Over Our Shoulders, the Wind

MY TREE
—Rolf Jacobsen

It's the cedar - the mother of lingonberry - that is my tree.
It doesn't need summer - rain and snow are enough.

Its top is high and ragged, no one hears its sound.
It has a tough, long root that it sinks into gravel.

Over its shoulder is wind, over its hair, clouds.
Storms don't bring it down. It may kneel. But it stays there.

Maybe it has some destination in mind - the white bed of
crowfoot flowers
At the end of the world where glaciers rule.

Among all the trees on earth it is nearest to the great snows,
To the blind sun of the glacier. I want to be a tree like that.

_____________________

Yesterday's post of Rolf Jacobsen led to Stephani Schaefer of Los Molinos sending me another Jacobsen poem, and thanks to her. We share an interest in Robert Bly's anthologies of poems with a more clearly spiritual bent (or is it "bend"?); the Jacobsen poems from yesterday appeared in Bly's News of the Universe (1980, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco). Steph says Jacobsen is Norwegian.

As a conclusion to our recent spate of love poems, send yours to Benecia!

Dec. 22 deadline for love poems:

The Benicia Historical Museum is sponsoring a poetry contest with the its fifth annual Valentine’s Day celebration of the early California romance of Conception Arguello and Nikolai Rezanov. The romantic story has been told by novelist Gertrude Atherton in her novel, Rezanov, and by playwright Eve Iversen in her Voyage of the Juno. See details on the internet at http://www.nps.gov/prsf/history/bios/concep.htm or http://www.abcbookworld.com/?state=view_author&author_id=6369.

The Museum is looking for original love poems. The poems need not be about Conception and Nikolai, but can be about love and lovers in general. A charge of $5/poem is assessed to pay the judge for time and critique of your work. A check or money order, made out to BENICIA HISTORICAL MUSEUM, must accompany submission. All poems must be received by 22 December 2006 at The Benicia Historical Museum, Attn: Poetry Contest, 2060 Camel Road, Benicia, CA 94510. The poetry judge has agreed to comment on poems, which will be judged by Ida Fasel, Emerita Professor of English at the University of Colorado at Denver. Her poetry has won numerous prizes. She is a Milton specialist, a balletomane, and an angel collector. Note— Dr. Fasel will not know the identity of poets.

Provide a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE) with your submission. Submit up to three original poems. Revisions and additions will not be accepted once poems have been received. Original unpublished poems are sought; however, poems which poets have self-published in chapbooks are acceptable. Cite publication title in which they appear. Send two cover sheets; on cover sheet ‘A’ include poet’s name, address, phone number, and list of titles of the poem(s) attached. Cover sheet ‘B’ should list ONLY the titles of the poems attached. Submit two copies of each poem. Poet’s name or other identification may not appear on poems. Each poem should be typed on 8.5x11” paper, double or single spaced, 12 pt. type, no more than one page in length. The SASE and cover sheet A are held at the Benicia Historical Museum awaiting the judge’s comments. After the contest, your poems plus the judge’s comments will be returned to you, or you may pick up your poems at the Benicia Historical Museum after the contest. The winner will receive publicity, acclaim, a plaque and have his/her name inscribed on a trophy to be on permanent display at the Benicia Historical Museum.

________________________

THE JOURNEY
—Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton

Lord, the wind blows cold;
a wrong time of year for travel.

Not to worry; we must go.
Journeys can be demanding.

Riding on this animal must be
uncomfortable and wearisome.

The donkey sways and hooves tap
rhythms for me to hum lullabies.

We need to stop please. Somewhere,
even a stall in a barn would work.

Only straw for a bed in a stable;
what a place for you to birth a child!

Look at the sky; how bright the starlight;
do you hear music surrounding us?

The light shines on our newborn son;
the music echoes our voices of joy.

_______________________

Thanks, Peggy! Woman's work is never done...

—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.)

Change—what the hell is this??

ROAD'S END
—Rolf Jacobsen

The roads have come to their end now,
they don't go any farther, they turn here,
over on the earth there.
You can't go any farther if you don't want
to go to the moon or the planets. Stop now
in time, and turn to a wasp's nest or a cow track,
a volcano opening or a clatter of stones in the woods—
it's all the same. Something else.

They won't go any farther as I've said
without changing, the engine to horseshoes,
the gear shift to a fir branch
which you hold loose in your hand
—what the hell is this?

______________________

Steve Williams, former Sacramentan now living in Portland, who will be releasing a rattlechap in March, sends us this poetry site: http://poetryandpoetsinrags.blogspot.com. Check it out.

In case you missed the premiere of the B.L. Kennedy/Linda Thorell film about Sacramento poetry, I Began To Speak, the DVD is available from Bari for $19.95 (plus $2.50 s/h); send a check to him at 2619 Q St. #9, Sacramento, CA 95816.

