AIR OF NOVEMBER
—Denise Levertov
In the autumn brilliance
feathers tingle at fingertips.
This tingling brilliance
burns under cover of gray air and
brown lazily
unfalling leaves,
it eats into stillness zestfully
with sound of plucked strings,
steel and brass strings of the zither,
copper and silver wire
played with a gold ring,
a plucking of crinkled afternoons and
evenings of energy, thorns under the pot.
In the autumn brilliance
a drawing apart of curtains
a fall of veils
a flying open of doors, convergence
of magic objects into
feathered hands and crested heads, a prospect
of winter verve, a buildup to abundance.
_______________________
Tonight under the clouds:
•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••And remember: The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving. No reading there tonight.
Two deadlines coming up 12/15:
Deadline is 12/15 for this year’s Sacramento Poetry Center’s Poetry Contest; judge will be Sacramento Poet Laureate Julia Connor. First prize $100, second prize $50, third prize $25, ten honorable mentions ($10 gift certificates from Barnes & Noble). Entry fee $3 per poem. Send your poems to SPC 2006 Contest, 1719 25th Street, Sacramento, CA 95816. Winners will be notified in January, featured in Poetry Now, and invited to read at a special reading at SPC. Please submit one anonymous copy of each poem along with a cover sheet listing titles, first lines and contact information. Further info: click the SPC blog next to this.
And Song of the San Joaquin accepts submissions of poetry having to do with life in the San Joaquin Valley of California; next deadline is 12/15. This area is defined geographically as the region from Fresno to Stockton, and from the foothills on the west to those on the east. Send typed manuscripts to: Cleo Griffith, Editor, Song of the San Joaquin, PO Box 1161, Modesto, CA 95353-1161. Please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE) for return of unused poems and/or notification of acceptance. Be sure your return envelopes have the right amount of postage. Notification time may range from three weeks to three months. Send up to three poems per issue, name and contact information on each poem. E-mail submissions accepted. Please send a three to five line bio. For more information e-mail ssjq03psj@yahoo.com. For samples of poetry from previous issues: www.ChaparralPoets.org/SSJarchives.html. Photographs and art-work may be submitted for consideration for use on the cover, but should be identified as valley scenes.
______________________
Last night I learned about a British poet named Pascale Petit, thanks to Snake-pal Katy Brown. Here are some of Petit's poems; Google her to learn more:
SELF-PORTRAIT WITH MONKEY AND PARROT
—Pascale Petit
I who painted this with brushes of flame
cannot tell you where I have been
this morning. But I can't silence Bonito.
He perches just below my left ear, repeating
sounds he learnt form the sun, when he flew
into its core. Fulang-Chang went with him,
swinging through the canopies of fire forests,
searching for the tree that burns
at the centre of my life.
These gold leaves are the few he brought back—
they still hum many years
after my body has cooled. And you—
how long will you listen to these colours
before you hear the language of light?
________________________
SKINS
—Pascale Petit
I am sewing the skins of birds end to end.
Snakeskins, woodskins, even the skin on water
must be dried, conserved, worn.
I am wearing my grandmother's spirits.
Her skin was rough from too much work—
I flay a tree, proof the bark for the river.
Her skin was soft from too much rain
but I cannot wear water.
So I have come to the world's loudest storm
to hear her sing. The sky-skin rips.
Her cheeks appear, wrinkled with lightning.
________________________
THE STRAIT-JACKETS
—Pascale Petit
I lay the suitcase on Father's bed
and unzip it slowly, gently.
Inside, packed in cloth strait-jackets
lie forty live hummingbirds
tied down in rows, each tiny head
cushioned on a swaddled body.
I feed them from a flask of sugar water,
inserting every bill into the pipette,
then unwind their bindings
so Father can see their changing colours
as they dart around his room.
They hover inches from his face
as if he's a flower, their humming
just audible above the oxygen recycler.
For the first time since I've arrived
he's breathing easily, the cannula
attached to his nostrils almost slips out.
I don't know how long we sit there
but when I next glance at his face
he's asleep, lights from their feathers
still playing on his eyelids and cheeks.
It takes me hours to catch them all
and wrap them in their strait-jackets.
I work quietly, he's in such
a deep sleep he doesn't wake once.
_______________________
—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.)
