Friday, May 11, 2018

PETER ORNER ~






Am I Alone Here?
(Catapult Books, 2016)

Hardly!

This book is a wonder and I came upon the title as I do simply wandering book shelves
in a bookstore, new or used, or the town library. I can't tell you how many books I have read on this idea of discovering unique and common books and writing about them, and each collection has come up disappointing since every erudite reader/writer wants to be seen as an erudite reader! It's the same books, the same authors, or as an editor for a poetry anthology told me once on the phone: "I had to drop that great poem because the poet doesn't have a name, and replace the poem with another poem by a more recognized poet." It happens every day.

It's making reading quite miserable, yet challenging if you are a hunter. 

Peter Orner behind the wheel has finally given us the gift. I approached his book with genuine interest and began leafing through to see where he would be taking us — everywhere! Plus his writing is relaxed, humorous and it sparkles when you throw it on the floor. 

A quick stab into a few of his picks like Gina Berriault, Breece D'J Pancake, and Bohumil Hrabal, never mind Herbert Morris, says we're with an explorer. He butterfly nets sleepers. And then out of the blue, and it will win him no kudos, he chooses a book like Rembrandt's Hat by Bernard Malamud, an author very few read any longer. Their loss. I love Orner's daring and dives. He also sneaks in — and I like it that he does — essays about his father, family life, and the rumple of hanging in there.

This is a great work glove of a book.

[ BA ]







Thursday, May 10, 2018

THE BLUESBREAKERS ~







OUTLIERS ~







I won't get to the city for this grand exhibit but you might,
but oh, I own and much enjoy the massive book exhibit.







National Gallery of Art
The University of Chicago Press
2018






Tuesday, May 8, 2018

LI-YOUNG LEE ~








—————————————



Sandalwood


The ash keeps dropping from the incense stick.



I keep turning you over in my mind.

I keep turning you over in my heart.



The stick shortens, burning.

The ash grows

and falls.



I keep turning you over.

I keep turning you.

I keep turning.



The ash keeps falling, piling up, more

of the silent reduction.

Burning earns such clean wages,

eye of ember, eye of ash hastening.



I keep turning your eyes over

to find your thoughts.

Turning your voice over

to find your meaning.

Turning your body over to find

a place to hide me.



And you keep turning inside me.



—————————
Li-Young Lee
The Undressing
Norton 2018






Monday, May 7, 2018

ENCOMPASS ~





Time Passes Slowly






Breezy naked

Under a red

Summer dress



You will soon

Kiss me but

First point 



To four goldfinches

On a wire close enough

As if watching us



Their colors faded

From a week ago like

These autumn hills 








All That Thunder 





Wouldn’t you know — I was scything deep in the backyard around the wood’s edge and many of the flower beds, when the thunderstorm caught me flat out in the open, shoulder high with Jerusalem artichoke flowers and nowhere else to go. For a moment I ran under a tall ash tree, bundled beside a maple and its large leaf cover. Rain was coming down steady and cold. I took the scythe with me and ran for the outhouse. Kept the door open and watched the rain, the roof tip-tapping. I noticed that Sweetheart had run for the woodshed from her garden work and was standing there waiting for the thunder and rain to pass. It wasn’t working that way, instead it was settling in, darkening the sky, eclipsing the river valley. We waved to one  another. I then sat back on the bench, looked at all the faces and small posters and pictures tacked on the walls over the years. There’s Pete Seeger, there’s Dorothy Day, there’s Madonna’s large green eye peek-a-boo out of blond hair. There’s Sweetheart! she’s come with an umbrella to rescue me out of my rain cave. But instead of heading home we run up to another cottage, deeper in the woods, furious with a steel roof in the rain and fall asleep awhile in each others arm’s and all that thunder.





She Comes To Me This Way






In her stocking feet and the

Pleats of her skirt, the way

The blouse is plain and opened

At the sand of her throat and her

Face is burned with winter and

So happy, that it is only then I

Notice something more — a

Necklace of rawhide and soapstone

Pebble, and even closer, the etch of

Turquoise on the piece, which brings

Me to her eyes . . .






Encompass






Just that slight change in her expression

Warm, tender, all mine it says, changes my life

Since childhood, years before I knew her







—————————————
BOB ARNOLD
I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Longhouse 2012


 







Friday, May 4, 2018

SLIM HARPO ~








PHILIPPE JACCOTTET ~





Seagull Books
2017


DECEMBER


Pull back this curtain of snow . . .





