Beats the Hell Out of Dying...!

GRANDMA'S PROPHECY
—Ray Dunn, Red Bluff

Grandmother always told him
He would come to no good end,

But that was on the eve
Of her execution which
He attended wearing a brand
New Get-a-Life Tee shirt;
A shiny, black, silk bikini;
And a floppy, blue hat
With a bouquet of lovely
Lavender roses attached
To the brim.

Grandmother was right!
As you can easily see,
He has come to no good end,
But, on the other hand,
He has, most certainly,
Come to no bad end either;
Which he considers a paradox—
Whatever that is.

It is good for him, anyway,
That he continue—at least
It beats the hell out of dying.

___________________

Thanks, Ray! Ray Dunn has been a loyal contributor to the Snake since Issue #1.

Two deadlines loom: The Tenth Annual Focus on Writers Contest, sponsored by the Friends of the Sac. Public Library, which awards cash prizes for poetry (also short stories, articles, first chapters of novels and young-adult books). Send up to five unpublished manuscripts (along with $5 each) by August 31. Info: 916-264-2880 or www.saclibrary.org.

The other deadline is Tiger's Eye: A Journal of Poetry—August 31 for both the journal and the contest. Click on the link to your right for info.

And of course August 31 is the date of Ray Tranquilla's reading and rattlechap release (An Ocean-Front Hotel Room) at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., 7:30pm.

Meanwhile, Song Kowbell of Penn Valley continues to have trouble with spiders. She says they're Daddy LongLegs, that they've taken over her house, that she suspects their motives, and thank God for tree frogs and various reptiles—by which she of course means Snakes! I say, if they spin webs, they're long-legged house spiders and not DDL's, but that's a discussion for another day.

Apparently Song is not averse to tiny orange spiders, though:


SHE SPIDER
—Song Kowbell, Penn Valley

Tiny orange spider
lets go,
parachutes off
my reading lamp
spinning her web.
She ascends
to descend.
Hangs now in front
of my computer screen
watching to make sure
I speak the truth
about her abilities.

________________

Thanks, Song! More about Song, who is doing the October broadside, later.

—Medusa (who also sings the praises of reptiles)

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.

The Hills Are Alive!

Next Wednesday, August 31, will be a special Rattle-read at The Book Collector to celebrate Ron Tranquilla's new chapbook, An Ocean-Front Hotel Room. Here's a sample from this highly personal collection:


APPLES
—Ron Tranquilla, Grass Valley

A boy, I climbed the neighborhood
apple tree; it lifted me to its shoulders
so I could see my school, our church,
the candy store. Leaning, holding on
tightly, I had apples easily at hand.

A boy perched in the trombones,
I thought that girl with the pony tail
in the second row of saxes was cute.

I didn’t know then that I would be winded
climbing such a little hill, the path lifting
beside little houses all the same, all fruits
gone. I didn’t know that I would fall in love
with the saxophonist, or that she
would be climbing at my side, as I
lean on her, holding on for dear life.

_______________________

Thanks, Ron! We'll be hearing a lot from the Grass Valley people this year, including broadsides from Todd Cirillo, Song Kowbell, and one (already out) from Bill Gainer. And then chaps from Ron, Bill, Todd and Song. Those hills are alive with... well, poetry, anyway.

Ron just returned from a poetry festival in Yosemite—though the highlight for him was probably the chance to visit his granddaughter. How about a D.H. Lawrence sonnet on the subject:


BABY RUNNING BAREFOOT
—D. H. Lawrence

When the white feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in a wind.
They poise and run like puffs of wind that pass
Over water where the weeds are thinned.

And the sight of their white playing in the grass
Is winsome as a robin's song, so fluttering;
Or like two butterflies that settle on a glass
Cup for a moment, soft little wing-beats uttering.

And I wish that the baby would tack across here to me
Like a wind-shadow running on a pond, so she could stand
With two little bare white feet upon my knee
And I could feel her feet in either hand

Cool as syringa buds in morning hours,
Or firm and silken as young peony flowers.

______________________

Thanks, D.H.! Interesting use of repeated words—and enjambments, too.

Have a good hump day...

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.

Wine, Taxes, Poetry: Three Inevitables

June J. Engstrom of Eureka is a poet who's just joined the snake universe; welcome, June! Here's a wee sample, something to put a little whimsey into our day:


TV SEARCH
—June J. Engstrom, Eureka

Crime Scene Investigation,
Extreme Makeovers,
Just Shoot Me,
Celebrity Perks.

I scrounge through my brain
For my native intelligence
Lost in Translation.

__________________

Thanks, June!

Assistant Wrangler Robbie Grossklaus was over here last night, rescuing my fonts from oblivion. He is such a help, even as he juggles FIVE jobs! Two of which have to do with wine, one with taxes, and two with poetry (Sac. Poetry Center has just hired him as Office Manager). Wine, taxes, poetry—the man is invaluable! Robbie will be reading in Stockton September 11; more about that later.