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
As Leaves Turn to Rust
OLD BATTLEFIELD
—Amy Whitcomb, Davis
Old battlefield
I am running through it,
setting loose the shots
against him—
I am cursing this sacred ground
where men and men before me
fell, collapsed
to a more severe fate;
Mine was just a stumble
over this root in the path,
and so I don’t begrudge them any,
for our measured conversations
are just as unsuccessful at gaining ground;
We, too, have strategized to no avail,
and have found that the only way
to reconcile is like this
Blood, soaking through
the knee on my sweatpants—
the opening of old
battle wounds.
_______________________
Thanks, Amy! Davis Poet Amy Whitcomb is another of those local writers who have taken mercy on Medusa and sent her poems lately.
Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. [Note: this is a change-of-date for SPC, which usually meets on Mondays.] Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York]. Here are poems from a couple of the upcoming readers:
AFTER A MIGRAINE
—David Koehn
Peeled potato,
Backyard damp with rain.
Sliced fennel,
Concentric rings align
On the cutting board.
A wince of anise and the light
Of bitter lemon on the air.
Everything seems sharpened.
The weave and ochre weft
Underlies the Kilim.
A grid of linen blossom
Wallpaper, the graph of mauve
Kitchen tile, X.
Breathing this air
Brightens a net, Y.
Celery stalk strings
Curl beside the arc
Of an avocado pit
Toward my seamlessness, Z.
What pinch of garlic, bulb
Flattened under knife blade,
Lights sliced red bell
Pepper in a steel bowl?
Clockwork wheels of tomato
Seep a single seed
Aside crushed black pepper
Suspended in olive oil.
_______________________
AFTER READING HAIKU, I STEP OUTSIDE
AND CONTEMPLATE
THREE PINK DOGWOOD BLOSSOMS
—Shawn Pittard, Sacramento
1.
A scrub jay hunts for insects below the half-stare of our garden Buddha. Its gray legs and black beak sift through a shroud of scattered blossoms. I sit under the dogwood tree, sketch gestures of its supple limbs with a yellow stub of pencil—sharpened to a crisp, fine point by my pocketknife’s small blade.
2.
Issa wrote—
What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.
3.
When she was too weak to walk outside, my wife’s grandmother watched the dogwood tree bloom from her kitchen table. While her hatred of the color pink was fierce, she would tolerate its presence on her tree each spring. “Wait until fall,” she would say. “The leaves turn a wonderful rust red.”
_______________________
Thanks, David and Shawn! Check out The Great American Pin-up site, as well as Shawn's rattlechap, These Rivers. And don't forget: Next week's SPC reading will be held on Tuesday, not Monday!
—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.)
—Amy Whitcomb, Davis
Old battlefield
I am running through it,
setting loose the shots
against him—
I am cursing this sacred ground
where men and men before me
fell, collapsed
to a more severe fate;
Mine was just a stumble
over this root in the path,
and so I don’t begrudge them any,
for our measured conversations
are just as unsuccessful at gaining ground;
We, too, have strategized to no avail,
and have found that the only way
to reconcile is like this
Blood, soaking through
the knee on my sweatpants—
the opening of old
battle wounds.
_______________________
Thanks, Amy! Davis Poet Amy Whitcomb is another of those local writers who have taken mercy on Medusa and sent her poems lately.
Members of The Great American Pinup web journal (greatamericanpinup.blogspot.com) will be reading at The Sacramento Poetry Center on TUESDAY, Nov. 28 at 7:30 PM, HQ for the Arts, 1719 25th St., Sacramento. [Note: this is a change-of-date for SPC, which usually meets on Mondays.] Live (!) members reading will include David Koehn, Shawn Pittard, Victor Schnickelfritz, and Geraldine Kim (winner of the 2005 Fence Books Award). Plus recordings of Matthew Schmeer [Kansas City] and Richard Jeffrey Newman [New York]. Here are poems from a couple of the upcoming readers:
AFTER A MIGRAINE
—David Koehn
Peeled potato,
Backyard damp with rain.
Sliced fennel,
Concentric rings align
On the cutting board.
A wince of anise and the light
Of bitter lemon on the air.
Everything seems sharpened.
The weave and ochre weft
Underlies the Kilim.
A grid of linen blossom
Wallpaper, the graph of mauve
Kitchen tile, X.
Breathing this air
Brightens a net, Y.
Celery stalk strings
Curl beside the arc
Of an avocado pit
Toward my seamlessness, Z.
What pinch of garlic, bulb
Flattened under knife blade,
Lights sliced red bell
Pepper in a steel bowl?
Clockwork wheels of tomato
Seep a single seed
Aside crushed black pepper
Suspended in olive oil.
