. . . but we need poetry

Someone once said I should be careful about putting my unpublished poems on my blog. Yeah-so?

Here's one for you, as I perceive it, because otherwise the world doesn't make any sense:

The Anatomies

The possibility of a world without shadows
terrifies her. Trees floating without anchors,
the position of the sun persisting mysteriously.

Ground was meant to bear weight, the heft of objects,
of oak, madrone, pickup trucks, oil rigs,
people maybe. The anatomy of shadow connects

with the anatomy of light, two disciplines in her mind,
but of the same mother, like art and science
providing a strategy for the existence of things.

Careful when she sketches the hemisphere’s curve,
the convergence of depth where orthagonals meet,
she arrests all points at the horizon.


Line is all-important to me, whether it be an orthogonal line or the turn of a line of poetry. Line is the boundary we create, a matter of form, or in the flatter sense of the word, shape.

And Then Came Maude

Bea Arthur. That incredibly low voice . . ."Oh Walter," . . . that dry sense of humor . . . . . I always thought you had the coolest hair ever. In the 70's when I first saw Maude, I saw in you my mom and most of the women she worked with--strong and self-possessed. What an awesome role-model you were.

Thanks Bea Arthur . . . the world is soooo going to miss you.

plugged back in

Indeed. We gave the grand "internet-free home" experiment a hardy try. And now we're done with that and have re-entered the 21st century. For a while it wasn't too difficult to find access. Cafes, friends' homes, work. But I'm barely good at the internet here, readily accessible in my living room, let alone in places I need to get to. So, to all of you who expected responses to your emails, to facebook entries, etc. . . . lo siento. I can be better, faster, more in tune with the current! Talk to you soon.

a teasing taste of spring

Well . . . ? Is it spring or not? I have to ask myself when I ride my bike out in the country and notice blossoms drifting off trees in February and I can't help but wonder if all this warm weather is going to confuse the trees as much as it's confusing me? Will there be blossoms left when they're supposed to be here? In April/May? I haven't moved to another part of the country or world and I have certain expectations about what spring will bring here in California. So what? Is there nothing left to count on?

What I can count on? Not so much, maybe--except that I've always gone back to one thing and it's always been there for me. Art. Or maybe I should say my relationship to art. Even if I'm not making art, I need it around me. Pictures satisfy me. Disturb me, yes, and they should. Inspire me, sometimes. When I look at certain drawings or paintings--and I mean really look at them and see them--it's like my soul exhales. Mostly it's powerful color combinations and interactions that do this, but here's a B&W picture by T.H.Benton that does it as well--both because of subject matter and composition. Sometimes when I look at his work I notice my body swaying with the movement of his lines. Pretty cool thing.

So there's a constant.

Another constant is the way I feel when I go into the woods to visit old crone redwoods. Pogonip in Santa Cruz . I suggest you try it sometime. There's a good path that takes you through redwoods, across a meadow and past an old polo ground. Not for bikes--only boots. And a walking stick if you're like me and your knees need a little support down the hills.

Or you can find your epicenter at Nicene Marks. Some places are for bikes and others are for boots. Who knows--a trip there might help if you have constancy issues. Maybe it'll feel okay that things aren't supposed to be constant.

This CAN'T Be It . . .

I want to believe I live in an America that will not let the disease of a McPalin presidency spread. That the stunningly inane George W. Bush got into the White House in the first place was hard enough to swallow. That we ended up with John Kerry trying to displace him was another blow (sorry Senator Kerry--I voted for you but I didn't think you were the strongest candidate to go up against the Republican machine)--almost as big a blow as the resulting 4 more years. Even the idea that there are Americans that would choose McCain and Palin over two people who are as smart and compassionate as Barack Obama and Joe Biden is unthinkable. But I have seen and heard some of the people who will be voting for the McPalin ticket. Scary. Very scary.

I am afraid and ashamed of America for allowing the Bush administration to take over--no, not just take over but rape our government and spit on us by spending our tax money on a war devised to make the rich richer at the cost of our priceless and irreplaceable soldiers' lives and the lives of innocent civilians in Iraq. Pro-Life means nothing to the McPalins of the world--only on their terms. Our country, pushed into areas of the world we have no business being in, has become, well, I was going to say a bully, but that's way too light a word. Our country has become a cruel and insane serial murderer. If Obama doesn't win--we'll only spiral further down.
Vote Obama. This could be it.

Hiking, reading, making stuff

After two months of hiking 4-5 times a week this is the first week I spent without a day in the woods. Feels wrong. Very wrong. I guess the woods, especially the redwoods, have become kind of a sanctuary for me. With all the studying of Jeffers, Muir, the book I recently finished, Grayson, by Lynne Cox, and all the spiritual poetry I've been wading in (reading and writing), it's no wonder the woods are a sacred place for me. But I think nature has always has provided that for me. When I'm climbing up and down some mountain, I'm centered and can feel my breath. Trees don't care about time in the way that we do. They know what they're born to do and they do it without griping about it. I have a lot to learn from trees.

Speaking of centering . . . I'm rereading Centering by M.C. Richards. All the poetry I've been reading and writing and I'm signed up for a pottery workshop at the end of this month, the book really has a lot to say to me. Funny how that book keeps making reappearances since the first time I read it. I think that was in Gabriele Rico's class. I remember how my creativity was so fired up. I was drawing and writing and I didn't know I had to pick either one. And, well, I don't. I guess I'm seduced by two muses and that's just how it's going to be.

So tomorrow looks like I'll be breaking my hiking fast. A day off, coffee and a book in bed in the morning. And then I plan to be on "tree-time" maybe at Pogonip in Santa Cruz or Nicene Marks in Aptos. Maybe Villa Montalvo--all beautiful places.
Ciao

"Buckskin Horse" finds a home

Yeehaw!!

Yarroway Mountain Press has just released a beautiful anthology of horse poetry called Cadence of Hooves. They happen to have included one of my poems: "Buckskin Horse." I wrote the poem at a week-long poetry retreat in Marfa, Texas organized by the poet (and friend) Dawn Trook. I was lucky enough to work with both Scott Cairns and Brigit Pegeen Kelly. This particular poem came from Brigit's workshop, but Scott's workshop produced a poem called "Echo" that would later be reformed into a sonnet that won a Phelan award at San Jose State University.

I'm kinda' liking this poetry stuff!