Category Archives: uncategorized

What Is Poetry?

1.
a hat in the middle of a quickly cleared dance floor
in a connecticut italian club

regie announces
“brenda’s purse got stolen
along with all the cash she needed to get home to arkansas
you know what to do”

and that hat is filled in five minutes
with more cash than brenda started with

2.
i don’t even remember your names
but there we were
in a dogs only downpour
strolling uncovered toward
an impromptu reading in the massachusetts woods
and not caring about the cold and wet
because everyone was together

3.
pat’s blurred vision
sucking down all the faces
for the last time
in a nyc high style lounge
because someone went and found him
in tompkins square park
huddled under newspapers
and said
“we’re all there
you need to be there”
and they got him past the bouncers
got him in for the last time

4.
ken talking incessantly
about sleater kinney and the wars against us all
for hours and hours on a bus
breaking the flow only when we sang
“uncle fucker” to reverend bill as loud as we could
over a cell phone
and none of us on that bus being embarrassed
to dance right down the steps
and into a baltimore club
to james brown
because we were going into share
words with friends

5.
high desert outside albuquerque
four of us fruitlessly watching
a clouded sky
for the perseid shower
and not feeling the need
to say a thing

6.
angela in a cheer costume
shaking pompoms and wheezing
“gimme a p-o-e-t-r-y”
at a crowd of people who never thought
of cheering for such a thing

7.
scowling at
“these kids these days”
with another guy named bill
in a seattle diner
while two crustpunks
drop poems of the road
on a microphone that hasn’t been silent
for a week
but both of us keeping our ears cocked
and noting every word
saying at the end
“that wasn’t bad”

8.
listening to you running lines
in an empty theater before a bout
putting an arm around you when you broke down
afraid that people had forgotten you were also a poet
assuring you that no one
had ever doubted that for a second

(when you first saw this poem
you loved it
and now, you are in it
what can I say except
we’re poets
and this is what poets do for each other)

9.
shadowing
the modern stars of all this twaddle
and all of us knowing there’s someone we don’t know
watching
out there
hearing this and saying
“i could do that better
if i ever get the nerve
if i ever get the chance”
and each of us praying that they do
and each of us looking for our role
in making it happen

10.
the mystery
of a blank screen
an open notebook
and wondering how it is
that all things are there before us
but we’re not capable
of bringing them forth
when we can see them right there
before us
plain as paradise

and trying anyway

11.
knowing i would never have known you
without this
and being more than grateful
that I have learned who I am
because of you

12.
holding your dear
shaking hands
unmercifully but with all the simple courage
i can give you
I say
you
you are this
you are one
alone
but not alone


This showed up on Facebook and on LJ (thanks, G) this AM:

"Dear Slam Family,

In October of last year Brenda Moossy, my beloved friend and partner in slam, was diagnosed with lung cancer. The doctors discovered it was inoperable—after they opened her up. Since then she’s done various trials of experimental chemo, with little success. Last week she completed her third week of radiation therapy. Tonight she told me she’s begun hospice care, while still living at home.
She would love to hear from her friends in the slam community and asks y’all to say prayers for her, or send healing energy, or whatever else feels right. If you want to write something that reflects what Brenda and/or her poetry has meant to you it would be a huge gift for her and, she says, for her son and two young grandchildren. Short or long, prose or verse, something serious or just an anecdote about a silly shared memory—anything you are moved to communicate would be deeply felt and appreciated at this time.

Brenda’s email is habibi1@swbellnet. She’s quite weak and in constant pain despite pain meds, so she may not be able to reply.

The odds are long, dear ones, but if we send all our collective love and healing energy her way she’s got a better chance of beating them.

Love,

Lisa"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Absolutely her own voice, utterly unlike anyone in Slam before or since; that big voice, that drawl….those words that came from the ground up and yes, Brenda, you made me want to see the stars too…one of the voices in my head that is a permanent touchstone for where I want to be as a person and a poet.  I recall doing shots of tequila with her as we watched the famous naked pool party of NPS 1997, hanging on every word of every performance I ever saw her do, watching her go places no one expected when she stepped up on stage, seeing people who’d never heard her fall in love with her as she read…

Send what ever you’ve got — love, prayers, strength — to this woman.  Even if you don’t know her.  Even if you don’t usually do this.  Please. 

Here’s a taste….

Anaconda, Largest Snake in the World, Kills by Constriction


           a kaddish

I.

It might have been you
in that dream
in that car
piloting the white convertible
like a land-locked plane
over the Austin hills…
you, straddling the white line
at 3AM, screaming "DO YOU LOVE ME?"
The wind sending your words 
like a banner behind you.