There will be no Sacramento Poetry Center readings for the rest of December.

______________________

COUNTRY ROADS
—Rolf Jacobsen

A pale morning in June 4 AM
the country roads still greyish and moist
tunnelling endlessly through pines
a car had passed by on the dusty road
where an ant was out with his pine needle working
he was wandering around in the huge F of Firestone
that had been pressed into the sandy earth
for a hundred and twenty kilometers.
Fir needles are heavy.
Time after time he slipped back with his badly balanced
load
and worked it up again
and skidded back again
travelling over the great and luminous Sahara lit by clouds.

________________________

SUNFLOWER
—Rolf Jacobsen

What sower walked over earth,
which hands sowed
our inward seeds of fire?
They went out from his fists like rainbow curves
to frozen earth, young loam, hot sand,
they will sleep there
greedily, and drink up our lives
and explode it into pieces
for the sake of a sunflower that you haven't seen
or a thistle head or a chrysanthemum.

Let the young rain of tears come.
Let the calm hands of grief come.
It's not all as evil as you think.

(Today's poetry was 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.)

Simply Wait...

THE SECOND POEM THE NIGHT-WALKER WROTE
—Goethe

Over all the hilltops
Silence,
Among all the treetops
You feel hardly
A breath moving.
The birds fall silent in the woods.
Simply wait! Soon
You too will be silent.

(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.)

More About Snow

photo by Katy Brown, Davis






THE CARDINAL IN THE SNOWSTORM
—Wayne Robinson, Lodi

Love flew by the wayside like the Cardinal in the
snowstorm. See him in the stark branches of the
leafless pecan tree, red against angry gray as silent
as the snow fall. Wishing for spring, waiting for
sunshine and eyeing the neighbor's bird feeder. The
mean bluejay is dining there, the red one waits his
turn. Like the hungry cardinal I await my turn. My
turn at love, the warmth of the sun, like the breath
of a woman on my neck while she sleeps against me. My
turn at the feeder, to slake my starvation, the deep
hunger for a mated soul, the craving for the caramel
frosting of a lover’s-lipstick-smearing-kiss. Red,
dark red like the cardinal’s bloody feathers. To hear
his song when the grass starts to turn green and the
flowers amass in grandma’s garden again. To hear the
sweetness of a devoted woman’s voice welcome me home
and smell the fullness of a love prepared meal, a man
could die happy. But the gray sky is broken only by
the black silhouette of barren branches and the
crimson of the lone cardinal at the top.

_______________________

SLEIGH RIDE
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama

The sleigh leans against the barn, ready
for snow always near.
Over waxed polished runners
wildflowers bloom. Pink roses in paint
cover the long narrow frame, scramble
across low back in faded disorder.
Not a single rail lines its side.

I picture the old Russian tale:
bride and groom bundled in fur,
mittened hands grip the boards. Faces
glow with thoughts of wedding night.
Behind on sleigh runners, best man
guides the horse. They race homeward
in pale light of crescent moon.

Wolves howl, blood chills,
something happens, someone spills.
By morning only red
spatters the ice.

I stand in summer sunlight
of Norway's looming green.
Icicles twitch
down my spine.

_______________________

HOMING
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

Almost weightless,
both wings
absorbed in repetitious
snow

he remembers the narrow
way he got here,
blinded by thin
north sun, so many
spired cities.
All clear, light of the mind,
and ice,
till he saw himself
transparent.

Now he sings
small as the charitable
seeds.

(first appeared in Bitterroot)

_______________________

Thanks to these three area poets for poems about the snow!

—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.)

Snow Joke

TONIGHT THE SILENCES
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

Tonight the silences converge and blend.
What is left of summer now? The days
are long and gold, the colors hum all night.
I want to tread the musics that I hear,
surrender like a dancer made of snow . . .

It’s funny that I just now think of snow;
the way it falls as nothing I can hear,
although I listened to it once all night . . .
the way it folded down around the days . . .
but this is how things separate and blend—

how one thing is another—how I blend
the farthest with the nearest of my days—
all shifted and unsorted—how this night
disturbs me with the ghosts that gather here,
the ones of shadow and the ones of snow.

Inside the night there is a dream of snow
as perfect as the silence that I hear,
and in that dream another dreaming night
helps gather all the old and newest days
and melts them down together till they blend.

_____________________

Thanks, Joyce! Those of you who know I'm moving to Pollock Pines know that snow is very much on my mind these days. So we're starting a series of snow poems, including some that appear in the current Rattlesnake Review, available now for free at The Book Collector (contributors and subscribers will get theirs next week).


