WHAT'S WITH THE DANCE GUYS?
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
Any man with a trade brings along his tools
whether maintenance or professional
or protective gear if they are police or firemen
But these guys who strut into local dances
they act like this is a 1950's cowtown
with nothing else but tight T-shirts, boots, and jeans
Maybe it's too manly for them to carry supplies,
if you know what I mean.
They come prospecting, but not for romances
Flirting with and flattering for
drinks or their supper
and not just to service the girls
An Octoberfest polka party surprise
is "Dr Fritz", a history professor with a Ph.D.
He brags he knows about waltzing
as well as all about Germany and Russia
But making his rounds with no kit bag
he must've flunked science and biology
acting unaware of the dangerous world out there
if he continues unprepared
(my kiss on his cheek meant I really cared!)
I pray to God he does not take house calls
or end up as a tragic emergency
________________________
Thanks, Michelle! Another NorCal Poet, David Humphreys, has tackled a villanelle. He says he was inspired to tackle a poem in this form by Taylor Graham's recent radio interview, in which she talks about and reads same:
TRILLIONAIRE
—David Humphreys, Stockton
Who will be first to cross this line,
entering a country that has never been seen
passing from billions to something divine,
place where mere mortals might not shine
as glowing or radiant glitter and sheen,
who will be first to cross this line?
Who will drink the champagne wine
and celebrate that which has never been seen
passing from billions to something divine?
Will they consider society’s line
a bequest to share with hungry and lean,
who will be first to cross this line?
Will responsibility be reward as fine
a treasure to him whose crown so clean
passes from billions to something divine?
Will he contribute his good golden mine
to honor and accolades and special bright glean,
who will be first to cross this line
passing from billions to almost divine?
________________________
Thanks, David! It's always good to stretch your poetic muscles a bit...
Correx!
I've been saying that the Ted Kooser reading tonight at UC Davis (Wyatt Pavillion Theater, 6:30 PM, free) was to be on Thursday, Oct. 25. This is clearly the wrong date; sorry for any confusion. Today is Oct. 26.
Also tonight:
Thursday (10/26), 7-9:30 PM: Colored Horse Studio, 780 Waugh Lane, Ukiah features Theresa Whitehill in its Writers Read series. An open mic session will follow the featured reading. Refreshments available. Donation requested. For more info: 707-275-9010 or 707-463-6989. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant from the James Irvine Foundation, and by Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio.
•••Or from 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions presents Kevin Sandbloom at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac. $5, hosted by Flo-Real. Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Or at 8 PM, featured Poets Art Beck and Mary Mackey plus open mic. Hosted by B.L. Kennedy. Luna’s, 1414 16th St., Sacramento.
Speaking of B.L. Kennedy, he writes:
You can now put the word out that as of Friday, October 27, The Crest Theatre will be selling advance tickets for the movie, I Began To Speak. They are priced at $10 and can be reserved by calling the office at the Crest (916) 442-5189 or emailing sid at sid@thecrest.com or just going down to the theatre. The seating is limited to 180, so pass the word.
Cranky Literary Journal is accepting submissions for Issue 8:
They tell us: Utne Magazine called it "replete with refreshing verbal imagery and thoughtful purpose." We are currently reading submissions for Issue 8, scheduled to debut in January 2007, and we urge you to send us your previously unpublished poetry or short fiction. You know, the stuff that happens to be witty, experimental, shrewd, rigorous, startling, stunning, slick, or at the very least, gorgeous. If you make the grade, you'll be sharing the pages with an interview by Cat Jones with the poet Sabrina Orah Mark, as well as a conversation between John Olson and the novelist Norman Lock. As usual, all topics and lengths are welcomed, but shorter tends to be sweeter, and while we promise to read your guilelessly romantic, explicitly sexual, or alarmingly rhyming holiday-themed pieces, we're not likely to publish them. Visit our spanking-new website at www.crankymag.org/submissions.html for submission guidelines and to get acquainted by browsing back issues. Or subscribe at http://www.crankymag.org/subscribe.html. (And watch for news of our chapbook contest; we' ll be announcing it in the next few weeks.)
_______________________
I KNOW A MAN
—Robert Creeley
As I sd to my
friend, because I am
always talking,—John, I
sd, which was not his
name, the darkness sur-
rounds us, what
can we do against
it, or else, shall we &
why not, buy a goddamn big car,
drive, he sd, for
christ's sake, look
out where yr going.
_______________________
—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.)
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Instructed by the Years
THE TRAVELLER
—John Berryman
They pointed me out on the highway, and they said
"That man has a curious way of holding his head."
They pointed me out on the beach; they said "That man
will never become as we are, try as he can."
They pointed me out at the station, and the guard
Looked at me twice, thrice, thoughtfully & hard.
I took the same train that the others took,
To the same place. Were it not for that look
And those words, we were all of us the same.
I studied merely maps. I tried to name
The effects of motion on the travellers,
I watched the couple I could see, the curse
And blessings of that couple, their destination,
The deception practised on them at the station,
Their courage. When the train stopped and they knew
The end of their journey, I descended too.
______________________
PARTING AS DESCENT
—John Berryman
They sun rushed up the sky; the taxi flew;
There was a kind of fever on the clock
That morning. We arrived at Waterloo
With time to spare and couldn't find my track.
The bitter coffee in a small cafe
Gave us our conversation. When the train
Began to move, I saw you turn away
And vanish, and the vessels in my brain
Burst, the train roared, the other travellers
In flames leapt, burning on the tilted air
Che si cruccia, I heard the devils curse
And shriek with joy in the place beyond prayer.