_______________________
AFTER READING HAIKU, I STEP OUTSIDE
AND CONTEMPLATE
THREE PINK DOGWOOD BLOSSOMS
—Shawn Pittard, Sacramento
1.
A scrub jay hunts for insects below the half-stare of our garden Buddha. Its gray legs and black beak sift through a shroud of scattered blossoms. I sit under the dogwood tree, sketch gestures of its supple limbs with a yellow stub of pencil—sharpened to a crisp, fine point by my pocketknife’s small blade.
2.
Issa wrote—
What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.
3.
When she was too weak to walk outside, my wife’s grandmother watched the dogwood tree bloom from her kitchen table. While her hatred of the color pink was fierce, she would tolerate its presence on her tree each spring. “Wait until fall,” she would say. “The leaves turn a wonderful rust red.”
_______________________
Thanks, David and Shawn! Check out The Great American Pin-up site, as well as Shawn's rattlechap, These Rivers. And don't forget: Next week's SPC reading will be held on Tuesday, not Monday!
—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, November 20, 2006
For the Connoisseuse
FALL MORNINGS
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
Before the fringe of earth's edge tinges
with light, I rouse before my mind;
the body loathes to leave warm bed.
For a few more minutes of quiet,
I listen to life begin to wake up.
Kitchen blinds open to morning's brilliance.
A thin veil of tulle weaves through cool pastures;
moisture on grass glitters
like night forgot to take her stars.
A cup of coffee tastes richer on fall days;
a refreshing fragrance of pine snags
my dusty mind from sleepy haze.
After the family's weekday rituals
and another cup of coffee later, I smile
to see background colors have been brushed
on today's canvas. How I complete the picture
depends on me.
_______________________
A FEW ROWS OF CORN
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
have been left at the edge of a vast field.
The stalks lean against each other for support.
Around them, plowed ground awaits
autumn rains for spring planting.
I wonder why this patch was left alone.
No crows strut through dry leaves looking for food.
Maybe I missed a notice posted on a fence.
The farmer has gone home.
_______________________
Thanks, Peggy! Margaret Ellis Hill heeded my plea for poems and mercifully sent me some. Watch for more of her work in the upcoming Snake 12 (an even dozen!) which will be coming out Dec. 13. (Peggy is not to be confused with Mario Ellis Hill, by the way—what are the odds that two local folks would have such similar names?!?!?)
NorCal poetry this week:
•••Tonight, Monday (11/20), Sacramento Poetry Center will be dark; no reading.
•••Instead, tonight, 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series presents Royal at "A Taste of Laguna", 9080 Laguna Main in Laguna. $5, open mic. Hosted by Ms. LaRue, music by DJ Barney B.
•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/22): The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving.
•••Thurs. (11/23, Thanksgiving): Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe will have no reading.
•••Saturday (11/25), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Divine, Talaam Acey, and LSB at Wo'se Community Center, 2863 35th St. (Off Broadway), Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
_______________________
THE CONNOISSEUSE OF SLUGS
—Sharon Olds
When I was a connoisseuse of slugs
I would part the ivy leaves, and look for the
naked jelly of those gold bodies,
translucent strangers glistening along the
stones, slowly, their gelatinous bodies
at my mercy. Made mostly of water, they would shrivel
to nothing if they were sprinkled with salt,
but I was not interested in that. What I liked
was to draw aside the ivy, breathe the
odor of the wall, and stand there in silence
until the slug forgot I was there
and sent its antennae up out of its
head, the glimmering umber horns
rising like telescopes, until finally the
sensitive knobs would pop out the ends,
delicate and intimate. Years later,
when I first saw a naked man,
I gasped with pleasure to see that quiet
mystery reenacted, the slow
elegant being coming out of hiding and
gleaming in the dark air, eager and so
trusting you could weep.
_______________________
Yesterday was Sharon Olds' 64th birthday.
—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.)
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
Before the fringe of earth's edge tinges
with light, I rouse before my mind;
the body loathes to leave warm bed.
For a few more minutes of quiet,
I listen to life begin to wake up.
Kitchen blinds open to morning's brilliance.
A thin veil of tulle weaves through cool pastures;
moisture on grass glitters
like night forgot to take her stars.
A cup of coffee tastes richer on fall days;
a refreshing fragrance of pine snags
my dusty mind from sleepy haze.
After the family's weekday rituals
and another cup of coffee later, I smile
to see background colors have been brushed
on today's canvas. How I complete the picture
depends on me.
_______________________
A FEW ROWS OF CORN
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton
have been left at the edge of a vast field.
The stalks lean against each other for support.
