Thursday, June 30, 2022

Wednesday, June 29, 2022

RACHAEL ALLEN ~





Crying girl

in the canopy

branch held

unstable

a face drawn

pendant-

shaped, from

the bark

marks

how like

a tree is

a woman

crumbling

with age

conversations

inaudible

without a

stethoscope

to the forest

floor and

even then

we whisper.



____________________

Rachael Allen

Kingdomland

Faber & Faber, 2019





Sunday, June 26, 2022

Friday, June 24, 2022

THE HIGH SIERRA ~

 




R E A D     M E



You're going to meander

but it's a fine Sierra Nevada

geological, historical, personalized

portrait, with chapters on the

masters of the place: 

John Muir, Mary Austin,

Clarence King, Norman Clyde

& Gary Snyder —

 for a more unique and

textural Sierra, see Norman Schaefer's

Records of a Broken-Down Mountaineer

______________________




Thursday, June 23, 2022

LIONEL ZIPRIN ~





 


from  Songs for Schizoid Siblings


the bird has flown

i'm all alone.






via the edge

comes all knowledge.







were i sure i'd live twice

i'd stop taking your advice.







take it away,

tae it away,

what isn't tomorrow

is yesterday.







buy a chair

           and mend a table,

catch a fact,

           and write a fable.







almost all lies

are pocket size.







kissing fish was a habit

enjoyed by a rabbit

whose fur was a kind of fin.


he would look at the water

convinced that his daughter

was either without or within.







i think i often look for things

that disinfect what in me sings.







were i not a fool

would i be in school?







gentle, gentle little lamb

even you'll become a ram.







the moon will ruin

the solar tune.

the sun will split

the moon's orbit.

jupiter

will saturn crack,

and bounce

sweet venus off her track.

but pluto soon

and dry neptune

will enverate

the earthen state

and rectify

the martian eye

through which,

like pitch,

a quadrate light

will burst —

and make uranus shatter first.







authority

is you and me.







a man who rides

the lunar tides

rarely decides

on other guides.




__________________

Lionel Ziprin

Songs for Schizoid Siblings

The Song Cave, 2017








Tuesday, June 21, 2022

ARCHIVE (CHARLES SIMIC) ~

 






He's still got it.

The New Yorker

June 13, 2020



Friday, June 17, 2022

LENORE KANDEL (1976) ~

 



Lenore Kandel at The Winterland 1976



Thursday, June 16, 2022

Wednesday, June 15, 2022

SWEET WILLIAM FRITSCH ~

 



Sweet William Fritsch & Lenore Kandel

________________________________________


SWEET  WILLIAM  FRITSCH

My Few Days Filming the San Francisco Hells Angel

Paul G Ryan

Photograph: 2009 Isaac Hernandez 





Monday, June 13, 2022

BILL BATHURST ~ The Collected Poetry & Prose






Bill Bathurst, The Collected Poetry & Prose

 edited by Bob Arnold

___________


Longhouse, 2022

Available now 


240 pages of poetry & prose
including Bill Bathurst's three out of print titles ~
For Julessa, Greystone Poems, How To Continue
plus uncollected poetry & prose

62 photographs & images

Introduction by Clifford Burke

$25

$5 shipping for USA
Overseas please inquire




Buy now
with Paypal,
please use our email

longhousepoetry@gmail.com



Check or money order ~

Longhouse
PO Box 2454
West Brattleboro, Vermont
05303


________________________________



Time On My Hands

                                for Billie Holiday



As though abed in white satin

her wedding night with Prez


that never threatens dawn,

her voice from the Thirties


untouched by Death

the lone night through.


As though Lady,

filling in my silence


like Prez when her soul

caught its breath,


could ease me through the dark,

“I’m Pullin’ Through.”


As though that voice

would never trail off,


dawn never catch me,

like a shade flying up,


sandwiched between mirrors

taking a piss,


wide-eyed and hollow

cheeks needing a shave,


this image reflected &

diminished to a point


invisible with silence

she must have welcomed,


leather soles of police

on the waxen floor


of her hospital death room

heard inside her eyes


as gardenias of years gone by

crushed underfoot.