________________________
Get there early!
Word on the street has it that the Ted Kooser reading tomorrow night (Thursday, 10/25) at UC Davis may be packed; Wyatt Pavillion isn't all that big. The reading is at 6:30 PM. Be there. Early. FREE! and plenty of parking.
Tonight, head up the hill to Placerville from 6-7 PM for the Hidden Passage Poetry Reading, 352 Main St. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
Today would've been John Berryman's 92nd birthday:
HE RESIGNS
—John Berryman
Age, and the deaths, and the ghosts.
Her having gone away
in spirit from me. Hosts
of regrets come & find me empty.
I don't feel this will change.
I don't want any thing
or person, familiar or strange.
I don't think I will sing
any more just now;
ever. I must start
to sit with a blind brow
above an empty heart.
_______________________
SANCTUARY
—John Berryman
An evening faultless interval when
Blood ran crescendo in the brain
And time lay as a poem clear
Falls from me now; a friend is gone
Who taught my anger opaque air,
Is all but lost in time; few things remain.
The insolent look a woman gave
Casually from a door one day
Leaves me not, on the other hand;
Strange stigmata to our grave,
Indiscriminate as the wind,
We carry, with our bones they will decay.
The sky and sea are one in the night,
No eye can make distinction where
Eye is contained, eye subject is
To eyelid, even the pawn of light:
But panthers explain parenthesis
Upon their prey and sate all hunger there.
Certainty shall not touch my tongue.
And yet I hold, I have in mind
That this our love will stay for us:
Instructed by the years, belong
Obdurate and anonymous
A sanctuary eye among the blind.
_______________________
—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.)
—John Berryman
They pointed me out on the highway, and they said
"That man has a curious way of holding his head."
They pointed me out on the beach; they said "That man
will never become as we are, try as he can."
They pointed me out at the station, and the guard
Looked at me twice, thrice, thoughtfully & hard.
I took the same train that the others took,
To the same place. Were it not for that look
And those words, we were all of us the same.
I studied merely maps. I tried to name
The effects of motion on the travellers,
I watched the couple I could see, the curse
And blessings of that couple, their destination,
The deception practised on them at the station,
Their courage. When the train stopped and they knew
The end of their journey, I descended too.
______________________
PARTING AS DESCENT
—John Berryman
They sun rushed up the sky; the taxi flew;
There was a kind of fever on the clock
That morning. We arrived at Waterloo
With time to spare and couldn't find my track.
The bitter coffee in a small cafe
Gave us our conversation. When the train
Began to move, I saw you turn away
And vanish, and the vessels in my brain
Burst, the train roared, the other travellers
In flames leapt, burning on the tilted air
Che si cruccia, I heard the devils curse
And shriek with joy in the place beyond prayer.
________________________
Get there early!
Word on the street has it that the Ted Kooser reading tomorrow night (Thursday, 10/25) at UC Davis may be packed; Wyatt Pavillion isn't all that big. The reading is at 6:30 PM. Be there. Early. FREE! and plenty of parking.
Tonight, head up the hill to Placerville from 6-7 PM for the Hidden Passage Poetry Reading, 352 Main St. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
Today would've been John Berryman's 92nd birthday:
HE RESIGNS
—John Berryman
Age, and the deaths, and the ghosts.
Her having gone away
in spirit from me. Hosts
of regrets come & find me empty.
I don't feel this will change.
I don't want any thing
or person, familiar or strange.
I don't think I will sing
any more just now;
ever. I must start
to sit with a blind brow
above an empty heart.
_______________________
SANCTUARY
—John Berryman
An evening faultless interval when
Blood ran crescendo in the brain
And time lay as a poem clear
Falls from me now; a friend is gone
Who taught my anger opaque air,
Is all but lost in time; few things remain.
The insolent look a woman gave
Casually from a door one day
Leaves me not, on the other hand;
Strange stigmata to our grave,
Indiscriminate as the wind,
We carry, with our bones they will decay.
The sky and sea are one in the night,
No eye can make distinction where
Eye is contained, eye subject is
To eyelid, even the pawn of light:
But panthers explain parenthesis
Upon their prey and sate all hunger there.
Certainty shall not touch my tongue.
And yet I hold, I have in mind
That this our love will stay for us:
Instructed by the years, belong
Obdurate and anonymous
A sanctuary eye among the blind.
_______________________
—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.)
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Oops I Forgot to Title This
LOVE SONG
—Denise Levertov
Your beauty, which I lost sight of once
for a long time, is long,
not symmetrical, and wears
the earth colors that make me see it.
A long beauty, what is that?
A song
that can be sung over and over,
long notes or long bones.
Love is a landscape the long mountains
define but don't
shut off from the
unseeable distance.
In fall, in fall,
your trees stretch
their long arms in sleeves
of earth-red and
sky-yellow. I take
long walks among them.
The grapes
that need frost to ripen them
are amber and grow deep in the
hedge, half-concealed,
the way your beauty grows in long tendrils
half in darkness.
________________________
Keeping Ted a Secret:
Thanks to James Lee Jobe for the following heads-up: I read in the Davis Enterprise that Poet Laureate of the United States, Ted Kooser, reads on campus at U.C. Davis Thursday, at the Wyatt Pavilion Theater, at 6:30 PM.
