An Imagined Life

Maureen Hurley

SUMMER ON BARRANCA CREEK, WEST MARIN
—Maureen Hurley, Oakland

(after Jack Gilbert's Summer at Blue Creek, North Carolina)

There was no hot water at my grandmother's
country home in the wilds of West Marin
though it was the only home we ever had.
After my grandfather died, we had only each other.
The neighbors were absentee city folk.
We were alone in our bee-loud glade on the hill.
Come Saturday night bath time, she'd fill
the big oval copper pan from the indoor tap,
gravity fed from the artesian spring he'd hand-dug,
and she'd lift and slide the coalscut onto the hob,
its charred wooden handles curled like the fists
of an anxious child awaiting punishment or delight.
I'd run my hand along the green enameled ankles
and ornate curved legs of the kerosene stove
as I lay half under the glass gallon jug that gurgled
and spluttered, glugged and belched like a cozy beast.
I loved watching twin blue flames lick and rasp
the copper, combusting into fiery dragon's blood.
I anticipated the momentary slide into warmth
where she'd scrub a week's worth of grit
and hard play from my skin, never imagining
that her loneliness would bathe my psyche
until I emerged from the baptism of bath to live
her dream of an imagined life worth living.

__________________

Thanks, Maureen! Maureen Hurley was raised in the wilds of west Marin and grew into her poetic self on Sonoma County backroads. A freak car accident landed her in the urban jungle, where she lives today near Lake Merritt in Oakland. She teaches Bay Area kids poetry and art with California Poets in the Schools and Young Audiences. She was awarded many artist-in-residency teaching grants from the CAC, NEA, and regional foundations. In March she read at Sacramento Poetry Center for CA Poets in the Schools' 45th anthology, What the World Hears; she's given readings in CA, MT, MA, FL, the Bahamas, the USSR and the Netherlands. Her poems (and photos) have appeared in many journals including Transfer, 14 Hills, Life of Crime, Poet News, Poetry Now, Louisville Review, Sing Heavenly Muse, California State Poetry Quarterly, Electrum, Tight, and Green Fuse. Maureen holds a MA/MFA in Creative Writing (poetry and playwriting) from San Francisco State University and a BA in Art Studio from Sonoma State University. Read more about her at mohurley.blogspot.com

Rattlesnake Press is proud to present Richard Hansen hosting as Maureen Hurley and Crawdad Nelson read this coming Weds., May 12, at 7:30pm at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento.


This weekend in NorCal poetry:

•••Fri. (5/7), 2-4:30pm: Calaveras Station Literary Journal Release Party presented by California State University, Sacramento at CSUS University Union, Foothill Ste., 3rd floor. Please join us as we celebrate the writers included in this twelfth edition. Food and beverages will be provided. Journals will be available for purchase at $10 and readers will be glad to sign copies. Info: www.csus.edu/org/litjrnl

•••Friday (5/7), 6pm: SAYS SLAM FINALS will be held at the Mondavi Center for Performing Arts in Davis with HBO Def Poet ISE LYFE. Register at education.ucdavis.edu/projects-outreach/sacramento-area-youth-speaks; $15 per person or $5 youth/students. (Also check out workshops which will be held during that day.)

•••Friday (5/7), 8pm and Sunday (5/9), 2pm: A Russian Affair: The final production of this year’s Sacramento Opera is “A Russian Affair”, two operas (Eugene Onegin and Queen of Spades) by Tchaikovsky, based on the poetry of Aleksandr Pushkin. Community Center Theater, 1301 L St., Sacramento. Tickets range from $18-$130 and may be purchased at 916-808-5181 or www.sacopera.org/. (For more about Pushkin, click on his pic on the b-board at the right.)

•••Sat. (5/8), 12-4pm: Crocker Art Museum’s 125th Anniversary Event will include poetry readings, storytelling, flower arranging, cake decorating, an exhibition of 19th century black paper dolls, and performances by trick roper James Barrera, banjo-ologist Gordy Ohliger and Folklorico Latino de Woodland in The Ballroom at 216 O St., Sacramento—all for the low, low admission price of $1.25! Guests may also record birthday wishes and memories of the Crocker for a video project. Arrive early; there will be a big crowd! This is one of the last events before the museum closes for four months in order to move artwork into their new wing. It will re-open with another party Oct. 10. Info: crockerartmuseum.org/index.htm

Scheduled readings:
12:30-1pm: Victoria Dalkey hosts & reads
1:25pm: Cake cutting (and singing of “Happy Birthday”)
1:30-2pm: Lawrence Dinkins hosts
2:30-3pm: Cynthia Linville hosts as Chris Olander, Catherine Fraga and James Lee Jobe read
3:30-4pm: Cynthia Linville hosts as Dennis Schmitz and Viola Weinberg read

•••Sat. (5/8), 1pm: Celebrate the spring issue of the quarterly Song of the San Joaquin at the McHenry Museum in Modesto, 402 I St., Modesto, 209-577-5235 (www.mchenrymuseum.org). This is a free event and, of course, is open to the public. Info: Cleo at cleor36@yahoo.com

•••Sat. (5/8), 2pm: Citrus Heights Area Poets will hold a poetry open mic event in the Barnes & Noble Bookstore on Sunrise Blvd. near Greenback in Citrus Heights. Free!

•••Sunday (5/9), 1-4pm: An opening reception to meet-and-greet Artists Pete Eckert and Joe Finkleman will be held at the Davis Cemetery, 820 Pole Line Rd., Davis (www.daviscemetery.org), whose works will be displayed there through the month of May. The show may also be viewed during the office’s hours of 9am-3pm, Monday through Friday.

•••Monday (5/10), 7:30pm: Sacramento Poetry Center presents !X. The Sacramento City College Ethnic Theatre Workshop (now in its fifth year), with the direction of Professor Angela-Dee Alforque, integrates various forms of art (drama, music, dance, poetry, visual art) with race, ethnic and gender studies. This year, !X will present “Mis-Education Liberation.”

The goals of the Race & Ethnicity in Performance class and of the Ethnic Theatre Workshop are to develop artistic expressions of diverse experiences, encourage community development through participation in the arts and promote educational equity at Sacramento City College. !X has performed for the SCC Cultural Awareness Center &Student Center, Butch ‘N Nellie's Café, Sacramento Poetry Center, Luna’s Café, Ha-RISE-enz, Sacramento City Hall, California Dept. of Social Services, the California Dept. of Education, California Community College Chancellor’s Office, Mahogany Poetry Series, and the Crocker Art Museum. !X ensemble members include Mark “Kno Mo” Carnero, Maszaba Carter, John Castro, Amsalé Darden (Castro), Jocelyn Day, Debby Dixon, Chelsie Eugene, Victor Francis, Alicia “Lecia B” Garcia, Devon Alexandria Hazell, Akim Hurd, Jaquel Jackson, Jeremy Lim, Jacqeline Martinez, Diana Muhoro, Saidah Pires, Akash Saini, Elicia Sanchez, Essence Sellers, Tiffani “Lady Flawsy” Smith, Teddy, Denise Thompson, Ike Torres & Jose Torres II.

__________________

ALKALI DUST OVER DEATH VALLEY
—Maureen Hurley

Yesterday we watched dustdevils
whipping up from the alkali flats
and deserts of Badwater and Armagosso Valley
dissipate like a maya veil toward the east,
over the mountains of Las Vegas.

The dust turned the deep cerulean sky
into a pale shadow of its former self.
We gritted silica dust between our teeth,
tasted ancient salt on our lips
and though our eyes blurred and burned,
the sunset was a spectacular flash of fire.

The next day, the poet William Pitt Root
wrote from a neighboring state
how the dust blew in from the west
dimming even the sun.

I thought of Dorthea Lang's photos
and the Saharan dust cloud visible from space.
The sharqui and the shumali sandstorms of Iraq.
The lack of rain and snowmelt. The names of wind.

In this way, I realized how everything,
even distance and time
is right on our back doorstep.

__________________

ANSEL ADAMS' STUDIO
—Maureen Hurley

Summer afternoons, he'd step out
of the darkroom for a quick breath.
As he leaned against the doorjam,
he'd shove the bifocals up his forehead,
cup his hands, light a cigarette.

As he bent his head to the flame,
small twin suns reflected
on that Half Dome of his pate.

He gazed into the distance,
towards Tenaya and Cloud's Rest,
drew the smoke in deep,
his depth of field unfocused
with lens open wide.

Then he finished his smoke
flicked it into the bin and stepped back
into the shuttered darkness
to face Tenaya in the negative light.

For a moment water rippled in the pool
of memory, then closed in over that day
and sank to the depths like a stone.

__________________

A FIFTH OF BEETHOVEN
—Maureen Hurley

Yesterday I told my students a story
about Gustavo's crazy cockatiel,
how Kirk the musicman tried to teach it
the opening to Beethoven's Fifth
& how it couldn't get that last chord right,
no matter how much they both practiced,
how the note always fell flat, but the bird
would say entonces, or coño, and include
all the tape recorder clicks & whirrs.

Every time I went: DA-DA DAA Dum,
the class bird catcalled and wolf whistled,
dirty danced on his perch, bopped his head,
puffed out his orange cheek patches,
and crested like a Mohican. I was
explaining how some words fall flat,
the poet's job to seek the music of words,
was a matter of practice, like doing scales.
Unfortunately, the bird got so worked up
he catcalled the entire poetry hour.

I was hoping he'd just take the Fifth
(or maybe down a fifth) and shut up
before I threatened to squeeze
his sorry yellow ass into a tequila sunrise.

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

As a housewife, I feel that if they kids are still alive when my husband gets home from work, then, hey, I've done my job.

—Rosanne

___________________

—Medusa

Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

Goldfish, Mothers, & Other Complexities

Photo by Stephani Schaefer

DO YOU REMEMBER

how the sun slanting on the wall marked time
while we crouched under the kitchen table

waiting for the worst to be over
letting tear tracks dry in the close gritty air

those broken dishes in the corner could be you

remember when she grew tall shrieking in the yard
while white clouds passed serene above it all

remember the blue tiles, the cold tap running
the rough wet cloth

how we learned silence and careful steps
to thread the path from supper to sundown

do you remember

the language of eyes and how not to be caught
looking at one another those times


—Stephani Schaefer, Los Molinos

__________________

RAIN MUSIC
—Stephani Schaefer

Who am I to tell about her crazy scenes,
something I'd rather not write anyway.
Rain drums down, inside the rain I dream.

Why not remember how she played
by ear: Cole Porter, Schubert, Debussy.
I like to sit inside sound, rain

or music. Its perfect silence washes me.

___________________

Thanks, Steph—it's good to have Stephani Schaefer back in the Kitchen after all the time she's been spending putting together her anthology of poets who have written about her photographs!

We’re still talking about Moms for our Seed of the Week. Send ‘em along to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. No deadline on SOWs. I warned you that talk of Moms wasn't necessarily going to be greeting-card pretty; then again, Pat Hickerson's "Rooms" writes about it from the other side of the fence. Well, like Mitz Sackman says, it's a complex job. And thanks to Pat Pashby for finding today's LittleNip—perfect for the tone of these poems.

Some deadlines coming up: Squaw Valley, Swan Scythe, Dancing Poetry. Scroll down on the b-board to the picture of me sweating away in my bathrobe at the computer for more info about these opportunities.

Keep sending photos, too! I almost never have to dig into the world of Stock Photos anymore, thanks to our SnakePals. People are inspired right now by the beautiful flowers in bloom—take your camera out into the wilds of NorCal before the heat arrives. And take a peek at the very bottom of the b-board (skinny blue box) to see the fruits—well, flowering—of some SnakePal labors.

___________________

ASK THE NEIGHBORS
—Patricia Pashby, Sacramento

waging
warfare
on life, she hauls
turbulence in—
tucks it behind closed doors
so neighbors will not see;
needing to impress everyone;
feigning perfection—smothering
a child’s
spirit.

__________________

OF TWO MINDS
—Mitz Sackman, Murphys

How do you write a card
For a person, a mother
Who loved you and abused you
No easy task
Both parts of her
Were equally true
My childhood experience
Informed my own parenting
Coming to it much later
Than my teenaged bride-mother
Who read to me
Who allowed me my emotions
Even the ugly ones
She got real with me
Told me
“Sometimes, we wish the people we love were dead…
That does not mean we don’t love them…
It means we are angry and upset”
She beat me unconscious when she was
Stressed
Often the stress was not provoked by me
Happy Mother’s Day
It is a complex job
We all do the best that we can

___________________

ROOMS
—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

still I dream large and wild
windows wide open, arched
curtains flung roomward
sheered with sunlight
where once I paced, waited

watched her,
windowless and wanton,
warping the weft of weeks

watched her thru a peephole
went out to dinner, waited to go home
to a police note tucked in the front door
your daughter….

to wickedly polished floors
gleaming with a satin sheen
rooms beyond were warm with carpet
dogs stretching from their naps
gazing, brown eyes wistful

the undulant fever of my daughter’s mind
lost in all rooms among chairs and tables
hands at my throat
smashed panes in the French doors upstairs
she tried to break out

so intensely the house behind its eucalyptus shadow
rooms haunted at the rim of the canyon
wisteria purpled the driveway
acacia yellowed the sunpad below

___________________

GOLDFISH SWIM THE IRT, 1932
—Patricia Hickerson

all the way from 204th St. to 178th
we stay on the mesh banquette
taut as travelers on moving day
Grandma holds the water bowl
oops! don’t let it spill
they’re her fish; she won’t let them go—
does anyone think it strange:
a bowl of fish on the subway?

board the bus
cross the Hudson
beyond the City fish eyes bulge
they look down, where are we?
think to swim the river
look at each other
swish their tails no—
on to Jersey

Aquarium Prism #2
Photo by Bob Dreizler, Sacramento

Today's LittleNip:

The commonest fallacy among women is that simply having children makes them a mother—which is as absurd as believing that having a piano makes one a musician.

—Sydney J. Harris

__________________

—Medusa

And Here Is Love

When I saved a fawn
Held it like a child
And returned it to its mom
It didn't seem so wild.

—Photo and Poem by Ronald Edwin Lane, Weimar

SOPHIE AND FRECKLES HAD A MOTHER
—Taylor Graham, Placerville

The lady in the Gold Panner ad is mother
to no one except five dogs, three horses, 14 sheep
including this year’s crop of lambs.
The sheep come to her call, eat sweet-
cob from her hand.

How could she let even one child go?
Too many lambs. She sold us two.
We brought them home, turned them out—
still bawling for their mother—
to pasture with our five sheep. Two and five,

they bleated back and forth, and then
the five went back to grazing.
Now the two stand at my kitchen door,
waiting for their mother.
By default, I guess, waiting for me.

___________________

MOTHER’S KITCHEN
—Taylor Graham

A silent house. No brothers or sisters,
no dog, no indoor cat to stalk the cuckoo
in its clock, that ticked and measured
by brass weights. Father read a journal
without moving his lips. From the kitchen,
a quiet stir of utensils, spoon stroking
the inside of a bowl; a knife making
rhythmic chop or dice; stoke of wood-
stove, flutter of cookbook-pages as she
checked how much sage or thyme. A lid
clicking the stockpot shut to simmer
a wordless supper. Maybe she sang
before I knew her.

__________________

SITTING AT NIGHT ON THE FRONT PORCH
—Charles Wright

I'm here, on the dark porch, restyled in my mother's chair.
10:45 and no moon.
Below the house, car lights
Swing down, on the canyon floor, to the sea.

In this they resemble us,
Dropping like match flames through the great void
Under our feet.
In this they resemble her, burning and disappearing.

Everyone's gone
And I'm here, sizing the dark, saving my mother's seat.

__________________

SUNLIGHT
—Seamus Heaney

There was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyed

in the slung bucket
and the sun stood
like a griddle cooling
against the wall

of each long afternoon.
So, her hands scuffled
over the bakeboard,
the reddening stove

sent its plaque of heat
against her where she stood
in a floury apron
by the window.

Now she dusts the board
with a goose's wing,
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nails

and measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.

And here is love
like a tinsmith's scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

THE PASSAGE
—William Bronk

People are passing; I look in passing at them.
Look, how the light comes down through them: they glow.
Once, I grasped at one. Oh, it was sweet.
It had nothing to do with me, or anyone.

__________________

—Medusa

Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

Up From Out Of In Under

Norma Kohout talks to Bob Stanley
Photo by Katy Brown

THE RENTED HOUSE ON CENTER STREET
—Norma Kohout, Sacramento

Sunday evenings we curled up on the couch
a bit drowsy,
the radio on
listening to Vince Scully call the Dodger games—
or in a romantic reverie,
Gordon Jenkins’s Seven Dreams . . .
anticipating Bill’s favorite song:
“Living on a Houseboat Ain’t Like Living in Sin,”
humming some of it.

Wood in the brick fireplace crackled.
The two children snoozed
or played cards in front of the hearth.
Sometimes an ice storm blew down
The Columbia Gorge; it
brought a feeling of being sheltered.

Contentment must still live there
on Center Street in Portland,
a fire burning
in the fireplace,
Sunday evenings in the fall.

____________________

Thanks, Norma! Norma Kohout played tennis in her San Francisco years, served as counselor for The San Francisco Boys Chorus, worked as a secretary, and was a student at San Francisco State College. In Modesto, she taught junior high school English and participated in three teacher organizations. In Sacramento, it's been poetry, poetry, poetry. She says highlights include receiving the Chaparral Golden Pegasus Award in 2001 and Chaparral’s Roadrunner Award in 2008. She has been published in Senior Magazine, Tiger's Eye, Rattlesnake Review, and Song of the San Joaquin, plus various other Chaparral and Ina Coolbrith Society wins and publications. She published a littlesnake broadside, Out the Train Window, from Rattlesnake Press in 2006, and a rattlechap, All Aboard!, in 2009. Also, Norma co-facilitates a weekly senior poetry group with Joyce Odam. Click on Norma's photo on the bulletin board at the right for more about her.

Today the Sacramento County Board of Supervisors will be giving Norma an award for community service. That's at the County Administration Bldg., 700 H St., Sacramento, 2pm.

It's Tuesday—Seed of the Week Day. Let's go with Moms: not just the sentimental greeting card one, but the complex, multi-dimensional human we called Mom, biological or not. Send your Moms to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. I'll start with one of the first poems I ever wrote (apparently I had Issues With Mom even then...):


HUMMING
—Kathy Kieth, Pollock Pines

Sometimes mothers hum, polishing
RevereWare at the sink, or embroidering
palm trees on dish towels for the church
bazaar. Their children can hear them

humming all over the house: Kate Smith
a buoy bell for children’s boats
on foggy nights. But sometimes
the humming stops: then small boats

grind up against sharp icebergs
of disapproval, get lost in the black waters
of some latest grown-up
shipwreck. Those silences

hum clear through dinner—louder than
the old refrigerator—louder than the slow
drip of the clock—louder than Kate Smith
ever thought of being . . .

__________________

MAUNDY THURSDAY
—Norma Kohout

The wind dropped. The rain held off
this evening of Holy Week.
The small church is spare; banners,
flowers, all adornment stripped away.

A scattering of parishioners sits quietly
in the wooden pews. Before them
the simple altar, the empty console,
ranks of organ pipes graduated about a great,
stained-glass window, brilliant in late sun.

By Second Reading the rose window
is a dark-blue circle with a few bright jewels. . .
But during the Gospel story of foot washing
light behind the window darkens;
it becomes a great circle of indigo,

foreshadowing the Good Friday darkness,
that after two terrible days, will yield
to Easter light, streaming down
sapphire and emerald, ruby and topaz
over the lilies, and over the white and gold banners
inscribed, “Hallelujah.”

__________________

DAD WAS DIFFERENT
—Norma Kohout

Yes, he was a different kind of dad
than the others on the block.
They hadn’t “served overseas;"
and that meant seeing

corpses in muddy trenches and killing
in “No Man’s Land.” It was different
that he owned a Manlicher rifle
and Luger pistol he could take apart
and put together blindfolded.

His good looks, military bearing,
ash blond hair and British mustache
were different. He was
the only dad that awakened neighbors
starting up his truck at seven a.m.

That felt a little embarrassing,
although our friends liked his kidding
and the nicknames he dreamt up.
They never seemed to notice

that he left after dinner, having changed
into his tan twill shirt and pants—Lucky Strikes
and wallet tucked into his pocket—driving away
in the old Duesenberg with the red leather seats.

___________________

Today's LittleNip:

THE NAUGHTY PREPOSITION
—Morris Bishop

I lately lost a preposition:
It hid, I thought, beneath my chair.
And angrily I cried: 'Perdition!
Up from out of in under there!'

Correctness is my vade mecum,
And straggling phrases I abhor;
And yet I wondered: 'What should he come
Up from out of in under for?'

__________________

—Medusa

Laverne Frith and Norma Kohout listen to music
at Danyen Powell's house, 2010
Photo by Katy Brown

Spirits Make No Sound

Stan Zumbiel

LINES UPON RISING AND FINDING THAT THE WORLD
IS NOT THE ROMANTIC PLACE I MIGHT HOPE FOR DESPITE
THE SWEET SMELL OF THE AIR
—Stan Zumbiel, Sacramento

Spirits make no sound when
they leave the body, don’t
entwine themselves as they
reach into the sky. Patina

of night on the morning,
dark reaching toward midday
isn’t shadow or the low
angle of the sun but cold that
infiltrates them.
A young couple heads home
from work on the sidewalk
talking and touching
each other lightly.

There’s not even a screech
of tires or dramatic
speech, just two
staccato pops. Spirits make

no sound when they leave the
body. Police search for a former
boyfriend.

Do they prefer random, senseless
violence or someone quietly
intoning their name? Spirits don’t

entwine themselves as they
reach into the sky.

__________________

Thanks, Stan! Stan Zumbiel taught English in middle and high school for thirty-five years in the San Juan Unified School District and has had a hand in raising four children, yet doesn’t have the slightest idea how he got to be old. He first tried to turn his thoughts into poetry in 1967 while serving in the Navy. In January 2008 he received his MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. He continues to write in his Fair Oaks home that he shares with Lynn, his wife of twenty-five years.

Stan also served Sacramento poetry as a long-standing Sacramento Poetry Center Board Member, a noble post from which he has recently retired after more than two decades. We are most grateful for his time and energy in that capacity! Stan will be reading for SPC this Weds. with Edythe Schwartz at the Downtown Library, 808 I St., Sacramento, 6pm.


Returning resources:

Former Pleasanton Poet Laureate Cynthia Bryant’s online resource, Poet’s Lane, used to be a favorite place-to-go for events, poetry, submissions—very helpful. Now it’s back! Go to www.poetslane.com/. She's just getting started, but it'll be 'way cool.

The SPC blog has also been revitalized (sacramentopoetrycenter.blogspot.com)—President Bob Stanley is posting regularly there, keeping us up-to-date on poetry news items past, present and future. I’ve made it easy to keep checking in on Bob and SPC: scroll down to his pic on the bulletin board at the right of this column.


Sacto kids in new anthology!

The poetry of seven students at North Avenue Elementary School in Del Paso Heights has been chosen for inclusion in the Anthology of Poetry by Young Americans (www.anthologyofpoetry.com). Those students whose work was selected include Ajay Fullmore, Karen Bernal, Karla Garcia, Deshaun Pryor, Latocha McDaniels, April Alexander and Jennifer Grajeda.


This week in NorCal poetry:

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

•••Monday (5/3), 7:30pm: Sacramento Poetry Center (1719 R St., between 25th & R in Sacramento) presents Viola Weinberg and Mario Uribe, who will be talking about their project that produced the poem and artwork for the first installment of Poets on Board, a program of bus placards that will feature poetry on RT Metro buses around the Sacramento region. Underwritten by UC Davis Extension, the Poets on Board program will feature a different poet for each season of the year. The first piece is an excerpt from Enso, a poem by Viola Weinberg, and it features the artwork of Mario Uribe. The placard itself was designed by graphic designer Richard Hansen. There will also be a limited edition offering—signed copies of the full-size bus placards will be available. Sales of the limited edition version will help fund future bus placards planned as part of the Poets on Board program. For more info, go to sacramentopoetrycenter.blogspot.com

•••Tuesday (5/4), 7-10pm: Here's a reading series you might not have heard about: Open mic at Strings Pizza every Tuesday at 9500 Micron Ave. #128, Sacramento (next to Capitol Christian Church). All open mic acts are welcome from a’capella to guitarists to poetry. Check out stringspizzeria.com for more details.

•••Wed. (5/5), 8-10pm: Bistro 33 in Davis presents Sacramento's Pat Grizzell plus open mic, 3rd and F Sts. Free. Joining Pat will be Steve Bird, member of Junkyard Burlesque, on bass. Hosted by Andy Jones and Brad Henderson. Info: poetryindavis.blogspot.com or 530-756-4556 or aojones@ucdavis.edu

•••Weds. (5/5), 6pm: Sacramento Poetry Center presents Stan Zumbiel (recently retired from SPC board after more than two decades) and Edythe Schwartz, retired professor of Child Development at CSUS, in the Sacramento Room at the Downtown Library, 808 I St., Sacramento.

•••Thurs. (5/6), 8pm: Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe features Indigo Moor plus open mic. 1414 16th St., Sacramento.

•••Fri. (5/7), 2-4:30pm: Calaveras Station Literary Journal Release Party presented by California State University, Sacramento at CSUS University Union, Foothill Ste., 3rd floor. Please join us as we celebrate the writers included in this twelfth edition. Food and beverages will be provided. Journals will be available for purchase at $10 and readers will be glad to sign copies. Info: www.csus.edu/org/litjrnl

•••Friday (5/7), 6pm: SAYS SLAM FINALS will be held at the Mondavi Center for Performing Arts in Davis with HBO Def Poet ISE LYFE. Register at education.ucdavis.edu/projects-outreach/sacramento-area-youth-speaks; $15 per person or $5 youth/students. (Also check out workshops which will be held during that day.)

•••Friday (5/7), 8pm and Sunday (5/9), 2pm: A Russian Affair: The final production of this year’s Sacramento Opera is “A Russian Affair”, two operas (Eugene Onegin and Queen of Spades) by Tchaikovsky, based on the poetry of Aleksandr Pushkin. Community Center Theater, 1301 L St., Sacramento. Tickets range from $18-$130 and may be purchased at 916-808-5181 or www.sacopera.org/. 19th-century poet and author Aleksandr Pushkin's work was considered to be the beginning of Russian literature. He wrote more than 800 poems, half of which have been set to music—in total, 23 operas have been based on his works. In addition, Eugene Onegin and Queen of Spades are considered by many to be Tchaikovsky’s operatic masterpieces. (For more about Pushkin, click on his pic on the b-board at the right.)

•••Sat. (5/8), 12-4pm: Crocker Art Museum’s 125th Anniversary Event will include poetry readings, storytelling, flower arranging, cake decorating, an exhibition of 19th century black paper dolls, and performances by trick roper James Barrera, banjo-ologist Gordy Ohliger and Folklorico Latino de Woodland in The Ballroom at 216 O St., Sacramento—all for the low, low admission price of $1.25! Guests may also record birthday wishes and memories of the Crocker for a video project. Arrive early; there will be a big crowd! This is one of the last events before the museum closes for four months in order to move artwork into their new wing. It will re-open with another party Oct. 10. Info: crockerartmuseum.org/index.htm

Scheduled readings:
12:30-1pm: Victoria Dalkey hosts & reads
1:25pm: Cake cutting (and singing of “Happy Birthday”)
1:30-2pm: Lawrence Dinkins hosts
2:30-3pm: Cynthia Linville hosts as Chris Olander, Catherine Fraga and James Lee Jobe read
3:30-4pm: Cynthia Linville hosts as Dennis Schmitz and Viola Weinberg read

•••Sat. (5/8), 1pm: Celebrate the spring issue of the quarterly Song of the San Joaquin at the McHenry Museum in Modesto, 402 I St., Modesto, 209-577-5235 (www.mchenrymuseum.org). This is a free event and, of course, is open to the public. Info: Cleo at cleor36@yahoo.com

•••Sat. (5/8), 2pm: Citrus Heights Area Poets will hold a poetry open mic event in the Barnes & Noble Bookstore on Sunrise Blvd. near Greenback in Citrus Heights. Free!


Citrus Heights 3rd Annual Health Fair includes poetry!

•••Sat. (5/15), 9am-1pm: “Soar to Healthy Heights”: 75 exhibits dedicated to sr. issues and concerns, including presentations, demos, screenings, give-aways and entertainment.

Citrus Heights Poet Margaret Bell writes: I, and a few other poets, will be manning a table at this event. We encourage all poets and other creative artists (musicians, novelists, painters, photographers, jewelry makers, quilters, etc.) to bring flyers or brochures (no bigger than letter-sized paper) and/or business cards to our May 8 open mic event (Barnes & Noble, Sunrise Blvd. in Citrus Heights, 2pm), for distribution at the May 15 Health Fair. (You can also bring them to our table at the May 15 event, but you need to get them there a little before 9am.) I will make sure they are displayed on that table to be picked up by folks who attend the event.

Sacramento City and County Poet Laureate Bob Stanley will be at the Health Fair from 11-12. We cannot raise funds at this event; however, we can allow people to enter a drawing for a "table prize", and Bob has offered one or more of his books for such a drawing. We hope he will personally select the winners during his time at the event. Other poets may display their books on our table and, if they are personally present, can conduct drawings for their own books or simply give copies away if they wish. Some of you may wish to just give away copies of your own poems. That's fine too. All you need to do is bring the copies to me at the May 8 open mic and I will see that they go on the table for folks to pick up on May 15. If you need more information, feel free to contact me by email (megdmb@surewest.net).


Davis Cemetery Art Show

Gracing the walls in the month of May, the Davis Cemetery District’s office will be hosting art from two special guests. Hailing from Sacramento, Pete Eckert’s photography not only astounds the public, but inspires. A founder of the Blind Photographers Guild, Mr. Eckert’s mission is to capture the moments that he cannot see anymore. Because of his remarkable blind photography, many cannot help but appreciate the effort and time he takes to craft his shots. Showing with Mr. Eckert will be Joe Finkleman, one of the Cemetery’s own. His photography has crafted a number of highly varied series. The work in May features unusual photographs—part theater, part still animation. The main pieces that will be shown include forms of “light puppets” Finkleman has created. To see the show, please join us at 820 Pole Line Rd., Davis, in the office. The show is an entire month, spanning from May 1-31, coinciding with the office’s hours of 9am-3pm, Monday through Friday.

•••An opening reception to meet-and-greet Mr. Eckert and Mr. Finkleman will be held from 1-4pm on May 9. Info: www.daviscemetery.org

__________________

ONE-LEGGED JAPANESE SOLDIER HAIKU
—Stan Zumbiel

Though he has no English,
I lean toward him to say
Peace be with you,

and drop 500 yen into his cup.
He turns slowly to the side
and spits.

_____________________

BEACH AT SOUNION
—Stan Zumbiel, Sacramento

The great temple to the sea
god looms on the cliff, carved
from white stone, to survey

the kingdom, to send killing
storms, to smell singed
sacrifice, to hear sailors’ prayers

and the calls of seabirds
feasting in shallow water. Two
widows in black descend a narrow

dirt trail, find a driftwood
log and remove their sandals,
dig their toes in warm

sand, crosses around their necks,
no need to speak. They look at a young

girl—a waitress perhaps, an office
worker, a teacher
of young children who carries a low

canvas chair close to the shore,
takes off her clothes and turns
her face to the sun. She has a small

book and the light surrounds the last
bus of the day. A nun stares out the
window, fingers her beads and polished

crucifix, having visited her
mother not dying but
happy—they walk down each

day to the sea looking out to
where the blue meets blue a

distant fold in perception that
holds stories she might tell her
grandchildren. A mother,

father, and two
small sons laugh at the threat
from the breeze that

throws its scent gently across
the resistant shore. Earthshaker
stretches his limbs beneath

the calm surface. Stones
under bare feet cast brief
pictures of marble-skinned maidens

singing between white columns, white
linen draped in folds,
raising their arms to the potent

poised trident. Posed
against the blue backdrop
this god faces the sun

holding his head, eyes closed.

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

The limerick is furtive and mean;
You must keep her in close quarantine,
Or she sneaks to the slums
And promptly becomes
Disorderly, drunk and obscene.

—Morris Bishop

_________________

—Medusa

Poets on Board Placard #1

Inside Poems

THE TENT
—Rumi

Outside, the freezing desert night.
This other night inside grows warm, kindling.
Let the landscape be covered with thorny crust.
We have a soft garden in here.
The continents blasted,
cities and little towns, everything
become a scorched, blackened ball.
The news we hear is full of grief for that future,
but the real news inside here
is there's no news at all.

***

Friend, our closeness is this:
anywhere you put your foot, feel me
in the firmness under you.

How is it with this love,
I see your world and not you?

***

Listen to presences inside poems,
let them take you where they will.

Follow those private hints,
and never leave the premises.


(translated from the Persian by Coleman Barks)

___________________

—Medusa

Regret Moves in a Circle

May Flowers
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

POETRY IS WHAT
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

(after Gertrude Stein)

Halting speech. In. (inversion) hesitated
mind. Groping for.
Whatever. Word will come
next. Perplexed toward.
Silence. Gertrude in her.
Shadow. Playing with periods and.
Spaces. Enlightened toward light—
a whole sentence. She. Speaks toward me.
Her pupil. Our eyes. Meet.
Speak like this.
Interruptive. What is poetry.
One of us asks again. Which.
She. Not me. I echo. Duet.
She died. I revere. Make sense. Or.
Not. I pray toward. Halting
speech. Trying. On her words. As if.
They were mine.
Feels. Good. To talk like this.

___________________

THINGS UNUSUAL
—Joyce Odam

(after Landscape 1927—Miro)

Two arcs create a myth, dotting the sky
with wide precision.

A leaping thing does handsprings
to create diversion.

The land cuts from the sky
and cuts the world in half.

The silly creature tumbles like a rag.
The two arcs hold.

Two circles startle, vibrated from a dot.
The landscape twangs.

A vacant eye beholds all this
and does not blink.

One stare deserves another,
don’t you think?

____________________

VORTEX
—Joyce Odam

•
look
how you
twirl the center
with your eyes
looking for the dot
or that center through
which you fall dreaming
in the world of sleep or the
slow room spinning with you
• as the dot in the center look how
you find a break through which
a piercing streak of light
becomes a nail to your
eyes and you grope
your hand to it
as if it could
lead you
out
•


(first published in Poetalk,
Bay Area Poets Coalition)

__________________

TALKING, NOT LISTENING
—Joyce Odam

Word by emphatic word,
they keep their conver-

sations taut—watch for
the pauses, use their

hands, let eyes com-
pel eyes, scrape chairs,

use body language
consciously—even scoff

with accentuated silences.

___________________

SELF IMAGES
—Joyce Odam

Ponderous with light, the figure moves
under its own illusion; it carries
another weight—an equal darkness.
__________

Heavy as stone, the second illusion
imagines itself as a wing—lifts and fails
—lifts and fails—tries again and flies.
__________

Regret moves in a circle, knows where
it has failed, yearns to correct the fault.
It comes at last to the shattered face
of the mirror.
__________

Old news crumples itself up
into a newspaper and begins to fade
to a sickly yellow. Tired of itself now,
it longs for simple recipes and poems.

__________________

Today's LittleNip:

Soon he will resume his burden. In morning sunlight, the sparrow hops across old snow.

—Stephen Dobyns

Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove

—Medusa