2nd Sunday @ 2 - Poetry + Prose, October 11

My co-host, Nancy Klepsch, asked me to handle the duties solo this Sunday so she could take care of business at home — that’s one of the advantages of having a team, we can cover for each other when necessary, & we do every-once-in-a-while.

There were 5 of us on the sign-up sheet, even a new face & voice. I started us off with a couple pieces from my Gallery Poems file; “Missing Pieces” about a painting by the gone Wren Panzella of the jazz musician Sun Ra, & another where a painter’s easel was the centerpiece of the exhibit, “The Easel’s Story.”

The ubiquitous Thomas Bozzo was next with a relationship poem, “I Go By,” then one he read last week at the new Old Songs open mic, “Capital L” about how he feels he has arrived.

Joel Best is a long-time regular at 2nd Sunday at our various locations, & I’ve been fascinated for a long time with his stream-of-conciousness narratives. This afternoon he described his writing as wandering, like Billy Pilgrim, & his first piece “Sacred” showed off his wanderings. Then he talked about being a substitute teacher which opens up time for him to write, then he read an example, “Last Days Thoughts.”

Another regular, David Gonsalves, read a piece about his mother-in-law’s death, “Pearl’s Room,” then “Memory of Someone Else,” with a mention of the Argentine composer Astor Piazzolla (1921 - 1992).

Hannah Kennedy was here for the first time to bravely read an intense piece, “The Last Night,” about a woman plotting & escaping a violent relationship.

2nd Sunday @ 2: Poetry + Prose takes place, for now, at Collar Works, 50 4th St., Troy, NY — check out the Instagram account for any changes — Also see the poetry calendar at the Hudson Valley Writers Guild website for a full listing of the area’s literary events.

Old Songs Poetry Open Mic, October 4

A new series in an old place, the home of Old Songs Inc. at 37 S Main St., Voorheesville, NY, where brother Dennis Sullivan once hosted Sunday Four Poetry for many years. This reiteration was hosted by Larry Rapant who recently came back out on the poetry scene after a long hiatus. The Old Songs space has a good, resident sound system, which a cluster of folks were trying to figure out — to use the sound or not? where to put the mic? on the stage or on the floor? how close to get to the mic? Then, how many poems to read? If Larry had been to open mics in recent year he would have had a better idea about what to do before he took to the stage. Ultimately what matters is the poets who read & what they read.

Laura Ludwig, who had moved to Guilderland last year, was quite close to home this day; she read a memoir poem “California in Moonlight” from a her self-published poetry collection.

I was one of those poets in the room who had read in this space previously in Sunday Four Poetry; I read an old poem from my days living & working in NYC, “The View from the Bellevue Bridge.”

David Gonsalves read 2 short pieces (allowed by the rules today), “Autumn Invocation” with the refrain “let those who…” then a poem like a letter to itself, “Send Me.”

Elaine Klein followed with a short poem about a forest, “Thacher Park.”

Thomas Bozzo has been writing poems about what it is like to move to a new place, the challenge of meeting new people, he read a piece titled “Capital L” about being new here, but still being what he was.

Tom Corrado has been writing, & self-publishing, his series of “Screen Dumps” for a very long time, his recent iteration was titled “Screen Dump #877” a walking poem through music, Time, gear, Kierkergard, Diogenes, & whatever I missed.

Edie Abrams read “A Finger Brushes Against Another at a Concert” that finds comparisons with the title in the stems of plants, with viruses; then “When You Leave,” scolds … don’t do it again.

Larry Rapant our host read the pensive & defiant “Not Going Gently” about the slow process of dying, but enjoying what one is doing while living.

Lady Carla finished off the afternoon with an a cappella performance of the black American anthem, “Lift Every Voice & Sing.”

Look for this open mic again on the 1st Sunday of the month at Old Songs, 37 S. Main St., Voorheesville, NY, 2:00PM — your donation supports the presence of Old Songs. 

Poets in the Museum, April 19

This was another in the month-long series of poetry related events in Saratoga Springs during the month of April, aka National Poetry Month organized by the new Poet Laureate of Saratoga Springs, Jay Rogoff. Thirteen published poets were invited to review an exhibit of visual art in the Tang Museum at Skidmore College & respond with new, original poems. The reading was held in the gallery of the Tang with the audience moving from piece to piece to hear the poets read their work. There were about 85 audience members moving throughout the readings, some of us toting the museum-provided wooden stools, other standing. It reminded me of the piano suite “Pictures at an Exhibition” by Modest Mussorgsky (1839 - 1881), that was famously scored for orchestra by Maurice Ravel, among others.

