Wednesday, June 3, 2015

PETER STAMPFEL ~

http://www.forcedexposure.com/labels/mystra.records.html

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

JEAN RITCHIE ~

Jean Ritchie

1922 Viper, Kentucky ~ 2015 Berea, Kentucky

http://www.npr.org/2015/06/02/411533533/jean-ritchie-singer-known-as-the-mother-of-folk-dies-at-92

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/03/arts/music/jean-ritchie-who-revived-appalachian-folk-songs-dies-at-92.html

ZEN ~

Counterpoint, 2001

http://www.thezensite.com/ZenBookReviews/Shoes_Outside_the_Door.html

Monday, June 1, 2015

Love's Cutting Edge

When I look at you, mountain or tiny rose,

when I hold you, blue mountain pressed to my heart,

butterfly that comes as lightly as love,

like two royal lips spread out on the sky.

When I look at your soft form stretched out,

your faithful dream where even the smiles are true,

body that seems to me a heap of ripened wheat,

golden harvest that sleeps on the ground like happiness. . .

I see your young face smiling without fear

while thin clouds pass before it,

and your skin feels the high-flying birds

like feathers that brush you gently and smile.

Yes. Lying down you never imitate a held back river,

nor a lake with the sky finally resting in its depths.

Nor are you a sweet hill that comes to life

whenever the moon makes the earth's softness shine.

Your arm that lies resting on the grass

could be, yes, it could be something warm, inviting,

a sweet light that blends with moons

or cool stars as the night comes on.

Who are you calling?

The earth turning like a slow head

leaves its wake or long, silver hair,

leaves a murmur of voices or beloved words

that the stars hear, like a water flowing out.

All of your crystal, or love,

all the mystery that rolls on unaware of you,

all the joy that comes is speaking gently in your ear

while your mouth surrenders like a half-open sea.

Tell me: Who kisses like the stars?

Who feels a steely moon at the back of the neck?

Who understands that light is a shiny blade

that slices in two whenever earthly lovers kiss?

________________________

VICENTE ALEIXANDRE
World Alone
(Mundo A Solas)
translated by Lewis Hyde and David Unger
Penmaen Press 1982

( The Birdhouse dedicates this poem
to Lisa & J.D. and the month of June )

Sunday, May 31, 2015

ANNE SPENCER ~

Sacred Spaces:

The House of Anne Spencer

photographs by John M Hall

Introduction by Jeffery Beam

http://www.encyclopediavirginia.org/Spencer_Anne_1882-1975

Saturday, May 30, 2015

JOHN EDGAR WIDEMAN ~

John Edgar Wideman

Harper's Magazine

June 2015

Friday, May 29, 2015

MY BLACK ANGEL ~

My Black Angel

Kim Addonizio
Charles D. Jones

Stephen Austin State University Press

Thursday, May 28, 2015

HUMMINGBIRD ~

Hummingbird

_______________________

Rarely pausing

Though I have seen

It stop the flutter

Of its amazing

Wings and perch

Nearly invisible

On a wire against

The evening sky —

And be sighted —

And being very

Still, be thought

Of as not there

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

DUO by BOB ARNOLD ~

DUO

The Collected Bird Poems

1974-2014

by BOB ARNOLD

New and available now from Longhouse ~

92 pages
Perfect bound softcover

____________________________________

$15
Shipping $3.95 ~ U.S. orders with Paypal

"Tis another wonderful little book from Bob Arnold at Longhouse. The title is perfect in its reflection of the Bob-Bird relationship, which is the book. I love the range of the poems, from tight & haiku-like to a little more easy & conversational, from spiritual/mystic to down-to-earth (or "up-to-air") rootedly realistic. "Complete" would make a beautiful broadside to be hung on every wall. SO many to like. Another is "Duo" itself. And "Birds," the kind humor. And "Nest." It's hard to extract & list the poems I most like. For a complete account, see the 'Table of Contents.'"

