Tuesday, July 17, 2012

POSTAGE DUE ~





John Brandi / Steve Sanfield



All day I've been writing away on the final leg of the Longhouse Bibliography for the years 2008-2012. I'm at 2011 and thought to charge ahead and get more under the belt and then I opened the mail ~ and here was a new book by John and Steve (sent by Steve, with other loose poems to share) and I couldn't help myself but to read. Everything.


Then go out and snap a photograph


Then type you up some of the poems from the book


So you are here with me


Like these two guys are

_____________________________________





no clouds

but the sky fills

with snowflakes







solitude —

every knot on the floor

begins to move







another pal becomes a recluse

almost no one left

to not visit







unburned brush pile

beginning

to bud







three mistakes / two stumbles

and not even

out the door yet







jury summons

he wears exactly

what they told him not to







changing the stream's song

simply by moving

a stone or two







years of pine needles

on the path

soften his own fall







so happy for their visit

he opens the gate

for the swirling leaves









200 copies, text printed at Country Copy, Grass Valley, California
over image, printing & binding by Jerry Reddan, Tangram Press




Monday, July 16, 2012

LOOK UP ~







Number of private U.S. citizens killed in terrorist attacks in 2010 : 15

Number killed by falling televisions : 16


from Harper's Index, August 2012






Sunday, July 15, 2012

THE WOLVES' TURN ~







Los Lobos
Chicago, 2010






Los Lobos
Vic Theater
November 6, 2010










David Hidalgo
Booker T. & the MGs

Crossroads Guitar Festival 2004






enjoy!




MORE WOODY ~





Arlo Guthrie Family
(w/ Woody Guthrie children, grandchildren and great grandchildren)
photo : Annie Leibovitz



We returned from the concert last night around midnight feeling runny, crummy and a little funny (meaning exhilarated). We had just been front stage, in what shade any of us could find, in a treeless field scorched at 9o degrees, and would stand the next four hours enduring beautifully a heart of Americana between two bands: Los Lobos and the Arlo Guthrie Family Reunion band. I had last seen Arlo play (at a small bar) 42 years ago, so there were all sorts of reunions going on.


We had got there after doing a full morning of chores and sweating up, then dunking in the river and heading out in small touring car to a few more errands like first finding a bite to eat, then doing groceries and packing it all away in our large thermos with a bag of ice, and the grocer has been strategically chosen because it allows us a spot to park the car, groceries in the tub under blankets and head off on-foot, each of us with a good apple to chew in hand, and hoof it the two miles into the concert, because you see — we don't have $110 to spend on tickets. There's a brake job to do on the car next week and that's going to cost plenty. So, with any luck, after we walk in and see how the place feels (all outdoors, mucho security, ID bracelets everywhere), we'll see if we can find two people who are leaving early and don't mind parting and gifting us with their ID bracelets. It didn't take long. In fact one fellow went to such lengths to dig down into his backpack and bring forth a fresh free ticket (for Sweetheart) from Yankee Candle. We plan to give a little bow next time we pass Yankee Candle, that strange tourist attraction on the horizon. To the kind man we already bow.


With about fifteen minutes to spare, joyous, criminal, free floating with this sea of field-filled faces and bodies we joined the great human race and got ourselves into place for Los Lobos, to our minds, the mightiest touring band of America. We had last seen them 15 years ago in Lenox, Massachusetts when we had bought tickets for ourselves, our son Carson, Janine Pommy Vega and Jim Koller and we all showed up there as a big family ready for our own reunion and zest. And guess what? — the tickets were never charged to us — so don't tell me something eerie, sweet and nice isn't following us around with this band. Besides, we're here in the first place for Woody Guthrie's 100 birthday celebration (Los Lobos doesn't mention him once) or as Woody might have said, "Whatever it takes."


Los Lobos is finishing up an eastern tour tonight here, though they aren't quite sure where they are, nor does it matter, they start and end in full throttle Mexico~East L.A.,~ the bigger world catch-as-catch-can mixture of classical rock 'n' roll and blues meets traditional conjunto masterpieces. I don't know if that was Cougar Estrada on the drums with them, some of his mighty drum kit was blocking my view, but if it was, his playing and backfill engine literally thrummed under our feet. There were a few jam portions here to backfill our own lives for at least the next year to come. This band stream rolling as free wolves since the early 70s.