Melora Wolff responded to the work “Untitled (Danielle)” by Angela Strassheim with a poem titled “Curious Hand Shadow.” Franklin Williams artwork, in paint, twine, yarn, fabric, canvas, “A Beautiful Dark Moment,” inspired Mary Kathryn Jablonski’s poem by the same title. Jay Rogoff, who served as MC, read his poem “Ascent” a reaction/commentary on the 12-foot tall steel sculpture in the middle of the room, Dorothy Dehner’s “Fist.”

Krista Rivera said that her piece was “Untitled” just like the unrecorded Tibetan artist who made the painting “A Black Ground Thangka of Gurgi Gönpo, the Lord of the Tent.” Her poem, like the painting evoked images & concepts of the Tibetan Buddhists. Catherine Clarke responded with a poem titled “Perhaps” to Sarah Charlesworth’s painting “Totem,” which to my eye looked like Constantin Brancusi’s “Sleeping Muse.” Marilyn McCabe responded to Jeff Sonhouse’s painting “Why We Wear White” with an untitled poem. 

E.V. Day’s stark black & white painting (“Untitled”) reminded Peg Boyers so much of Gustave Courbet’s notorious painting “L’Origine du monde” that she not only wrote a poem in response, “The Origin of the World Part 2,” but brought a reproduction of Courbet’s painting to accompany her reading of the poem.

When former Saratoga Springs Poet Laureate, Joe Bruchac, does a reading I usually learn something new about native American culture or history. The art work that Joe responded to was “Composition (Faces and Animals)” by Inuit artist Annie Taipanak (which Joe corrected text of her name from the catalog to be “Taipana”), he played some recorded Inuit music, gave a mini-lecture on the nature of Inuit art, & read his poem “Faces & Animals.” Nicola Allain responded to William Villalongo’s “Specimen,” which was right next to the piece Joe wrote about, with her poem “Butterflies.”

Barbara Takenaga’s piece “Wheel (Zozma)” had the honor of 2 poets responding with poems. Lucyna Prostko reflected the artist’s title with her poem “Wheel (2) by Barbara Takenaga;" Susan Jefts’ response was titled “A Clear & Uncertain Space.” Carol Hepper’s sculpture, “Tangle,” was composed of coiled branches of willow, to which Mary Sanders Shartle responded with her poem “Willow: a Memoir.”

The final piece was a dramatic installation, “So Soon,” by Whitfield Lovell, to which David Graham responded with a poem titled “Pages from a Family Bible.” 

It was a moving, fascinating, sometimes perplexing confrontation of poems to their inspiration, & not a dull moment. Ekphrastic poetry & visual art at its best in the perfect environment. Jay Rogoff said that their would be more such confrontations in the future & I for one am very much looking forward to it.

: An Evening of Music & Poetry for Peace & Justice, March 20

With poems & songs of peace & social justice at the Friends Meeting House on Madison Ave., Albany NY, organized by the Upper Hudson Peace Action, & co-sponsorship by the Hudson Valley Writers Guild & the Poetry Motel Foundation. 

The house was packed by long time & loyal members & friends of Upper Hudson Peace Action & I was honored to have been asked to be the MC for the evening. The celebration started & ended as well it should with music from the Solidarity Singers who have been performing rousing songs of social protest for decades throughout the Capital District. Tonight was no different, with the obligatory songs by Woody Guthrie, but also with an eclectic mix of songs from still-living musician activists. Although the ensemble has changed somewhat over the years, the Singers are still motivated by the belief that good social movements, like good lives, need good music.

The featured poet for the night was a great treasure of the poetry & arts scene in the Capital District, D. Colin, a multidisciplinary artist of Haitian descent whose creative practice spans poetry, visual art & theater. She has a background in English & Africana Studies & is a teaching artist & curator who creates & facilitates spaces for creativity, storytelling & healing. She is the author of Dreaming in Kreyol, a poetry collection, & two plays, as well as a number of publications & performances at venues both nationally & abroad. Her performance this night included readings from her book & other poems, even singing in her ancestral Kreyol.