Itmust have been me sitting 
buck naked on the rolled up top
my arms flung out
my legs spread wide
feet looped behind the seat
Safety from flying 
in the face of the sky
each time there was a dip
in the Bee Caves Road.

Anaconda rolls like water, boiling…

II.

I used to wonder why you liked to roll 
with me in the boneyard.  
Why the scent of pine and rose
and honeysuckle sent you coring 
deep thru my flesh like a burrowing mole 
looking for the sweetest root.
How you never noticed that I shivered 
in the heat of summer when you parted my legs,  
that the scent of decay preceded you 
pushing to my womb before you
leaving a layer of death, salting the soil.

I used to wonder how the sight of me, 
rocking into cold marble, 
arms grasping the monuments
bleeding on red granite,
could make you weep…
could make you cradle me, 
rock me, singing, 
"Baby…Baby…Baby"

Anaconda rolls like water, boiling
coils loop around ankles
living tattoo
                                                                                  

III.

I have opened like a bowl for you
I have split my skin like a wet, ripe husk
muskmelon orange
tomato red
sweet warm pulp, blood purple
I have moved aside,
leaving you room to crawl 
inside 
my skin     
a shell
I have said, in jagged whisper,
"Do you love me?"
My words falling down my mouth 
like pebbles down a well.

there is no peace
there is no peace
there is no peace 

Anaconda rolls like water, boiling
coils loop around the ankles
living tattoo
slipping ‘tween the thighs
curling up the spine
squeezing fat from tissue
marrow from the bone.  
A stealthy thief ….Anaconda 
steals my sleep like thunder.

 


Don’t forget:

Victor Infante at GotPoetry Live tonight!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And don’t get all freaked out over the LJ outage tomorrow, k?  Life’s too short.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Question for y’all:

How much does the personal life and/or belief system of an artist affect your appreciation of that artist?  Will you not listen to artists who are conservative Christians, Republicans, radical leftists, whatever, because you see your fandom as an endorsement of their views? 

I’m especially curious about when there’s a dichotomy between the work and the person — for instance, Daddy Yankee endorsed McCain in the election; I’m not sure his work is all that political one way or another.  (I could be wrong, as I don’t know the full scope of the guy’s work.) 

Did you stop listening to Neil Young because he endorsed Reagan?  Are you pissed at Prince because he’s come down as homophobic, so you’ll never hear his work again? 

Serious question — no judgement. 


Bluebird (revised)

When the bluebird on your shoulder
began to sing, I thought I was nuts.
"At last!" I thought.
"After all these years of pushing myself toward
that threshold!"

Ink has always spoken to me,
but never audibly.  But here you were,
your shoulder tweeting,
the feathers visibly ruffling, restless
as my own skin.

It’s only been a month since you died.

I expected some kind of visitation, of course. 
I remember how you fell from the tree at eight
and when I laughed,
you told me you’d haunt me if you died.  I stopped immediately,
running through the vacant lot back toward the house for help. 
It was just a broken arm then — Dad called it a busted wing —
and when at nineteen you got the tattoo on the same shoulder,
we laughed then about that too, but I had a twinge of pain of my own
remembering the promise you made me back then, and how
the arm had stuck out at a crazy angle, with a bump under the bruised skin.

When you finally died, you were twisting on a nylon rope
in Bourassa Park.
It wasn’t the first time you’d made that jump.
This time, you were found too late
by a drunken cop who was out for a late night stumble,
found by someone who should have known
how to call delicately to a family,
how to call a suddenly bereft flock
to the home grove.  Instead, we got a harsh phone call
from some crow in blue, asking us to meet him at a hospital —
blue lights everywhere, the scrubs of the staff
echoing the songbird on your shoulder, blue everywhere,
everywhere,
even on the peaks of your lips.

What are you singing, dirty bird? 
Aren’t you full of worms by now?

Dad hasn’t spoken much since that night. 
He sits at the window and watches the yard, I expect, thinking he’ll soon see you
coming home up the flagstones, tripping over the steps,
leaning your own sodden frame
against the wobbly metal railing.  He never got it,
never will, even though there were so many nights
like that in recent years.  You never had grace again
after the third inpatient stay; you spent your drunken days in the park
with songs inside you that banged hard on your ribs, stubbed themselves
against the way out
like so many sparrows on cruel glass…
I know that smackdown feeling.
I’ve always known it.