That's one segment of the Americana that is occurring right before our eyes — from the Mexico borderlands into East L.A., and my Sweetheart-sneak who has gotten in with me tonight reminds me, with her own L.A., childhood memories, that the weather right now, as the band hits the stage, is very reminiscent of the very best California dry ground breezy lingering humidity solace. It's even in the trees on the edges of our view. No wonder the band is all smiles, except for, of course, Luis Perez.


After Los Lobos, and a short breather (everyone goes to the free water cooler, a very thoughtful contribution by the concert architects) comes what has to be the grandest showcase of American music family tradition since The Carter Family, if you trace the lineage. Arlo Guthrie and his relaxed and top-notch family brood of musicians including his daughter Sarah Lee Guthrie and husband Johnny Irion. Just to show you the lineage right there: Arlo is the son of Woody Guthrie, who handed his son a guitar at the age of 5. Even though Arlo, as a youngster, wanted to be a forest ranger and work in a fire lookout tower for the rest of his life (who didn't in the 60s?!), the Oklahoma gene pool genius had other plans for him. It turns out Johnny Irion, who married Arlo's daughter, had a grand-uncle by the name of John Steinbeck. So right there on the stage, strumming, alive as you or me, is a mighty flash of
The Grapes of Wrath between Woody and Steinbeck. And it will play out powerfully when all this family begins to play, sing and speak — from Arlo's children and grand children, who are Woody Guthrie's children and grand children and great children, right down to little Sophia and Olivia Irion who sang and talked, trust me, just like small fry Woody's. If you didn't have tears in your eyes at this charmed spectacle, then you did when Arlo Davy Guthrie, as son, broke into Woody's masterpiece "Deportee" (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos).


A beautiful night. We all left as one. It will disperse, yes, but it was one.


_____________________________




I found a clip of Arlo Guthrie and most of the same family band playing "Deportees" (not from our concert) from a few years back, with classic Arlo speakeasy and play.











Saturday, July 14, 2012

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WOODY ~






Woody Guthrie
New York City 1943






Woody Guthrie
The Library of Congress Recording Sessions



With no plans to be released as commercial recordings, some of the tracks from these legendary recordings were first released in 1964 on Elektra Records three-LP set titled Woody Guthrie: Library of Congress Recordings.

Rounder Records in 1988 — when I bought my vinyl boxset — released the full recordings on LP and CD.

The Library of Congress Recording Sessions are known as the first recordings made of Woody Guthrie. Born Woodrow Wilson Guthrie in Okemah Oklahoma on July 14, 1912, he passed away at age 55 in New York City on October 3, 1967. No surprise, the recordings were developed by folklorist Alan Lomax over a period of days in March 1940 when Guthrie was 28 years old. They catch early versions of "So Long It's Been Good To Know You" and "Talking Dust Bowl Blues" with Guthrie in a talkative mood, sharing autobiographical memories of his home state of Oklahoma, the Dust Bowl, riding freight trains and personal observations of his life during America's great depression.


















Woody's 33 New Year's Resolutions
click on image to enlarge












Woody getting a shine
New York City 1943
Photo : Eric Schaal




Woody entertaining commuters, 1943
Photo : Eric Schaal





Woody & kids
photo courtesy Larry Long







Woody Guthrie entertains commuters in New York, 1943.
Photo : Eric Schaal






click on image to enlarge




Greystone Mental Hospital

"A building on the grounds of the Greystone Park Psychiatric Hospital (once known as the Greystone Park Lunatic Asylum). Morris County, New Jersey. Now partially abandoned and in a state of decay as some of the buildings return to dust and weeds. The facility occupies some 700+ acres and has been taken over by the state of New Jersey.

Legendary folk singer Woody Guthrie was hospitalized here from about 1956 to 1961 due to symptoms from Huntington's disease which caused him to sometimes lose control of his muscle movements. While hospitalized here, Bob Dylan came to pay a visit to Woody."
Rob Klurfield, photographer








top photo : Eric Schaal




HEART ~






The giant heart formed with 6,000 oak trees which Winston Howes planted in memory of his late wife Janet. Photograph: Adam Gray/SWNS



Friday, July 13, 2012

MONEY HONEY ~






_____________________________________


Mitt Romney and his fellow suits at Bain Capital.

It isn't, but that could be John Edwards on the lower right.

Let's keep up our good work criticizing President Barack Obama ~
without him the future sure looks bright.





further:
http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2012/07/13/futures-executive-confesses-to-stealing-millions-from-customers/?hp



Imagine Romney even having a prayer in a country going destitute by the likes of this critter. What in the world are Americans thinking?!




