Welcome to Tim Staley!

This evening I'd like to post some intriguing, slice-of-life poems that New Mexico poet Tim Staley sent me.  (Thank you for your patience, Tim!)  He and I were both in Catfish McDaris and Marc Pietrzykowski's anthology Resurrection of a Sunflower, poems and prose inspired by Vincent Van Gogh.

It Was the Day of My Vasectomy

A nurse prepped me like I was livestock.
I was 2 Xanax in and she was too rough.
She left my nuts under a heat lamp.
The doctor finally came in and told me
if I stopped having babies the Blacks
and the Mexicans and the Muslims
would sure enough fill this country up.
A strange sentiment for a sterilization.
Then I’m thinking about the young van Gogh,
a bit shiftless, unable to find his place
in business or in the exams of the church
so he goes down to the mine to see sunlight
through the miner’s eyes, shrunk to a pinhead,
and the Xanax is wearing off
and I smell him cauterizing my vas deferens.

THE FALLEN SOLDIER

The fallen soldier lands
at Cleveland International.
4 green fire trucks,
10 cop cars, a hearse,
and a blur of red, white and blue
glitters on the wet tarmac.
A son, a father, a brother
and 6 flags stand limp.
Some of us stop to gape
for 2 or 3 minutes before
dashing to our gates.

Another Meaningless Morning

Sylvia kneels on the sofa, her back to the living room,
she’s looking out the window, she sees a fluffy bird.
The light is broken by the blinds and lays across her face
in thick, bright bars. There's dust floating in the air
and the sound of Thursday’s snoring in her dog bed
even though she just woke from 18 hours of sleep.
In the bedroom Suzanne is also asleep, on her left side,
spit hangs from the rim of her lip. The ceiling fans
continue to spin counter-clockwise. The window in the bedroom
is open, a cool front blew in last night. In the window sill,
stuck between the screen and the glass is the skeleton of a gecko,
maybe 3 inches, striped tail, eyes beady and black, wide open
and intact. Outside a breeze starts in Deming and turns bad
on its way to the Mesilla Valley. Bits of dust and rock vibrate
and lift from the desert floor to make their way in a violent cloud
toward our house, toward the fluffy, unidentified bird in our front yard
hopping between the palo verde and the juvenile locust tree
and in Sylvia’s stomach there’s a barking and a Happy Meal
watch is on her little wrist but it’s broken and is only purple to match
her skirt which has 28 sparkly hearts sewn above the bottom hem,
and between her two front teeth there’s a morsel of mango
that her toothbrush must have missed, and she turns to face her daddy,
to ask him about that fluffy bird, as he makes his way to the coffee maker.

Ring Them Bells

Elonganel got his bell rung
and saw green for an hour.
Coach said our sideline
looked like Mash last night.
Now I sit around drinking coffee
as the non-disabled students amble in
while half the football team
wanders the hallways,
sliding recklessly back and forth
over the black ice of their synapses.

Angela, She’s Gone

I can blink the tiredness from my eyes
but she’s gone. My sister, mother of two.
My daughter's first real death
is 3 hours old, 4 hours old...

Jill’s mom didn’t let her
go to her father’s funeral.
It was a motorcycle crash
after the war, Germany, hit by a truck.
The mother knew funerals
were no place for a child.

It’s past my daughter’s bedtime.
Go on, I tell her, play,
don’t worry about the stars
shifting on and on.

If you would like to see more of Tim Staley and his poetry, visit his website: https://poetstaley.com/  He may even be coming to a town near you!

Let's start the music with Thelonious Monk's "Boo-Boo's Birthday,"  Boo-Boo being his nickname for his daughter Barbara: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fDHAo7xmIac

I'm trying to find the Robert Glasper song with his child, but in the meantime, here is "Ah Yeah" featuring Musiq Soulchild and Chrisette Michele: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN0tFgLcp4g

"Fever" is a bonus track on the Robert Glasper Experiment's Black Radio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZuvF2DfQM3k

 I'll finish with Woody Shaw's "The Moontrane":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgjTnRcxOJA and "Katrina Ballerina": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQkGc7dfIPE

Leslie McKay, Julie Naslund, and Indunil Madhusankha!

