkle words
with holy water, set them like a seal
upon my palm, press them to my lips
and let them fall upon the page
like evening sunlight on wild oats.


(First appeared in Poetry Now)

__________________

A RIVER OF WORDS

flows by me.
I see them ripple in the water
dance with the falling leaves.

I hear the murmur of vowels,
little spits of consonants in a language
pleasing though foreign to my ears.

There’s a house of cards at the river’s edge
with symbols beyond my ken,
I see the cards building higher and higher,

see them bend and sway with the wind,
on top, a flag flutters and falls
as the cards come tumbling down.

A river of words flows by,
minnows dart in and out,
a vowel here, a consonant there, caught

in their open mouths. They understand
the river, a silent eloquence
written with flashing tail.

I must learn
the art of fishing…


—Allegra Jostad Silberstein

(First appeared in Rattlesnake Review)

___________________

Today's LittleNip:

PROSPECTS
—Allegra Silberstein

With this day’s worn rag of hope
I will wipe away the muddy footprints
left in the dark.

After this day’s rough fabric of work
I will rest between ragged sheets of peace
the worn edges turned under,

and I will lie beneath a blanket woven
with threads of desire
in the weft and warp of dreams.


(First appeared in Iodine)

__________________

—Medusa


Thursday, March 18, 2010

Bones of the Stars: Moon Song


Evening Clouds
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis



DREAM BRIDGE
—D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove


I am the bridge of dreams.

I am bounded only by waking.
I am beyond the law.
I am part of life and of death.
I am the bones of the stars.

I am the color of the universe.


I am far islands the morning

Before the carnival. I am

The sparking end of the power cable

Spitting into the night full of rain.

I am the sound of ten thousand
Tree frogs—the rain forest.

I am the coughing of the jaguar.


In the morning steam rises from me.

The dawn streams through my head.

I hold you close and move inside

Your body. I taste your skin and

It is sweet and salty writing as I enter you

Again and again just as you awaken.

I am gone seconds after your eyes open.


_________________

Today and Tonight in NorCal poetry:

•••Today (Thursday, 3/18), 12 noon: Sacramento Poetry Center’s Brown Bag Lunch Series at the Central Library, 828 I St., Sacramento. This Third Thursday reading follows close on the heels of St. Patrick’s Day; bring your favorite poems (preferably by a writer other than yourself) about any kind of greeny thing, like “Asphodel, that Greeny . . .” Or just bring a favorite that is chameleonic and helps to settle your stomach after a bout with some corned beef. Note: no Bushmills or Jameson’s will be served.

•••Tonight (Thurs., 3/18), 8pm: The Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis is proud to welcome Sacramento poets Indigo Moor and Judy Halebsky at the John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st Street, Davis. Attendees are encouraged to arrive early at the John Natsoulas Gallery to secure a table and to sign up for a spot on the Open Mic list.
Indigo Moor’s most recent book of poetry, Through the Stonecutter's Window, has just been announced as this year’s winner of the nationally recognized Cave Canem Northwestern University Press Poetry Prize. His poetry has been described as vivid and soulful, exploring broad subjects from "dialogues with the visual arts to the natural world and the poet's dreams and nightmares." You may know Moor as the former vice president of the Sacramento Poetry Center, or as the author of Tap Root, a collection of poems published in 2006 by Main Street Rag's Editor's Select Poetry Series. He is the winner of the 2005 Vesle Fenstermaker Poetry Prize for Emerging Writers and the 2008 Jack Kerouac Poetry Prize; he was also a 2009 Pushcart Prize nominee. His work has appeared in various anthologies and journals, including the Xavier Review, LA Review, Poetry Now, and Suisun Valley Review. A graduate member of the Artist's Residency Institute for Teaching Artists, Moor teaches residencies and workshops across the country. For further information on Indigo’s most recent accomplishments and publications, visit his website at www.IndigoMoor.com.

Judy Halebsky trained in Performance Studies at UC Davis and is a member of Sacramento Poetry Center's Tuesday night workshop. Since 2007 she has been in Tokyo studying Japanese literature on a MEXT fellowship. Her book, Sky=Empty, was chosen by Marvin Bell as the winner of the 2009 New Issues Poetry Prize. This will be her first public reading from the book.