EARTH~







EXAMINATION



tick of

the clock



measuring

you




[ BA ]




Thursday, July 12, 2012

COOK ~
( & remembering Marion Cunningham )






the young M.F.K. Fisher




Honest Is Good


Many people think that gourmets, true connoisseurs of eating and drinking, must possess great wealth I do not believe this. The wealthy are gourmets, if so, inspite of their riches. It is much easier to eat honestly if one is poor and eats food prepared by cooks who must, at least occasionally, use their wits and their skills rather than the truffles and rare condiments of princely kitchens.


I think now of some of the best meals in my life, and almost without exception they have been so because of the superlative honesty of “poor fare,” rather than sophistication. I admire and often even like what is now called the Classical Cuisine ... the intricate sauces of great chefs, and the complexities of their sweets and their pastries. But for strength, both of the body and of the spirit, I turn without hesitation to the simplest cooks ....


I remember the best sauce I ever ate.


It was not at Foyot’s, in the old days in Paris. It was in a cabin with tarpaper walls on the rainswept hillsides in Southern California. The air was heavy with the scent of wet sage from outside and the fumes of a cheap kerosene stove within. Three or four children piped for more, more, from the big bowl of steaming gravy in the center of the heavy old round table crowded between the family’s cots. We ate it from soup plates, the kind you used to get free with labels from cereal packages. It was made from a couple of cottontails, and a few pulls of fresh herbs from the underbrush, and spring water and some “Red Ink” from the bottom of Uncle Johnie’s birthday jug ... and a great deal of love. It was all we had, with cold flapjacks left from breakfast to scoop it up. It was good, and I know that I was indeed fortunate to have driven up the hill that night in the rain and to have friends who would share with me.


I remember the best stew I ever ate, too.


It was not a bouillabaisse at Isnard’s in Marseille. It was made, further south on the Mediterranean at Cassis, by a very old small woman, for a great lusty batch of relatives and other people she loved. Little grandnephews dove for equally young octopi and delicate sea eggs, and old sons sent their rowboats silently up the dark calanques for rockfish lurking among the sunken German U-boat from the First War, and grizzling cousins brought in from the deep sea a fine catch of rays and other curious scaly monsters. Little girls and their mothers and great-aunts went up into the bone-dry hills for aromatic leaves and blossoms, and on the way home picked up a few bottles of Herby wine from the tiny vineyards they worked in the right seasons.


The very old woman cooked and pounded and skinned and ruminated, and at about noon, two days later, we met in her one-room house and spent some twenty more hours, as I remember, eating and eating ... and talking and singing and then eating again, from seemingly bottomless pots of the most delicious stew in my whole life. It had been made with love.


And from a beautiful odorous collection of good breads in my life I still taste, in my memory, the best.


There have been others that smelled better, or looked better, or cut better, but this one, made by a desolately lonesome Spanish-Greek Jewess for me when I was about five, was the best. Perhaps it was the shape. It was baked in pans just like the big ones we use, but tiny, perhaps 1 x 3 inches. And it rose just the way ours did, but tinnily. (Many years later, when I read Memoirs of A Midget and suffered for the difficulties of such a small person’s meals, I wished I could have taken to her, from time to time and wrapped in a doll’s linen napkin, a fresh loaf from my friend’s oven ...).


Yes, that was and still is the best bread It came from the kitchen of a very simple woman, who knew instinctively that she could solace her loneliness by the ritual of honest cooking. It taught me, although I did not understand it then, a prime lesson in survival. I must eat to live; I want to live well; therefore I must eat well. And in these days of spurious and distorted values, the best way to eat is simply, without affectation or adulteration. Given honest flour, pure water, and a good fire, there is really only one more thing needed to make the best bread in the world, fit for the greatest gourmet ever born: and that is honest love.


from Good Cooking — The Complete Cooking Companion, 1950.
Republished in A Stew Or A Story, An Assortment of Short Works by M. F. K. Fisher
Gathered and introduced by Joan Reardon,
Shoemaker & Hoard, 2006.






the cook at home in Sonoma Valley
Photograph by Paul Fusco/Magnum Photos












& remembering Marion Cunningham:
(1922-2012)

Marion Cunningham, a former California homemaker who overcame agoraphobia later in life to become one of America’s most famous and enthusiastic advocates of home cooking, died on Wednesday morning in Walnut Creek, Calif. She was 90. . .