After a break for light refreshments, the evening continued with an open mic of music & poetry performances  from the riches of the local art & activist community. The musicians included Chrys Ballurano, Mary Baker with Sheree Cammer (who also performed together with poetry), Mark Shaeffer (with Tom Lehrer’s humorous piece on Huntly/Brinkley), Melanie Pores (with Terri Roben, who also performed solo).

The poets included Sylvia Barnard, Tom Ellis, Edie Abrams (with John Lennon’s “Imagine”), Lex Bhagat, David Gonsalves, Fred Pfeiffer, Charlie Lapinski, Mike McGlynn & Elaine Klein.

These are tough times (some would say it has always been tough times) but, with the seasonal increase of light, we also need each other’s light carried by music & words. 

Keep at it.

Eclipse Poetry, April 8

Paul Grondahl, Dan Wilcox, Natalya Sukhonos

What would a solar eclipse be like without poetry? Actually, I guess it would be like any other astronomical event — another reason to look up at the sky. But the visionary Opalka Endowed Director of the New York State Writers Institute, Paul Grondahl, thought that at least at a university setting, poets should be be there to provide, if not commentary, at least a literary perspective, so he invited me & poet Natalya Sukhonos to provide that perspective while hundreds of students stared into Space (with the necessary Eclipse glasses).

The day was a bit overcast & in Albany, NY we were not in the path of totality, & I had given my glasses away to a student, but the ambient light did darken somewhat, as if the Sun were turning the rheostat down briefly.

Natalya’s eclipse poem was titled “The Journey of Eclipse,” written specifically for this occasion, mixing together images of the characters from Waiting for Godot & of the Cheshire cat, invoking silence. She also read 2 other poems that pondered the stars, one inspired by Rilke, “Lost Souls,” the other an ekphrastic piece from a painting, “Night Sky #16 by Vija Celmins.” 

I too had 3 poems, the word play on the term “Physics” (both as the type of science & the old-fashioned term for “laxative”), a poem inspired by “The Transit of Venus;” my eclipse poem was based on watching TV news coverage of the 2017 Great American Eclipse, & is titled “Spathe is the Plathe,” which one can find on my Blog here.

Check out the work of the NYS Writers Institute here, & sign-up for their email list, if you haven’t already.

Earth Day Reading, April 22

Once again the Friends & Foundation of the Albany Public Library (FFAPL) held a reading by local writers & activists on eco-themes to mark Earth Day; this year it was held on a crisp & breezy, but sunny day, in Albany’s Washington Park, at the Robert Burns statue. It was organized by Amy Forando, & the host was Alexis Bhagat, Executive Director of FFAPL, who acknowledged the presence of the first people on this land, & our responsibility to blessing their memory. 

The readings were divided into 5 section/topics.

First Reading: A Reading for the Land and the City

The first reader was the Honorable Kathy Sheehan, the Mayor of Albany, who expressed an interest in introducing poetry to open official City of Albany events, appropriate to hear at the foot of a statue of Scots poet Robert Burns.

Poet Allie Middleton dramatically read a selection of her poems.

Second Reading: A Reading for the River and the Waters

Pippa Bartollotti read selections from her novel The Symmetries (Vanguard Press, 2022), the first novel of a “cli-fi” trilogy.

I read from my poems, one titled “Water” included in Ghost Fishing: an Eco-Justice Anthology (The University of Georgia Press, 2018) & ended with a performance of the late Albany poet & environmental activist Tom Nattell’s poem “Save It.”

Third Reading: A Reading for the People and the Animals

Sarah Giragosian read poems from her poetry collections Queer Fish (Dream Horse Press, 2017) & The Death Spiral (Black Lawrence Press, 2020).

Barbara Chepaitis brought in a moment of levity with “dog poems” written by her pet after it ate a book of poems.

Cara Benson read a poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, “Dog,” from his legendary A Coney Island of the Mind (City Lights Books, 1955) & introduced us to the “Kindship” series by David Abram.

Albany Literary Legend Elisa Albert read “The Layer,” a poem by Stanley Kunitz.

Fourth Reading: A Reading for the Wind and the Air

Alexis Bhagat read from a series of poems, facts, & lectures.

