Welcome to Alan Britt!

Longer ago than I care to admit Alan Britt sent me some poems that I'd like to post tonight.  I'm happy to see that his first poem references various bluesmen born in the 1940s, most of whom are new to the contest.  Alan, by the way, was also in Resurrection of a Sunflower.  I am always thrilled to publish someone from Catfish and Marc's anthology!

USING THE BLUES AS A MEAT TENDERIZER

Sprinkle in Eric’s falsetto and you’ve really got

something—a sprig of Mayall, Jack Bruce, Stevie

Winwood—rolling rock on its ear, as if rock’n’roll

had an ear according to swingsters cartwheeling

their way across Nazi ballrooms.

A pinch of Derek Trucks for good measure,  

just enough to tenderize what many preachers

call porterhouse love affairs on the verge,

on the verge, on the verge of what some poor

exhausted praying bastard might say if only

he had a love affair.

So, forget the verge; better he doesn’t know;

easier that way. & with your alchemical harp,

Mick, take us out . . . take us out. 

This next poem is surprisingly timely!

LEAVES

Leaves fall through hard black shadows.

Banana-bitten leaves

with ink stains of infant green

& brown spots tattooing

their oval bodies.

November wind, with a walnut walking

stick, churns their chilly graves.         

WINTER BREAK

I've already forgotten which day

it was I've forgotten!

 CREVASSE

I understand how it feels to be tangled in monofilament line 

cast from a corporate yacht by its captain donning a white 

fabric black-brimmed cap that features a braided yellow trim 

slip-knotted at both ends with gold embroidered ships wheel 

& anchor on a black background.

Wrapped in monofilament line beneath irrational undertow. 

I understand that certain sentiments when threatened 

erupt like Mount Tambora.

But like Helen Keller lost in a blizzard, I developed tentacles 

disguised as Spanish dancer sea slugs trawling a reef off 

East Timor while performing flamenco among cauliflower 

coral that’s survived seventy zillion evolutions.

Enough or too much, William poses the eternal question? 

So, how much is enough? 

 AS APRIL YAWNS, I ENTER

Crow squawks resemble high heels scraping

a sidewalk between two clapboard houses framed

by budding birches, elderly elms, & Japanese maples.

Mail truck over blue gravel rattles like ice

cubes clattering an icemaker’s throat.

Butterfly wings of radiant rust clip the clover,

braise wild onion, & tumble like flakes of amber

over forsythia singeing a split-rail fence.

Algae, like waves staining beach sand, bruises

the torso of a whitewashed shed.

Palomino dog beside wrought iron railing pants

on patio steps that eviscerate TV voices revealing

windows in the flesh, daffodil’s wilted yellow star,

tomato vines reduced to shoestrings by a renegade  

winter, & catbird cries like russet gears inside magnolia

blossoms that resemble artichoke leaves dipped

below garlic & melted butter dreams.

               *                  *   

Like lava, pollen migrates from barbaric verbs

to feral nouns one breath at a time.

 STRAYING THE COURSE

Tyger dragonflies—her hair after

a gust during 3^rd grade recess.

Then in bed dreaming of rescuing preschool

crush’s hair like wet tobacco while riding

a bareback granite stallion

that requires no maintenance,

no oats, no hay, no excuses.

Initial commands sketchy

when nuclear weapons

entered the conversation,

head beneath Florida desktop,

body curled like armadillo

scale by scale, link by link,

into the vault, a dream of sorts,

but vault all the same,

accountants disappearing in quicksand,

rulers on roller skates behind Plexiglas,

behind the advertising cartel all smiles

ripe for orthodontic ads—reminds

me of lavender-dipped-in-opium

perfume intoxicating the rail-splitter

in me—I had two cows, maybe,

six goats, & three mangy dogs,

for sure—I had some chickens

won in a euchre contest—feathers

flew, eggs hard to come by—but

I inherited something cherished

by primordial DNA—I found love,

or it found me—either way, from

this day forward I’ll spread

poetry like Johnny Apple

spread his seeds. 

Alan Britt has published over 3,000 poems nationally and internationally in such places as Agni, Bitter Oleander, Bloomsbury Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Christian Science Monitor, Confrontation, English Journal, Epoch, Flint Hills Review, Gallerie International (India), Kansas Quarterly, Letras (Chile), Magyar Naplo (Hungary), Minnesota Review, Missouri Review, New Letters, Northwest Review, Osiris, Pedrada Zurda (Ecuador), Poet’s Market, Queen’s Quarterly (Canada), Revista/Review Interamericana (Puerto Rico), Revista Solar (Mexico), Roanoke Review, Steaua (Romania), Sunstone, Tulane Review, Wasafiri (UK), and The Writer’s Journal. His interview at The Library of Congress for The Poet and the Poem aired on Pacifica Radio, January 2013. He has published 16 books of poetry. He teaches English/Creative Writing at Towson University.

ALAN BRITT: Library of Congress Interview:

http://www.loc.gov/poetry/media/avfiles/poet-poem-alan-britt.mp3

I hope that the link to the interview with Grace Cavalieri works!

 Tonight I'd like to post some videos of Michael Brecker, another musician born in the 1940s.  His Don't Try This at Home was the first jazz CD I bought.  "Itsbynne Reel" started off the CD:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NL_DoqyKXJQ

"Suspone" is another song from that CD: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hTvej7KRiU  It sounds like a song from another place and time.

Let's add to my collection of "Night in Tunisia" with Chaka Khan on vocals: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZMIQMw3F2E

Here is Michael and Randy Brecker's "Some Skunk Funk": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wLEv8w1QwAA

I'll finish with their "Strap-Hangin'": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6o_GiajAzVQ

Enjoy!