Thursday, May 30, 2024

the trap

sit down to 
make a line of verse

then draw down to 
your cat's open belly

as she lies on her back
in a spot of sunlight

the invitation to pet her
is too hard to resist! 

ouch!  the sudden grab 
of your hand

by her sharp claws 
scratches 

your arm
to make a new line of verse

Wednesday, May 29, 2024

poetics

indeed, sometimes poetry is absolute music
& sometimes poetry is rearranging the deck chairs

holy shit: on aging

i feel 25
so how did it happen
when i look
into the mirror
an old man
looks back at me!

Marcel Duchamp Talks with Martin Friedman about the Readymade

Monday, May 27, 2024

note to self

alive
still

with
a lot

of nervous
energy

Friday, May 24, 2024

end credits

after the movie is over 
i like to watch the end credits
as they scroll the music playing returns to the movie's themes
& i like reading the names of the crews
that worked on the film 
& all that entails for movies are mostly
international productions 
plus you can tell what governments give
good tax incentives to entice moviemakers 
to make their movies there
it's kind of a lesson on a sector of the economy
a scan of where & how well it is faring 
but even in poor economies films do get made
even in depressions & wars
but it's the names i am most interested in
all those thousands of people 
necessary to get this production made 
& on to the screen 
besides the music of their names
as a poet i am attracted to names
because they are markers of individual lives
& sometimes names are music
especially ordinary sounding names
why & how & why again
i'm fucked if i know
perhaps it is because the production of a film,
in the useful phrase coined by the poet jaan kaplinski,
is located on a wandering border
of which the end credits illuminate
there is only one earth & one human species
because movies are our human stories
& what makes you 
you & me me & you again
can often be found scrolling at the end of the film
on the silverscreen

Tuesday, May 21, 2024

tweets in an emergency

fill up the fountain fast anna's hummingbird wants to take a bath

* * *

the fountain pump pulled out again
fucking racoons

* * *

go ahead
call yr mom

* * *

to quote whitman 
is it too hot in here
very well it is too hot in here

* * *

the drive-in theater projection booth
what mysteries!

* * *

going to the movies again
ah!  the smell of popcorn

* * *

srsly, i ain't fucking kidding

* * *

oh ho ho ho ho!!!

* * *

smack me in the mouth!

* * *

srsly, i rlly ain't fucking kidding

* * *

& never forget 
to

STAY THE FUCK ALIVE!

video haibun: kung fu fighting poetics


                                         the summer sun
                                                               kicks 
                                                                      the sea

Sunday, May 19, 2024

quote unquote

jim harrison: you know my motto don't you. it comes from lermontov the russian writer, EAT OR DIE

anthony bourdian: where did he say that, lermontov?

harrison: he didn't.  i made it up.  

bourdain: no way!

harrison: you have authority for quotes if you ascribe it to someone else

anthony bourdain: no reservations 'montana' [season 5 episode 17]

[to crib t.s. eliot, who said, bad poets imitate; good poets steal]

Saturday, May 18, 2024

short history of a [non]fighter

the story goes that when poet/pugilist arthur cravan was in spain he worked really hard to get the former heavyweight champion, jack johnson, into a match.  (johnson, a black american of the late 19th - early 20th C is a great & fascinating man in his own right & i would encourage anyone interested in the history of boxing, race discrimination in the united states etc etc. to read up on his life.)  cravan claimed he was a boxer.  the poet was a large man & well-built.  he trained, kinda.  but in his boxing life cravan only had three bouts & he got his ass kicked in all three.  it is said when cravan saw the size of johnson he tried to get out of the match.  the poet was way outta his league & knew it.  but the fight commenced.  johnson toyed with cravan for six rounds before knocking the poet out.  

i am fascinated by the figure of arthur cravan who was more of a provocateur then writer of poems with his lectures on art often developed into drunken spectacles.  but the dadaists loved him for his wild art.  the great poet mina loy fell in love with cravan & called him COLOSSUS.  cravan would remain loy's great love for the rest of her life.  marcel duchamp, another great artist, & inspiration to the dude writing these words, was also an admirer of cravan.