This weekend:

•••Friday (12/15), 7:30 PM: Hope & Humor & Unsafe Topics (A Poetry Reading by Luke Warm Water) will be presented by Los Escritores Del Nuevo Sol at La Raza Galeria Posada (LRGP), 1024 22nd Street, Sac. American Indian Poet Luke Warm Water, an enrolled member of the Oglala Lakota tribe, was born and raised in Rapid City, South Dakota. Many of his poems contain unsafe topics; they have perspectives of racial issues past and present, along with adult themes and content. But his poems also have a sense of hope and a thread of humor—often dark humor. Since 2000, Luke has featured at poetry venues throughout the U.S. and in Europe. He also won several Poetry Slams from Oregon to Germany. Recent publication credits include: Drumvoices Revue, Cold Mountain Revue and Red Ink. In 2005, Luke released his latest collection of poems, entitled On Indian Time, along with his animated short film, Iktomi And The Food Stamp Incident. Luke is an activist for Indigenous people's rights, especially in the cause to help end the unjust incarceration of American Indian activist Leonard Peltier. His latest book and short film (on DVD) will be available for sale. Also, information brochures will be available on Leonard Peltier. This reading is sponsored by Writers of the New Sun / Escritores del Nuevo Sol. a writing group founded in 1993. Its philosophy is similar to the philosophy of LRGP, which serves to foster, preserve and present the best of Chicano/Latino and Native American culture. Info at www.escritoresdelnuevosol.com Or, call 916-456-5323. Donation: $5 or as you can afford.

•••Friday (12/15), 7 PM: Our House Poetry Series features Mary Field and Taylor Graham. Open mic follows. Our House Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center; take the Latrobe Road exit south and turn east into the shopping center. There is no charge.

•••Bob Stanley, President of Sacramento Poetry Center, writes: Friday, December 15 is our day to wrap presents for customers and garner donations at Barnes and Noble (Sunrise), 9 AM-11 PM. We are looking for volunteers to spend a few hours wrapping. (This is different from “rapping,” which used to mean talking intently with others, but now has a more rhythmic connotation.) Brad Buchanan is keeping track of who will be there when—probably afternoon and evening will be the busiest times—so please let him know what you can do. If you have questions, you can contact Brad at buchanan@saclink.csus.edu. Please help if you can, and bring a friend!

•••Saturday (12/16), 7-9 PM: Underground Poetry Series presents Mario Ellis Hill, Jamie Kilstein, Born 2B Poets and Bloom Beloved, plus open mic. Underground Books, 2814 35th St. (off Broadway), $3.

•••Sacramento Poetry Center will have no readings for the rest of December, or on January 1. The reading series will resume on January 8.


And a couple of deadlines TODAY:

•••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.

•••Friday (12/15) is also the next deadline for Song of the San Joaquin, a quarterly publication of the Poets of the San Joaquin chapter of the Calif. Federation of Chaparral Poets, Inc. Song of the San Joaquin accepts submissions of poetry having to do with life in the San Joaquin Valley of California. 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. Sample copies of past issues may be obtained for $4.50. Beginning with the Winter Issue 2006, Vol. III, No. 1 a single issue will be $5.00, the annual subscription $18. Send to address above. Make checks out to Song of the San Joaquin.

_______________________

THE SNOW AS PERFECT SNOW
—Tom Goff, Carmichael

I’ve never known the snow as perfect snow.
It looms too steep, a summit shock of ice
blurred driveby in the window of our car,

or purls downhill unseen too sheer below,
identity dissolved, a shivering witness
protected by running somewhere new-named and far.

But every so often we stop. A snow-oasis!
Diamantine, near-iceless white… translucent
dust heap only the bluest shadows tint…
slope’s shoulder pad, satin stitched by osmosis

under the skin. We dub this mound Mount Play.
Then horse around, scuff up embankment skirts,
stomp roadside rime. Each fishstick finger smarts,
stung crushing out ice-weaponry, fisting blades.

_______________________

GETTING LOST AND LOVING IT
—Stephani Schaefer, Los Molinos

The practical and worldly person waits for
the snowstorm to stop, before shoveling his
front walk. But here, lured by the light
within snow, is the bedraggled poet, with
make-shift shovel, who plunges into the
deep woods downslope, full of windfalls,
happy accidents… He tosses each spadeful,
not to one side or the other, to make a
careful path, but right over his shoulder,
obliterating his own tracks. He looks back
a moment, happy to be lost again. The fat
flakes are coming faster now, and he is a
small dark shape, rapidly turning grey,
fading into the blizzard of white winged words…

_______________________

—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.)