Around them, plowed ground awaits
autumn rains for spring planting.
I wonder why this patch was left alone.
No crows strut through dry leaves looking for food.
Maybe I missed a notice posted on a fence.
The farmer has gone home.
_______________________
Thanks, Peggy! Margaret Ellis Hill heeded my plea for poems and mercifully sent me some. Watch for more of her work in the upcoming Snake 12 (an even dozen!) which will be coming out Dec. 13. (Peggy is not to be confused with Mario Ellis Hill, by the way—what are the odds that two local folks would have such similar names?!?!?)
NorCal poetry this week:
•••Tonight, Monday (11/20), Sacramento Poetry Center will be dark; no reading.
•••Instead, tonight, 8 PM: The Moody Blues Poetry Series presents Royal at "A Taste of Laguna", 9080 Laguna Main in Laguna. $5, open mic. Hosted by Ms. LaRue, music by DJ Barney B.
•••Weds. (11/22), 10 PM-midnight: Mics and Moods at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Features and open mic, hosted by Khiry Malik. 21 years of age and older; $5 cover. Info: 916-492-9336 or www.malikspeaks.com.
•••Weds. (11/22): The Hidden Passage poetry series in Placerville, which normally meets on the 4th Wednesday, will shift to November 29 because of Thanksgiving.
•••Thurs. (11/23, Thanksgiving): Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe will have no reading.
•••Saturday (11/25), 7-9 PM: "The Show" Poetry Series features Divine, Talaam Acey, and LSB at Wo'se Community Center, 2863 35th St. (Off Broadway), Sac. $5. Info: T.Mo at 916-455-POET.
_______________________
THE CONNOISSEUSE OF SLUGS
—Sharon Olds
When I was a connoisseuse of slugs
I would part the ivy leaves, and look for the
naked jelly of those gold bodies,
translucent strangers glistening along the
stones, slowly, their gelatinous bodies
at my mercy. Made mostly of water, they would shrivel
to nothing if they were sprinkled with salt,
but I was not interested in that. What I liked
was to draw aside the ivy, breathe the
odor of the wall, and stand there in silence
until the slug forgot I was there
and sent its antennae up out of its
head, the glimmering umber horns
rising like telescopes, until finally the
sensitive knobs would pop out the ends,
delicate and intimate. Years later,
when I first saw a naked man,
I gasped with pleasure to see that quiet
mystery reenacted, the slow
elegant being coming out of hiding and
gleaming in the dark air, eager and so
trusting you could weep.
_______________________
Yesterday was Sharon Olds' 64th birthday.
—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, November 19, 2006
Eating Poetry
HOW SHALL I BEGIN MY SONG?
—Owl Woman
How shall I begin my song
In the blue night that is settling?
In the great night my heart will go out,
Toward me the darkness comes rattling.
In the great night my heart will go out.
Brown owls come here in the blue evening,
They are hooting about,
They are shaking their wings and hooting.
Black Butte is far.
Below it I had my dawn.
I could see the daylight
coming back for me.
The morning star is up.
I cross the mountains
into the light of the sea.
(translated by Frances Densmore)
_______________________
THE WIND, ONE BRILLIANT DAY
—Antonio Machado
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"
_______________________
EATING POETRY
—Rumi
My poems resemble the bread of Egypt—one night
Passes over it, and you can't eat it any more.
So gobble them down now, while they're still fresh,
Before the dust of the world settles on them.
Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
Out in the world it dies of cold.
You've seen a fish—put him on dry land,
He quivers for a few minutes, and then is still.
And even if you eat my poems while they're still fresh,
You still have to bring forward many images yourself.
Actually, friend, what you're eating is your own imagination.
These poems are not just some old sayings and saws.
(translated by Robert Bly)
________________________
—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.)
—Owl Woman
How shall I begin my song
In the blue night that is settling?
In the great night my heart will go out,
Toward me the darkness comes rattling.
In the great night my heart will go out.
Brown owls come here in the blue evening,
They are hooting about,
They are shaking their wings and hooting.
Black Butte is far.
Below it I had my dawn.
I could see the daylight
coming back for me.
The morning star is up.
I cross the mountains
into the light of the sea.
(translated by Frances Densmore)
_______________________
THE WIND, ONE BRILLIANT DAY
—Antonio Machado
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"
_______________________
EATING POETRY
—Rumi
My poems resemble the bread of Egypt—one night
Passes over it, and you can't eat it any more.
So gobble them down now, while they're still fresh,
Before the dust of the world settles on them.
Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
Out in the world it dies of cold.
You've seen a fish—put him on dry land,
He quivers for a few minutes, and then is still.
And even if you eat my poems while they're still fresh,
You still have to bring forward many images yourself.
Actually, friend, what you're eating is your own imagination.
These poems are not just some old sayings and saws.
(translated by Robert Bly)
________________________
—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, November 18, 2006
The Black Snake With Gold Bones
NOVEMBER GEESE
—David Humphreys, Stockton
About three weeks ago you heard them
for the first time calling in the clouds
above you and then again ever since
occasionally in different places like the
front door this morning in the dark as
you reached down for the fog-wrapped
newspaper. A few days ago it was in the rain,
lovely sound cutting time’s fabric with the saw
teeth of seamstress scissors, cutting like a
memory of hip-waders in muddy rice fields
setting decoys before dawn in the smell of
Pop’s pipe tobacco. The sound of geese is
like loons haunting the Maine woods hung
like a portrait above the living room piano.
________________________
Thanks, David! You may have noticed that Medusa posts a lot of David Humphrey's poems; this is partly because he sends a lot to us! Remember: Medusa may be a cranky harridan in some regards, but she is remarkably cheerful about posting NorCal poets' work! Send some to kathykieth@hotmail.com NOW.
Here's a dandy one from Michelle Kunert, another Snake-pal:
DOLLAR TREE TROUBLES
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
I took a holiday job at Dollar Tree
and they've been out of helium
I have to let customers who want mylar balloons
(which really just add to the national garbage heap
and get eaten as jellyfish by sea creatures everywhere)
a lot more is sold here than cheap hot air
but often they look like they just don't care
they don't want to party with, or send instead with flowers
perhaps a plastic light-up disco dinosaur
or glow-in-the-dark plastic jewelry, or a toy car
or just a bunch of colored gift wrap paper
And certainly DVD's of Flash Gordon, Ozzie and Harriet, Bonanza
Surely these T.V. shows warm the heart far more
than something that could deflate or pop tomorrow
Dollar Tree also has candles for prayers
especially to Our Lady of Guadalupe and Saint Jude
While I am a Protestant
Maybe I'll kneel and put together my hands
to these saints enshrined in aisle two
the helium shipment comes from Texas on angels' wings
and also that nobody cooks in the aluminum pans
_______________________
A busy day and night!
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway), Sac.
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
_______________________
NIGHT FEEDING
—Muriel Rukeyser
Deeper than sleep but not so deep as death
I lay there sleeping and my magic head
remembered and forgot. On first cry I
remembered and forgot and did believe.
I knew love and I knew evil:
woke to the burning song and the tree burning blind,
despair of our days had the calm milk-giver who
knows sleep, knows growth, the sex of fire and grass,
and the black snake with gold bones.
Black sleeps, gold burns; on second cry I woke
fully and gave to feed and fed on feeding.
Gold seed, green pain, my wizards in the earth
walked through the house, black in the morning dark.
Shadows grew in my veins, my bright belief,
my head of dreams deeper than night and sleep.
Voices of all black animals crying to drink,
cries of all birth arise, simple as we,
found in the leaves, in clouds and dark, in dream,
deep as this hour, ready again to sleep.
_______________________
—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.)
—David Humphreys, Stockton
About three weeks ago you heard them
for the first time calling in the clouds
above you and then again ever since
occasionally in different places like the
front door this morning in the dark as
you reached down for the fog-wrapped
newspaper. A few days ago it was in the rain,
lovely sound cutting time’s fabric with the saw
teeth of seamstress scissors, cutting like a
memory of hip-waders in muddy rice fields
setting decoys before dawn in the smell of
Pop’s pipe tobacco. The sound of geese is
like loons haunting the Maine woods hung
like a portrait above the living room piano.
________________________
Thanks, David! You may have noticed that Medusa posts a lot of David Humphrey's poems; this is partly because he sends a lot to us! Remember: Medusa may be a cranky harridan in some regards, but she is remarkably cheerful about posting NorCal poets' work! Send some to kathykieth@hotmail.com NOW.