Musicians: Dylan Bolles, Mark Fuoco, Keith Cary

•••Also tonight (3/18), 7:30pm: The Nevada County Poetry Series presents JoAnn Anglin & Beverly Korenwaser. The show will be in the Off Center Stage (the Black Box theater, enter from Richardson Street) at the Center for the Arts, 314 W. Main St., Grass Valley. Info: (530) 432-8196 or (530) 274-8384. Tickets available at the door for $5 general, seniors and students, and $1 for those under 18, refreshments and open-mic included.

JoAnn Anglin lives in Sacramento, where she writes about humans in nature, the nature of humans and related developments. She has worked as a poet in the schools and has written articles on poetry and on the arts in general. She is active with Los Escritores del Nuevo Sol / Writers of the New Sun and belongs to the Sacramento Poetry Center. Her poems have appeared in Poetry Now, Rattlesnake Review, The Pagan Muse, 100 Poems about Sacramento and several anthologies. She has co-hosted poetry series in Sacramento and been a featured poet at varied Northern California poetry readings. Anglin’s chapbook, Words Like Knives, Like Feathers, was published by Rattlesnake Press. She is currently working on poems for a new collection to be called, How Much Did You Pay For That?

Beverly Korenwaser works in many realms of the creative world: writer, editor, musician and poet. She is a past Artistic Director of the Sangeet School of World Music and editor of USC's School of Cinema-TV Newsletter. Her poetry has been featured in the Isadora Duncan New York Company's Artistic Movement: A Celebration of Isadora Duncan and at the Women's Writers Salon in Grass Valley. Her numerous articles and interviews about the fusion of jazz and art have appeared in the Journal of the International Assn. for Jazz Education. Korenwaser has recently completed writing several articles and curating the Performing Arts Jazz Series for the Mondavi Center. Her poetry is forthcoming in The Cafe Writer's Anthology – 2010.

The reading and open-mic will be videoed for presentation on Nevada County TV, channel 11.

__________________

THE LACK OF A CELLAR

is deplorable when you live
in a floodplain. Ah, you think

a cellar, a basement
only tends to collect rain

and slop. It is, after all,
down there.

Then for why
do vintners, wine snobs,

preserve grannies,
rely on the dry coolth

for keeping their apple plum
dowdy flavors, their salsa,

dry sack and sherry, dry as arena
sand outside, wet and slippery with

taste inside the barrel?
Trust me on this one:

driveway, one fertile winter,
made like a funnel, a slalom

straightaway for floodwater into
my garage, a Netherlands of book boxes.

To this day I keen over my
two-thirds-complete set

of Samuel Johnson’s Rambler,
American reprint of 1803. Foxed

before, they got first and last
whole soaking at the hands

of my inept concept of storage.
What tomes dried developed spores

& mold rich and seething as borage,
got dumped as was meet in the aftermath

of the Great 1986 Garage Water Dump.
None of this would’ve happened

with a real cellar, fallout shelter, rathskeller,
and the wit to rent, borrow, or dig one.

The wages of my negligence?
The Soggy Book Furies descended,

finished addling my head:
my Johnson’s Dictionary,

the classic of 1755 in facsimile,
soon afterward ended up hocked. Two

stout sweet volumes, crafted imperially
in Lebanon, while the Beirut shelling

proclaimed anything was up for sale,
one’s best books as good as urban blood,

for a few undergraduate bucks. It’s all
water: mud, flood, or blood, best kept

out of the cellar.


—Tom Goff, Carmichael

__________________

WHAT WE WANT
—D.R. Wagner


To hear the voice tell us stories.
The heart went questing with true
Love and its page, Ardent Desire.
To know this is true, as true
As clouds lifting against the
Horizon, building higher than ideas.

Oh please tell us the truth.
Tell us about Mister Death
And his lovely dances full of leaps,
Full of daring and challenges.
The color of the sky at twilight.

When we wait at night for the
Lights to quit and make soft
Cloaks around our thoughts
So we may sleep. Children,
Families, lovers and deer feeding
Beside streams full of moonlight.

Let us stand here together.
I will hold you to me and kiss
Your lips. I will tell you and you
Will tell me. We will be able to see
The silver of enchanted light through
The trees. We will agree that our lives
Shall always have this sheen about them.

Far to the North, just before the snows
Begin to own everything for months
At a time we hear the voices again.
Cantatas that overcome death, leave
Us choruses swelling with prayers,
Rejoicing beyond measure, the seasons
So full we wash in them and they flow
Over silken skin as clouds lifting
Against the horizon, building higher than ideas.

