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Tag: Poetry

POEM: Robby Burns’s Hat

Published 29 January 2009 by Jason Crane

Here’s my contribution to the memory of Monday. For more, read Dan Wilcox’s Birthday Poem, 2009 and his write-up of the event.

Robby Burns’s Hat

Crusty snow beneath our boots
as we watch a limber young poet
scamper atop the McPherson Legacy.

Once settled between Robby’s legs,
he takes the beret — the same one
they used last year —

and balances it on top of Robby’s head.
The last time, it was up there a week before
a less young, but no less limber, poet

found the beret at the base of the Legacy
and rescued it from oblivion, restoring
the cap to its place of honor twelve months later.

And so it goes, year after year, in honor
of the man who started it all, and who
made the trail through the snow that we follow.

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My first poetry reading in 15 years

Published 28 January 2009 by Jason Crane

Back in the early 90s, I wrote and performed a lot of poetry. It was all very specific to its time and place. Looking back on it, it was mostly crap.

In recent years, I’ve started writing again. In fact, I’m getting serious about it, meaning that I’m actually trying to — gulp — improve and seek out criticism. I’ve been helped a great deal in this effort by some poets from the upstate New York region.

I decided last night to finally go read some poems in public again. And I chose the perfect event — Poets Speak Loud, an annual gathering in tribute to the former dean of the Albany poetry scene, Tom Nattell. You can hear last night’s event in its entirety at albanypoets.com. The site is a great example of how to run a local poetry site. Frequently updated, welcoming of all poets, full of useful features.

The open mic was a lot of fun. I felt very welcomed by the organizers and established poets, several of whom encouraged me to come out again. Little things like that mean a lot. By and large, the quality of the writing was good. There were highlights — Dan Stalter’s hilarious and insightful slam performance, Mary Panza’s reading of Elizabeth Alexander’s inaugural poem, and Scott Casale’s sensual reading of a poem about sex. Host Dan Wilcox kept everyone in good spirits and kept the evening moving right along, which is always appreciated.

Bob Burns
Bob Burns

After the reading, most of the gang walked to Washington Park. One of the poets — I know his name but will leave it out to protect him from prosecution — climbed atop the statue of Robert Burns and put a beret on top in honor of Nattell.

I was curious about the history of the statue. I found this online:

The Robert Burns Statue was erected in 1888 in Washington Park and has an amazing story. One Mary Macpherson, a poor house maid, saved all of her money and donated $30,000 to build what has been called the best statue of Robert Burns in the World and is the second oldest surviving statue of Burns to be created in the United States. It is also one of 20 monuments in the world erected before 1890 in honor of that great Scottish poet. The statue is the largest work ever produced by Charles Calverly, who was born in Albany in 1833. His most complex work was the 16 foot Burns monument, a seated figure cast in bronze, resting on a pedestal of Scottish granite. The statue is formally known as the Macpherson Legacy to the City of Albany.

Google Books has a Harvard publication from 1889 called Historical Sketch of the Burns Statue by R.H. Collyer. You can read it at the Google Books site.

Anyway, check out the podcast. I’m in Part 2.

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Book review: Simon Armitage’s The Odyssey

Published 18 January 2009 by Jason Crane

This is essentially Artimage’s script for a BBC Radio production of the Odyssey. He condenses — if that’s the word — the story into a series of conversations between its characters.

The language is both rich and readable, everyday and heroic. Armitage uses the conversations to strike at the core of the story, and to offer a look into the psychology of gods and men.

Despite its much shorter length, this Odyssey manages to retain its epic scope. For those not familiar with the original work, this version may serve as a fine introduction. And for those who are steeped in the classic poem, this Odyssey offers a fresh perspective.

Highly recommended.

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Book Review: Albert Goldbarth’s Budget Travel through Space and Time

Published 16 January 2009 by Jason Crane

The shortest review Rolling Stone ever published was a one-word review of the album Chase by the band of the same name. The review was:

“Flee.”

In that spirit of brevity, but with the opposite opinion of the work in question, let me say:

“WowthisisanamazingbookinfactoneofthebestbooksofpoetryI’veread.”

Highly recommended.

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Book Review: Tripping with DJ Spinoza

Published 20 December 2008 by Jason Crane

If comedic-philosophical-absurdist-hip-hop-opera poetry is your thing, you’re going to dig DJ Spinoza. I picked this up on the advice of a blog. It’s a fast read, and one that I think will reward repeated attention. This first edition is limited to 1,500 copies, and I’d get one if I were you.

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POEM: Last Night I Watched

Published 5 November 2008 by Jason Crane

Last Night I Watched
by Jason Crane

Last night I watched an American president-elect on the television and cried. Next to me was my wife Jennifer, tears running down her cheeks.

Last night I watched the awakening of a nation that had all but given up on its principles and ideals.

Last night I watched Jesse Jackson hold one finger to his trembling lips as he wept, the marathon runner finally crossing the finish line.

Last night I watched John Lewis talk about the unbelievable road from “Whites Only” bathrooms to steel truncheons on the Edmund Pettis Bridge to the steps of the Capitol.

Last night I watched an actor from The Color Purple rest her chin on the shoulder of a friend as she watched an African-American man speak about his future presidency.

Last night I watched an ocean of joyful tears give a gentle lift to the ship that is America.

Last night I watched Walt Whitman as he knelt down and pulled a blade of grass from the rich earth, singing.

Last night I watched as Kenyans danced on dusty ground, arms raised toward the glorious sun.