Medusa says: Last week it was David St. John; this week it's Ted Kooser who is not advertised in Sacramento environs. What's up with that? Did I miss an announcement or three somewhere? You'd think the University would want to sell tickets...
Thursday in Ukiah:
This Thursday (10/26), 7-9:30 PM: Colored Horse Studio, 780 Waugh Lane, Ukiah features Theresa Whitehill in its Writers Read series. A California poet, designer, and letterpress printer, Whitehill's literary work includes commissioned poetry, culinary poetry, letterpress poetry broadsides, and poetic essays. A resident of Mendocino County for over 20 years, she is well known to local audiences as an expressive performer. Appellation Magazine has published her poetic prose, and her poetry has appeared in regional California magazines and anthologies. Her literary letterpress broadsides, many produced with her husband, artist Paulo Ferreira, are in major national collections including the Getty Center for the Arts, Brown University's John Hay Library, Stanford University's Special Collections Department, the New York Public Library, the Special Collections Department of UCLA, the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley, the San Francisco Public Library, Mills College Special Collections, and City College of San Francisco, as well as many private collections. An open mic session will follow the featured reading. Refreshments available. Donation requested. For more info: (707)275-9010 or (707)463-6989. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant from the James Irvine Foundation, and by Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio.
Watershed this Saturday:
This Saturday, Poetry Flash sponsors the eleventh annual Watershed Environmental Poetry Festival at the Berkeley City COllege Atrium and Auditorium. Featured will be poets and writers concerned about the environment, including Al Young, Lewis MacAdams, Susan Griffin, Maya Knosla, Chris Olander, Albert Flynn DeSilver, GP Skratz, and John Oliver Simon. Also featured will be young voices from River of Words, California Poets in the Schools, and Poetry Inside Out.
A Pre-Festival Creek Walk and Poetry Workshop begins at 10 AM, starting on the UC Berkeley Campus (Oxford and Center Sts.). The day will also feature literary and environmental panels, workshops and exhibits; see www.poetryflash.org for more details. The event is free, but a $25 donation will get you a letterpress broadside of Al Young's poem, "Geography of the Near Past".
_______________________
OVERHEARD
—Denise Levertov
A deep wooden note
when the wind blows,
the west wind.
The rock maple is it,
close to the house?
Or a beam, voice
of the house itself?
A groan, but not
gloomy, rather
an escaped note of
almost unbearable
satisfaction, a great
bough or beam
unaware it had
spoken.
_______________________
A CURE OF SOULS
—Denise Levertov
The pastor
of grief and dreams
guides his flock towards
the next field
with all his care.
He has heard
the bell tolling
but the sheep
are hungry and need
the grass, today and
every day. Beautiful
his patience, his long
shadow, the rippling
sound of the flock moving
along the valley.
_______________________
THE SECRET
—Denise Levertov
Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.
I who don't know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,
the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find,
and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines
in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.
_______________________
Today Denise Levertov would've been 83 years old.
—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.)
—Denise Levertov
Your beauty, which I lost sight of once
for a long time, is long,
not symmetrical, and wears
the earth colors that make me see it.
A long beauty, what is that?
A song
that can be sung over and over,
long notes or long bones.
Love is a landscape the long mountains
define but don't
shut off from the
unseeable distance.
In fall, in fall,
your trees stretch
their long arms in sleeves
of earth-red and
sky-yellow. I take
long walks among them.
The grapes
that need frost to ripen them
are amber and grow deep in the
hedge, half-concealed,
the way your beauty grows in long tendrils
half in darkness.
________________________
Keeping Ted a Secret:
Thanks to James Lee Jobe for the following heads-up: I read in the Davis Enterprise that Poet Laureate of the United States, Ted Kooser, reads on campus at U.C. Davis Thursday, at the Wyatt Pavilion Theater, at 6:30 PM.
Medusa says: Last week it was David St. John; this week it's Ted Kooser who is not advertised in Sacramento environs. What's up with that? Did I miss an announcement or three somewhere? You'd think the University would want to sell tickets...
Thursday in Ukiah:
This Thursday (10/26), 7-9:30 PM: Colored Horse Studio, 780 Waugh Lane, Ukiah features Theresa Whitehill in its Writers Read series. A California poet, designer, and letterpress printer, Whitehill's literary work includes commissioned poetry, culinary poetry, letterpress poetry broadsides, and poetic essays. A resident of Mendocino County for over 20 years, she is well known to local audiences as an expressive performer. Appellation Magazine has published her poetic prose, and her poetry has appeared in regional California magazines and anthologies. Her literary letterpress broadsides, many produced with her husband, artist Paulo Ferreira, are in major national collections including the Getty Center for the Arts, Brown University's John Hay Library, Stanford University's Special Collections Department, the New York Public Library, the Special Collections Department of UCLA, the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley, the San Francisco Public Library, Mills College Special Collections, and City College of San Francisco, as well as many private collections. An open mic session will follow the featured reading. Refreshments available. Donation requested. For more info: (707)275-9010 or (707)463-6989. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant from the James Irvine Foundation, and by Tenacity Press and Colored Horse Studio.
Watershed this Saturday:
This Saturday, Poetry Flash sponsors the eleventh annual Watershed Environmental Poetry Festival at the Berkeley City COllege Atrium and Auditorium. Featured will be poets and writers concerned about the environment, including Al Young, Lewis MacAdams, Susan Griffin, Maya Knosla, Chris Olander, Albert Flynn DeSilver, GP Skratz, and John Oliver Simon. Also featured will be young voices from River of Words, California Poets in the Schools, and Poetry Inside Out.
