DAVID TOOP ~

Goldsmiths

U.K.

2019

POETS WHO SLEEP (The Book) ~ #4

FOR HARDCORE FRNs ~

Susan and I traveled this route in 1979

DRUMMOND HADLEY ~

Though you've forgotten who you were. . .

     though you've forgotten who you were

     when she told you her songs to sing,

though you've forgotten who you were

     who sang her songs to the air,

though you've forgotten who you were

     who could make her sing her songs,

though her arms ache for you and you want

     to come to her and you sit there

     waiting to hear her song,

the wind blows on past you over the ranges

    of blue mountains and carries her

    into the blue distances where

    your eyes can't see.







Oh thinking, feeling people:


     Laborers, presidents, blue collar workers,

     vice-presidents of governments and businesses,

     kids in blue jeans waiting out the summers,

     working in gas stations and cafes,

     smoking dope under the noses of the police,

     or screeching your tires on the roads,

     long-haired people living in leantos and old

     adobe houses spiritually resettling the land. . .



     bring to the children of the years to come

     that Indian vision of the Earth's old family

     Old vision of the Earth's old family

     Old vision of the whiteman we lost long ago

     that Homer tells was ours.


                                                              1972


____________________________
Drummond Hadley
Vision
A Curriculum of the Soul
1972





MORE!

WILLIAM WITHERUP ~

Orange Sunshine Acid Poem



1


We rode towards the stars on a crest

of marble, gneiss and schist

and were caught in the cold sweeping searchlight of eternity





2


You were the Snow Queen and I was Boris

I fought the Russians in the snow with my large red hands

As they fell on my knife their blood froze into jewels





3


I came to you and you loved me, Scheherezade

your breasts smelling of musk

and the wind in the tents





4


I can't tell you anything of love

except that it is a young woman

picking the dry rose-colored madrone leaves from her hair.





____________________

William Witherup
Love Poems
Peters Gate Press
1971

TU FU ~

T U     F U

New York of Review Books

PRIMO LEVI ~

In the Beginning



Fellow humans, to whom a year is a long time,

A century a venerable goal,

Struggling for your bread,

Tired, fretful, tricked, sick lost:

Listen, and may it be mockery and consolation.

Twenty billion years before now,

Brilliant, soaring in space and time,

There was a ball of flame, solitary, eternal,

Our common father and our executioner,

It exploded, and every change began.

Even now the thin echo of this one reverse catastrophe

Resounds from the farthest reaches.

From that one spasm everything was born:

The same abyss that enfolds and challenges us,

The same time that spawns and defeats us,

Everything anyone has ever thought,

The eyes of every woman we have loved,

Suns by the thousands

And this hand that writes.

13 August 1970






__________________________

Primo Levi
Collected Poems
translated by Ruth Feldman and Brian Swann
Faber & Faber

LIN HE-JING ~

Living
As A Recluse
On The Lake


Lakewater

Comes into the yard.

Mountains

Wind round my hut.

A recluse

Should avoid the world.



Normally shut,

The unused door's turned blue with moss.

Guests arrive,

Frightening white birds to flight.

Selling herbs,

I almost hate to price them,

Love watering the garden

According to nature.



And how about

India Road

Through the woods,

Still reaching deep autumn

In a distant,

Blue dream?


________________
Lin He-Jing
Recluse-Poet of Orphan Mountain
Brooding Heron Press 1993
translated by Paul Hansen

POETS WHO SLEEP (The Book) ~ #3

Bob Arnold

ART SPEAKS ~

R E A D       M E

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CARSON! ~

Here is Bob & Carson 35 years ago 
and today is Carson's Birthday ~

35 years old is a pretty good time

to celebrate and say

"Straight Ahead, Traveler

Be Well

Stay Well!"

love

mom & dad

~

Bob & Carson

photo by Susan Arnold

1985

STEVE SANFIELD & BENNY GOODMAN ~

Way back when, Steve sent

me this poem he wrote for

Benny Goodman and

during "Lockdown"

and going through

old and new papers,

I found the poem

and said to myself,

"Save it for June"