Tonight's entry features a variety of poets and styles.  I'd like to start with New Zealand poet Leslie McKay's "Louis Armstrong's Wink," a poem inspired by her mother's seeing him perform in Christchurch in the 1950s.

Louis Armstrong's Wink

She kept Louis Armstrong's wink in her evening bag

for her Child to employ and grew fountains

of wisteria and magnolias the world came to see

When Child waltzed off a flight from New Orleans scatting

and singing, She exhaled a long, slow breath before 

the swagger of youth and forecast a summer of mayhem 

Wearing her father's empty gun belt slung around her hips

Child followed her rhythm downtown, to find the dark blue music

she heard through half open window panes, above old veranda's

knocked on doors, until she found the accomplices she craved

When they jammed, her hungry face was light

her voice a liquid instrument, a thousand years deep

in her eyes, a cache of dreams on hold, as day imposed

On a rare night of solitude, She watched a magnolia bud unfurl

sat in wonder, breathing nectar, until the morning tide brought Child

hand in hand with her new Italian scholar of the universe love

who waved a divining wand as he smiled and said the nectar 

would ebb and flow until She's resistance ceased

As the intelligence arced and whirled She left for the botanical realm

from the green depths, heard Child singing Summertime

found her by the lily pond where lazy goldfish blew 

where Child said ache in her was love, her voice a mystery 

driving her further from the garden that aligned her

And She said the root of the world was the adult blues 

in the dancing of summer, burning inside her

as she cut Child a stem of wisteria

She was born quiet, she often craved silence to a holy degree

but the murmuring dreams of plants kept her real

Child's recklessness didn't become her, it drove She insane

but her voice was a pearl of the sonic world

and below the wisteria vine, their colliding rhythms swayed

Leslie and Julie Naslund have also sent me a rengay inspired by the music of John Coltrane.

like telepathy

which direction ?

begin in the middle

and go both ways  J

still they salute him

no-one could catch trane  L

aural meditation

from the well of the heart

a love supreme    J

a pure state

moment to moment

only one instrument L

beyond the saxophone

a new cultural landscape  J

like telepathy

a strong rapport

with inner history   L

Above is a picture of a service at the Saint John Coltrane African Orthodox Church in San Francisco.  (Thank you, Martin Willitts, Jr., for telling me about this church.)  Freimut Bahlo is the photographer.

I'd like to add Sri Lankan poet Indunil Madhusankha's poem.  (Thank you for your patience!)

Autobiography of the Poet

 I am the poet

 carrying a luggage of roles

 all of which I play with equal interest

 I am the talkative lover

 who knocks on the door of your heart

 and having entered,

 bursts into a torrid tete-a-tete

 with your inner self

 and sings fantastic flirtations

 I am the justice in the court

 betokening perfect impartiality

 and never guilty of distorting the truth

 None receives the least pardon from me

 for any offence

 I am the policeman

 following the thugs

 with a baton

 and filing a case against them 

 I am the overpowering magician

 My virility, more ebullient

 than that of a gunman or a swordsman

 In case they can only kill a person

 Yet I influence the latter

 and charge the battery of his heart

 I am the labourer

 digging out moth eaten rubbish mounds

 and recycling them

 Yet, I am the poet,

 the very slight poet,

 still struggling for perfection. 

Biography of Author

Indunil Madhusankha is currently an undergraduate reading for a BSc Special Degree in Mathematics at the Faculty of Science of the University of Colombo. Even though he is academically involved with the subjects of Mathematics and Statistics, he also pursues a successful career in the field of English language and literature as a budding young researcher, reviewer, poet and content writer. Basically, he explores the miscellaneous complications of the human existence through his poetry by focusing on the burning issues in the contemporary society. Moreover, Indunil’s works have been featured in many international anthologies, magazines and journals. 

I'll start tonight's music with Louis Armstrong's "A Kiss to Build a Dream On":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSe1Takt5FU

This version of "Dinah" is from 1933.  The band is playing in Copenhagen, which fits nicely with Leslie's poem.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhVdLd43bDI

Here is a live version of "Green Dolphin Street" featuring John Coltrane, Wynton Kelly, Paul Chambers, and Jimmy Cobb: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePScRElDHOY

In this video, Coltrane and Monk play "Evidence": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqdO8-JxAYQ

Enjoy!