A Pre-Festival Creek Walk and Poetry Workshop begins at 10 AM, starting on the UC Berkeley Campus (Oxford and Center Sts.). The day will also feature literary and environmental panels, workshops and exhibits; see www.poetryflash.org for more details. The event is free, but a $25 donation will get you a letterpress broadside of Al Young's poem, "Geography of the Near Past".
_______________________
OVERHEARD
—Denise Levertov
A deep wooden note
when the wind blows,
the west wind.
The rock maple is it,
close to the house?
Or a beam, voice
of the house itself?
A groan, but not
gloomy, rather
an escaped note of
almost unbearable
satisfaction, a great
bough or beam
unaware it had
spoken.
_______________________
A CURE OF SOULS
—Denise Levertov
The pastor
of grief and dreams
guides his flock towards
the next field
with all his care.
He has heard
the bell tolling
but the sheep
are hungry and need
the grass, today and
every day. Beautiful
his patience, his long
shadow, the rippling
sound of the flock moving
along the valley.
_______________________
THE SECRET
—Denise Levertov
Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.
I who don't know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,
the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find,
and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines
in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.
_______________________
Today Denise Levertov would've been 83 years old.
—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.)
Monday, October 23, 2006
Hidden Rooms
SINCE NINE O'CLOCK—
—C.P. Cavafy
Half past twelve. The time has passed quickly
since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp,
and sat down here. I sat without reading,
and without speaking. With whom could I speak
all alone in this house.
Since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp,
the vision of my youthful body
has appeared and found me and reminded me
of closed heavily scented rooms,
and pleasure long past—what audacious pleasure!
And it also brought before my eyes
streets that have now become unrecognizable,
centers full of movement that are ended,
and theaters and cafes that once used to be.
The vision of my youthful body
appeared and brought me also the sad memories;
family mournings, separations,
feelings of my dear ones, feelings
of the dead so little esteemed.
Half past twelve. How the time has passed.
Half past twelve. How the years have passed.
_______________________
This week in Nor Cal poetry:
•••Tonight (Monday, 10/23), 7:30 PM: the Sacramento Poetry Center presents Joshua Clover, author of The Totality For Kids (2006) and Madonna anno domini (1997), winner of the Walt Whitman Award from The Academy of American Poets. Clover teaches at UC-Davis, and contributes to Village Voice and The New York Times. Host Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 1719-25th St., Sac. (25th and R Sts.), 916-451-5569.
•••Also tonight: The Moody Blues Poetry Series, 8 PM, presents Ms. Ashleigh with music by DJ Barney B. $5 at A Taste of Laguna, 9080 Laguna Main in Elk Grove. Hosted by Ms. La-Rue. 916-284-7831. The Moody Blue Poetry Series happens every Monday.
•••Tuesday (10/24): Bistro 33 in the Historic City Hall, 226 “F” Street, at 3rd and “F” Streets in Davis. Open-mic signup begins at 8 PM, the warm-up readers (Jones and Henderson) begin at about 8:30, and the feature (Terry Moore) begins around 8:50 for half an hour or so, maybe longer. Open mic afterward, with perhaps a musical interlude. http://www.bistro33.com/bistro33_davis/home.html or Andy Jones: aojones@ucdavis.edu or 530-756-4556.
•••Weds. (10/25), 6-7 PM: Hidden Passage Poetry Reading, 352 Main St. in Placerville. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
•••Thursday (10/26), 8 PM, featured Poets Art Beck and Mary Mackey plus open mic. Hosted by B.L. Kennedy. Luna’s, 1414 16th St., Sacramento.
•••Also Thursday, 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions presents Kevin Sandbloom at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac. $5, hosted by Flo-Real. Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Saturday (10/28), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Neo-Soul Vocalist Kevin Sandbloom from LA, plus extended open mic time. Also Born 2B Poets with special guest Bloom Beloved. Wo'se Community Center (Off 35th & Broadway), 2863 35th St., Sac. $5. 916-455-POET.
Wanda Coleman writes of Things Falling Apart:
I am guest-editing next issue of L.A. Review. I've got to make my editorial decisions by November 15th. (Theme: Things Fall Apart—But I'll look at anything.) Anyone interested, and not afraid of rejection slips, can send poems the old-fashioned away: 3-5 poems regular mail with SASE (63 cents) for acceptance or return to me at: Wanda Coleman, Guest Poetry Editor, Los Angeles Review, P.O. Box 3537, Grenada, Hills 91394.
_______________________
AND I RECLINED AND LAY DOWN ON THEIR BEDS
—C.P. Cavafy
When I entered the house of pleasure,
I did not remain in the room where they celebrate
recognized loves with some semblance of order.
I went into the hidden rooms
and I reclined and lay down on their beds.
I went into the hidden rooms
that they are even ashamed to name.
But not shameful to me—for then
what kind of poet or craftsman would I be?
I'd rather lead a hermit's life. It would be more consonant,
much more consonant with my poetry;
than for me to enjoy myself in the commonplace room.
_______________________
HALF AN HOUR
—C.P. Cavafy
I neither had you, nor will I ever have you,
I guess. A few words, a coming close
as in the bar the other day, and nothing more.
It is a pity, I do not deny. But we of the world of Art
sometimes create pleasure with intensity of mind,
and of course only for a short while,
which almost gives the effect of the real.