Here's a dandy one from Michelle Kunert, another Snake-pal:
DOLLAR TREE TROUBLES
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
I took a holiday job at Dollar Tree
and they've been out of helium
I have to let customers who want mylar balloons
(which really just add to the national garbage heap
and get eaten as jellyfish by sea creatures everywhere)
a lot more is sold here than cheap hot air
but often they look like they just don't care
they don't want to party with, or send instead with flowers
perhaps a plastic light-up disco dinosaur
or glow-in-the-dark plastic jewelry, or a toy car
or just a bunch of colored gift wrap paper
And certainly DVD's of Flash Gordon, Ozzie and Harriet, Bonanza
Surely these T.V. shows warm the heart far more
than something that could deflate or pop tomorrow
Dollar Tree also has candles for prayers
especially to Our Lady of Guadalupe and Saint Jude
While I am a Protestant
Maybe I'll kneel and put together my hands
to these saints enshrined in aisle two
the helium shipment comes from Texas on angels' wings
and also that nobody cooks in the aluminum pans
_______________________
A busy day and night!
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway), Sac.
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
_______________________
NIGHT FEEDING
—Muriel Rukeyser
Deeper than sleep but not so deep as death
I lay there sleeping and my magic head
remembered and forgot. On first cry I
remembered and forgot and did believe.
I knew love and I knew evil:
woke to the burning song and the tree burning blind,
despair of our days had the calm milk-giver who
knows sleep, knows growth, the sex of fire and grass,
and the black snake with gold bones.
Black sleeps, gold burns; on second cry I woke
fully and gave to feed and fed on feeding.
Gold seed, green pain, my wizards in the earth
walked through the house, black in the morning dark.
Shadows grew in my veins, my bright belief,
my head of dreams deeper than night and sleep.
Voices of all black animals crying to drink,
cries of all birth arise, simple as we,
found in the leaves, in clouds and dark, in dream,
deep as this hour, ready again to sleep.
_______________________
—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, November 17, 2006
Serpent Country
SERPENT COUNTRY
—A.R. Ammons
Rolled off a side of mountains or
hills, bottomed
out in flatland but getting
away, winding,
will be found a
scale-bright snake—brook, stream, or river, or
in sparest gatherings,
a wash of stones or a green
streak of chaparral across sand.
_______________________
Thanks, Archie!
Poetry near and far this weekend:
•••Tonight (Friday, 11/17), 7 PM: Our House poetry reading features Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway).
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg.
frank andrick, the Lockeford-San Francisco-Sacramento poet who has given so much of himself to the Sacramento literary scene, has suffered from a series of health setbacks that have led to hospital stays and mounting medical expenses. His friends have assembled this event in an effort to help him financially. We ask those attending give what they can at the door ($2-20). Additionally, items will be available for sale and auctioned, with all the money going to frank. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
Several folks have asked how they can donate to frank's medical fund if they aren't coming to the event. Cards, well-wishes and donations can be sent or dropped off in a sealed envelope at The Book Collector. frank has no checking account, so checks should be made out to The Book Collector, and we will give him cash. Or mail them to:
frank andrick
c/o The Book Collector
1008 24th Street
Sacramento, CA 95816
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
•••Next Monday (11/20), there will be no reading at the Sacramento Poetry Center.
_______________________
EARLY STONES
—A.R. Ammons
Returning from the thawed creek
and winter-hungry for early
slugs or mole crickets, he
turns a stone on
the clear-woods floor, thinks to
pick it up, steadying his pace
back to the cave porch where
he drops it,
an investment against the fireless
summer nights when the tiger
moves too near in, hard to scare.
_______________________
FLURRIES
—A.R. Ammons
Streaks, drifts, mounds
of meaning build,
flare: roof-lochs spill,
catching at the eaves
meanings
icicle-clear:
glaciers grind visionary
meanings down nordic gorges,
letting fall
rivers to rustle
narrows amply clean cut:
hold still, the
spirit cries, hold this,
but motion
undermines meaning with meaning.
_______________________
PACKAGING
—A.R. Ammons
Roll
up the edges of
the squared-off, flattened-out,
two-dimensional
mind,
pull the corners up and tie them
off at the top,
a sphere or bag, so that
anyone thinking
will
have to think about more sides
at once than one,
get volume
within his
definitions,
and become less secure
that summer with him is
summer everywhere,
his ice cap feeling's
only leaning.
_______________________
—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.)
—A.R. Ammons
Rolled off a side of mountains or
hills, bottomed
out in flatland but getting
away, winding,
will be found a
scale-bright snake—brook, stream, or river, or
in sparest gatherings,
a wash of stones or a green
streak of chaparral across sand.
_______________________
Thanks, Archie!
Poetry near and far this weekend:
•••Tonight (Friday, 11/17), 7 PM: Our House poetry reading features Margaret Ellis Hill and Katy Brown. An open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take Latrobe Road south and turn into the shopping center on the left. Free.