Douglas Rothschild did a free-form ramble on wind & politics, & poems on “air” & “wind” without which we wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Fifth Reading: A Reading for the Future

Appropriately enough, the last reader was literally part of the future, Rose, a poised & confident 8th grade student who read poems by Mary Oliver & Jo Harjo. 

As we continue the fight against pollution & the corporate exploitation & degradation of the environment, resistance against which was waged by earlier generations of environmental activists, so we, the current activists, must mentor, encourage, & pass on the work to the next generation, but hand-in-hand for as long as we, the Elders, last.

How I Spent New Year’s Eve, Day, 2020 - 2021

New Year’s celebrations are alway problematic for me — New Year’s Eve is “amateur night” while New Year’s Day is my traditional Open House. But this year, in the Year of COVID-19, my problems were solved: nothing was happening anywhere, nothing was "normal", I stayed home all evening & day. It was odd, quiet, but I stayed negative. I immersed myself in 3 over-lapping events, Highlight House Party out of Vermont, the Poetry Project 47th Marathon in NYC, & Perfect Pitch Extravaganza from Kingston, NY, playing in the background while I made dinners, breakfasts, shaved, changed clothes, etc.

Highlight House Party

I was invited to this event, which ran Thursday (December 31, 220) 1:00PM to Friday (January 1, 2021) 1:00AM, by 3 Guys from Albany co-member Charlie Rossiter, who got me a friend-of-the-band discount ticket. Highlight is Burlington’s new virtual New Year’s Eve celebration, produced by Signal Kitchen & Burlington City Arts. The festival brings "Vermont’s leading artists, doers, and thinkers together to showcase our community’s creativity through lively festivities for all to enjoy," thus says the promotional material. Charlie & his son Jack Rossiter-Munley performed as Big Roads at 7PM — more on that below. I put on the program(s) as background to my New Year’s Eve.

The event was on a platform called “Run the World” which is an all-in-one platform to host interactive online events, workshops, masterclasses, shows, and conferences. There were a confusing array of overlapping acts, shows, etc. at once that you could toggle between, music, of course, but also circus acts, cooking shows, yoga, folk music from places suck as Tibet & Madagascar, each lasting 45 minutes to an hour. There was plenty of bad singing & dreamy plaid flannel shirt guitar songs from performers bedrooms & living rooms, sort of like “Wayne’s World” come alive, some folks just doing stupid shit. Many, if not most, of the programs were spoiled by bad or sub-optimum video quality which looked like the bad copies of TV shows my kids used to record on VHS tapes.

Charlie & Jack’s energetic performance as Big Roads was one of the more polished, due largely to Jack’s skilled & practiced guitar-picking, & Charlie’s deep knowledge of the Blues. The tunes they covered were Blues songs made known to the pop music audience by having been covered by bands such as the Rolling Stones, but also an obscure hit from the late 1950’s by Lieber & Stoler about “the terror of Highway 101,” as well as their own “paranoia rock” version of Bob Dylan.

Another refreshing performer was singer-song writer Julia Rose who performed with a variety of stringed instruments & a skilled use of the loop machine; her mother is another poet with an Albany connection, Susan Riback.

One program I enjoyed with my New Year’s Ever Happy Hour martini & spring rolls was a reading from a new book The Essential Ruth Stone (Copper Canyon Press), edited by her granddaughter, the poet Bianca Stone. She was joined by poets Didi Jackson & Gary Margolis, reading Ruth Stone's (1915 - 2011) grim poems of grieving & of Winter, which is to be expected, I guess, from this long-time resident of Vermont.

 

47th Annual Poetry Project New Year’s Day Marathon

At 11:00PM Thursday night I switched over the the Poetry Project’s Marathon in New York City, which ran for 25 hours to Midnight, January 1/2. In the last hour of 2020 the prosecco was already gone & the music was like “Gloomy Sunday,” that legendary “suicide song,” but at least the quality of the videos was mostly better than that from Vermont. As the name dropping performance of Penny Arcade & others took us into 2021, I was already anticipating that, just like in most New Year’s Eves in the past when I put on corporate TV shows, I was already heading into a string of tedious performances, just in a different way.