. . ."Mrs. Cunningham — who loved to go to the supermarket and peer into the baskets of startled strangers, whom she would then interview about their cooking skills — made it her life’s work to champion home cooking and preserve the family supper table.

“No one is cooking at home anymore, so we are losing all the wonderful lessons we learn at the dinner table,” she said in an interview in 2002.

“People are living like they are in motels,” she added. “They get fast food and take it home and turn on the TV. Schools and sports groups have soccer practice or what have you during what used to be called the dinner hour. We don’t need more competitive sports. We need to sit facing people with great regularity, so we are making an exchange and we are learning to be civilized.”

Marion Enwright was born on Feb. 11, 1922, in Los Angeles to Joseph Enwright and the former Maryann Spelta. She spent the first half of her adult life raising two children, Mark and Catherine — who survive her — and tending the ranch home she shared with her husband, Robert Cunningham, a medical malpractice lawyer, in Walnut Creek.

For much of that time she struggled with agoraphobia , a fear of open and public places. It was so intense at times that she could barely cross the Bay Bridge to San Francisco. She also developed a drinking problem, and once she stopped, she became known for her love of a good cup of black coffee — sometimes ordered when everyone else was drinking Champagne."

The New York Times 11 July 2012



Wednesday, July 11, 2012

BANK ROBBERS ~






As unemployment climbed and tax revenue fell, the city of Baltimore laid off employees and cut services in the midst of the financial crisis. Its leaders now say the city’s troubles were aggravated by bankers’ manipulation of a key interest rate linked to hundreds of millions of dollars the city had borrowed.

Baltimore has been leading a battle in Manhattan federal court against the banks that determine the interest rate, the London interbank offered rate, or Libor, which serves as a benchmark for global borrowing and stands at the center of the latest banking scandal. Now cities, states and municipal agencies nationwide, including Massachusetts, Nassau County on Long Island, and California’s public pension system, are looking at whether they suffered similar losses and are weighing legal action.

Dozens of lawsuits filed by municipalities, pension funds and hedge funds have been consolidated into a few related cases against more than a dozen banks that are involved in setting Libor each day, including Bank of America, JPMorgan Chase, Deutsche Bank and Barclays. Last month, Barclays admitted to regulators that it tried to manipulate Libor before and during the financial crisis in 2008, and paid $450 million to settle the charges. It said other banks were doing the same, but none of them have been accused of wrongdoing.

Libor, a measure of how much banks must pay to borrow money from one another in the short term, is set through a daily poll of the banks.

The rate influences what consumers, businesses and investors pay on a wide range of financial contracts, as varied as mortgages and interest rate swaps. Barclays has said it and other banks understated the rate during the financial crisis to make themselves look healthier to the public, rather than to make more money from clients.

As regulators and lawmakers in Washington and Europe assess the depth of the Libor abuse and the failure to address it, economists and analysts are already predicting it could be one of the most expensive scandals to hit Wall Street since the financial crisis.

Governments and other investors may face many hurdles in proving damages. But Darrell Duffie, a professor of finance at Stanford, said he expected that their lawsuits alone could lead to the banks’ paying out tens of billions of dollars, echoing numbers from a recent report by analysts at Nomura Equity Research.

American municipalities have been among the first to claim losses from the supposed rate-rigging, because many of them borrow money through investment vehicles that directly derive their value from Libor. Peter Shapiro, who advises Baltimore and other cities on their use of these investments, said that “about 75 percent of major cities have contracts linked to this.”

If the banks submitted artificially low Libor rates during the financial crisis in 2008, as Barclays has admitted, it would have led cities and states to receive smaller payments from financial contracts they had entered with their banks, Mr. Shapiro said.

“Unambiguously, state and local government agencies lost money because of the manipulation of Libor,” said Mr. Shapiro, who is managing director of the Swap Financial Group and is not involved in any of the lawsuits. “The number is likely to be very, very big.”

The banks have declined to comment on the lawsuits, but their lawyers have asked for the cases to be dismissed in court filings, pointing to the many unusual factors that influenced Libor during the crisis.

The efforts to calculate potential losses are complicated by the fact that Libor is used to determine the cost of thousands of financial products around the globe each day. If Libor was artificially pushed down on a particular day, it would help people involved in some types of contracts and hurt people involved in others.