Of Love and Discipline

Snakes in Bath; photo by Katy Brown, Davis



No, not Snakes IN a bath, Snakes in Bath—England, that is. This is one of the wonderful photos Katy took in England this year, and it also appears in Rattlesnake Review #12, now available for free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac.






FLOWERS BY THE SEA
—William Carlos Williams

When over the flowery, sharp pasture's
edge, unseen, the salt ocean

lifts its form—chicory and daisies
tied, released, seem hardly flowers alone

but color and the movement—or the shape
perhaps—of restlessness, whereas

the sea is circled and sways
peacefully upon its plantlike stem

_______________________

THE MANOEUVRE
—William Carlos Williams

I saw the two starlings
coming in toward the wires.
But at the last,
just before alighting, they

turned in the air together
and landed backwards!
that's what got me—to
face into the wind's teeth.

_______________________

THE WELL DISCIPLINED BARGEMAN
—William Carlos Williams

The shadow does not move. It is the water moves,
running out. A monolith of sand on a passing barge,
riding the swift water, makes that its fellow.

Standing upon the load the well disciplined bargeman
rakes it carefully, smooth on top with nicely squared
edges to conform to the barge outlines—ritually: sand.

All about him the silver water, fish-swift, races
under the Presence. Whatever there is else is moving.
The restless gulls, unlike companionable pigeons,

taking their cue from the ruffled water, dip and circle
avidly into the gale. Only the bargeman raking
upon his barge remains, like the shadow, sleeping.

________________________

Patricia Wellingham-Jones sent us a poem about Love; we've been tossing the subject around lately, as you'll recall. She says this was a tough one, came to her many years after the events.

THE SHERIFF KNOCKED ON MY DOOR
—Patricia Wellingham-Jones, Tehama

He didn't have
to tell me.

You were dead
I was far away
our house had just sold.

Feet on backwards
took me to the phone
numb fingers
dialled your daughter.

Her scream
pierced my skull
blamed my love
for your death.

We got through
those first days
in unshared pain.

Moving day came
four weeks later.
Boxes, bundles
cat and I
howled our way north
in driving rain.

The new roommate
is soft and cuddly
but she comes
with litter pan.

When I work in the garden
I hear you call my name
through petals of lilies
the prick of a rose.

On your death corner
glass shards
bounce in the sun.

______________________

Thanks, Patricia. Watch for more of her work in Rattlesnake Review.

—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.)

Of Literary Bashes & Mouse-like Teeth

THE BEST ROOM, or INTERPRETATION OF A POEM
—Miroslav Holub

And now tell it to me
in other words,
says the stuffed owl
to the fly
which, with a buzz,
is trying with its head
to break through the window-pane.

______________________

THE AUTUMN ORCHARD
—Miroslav Holub

Some pawky,
black apple
executed on a naked twig.

Two pigeons
on a rundown fence
tearing white feathers from themselves
because there's nothing else
worth sorting.

Cinderella has smeared herself
with ashes, trying
to discourage
her father's incest.

Through an open window
a bunch of poets
are cursing violently.

Although, in fact, everything's
just the way they like it.

______________________

Tonight:

•••Weds. (12/13), 7:30 PM: The Finklemans will be premiering their new SnakeRings SpiralChap, Poems in Two Voices, a collection of their two-voice poems and Joe's art, at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac. The readers will also be accompanied by flute and percussion! Also premiering that evening will be Grace Notes, a littlesnake broadside by Bob Stanley, and Bob will be on hand to read from that, too; plus, new issues of Rattlesnake Review and the teen journal, VYPER, will be there in a free for all free-for-all! Refreshments and a read-around will follow; bring your own poems or somebody else's and join us for the Rattlesnake Press Holiday Extravaganza.

•••Then, later tonight (10 PM-midnight): Mics and Moods features New York Slam Poet Jamie Kilstein at Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sac. Open mic.

_______________________

LITERARY BASH
—Miroslav Holub

Like eggs of hail
from the blue sky,
the buzz of greasy bluebottles,
the twitter of eggheads.

Interior sounds
of matter fatigue.

Never stopping.

But even Orpheus
when things got togher
and he was leading Eurydice
out of the underworld
was quiet as a grave,
the only sound
his crunching step
on the bodies of snails
shedding indigo blood.

In those days, of course,
there were no
literary bashes.

_______________________

THE RAIN AT NIGHT
—Miroslav Holub

With mouse-like teeth
the rain gnaws at stone.
The trees parade through the town
like prophets.

Perhaps it's the sobbing
of the monstrous angels of darkness,
perhaps the suppressed laughter
of the flowers out there in the garden,
trying to cure consumption
by rustling.

Perhaps the purring
of the holy drought
under any kind of cover.

An unspeakable time,
when the voice of loudspeakers cracks
and poems
are made not of words
but of drops.

_______________________

—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.)