PETER GREEN (Black Magic Woman) ~

DAVE BARTHOLOMEW ~

1918 ~ 2019

BOB ARNOLD'S "WOODLANDERS" ~

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Longhouse

PO Box 2454

West Brattleboro, Vermont

05303

YANG MU ~

A Flurry of Snow





What flitted back across the hills yesternight, without a sound

I thought was a long buried matter of the heart

from the deepest recesses of a valley wallowing in death

With my own eyes I saw her open a little doorway onto the garden

tentatively venture forth, look here, there, then

promptly disappear, leaving, in the end, still

the very heart of winter, nothing but traces


1996

translated by Steve Bradbury



____________________________


Yang Mu
Hawk of the Mind
Columbia, 2018

THE SKILLET LICKERS ~

TIMELESS ~

R E A D      M E

Oxford

1979

PAT & FINN (WILCOX) ~

_____________________________

Pat & Finn Wilcox

at the wedding of one of their sons

At dusk, on summer's first day 2019

we love and remember Pat

WOODEN SHJIPS ~

summer 2019

CY TWOMBLY ~

R E A D      M E

JOZEF CZAPSKI ~

R E A D      M E




New York Review of Books
2018

AARON SISKIND ~

M O R E !






Little, Brown
1982

BERT MEYERS ~

Rainy Day




Outside, nothing moves: only the rain

nailing the house up like a coffin.



Remember, in childhood, when it rained?

Then, the whole world sailed down the alley:

leaves, paper, old shoes, the buildings,

everything like a circus going to sea.



Now, the rain, the iron rain, with its little keys

is closing all the doors. . .



and I think we're all dead. See how the sky

sits like a tombstone on the roofs.






Evening on the Farm




Time for a jacket now,

and to put my hands away.



I must learn from the stars

how a field should look.



But one by one, bright children,

the stars rush downstairs



to meet my horses and hay

with their astonished eyes.







Apprentice




Because

I love you

I've learned to be

this hammer that runs

all day like a horse

with its hoof in its head.



In the afternoon

my hands

lie down together

for a minute.







Twilight at the Shop



A whole day at the saw —

when they come for the rubbish,

I throw myself

out with the dust.



We smile and smoke and praise

what's left of the sun.

Dark trees have bottled its light.

They glow like many beers.






______________________

Bert Meyers
Sunlight on the Wall
Kayak
1976

THE BALFA BROTHERS~

RADUAN NASSAR ~

R E A D      M E

BOB ARNOLD (ARCHIVE) ~

ANN PETRY ~

R E A D      M E

Library of America

2019

OLGA CABRAL ~

Night-Letter



Nightly I write you letters

but morning is always a cancelled gray envelope

stamped ADDRESS UNKNOWN.

I've been wanting to tell you

how things are since you have gone:

the cherry trees still looks into your window

and offers its arms full of small birds

of your last Spring.



I've packed your luggage —

that worn leather suitcase with the labels of epochs

and sent it on freedom rides

to Mississippi jails.

Your clothes closet, once gay

as a carnival of bears

with your checkered shirts and poet's neckties

holds the odor of dead flowers

and more sinister than shadows

motes of dust in faded sunbeams

swing suspended from bare wire hangers.

Your rough jackets have gone

with their bearings —

they have given me their last embraces

to link arms with new companions

and your shoes are out walking again

on new picket lines.



But the grief of your old eyeglasses

that you patched with Scotch tape

is more than I can bear.

Lying in the lamplight before an open book

they watch me from a void

of vacant lenses

as I go from room to room on perilous journeys

groping with my fingers to construct your face,

seeking the answer of your lips

upon the sundered air

the way it was the last time I kissed you

under the wings of the Angel

of Death.



___________________

Olga Cabral
The Evaporated Man
Olivant, 1968




Olga was a very early friend to Longhouse
— we miss her.

THE LEFT BANKE ~

BEATRIZ BRACHER ~

R E A D      M E

THOMAS BERNHARD (PROSE) ~

R E A D      M E

Seagull Books

2018