At midnight I blew out the candle, my wish is that it’s got to be better, just get the racists out, get Trump into prison. Already I’m going to sleep in 2021 & will wake up in 2021, just like it was in 2020 — more peace vigils, more poetry, & sometime, I hope, more hugs & our words out in the air instead of a corona virus.

Lewis Warsh reading at home of Pierre Joris & Nicole Peyrafitte, May 2000

Tuned back in at 9:30AM, while I made coffee, breakfast (I missed online breakfast crêpes with Nicole Peyrafitte & Pierre Joris), to Rosemary Waldrop, then Don Yorty who said “words are birds” & my parakeets, Uccellini & Aria, agree, on through the day with the words in the background —Sophie Robinson dressed like a Puritan reading “Fucking Up the Rocks,” Edmund Berrigan in a fancy party mask, Rachael Wilson’s quotidian poems, Onotara James & Ricardo Maldonado’s “diptych” of sonnets on 2020/2021 that I really liked. A black & white film from 1978 of Bernadette Mayer reading dream poems, (later during a tribute to Lewis Warsh, he reading from the same event), also home movies of them Bernadette & Lewis, their kids, when Greg Masters read from his memoir It Wasn’t Supposed to be Like This (which is going on my to-read list).

At 2:00 PM I left the Poetry Project for the mid-Hudson Extravaganza (which is described below) & was back to NYC at 8:00 PM, until the end at midnight.

A number of poets shared works by others (often as memorials for those gone this year), which was a respite from the over-arching egos of so much that I’d heard/seen, & evidenced by so much self-conscious costuming. & even though it was from NYC, the home base of so many “famous poets” the work was just like any other open mic running from the sublime to the inane. There was bad singing of bad songs here too, & tedious performance art like listening to other people’s boring, self-indulgent conversations. But ultimately I was glad to actually not be at St. Mark’s for an in-person event, to be at home playing it in the background, actually hear more of it as I move around my house, make breakfast, lunch, dinner, have drinks, go to the bathroom.

There was Anselm Berrigan reading a long poem-in-progress tribute to Lewis Warsh, & later Lydia Cortés’ tribute as well. Others afflicted with “the Bernadette Mayer curse” — writing down every thought that enters your head, everything that you see, or hear, or do, watching a recording of an Alice Notley lecture/poem from 1988 (which was actually one of the gems of the event for me), in which she says “the poetry of everyday life is basically people talking to each other,” & I realize so much of what I was hearing was also “the Alice Notley curse,” that even when a good poet does it even they can sound tedious & frivolous. The day sort of petered out, as most marathon events tend to do, but I was glad I made to the last hour to hear Anna Kreienberg again, who had once lived outside Albany & attended some of the open mics here.

“Perfect Pitch” The Hudson Valley New Years Spoken Word & Performance Extravaganza

At 2:00 PM, Friday, I tuned in to this event streamed in from Green Kill Gallery in Kingston, from 2:00PM to 8:00PM, put together by Bruce Weber, Joanne Pagano Weber & Therese Costa. Apparently it was pre-recorded at the gallery in October & November which made it possible to bring in lots of production values the “live” performances could not. It was also enhanced by the cut-out mobiles, decorative background of the gallery installed by Joanne. Each hour of the 6 there were 6 10 minute segments, individual readers, with a musician or musical duo each hour, & each hour introduced by a mid-Hudson poet, including Bruce Weber, Mikhail Horowitz, Teresa Costa, Sam Truitt, Phillip Levine, & Joanne Pagano Weber.

It was a pleasant mix of poets I’m familiar with, have even featured at the Third Thursday Poetry Night &/or Poets in the Park, & heard at open mics in Woodstock & Kingston, others I was not familiar with, but was to glad to hear. One issue I had was that each hour’s listing of the performers was in alphabetical order, but that was not the order they read in so I had to be careful if I tuned away from a performer I would have to check back in the next few minutes to see who was next.

During the 2:00 to 4:00 segment I heard a short story from Suzanne Bennett, Celia Bland reading from Cherokee Road Kill, poems by Fred Dugan who was new to me, Anne Gorrick read a poem based on Facebook comments, Ken Holland’s fine poems, the humor of Mikhail Horowitz on press release hyperbole (he was the host of the 3:00 - 4:00 hour), Paul McMahon on guitar a better singer than most I’d heard all day, a bass guitar improvisation Abby Travis, Matthew J. Spireng reading poems from his recent book Good Work, poems by Tamas Panitz, Pamela Twining, & Bruce Weber (who was the host of the 2:00 - 3:00 hour).