Hidden Passage Poetry reading, this Wednesday, Aug. 24 from 6 to 7 p.m. at Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St. in Placerville. It's an open-mike read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.

Thursday, August 25, Joe Donohoe and Bucky Sinister, Harmon Leon, and special guest Rob Lozano are coming to Sacramento and bringing some friends along too. Another Poetry Unplugged exclusive! Hosted by frank andrick, Luna's (1414 16th St., Sac), 8pm.

Brad Buchanan, who teaches Literature and Creative Writing at Sac State, will be performing work from his recently-published book, The Miracle Shirker, at the Art Foundry (1021 R. Street in Sacramento) on Friday August 26 at 8:00 pm. The book is on sale at a much-reduced price of $10, and the suggested donation of $5
at the door gets you halfway there. There will also be time for questions and answers afterwards, including an open mike, if desired. [See previous Medusa posts for some samples of Brad's work.]

Another full week of poetry, if you're of a mind.

Now, for a change of mood, Kate Wells is one of the many talented Placerville poets who you might hear if you go up to Hidden Passage Books tonight. Here are two of hers:


THE SERVICE
—Kate Wells, Placerville

We wrapped her in a frayed towel
and set her in a shoebox.
Arranging paws and tail to fit.
We said a few words—what we'd remember.
I talked about her seal-like fur in every shade of brown.
The kids stared,
we cried,
setting the box in the ground.


DAY SPA
—Kate Wells, Placerville

It doesn't help to know
that the woman kneading my feet with fine oil
escaped from Armenia,
left behind the branches
and solid trunk of her family,
her dreams in a native tongue.
It doesn't help
that we're the same age
and she cradles my feet as she works
the calluses.

__________________

Thanks, Kate! Kate teaches kayaking, by the way. Look for her littlesnake broadside (#11: National Anthems) at the Book Collector, or send me an SASE (4708 Tree Shadow Pl., Fair Oaks) and I'll mail you one.

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.

To Glimpse One's Future

Gwen Hutchinson kindly sent a Medusa-poem; Medusa is of course enchanted with anything that has to do with her. As for glimpsing the future, well, this week I'll be pounding away at the keyboard, putting the final touches on Snake 7. Since we're in a mythical mood (perfect for Mondays), here's a sample from Norine Radaikin:

CREATION
—Norine Radaikin, Sacramento

First water, then land, then light
then a holy oak tree providing shade
then the coyote, fox, deer
then humans—man the moon, Kuksu
woman the sun, Morningstar

both created from dark red clay earth and water,
both very white in the light of the fire
made with hands to climb to escape from bear
to live in brush shelters on the eastern shore
of the Sacramento—Kuksu to hunt bear, deer, ducks
elk, geese, quail and salmon,
Morningstar to gather seeds, nuts, berries, wild plants,
and acorns to dry and make into flour,
before the emigrants, before the reservation
before the march to Round Valley.

______________________

Thanks, Norine! Makes ya want to get out there with a spear or a basket or something, doesn't it? Which is what Mondays are all about, I guess...

Here is Gwen's take on Medusa:


LIFTING THE VEIL
—Gwen Hutchinson, Sacramento

You only have to look at the Medusa straight on to see her.
And she’s not deadly. She’s beautiful and she’s laughing.
—Hélène Cixous

Snakes coil around her arms, her legs
whispering in her ear,
not of corruption, seduction,
not of destruction.

The totem serpent,
symbol of the ocean girdling the earth,
cycles of life, death, and rebirth:
the seasons.

Athene was her name in Africa,
where a serpent girdled her waist,
a sacred healing knot, and
the hair on her head—
dreadlocks.

In Greece, Zeus swallowed his first wife, Metis,
before giving birth to Athena,
Goddess of Wisdom,
from the top of his head.
Who will say this is not the birth of Medusa?
And, who will deny that Medusa’s death
gave birth to Pegasus?

To look upon the Gorgon’s face
is to glimpse one’s future,
perhaps one’s mortality before
turning into stone, symbol of the pillars
that guard the temple of
universal knowledge and wisdom.

Sovereign female wisdom: mysteries
of universal creativity and destruction
in eternal transformation.
Guardian of the thresholds,
mediator between the realms
of heaven, earth and the underworld.
Medusa is the liberating wisdom,
reflecting a culture in harmony
with nature.

She stands for all the forces
of the primordial goddess, Gaia,
the mother of all gods.
The cycles of time as: past, present and future,
the cycles of nature.
To recreate balance,
she purifies.

She is Mistress of the Beasts,
sleeping and wakeful energy,
the union of heaven and earth.
She is immortality forever shedding its skin.
The serpent at her side throughout antiquity
give immortal properties:
bleeding without wound
synchronized by cycles
of tide and moon.