Securities lawyers say the lawsuits will not be easy to win because the investors will first have to prove that the banks successfully pushed down Libor for an extended period during the crisis, and then will have to demonstrate that it was down on the day when the bank calculated particular payments. In addition, investors may have to prove that the specific bank from which they were receiving their payment was involved in the manipulation. Before it even reaches the point of proving such subtleties, however, the banks could be compelled to settle the cases.

One of the major complaints was filed by several traders and hedge funds that entered into futures contracts that are traded through the Chicago Mercantile Exchange and that pay out based on Libor. These contracts were a popular way to protect against spikes in interest rates, but they would not have paid off as expected if Libor had been artificially lowered.

A 2010 study cited in the suit — conducted by professors at the University of California, Los Angeles and the University of Minnesota — indicated that Libor was significantly lower than it should have been throughout 2008 and was particularly skewed around the bankruptcy of Lehman Brothers.

A separate complaint filed in 2010 by the investment firm Charles Schwab asserts that some of its mutual funds, including popular ones like the Schwab Total Bond Market Fund, lost money on similar investments.

The complaints being voiced by municipalities are mostly related to their use of a popular financial contract known as an interest rate swap. States and cities generally enter into these swaps with specific banks so that they can borrow money in the bond market. They pay bondholders based on a floating interest rate — like an adjustable-rate mortgage — but end up paying their bankers a fixed rate through a swap. If Libor is artificially lowered, the municipality is stuck paying the same fixed rate, but it receives a smaller variable payment from its bank.

Even before the current controversy, some municipal activists have said that banks took advantage of the financial inexperience of municipal officials to sell them billions of dollars of interest rate swaps. Experts in municipal finance say that because of the particular way that cities and states borrow money, they are especially liable to lose out on their swaps if Libor drops.

Mr. Shapiro, who helps cities, states and companies negotiate these contracts, said that if a city had interest rate swaps on bonds worth $1 billion and Libor was artificially pushed down by 0.30 percent, which is what the lawsuits contend, that city would have lost $3 million a year. The lawsuit claims the manipulation occurred over three years. Barclays’ settlement with regulators did not specify how much the banks’ actions may have moved Libor.

In Nassau County, the comptroller, George Maragos, said in a statement that according to his own calculations, Libor manipulation may have cost the county $13 million on swaps related to $600 million of outstanding bonds.

A Massachusetts state official who spoke on the condition of anonymity because of potential future legal actions, said the state was calculating its potential losses.

“We are deeply concerned and we are carefully analyzing all of our options,” the official said.

Anne Simpson, a portfolio manager at the California Public Employees’ Retirement System — the nation’s largest pension fund — said that the fund’s officials “are sifting through the impact, but there certainly is an impact.”

In Baltimore, the city had Libor-based interest rate swaps on about $550 million of bonds, according to the city’s financial report from 2008, the central year discussed in the lawsuit. The city’s lawyers have declined to specify what they think Baltimore’s losses were.

The city solicitor, George Nilson, said that the rate manipulation claims meant that the city lost out on money when it needed it the most.

“The injury we suffered during the time we suffered it hurt more because we were challenged budgetarily,” Mr. Nilson said. “Every dollar we lost due to illegal conduct was a dollar we couldn’t pay to keep open recreation centers or to pay police officers.”


http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2012/07/10/libor-rate-rigging-scandal-sets-off-legal-fights-for-restitution/?hp



nytimes



Tuesday, July 10, 2012

CELAN ~







Paul Celan



"If there is a country named Celania — as Julia Kristeva once proposed — its holy texts are filled with doubt, and they overcome this doubt almost successfully, with words of wrenching, uncompromised beauty. . .The book in your hands is not intended to become one of those heavy scholarly tomes that serve as a "proof" of one's position in the literary/academic hierarchy. Rather, this is a collection of various works, directed at, or inspired by, the words of Paul Celan. What we wanted to make was a living anthology, in which authors observe the poet's work, read it deeply, penetrate and discuss it. but also play with it, remake it, and attempt to fit it into their own worldviews.

A great poet is not someone who speaks in stadiums to a thousand listeners. A great poet is a very private person. In his privacy this poet creates a language in which he is able to speak, privately, to many people at the same time."


Ilya Kaminsky, from the Introduction

______________________________



THERE WAS EARTH INSIDE THEM



There was earth inside them, and
they dug.



They dug and dug, and so
their day went past, their night. And they did not praise God,
who, so they heard, wanted all this,
who, so they heard, witnessed all this.



They dug and heard nothing more;
they did not grow wise, invented no song,
devised for themselves no sort of language.
They dug.



