far star
seen
atween
car
jar
keen
ears ending
tone
spheres
contending
alone
i love
empty
books

Tom Raworth

new
solids
not
pressed
prayer
aware
my brothers
we
for the love of
god
enter
spaces
of tradition
lean

Tom Raworth

don't you
so
my awakened
spirit
weeps
i
can imagine
not imagining
that
STARTS
you
stay here
fall
in love

Tom Raworth

All Small Caps

January 28th

John Coletti
Arlo Quint
Frank Sherlock

$1-$5 sliding scale admission

Open Mic Sign Up 7-7:15
Open Mic Readings 7:15-8:00
Featured Readers 8:00

For info.

Waiting for my pasty to finish... Homemade, yo.

Working on new poems. Email or drop a line in the comment box and I'll send you one. Offer effective until I go to bed.

Ah to be able to sit again.

sweet jesus

Mary Margaret O'Hara, Help Me Lift You Up.

"we were like kids with a shotgun"

weigh in

Good people of the internets [sic], my back prevents much activity, but I ask of you, beard? or no?

The Smiths feel the parameters in "Miserable Lie."

Recognizing the genius of other albums, The Smiths stills slays in an altogether differnt way.

Torra

Buy Joe's book.

Snow+bad back=chiropractor.

He is supposed to return my call tomorrow morning to set up an appointment. In the meantime I can't sit for longer than 30 minutes.

sow price court equations instead showers mouth to mouth inferred for taskers

sped clerical dot these gaze bore fraught bob and chide

Found

an old notebook. First line, "glut of book as pontoon." Find an old notebook and type the first line in the comments. Thanks.

Trying to figure what to do. Driveway is all snow and with fucked back I can do not.

from heartbreak suites

in increments
you needed me
to feel this lack
for a better word
but I couldn't without
your say so
in misery winter
chokes us day
by stupid day

chops

Lamb chops in the slow cooker with sweet potatoes, carrots, collards, beets, potato, onion, green beans, and eggplant. Marinated the chops with toasted cinnamon stick, ginger, cardamom pods, fennel, bay leaf, curry, tumeric, salt, pepper, paprika, and coconut.

something reaching out to you
                                               direct
from birdsong
                      from the warmth
of two people together
                                    for an instant
different from any other -
to wait perhaps a life
                                    for as much - 
lighthouse puts out its signals
to no ships
                 but sings
a voice of life
                     how small it may seem
in the dark

Richard Cadell from Fantasia in the English Choral Tradition

ceravolo and the bee gee's

Listening to Ceravolo's home recordings, you'll notice that the Bee Gee's New York Mining Disaster is playing in the background. This song is not just on the radio, as the song ends and the next song on the album begins to play. This perhaps suggests that Ceravolo was a Bee Gee's fan. This thrills me to no end.

The William Parker show last night was exceptional. Hamid Drak was particularly terrific. If you get a chance to see this quartet, you must. You will not be disappointed.

Collating Hotels as we speak. As usual F&F is a little behind schedule due to illness, back injuries, etc. etc. Being a one man band, when I go down, the music stops.

Just reread Fantasia in the English Choral Tradition by Richard Caddel. Looking forward to the publication of his Uncertain Time. Caddel warrants a wider readership.

It is remarkable how awful 2007 was for many people in the poetry world. Reading through the blogs, it seems many folks had a rough go of it. I wish I could say that wasn't the case for me, but it was. 2007 was by far my most difficult year. Folks who know me understand the particulars of why. 2007 seemed to have a bounty on my soul. I'm just now beginning to integrate these sea changes into a refashioned version of me, my psyche, etc. Jess 2.0. One of the most disappointing parts of 2007 was my inconsistent verve. Being pulverized by various exigencies weakened my knees, my shouldered load, buckled me. But I feel its resolve in my even more granite chin. Also it reinforced that I'm incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by such good friends. Both in my immediate everyday world, and in my not so immediate poetry community. I'm incredibly thankful for this. Having a late night philosophical conversation with a friend we somehow broached the topic of, what is heaven? what is hell? etc. He said, heaven is your actions. I asked him, how do you determine the value of your actions? He said, by the people that respond to your actions, the people that come into your life as a result of these actions. The people who you end up surrounding yourself with. That knocked me out. & if I take that to heart, it makes me feel like I'm making intelligent decisions.

Whoa. I'm getting a little heavy. But I ain't heavy, I'm just Vickie's brother. This blog has been relatively devoid of substance. You Tube can only carry so much weight. Don't get me wrong, You Tube is stellar, fascinating, and a wonderful resource. It was great to find that Picasso clip, previously posted, from a documentary that I'd seen so long ago. The Bacon, likewise. But ideally I'd like to make this blog more notebook worthy, or rather, transfer my notebook energies into this space. We'll see. I'll probably end up getting self conscious about the public aspect of doing that and revert to my private world. I'm always reluctant to reveal too much of myself especially to the casual observer. It is all there in the poetry on some level. "Don't explain your explanations," said Byron. & at least in the poems I can make myself look better. I tried to save the world, but it broke my heart...that kind of thing. The final sensitive bastard in the entire universe. I'm kidding of course. I know many sensitive folks whose hearts keep a close watch on the meaningful things. Thanks for that.

On a lighter note, I'm finally able to wear sunglasses now that I've got contacts. I picked up a pair of big, blocky, high Italian style shades. You've seen them in the picture.

What else can I tell you, being in this ebullient mood?

There is a killer All Small Caps reading coming up on January 28th. John Coletti, Greg Fuchs, and Frank Sherlock are bringing the noise. If you are anywhere within hours of Western, MA you should make this.

& good news that there will be more Jess Mynes publications happening this year. All my current publications are sold out. So, if you like to read my poems, God help you, there'll be more of them soon.

Considering my seed order for next year's garden. Any recommends? What else should I grow? More eggplant varieties for Joe Massey? Maybe Casper, the white variety? Blueberries are slated to arrive in late April. Need to do some landscaping before then. Also considering cranberries for the boggy way backyard. We'll see. & more flowers everywhere!

The back has gotten worse. Bent on svelte, I pushed myself too much at hoops. Spent all of yesterday on my back watching the second season of The Wire and reading. This shit is painful. Been on a steady diet of arnica, tiger balm, cold packs, hot water bottle, and hot tub. Today, at least I can move around a little, which is good because I am going to see William Parker play this evening. I will be the wincing one with the geezer gait. It has been a blessing in disguise - how's that for spin? - slowing F&F stuff, but allowing me an opportunity to sit in the hot tub to read and write. How about this beautiful line from Frank Sherlock's _Wounds in an Imaginary Nature Show_, "The cruel the vulnerable seeds witness"? A perfect line for today's false Spring.

Listening to the Velvet Underground's Loaded, double disk with the demos, etc. Terrific.

Typing this whilst walking around my kitchen, the hot tub beckons.

picasso is painting

pt.1 of Bacon

Onedit.

soon to be cider

on the horizon

Coolidge-Mayer.

Happy 2008