POSTCARD 3 ~

"Cowgirls" 

 oil on photo linen

Photograph : Bob Wade

1988

 

 

CLOTH OF THE TEMPEST, KENNETH PATCHEN

Lips of the Angel



Hate the world
For the world is not love

Only life is loved
O only life is loved

Not the evil
Not the weak
Not the said thing
Not the saying of the Highest

Not the love of good at all
On the earth and off the earth

O only death is loved
Only death is the loved of every thing
On the earth and off the earth

Roglolisendurikahrium


The pathway. It needs O it needs
Light on it. As a face
We love.

I know the gray panther. He kills,
And it is fun O it is fun
In his heart. As a day
We die through.
Sullen. The deathman is sullen. O
He does not like
Little cars. Cars full of huge snowroses
And men wearing heaven
On their caps.

But joy.

O the joy of roads sweetens the earth
And the panther is a fool
And a fool is that deathman
Who brought us here. For joy
Shall touch every being. As the sun
These fields. O what is a tree and a brook
And a hill and a lamb and a brown sparrow?
What is a pathway?
O look at the beautiful cars O
Thy are full of strange creatures
Who do not have guns in their hands.

           This Poor Life; the Rain
          and the Shining Guide:
   the Nest of the Horse and the Scales
                    of Eternity
Make a Pattern but I've Got My Life Caught
          in a Road Going Nowhere



The empire is
Officially a goddamned bore.

Money's antennae
Feel over the asses of everybody.

As far as that goes a fire ten miles high
Wouldn't warm some of these toads.
They shake my hand and their gloves stink
With the sweat of my people.

They ride a blind horse in a race to hell.
But they sing pretty fat now.
Try tickling me under the chin!
"I just met the most amusing writer   . . ."
How perfectly snotty.

For the pittie o' 'em,
O for the pittie of their bloddy ways   . . .

As now I've said their death —
I'm sure they will know whose friend I am.

The Slums


That should be obvious.
Of course it won't.
Any fool knows that.
Even in the winter.
Consider for a moment.
What?
Consider what!
They never have.
Why now?
Certainly it means nothing.
It's all a lie.
What else could it be?
That's right.
Sure.
Any way you look at it.
A silk hat.
A fat belly.
A nice church to squat in.
My holy ass   . . .
What should they care about?
It's quaint.
Twelve kids on a fire escape   . . .
Flowers on the windowsill   . . .
You're damn right.
That the way it is.
That's just the way it is.

'The Animal I Wanted'



The animal I wanted

Couldn't get into the world   . . .

I can hear it crying

When I sit like this away from life.

The Prize


There are no losses.
There is only life.


Pear-smooth, cool face of a child   . . .
Black cow wading in a green pond   . . .
The crazy loft in an old building   . . .
Sea comin in, honey
O Lord sea comin in
You will find the Lion
O Lord you will find the lion
And war!  War?
What is lost now is the world in this time.
Any peace they make is a lie.
Butchers are not interested in freedom;
The higher their talk, the bloodier their aims.
'Why don't you lead me to that rock?'


But there can be no losses.
There is only life for all men!

To A Certain Section Of Our Population



It is ordered now

That you push your beliefs

Up out of the filth high enough

For the inchworm to get their measure.

'She Is the Prettiest of Creatures'



She is the prettiest of creatures
All like a queen she is

I have made a paper wheel
And I pin it to her dress

We lie together sometimes
And it is as nice as music
When you are half-asleep

And then we want to cry because
We are so clean and warm
And sometimes it is raining
And the little drops scuttle
Like the feet of angels on the roof

I have made this poem tonight
And I pin it in her hair

For she is the prettiest of creatures
O all like a strange queen she is

While the Panther Sleeps



It is not entirely wrong to think
That there are angels here.
The weather is right for them;
And the panther is asleep.

Walk into the beautiful.
Hold your hand out to it.
Put on good like a bird.
Does it amaze you?
Do you really hate God?
O the panther is asleep,
And the soul of man fondles a higher season.

For there are angels around us.
They wear little yellow hats,
And their eyes are made of water.
Give them your doings to hold.
Let them try on your tall.
Will they like to kiss you?
Will your love clothe their fire?
The panther of the world is asleep,
And the spirit hastens to its brightest home.

