UNINTERRUPTED POETRY DAYS

Diana Randolph, author of In the Heart of the Forest, and a talented, prolific, inspiring painter, used the phrase, "uninterrupted poetry days" in a recent email. I tried to conceptualize what an uninterrupted poetry day might be like. The concept seemed heavenly at first, but then became more difficult to imagine as I pondered it. What would an uninterrupted poetry day be like for you?

BEAUTY BOOK LAUNCH

Went to a beauty book launch Wednesday at St. Mary's Hospital in Duluth, sponsored by SMDC Grief Support and Holy Cow Press. Click on the ALL CAPS title above to view the Holy Cow website and check out their new title Beloved on the Earth: 150 Poems of Grief and Gratitude. What made the event beautiful for me was the celebration of poetry. Poets read. Editors commented. Sponsors incited interest and awe. There were 60 people present and books were bought, autographed, and held sacred. It was enough to make a publisher and poet want to weep. Thanks Jim for doing good.

Poetry Treasure

Been upgrading Jeff Lewis' page on the website. Adding text and...hopefully someday...images. Jeff is a great artist as well as a profound poet. Here's a poem from the book section called, "Playing the Rivers Backwards." Click on the title above to hot link to the book's page.

Baptism River

Certainly not the Jordan,
this root beer brown surge,
the anaconda pour,
this tireless roar
into the heads of poets,
the beds of dreamers,
the solitudes of saints
or the hells of madmen.

Certainly I have no squaw to convert,
her beargrease oiled head to immerse,
her loyalties to split between Mighty Manitou
and He who walks across Gitchigume
in tyrant splendor
upon the backs of our enslaved dreams.

I dunk the carburetor of a star.
May you make light knowable,
may you fill our cylinders with photon Cupids,
our dreams with vehicles
we can drive to the bottom of the big lake,
the Big See,
to our childhood museums on the bottom of Begin.

I dunk the typewriter.
May all the old ink wash away,
all the old writing written into us,
all the curses, all the tragedies.
May you now write only the truth
or lies graceful enough
to tempt the Word from its hole,
to rise to the mayfly
in creations complete
and consummated in morninglight.

I baptize thee in the name before names.
I baptize thee in the first creation.
I baptize thee in the language before language—
before all this gibberish
to father the First Nation
of the First People
who speak their own origins.

I baptize the television.
I give it over to the current,
the python of it
I have wrestled to the Pythia One channel
from the Aorta of Words.
The river takes it, an offering,
delivers it to the lake
where in slow motion
it falls gracefully over drop-offs
to land on a ledge
to broadcast a world above
made in the image of our deepest dreams.

INAUGURAL POEM

So, what did you think of Elizabeth Alexander's inaugural poem, Praise Song for the Day? Yes, I'm taking a poll. Post a comment and let us all know...did the poem work for you? What about the delivery? Was there a deeper meaning that you've discovered? Post a comment, if you would.