•••Sat., 11/18, 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series features Crawdad Nelson, Brett Freeman, Laura Cook, and Juanita "Yoke Breaker" Mason, plus open mic. $3. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (at Broadway).
•••Saturday, 11/18, 8 PM: FRANK ANDRICK IS A NAME-DROPPING WHORE (A BENEFIT): An evening of provocative and scandalous work at HQ, 25th & R Sts., Sac. to help poet frank andrick cover his medical costs. Featuring frank andrick, Gene Bloom, Josh Fernandez, Bill Gainer, James Lee Jobe, Rachel Leibrock, Ann Menebroker, Geoffrey Neill, Barbara Noble, Bill Pieper, Rachel Savage, Teryl & Eric (and many last- minute surprises). Also: an audio-visual overlay by J. Greenberg.
frank andrick, the Lockeford-San Francisco-Sacramento poet who has given so much of himself to the Sacramento literary scene, has suffered from a series of health setbacks that have led to hospital stays and mounting medical expenses. His friends have assembled this event in an effort to help him financially. We ask those attending give what they can at the door ($2-20). Additionally, items will be available for sale and auctioned, with all the money going to frank. This event is sponsored by Poets & Writers with a grant they've received through the James Irvine Foundation.
Several folks have asked how they can donate to frank's medical fund if they aren't coming to the event. Cards, well-wishes and donations can be sent or dropped off in a sealed envelope at The Book Collector. frank has no checking account, so checks should be made out to The Book Collector, and we will give him cash. Or mail them to:
frank andrick
c/o The Book Collector
1008 24th Street
Sacramento, CA 95816
•••Also Saturday, 4 PM: The Central California Art Association and the Mistlin Art Gallery announces a poetry reading that will feature Lisa Verigin at the gallery, 1015 J St/, downtown Modesto. Lisa ia a Central Valley native who migrated to Georgia State University for her MFA, the University of Nebraska for her PhD, then back to Modesto, where she currently lives. Her poetry has appeared in a wide variety of literary journals, including Quarterly West, Bloom, Solo, Court Green, The Worcester Review, The American Literary Review and Poet Lore, to name a few. A former editorial assistant for Prairie Schooner, Verigin is author of the chapbook, Two-Reel Comedy. There will be an open mic following her reading to celebrate the second issue of the local poetry journal hardpan, in which she is one of the 25 contributors. Free.
•••Also Saturday, 1-3 PM, Shonda René hosts a poetry workshop at Acacia Cafe, corner of Acacia St. and Yosemite Ave. in Stockton. Be sure to read T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for the discussion: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T.S._Elliot#The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
•••Next Monday (11/20), there will be no reading at the Sacramento Poetry Center.
_______________________
EARLY STONES
—A.R. Ammons
Returning from the thawed creek
and winter-hungry for early
slugs or mole crickets, he
turns a stone on
the clear-woods floor, thinks to
pick it up, steadying his pace
back to the cave porch where
he drops it,
an investment against the fireless
summer nights when the tiger
moves too near in, hard to scare.
_______________________
FLURRIES
—A.R. Ammons
Streaks, drifts, mounds
of meaning build,
flare: roof-lochs spill,
catching at the eaves
meanings
icicle-clear:
glaciers grind visionary
meanings down nordic gorges,
letting fall
rivers to rustle
narrows amply clean cut:
hold still, the
spirit cries, hold this,
but motion
undermines meaning with meaning.
_______________________
PACKAGING
—A.R. Ammons
Roll
up the edges of
the squared-off, flattened-out,
two-dimensional
mind,
pull the corners up and tie them
off at the top,
a sphere or bag, so that
anyone thinking
will
have to think about more sides
at once than one,
get volume
within his
definitions,
and become less secure
that summer with him is
summer everywhere,
his ice cap feeling's
only leaning.
_______________________
—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, November 16, 2006
For Talk, For Dalliance
EPITAPH ON A TYRANT
—W.H. Auden
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
_______________________
NOCTURNE
—W.H. Auden
Make this night loveable,
Moon, and with eye single
Looking down from up there,
Bless me, One especial
And friends everywhere.
With a cloudless brightness
Surround our absences;
Innocent be our sleeps,
Watched by great still spaces,
White hills, glittering deeps.
Parted by circumstance,
Grant each your indulgence
That we may meet in dreams
For talk, for dalliance,
By warm hearths, by cool streams.
Shine lest tonight any,
In the dark suddenly,
Wake alone in a bed
To hear his own fury
Wishing his love were dead.