— J.D. Whitney

Buy now through easy-to-use Paypal, US Orders, $18.95

International orders ~ complete $30.00 with Paypal payment

all orders may be made by Paypal or check

mail order here:

LONGHOUSE
PO Box 2454
West Brattleboro, Vermont 05303

Link to Other Longhouse titles

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

MARY ELLEN MARK ~

Mary Ellen Mark

Photographer

March 20, 1940 Philadelphia ~ 2015

photograph by Ralph Gibson 1973

http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/05/26/mary-ellen-mark-photographer-and-force-of-nature/?hp&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=photo-spot-region&region=top-news&WT.nav=top-news

BUILDERS ~

Lloyd Kahn of Shelter Publications and his wife Lesley Creed

http://www.caneloproject.com/visiting-counter-culture-icons-lloyd-khan-and-lesley-creed/

85 MEET 100 ~

The Yangtze giant softshell turtle has been driven to the brink of extinction

Gerald Kuchling/Turtle Survival Alliance

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/26/science/yangtze-giant-softshell-turtle-artificial-insemination.html?hp&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=mini-moth&region=top-stories-below&WT.nav=top-stories-below

Monday, May 25, 2015

KEN WARREN ~

Kenneth Warren

1952 ~ 2015

I just received this news about Kenneth Warren, whom I never had met, but we long ago shared a front cover photograph display and interior article in Poets & Writers on the highs & lows of being small press publishers. From that date forward we were forever in fair exchange mode. No one ever had to remind the other. We always came through and what I sent to Ken from Longhouse pressings, he sent in turn back to me from House Organ, and the poetry wheel revolved. Yes, forever the twain was met. Not as easy as you might think, and eternally thankful.

[ BA ]

WHAT BOOK WILL NEVER BE REACHED FOR?
                           for Kenneth Warren (1952-2015)

from the shelf tumbles dust

dry words, unread pages

there is heaven and earth

Ontario become a dark ship in a lake of gods

your soul was as constant as the driven wind

deep soul, beautiful lake, beautiful water

it is a taking away, taken from us

the subject of poetry as you know too well

a cloudburst unleashed

the evening cry of gulls

sunset below the pattern of storm

driven like sleep finally come

aftermath of black waves

growing wave crests orange

almost all the beats would be fine

in rhythm, but then there would be

a pause, a skip

I’d glance at you, eye to eye

and see the terrible aloneness

what bright color might next catch our interest?

bury that thought as they now bury you

the rabbit in the moon

was placed there

as tribute for rabbit’s sacrifice

of his life and substance

for the saving of others

                                         Alan Casline
                                         May 25, 2015
                                         Elsmere, New York

——————————

"Just came to my e-mail to hear of the death of Ken Warren. Ken was one of my best and bountiful friends. So many times our paths crossed and we got to do a few things together. I was so looking forward to House Organ #100. I could always push on Ken and he would always carefully push back. Loved the guy and the world a dimmer place. Still a bit shocked."

[ AC ]

I haven't asked Alan to share his poem, words, photograph, but something tells me

he doesn't mind.