__________________

CREST
—D.R. Wagner


As I crested the hill
I found the moon asleep
In a small hollow, nestled

Just below the tops of a grove

Of oak trees. The moon was

To have been up an hour ago.

The light coming through the branches,

That quiet music the moon always makes.

Tonight your skin tasted like
Lime juice and orange blossoms.
I have moments like this where
Everything seems possible for an instant.

I wasn't supposed to tell
You about the moon, but I had
To. I thought maybe you would
Go there with me sometimes.

I know the exact place it was
Resting. I could hold you there.
We could pretend we have always
Known things like this.
We could sing a moon song.


Photo by D.R. Wagner


Today's LittleNip:

The greatest thing that could happen to me would be for creatures to come from space and pick me up and take me away...This is a matter of possibilities...The possibilities are absolutely immense. It's one chance in a billion I'd succeed in making contact, but what have I got to lose?

—Story Musgrave

__________________

—Medusa


Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Tyrants: Love, Life, Time


Irish Dancers, Old Sacramento
Photo by Michelle Kunert


SHANCODUFF
—Patrick Kavanagh

My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look north towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.

My hills hoard the bright shillings of March
While the sun searches in every pocket.
They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn
With a sheaf of hay for three perishing calves
In the field under the Big Forth of Rocksavage.

The sleety winds fondle the rushy beards of Shancoduff
While the cattle-drovers sheltering in the Featherna Bush
Look up and say: ‘Who owns them hungry hills
That the water-hen and snipe must have forsaken?
A poet? Then by heavens he must be poor.'
I hear and is my heart not badly shaken?

__________________

LIFE IN A DARK CELLAR
—Richard Zimmer, Sacramento

Some eat good food, drink fine wine—
perfumed spirits leading a lovely life.
Others, homeless, live on the streets.

A few have found a place to stay—they
sleep on cots, set upon a dirt floor, in a
dark cellar, rented for a few dollars.

Over-watching eyes search the darkness,
for a man who couldn’t pay his rent. He
gives a hopeless plea to stay, but is put out.

One man, living so long in that dark hole, has
dark-ringed eyes, and is called the Mole. He
fears someone may steal his warm shoes.

The happiest one is an old black man, who
hums along, washing things in a laundry tray.
He talks about when he was young and strong:

I used to sing like the stars with love songs
that thundered in my heart. Those times are
over, those songs are gone, no longer mine.

Lying on a cot, dirt floor beneath him, a pale
bearded man, out of work, has a bad cough—
cold weather made him ill. He lies thinking—

I take my life and give all I can—let the years
go by—the good and the bad—if I don’t get
any better, this would be a sad place to die.

__________________

Two calendar additions:

•••Tonight (Weds. 3/17), 7-8:30pm: Our House Gallery presents their open mic poetry series, Poetry in Our House, at 1004 White Rock Rd. #400, El Dorado Hills (Montano de El Dorado Center, south of Hwy 50 on Latrobe Rd. at White Rock Rd.). Open mic; sign in by 7pm. Info: 916-933-4278.

•••Thursday (3/18), 8pm: Head down to Luna’s Café (1414 16th St., Sacramento) as Poetry Unplugged brings to the stage two diverse talents who share a common root of Stockton, CA as launchpad and sometime-inspiration to their written and performed work. A bit of the old and a lot of the new for you!! Jackson Griffith will read prose and poems, spin some tales and tail out with a selection of songs of “Jackson Classics”, and Alan Satow will … no doubt … perform “Alan Satow”—and who knows what that means?!? And if you get there early (which is recommended for table seating, since Poetry Unplugged has been known to go SRO), you can get a cool program with work by Alan Satow and Jackson Griffith, produced by Satow himself for the event.