________________________
Poetry Tonight:
•••Thurs., 11/16, 8 PM: Poems-For-All free-for-all at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. An evening celebrating Richard Hansen, publisher of the Poems-For-All mini-chap series. Selected poets will read from their works published in the series. Free.
•••Also tonight (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5, or $1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.
Get them tickets NOW:
I Began To Speak, a movie of the history of poetry in the City of Sacramento c. 1960 to 2006, features some 41 area poets who tell the story of the evolution of a single poetry community in their own voices. The film will premier at the legendary Crest Theatre in the heart of downtown Sacramento on Wednesday, December 6 at 7 PM. Advance tickets now on sale at the Crest, 1013 K St., Sac., 916-442-5189 or sid@thecrest.com. Tickets are $10, and can also be purchased via ticket agencies like www.tickets.com—though you do save on fees if you buy them directly from the Crest. Limited seating, so get your tickets early!
This will be the only 2006 showing of a unique and very special film. I Began To Speak, a film by The Archives Group, was produced, written and directed by B.L. Kennedy; Director of Photography, Editing and Design was Linda Thorell. It was funded in part by an ArtScapes Grant from the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission, and filmed with equipment from Access Sacramento. Three years in production, I Began To Speak relied on more than one thousand hours of rare archival performance footage and interviews with Sacramento poets to illustrate the unique story of one single poetry community—ours! Be there!
_______________________
THE WAY
—W.H. Auden
Fresh addenda are published every day
To the encyclopedia of the Way.
Linguistic notes and scientific explanations,
And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustration.
Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse,
Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse
And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to:
Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to,
The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock
For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock.
Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men
Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then.
And how reliable can any truth be that is got
By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not?
_______________________
BUT I CAN'T
—W.H. Auden
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
_______________________
—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.)
—W.H. Auden
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
_______________________
NOCTURNE
—W.H. Auden
Make this night loveable,
Moon, and with eye single
Looking down from up there,
Bless me, One especial
And friends everywhere.
With a cloudless brightness
Surround our absences;
Innocent be our sleeps,
Watched by great still spaces,
White hills, glittering deeps.
Parted by circumstance,
Grant each your indulgence
That we may meet in dreams
For talk, for dalliance,
By warm hearths, by cool streams.
Shine lest tonight any,
In the dark suddenly,
Wake alone in a bed
To hear his own fury
Wishing his love were dead.
________________________
Poetry Tonight:
•••Thurs., 11/16, 8 PM: Poems-For-All free-for-all at Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac. An evening celebrating Richard Hansen, publisher of the Poems-For-All mini-chap series. Selected poets will read from their works published in the series. Free.
•••Also tonight (11/16), 7:30 PM: The Nevada County Poetry Series & The Center for the Arts presents NCPS's Season Finale, a party to celebrate the release of NCPS's Year 2006 Anthology. $5, or $1 for those under 18. Refreshments. Off Center Stage (enter from Richardson St.) behind The Center for the Arts, 314 Main St., Grass Valley. Info: 530-432-8196.
Get them tickets NOW:
I Began To Speak, a movie of the history of poetry in the City of Sacramento c. 1960 to 2006, features some 41 area poets who tell the story of the evolution of a single poetry community in their own voices. The film will premier at the legendary Crest Theatre in the heart of downtown Sacramento on Wednesday, December 6 at 7 PM. Advance tickets now on sale at the Crest, 1013 K St., Sac., 916-442-5189 or sid@thecrest.com. Tickets are $10, and can also be purchased via ticket agencies like www.tickets.com—though you do save on fees if you buy them directly from the Crest. Limited seating, so get your tickets early!
This will be the only 2006 showing of a unique and very special film. I Began To Speak, a film by The Archives Group, was produced, written and directed by B.L. Kennedy; Director of Photography, Editing and Design was Linda Thorell. It was funded in part by an ArtScapes Grant from the Sacramento Metropolitan Arts Commission, and filmed with equipment from Access Sacramento. Three years in production, I Began To Speak relied on more than one thousand hours of rare archival performance footage and interviews with Sacramento poets to illustrate the unique story of one single poetry community—ours! Be there!
_______________________
THE WAY
—W.H. Auden
Fresh addenda are published every day
To the encyclopedia of the Way.
Linguistic notes and scientific explanations,
And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustration.
Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse,
Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse
And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to:
Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to,
The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock
For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock.
Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men
Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then.
And how reliable can any truth be that is got
By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not?
_______________________
BUT I CAN'T
—W.H. Auden
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
_______________________
—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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