Welcome Back, Jerry Scuderi, Dave White, and The Song Is...

Photo by Dave White

Now that the semester is over, the song resumes with my former student Jerry Scuderi's return.  The photos in this entry are by his friend Dave White, and they will remind you that warmer weather is only a few months away!

The  Roar  of  Lions   

Pop’s trailered his pick -up,   a mighty machine ;

to race, come see it,   a beauty yet mean .

Billowing smoke, “Orange Thunder” ;   stand by if you dare.

A grandson was called,  oh! He needs to be there .

See them brothers and uncles,   grand dads all around.

Here the pulsing ear-piercing;   there’s smoke and there‘s sound.

Mom calls for a son,   not yet of teen age ;

lean, smart, and quiet,   the men quickly gauge .

With uncles around him,  here encouragement and praise ;

his face is the face of their grand- uncle   . . . Displayed !

Tight gripping long hand shake,   between families that cared ;

relay trust and approval   of a son freely shared .

 Pop worked, raised a family,   his racer’s his joy ;

family men come to see it,   shout our for the boys .

Males are molded and fashioned,   by the things that they see ;

labor for family,   it’s the place they should be .

“Little Brother , what’s in you,   I want you to show ;

through the smoke and the thunder, a family must go ! ”

“ Roar at me brother,   show a heart that is strong ;

family will depend on your will and your arm !”

Families are spoke of ;   it’s good to be here ;

the years will soon pass us;   new grand dads appear .

For families are time-less , need attention and care ;

provide direction and guidance,   give your life and your hair .

                                                       Jerry A., Scuderi  June 13, 2009    

               Serenity   Station

Howl winds of  Delaware point

across a home of gables.

Coming storms of winter nears ;

shield ; protect  .  .  .  so able .

Adobe of columns , open plan

seen children , guests , and greeters .

Come to rest and soak up sun

mallers , feasters , beachers .

 In dark of night front corner lamp

sentries a palace quite adorned .

A trooper rolls hushed quiet past

a street left quite forlorn .

Guest house of peace and order

arrayed in tile and oak

host gifted rooms of talent treasures

to stress , anxiety soak .

Cottage quiet hums of silence

awaiting squawks , cheer , and chatter .

Soak in now an AM’s glow ;

Soon to greet ; soon to serve .  .  .   it matters .  

   Jerry A. Scuderi

   Nov. 19, 2017  2:47 am                                                                            

                                                         

        Misty Dawn

Twilight squeals of monster motion ;

Cars file in a train yard bow .

Mountains invite a wakened commotion ;

a stone wall hints of a forgotten foe .

This city soaks the trellised passes ;

it’s glow reflects of white and amber .

I’m showered , sprayed , soaked , dashed .

Do You know my thoughts of Thee ?

A silent hiss returns the night ;

youths to rise with their glee .

Steeple sentries send drapes to white ;

Assault me shower ; spray in the freeze .

Gone , now times of cloistered sisters :

of convent closed by Father Time .

Allow me joy of giving , Master .

In Thee I rest this life of mine .

                                                       Jerry A. Scuderi 

An Outdoor’s Man Sonnet

Up and out in the morning cool ;

Trek to the lake of misty sky .

Seek ; fish phantoms and a turtle guy .

Snatched ! Pocketed ! A morning jewel .

A flop of legs and he’d found the pool .

We anchored our scepters ; relax and sigh .

Thrones set by brush , brambles , and rye .

License and contentment , here is the rule .

A creature tugs at the line ; oh , snap !

Cool ; … then steady , … spare a mishap .

A thrasher flits through the thicket ; gone !

Others avoid being ripped and torn .

Delight in the day of early dawn .

Nigh is darkness , dejection , forlorn .

                          

                                                               Jerry A. Scuderi 

                                                               June 14, 2017

               A  Sonnet for Dad

He’s my  dad .

He’s strong as jade .

He works all day so bills are paid .

Watches me ;  keeps away the bad ;

Loves me even if  I’m mad .

He’s here for me through night and day ;

kisses me when eyes are laid .

His feet get tired ; his face gets sad ;

I love him so , I need to show .

He carries me so I can grow .

We brush away vacation sand ;

I make him smile ; to him I grin .

He worries though I hold his hand .

My Dad will dim ; I’ll long for him .