Kathryn Hohlwein: The Homeric Imagination

•••Six Wednesday nights: March 24, 31 and April 14, 21, 28 and one other date, 7-9pm: Sacramento Poetry Center/Room to Write presents Kathryn Hohlwein and “The Homeric Imagination” at SPC/Room to Write, 1719 25th St., next to Alliance Francaise in the R25 Arts Complex at 25th and R Sts. in Sacramento. English Professor Kathryn Hohlwein taught The Homeric Imagination as a graduate seminar for 30 years at CSUS. After retiring in 1998 and moving to New York City, she began a new project: bringing the excitement of Homer's two great poems, The Iliad and The Odyssey, to larger, more generalized audiences in the United States and abroad. She and her partner, Greek actor Yannis Simonides, have worked together to prepare audience-participation readings of these epics to audiences all over the world. Their organization, The Readers of Homer, has put on these readings in Greece, Turkey, Uruguay, Egypt, and wherever the wind blows. And they read in the language of the host country: Greek on the northern Aegean island of Chios; Arabic at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina in Alexandria, Egypt; and Spanish in Montevideo, Uruguay. They encourage anyone to read 20 lines in their native tongue, since Homer is translated everywhere. But they also present the poem in English (in Power Point) so that people do not get lost.

Professor Hohlwein is excited to be presenting Homer’s work again in Sacramento. This is a rare opportunity to study with her for six evenings in the Spring and six in the Fall. We will read The Iliad this spring (using Richmond Lattimore’s translation from U. of Chicago Press), The Odyssey this fall. The two poems play off and inform one another, and anyone seeking to know Homer must know both. Each epic is 24 books (or "rhapsodies") long, and thus we will discuss 4 books at each meeting. There is no prerequisite; anyone who can (and will) read is welcome. The cost is $150 for each six-week session. Please contact Professor Hohlwein with any questions, or to register: khohlwein@mindspring.com.

___________________

WHAT’S FOR THE CELLAR?
—Taylor Graham, Placerville

We dug up the potatoes too soon,
grubbing with our hands
in moldering soil laced with rotten straw.
Not too soon, they just didn’t grow,
while sheep pushed through the fence,
ravaged eggplant, tomatoes, peppers.
Ground squirrels burrowed the zucchini,
nibbled cabbages, devoured chard.
Long since, spring winds blew
apple blossoms off the tree. Last night,
raccoon finished off the chickens.
What’s left of field and garden
after all the nurturing and feeding,
rich composting of earth, is half
a bucketful of tiny white potatoes,
mere nubbins, enough small russets
to make a meal, give thanks.
An empty cellar. Nothing to put away
for what’s to come of hunger.

_________________

SHATTER
—Taylor Graham

The sun goes down pennant-orange
behind rooftops, leaving red
reflections in glass. Somewhere
something seismic is about to happen.
She wears an amulet against it,
but it clogs her throat. There are
no self-truths on a globe of shifting
plates; of winds to blow
your breath away, scatter your walls.
The cellar is a sometime-safety.
What passes over
will leave, where used to be
ceiling, shards of light.

___________________

CANAL BANK WALK
—Patrick Kavanagh

Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the canal
Pouring redemption for me, that I do
The will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal,
Grow with nature again as before I grew.
The bright stick trapped, the breeze adding a third
Party to the couple kissing on an old seat,
And a bird gathering materials for the nest for the Word
Eloquently new and abandoned to its delirious beat.
O unworn world enrapture me, encapture me in a web
Of fabulous grass and eternal voices by a beech,
Feed the gaping need of my senses, give me ad lib
To pray unselfconsciously with overflowing speech
For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress woven
From green and blue things and arguments that cannot be proven.

__________________

PEACE
—Patrick Kavanagh

And sometimes I am sorry when the grass
Is growing over the stones in quiet hollows
And the cocksfoot leans across the rutted cart-pass
That I am not the voice of country fellows
Who now are standing by some headland talking
Of turnips and potatoes or young corn
Of turf banks stripped for victory.
Here Peace is still hawking
His coloured combs and scarves and beads of horn.

Upon a headland by a whinny hedge
A hare sits looking down a leaf-lapped furrow
There's an old plough upside-down on a weedy ridge
And someone is shouldering home a saddle-harrow.
Out of that childhood country what fools climb
To fight with tyrants Love and Life and Time?



Photo by Michelle Kunert

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

It would seem to me...an offense against nature, for us to come to the same scene endowed as we are with the curiosity, filled to overbrimming as we are with questions, and naturally talented as we are for the asking of clear questions, and then for us to do nothing about or, worse, to try to suppress the questions...

—Lewis Thomas

__________________

—Medusa

Our thanks to today's contributors. Taylor Graham will read this Friday at The Other Voice in Davis; see last Monday's post for details.