There came a stillness then, came also storm,
all of the oceans came.
I dig, you dig, and it, the worm, digs too,
and the singing there says: They dig.



O one, O none, O no one, O you:
Where did it go, then, making for nowhere?
O you dig and I dig, and I dig through to you,
and the ring on our finger awakens.


translated from the German by John Felstiner






Homage to Paul Celan
edited by Ilya Kaminsky & G.C. Waldrep
Marick Press, 2011
www.marickpress.com








"It has an inexorable logic about it. A poetry that seems — now that we have it — had to be. A six-pointed star etched into our minds — a splintered star.

How could it not "stand out"?"

~ Cid Corman




Monday, July 9, 2012

MUSIC TOUR ~
( mv & ee )






MV & EE

Free Range Festival ~ Belfast, Maine
April 29, 2012
w/ Matt L'animaux on bass, Carson Arnold on drums
Erika Elder & Matt Valentine




"MV & EE is a Vermont-based group of musicians focused around Matt "MV" Valentine and his partner Erika "EE" Elder. Matt Valentine was in the neo-psychedelic group, The Tower Recordings and has also released music under his own name and the pseudonym, Matthew Dell. While the duo recorded under many different names, including MV & EE Medicine Show and The Bummer Road, most of the records center around both artists and feature a rotating cast of additional musicians. Their style is self-described as "lunar ragas", with many of the lyrics dealing with celestial imagery. They combine Indian raga style composition with Appalachian folk and post-psychedelic electrical experimentalism. "



Our son Carson is about to hit the road again with MV & EE. If they are within a stone's throw of you, maybe you can catch one of their shows

The first show is in Albany, NY
TONIGHT
!






(click on image to enlarge for concert dates)




Albums
_____________________

Tonight! One Night Only! MV & EE In Heaven 2001 (Child of Microtones)
Ragantula 2002 (Child of Microtones)
Daybreak Of Cocola & The Plumage Overtones Of Black Patti 2003 (Child of Microtones)
Fantastic String Music 2003 (Child of Microtones)
Moon Jook 2004 (Child of Microtones)
Cosmic Dust & The Electrobeam Hermit Thrush 2004 (Child of Microtones)
Lunar Blues 2004 (Child of Microtones)
The Uranian Ray 2004 (Child of Microtones/Spirit Of Orr)
Ragas & Blues 2004 (IDEA)
Livestock Moon Forms: Rural Ragas Volume One 2005 (Child of Microtones)
The Light Of Cocola Octo Escapes The Golden Dawn Of Blues: Rural Ragas Volume Two 2005 (Child of Microtones)
The Suncatcher Blossoms A Nova And Is So Grateful It Is No Longer Willing To Dark The Sun: Rural Ragas Volume Three 2005 (Child of Microtones)
Zone of Domes 2005 (Child of Microtones)
We Offer You Guru 2005 (Child of Microtones)
Suncatcher Mountain 2006 (Child of Microtones)
Mother of Thousands 2006 (Time-Lag Records)
The Cowboy's Road 2006 (Child of Microtones)
Play Ellas McDaniel's "Who Do You Love" 2006 (Three Lobed Recordings)
Rural Dimensions 2006 (Child of Microtones)
Green Blues 2007 (Ecstatic Peace)
Goodbye Moonface 2007 (Wabana Records)
Mars Delta 2007 (Child of Microtones)
Eye in the Pines 2007 (Child of Microtones)
Ragas of the Culvert: The Ground Ain't Dirty 2007 (Child of Microtones)
Gettin' Gone 2007 (Ecstatic Peace!)
Foxgod in Flight 2008 (Child Of Microtones)
Pray For Less w/ Willie Lane 2008 (Blackest Rainbow)
Total Loss Songs 2008 (Three Lobed Recordings)
MV & EE Meet Snake's Pass & Other Human Conditions 2008 (Singing Knives)
Drone Trailer 2009 (Dicristina Stair)
Barn Nova 2009 (Ecstatic Peace!)
Space Homestead 2012 (Woodist)


http://www.mvandee.blogspot.com/







Sunday, July 8, 2012

BACK ROAD CHALKIE ~











Once In Vermont film
© bob arnold





Saturday, July 7, 2012

HAND WAVE ~







Ah!


Just went out with Sweetheart, shade taking over and an elegant coolness starting for evening (still roasting in the sun) and put a new chalkboard quote up.