                                                              Jerry A. Scuderi

                                                              June 9, 2011

I'll finish up with some of the music I've been listening to lately.  Music to grade papers by.

Freddie Hubbard et al cover Paul McCartney's "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a9QcUEQS7cw

Here is Hubbard's "Joy Spring" from Born to be Blue: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4nq5NZqoDc

This is Woody Shaw's "United":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqP-EA-UZkI  The cover of the album shows Shaw with his young son.

I'll finish with his "The Green Street Caper."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_d71H04OQI

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Carl Scharwath and Deborah Setiyawati Collaborate...and More!

painting by Carl Scharwath

Thank you, Carl and Deborah, for your patience.  I am finally posting your words and images tonight!  This semester has been the usual round of five composition classes....but then various friends and family members decided that they wanted to visit us...what a semester!

Here is Deborah's poem that is inspired by Carl's painting:

She Had A Reason

She’ll tell you how the ruby sparkled ---

A carmine rose lips at the day

The tale of scarlet line bound in the window

Before the broken wall.

A crimson light cleaved the ashen clouds

The scattered lustrous diamonds

Sank by piecemeal the ray of phoebus

But that day kept the enigma.

She had a reason in spite of it’s too cryptic

Hidden in her dark brown eyes

She grasped the vow and wished

To see a silver lining--- one day

Till the copper skies vanished

While starry firmament touched the gate of heaven

She waited in her gloomy room

To swim in amethyst --- tomorrow, to the promise land.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Photography- Carl Scharwath

Model- Jenny Link- (In memory of my friend, muse and now guardian angel 08/26/62-3/12/2017)

Dealova

If life is a journey--- You walked!

If there’s a giant mountain--- You climbed!

If it’s the battlefield--- You fought!

You pay attention not

How many ‘if’ before your eyes.

In you, everyone sees the glorious spring

Early in March, in the morning calm and delightful

Your beauty shines brightly in harmony

Between soul and body.

The power of you is in your smile and tenderness

Strength and dignity are your great clothing

The crown is wisdom and bravery of yours.

Your love radiates from your virgin heart

Your words are the air for others.

You are the oasis!

-- Deborah Setiyawati

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am also adding some words and images by Kerfe Roig.  The set right below was inspired by Joni Mitchell.

Blue (all I want)

I’ve been to sea before

I’ve been to sky between

I’ve gathered gifts of air

the road under my skin

I’ve asked the why and where

the where of going round

the why of what I seek

the where of why I’m bound

I’m bound to sail away

my mind tells me to roam

but anchors pull my heart

and sing my wandering home

I’ll sing a lullaby

of needle under skin

the waves will help me fly

the spiral shell within

-- Kerfe Roig

------------------------------------------------------

The next set is inspired by the intriguing Laura Nyro.

the textbook opens to page 13

If you could
learn to be lucky--
if you could
hitch pathways
to stars--would the road go on
infinitely, light?

Bottoms fall
out and down with luck,
mirroring
in reverse
the patterns so recently
aligned in those stars.

Why not drink
of sweet blind dumb luck?
Tempt fate to
work its will?
Why not open the gates to
floods of temptation?

Floating boats
on darkened rivers,
out of hands
to lend—out
of sight the treasure map--
out of luck the tide. 

-- Kerfe Roig

She started a ritual
The answer on fire
The seeds realized as dark matter

Let's start with a couple of Laura Nyro's songs.  The first is her version of "The Bells" from her album with Labelle, Gonna Take a Miracle: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoBnGupHVHE

This next video is a tribute to Nyro from 2012: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnvmpj6AhpU  The club is in Ashville, NC.

British jazz vocalist Emma Smith sings her arrangement of Joni Mitchell's "Blue": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWotbcTP5RI

Tierney Sutton sings "Woodstock" from her album After Blue: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVcV76cqXUE

This morning I was listening to Doug Carn and Jean Carne's album Infant Eyes, so here is the title cut: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38OXtiRZ2ig

I'll finish with their version of "Naima": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWTtZ015Z70

Unlike the late Ms. Nyro and Joni Mitchell, Doug Carn and Jean Carne are still performing: https://www.ft.com/content/daf62080-bc70-11e1-a470-00144feabdc0

Enjoy!  I hope to be back sooner rather than later!!