poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
tracks
we sat on a low wall
telling ghost stories
waiting for a train
that never came
walked home
behind the sleeping houses
with their backs
to the silent tracks
at the apartment
there was fresh berry pie
with dotted butter
still warm from the oven
we listened to Yeasayer
stared like new parents
at a lava-lamp cat
on the patio
the cat wasn’t worried
about the future
or the past
smart cat
/ / /
(Photo source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bblankwater/)
Leave a Comment
I mean come on
no
seriously
how many more of these
could there possibly be
did I anger some pantheon of gods
of whom I was not previously aware
the first one was fine
understandable
there’s always going to be one
even just looking at it
from the point of view of numbers
stats, I mean
but then there was another
and that was a little more frustrating
and then a third
which is when I started to think
perhaps I was wrong about this whole
non-theist thing
though this feels more like the work of Loki
than some Old Testament Jehovah
actually, that’s not true
he was a trickster, too
it’s getting so predictable
I was barely even surprised
when the fourth one hove into view
a few weeks back
at this point I’ve just about given up
any day without one
is just a day of reprieve
not a sign that the cycle is broken
maybe I’ll take up golf
4 March 2013
Auburn, AL
the armchair bird lover in the raptor house
when a bald eagle flies two feet above your brain
you realize
if it wanted to end your day early, it could
I’ve seen Hitchcock’s The Birds several times
it never felt terrifying to me — or if it did, it was the loss of control
not the birds themselves
but today, learning that the Peregrine Falcon
can drop from the sky at nearly 300 miles per hour
and has a beak designed to break cervical vertebrae
well, let’s just say I get why Tippi Hedren was screaming
I’ve always loved birds — the first nickname I ever had was “Jaybird”
bestowed on me by the Franciscan friar who also gave me
my first idea of what I might like to do for a living
I’m the kind of suburban bird lover, though
who’ll put several feeders in the backyard
without ever learning the names of the birds who show up
oh, I buy bird books and I own a pair of high-quality binoculars
but I can’t see colors well enough to use the books
and I mostly use the binoculars to look at the stars
recently I adopted two small parakeets whose Aboriginal name means
“good for eating”
once I had flying pets in my house I realized
I loved having them swoop and swirl around me
though not everyone does
my friend asked “why don’t raptors attack people?”
I don’t know the answer
all I can say is we’re lucky they’ve decided to share the planet
rather their enforce their much-older claim
3 March 2013
Auburn, AL
Ode To William Stafford
I can see him spread out on the couch
pad of paper in one hand, pencil in the other
a far cry from the camp where he’d spent time
as a conscientious objector during the war
in high school, two of my friends
counseled male students about selective service
and how they could register as objectors
there was no war on — or at least no draft
but my friends were eager to tell their fellow students
that resistance was possible, even necessary
really, though, we had very little at stake
we were middle class white kids
none of us would be wearing a uniform
unless we chose to
not so in Stafford’s day, when the arm of the state
could pluck you from your kitchen table
drop you in a European field
before you’d had time to put down your cereal spoon
when to say no was a criminal act
because everyone else was saying yes
planting their Victory Gardens
buying their War Bonds
never asking how they’d gotten there in the first place
“Wouldn’t you have fought Hitler?” is too easy a question
a better one is: “What could we have done earlier
so Germany had no need for a Hitler in the first place?”
this is what I think of when I think of him
there on the couch, pencil and paper in hand
trying through his writing to fix our broken world
2 March 2013
Auburn, AL
charismatic megafauna
(for L)
she spends her time with a very charming grizzly bear
he listens to what she has to say
asks about her day — and really means it
he goes to the shows she wants to see
even if he doesn’t always share her passion for modern art
what a pair they make:
she in her t-shirt and jeans and Chuck Taylors
he in nothing but his glistening fur
when he stands on his hind legs to open a door
he towers above her
but there’s gentleness in his muscled frame
like a linebacker who’s taken ballet lessons
they walk everywhere
he can’t fit in a cab or a subway car
but she doesn’t mind
she’s always liked the outdoors
gets outside whenever she can
night or day, rain or shine, hot or cold
so more often than not if you’re out and about
you’ll see them
a dark-haired woman and her bear
hand in paw
making the most of life
March 1, 2013
Auburn, AL
the koala bear and the joshua tree
the moon is so bright
that every crater and every sea is clearly visible
to the naked eye
even from Alabama
where we are listening to U2
and dancing in the driveway
on behalf of all right-thinking people
everywhere
and if you don’t believe it’s true
we encourage you to put on a funny hat
look up into the sky
and move your feet to the rhythm
till a smile takes over your face
28 February 2013
Auburn, AL
stained
there’s a red stain on the cracked driveway
it’s no longer wet to the touch
yet it still drips onto the yellowing paper promises
we keep under lock and key and glass
in the places we call sacred
what kind of man does it take to hide in the honeysuckle
to shoot another man in the back
for the simple act of wanting to be human
Utah Philips said the government doesn’t give you your rights
so it can’t take them away
that’s too simple, though
for that to be true, we all have to decide it’s true
we’re a long, long way from that day
for now, those whom a few of us elect
and those they choose in turn
get to decide which of us gets a key
to the small red gate set into the high wall
they’ve built around the last expanse of open space
standing on this cracked driveway
feeling the red stain through the soles of my shoes
I’m not hopeful that all that many keys have been made
27 February 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
This poem was partly inspired by this column by Charlie Pierce.