Teresa Costa, at Albany SJC, August 2017

In the middle segment from 4:00 to 6:00, Teresa Costa hosted the first half & read “The Art of Handwashing,” while Sam Truitt hosted the second half with a hobo jungle chant & drumming, there was Michael Bisio all over his stand-up bass, the quiet, descriptive poems of Robert C. Basher, the rhyming fables of Jennifer Bennett, Andy Clausen’s effusive, ranting catalogs, Guy Reed on sex & love, the humor of Sparrow (who also on Poetry Project), as well as poems by Lily Dunlap, Cate McNider & Sarah Vogill. 

In the final 6:00 to 8:00 segment host Phillip Levine included some of his short poems written on playing cards, the duo of Sylvie Degiez & Wayne Lopes provided music in the first hour, while the music in the 2nd hour was by another duo Karen Whitman & Rick Pantell, I enjoyed the folksy poems of Richard Comerford about being a farmer & making wine, Laura Hinton read from a book-in-progress The Little Book of Human Violence that I would love to read, Mike Jurkovic reading some favorites from other readings, Allison Koffler on the soul of her dog Cole, Dayl Wise’s poems colored by his experience in Viet Nam, Michael Ruby read his political poems while his niece Abby Travis (see above) accompanied him on electric bass, Joanne Pagano Weber hosted the last hour read a memoir of childhood, there was as well as the poetry of Josepha Gutelius, & Vladimir Nahitchevansky. & a charming piece by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright with puppets for his granddaughter.

Perhaps because this was all pre-recorded, but also certainly because the quality of the work was less ego-driven, more genuine from the heart words & music, this was for me the most consistently pleasant, even inspiring event of the 3 events in this day & a half, moving into the New Year, celebrating creativity, in words & music & community. 

Happy New Year!

 

Epidemic

EPIDEMIC

Bird flew --
it’s what
they do


EPIDEMIC (II)

Everything is
coming true:
Swine flew

 

EPIDEMIC (III)
The King is
COVID-19
It wears a Crown

A TRANEY STORY

A traney walks into a bar
orders a burger, “medium rare.”

The waiter asks, what kind
of cheese: cheddar, Swiss
provolone, or vegan cheese?”
“Vegan, please,” she says.

The waiter looks at her funny
“On a burger?” he asks.

She says, “Yes, I’m transitioning.”

AT THE SILARIAN CAFE

Summer’s Best in Show

We had dinner in that State of Mind
where the Sun rises over Albany.
The patio rimmed by sugar maples
was lit by garnet party lights
the garden fragrant
with lilac & rose bushes
bluebirds in the branches
ladybugs walking on the leaves
finding their own dinner.
In the stream a pile a sticks
a beaver’s starter home
a snapping turtle in the mud.
Over apple cider martini’s
we peruse the menu, fresh caught
stuffed brook trout, local greens
angler’s fish stew with striped bass
bay scallops in butter, garlic, white wine.
For desert fresh apples, muffins
in cinnamon laced milk
as the sun sets in Buffalo.

[This poem won 3rd place in the New York State Fair Poetry Competition -- it's like being the 3rd best goat or melon or something.]

SPATHE IS THE PLATHE

It looked more fake than the real thing.

                                    — Andy Warhol

The eclipse is on TV
the Great American Eclipse
they say. I listen to Sun Ra
“Space is the Place” of course
where else is there?

I like the New Moon best
because I have to believe
it is there each month
just as the clouds challenge
my belief that it is the Moon
blocking the Sun, not
just storm clouds rolling in.

On TV the 8-year old says,
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
she has yet to see Prom night
the back seat of that Honda
a missed period, throwing up
in the last pew of church.

TV repeats the eclipse in places
no one goes to, instant reruns
the Sun & I have a Corona.

Watching the Great American Eclipse
on my computer is internet porn:
much better than the real thing.

In Carhenge Nebraska
200 miles from Nothing
239,000 miles from the Moon
who smiles to be so far away
93 million miles from the Sun
Someone says, “It’s like
watching Day turn into Night”
which I do each & every Day.