So in the bar the other day—the merciful
alcohol also helping much—
I had a perfect erotic half-hour.
And it seems to me you understood,
and you purposely stayed somewhat longer.
That was very necessary. Because
for all of imagination and the magic alcohol,
I needed to see your lips too,
I needed to have your body close to me.
________________________
THE BANDAGED SHOULDER
—C.P. Cavafy
He said that he had hurt himself on a wall or that he had fallen.
But there was probably another reason
for the wounded, bandaged shoulder.
With a somewhat forceful movement,
to bring down from a shelf some
photographs that he wanted to see at close range,
the bandage was loosened and a little blood ran.
I bandaged the shoulder again, and tying it
I was somewhat slow; because it did not hurt,
and I liked to look at the blood.
That blood was part of my love.
After he left I found a blood-drenched rag
in front of the chair, from the bandages,
a rag headed for the garbage;
which I brought up to my lips,
and which I held there for a long time—
the blood of love on my lips.
________________________
—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.)
—C.P. Cavafy
Half past twelve. The time has passed quickly
since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp,
and sat down here. I sat without reading,
and without speaking. With whom could I speak
all alone in this house.
Since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp,
the vision of my youthful body
has appeared and found me and reminded me
of closed heavily scented rooms,
and pleasure long past—what audacious pleasure!
And it also brought before my eyes
streets that have now become unrecognizable,
centers full of movement that are ended,
and theaters and cafes that once used to be.
The vision of my youthful body
appeared and brought me also the sad memories;
family mournings, separations,
feelings of my dear ones, feelings
of the dead so little esteemed.
Half past twelve. How the time has passed.
Half past twelve. How the years have passed.
_______________________
This week in Nor Cal poetry:
•••Tonight (Monday, 10/23), 7:30 PM: the Sacramento Poetry Center presents Joshua Clover, author of The Totality For Kids (2006) and Madonna anno domini (1997), winner of the Walt Whitman Award from The Academy of American Poets. Clover teaches at UC-Davis, and contributes to Village Voice and The New York Times. Host Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 1719-25th St., Sac. (25th and R Sts.), 916-451-5569.
•••Also tonight: The Moody Blues Poetry Series, 8 PM, presents Ms. Ashleigh with music by DJ Barney B. $5 at A Taste of Laguna, 9080 Laguna Main in Elk Grove. Hosted by Ms. La-Rue. 916-284-7831. The Moody Blue Poetry Series happens every Monday.
•••Tuesday (10/24): Bistro 33 in the Historic City Hall, 226 “F” Street, at 3rd and “F” Streets in Davis. Open-mic signup begins at 8 PM, the warm-up readers (Jones and Henderson) begin at about 8:30, and the feature (Terry Moore) begins around 8:50 for half an hour or so, maybe longer. Open mic afterward, with perhaps a musical interlude. http://www.bistro33.com/bistro33_davis/home.html or Andy Jones: aojones@ucdavis.edu or 530-756-4556.
•••Weds. (10/25), 6-7 PM: Hidden Passage Poetry Reading, 352 Main St. in Placerville. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.
•••Thursday (10/26), 8 PM, featured Poets Art Beck and Mary Mackey plus open mic. Hosted by B.L. Kennedy. Luna’s, 1414 16th St., Sacramento.
•••Also Thursday, 8-11 PM: Vibe Sessions presents Kevin Sandbloom at Cobbler Inn, 3520 Stockton Blvd. (next to Colonial Theater), Sac. $5, hosted by Flo-Real. Open Mic for comedians, singers, poets.
•••Saturday (10/28), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Neo-Soul Vocalist Kevin Sandbloom from LA, plus extended open mic time. Also Born 2B Poets with special guest Bloom Beloved. Wo'se Community Center (Off 35th & Broadway), 2863 35th St., Sac. $5. 916-455-POET.
Wanda Coleman writes of Things Falling Apart:
I am guest-editing next issue of L.A. Review. I've got to make my editorial decisions by November 15th. (Theme: Things Fall Apart—But I'll look at anything.) Anyone interested, and not afraid of rejection slips, can send poems the old-fashioned away: 3-5 poems regular mail with SASE (63 cents) for acceptance or return to me at: Wanda Coleman, Guest Poetry Editor, Los Angeles Review, P.O. Box 3537, Grenada, Hills 91394.
_______________________
AND I RECLINED AND LAY DOWN ON THEIR BEDS
—C.P. Cavafy
When I entered the house of pleasure,
I did not remain in the room where they celebrate
recognized loves with some semblance of order.
I went into the hidden rooms
and I reclined and lay down on their beds.
I went into the hidden rooms
that they are even ashamed to name.
But not shameful to me—for then
what kind of poet or craftsman would I be?
I'd rather lead a hermit's life. It would be more consonant,
much more consonant with my poetry;
than for me to enjoy myself in the commonplace room.
_______________________
HALF AN HOUR
—C.P. Cavafy
I neither had you, nor will I ever have you,
I guess. A few words, a coming close
as in the bar the other day, and nothing more.
It is a pity, I do not deny. But we of the world of Art
sometimes create pleasure with intensity of mind,
and of course only for a short while,
which almost gives the effect of the real.
So in the bar the other day—the merciful
alcohol also helping much—
I had a perfect erotic half-hour.
And it seems to me you understood,
and you purposely stayed somewhat longer.
That was very necessary. Because
for all of imagination and the magic alcohol,
I needed to see your lips too,
I needed to have your body close to me.
