Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Poetry Books and New States

April of to a beautiful start, except it snowed north of Seattle on the First, and felt like snow yesterday.

And speaking of yesterday, the 2nd, I attended a read at Elliot Bay Book Co. by Teresa White for her new book, Gardenias for a Beast (Two Steps Publishing, 2007). As of this date despite the fact she is endorsed by Billy Collins , it is not available on Amazon or any other on-line bookstore. Worse, Two Steps doesn’t have a web page. They do have email though –twosteppublishing@gmail.com – ordering recommended. Teresa is an outstanding poet, and you get 240 superior poems for only $10.99 plus tax.

Bill Collins said “Every morsel of her diction counts.” I agree and urge you to purchased the volume.

I also meet Miss Mary Jane Marshmallow (M to her friends and everyone else) and Steve Williams. Steve gave me a copy of his new chapbook, Skin Stretched around the Hollow (Rattlesnake Press, 2007), where I discovered the line, “Each kiss of the wasp stings the same,” as good as a line gets. The other lines in the book complement the wasps. You can order the book at http://www.rattlesnakepress.com/rattlesnake_reading_series.html

I will do a review of both and others for http://www.lochravenreview.net/ summer issue.

http://poetrysuperhighway.com/PoetLinks.html does an annual book exchange. This year mine came in a red fabric cover from Bengal. The author, CP Abookabacker, is a self-professed Communist, not exactly common in this country. His web site is http://www.thanalonline.com/ He says he doesn’t sell the book, Before the Journey, but if you talk nice. I will also review it.

The Poetry Super Highway is also doing an E-book Free-for-all, which I have prepared a chapbook for titled By George, Conversations with George Orwell and George W Bush. After PSH is through with their gig I will send it to anyone who emails me, probably in mid-May.


Poetic States XLIV – Utah


The reflection of Clear Creek
off the canyon’s canvas worthy
of Pollock in his splattered prime.

Ancient shades crowd cliff walls
in a corner of a forgotten gorge,
painted by prehistoric Picassos.

Wind sandstone sculpted buttes
reveal primeval mountains
and the seas that inundated them.

In every bend of monuments
and parks we wisely preserve
only for their beauty and history,

art that except for its breadth
and depth would hang with honor
in the best museums and galleries,

art we would never witness
if not for the eye and camera
of a magazine’s photographer.



Poetic States XLV – Maryland

When Poets Meet in a Cloister by the Bay
(for Chris)

When you stand at the edge
of the unforgiving sea,
when you listen to winter’s wind break free
you will hear him call for Anabell Lee:
“Where is she,
where is Anabell Lee?”

When you heed the frustrated knock at your door,
when he disturbs your neighbors on the third floor,
will you forget the reasons your eyes are blurry,
the long trip by train, each mile dreary,
and understand he only wishes to claim his lost Lenore.

When the station’s brass bells chime,
when it seems you’ve run out of time,
when you notice the Capital layered with grime,
will your words still swell;
will your verse still tell?

I listen to poems of your commute,
of monuments and cherry blossoms,
people you meet on the street, squirrels and orioles,

And I puzzle why there seem to be none of Baltimore,
hoods, corners, row houses,
by the bay, the ever blameless bay.


Tomorrow, I go down to Grandparent’s Day at Ben’s kindergarten and a day of Ben-sitting.

So, until next week.


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