In my backyard, even the birds
think it’s just another cloudy day.

BIRTHDAY POEM 2017

(for Willy & Jean Dugan)

The cutest peace-sign ever
in my phone’s inbox:
a dark-braided niña
in a flowered dress
a shy smile behind
her 2 raised fingers
in a peace sign
we all know so well
across mountains
& oceans, not
knowing each other’s
language or name.

(Each January Jean & Willy Dugan are part of a mission from Holy Family Parish in Gloucester, MA to the people of Cevicos, Dominican Republic.  They bring medicine & medical supplies & assist medical professionals to provide services to the people of Cevicos.  Dare I say, "This is what makes America Great"?)

WHEN DONALD TRUMP FARTS

“This Donald anon leet fle a fart.
As greet as it had been a thonder-dent…”
— from “The Miller’s Tale“ by Geoffrey Chaucer

When Donald Trump farts it is like he is delivering a message of Freedom to the oppressed of the Aleutian Islands

When he farts in his limo or private corporate jet the farts get circulated until completely absorbed by the other passengers, his driver, his pilot

His children, Ivanka, Donald Jr., Eric, even Tiffany & Baron have been hearing his farts for years
& like all children they got used to them, & now ignore his farts.

Ivana left him because when he farted he didn’t say “excuse me,” Marla because his farts were loud, violent
but Melania rather enjoys them & likes to say she doesn’t fart except in the bathroom & when she does they are “melodious”
but then she likes to copy what other people say.


Donald Trump says that he is for law & order but he lets his farts fly free without restriction

He says he wants to build a wall to keep Mexicans out while he lets his farts migrate wherever he goes

Donald Trump says that he wants Muslims to wear a badge, this stinks even worse than his farts.

When Donald Trump becomes President it would be in the World’s best interest to make sure his diet avoids beans, beef, &, of course, beer
Because when Donald Trump farts, Vladimir Putin farts too

But when Donald Trump farts in the White House the whole World does not have to listen & all Americans should be buying anti-fascist air fresheners.

SHOULD I STAY or SHOULD I GO?

Once upon a time in Albany
there were few concerts, few lectures
mostly drinking & bar bands
driving around in cars looking
for chicks, for kicks, for places to go
no poetry readings & no bagels.

Then poetry happened — the QE2
Borders’s, Stephanucci’s, the Lionheart
the Albany Art Gallery on Jefferson St.
Don Levy’s first poetry venue.
We had to go. Venues came & went.
Jefferson St. had a fire, the Gallery
moved on & so did Don.

“Absolutely Friday Night Poetry Reading”
at Lemily & Son International Gallery
until October 2002, then
“Live from the Living Room”
then the Gay & Lesbian Community Center
each 2nd Wednesday, starting February 2003
with Leo! & poetry regulars in the open mic
as it has been ever since, out of the living room
down to the Garden Room, like a
12-step meeting for poets.

Now there are plenty of events, conflicts
poetry every week somewhere here
even poetry in 2 places on the 2nd Wednesday
overlapping concerts, art openings
a lecture here, a reading there, conflicts
to be resolved, choices to be made
like picking out the right bagel.

Tonight is the last for
“Live from the Living Room”
as Don finds other poetry projects
to fill up his literary nights.

And tonight another conflict:
Should I go? to the last
“Live from the Living Room”
poets in the basement
of the Pride Center
or, Should I stay? watch
the Victoria Secrets Swim Special
near naked ladies on Channel 6.
Should I stay, or should I go?

JOE THE BARTENDER

(for all the great bartenders I know & have known)

Joe the bartender
is not always named Joe.
This one tonight is, but even
when their names are
Lynn or Alan or Elaine or Nick
they are Joe.

We always remember the first.
Back then the only bartender I knew
wore a long white apron, white shirt
a wide tie with a gold tie clasp
grey hair slicked back
from an Italian granite face.
Joe.
He served me my first orange soda
on fight night in the back room
with my father before we had a TV
later my first legal draft.
In between, my father
who spent as much time with Joe
as he did at home, once sent me
to the Tavern for a quart of Budweiser.
Joe looked at me, asked
“Are you 18?” as I reached for
my new draft card. “I guess you are,
your father would never have sent
you here if you weren’t.”