________________________
THE BANDAGED SHOULDER
—C.P. Cavafy
He said that he had hurt himself on a wall or that he had fallen.
But there was probably another reason
for the wounded, bandaged shoulder.
With a somewhat forceful movement,
to bring down from a shelf some
photographs that he wanted to see at close range,
the bandage was loosened and a little blood ran.
I bandaged the shoulder again, and tying it
I was somewhat slow; because it did not hurt,
and I liked to look at the blood.
That blood was part of my love.
After he left I found a blood-drenched rag
in front of the chair, from the bandages,
a rag headed for the garbage;
which I brought up to my lips,
and which I held there for a long time—
the blood of love on my lips.
________________________
—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.)
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Nice
NICE
—Russell Edson
Of the night...
Climbing the mountain I kept slipping. So that I was not so much climbing as trying to.
I was not able to get out of the valley at all.
I said, what's wrong with the valley? It's every bit as nice as the mountain.
When I use the word nice I begin to feel cuddly. I go nice this and nice that, until I'm quite sick to my stomach as if having eaten too many sweets.
But let's be honest, is the valley really as nice as the mountain? The mountain is higher than the valley, so that it has a height that the valley could never own to without itself becoming a mountain. However, the valley retains a depth that the mountain does not own to.
But, in a way, both seeming to belong to the same system; each describing the other in reverse description.
One begins to see the mountain range as a solidified valley turned upside down, and equally as nice.
So if I cannot climb the mountain, I can still climb the stairs to my bed.
But, no matter, for I am anywhere I am without my having to do anything.
And so it doesn't really matter where one is, as long as one is. And sometimes even that doesn't matter...
_______________________
Don't forget: Today, 4 PM: The Book Collector and Rattlesnake Press present Taylor Graham reading from her latest book, The Downstairs Dance Floor, winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press. That's at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Be there. Wine! Hors-d'oeuvres!!
—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.)
—Russell Edson
Of the night...
Climbing the mountain I kept slipping. So that I was not so much climbing as trying to.
I was not able to get out of the valley at all.
I said, what's wrong with the valley? It's every bit as nice as the mountain.
When I use the word nice I begin to feel cuddly. I go nice this and nice that, until I'm quite sick to my stomach as if having eaten too many sweets.
But let's be honest, is the valley really as nice as the mountain? The mountain is higher than the valley, so that it has a height that the valley could never own to without itself becoming a mountain. However, the valley retains a depth that the mountain does not own to.
But, in a way, both seeming to belong to the same system; each describing the other in reverse description.
One begins to see the mountain range as a solidified valley turned upside down, and equally as nice.
So if I cannot climb the mountain, I can still climb the stairs to my bed.
But, no matter, for I am anywhere I am without my having to do anything.
And so it doesn't really matter where one is, as long as one is. And sometimes even that doesn't matter...
_______________________
Don't forget: Today, 4 PM: The Book Collector and Rattlesnake Press present Taylor Graham reading from her latest book, The Downstairs Dance Floor, winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press. That's at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Be there. Wine! Hors-d'oeuvres!!
—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.)
Saturday, October 21, 2006
For Whom Ye May
LIVING
—Denise Levertov
The fire in leaf and grass
so green it seems
each summer the last summer.
The wind blowing, the leaves
shivering in the sun,
each day the last day.
A red salamander
so cold and so
easy to catch, dreamily
moves his delicate feet
and long tail. I hold
my hand open for him to go.
Each minute the last minute.
______________________
'CE BRUIT DE LA MER...'
—Denise Levertov
(after Jules Supervielle)
That sound, everywhere about us, of the sea—
the tree among its tresses has always heard it,
and the horse dips his black body in the sound
stretching his neck as if towards drinking water,
as if he were longing to leave the dunes and become
a mythic horse in the remotest distance,
joining the flock of foam-sheep—
fleeces made for vision alone—
to be indeed the son of these salt waters
and browse on algae in the deep fields.
But he must learn to wait, wait on the shore,
promising himself someday to the waves of the open sea,
putting his hope in certain death, lowering
his head again to the grass.
________________________
THE DEPTHS
—Denise Levertov
When the white fog burns off,
the abyss of everlasting light
is revealed. The last cobwebs
of fog in the
black firtrees are flakes
of white ash in the world's hearth.
Cold of the sea is counterpart
to this great fire. Plunging
out of the burning cold of ocean
we enter an ocean of intense
noon. Sacred salt
sparkles on our bodies.
After mist has wrapped us again
in fine wool, may the taste of salt
recall to us the great depths about us.
______________________
Today only!
Molly Fisk writes: The upcoming October Boot Camp, which begins on Sunday, is very small, and I'm having a lean autumn. So here's the deal: Anyone who wants to join us for this camp before Saturday, 10/21 (that's TODAY!), at 5 PM Pacific time may take $50 off the tuition, reducing it to $125 (that's about 34% off). Write or call if you have any questions (530-470-0188). If you're on this list but don't know what Poetry Boot Camp actually is, here's the info: http://www.poetrybootcamp.com. Happy Halloween, in any case!
______________________
WORK WITHOUT HOPE
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, not sing.
Yet well I ken the banks were amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.
________________________
Today Samuel Taylor Coleridge would've been 334 years old.
—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.)
—Denise Levertov
The fire in leaf and grass
so green it seems
each summer the last summer.
The wind blowing, the leaves
shivering in the sun,
each day the last day.
A red salamander
so cold and so
easy to catch, dreamily
moves his delicate feet
and long tail. I hold
my hand open for him to go.