Leave a Commentthe joys of reading aloud
presents
deserts
abuse
produce
convict
conduct
console
lead
read
lead
read
live
live
invalid
moped
rebel
refuse
record
resign
wind
wound
sow
walking with Basho
morning and evening
someone waits at Matsushima!
one-sided love
I know how she feels
though there are no pine trees
outside my lonely window
viewing the moon
no one at the party
has such a beautiful face
they are all lovely
in a way I find hard to describe
the scent of tea from the kitchen
in the world outside
is it harvesting time?
the grass of my hut
indoors all day
birdsong as I read the paper
sun warming the room
speaking out
my lips are cold
in autumn wind
I want to kiss you
though I know I can’t
so I picked two yellow flowers
I didn’t die!
the end of a journey
is autumn nightfall
if I am not stronger
at least my feet are toughened
by the stones on this path
from this very day
erase the inscription with dew
on the bamboo hat
starting out again
through the tall grass
where no one has blazed a trail
25 February 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
I first read the work of Japanese poet and travel writer Matsuo Basho in 1991, when I was living in northern Japan, in a town he’d once passed through. I’ve been inspired by his style and his daring ever since. The italicized sections of this poem are haiku poems written by Basho. The non-italicized sections are mine. If you’ve never read any of Basho’s travel journals, I recommend Back Roads to Far Towns: Basho’s Oku-No-Hosomichi (Ecco Travels)
.
I’ve written about Basho before
Leave a Comment
eating Oreos with the buddha
The Buddha came over today
we ate Oreos and drank rice milk
I played him a song on the ukulele
he told me his most popular story
(spoiler alert: it was mostly
about him sitting under a tree)
he comes by most Sundays
because I get the New York Times
and he likes to do the crossword
(“what’s a seven-letter word for satori“?)
a couple weeks ago I asked him
to meditate with me for a while
but he said he doesn’t do that anymore
he told me to practice the ukulele instead
“it’s pretty much the same thing”
24 February 2013
Auburn, AL
this poem is a love letter to my friends
I’m too happy to sleep
after the piano and the
mandolin and the banjo
and the bagels and the
guitars and the pizzas
and the stuffed squash
and the Pears Gallumbits
and the headstand
and the Infinity Scarf (TM)
and the too-orange drink
and the laughing
and the Indian food
(or as Sid calls it, food)
and the way that a friend’s visit
made me realize
I’m surrounded on all sides
by people made of joy
24 February 2013
Auburn, AL
we gather because
the idea
is that we
bring
all the good people
together
to make
something
none of us
could make
alone
it’s why we
naturally
gather
in groups
why even
monks
practice being
alone
in the company
of other monks
why we run
through a downpour
to sit
listening
to the innermost
secrets
of people
we’ve never met
why we buy a drink
for the bard
after the show
it’s why
there will
always
be music
in any place
where people
care about
the happiness
of other people
22 February 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
A simple poem, inspired by a night of beautiful music in Auburn. Pictured above are the people who made the music — Christina Cecrle and Daryl Shawn.
2 Comments
the shocking true-life inside story of Jason Crane
Jason Crane is tabloid’s tokyo bureau chief
Jason Crane is a member of american federation of musicians
locals 66 and 660
Jason Crane is quoted in this
Jason Crane is the group’s hep cat
Jason Crane is currently in pre
Jason Crane is the station manager
Jason Crane is back and looks stronger than ever
Jason Crane is 16
Jason Crane is a ux researcher/designer & ruby developer
Jason Crane is the creator
Jason Crane is the host and producer of the Jason Crane show
Jason Crane is based in albany
Jason Crane is an interviewer and poet
Jason Crane is a doer
Jason Crane is an orthopaedic surgeon
Jason Crane is the host of the the jazz session
Jason Crane is coming to auburn
Jason Crane is coming up on his 300th jazz session show
Jason Crane is at cape town
Jason Crane is available for streaming on his site
Jason Crane is
Jason Crane is a brazilian
Jason Crane is a user experience
Jason Crane is going
/ / /
Another poem based on one of Charles Bernstein’s Experiments. For this, I used Googlism to create the list of phrases, then did some editing.
Leave a Commenteggplant bass drum
I saw a man play an eggplant
as a bass drum
with carrots as cymbals
our bodies are music, too
every nerve ending an instrument
each synapse firing sixteenth notes into the silence
my fingers carry all the possible melodies
my heart all the possible rhythms
your brain the knowledge of your family’s songs
your stomach the feeling of the perfect note
our feet ready and waiting
to launch us from comfortable chairs
onto noisy dance floors
I want you to grab my hands
whirl me around in a circle like when I was a child
then I want to grab your hands
pull you close and dance with childlike wonder
then, if we’re hungry, we can eat the eggplant
20 February 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
This poem was inspired by a video made by j.viewz:
One Comment
aftermath
riding the bus past puddles that
combined with the sound
I vaguely remember
let me know it rained last night
this morning, too
I’m still a sucker for the sound of rain
(“delicious” my friend says)
I rely on the sun
to dispel the darkness I carry
but it’s the rain sets my heart racing
shivers the nerve endings
on my forearms
brings back the feeling of you
like a limb lost in war
left on the dirt floor
of a makeshift operating room
under a dirty tent
on a hill no one remembers
19 February 2013
Auburn, AL