When I got done and was walking away, a young fellow slowed down in his silver pickup truck (a kid in the back bed ), shirtless, cap, wrap around shades, stopped and read the board:


"My formula for success is rise early,
work late,
and strike oil"

~ J Paul Getty.



Guy says, "We just went down to go swimming and were so disappointed nothing was on the board. So happy to see something now on."


I held up and showed my thick piece of chalk.


The guy smiles.
"Have a Great Day!"
Big wave goodbye.



Old America just paid old America a visit
all's well, Bob




1st as a letter to JD
photo : "Obi-Wan Kenobi" (Alec Guinness)






Friday, July 6, 2012

EARTH ~







Liu Xiaobo


___________________________

The most painful thing about translating this collection was not being able to consult with Liu Xiaobo or Liu Xia — the former serving hos eleven-year prison sentence, the latter under strict house arrest. It was an unnerving, unsettling experience to think of Liu Xiaobo's isolation while fiddling with his ruptured lines from the tomb. My study is a room with open doors and windows, my country a democracy of drone planes killing Pakistani and Afghani villagers, a democracy of more prisoners than any other nation, of privatized prisons, people directly used for private and public profit. And there the walls of Angel Island, there Guantanamo. China, meanwhile, holds around a trillion dollars in US bonds. Or elsewhere consider the artist Owen Maseko who was recently arrested in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe, for organizing an art exhibition around the memory of the Gukurahundi Massacre. Or the circle of Tahrir Square and the Arab Spring. Where does the code of signals lead to and through? Toward what reckonings and reconciliations? There is no ground here for self-righteousness to root. The only conversation I could have with Liu was through his poems, through the verb of translation, thinking of what I thought he might say to a certain translation choice along the way.


Jeffrey Yang

from translator's afterword
June 2011



_____________________________________________





Experiencing Death


Qincheng Prison, June 1990
First anniversary offering for 6/4



1


Monument waves of weeping
marble grain fused with blood-stained veins
Belief and youth beaten beneath
a tank's rust-chained treads
Ancient story of the East
leaks out new hope unexpectedly



The glorious crowds have little by little disappeared
like a river that slowly, steadily dries away
landscape on both shores transformed to stone
Every throat has been strangled by fear, every
trembling has traced the dissipated niter smoke
Only the executioner's steel
helmet glints, luminous glints




2



I cannot recognize the flag anymore
The flag like an unknowing child
who's flung upon Mother's corpse
returns home weeping
I cannot tell day from night anymore
Time has been petrified by gunshots
like a paralytic without memory
Gun's muzzle presses into my back
I've lost my passport and identity card



Into the bayonet-inflamed dawn
that once familiar world
cannot find a handful of dirt
to bury itself in



Naked red heart
collides with iron and steel
Earth without water without greenness
ravaged by sunlight







3



They wait and wait
wait for time to invent an exquisite lie
wait for the transformation of the bestial hour
Indeed, wait until
fingers transform to sharpened claws
eyes transform to a gun's mouth
feet transform to chained treads
air transforms to a command
It arrives
at last it arrives
the five-thousand-year awaited command



Open fire—kill people
kill people—open fire
Peaceful petition, hands unarmed
as old man's cane, a child's torn jacket
The executioner will never be swayed
Eyes burnt to red
Gun-barrels shot to red
Hands dyed red
A bullet
A mud-thick secret spills out
A crime
A kind of heroic fast



How relaxing
death's arrival
How easy
bestial desires are satisfied
Young soldiers
recently clothed in uniform
still haven't felt
the intoxication of a girl's kiss
but now in an instant
experience the bloodthirsty pleasure
of murder, their youth's beginnings



They who
cannot see the blood-soaked dress
cannot hear the struggle's scream
through steel helmets cannot perceive life's fragility
They aren't aware
of the fatuous old man
transforming the ancient capital
into another zone of Auschwitz



Brutality, inquiry rise up from the earth
like the splendor of a pyramid
while life crumbles into the abyss
where even the faintest echo cannot be heard
The massacre has engraved a nation's tradition
years, months as remote as an abandoned language
that enacts a final farewell







4



I had imagined being there beneath sunlight
with the procession of martyrs
using just the one thin bone
to uphold a true conviction
And yet, the heavenly void
will not plate the sacrificed in gold
A pack of wolves well-fed full of corpses
celebrate in the warm noon air
a flood with joy



Faraway places
I've exiled my life to
this place without sun
to flee the era of Christ's birth
I cannot face the blinding vision of the cross
From a wisp of smoke to a little heap of ash
I've drained the drink of the martyrs, sense spring's
about to break into the brocade-brilliance of myriad flowers