Last night I watched as a crack opened in the wall, and looking through, I could see the glimmering field of stars.

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November 5, 2008

Published 5 November 2008 by Jason Crane

Poet Gerald Schwartz sent me his thoughts this morning:

For times, then,
All through our lives
We delight in a unity,
The great union,
Of our ventured selves
With what sustains
All possibility. We ride
The swell and are
The surf and with
Changed belief
Inner and outer
We find our talk
Turned to hope:
Our hope into truth:
For a time, early,
We become at home
In you, World.

–Gerald Schwartz

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POEM: My Birthday Poem

Published 29 October 2008 by Jason Crane

HPIM2790.jpg
My sister, mom, dad and friend Kevin at my 2007 birthday shindig.

Here’s a poem I wrote in 2007 after celebrating my birthday with friends and family at Thali, our favorite Indian restaurant in Rochester.

Birthday
by Jason Crane

This is my birthday poem:
Stuffed full of Chicken Makhani,
Squeezing the plastic skull
With its bulging brains.

This is my birthday poem:
Grumpy-faced children
Fight off the smiles
That take over their faces.

This is my birthday poem:
Moving from one end of the
Long table to the other,
A timeline with forks and knives.

This is my birthday poem:
A box of old feelings
Hidden away in the closet,
Buried with new garments.

This is my birthday poem:
Pedaling slowly to Barrington Street,
My young son beside me,
Dodging the potholes.

This is my birthday poem:
Enchiladas and rice
And a dusty courtyard;
Beyond — and old bookstore.

This is my birthday poem:
“Daddy wants jam and bread.”
And knees in my back
Keep me awake in the small hours.

This is my birthday poem:
Tucked in, supine,
Balancing a notebook
On my stuffed belly.

(September 2007)

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Thomas Flynn’s Bikeman

Published 26 October 2008 by Jason Crane

People react to tragedy in different ways. For Thomas Flynn, a network news reporter covering the 9/11 tragedy as it happened, the story became more than an object to be studied. It became an all-encompassing, life-or-death struggle through the debris-strewn, dust-blind streets of New York.

Seven years later, Flynn tells his tale through the underused medium of the epic poem.

I picked up this book several weeks ago at The Book House, an independent bookstore (!) here in Albany. Today I went back there to have the book signed by its author during his in-store appearance. It turns out that Tom Flynn was born in Albany and still has many connections here.

His book is worth your time.

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A visit to Robert Frost’s Stone House

Published 19 October 2008 by Jason Crane

I drove to Shaftsbury, VT, today to visit one of the houses in which poet Robert Frost lived. It was in this house — known as the Stone House — that he wrote “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.” Just as most of the classic Xmas albums were recorded in the summer, this quintessential winter poem was written in July.

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POEM: Reggae Shack

Published 19 October 2008 by Jason Crane

In 1999, Jen and I lived just over the bridge from Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. I played in a dance club on the island, and Jen taught ESL. There was a guy who frequented our club, and who was known to just about everyone who knew the island. He was your typical working-class islander, living the beach life to the best of his ability. He was a big reggae fan, and one morning, in the small hours, we was found dead outside a little reggae hideaway near the beach. This is his poem.

shack.jpg

Reggae Shack
by Jason Crane

2 a.m.

Waves examine the sand, retreat.
A bird nestles its head
into wings.

The air holds a final sigh,
a letting out of breath from
tired lungs,

the gritty sound
of reggae on worn vinyl
from a wooden shack
nestled in the trees
only a few feet away.

Bright smiles on black faces,
sweat on glasses of unlicensed beer.

Voices ease past the half-open door;
slip, unconcerned, into water.

Again, the waves glance at the sand;
the bird looks up, startled
by a dull wooden sound.

A head lolls against the tabletop —
spent, unknowing, spirit released.

He is found alone;
arms splayed out in
supplication, or exhaustion.

(July 1999)

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POEM: Aidan Arrives

Published 18 October 2008 by Jason Crane

Our neighbors recently had a baby boy. This is the poem I wrote on the day he came home from the hospital.

Aidan Arrives
by Jason Crane

Sunday morning —
Sweet soul music,
Archie Bell and the Drells
Can’t stop dancing
While I sweep locust leaves
Off our porch.

Then it’s Marvin Gaye with a
Soul sacrament, his own
Worship of the joined human form,
While I fill the recycling bin and pick up
The kids’ rockets and bouncy balls.

Across the street, a ceramic pelican
Heralds the arrival of a new
Baby boy
Who comes home from the hospital today.

The Stylistics sing a backdrop to
Dog walkers, leaf rakers,
And two brothers chasing each other
With a bright orange butterfly net.

Our rope swing sways in an autumn breeze
As the little one starts crying,
Not wanting to come inside.

Then a red Jeep rolls to a stop
From a speed so low that the brakes
Are barely needed.

The neighborhood is instantly alert.
A silent signal —
And the boys screaming “The baby!” —
Brings everyone from their houses.

A dad (!) takes his first steps
Onto a driveway filled with new
Dangers and joys.

His wife slowly emerges from the passenger seat,
One hand on her lower back as she
Leans against the Jeep for support.
A circle of eager children is
Held at bay
By cautious parents.

A boon is granted —
A glimpse of tiny new life
Nestled in blankets,
All but covered by a striped hat.

Young Mr. Magoo has come home.

They slip past the pirate and the ghost
Suspended from the porch
In preparation for Halloween.

The door closes,
And the street lets out its breath.

(October 2008)

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