Women are the dark continent,
unknowable, unexplored
with veiled, dangerous faces
longing to bring themselves into the light,
to lift the veil that hides the secrets,
the knowledge of the universe.

Perhaps Medusa laughs because she knows the truth,
and not even the loss of her head
can remove the knowledge and wisdom it contains.

______________________

Thanks, Gwen!

Don't forget SPC's Tryst With Destiny tonight at HQ (25th & R St., Sac.), 7:30pm.

And Colette Jonopulos, who knows all about the pitfalls of editing, writes that of COURSE we get typos in our poems—it's the SKWERLS!

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.

Squirrel Porn! (And baloney...)

Colette Jonopulos, co-editor of Tiger's Eye: A Journal of Poetry, writes:

Calling All Poets,

Geri Doran has stopped me in my tracks, at least long enough to read her book, Resin. I recommend her book to anyone who enjoys poetry that is deeply felt and gently written. Geri is winning awards and traveling...and making me think of what it means to be a poet.

We're inviting you (yes, you) to send us a poem (or two) about what it means to be a poet. Themes are hard to write to, but don't feel restricted. Write about the time you couldn't afford new shoelaces, because you'd used your last dollar to buy Manila envelopes to submit your poetry to a magazine you knew would never, never in your lifetime (or anyone else's) publish you.

E-mail us your serious poems, satirical poems, sensual poems, or even your super-rants; we all need a good rant now and then. Send poems to: tigerseyetracks@yahoo.com

No snail mail. No bio, just your incredible poetry. The top three poems will be posted in blog-land and you'll receive a one-year subscription to Tiger's Eye. Deadline: September 30, so you have time to haggle with your muse, no excuses.

A link to Geri Doran's book:
http://www.poets.org/npmbookdetail.php/prmMID/18904

_________________________

Thanks, Colette! She also reminds us that the next deadline for Tiger's Eye, both the contest and the journal is August 31. Click on the Tiger's Eye link to the right of this column for addresses, etc.

Which reminds me of a poem of mine which appeared in Vermont Ink, 2003:

THE AGGRESSION OF CHANGE
—Kathy Kieth

Cold fingers of an October morning
crawl down my back, waken me
with an alarm of chilly clouds
and a layer of dampness on
the baloney.

________________

Yes, that's right—baloney. It was supposed to be BALCONY, you twit! Anyone who's been published, poet or otherwise, has had typos appear in their work. I found this one (a) frustrating (2) anger-fying (3) humiliating, and (4) hilarious. But it goes with the territory. My very first published poem had the letter, "p", right in the middle of a line for no discernible reason—somebody peed in my poem. I've also been rejected by journals I never sent to, and had a poem rejected which I never wrote. (I never have, however, had a poem ACCEPTED which I never wrote...)

Anyway, I think Colette is talking about what it means to be a writer in the purest sense, but being a published writer has its quirks and sentiments, too.

Which brings us to Katy Brown's new column, "Snake Charmer's Bazaar", in Rattlesnake Review. Here's a wee excerpt from her first column, which will appear in Snake 7:

Once you have chosen to write a poem, you have made one of the hardest decisions you will ever make. Choosing to expose yourself in a poetic form is a truly risky business; taking the poem to a workshop and sending it out for submission is the next most critical and difficult step. You will most likely not become wealthy writing poetry, but the joy of seeing your work in print is tremendous.

As Marketeer-in-Residence, Katy will cheer us on, give us venues to try, clean up our publishing etiquette, and generally shove us in the right direction toward displaying our hard-won work. We can't control what happens once we send it out, but hell—what's a little baloney between friends?

Since autumn is in the air, here is my complete poem, by the way, in an effort to clear its poor little name. (Or not...)


THE AGGRESSION OF CHANGE
—Kathy Kieth, Sacramento

Cold fingers of an October morning
crawl down my back, waken me
with an alarm of chilly clouds
and a layer of dampness on
the balcony. Valley autumns bring

invading forces that set my skin
on edge, send me scuttling to shut
windows, lock the doors. Here,
winters move in quickly, aggress
upon us like the heavy footfalls

of a foreign army—icy troops
of change chasing ghosts of plastic
bags and paper cups ahead of them
down windy, empty streets lined
in amber and gold. . .

_______________________

Oh, and as for skwerl porn: check out this website: www.scarysquirrel.org/hta.html. If the prose, the graphics and the typos seem familiar to you, you're spending far too much time on That Part of the Net...

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.

Cantos of Lotus in Her Bowl

Yesterday I received my August Strophes in the mail—the newsletter for the National Federation of State Poetry Societies, Inc. In it were listed all the winners of its annual contest, including two prizes for Sacramento's SpiralChapper Pearl Stein Selinsky: a First in the Columbine Poets of Colorado Award, and a 2HM in the League of Minnesota Poets Award. Congratulations, Pearl!