My brother, my bluebird, you are no ghost tonight,
not when your skin can still sing a wince into me.  
I understand now:
I’m losing nothing
if I lose my mind over you. 
We are two tattooed make-goods,
our father’s vultures.
We sat before filthy windows for too many hours as boys
imagining flight.  When first you fell, when first you dangled,
you were as close to that as we could get this side of the Big Window,
and now you’ve broken through before me.
I listen to your skin warbling the answers to everything
I’ve always wanted to know,
and though I’m as sane these days as I’ve ever been,
I’m scared tonight, brother,
of the echoes I can hear
in my own illuminated hide.


So, I’m doing this:

From albumchallenge:

This is a community where you post a list of the 100 albums everyone should listen to before they die. This is a project that was born of a music conversation, and we want to see how far it can go.
There are rules however, to be in this community and post a list of albums.
The rules are as follows.
1. The list must consist of 100 albums you believe everyone should lisrten to before they dies. An album is an album. No compilations such as "Now Music #whatever", however, film/theater soundtracks count.
2. The top 10 albums must be in order of 1 to 10. #’s 11 – 100 can be in any order you like.
3. No singles are allowed on the list.
4. To be a member of the project, you must be a member of the community by Dec. 15, 2008. If you join the community after Dec. 15, you may not post a list, but you may comment on other people’s lists.
5. Your list MUST BE POSTED BY DECEMBER 24, 2008 AT 11:59 PM.
6. Once you’re list is posted, you cannot take albums out and put others in, however you can edit the order you put them in.
7. When writing your list, you must list it like this. 1. Band Name – Album name (release date). You may include the genre of music if you so choose.
8. Lists may be posted anytime before Dec. 24, 2008 at 11:49 pm, but no later.

These are the rules that apply to the challenge. If you dont want to adhere to the rule, please only comment on other peoples lists. Thanks guys.
This is an experiment to see what people say and what people think everyone needs to listen to.

As an added challenge, you can compose a list of top 50 songs people need to listen to. The rules for that are
1. If you choose to do this, it must be a separate post from your 100 albums, for our sanity please.
2. Posting format is 1. Song Name – Artist – Album Title
3. This has no deadline, and people who join the community after Dec. 15th are welcome to post list.

If you are posting the album list, please title the post "100 Albums" and the song list "50 Songs"

I know this seems like a lot of rules, but this should be really fun. Please have fun with this.

ANYONE AND EVERYONE IS WELCOME TO DO THIS.
Lets see how far we can get this.

Good Luck!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My list is already up.  Go for it.


Watching the Wizard of Oz…

made me recall this poem.  Very old. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EPILOGUE

I’m claiming that title now
The one Glinda tried to give me
When I was too fresh off the farm to know
what it meant
I’m not making that mistake again

Once the novelty of being back on safe ground wore off
They started to think I was Auntie Em
I started to think I was Auntie Em

And that dog was cute but
He was too damn small
to run the way I wanted to run

So sure, honey
You can call me Dorothy
I’ll call you Tin Man if that’s what works for ya
Just freshen my drink and then
three clicks and
We’re outta here

Tonight
let’s bet on those rainbow horses
We’re gonna make this our town
Screw the balloon man
I’m not getting into anything here
I can’t get myself out of

Tonight
I’m the bad witch
and when a good-looking twister
like you comes along
I gotta take off
Like I’m riding some killer house
And while I may not know where I’m gonna land
or whether I’ll even end up on top

I’ve been through this before
and let me tell you

Oz
sure beats the hell
outta Kansas 


Cryptic, but good…

If y’all could keep your fingers crossed for me for about the next 4 hours, I’d appreciate it.  I don’t want to jinx it for any reason…it’s a good thing, and I’d like to make it happen, so well-wishes are welcome.  I’ll spill the beans once I know more for sure.


Oh, by the way…

http://geminipoet.blogspot.com/2008/11/patricia-smith-for-inaugural-poet.html

Go, read, and get cracking!


Writer’s Block rules…thank you, Columbus…

Just home from a whirlwind trip to Ohio, where I featured at the annual Writer’s Block Awards Night. 

I love the Writer’s Block scene even after one visit — it’s a community, a family, full of in-jokes that they’re willing to let you in on the moment you show up; full of good-natured ribbing that simultaneously reveals and conceals deep love; just a great space. 

My set:

Breathe
Theology
I Need A Guitar (Or Something Like It)
Total Recall
Americanized
Buried (Patricia Smith poem from "Blood Dazzler")
Radioactive Artist
Mission Statement (with a lot of improv moments thrown in)

Loved meeting people I only know through here or who I’ve only met briefly before: louiserobertson ,nobleds , chaptal ,tericol , vernelljb , smallfrenchman , Donielle Monique, Kim and JJ, Gina, Joanna, Zak Houston, Kim and Jason Brazwell, Tyrone, and a host of others (including "Rio" from Gotpoetry.com, who was attending her first ever poetry reading and drove 2.5 hours to be there with her husband Steve).