Deep in the night, empty road
I'm biking home
I stop at a cigarette stand
A car follows me, crashes over my bicycle
some enormous brutes seize me
I'm handcuffed eyes covered mouth gagged
thrown into a prison van heading nowhere



A blink, a trembling instant passes
to a flash of awareness: I'm still alive
On Central Television News
my name's changed to "arrested black-hand"
though those nameless white bones of the dead
still stand in the forgetting
I'm listed up high by the self-invented lie
tell everyone how I've experienced death
so that "black hand" becomes a hero's medal of honor



Even if I know
death's a mysterious unknown
being alive, there's no way to experience death
and once dead
cannot experience death again
yet I'm still
hovering within death
a hovering in drowning
Countless nights behind iron-barred windows
and the graves beneath starlight
have exposed my nightmares



Beside a lie
I own nothing



_______________________


from JUNE FOURTH ELEGIES
by
Liu Xiaobo
translated from the Chinese by Jeffrey Yang
(Graywolf Press 2012)










Chinese poet, literary critic, writer, professor, and human rights activist who called for political reforms and the end of communist single-party rule in China — Liu Xiaobo (b. December 28 1955) is currently incarcerated as a political prisoner in China.

He has served from 2003 to 2007 as President of the Independent Chinese PEN Center, an organization funded by the National Endowment for Democracy, which in turn is almost entirely funded by the US Congress. On 8 December 2008, Liu was detained because of his participation with the Charter 08 manifesto. He was formally arrested on 23 June 2009 on suspicion of "inciting subversion of state power." He was tried on the same charges on 23 December 2009, and sentenced to eleven years' imprisonment and two years' deprivation of political rights on 25 December 2009.

While in his fourth prison term, Liu was awarded the 2010 Nobel Peace Prize for "his long and non-violent struggle for fundamental human rights in China." He is the first Chinese citizen to be awarded a Nobel Prize of any kind while residing in China. Liu is the third person to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize while in prison or detention, after Germany's Carl von Ossietzky (1935) and Burma's Aung San Suu Kyi (1991). Liu is also the second person (the first being Ossietzky) to be denied the right to have a representative collect the Nobel prize for him.


(wikipedia & other)



Thursday, July 5, 2012

ARTIST ~










please click onto image to enlarge












Alex Katz
Naked Beauty



Wednesday, July 4, 2012

DERROLL ADAMS ~







Donovan & Derroll Adams



Derroll Adams was a folk musician born in Portland, Oregon November 27, 1925 and died in Antwerp, Belgium 74 years later. He is best known for his husky style and voice, banjo playing, and teaming in his early years with Ramblin' Jack Elliott and later taking Donovan under his wing. Some say the American traditional music heard in early Donovan recordings is a result of Derroll Adams.

Have a look again at Pennebaker's documentary film of Bob Dylan's 1965 tour in the UK, Don't Look Back (1967), where Derroll Adams also shows up.

Here Donovan returns a favor, singing one of Adams' songs — a beauty, and do listen to the lyrics — with that Donovan gypsy quality for his American troubadour friend.




The Mountain
(Derroll Adams - Donovan Music Ltd. London)


It was up some laughing river
Where I'd gone to spend the day
I had such fantastic visions
I could hardly stand to stay
And I stood up within myself
And suddenly felt free
And I stood above the burdens
That puzzle you and me

I became awareness
That was shared with all around
With the trees the sky the flowers
And the wind the sun the ground
I heard the birds were singing
And I found them same as me
And I understood our sorrows
And why they should not be
I saw this plane of living
It was nothing more than faith
A skin that covered glory
Far beyond our love or hate
A living crystal fairy land
Where loving is our grace
A pyromanic garden
That knows no time or space

I saw what we've been doing to it
Saw it as insane
Still a-marching like good Christians
With our wars the sword the flame
To crash down all those infidels
To defend what should be shame
And again I shared our sorrows
Knew we all must bear the blame

I see it all as part of us
To know and share alike
With a universal willingness
To know and do what's right
To understand our brotherness
And stop this awful race
Let our children run and grow in peace
Know their lives shall not be waste
First there is a mountain
Then it seems the mountain's gone
But then if you take another look
Why - it's been there all along
We can be just like a river
As it laughs along it's way
Or stand beneath the shadows
That take the sun away



The Mountain by Donovan on Grooveshark