Each minute the last minute.
______________________
'CE BRUIT DE LA MER...'
—Denise Levertov
(after Jules Supervielle)
That sound, everywhere about us, of the sea—
the tree among its tresses has always heard it,
and the horse dips his black body in the sound
stretching his neck as if towards drinking water,
as if he were longing to leave the dunes and become
a mythic horse in the remotest distance,
joining the flock of foam-sheep—
fleeces made for vision alone—
to be indeed the son of these salt waters
and browse on algae in the deep fields.
But he must learn to wait, wait on the shore,
promising himself someday to the waves of the open sea,
putting his hope in certain death, lowering
his head again to the grass.
________________________
THE DEPTHS
—Denise Levertov
When the white fog burns off,
the abyss of everlasting light
is revealed. The last cobwebs
of fog in the
black firtrees are flakes
of white ash in the world's hearth.
Cold of the sea is counterpart
to this great fire. Plunging
out of the burning cold of ocean
we enter an ocean of intense
noon. Sacred salt
sparkles on our bodies.
After mist has wrapped us again
in fine wool, may the taste of salt
recall to us the great depths about us.
______________________
Today only!
Molly Fisk writes: The upcoming October Boot Camp, which begins on Sunday, is very small, and I'm having a lean autumn. So here's the deal: Anyone who wants to join us for this camp before Saturday, 10/21 (that's TODAY!), at 5 PM Pacific time may take $50 off the tuition, reducing it to $125 (that's about 34% off). Write or call if you have any questions (530-470-0188). If you're on this list but don't know what Poetry Boot Camp actually is, here's the info: http://www.poetrybootcamp.com. Happy Halloween, in any case!
______________________
WORK WITHOUT HOPE
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, not sing.
Yet well I ken the banks were amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.
________________________
Today Samuel Taylor Coleridge would've been 334 years old.
—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.)
Friday, October 20, 2006
Warming the Inkstone
THE AUTUMN MOON
—Ryokan
The moon appears in every season, it is true.
But surely it's best in fall.
In autumn, mountains loom and water runs close.
A brilliant disk floats across the infinite sky,
And there is no sense of light and darkness,
For everything is permeated with its presence.
The boundless sky above, the autumn chill on my face.
I take my precious staff and wander about the hills.
Not a speck of the world's dust anywhere,
Just the brilliant beams of moonlight.
I hope others, too, are gazing on this moon tonight.
And that it's illuminating all kinds of people.
Autumn after autumn, the moonlight comes and goes;
Human beings will gaze upon it for eternity.
The sermons of Buddha, the preaching of Eno,
Surely occurred under the same kind of moon.
I contemplate the moon through the night,
As the stream settles, and white dew descends.
Which wayfarer will bask in the moonlight longest?
Whose home will drink up the most moonbeams?
_______________________
•••Tonight (Friday, 10/20), 7 PM: Six Ft. Swells Press celebrates the newest chapbook in its Cheap Shots Poetry Series with the release of Julie Valin's Night Songs for Heavy Dreamers. The evening begins with cocktails and backslapping at 7 PM followed by a reading featuring Julie Valin and Matt Amott. The evening is hosted by the pirate of the Cheap Shots Poetry Series, Todd Cirillo. The event will be a combination of above-average garden party debauchery and truck stop revelries wrapped up in After-Hours Poetry at its finest. The event is free at Jason's Studio Cafe (in Booktown Books), 134 S. Auburn St., Grass Valley. For info. or to order Six Ft. Swells releases call 530-271-0662 or email sixfootswells@yahoo.com.
•••Also tonight, 7 PM: Our House Gallery and Framing presents Irene Lipshin and Phil Weidman. Both have new chapbooks out from Rattlesnake Press: Shadowlines (Irene) and Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (Phil). Free; an open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center.
•••Saturday (10/21), 7:30 PM: Literature Alive! Presents Wordslingers 2006: An Evening With Amy Tan. The event, presented by Literature Alive!, a Nevada County non-profit, will take place at the Veteran’s Memorial Hall in Grass Valley. Tickets for the main auditorium are $25 in advance, $30 at the door, $22 for Literature Alive! members (must show membership card); bleacher seats are $15. For more information on tickets (which may be sold out?), call (530) 272-5812 or visit the website at www.litalive.org.
•••Also Saturday, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Red Fox Underground poets Wendy Williams and Brigit Truex, plus Lori Jean Robinson and Random Abiladeze, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St., Sac. (35th and Broadway). If you would like to be a featured poet, contact Terry Moore at 916-455-POET.
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry writing workshop as this month’s featured poetry event. The facilitator, Karin Forno, is a well known local writer who practices medicine, has earned a Master's of Fine Arts in creative writing, and is an instructor at CSUS. A very modest $10.00 donation per writer is requested. Please email Gordon Preston at gordonbp@sbcglobal.net with your intent to participate. Space will be limited.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM: The Third Saturday of the Month is The Stockton Poetry Workshop at The Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia and Yosemite Avenues, Stockton. For info call Donald Anderson (209) 943-2449 or call the host, Shonda Renee (209) 603-1598.
•••Sunday (Oct. 22), 4 PM: The Book Collector and Rattlesnake Press present Taylor Graham reading from her latest book, The Downstairs Dance Floor, winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press. That's at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Be there.