Special thanks to Dave and Louise for good conversations and excellent hospitality, and of course to scottwoods for fostering a scene that welcomes and honors poets of all styles, shapes, and callings…thanks, bud, for having me.  I hope you’ll have me back again sometime.

Thanks again.  I’m still working off last night’s wings, so I’m gonna sit back and veg for a bit…

PS:  how the HELL does campana manage to win three awards in Ohio while sitting in Mesa???  I mean, I knew he was loud, but…

Seriously, curmudgeons represent…all it takes is one feature to have a lifetime’s worth of impact, right?  Congrats, Bill.

PPS:  I guarantee that this is the first time I’ve ever typed the words "thank you, Columbus" in my life.  Somewhere in New Mexico, my ancestors’ bones are spinning.  😉


Everyone’s doing it:

If you saw ME in a police car, what would you think I got arrested for?

Answer me, then if you want, post to your own journal and see how many crimes you get accused of.

Can’t wait for this one. 

EDIT:  Wow, lots of responses.  Boy, you guys can’t WAIT to accuse me of stuff, can you???  😉


Tonight at GotPoetry Live/Tomorrow at Kafe Kerouac, Columbus, OH

Tonight at GotPoetry Live, 300 Thayer Street, Providence, RI, we’ll have our usual open mike plus Write Bloody Press author Lea Deschenes.  You need to be there…

So be there!  Sign up at 7:30, reading 8-10 PM.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And tomorrow night, I’ll be doing a solo poetry feature at:

Writer’s Block Poetry
Kafe Kerouac
2250 N.
High ST
Columbus, OH 43201

Wendesday night at 8 PM!

This is going to be a good night — I’m still working on the set list so plan on a mix of old stuff from the slam days and plenty of new pieces. It’s also their annual awards night so it should be a good time…my first ever show in Ohio, so if you’re nearby, come by!

Their myspace:
http://www. myspace. com/kafekerouac

Who’s coming to either or both?  Drop me a line in the comments…


Farewell, Miriam Makeba

http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/11/10/obit.makeba.ap/index.html

Yeah, I know.  A lot of you have never heard of her.  For those who have, I think we’d all agree that the fact that she died on stage is only fitting.  I saw her once, maybe twenty-five, thirty years ago, and it was an exuberant, uplifting, amazing moment.  I regret that I never saw her again.


Thanks to everyone

who came out to the show last night at the Asylum; we had a good time.  Premiered a new piece –" Get Up" — to open the night, the first piece from a suite of bass tracks that Faro wrote and recorded; I wrote the poem to match them after the fact, a big departure from our typical more loose "let’s see what we’ve each got and see what works together" process.  It was a struggle to work that way, I’ll confess; I think it worked out well, considering we’d never played it live before. 

The set:

Get Up
Celia
Adolescence
Jim Hangs On
Interrogation (the torture piece, considering it’s all about Faro tapping on the pass for the whole piece)
Breathe (just me)
Classic Rock
"Cappricio d’Arabe" by Francisco Tarrega (Faro’s solo, obviously, on classical guitar)
Name
Where Do You Live?

Prior to the show, we spent a fun afternoon with Faro, Capri, Lea, Victor, and Mike McGee eating pizza, drinking REALLY good Scotch (Macallan 1851) and weird peppermint tequila, watching "Reefer Madness: The Musical."  A good time was had by all…

Next, I’ll be at Kafe Kerouac in Columbus OH on Wednesday night, so if you’re around, come by and say hello!


Long day and not done yet…

Rehearsed with Faro this AM and early PM; got a brand new piece for the show at the Asylum tonight!  Expect also some not-often played pieces…

Then, home; ferret cage care (always fun); shopping, printing chapbooks, burning CDs (which I’m still doing right now). 

Maybe a little writing before sleep…we’ll see.

Faro and Capri are coming over early and we’re gonna just relax before the show.  (Hey, Asylum folks — remember, we’re bringing our own PA and mike.  No need to schlep anything…)

Kings of Leon on SNL tonight…not bad.  I’d never heard them before, which reminds me how out of it I am on a lot of music right now, although I’m enjoying the hell out of the latest TV On The Radio album so I guess I’m not all that out of touch…am I?

See you at JJJ tonight!