poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
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Inspired by “Fee Fi Fo Fum” from The Complete Novus And Columbia Recordings Of Henry Threadgill & Air.
Threadgill’s birds
an ocean of crows flows overhead
wings beating black against the coming night
I see them in small sections through
the window, missing its valance
Henry Threadgill plays the flute
and a disembodied woman’s voice is singing
notes looping around one another like
sparrows swooping after unseen bugs
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NOTE: Today is the last official day of a river of stones, but I’m going to try to write one of these a day for all of 2011. Wish me luck!
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I am slipping downhill on a frozen sidewalk
windmilling my arms to keep from falling
tomorrow, this may all be different
the heart beats, the heart stops beating — that is change
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part of a river of stones
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like a dam breaking on high ground
water rushing into the city
when the people are ready
even the mightiest flee
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part of a river of stones
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This poem begins with a quote from Egyptian TV host Ahmad El Esseily. (via this article)
January 25, 2011
“The regime
has been
convincing us
very well
that we cannot do it
but Tunisians
gave us an idea
and it took us
only three days
and we did it.”
and like that, the curtain
of sand came down
in Tahrir Square the people
tens of thousands of the people
chanted
Muslims!
Christians!
We are all
Egyptians!
and like that, another iron-
hearted scarecrow fled
to his hotel room
where only
his most trusted
retainers remained
to tell him he was
right, he would return
for this was no longer his land
these people no longer his people
in this land of slaves and slave owners
there is a history of breaking shackles
sometimes one link at a time
sometimes allatonce
2 CommentsI found this one in my notebook. I wrote it back in November after witnessing this scene.
old couple in the therapist’s elevator
she says “dirty rotten elevator”
he doesn’t even sigh anymore
just presses 2
puts his head down
kneads the brim of his gray-
checked fedora with one
arthritic hand
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there aren’t actually
just four walls here
but you get the idea
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part of a river of stones
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apparently
the more useful skill
is to avoid placing oneself
in a position in which the receipt
of compassion
is necessary
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part of a river of stones
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I dropped a stone into the well
listened for it to hit bottom
when I looked up, I realized
I was already at the bottom of the well
and the stone was headed straight for me
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part of a river of stones
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words of wisdom
“it’s only a paper moon”
no, that’s not what he’d say
“you’ve got to take care
of your family first”
is that it? or maybe
“keep your head down
and get a separate room
at the end of the hall”
it’s not as if all his sayings
were collected in a book
this is a guy, after all,
who was famous for not talking
I wish he were here now
because I’m at the bottom
and can’t figure out what to do
I think he’d be a good one to ask
we used to spend most of our time
talking about big bands
or the latest episode of Lawrence Welk
I remembered all the names of the Welk people
even though, truth be told, I’d only seen the show
a few times
but I always knew I could get him talking
if the subject were Pete Fountain
or the Glen Gray band
he took me to my first concert
Pete Fountain and Al Hirt
at The Shell in Canandaigua
two guys from New Orleans on stage
two guys from Pittsfield, Massachusetts
in the audience, swinging
when I wake up, the first things I see
remind me of him: a purple moon,
a vase of flowers, a Parisian riverside
and out here in the living room
another of his paintings
and a cross-stitch of my first initial
did he ever have a long night when he doubted?
when he couldn’t pay the rent and the food
was running out and it was all too much?
he was from a different era, when men
didn’t talk about those kinds of things
they were just expected to hold up their end
he worked at the same place for 48 years
never took a sick day — not one
my resume looks like the classified ads
in later years I heard some rumblings
he was stubborn, his weapon was silence
and I guess that may have been true
I never saw it, though
he was who I wanted to be
a class act
someone called me that yesterday
“a class act”
but I can’t see it
I’d like to be sitting in the passenger seat
of one of the endless parade of white cars
listening to WYLF (the “music of your life”)
maybe he’s driving me to my clarinet lesson
or he and Grandma are taking me to Burger King
or over to their apartment for dinner
Ring Dings and a block of Velveeta in the fridge
potato-chip chicken and mini cheesecakes
broccoli covered in cheese and Ritz crackers
and that old glass coffee mug with the recipe
for Irish coffee on the side, mostly whiskey
with some coffee to take the curse off it
even though by that time neither of them drank
but they always had liquor in the credenza
in case a mixer broke out / it never did
god what I’d give right now to go over there
to explain all this and how it all happened
and ask him to forgive me and to tell me
“I love you and you’ll be OK”
is that what he’d say?
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A poem about one of the most beautiful places on the planet. I’ve spent quite a bit of time there over the years. I’m translating this one into Japanese, but it’s a difficult process for me.
Matsushima
we sat at the stern of the boat
tossing shrimp-flavored snacks
to the trailing gulls
in the picture, I am smiling
hundreds of tiny islands, each
with its own pine tree
like a flag planted by Mother Earth
“I claim this island in my own name”
Basho, tongue tied, brush quivering
could write nothing but the name
of the place and an exclamation
“ah!”
after, we made tea in a cast-iron pot
suspended from the roof beams
over the coals of the fire
in this picture, too, I am smiling
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can anyone explain to me
how I got here
and to whom I can apply
for an exit visa?
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part of a river of stones
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me
rug
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part of a river of stones
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This one was harder for me to write than yesterday’s and I’m a bit less certain that I’ve accurately conveyed the meaning.
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Miles Davis ã‚ “All Blues” ã‚’å¼¾ãã¾ã™
æ£ã—ã„考ãˆã§ã‚‚ç¾åœ¨ã®çŠ¶æ…‹ã‚ãã‚“ã‚ã«æ‚ªããªã„ã§ã™
Miles Davis plays “All Blues”
it’s the right idea but things aren’t that bad
/ / /
part of a river of stones
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今日ã¯ä»–ã®æ—¥ã€…ã®ã‚ˆã†ã§ã™
ãŠèŒ¶ã‚’飲む
詩を書ã
音楽ã«èžã
å›ã«ã¤ã„ã¦è€ƒãˆã‚‹
today is like other days
I drink tea
I write a poem
I listen to music
I think of you
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part of a river of stones
5 CommentsListen using the player above.
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I wake up to the clarinet and trombone
go to sleep to the cornet and saxophone
in between I feel the rhythm of the drum
as I wait for what’s coming to come
/ / /
part of a river of stones
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