As though, then, this coda

could finally be left


unwritten: Sunday, lonely,

guest of a friend


gone to bed with his wife

pregnant again, restless


when I write this,

outside I’m spaced, the sun


at my armpit, encircled by

acres of broken land


flat as my prospects,

weeds & barbed wire running riot


like doubts in my head

make it hard to walk,


uncertain & shy, alone &

a long way from home.

                                         

                                                20 August 1967








Sunday, June 12, 2022

Saturday, June 11, 2022

GHASSAN ZAQTAN ~

 



Just A Song



Thanks because the river flows

and the villages are fruits on the roads

and the roads are sleepwalking doors

and sleep is the shadow of death

its white land's first

and the dead are with me

strolling in front of my house

unarmed and peaceful

they posed for photos then left 

singly

without an evening

or a calamity


and thanks to the evening.





A Going



Leave us something

we'd be sad if you leave


Leave us, for example,

if you like,

your last photo by the door


our summer trip together


that scent of pine,

your words or your tobacco?


And don't go

alone

and whole

like a sword.





A Horse



And whenever I fall asleep

I find a horse grazing grass

. . .

always

a horse comes to graze the grass

. . .

when I fall asleep.



____________________


Ghassan Zaqtan

Like A Straw Bird It Follows Me, and Other Poems

trans. Fady Joudan

Yale 2012




Friday, June 10, 2022

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

Tuesday, June 7, 2022

YEVGENIA BELORUSETS ~

 


R E A D  &  L I S T E N



Yevgenia Belorusets is a Ukrainian writer, journalist, artist, and photographer who lives between Kyiv and Berlin. Her photographic work calls attention to the more vulnerable sections of Ukrainian society – queer families, out-of-work coal miners, the Roma, people living in the war zone in the East – and was shown in the Ukrainian pavilion at the 56th Venice Biennale. She is a member of the Hudrada curatorial collective and cofounder of Prostory, a journal for literature, art, and politics. She was awarded the 2020 HKW International Literature Award in Germany for Lucky Breaks, her first work of fiction.




Monday, June 6, 2022

SONIA SANCHEZ ~

 




14 haiku

    for Emmett Louis Till



Your limbs buried

in northern  muscle carry 

their own heartbeat








Mississippi

alert with

conjugated pain








young Chicago

stutterer whistling

more than flesh







your pores

wild stars embracing

southern eyes








footprints blooming

in the night remember

your blood








in this southern

classroom  summer settles

into winter








i  hear your

pulse  swallowing

neglected light






your limbs

fly off the ground

little birds . ... .







we  taste the

blood ritual of

southern hands









blue midnite

breathe sailing on

smiling tongues








say no words

time is collapsing

in the woods








a mother's  eyes

remembering a cradle

pray out loud










walking in Mississippi

i hold the stars

between my teeth








your death

a blues, i could not

drink away.




______________________

Sonia Sanchez ~

Collected Poems

Beacon Press, 2021





Saturday, June 4, 2022

JOHN KEENE ~

 




Blackness

           after Miguel James



When I begin a poem I often  do so

because I love black people.

When I choose not to write

a  poem I still love black people.

If I write I love black people

it's because  I love black people.

If  I don't write  I love black people

I still love black people. Every metaphor,

every simile is rooted in the fact

I love black people. Even if I forgo

figurative language altogether  I still

love black people. Whenever I start

an essay or a short story or novel

I can feel all the way to the very bottom

of my soul that I love black people.

Those times when I stare

at the blank white screen or page

I may despair that I cannot show

or testify how much I love black

people and want other black people

and all people to love black people

and to say and urge others to say

publicly that they love black

people which is to say I have learned

to love myself and to love black people

and to recognize that despite all that

we face in the world from the moment

of our birth to the day we die

that even the black period that will end

this poem is a sign and seal

to me and anyone who cares

that I love black people.




________________________

John Keene

Punks

New  & Selected Poems

Song Cave, 2021






Friday, June 3, 2022

Thursday, June 2, 2022

Wednesday, June 1, 2022