At a bar in a chain motel in suburban Baltimore
where I stayed the second time in 6 weeks
the Bartender looked at me, “Bourbon & soda?”
she said. A nameless Joe in the top 10, always.

On week nights I wandered 2 blocks
to the Tin Palace for piano jazz & beer
& Lynn who always knew if my latest honie
had left or stayed, shared stories of falling
asleep on the phone. She could handle
a sudden crowd as if she were leaning
on the bar talking just to me.

Other Joes were poets: Melanie writing
behind the bar. Mary saving the poems
to read later in other bars. Alan with more
bar poems than we have poems on anything.

The Joes know how to not make you wait
while you wait, slide a draft to you
between a 17-ingredient martini
find the wine you like while
changing channels & bad plastic
hand you a menu, describe 3
specials, muddling mint, rosemary
asking about your day, your picks
for the Super Bowl, if you want water.
The Joes aren’t flustered, don’t apologize
they keep the wait staff happy
& you & everyone else.
They are there after you leave
& there when you come back again.

Goodnight Joe

whatever your name is.

Therese’s Balcony

On a morning such as this,
on Spring St. in the grey morning air.

On this morning as I look up
hoping to see you at your window
I see your blue towel on the railing
like yesterday's sky left out
to dry in last night's rain.

On a morning such as this,
in Paris in 1911, in Springtime
when the morning is still with mist
on the Rue D'Avila, M. Atget,
with his box with glass plates
his magic wooden cabinet
traps his tiny Paris, tiny buildings
in tiny mornings.

On this morning on Spring St.
I watch you close your windows
and come out on the fire escape.

On a morning such as this
M. Atget gazes up.
As she steps out on her balcony
the steam from her tea coils
to rise with the morning mist
through his lens she is upside down
her white dress seems to hang in the air.

You watch morning come to the city
I watch you touch your hair, your lips
your hem brushes your feet.

"Good morning," M. Atget calls, and asks her name.
"Je m'appelle Therese"
the mist begins to burn off
he wipes dust from the lens.

"Good morning, Therese; how beautiful..."
"Yes, but it will be hot soon."
On a morning such as this
when the lens closes she is gone.

When M. Atget looks for her again
in the flat plate of glass
the cloth on the railing is grey
like the morning hung out to dry
but she moved and is gone
a white mist left on the glass.

On this morning on Spring St.
I want to touch your hand
instead, my hand touches
the morning, you wave;
it is as if I will always
see you like that
on a morning such as this.

(published in Open Mic: The Albany Anthology, 1994, the Hudson Valley Writers Guild)

Didn’t We Do This in Saratoga?

(for Sally Rhoades & Ken Hada)

I’m not quite sure, but we must’ve done this
in Saratoga, since you keep asking about it
perhaps at Hattie’s with fried chicken, or
was it on stage at Caffe Lena, or
at the 7th Horse Bar afterwards over beer?

It’s not the kind of memory we would have
made up, although we are poets, aren’t we?
And making shit up is what we do, at least
if our wives & husbands are in
the audience, we say we make it up.

I’m sure it wasn’t at the Adelphi Hotel
because that wasn’t either of you, &
it was another night with someone else
but, I’m sure we did this in Saratoga —
didn’t we?

BIRTHDAY POEM 2015

Moments before I was to be born
we were in Washington Park
in Albany in January in the cold, again
the burning sage, candle flame not enough
to keep the flowers from freezing. But
the blazing hearts & hot breath of words
lifted the beret up to the Poet’s lap.

Later, more lines of verse, whiskey, beer
even cake, remembering the poets gone
the old poets here, younger voices
& pens now write us into future Januaries.

PLANTING TULIPS

It seems a strange thing to do

after the dried leaves have been swept away

from the rows of dirt, like the soft places where we lie down together.

It seems a strange thing to do

in the morning air, gray with the steam from our mouths

and cold enough for hats and gloves and thick jackets like quilts

to poke holes in the black soil, stirred and loosened and not yet frozen.

It seems a strange thing to do

to drop these pale hardened shapes like testicle, like ovaries

into the earth to sleep to freeze beneath the snow

hidden in secret graves, in pits like skulls.

It seems a strange thing to do

with Spring on the other side of the world

as many months away as its memory

to just leave them there in the park

and wait.