ALVARO CARDONA-HINE ~

Alvaro Cardona-Hine & Barbara McCauley

photograph by Jeane George Weigel

Childhood

the cows walk ahead of me

down a road milky

with low-lying fog

from time to time

I hear voices

above the steady pounding

of the river

then I realize

it's the song

I had thought of singing

a butterfly with two

suitcases of color

on its shoulders

bumps into me

A Witness

I come from the arms of my mother

glad to live alone

with you and you and you

everywhere I look

an odor of light

bears down hard

upon the earth

the wind from the ocean

suddenly finds itself

among the barley

Three Rivers Tie A Knot In My
Handkerchief

now the sun is on the hill

caressing the backs of the eucalypti

from my room I can hear

the cicadas above their patron saints

woodpeckers up the mountain

I laugh a little under my breath

I have fooled the priest

who expected me at confession

my growth depends exclusively

on the broth

simmering in the kitchen

New Explanation

staring at a bird in the darkness

becomes evening evening

stresses its song a song

how light

after being stolen

is spent on useless roads

how the wind leans on blunt instruments

large fields are often small

Passage

for Barbara

what I wanted to tell you is on the tip of my tongue

the wind will find it in your ear

it is a day of rain and sun

some patches of snow hold out under the silent pines

flower after flower blooms directly across our path

Alvaro Cardona-Hine
Lhude Sing Cuccu
Alba Books Press 2015

Sunday, May 24, 2015

BY HAND ~

Gray Zeitz Larkspur Press Kentucky

http://gardenandgun.com/article/made-south-larkspur-press

Saturday, May 23, 2015

JOY WILLIAMS (full interview) ~

Joy Williams

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6303/the-art-of-fiction-no-223-joy-williams

Friday, May 22, 2015

NOWHERE ~

NOWHERE

Strange to see—

A sofa abandoned

In the woods

Off a dirt road

By the river we hike

No one around for miles

We turn the sofa back

Onto its legs, sit down

Call the dog up with us

_________________

© Bob Arnold

from the forthcoming ~
The Woodcutter Talks

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

GERALD HAUSMAN ~

ISLAND DREAMS by GERALD HAUSMAN

Selected Poems 1968 ~ 2015
chosen & edited by Bob Arnold

New and available now from Longhouse ~

160 pages
Perfect bound softcover

____________________________________

$18
Shipping $3.95 ~ U.S. orders with Paypal

Buy now through easy-to-use Paypal, US Orders, $21.95

International orders ~ complete $38 with Paypal payment

all orders may be made by Paypal or check

mail order here:

LONGHOUSE
PO Box 2454
West Brattleboro, Vermont 05303

____________________

GERALD HAUSMAN

Poets think they’re pitchers when they’re really catchers. — Jack Spicer

Okay, now that we have the game field established, start pitching, that means you dear reader. Long green grass stretches before you.

You hold in your hands the ultimate catcher’s mitt of poetry, written over six decades of the poet’s life — imagine six decades. As the editor, I one day asked the poet, as if I was coming by for a cup of sugar, “Say, why not send to me all of your poems written and published over all of your life.” Like I was asking for nothing at all. Well I was asking for nothing at all since the best of poetry is spun out of thin air. The best poetry reads like an umbrella being put up in the rain. What a terrific function! What a way to stay dry! What a balance of dryness and wetness. What aptitude! Let’s go for a walk.

The poet wasted no time, and I knew he was a poet because his lover for life, Lorry, helped him get together all the poems in their sun-baked island home in Florida and in a matter of only a day or so I had all the poems before me, in my catcher’s mitt. Or I was going to make a pretty perfect catcher’s mitt. It would be poems that were lived and made in different locations like Florida, Jamaica, the Virgin Islands, New Jersey, New Mexico, California, the Berkshire hills of Massachusetts, along a horse trail, swimming in the bowl of a lake, holding a daughter’s hand, listening awhile and awhile longer. Gerald Hausman could have been famous, and in fact he is famous because he lived the life he dreamed of with one woman, his children, little bits of money and lots of beans and good chili, with an insurmountable energy for storytelling and writing children’s books, and publishing other people’s books, and traveling the simpler paths, where you never run into funny fame and fashion. You make poems like a baker makes good bread. Everybody eats.

You may even forget you are a poet, until another poet tells you —
you are.

Well over forty years ago I first found the first published books of Gerald Hausman, like folded up into birch bark they were, and they were poems of the time that could be written on the softest subjects and with the most delicate care. There was such hope. It would be the easiest thing to share if only you could find a pitcher and a catcher — and if you did, and they were good at what they did — the rest would fall into place. People would come, a crowd would gather and watch, cheer, and they’d play into the night.

Bob Arnold