Haymarket Books
2021
daydreaming w/ Bob Arnold
Mourning Problems
an ant dies, and no one mourns
a bird dies, and no one mourns if it isn't a crested ibis
a monkey dies, and monkeys mourn
a monkey dies, and people pry open its skull
a shark dies, and another shark keeps swimming
a tiger dies, and some people mourning are mourning themselves
a person dies, and some people mourn and some people don't
a person dies, and some people mourn and some even applaud
a generation dies, and the next generation doesn't really mourn
a country dies, most of the time just leaving apocrypha
a country that doesn't leave apocrypha wasn't a real country
if it wasn't a real country, when it dies no one mourns
no one mourns, and the wind blows in vain
rivers flow in vain, washing over rocks in vain
glistening in vain, making vain ripples
the river dies, and it's not for man to mourn
the wind dies, and it's not for man to mourn
the river and wind make their way to the sea together, the sea as vast
as Zhuangzi's sea
the vast sea dies, and you will have to die
the dragon king dies, and you will have to die
the moon doesn't mourn, there's no one on the moon
the stars don't mourn, the stars aren't flesh and blood
November 11, 2014
__________________
Bloom and Other Poems
translated from the Chinese by Lucas Klein
New Directions, 2022
The above is a review of the exhibit
concentrating on Georgiana Houghton
Hilma Af Klint and Emma Kunz,
whose names also make it onto
the front cover of the book —
yet, strangely, Harry Smith
and John Whitney and
James Whitney are
also showcased in the book
with little headline benefit.
The guys get to see how neglect feels.
(Harry knows)
It remains an excellent catalogue.
____________________________
Hirmer, 2018
Yellow Girl Blues
for Jane King
My mama she done told me
she tell me every day
no mind your skin is yellow
you're a nigger anyway.
Yellow girl blues
yellow girl blues
I walking on the muddy road
in my sampata shoes.
So I grew up a nigger
please check on my behind,
my mouth, my nose, my curly
hair— I'm glad to know my kind.
Yellow girl blues
yellow girl blues.
I walking on the muddy road
in my sampata shoes.
And I go to America
and join in all the fights
sit in and demonstrate
and go to jail for Civil Rights.
Yellow girl blues
yellow girl blues.
I walk through so much macca
there's holes in all my shoes.
Dr King say it don't matter
he say we all is one —
the hose don't know the difference
nor the truncheon, nor the gun.
Yellow girl blues
yellow girl blues.
I feel the firewater
as it soak in through my shoes.
Now I come north to Canada
my story it is true
they look me in my face and say
"White woman, who is you?"
Yellow girl blues
yellow girl blues.
I walking in the macca still
and my own take away my shoes.
______________
A Fierce Green Place
New and Selected Poems
New Directions, 2022
Peter Schjeldahl with his wife, Brooke Alderson, in 1981. Mr. Schjeldahl wrote about New York’s art world with undiminished enthusiasm for more than half a century.Credit...Sheree Rose
March 20, 1942 (Fargo, N.D.) ~ NY. 2022