Otherwise, there was quite a dirth of California poets listed among the 500 winners in the 50 award categories. This is, of course, not due to lack of talent—could it be left-coast discrimination? More likely, Californians don't enter much. The annual contest is huge, including all sorts of diverse categories, such as sonnets, minutes and various other forms (the Gloss??), humor, lunch, cats, William Stafford, "any inanimate object", narrative, environment, heritage, power of woman, lots of "any subjects", and more. It might be fun for you to send for a pamphlet and try some of the categories, even if you don't send them in. If you're interested, check out the website: www.NFSPS.com for next year, or write to Russell H. Strauss, 18 S. Rembert St., Memphis, TN 38104. NFSPS also sponsors a national convention in various parts of the country—a couple of years ago, it was in Oregon.

Or you can support the California State Poetry Society—becoming a member of that group automatically makes you a member of NFSPS and they'll send all the stuff to you. (Don't worry—you don't have to go to any meetings, because they don't have any.) They do, however, sponsor a monthly contest, plus publishing CQ (California Quarterly), a beautiful journal of poetry which is edited on a rotating basis—our own Joyce Odam is one of those editors—and a newsletter which also accepts poetry submissions. Sacramento Poet of Note Do Gentry has a poem in the current issue of CQ, edited by Russell Salamon and Kate Ozbirn. I don't know if CSPS has a website; write to CSPS, P.O. 7126, Orange, CA 92863.

Time for a poem! Speaking of Oregon, this one is from a former Sacramentan who moved up there (via Mississippi).


WHALE SONG
—Steve Williams

I am rain barrel of black
water that ripples up staves,
through itself, until perfect
circles crawl outward in harmony
to that which is not made by man.

I am a woman who carries a singing
bowl up tilted valleys into the Himalayas
until her lungs sting through ice.
There I sound the "E" of the bowl,
join with low moans from flutes
of granite canyons.
Inside a glacial pool, near a boulder
that threatens to fall, a lotus rises,
blooms its primordial cry.

From one Pacific edge to another, sound
swirls in dark depths, turqoise shallows.
I am whale beached by wave upon wave,
cantos of lotus in her bowl, music
of mother to her son.

_____________________

Watch for more of Steve Williams' poetry in Snake 7, due out in September, or send an SASE to 4708 Tree Shadow Place, FO 95628 and I'll mail you his broadside, littlesnake broadside #1. And check out his poetry website/workshop: www.wildpoetryforum.com.

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.

Special Rattle-Read!

Rattlesnake Press is proud to announce the release of An Ocean-Front Hotel Room by Ron Tranquilla of Grass Valley, which will be celebrated with a SPECIAL RATTLE-READ at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., on AUGUST 31 at 7:30pm. (Could I possibly get more red into one paragraph?) Please come join us for this very special Snake event. (In case the name, "Tranquilla," rings a bell with you, it may be because Ron's son, Ryan, was previously Director of California Poets and Writers.) More about Ron's book to come.

This Monday, Rhony Bhopla will host Tryst With Destiny 2: Poets Celebrate the Beauty of India, which will be held at HQ, 25th & R Streets, Sac., 7:30pm. The event is sponsored by Sacramento Poetry Center. Rhony says:

Tryst with Destiny 2 will highlight the performances of several young dancers, and also a reading by Rhony Bhopla. There will be some selections from Poets of the Past, and gift give-aways. "Tryst with Destiny" was the speech given by the first Prime Minister of India (Nehru) at the liberation of India in 1947.

Here's a poem by Rhony:


BINDIS AND BANGLES
—Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento

India seeps through kajal
lined lotus petal eyes

I feel her henna oiled hands bend me
towards men that disguise

my earlobes, swinging gold loops
resonant of flutes and tabla pounding

Indian Ocean tides wishing away
dirty crowds, and the tsunami ravaged south

she undulates under the sting of mosquito nights
sequined in saris by master tailors unnoticed

rotis and dalls pour like the Ganges
for the last Untouchable quivering at the temple

bindis and kum kum silt on foreheads
of matriarchs, unrelenting in desire and power

silver toe rings shine like the glistening collapsing air
between a new bride and her husband

her struggle begins in the bazaar
with bindis and bangles.


kajal = eyeliner
tabla = drums
sari = 6 yard wrap
roti = flat bread
dalls = lentils
bindis = decorative dots or designs centered in forehead
kum kum = red powder used in hair part or forehead

_______________________________

Thanks, Rhony, for your evocative and exotic poem. (Mosquitos, even!) Those of you who attended last year's Tryst remember how elegant and beautiful it was.

And don't forget the reading at La Raza tonight by Joe Finkleman and Susan Hennies. The two of them have written many interesting poems for two voices. 7:30pm.

—Medusa


Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets.