Thursday, December 23, 2010
1. The Last 4 Things - Kate Greenstreet
2. What We Carry - Dorianne Laux
3. The Other Life - Herbert Scott
4. The Nervous Filaments - David Dodd Lee
5. A Mouth In California - Graham Foust
6. 40 Watts - C.D. Wright
7. The Difficult Farm - Heather Christle
8. With Deer - Aase Berg
9. Sky Booths In The Breath Somewhere: THE ASHBERY ERASURE poems - David Dodd Lee
10. Great Balls of Fire - Ron Padgett
11. Compulsions of Silk Worms and Bees: Poems - Julianna Baggott
12. Above All Else, The Trembling Resembles A Forest - Louise Mathias
13. Dance Dance Revolution: Poems - Cathy Park Hong
14. Garbage: A Poem - A.R. Ammons
15. The Lives of the Heart - Jane Hirschfield
16. Monolithos: Poems - Jack Gilbert
17. The Dance Most of All: Poems - Jack Gilbert
18. Collected Poems - James Schuyler
19. Watermark - Clayton Michaels
20. All of It Singing: New and Selected Poems - Linda Gregg
21. Orphan, Indiana - David Dodd Lee
22. Stories That Listen - Priscilla Becker
23. Bunny - Selima Hill
24. Above The River - James Wright
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Thursday, December 09, 2010
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
waiting in our Honda behind
a pearl Impala with white
out-of-state plates at the Bank
of America ATM. For amber
waves, etc. The weather is
brilliant and biting. Some
kind of cold. A fine day to go
out and come in again. Elimae
draws on the window with her
hound dog nose. A good three
feet from the banking machine,
a woman leans out of the rear
window of the Impala. She's
up on her knees, fingers flying
over the keypad, pausing, folding
her hands together, closing her
eyes, bowing her head. Then an
eye opens. No luck. She begins
again. Three times before snatching
her card and a stream of paper
away from the machine. After
the Impala pulls away, I inch
forward, as close as I can to the
keypad, punch the buttons slowly,
keep my eyes open, steady my face.
Elimae hound dog watches a van
pull up behind us and bites at her toe.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
What Do You Need To Know That For?
We wasn’t living together at the time.
I came home in excruciating pain and crying and vomiting
By the time the ambulance got there I was on the floor
The next thing I know I was in the bathroom on the floor with no clothes on, just throwing up and vomiting.
I had gone, you know, to try to get help for the spider bite.
He said for me to come back in three days so he can cut it out, cut the venom out, the germs out of me.
I had a child support case.
Why do you need to know all this pertaining to this case?
So did you do a background check on me?
I don't go around going to court and I don't go around getting cases to go to court.
I graduated from the university.
A B.S. or a B.A.? I don't remember all that. I'm 50 years old.
I didn't have any benefits.
It started ‑‑ I started having like a little bump on my ‑‑ my butt area. And then it started growing real, real fast, but big. It started feeling like a mountain or something, like a big knot. It just started growing fast.
I seen a spider and I also seen, like, big bugs or ‑‑ laying down, you know, just dead.
I told him I would be there, you know, waiting for him to come on the exact day he told me the spider man was going to come.
The spider man never came and knocked on my door. Never came and knocked on my door.
He had those 99 cents round stickers, the round deodorizer, he had them all outside the apartment building,
There was a foul odor in the apartment that he was covering up. And then you didn't know the odor was there until you moved in. And the odor was loud.
The odor seemed like it was bouncing off the walls.
It was just a foul, bad odor running around there.
I had to kill the spider.
After I got bit by the spider, I jumped up and moved.
He cut the poison out of me.
I went and I got cut two times. Right here in the buttocks. That's what they called it. That's where I was cut.
I didn't have any of that. I didn't have no blocked hair down there. I don't have no hair on my buttocks.
They cut on me and patched me up and sent me home.
They had commercials on TV saying two things you can die from. It says spider bite, spider bite, snake bite, and cigarettes.
The fire department came to $775.
Evidently there was some -- some babies in there somewhere to come back and bite me.
He didn't come knock on my door and that just crushed my whole life.
It was the most miserable time in my life.
Monday, November 22, 2010
113.5 East Lincoln Avenue
Goshen, IN 46528
Grand Opening Extravaganza
Friday, December 3, 6PM - Midnight
Jolly Jesters & Marching Band of Mirthful Miscreants
Poetry by Literary Arts Collective
(featuring Clayton Michaels, Nancy Botkin, Jen Stockdale & Charmi Keranen)
Short Films by Mid-America Filmmakers
Live Music by regional bands, including: Ivory West & Escaping Yesterday
Lasers by Chrish Wood
Discussion on socially-responsible community-oriented banking by Common Good Bank
All 12 MCA artists on hand to talk one-on-one about their work
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
into the room. She's a looker,
by God, that one. And smart,
too. She'll have a Bachelor
of something someday. I turn.
I have traded pert breasts for
a plump ass, two children, an
oven full of scones. Mary is
taking my firstborn. I like her.
I offer her a scone. We speak
of the ins and outs of baking.
I ask her, How much do you know?
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
It's a crap shoot, baby, which puts me
in mind of the drunk you saw at
the Kentucky Derby, reeling at the
door of the Port-A-John, a woman
helping him with his exit, his fly undone,
his dick hanging not nearly as spectacularly
as the way he fell head first into the waste
water runoff. The crowd groaned. In the
spirit of frankness I will say I approve
of shit in poems, of collective groans. I'm
tired of sighs and shufflings. Tell me again
about how Remy shat himself in the kitchen
and stopped drinking for three entire days.
I've got my colored pencils sharpened.
I like the color brown.
Friday, November 05, 2010
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Lips parting. Face askew.
Teeth touching teacups.
His name a shade of rouge Danube.
We are standing in the deadfall.
We are gathering heart strings.
We are plucking eyes.
When our friends find us we tell them
The spring will likely kill you, but
He's lying. I'm lying, too.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
While I was tossing feverish all night, Gene was dreaming we bought a wonderful farmhouse out in the country, perfect in every way, except the bedroom, which was full of bees. The window had rotted out and bees had built a large nest. The walls were full of bee holes. Ah, Freud, get out of my husband's brain. When I want to share him, I'll let you know.
But now I need books. I'm not happy with the books I have. I've ordered a couple, but I'd like to reanimate Frank Stanford. Or something. Dear Sandy, Hello looks good. The Selected Edna St. Vincent Millay is on its way, but I'm worried it will be boring. I'm chugging through Above the River, but it's slow going. Creeley is frustrating me. I'm in a mood. It will pass. Everything passes. The trick is to catch it as it's going by.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The snake leads the way
to a place of absolutes
where no man can talk
you out of anything.
It's a place as real as
an empty pool in front
of the not-in-service-at-
this-time motel. Each
person has a secret world.
Places where nobody can
visit. Places we live in
after our death.
The temple on the hill
is abandoned. There's no one
even to light its lamp unless
I do it. Afterward, I fall
asleep on the warm stones.
Safe. In my dream I realize
the truth about Orpheus.
He never went far into
the dark before turning around.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Sunday, October 03, 2010
I am thinking of Grandmother
who confessed to me at age 65
I have never spent one night alone.
She was standing in my doorway
and the light was falling. I was
saying you really don’t need to go.
But she did and was. There are
imperceptible moments when your
soul slips quietly into another room
while your body lingers. Mine did
and was. You find out later. I have
and do spend many nights alone.
Grandmother is long gone. She
never told me what she discovered,
whether she was frightened or contented,
whether she was at one when she
walked alone through her doorway
amongst her many rooms.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The Alum Cave
The trail gets interesting.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
I'm going to have to use my imagination, too, it seems, to envision it. I feel like a woman out of context, looking at those pictures. It was September 28th, 1985, late in the afternoon, 4-something, I think. The temperature was mild. The skies were blue. I remember the wedding invitations read, "Hear ye, hear ye, it has been proclaimed," etc. Later, there was dancing & drinking & smoking, etc. The next day I remember thinking, well, this will be an adventure. Yes, indeed. And now here we are in an entirely different context, wondering what the next 25 years will bring.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
This Dark Apartment
Coming from the deli
a block away today I
saw the UN building
shine and in all the
months and years I've
lived in this apartment
I took so you and I
would have a place to
meet I never noticed
that it was in my view.
I remember very well
the morning I walked in
and found you in bed
with X. He dressed
and left. You dressed
too. I said, "Stay
five minutes." You
did. You said, "That's
the way it is." It
was not much of a surprise.
Then X got on speed
and ripped off an
antique chest and an
air conditioner, etc.
After he was gone and
you had changed the
Segal lock, I asked
you on the phone, "Can't
you be content with
your wife and me?" "I'm
not built that way,"
you said. No surprise.
Now, without saying
why, you've let me go.
You don't return my
calls, who used to call
me almost every evening
when I lived in the coun-
try. "Hasn't he told you
why?" "No, and I doubt he
ever will." Goodbye. It's
mysterious and frustrating.
How I wish you would come
back! I could tell
you how, when I lived
on East 49th, first
with Frank and then with John,
we had a lovely view of
the UN building and the
Beekman Towers. They
were not my lovers, though.
You were. You said so.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
A barred owl has found a resting place in our tiny woods. All week long he's been calling, Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all? Gene heard him first, but now I've heard him, too. Of course I want to see him! The dogs and I also found a green heron fishing in Baugo Park several days in a row by the duckweed pond and Gene and I saw a blue heron fishing over at Cobus Creek Park. Can I write the barred owl in my bird watching book if I only heard him? It was unmistakable. He's the only one that cooks for you. Hmm...
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Poetry Is A Kind Of Lying
Poetry is a kind of lying,
necessarily. To profit the poet
or beauty. But also in
that the truth may be told only so.
Those who, admirably, refuse
to falsify (as those who will not
risk pretensions) are excluded
from saying even so much.
Degas said he didn't paint
what he saw, but what
would enable them to see
the thing he had.
Monday, August 30, 2010
It's a very nice issue, though. Enjoy.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
In the meantime, not everyone is working/playing: The Recession.
September, I'd like to have a meeting with you.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Studying Wu Wei, Muir Beach
There are days when you go
out into the bright spring fields
with the blue halter, the thick length
of rope with its sky-and-cloud braiding,
even the bucket of grain--
all corn-and-molasses sweetness,
the maraca sound of shaken seduction--
and the one you have gone for simply will not be caught.
It could be that the grass that day is too ripe.
It could be the mare who comes over, jutting her body
between his and yours. It could be
the wild-anise breeze that wanders in and out of his mane.
He might nip at the smallest mouthful,
but your hands' slight rising -- no matter how slow,
how cautious -- breaks him away.
He doesn't have to run, though he knows he could.
Knows he is faster, stronger, less tied.
He knows he can take you or leave you in the dust.
But set aside purpose, leave the buckles and clasps
of intention draped over the fence, come forward
with both hand fully exposed, and he greedily eats.
Allows you to fondle his ears, scratch his neck, pull out
the broken half-carrot his soft-folded lips accept
tenderly from your palm. The mare edges close, and he
lays back one ear; the other stays pricked toward you,
in utmost attention. Whatever you came for,
this is what you will get: at best, a tempered affection
while red-tails circle and lupine shifts in the wind.
It is hard not to want to coerce a world that
takes what it pleases and walks away, but Do not-doing,
proposed Lao-tsu -- and this horse. Today the world is tired.
It wants to lie down in green grass and stain its grey shoulders.
It wants to be left to study the non-human field,
to hold its own hungers, not yours, between its teeth.
Not words, but the sweetness of fennel. Not thought,
but the placid rituals of horse-dung and flies.
Nuzzling the festive altars from plantain to mustard,
from budded thistle to bent-stemmed rye. Feasting and flowering
and sleeping in every muscle, every muzzle, every bone it has.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Monday, July 05, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Despite the rain and the apathy, however, I've been walking the dogs. After we put Max behind us, we adopted another Pet Refuge dog, a s36-pound slip of a girl, sweet and loving, nine months old, without an agressive bone in her body, unless you're a fly. She is Elimae. She and Sylvia the Weim and I have been tearing up the walking paths twice a day. I can't be sure, but I think my butt may be acquiring some tone.
I've also become intrigued by Twitter, not necessarily the tweeting part, but the being tweeted. I found the The Poetry Channel a few days ago, which apparently has all sorts of videos of poets reading. It might be worth a perusal. Here's today's offering: Michael Rosen. I appreciate his passion, you know, his animation.
Today I'm writing a poem that features Paul Bunyan and Little Bo Peep in a Peach Orchard. That's how the summer is going to go.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Louise Mathias has a new chap out, Above All Else, the Trembling Resembles a Forest, from Burnside Review Press. The entire chap is wonderful, but I suppose the following is my favorite. So hard to choose!
Now listen to me good. To be dreaming
of the cove, the light pink cottage
that was always on the edge. This being the year
my jeans fell from my frame. You said I was close to God
but he wouldn't concur. Weeds
grew up on bales of clean white salt. All summer
where I lived, watched the carpenter ants on the rocks.
When I wasn't in my body, I was dead. Cops
circled, paraphernalia swirled
inside my lonely purse.
There was nothing to do but wait.
Contraband, will you
turn to silk again? Tilt his white, Atlantic
to the shy shy-eyed puffins?
Friday, June 11, 2010
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Beside the river
I'm undressing our throes
You are pouring
Cold agate mourning against a glass bowl
More time than trembling
A basket of holding inside
A legion of siege
Tonight, god willing
We will flay mackerels
We will spit in the eyes of anemones
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Great egret at the Arcata Marsh, Arcata, CA