Not to Disturb This Gay Gathering



O I know a fabulous cowshed

Where a strange beast is kept

That gives milk the color of blood.

And the reason I tell you this

Is that its mate is loose in your world.

The Buffalo That Went To Live At the Waldorf Astoria



It makes so much noise when I walk
Down the stairs
And the elevator is too damn small altogether.
Maybe I can get them to put in a field
Where the dining room is   . . .
A lake would be nice where they have the lobby.
If I asked friends in the way things are now,
They'd laugh at me.
It seems odd that all the trees have been cut down
And there isn't a blade of grass anywhere
Except on the floor of the manager's own room.
My wife complains that the bathtub is so tiny
That there is hardly space for the water to fit,
And none at all for her when the water is in.
Surely the management must realize that to sit
In an empty tub is pretty cold comfort at best,
And the results on the score of personal cleanliness
Are not encouraging from our way of thinking.
It does seem to me that the less I say about the food
The better it will be for the mental climate
Of the maniacs who concot it:
Tomato sauce on rice pudding! Whipped cream
With devilled lobster! Great mother of the plains
Preserve us!
If my poor father could only taste their crepes suzettes,
I'm sure he'd demand to be taken off the nickel.
But the watering trough in the Grand Ball Room
Is at once aesthetically satisfying and eminently practical.

Now I Went Down To the Ringside
and Little Henry Armstrong Was There



They've got some pretty horses up in the long dark mountains.
Get him, boy!

They've got some nifty riders away yonder on that big sad road.
Get him, boy!

They've got some tall talk off in that damn fine garden.
Get him, boy!

When you can't use your left, then let the right go.
When your arms get tired, hit him with a wing.
When you can't see very good, smell where he is.

They've got some juicy steaks in that nice sweet by-and-by,
Get him, boy!

They've got a lot of poor black lads in that crummy old jailhouse.
Get him, boy!

O they've got a lot of clean bunks up in their big wide blue sky.
That's his number, boy!

'Enjoyment of Women'

Enjoyment of women

Makes good rooms for life to live in.

Sharp food and pleasant drink

Do town the spirit with clean inhabitants.

For the gloomy man, gloom;

For the kittenish of appetite, soft cozy pretties

To write poems about or to smack around;

People can get springheads in the winter,

And winterheads in the spring;

It all depends on what they have to live with;

But the people who don't like to be people,

Will get messed up in some way or other.

________________________________________


Kenneth Patchen, born in Niles, an Ohio steel-mill town, worked mainly on the East Coast until 1950, when he and his wife Miriam moved to San Francisco. Living in North Beach, he created his well-known “painted books” and began performing “poetry-jazz” in the city’s avant-garde clubs. A crippling back injury restricted his activities in the late 1950s; the Patchens moved to Palo Alto, where Patchen continued to write and paint until his death at age 61. He authored many many books millions read and loved; yes, millions. We ain't dead yet.

Kenneth Patchen roof-topped with some of his painted books
 

Cloth of the Tempest
Kenneth Patchen
Harper and Brothers, 1943

MUSIC MAN MURRAY ~

 Murray Gershenz (1922-2013)
proud owner of the scarce "Butcher" version of
The Beatles "Yesterday and Today"

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/08/arts/music/murray-gershenz-record-store-owner-and-character-actor-dies-at-91.html?ref=obituaries

http://vimeo.com/24734883

photo : Damian Dovarganes/Associated Press

FANNY HOWE ~

AMERICA  _______________________________________



We know one thing. Poverty has to exist for capitalism to
continue. As long as the cash flow is preserved within
an outer circle of raw destitution, the country is safe from social welfare.


If there were no outer circle of swamp and procreation, populations
without dental records or medical documents or photo
IDs, there would have to be a welfare state with health care and
housing provided to all. There would have to be an evening out,
all the way to the edge.


As long as the culture of poverty is maintained as a perpetual
problem, the benefits of being healthy and comfortable are inarguable
and must be paid for.


All those beds, clothes, threads lumpish and loose from water
and weight, all those mobile homes, the weeping, more water to
cope with, the bowels, more sewage, pets lost and grandparents
swept away, more mosquitoes, more bites to make more illness.
Meds for psychosis, AIDS, and depression — soaked and
missing.


