Sunday, April 13, 2025

STONE WALL WORK IN MARCH ~

 


Here's a stone wall I built in March 2025 when two days of thaw slipped in for a moment and I got to work. I was widening a bar-way ten-feet and had to tear down the stone corner you see and rebuild. Tricky. The stone wall run in the background I built in the early 80s. The mound I'm standing on was leveled by shovel and all the stone pulled out of the ground and from an old stone wall in the way went into the new wall I am standing beside. The ground was still blocked with frost and going at it a little at a time each day removed the mound. Even before any of this work could be started there were two four foot high snow banks to shovel away and base ice to melt. Now three weeks later two full days of snow is back since March won't let go. Once it does, a full truck load of 3/4 stone will arrive and we'll get this bar-way looking pretty.

[ BA ]


  photograph by Susan Arnold



Saturday, April 12, 2025

Thursday, April 10, 2025

JULIEN GRACQ ~

 



Rainfall



Here in the world cocooned beneath the rain, the moist warmth,

the roof of droplets and twigs, the soft blankets of air with a

thousand splashing stings. Here is beauty on her bed of water,

awakened by the sudden fresh transparency, attuned to a pure

idea of herself, drawn like water by glass. In the air where

the water's babbling above fragrant with grass, and suspends from

the tieback of lianas pearl-studded canopies and the crackling

arithmetic of a crystal abacus.


_____________________

Julien Gracq

Abounding Freedom

translated by Alice Yang

World Poetry, 2024




Tuesday, April 8, 2025

Monday, April 7, 2025

PAUL McDONOUGH ~





 

Blow Back


once

upon a time


a boat due

for wetdock

maintenance

and repairs


officers

enlisted men

headed to port


...

...


waste

dumped

fore not aft

in briny deep

by mistake


boat sailed

through a cloud

of trash


what was nuclear

gave the hull


a radioactive

veneer


...

...


atomic footprints

of one hundred men

headed for shore

leave

across the deck

of the submarine


tracked

hither and yon

through the night

to

bars

brothels

trailer parks

families and friends


crew pulled back

for safety checks


...

...


but also


running silent

running deep


to keep it

from the press


________________________


Paul McDonough

Electric Boat

Bullhead Books 2024




Sunday, April 6, 2025

Saturday, April 5, 2025

Friday, April 4, 2025

APRIL 5 IS NOW ~

 


       Clifford Burke / Virginia Mudd




FORREST GANDER'S MOJAVE GHOST ~






from Mojave Ghost


In the city, a weather of zeros-and-ones


cascades through rising static, while here


in this xeric topography, we fold ourselves


into the circumstances of desert foothills


chewed away by leprosies, toothed winds, and


sudden rains. Will you let me


approach you? Bend forward


and touch consequences, tenderness, leave


the trace of my fingertips


on your throat's dimple, your


clavicle, nipple? Lean in. In


my mouth, the sound of


your name has changed.



___________________

Forrest Gander

Mojave Ghost

New Directions 2024




Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Monday, March 31, 2025

JOHN BRADLEY'S SPELLS ~

 



Stopping By Words Spell


Whose words these are I think I know.

Who can really own them, though.

No one will see me stealing here

To watch these words become my own.


My sturdy tongue must think it weird

To mouth such blather far and near

Between your ears, that lovely space

Where song makes clatter something dear.


You give each word a goodly shake

And ask if this is some mistake.

This tune, so familiar, must leak

From the pillow used by Willy Blake.


These words are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have syllables to keep,

And text to eat before I sleep,

And text to eat before I sleep.


________________

John Bradley

As Blood is the Fruit of the Heart

Dos Madres 2025


Sunday, March 30, 2025

Friday, March 28, 2025

Thursday, March 27, 2025

Wednesday, March 26, 2025

Tuesday, March 25, 2025

THEODORE ENSLIN WOULD BE 100 TODAY ~

 


Little Wandering Snowflake



Ah, little wandering snowflakes are how I watch the day today, now ending March and the thin ice melting and refreezing each day on the pond in the back lot of the yard — ducks we found out there the other morning — a pair of mallards — just imagine the alert green head of the male, the brown muss of the hen hidden nearly in cattail stalks. Ted would. He would want to tramp out there with me to see, stay as long as he wanted, then perk a further walk off somewhere else. We did that one winter day when he visited from Maine. Maine is Ted’s home (largest of the New England states, occupied by more than 5000 rivers and streams, with a state motto Dirigo : I direct), so is New Mexico, Cape Cod, early spring in Philadelphia; early spring anywhere for that matter. Ted is a man at ground level, refurbished daily by the day, and it is clearly your own fortune to meet the man, find the poems and song that come forth from a living earned. Nothing special — and Ted wouldn’t want the undue excitement nor attention — but let’s not upset the magnificence of over one-hundred books of poetry, prose and literary chorales (ie., Forms, Synthesis, Ranger, Axis); and would it be unbelievable in this day and age of stroking champions and making such a fuss over some little big name in the poetry world that Ted would read his poetry across the United States in the old days traveling by bus, selling his books, making friends of dear strangers, recalling fondly those small mountain open towns in Nevada, then returning to his rural home and family, garden and woodcutting detail, tending to the cranberry and blueberry harvest, pressing apples, clamming, a supper table devoted from the land and the sea. The very utensil. It’d be easy to want to quote young Henry Thoreau when thinking of Ted — but why Henry, when we have Ted? —



And if he sings

                          with care,


he sings 

                   a new song


made of old

                     flints struck.


O.K. He sings his source.



and then some. Do yourself a favor and say hello.


                                                — Bob Arnold


       Bob Arnold & Theodore Enslin

Fort Atkinson, WI., 2003

  photo by Susan Arnold




L I N K   T O   T H E   R E A D I N G:

https://mville-edu.zoom.us/j/81912000037

also:

PENN SOUND





Monday, March 24, 2025

WEIJIA PAN ~

 



Ultimatum


If I forget one character a day,

I will have forgotten Chinese

by the end of 2042.


Sooner or later I will forget

my quarrel with my father,


I will forget if

I ever wrote to you.


And the new language

I will have acquired


will not be the same

as the one that bit me.



____________________

Motherlands

Weijia Pan

Milkweed Editions

2023




Sunday, March 23, 2025

Saturday, March 22, 2025

Friday, March 21, 2025