•••Monday (10/23), 7:30 PM: the Sacramento Poetry Center presents Joshua Clover, author of The Totality For Kids (2006) and Madonna anno domini (1997), winner of the Walt Whitman Award from The Academy of American Poets. Clover teaches at UC-Davis, and contributes to Village Voice and The New York Times. Host Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 1719-25th St., Sac. (25th and R Sts.), 916-451-5569.
________________________
On a bitterly cold November night
The snow fell thick and fast—
First like hard grains of salt,
Then more like soft willow buds.
The flakes settled quietly on the bamboo
And piled up pleasingly on the pine branches.
Rather than turning to old texts, the darkness
Makes me feel like composing my own verse.
—Ryokan
________________________
Shut up among the solitary peaks,
I sadly contemplate the driving sleet outside.
A monkey's cry echoes through the dark hills,
A frigid stream murmurs below,
And the light by the window looks frozen solid.
My inkstone, too, is ice-cold.
No sleep tonight, I'll write poems,
Warming the brush with my breath.
—Ryokan
________________________
—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.)
—Ryokan
The moon appears in every season, it is true.
But surely it's best in fall.
In autumn, mountains loom and water runs close.
A brilliant disk floats across the infinite sky,
And there is no sense of light and darkness,
For everything is permeated with its presence.
The boundless sky above, the autumn chill on my face.
I take my precious staff and wander about the hills.
Not a speck of the world's dust anywhere,
Just the brilliant beams of moonlight.
I hope others, too, are gazing on this moon tonight.
And that it's illuminating all kinds of people.
Autumn after autumn, the moonlight comes and goes;
Human beings will gaze upon it for eternity.
The sermons of Buddha, the preaching of Eno,
Surely occurred under the same kind of moon.
I contemplate the moon through the night,
As the stream settles, and white dew descends.
Which wayfarer will bask in the moonlight longest?
Whose home will drink up the most moonbeams?
_______________________
•••Tonight (Friday, 10/20), 7 PM: Six Ft. Swells Press celebrates the newest chapbook in its Cheap Shots Poetry Series with the release of Julie Valin's Night Songs for Heavy Dreamers. The evening begins with cocktails and backslapping at 7 PM followed by a reading featuring Julie Valin and Matt Amott. The evening is hosted by the pirate of the Cheap Shots Poetry Series, Todd Cirillo. The event will be a combination of above-average garden party debauchery and truck stop revelries wrapped up in After-Hours Poetry at its finest. The event is free at Jason's Studio Cafe (in Booktown Books), 134 S. Auburn St., Grass Valley. For info. or to order Six Ft. Swells releases call 530-271-0662 or email sixfootswells@yahoo.com.
•••Also tonight, 7 PM: Our House Gallery and Framing presents Irene Lipshin and Phil Weidman. Both have new chapbooks out from Rattlesnake Press: Shadowlines (Irene) and Fictional Character: The Ernie Poems (Phil). Free; an open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center.
•••Saturday (10/21), 7:30 PM: Literature Alive! Presents Wordslingers 2006: An Evening With Amy Tan. The event, presented by Literature Alive!, a Nevada County non-profit, will take place at the Veteran’s Memorial Hall in Grass Valley. Tickets for the main auditorium are $25 in advance, $30 at the door, $22 for Literature Alive! members (must show membership card); bleacher seats are $15. For more information on tickets (which may be sold out?), call (530) 272-5812 or visit the website at www.litalive.org.
•••Also Saturday, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Red Fox Underground poets Wendy Williams and Brigit Truex, plus Lori Jean Robinson and Random Abiladeze, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St., Sac. (35th and Broadway). If you would like to be a featured poet, contact Terry Moore at 916-455-POET.
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry writing workshop as this month’s featured poetry event. The facilitator, Karin Forno, is a well known local writer who practices medicine, has earned a Master's of Fine Arts in creative writing, and is an instructor at CSUS. A very modest $10.00 donation per writer is requested. Please email Gordon Preston at gordonbp@sbcglobal.net with your intent to participate. Space will be limited.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM: The Third Saturday of the Month is The Stockton Poetry Workshop at The Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia and Yosemite Avenues, Stockton. For info call Donald Anderson (209) 943-2449 or call the host, Shonda Renee (209) 603-1598.
•••Sunday (Oct. 22), 4 PM: The Book Collector and Rattlesnake Press present Taylor Graham reading from her latest book, The Downstairs Dance Floor, winner of the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize from Texas Review Press. That's at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. Be there.
•••Monday (10/23), 7:30 PM: the Sacramento Poetry Center presents Joshua Clover, author of The Totality For Kids (2006) and Madonna anno domini (1997), winner of the Walt Whitman Award from The Academy of American Poets. Clover teaches at UC-Davis, and contributes to Village Voice and The New York Times. Host Tim Kahl. SPC/HQ for the Arts, 1719-25th St., Sac. (25th and R Sts.), 916-451-5569.
________________________
On a bitterly cold November night
The snow fell thick and fast—
First like hard grains of salt,
Then more like soft willow buds.
The flakes settled quietly on the bamboo
And piled up pleasingly on the pine branches.
Rather than turning to old texts, the darkness
Makes me feel like composing my own verse.
—Ryokan
________________________
Shut up among the solitary peaks,
I sadly contemplate the driving sleet outside.
A monkey's cry echoes through the dark hills,
A frigid stream murmurs below,
And the light by the window looks frozen solid.
My inkstone, too, is ice-cold.
No sleep tonight, I'll write poems,
Warming the brush with my breath.
—Ryokan
________________________
—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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