Outside and inside bodies washed around in the waters of their
neighborhoods, the rooftop people called for help, or there were
the holdouts who sipped their coffee while the wind raged, muttering,
"I'm not moving."


The light hides in the top yellow leaves and at the tips of buildings
and the cold air just at knee level. This is what it was like
when the planes flew over Manhattan, the sky was an abnormal
cerulean blue.


Today a woman in New Orleans thanked Jesus when she was handed a drink of water.
We saw her on television.
Why did the woman thank Jesus instead of the man who
brought it to her?
I mean, if she thinks Jesus brought the glass of water, who
brought the flood that made her thirsty?
Tell me, why did the woman thank Jesus?
What if you were to tell her that not only did Jesus die two thousand years ago,
but he did not come back and does not exist in
any possible sense today.
What if you were to tell her that she should thank the man in
front of her instead and ask him his name.
What if you were to tell her that we stand alone on a planet and
when she is given a glass of water, it follows from a series of
causes  that have made it an inevitable gesture.
And so she should thank the man, not Jesus, for the water since
he was the faithful member of a chain of neighborly acts.
Or maybe that is what she meant.





_____________________________

FANNY HOWE
The Winter Sun
(Notes on a Vocation)
Graywolf Press, 2009


http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/fanny-howe

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED ~

"Teacher"

scene from Battleship Potemkin (1925)

directed by Sergei M. Eisenstein

http://www.sott.net/article/232912-Assassinations-by-induced-heart-attack-and-cancer



http://www.sptimes.com/News/webspecials/exorcist/index.html

BUILDER ~

(week one)

sliver

photographs © Susan Arnold

POSTCARD 2 ~

Photograph Mike Roberts
"Man Eater? No. These loggers climbed into this undercut
to emphasize the enormity of the trunk of this giant
California Redwood. These men are each over 6 feet tall.
The diameter of the tree is over 13 feet."

POSTCARD 1 ~

"Crew Felling Fir Tree" Washington 1899

Photograph Darius Kinsey

Library of Congress

I've collected Darius Kinsey photographs since I was a kid growing up in a five generation family lumber business, and workers back then still had a little of the glean & verve seen in this photo.

WHEN I'M 64 ~

Diane Nyad

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/03/sports/nyad-completes-cuba-to-florida-swim.html?hp

BURNING MAN ~

An aerial view of the Burning Man 2013 arts and music festival in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada - the remote desert site is cut off from much of the outside world

  Photograph: Jim Urquhart/Reuters

http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/

 

RENOVATIONS ~

Here's a photograph shot this week of a 223 year old wooden house wall, tattered red rosin paper, exterior siding, clapboards removed, 1 1/2 inch thick wide board pine with lilac tree shadow. All to say we are going to be very busy the next few months renovating this side of the old house, building with many different materials and persuasions: wood, glass and stone and the Birdhouse may finally resort some days to what I like to call ~ "Some of My Favorite Postcards,", showcasing those until it builds into its own unity.

Hand me the crowbar.

ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE ~

 Robert Aitken

________________________________________

"When you cling to nothing as something, then you yourself are

not truly empty, and the emptiness you cherish is no more than an

idea. With this notion of emptiness, you can be persuaded that the

homeless are an illusion, the rain forests are not being destroyed,

there are no traditional peoples who are dying out, there is no one
 freezing or starving or dying from shrapnel in the former Yugoslavia. When you run over a child with your car, there is no child, after all. Put down that "not a single thing" or your successors will use it to enhance and support brutality and imperialism. "

 Robert Aitken

 Original Dwelling Place
(p. 154)
Counterpoint 1996

______________________________________



http://sweepingzen.com/robert-aitken-bio/ 

I HAVE A DREAM ~

Martin Luther King, Jr.
March on Washinton 
Aug 28, 1963

Salvador Allende & Pablo Neruda

Victor Jara

http://www.tomdispatch.com/post/175741/tomgram%3A_ariel_dorfman%2C_martin_luther_king_and_the_two_9_11s/#more









http://www.naacp.org/pages/king?source=BSDAds_GoogleSearch_Martin%20Luther%20King_Dream_I%20Have%20a%20Dream%20Speech_Phrase_13683507433&gclid=CMqCkNT8pLkCFQya4AodYQsAOw