JANUARY


The stream: an advancing murmur, escorted by that
of the trees, of the birds hidden along its edges.





   In Atoms of Silence, Hubert Reeves writes that
time passes more slowly at the bottom of a valley than
on the top of a mountain.





   Of the pilgrim, he says: 'He must be taught to live
in the space between knowledge and vision, and to
take the precise steps that will lead him to the truth.'





There was that late winter, saturated with frigid
lights as if we were already being pursued by a
swarm of hail with most tender stings.

   Then the knot of brooks came undone
like a braid.
   The hail lived in the trees for a short
time . . .





DECEMBER


The comet, sparkling, observed yesterday in the icy
night:  nothing more than a dandelion's feathery
sphere.





JUNE


Afternoon heat. The sky almost incandescent just
above the rooftops, light blue higher up, where even
the swifts appear calmer, less greedy, almost always
taking time to glide.





'The cold season.' It could be a title. Nothing that
burns, nothing that devours. As when we leave, and
naturally it's the case, whether we like it or not.
Nevertheless, the world is still there; the foliage
shines; the light on the morning horizon is a white
haze. The spider webs are also shining in the window, 
fragile and tenacious — exemplary in this. There is no
way to feign 'perfect joy'.


————————————

Philippe Jaccottet



Thursday, May 3, 2018

ASTRAL WEEKS ~








This is musician and spirit Mel Lyman
(look him up)




Finally, a handsomely researched book on the Boston
music scene — folk to rock — circa 1968.
Van Morrison is the big cookie in this book
but Mel Lyman and followers is the jam
center.
The Velvet Underground show up
ditto Leary and Alpert at Harvard
&
LSD
and how could one forget The Boston Strangler ~
Astral





Tuesday, May 1, 2018

ROBERT NIGHTHAWK ~









NEW LONGHOUSE BOOKLETS! ~






All new from Longhouse this year
 in their fold-out splendor ~


Julia Older translates Boris Vian and Salvatore Quasimodo
two accordion booklets available with wrap around bands



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———————————————

TWO LONG POEM BOOKLETS BY
GEORGE EVANS
&
ROBALD BAATZ

—————————————————
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Each foldout booklet with wrap around band
$10 postpaid in the USA ~
Overseas please inquire

OR

Take ALL six booklets for $45
postpaid

We accept a check or please use Paypal with our email — poetry@sover.net

We'd be happy to Paypal invoice you upon request

——————————

L O N G H O U S E
P.O. Box 2454
West Brattleboro
Vermont
05303



Monday, April 30, 2018

GLADE ~








Glade


                                           for SEA




the woodcutter

never gets it —



while he sleeps

firewood seasons







Where the tall hemlock

crashed down in the woods

taking away its shade



now a sunshine

with only benevolence

runs along its spine








work clothes off

back into a skirt

you show me

at supper where

the log today

bruised your shin








right behind

and nearly under 

the truck we spread

the Mexican blanket

to take a nap be-

tween cutting wood

because the sunshine is there








the apple today

isn’t as tasty as

the apple yesterday

you packed for me

at lunch when we 

break from wood-

cutting and the two

chocolate kisses you

never forget to bring








the same time

we are cutting

all this wood



the tomatoes

back at home

are ripening







the ash trees by the truck

are so willowy and tall I

hate to cut them down

to dry that way through

fall, winter, spring and I

will visit them again by

summer with my saw

meaning business







I can’t help but stop

to rest and sink my

woodsmear hands

while hugging you

down inside your

overalls and now

your smile at my

touch of the 

silkiest things








without looking —

too busy with axe

chain saw, wooded ground tumble

we hear hawk, bluejay, sparrow, owl

chickadee & a few things unknown








It’s a glade we rough out from

blowndown oak and maple trees



woodcut and hand-split circle

of sunshine and scrabble



we could almost call it home








before we hiked in for a look

then drove in getting serious

with chain saw and tools



everything was just fine

(and rotting)








I said

we could make love

right on the tailgate



33 years

somehow never done



she said she would

but in the deepest green woods

someone could be watching







I can split red oak on the run

rock maple with three whacks

I dream about it now




—————————————
BOB ARNOLD
I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Longhouse 2012