cravan was a shitty fighter by all accounts.  & yet, he made the persona of boxer into an art.  i am reminded, for who doesn't bring his/her/they lives into any account of history, of my own love of fighting.  i was a shitty fighter too.  first time i boxed, in the front yard of my family house, with a friend of my father, i was smacked right in the kisser.  i saw stars & i knew boxing wasn't for me.  to paraphrase daffy duck, i am not like other people; to me pain hurts!  but i was mad for the martial arts.  i started with kenpo when i was 8 or 9 years old.  later, i talked my parents into paying for lessons at the WAY OF JAPAN dojo studying shotokan karate.  

when i say i was mad for karate i ain't kidding.  not only did i train all the time but i studied the history of karate.  i read everything i could lay my hands on about karate at large & the martial arts in general.  to this day i have stubbornly clinged to a couple of martial art tomes.  one is a history of the martial arts in popular culture.  the other is a study in japanese chain fighting.  i was hardcore.  i could tell you the origins of karate from okinawa, te [meaning hand], including traditional okinawan weapons like the nanchaku that were developed in response to japanese occupation & repression of okinawa.

my favorite night at the WAY OF JAPAN was wednesday night.  spar night.  my sensei, henry, a short dude with thick black hair held in place by a bandana with a can of skoal wrapped in it, would invite schools of various styles, including kickboxing & kung fu offshoots, to our dojo.  it was on!  i loved it.  but i am uncoordinated by design.  i didn't like getting hit.  that hurt.  i am slow by default.  henry, in contrast, was short [as if that was some sort of handicap!] but he was lighting fast & very skilled at fighting.  he was astonishing to witness on wednesday spar nights.  henry looked like he could star in his own martial arts movie as the hero.

 & i wonder what might've been if i stuck with the martial arts.  certainly, i'd be no hero or champion.  i'm sure, like i am today, i would've discovered poetry.  would i have made being a fighter a part of my persona like arthur cravan did with pugilism?  kinda silly to think so.  but what the hell.  like marcel duchamp tells us, art is whatever the artist says it is, which was later developed into antipoetry by the likes of nicanor parra et al.  

let me end with this memory.  there was a student at WAY OF JAPAN who was perhaps a couple years older than me.  i don't recall his name.  but he was brilliant.  grace married to ability.  henry was such a charismatic teacher that he attracted & brought into his class martial artists of many styles, including like i mentioned earlier, kickboxing & kung fu.  this young man tore thru the curriculum of shotokan in short order.  very soon he was studying kung fu with one of henry's disciples.  the discipline & practice of karate means you do katas which are a set of predetermined movements designed to mimic a fight.  when done well a kata looks like a dance.  this young man doing katas was brilliant.  to this day i could watch traditional katas all freaking day. 

but this young dude was a better fighter.  soon he was competing in local events.  mostly non-contact matches.  i went to one of these competitions to watch him.  he was magnificent.  he won his division.  he was with no doubt a champion.  a little while later i fell out of that world.  i discovered punk rock, girls, skateboards etc etc.  a little later i found writing, & a little later still, poetry.  & all those things i just listed, karate, punk rock, skateboards, drugs (even!), have made me the person i am today.  i wonder what happened to that young champion.  he was that good.  at least to me.  but like arthur cravan proved on the pulse of his boxing i cannot take a punch.  nor can i give one either.  

let that be my art. 

it's friday nite - let's go to a show!

after a long, long week of work anna & i shut down work related things & headed to Cesar Chavez Park located in downtown Sac for the scheduled concert series called CONCERTS IN THE PARK where the city organizes a series of friday night concerts right in the heart of the city.

we met our great friends b. & c., & even talked nick into accompanying us, to the show.  the headliner, royel otis, who are currently tearing up the charts with their version of 'murder on the dance floor' originally performed by sophie ellis-bextor, among their orginal songs.  royel otis killed it.  they sounded great & their energy broke down barriers of all sorts.  i don't know what the size of the audience was but i'd estimate it around 3000.  i think.  because the place was packed.  we were like sardines in the can until i get a text from b. who disappeared about 10 minutes earlier.  b. found a relatively open spot stage right of the band.


the sound kinda sucked because the PA system was facing toward the main audience.  but the spot!  oh man!  b. lucked into a terrific area to watch royel otis bring down the house!  & the audience?  well, take a look here.

                                                 

i fucking love live music & when the band tore into 'murder on the dance floor' the audience lost its collective mind!

we had a freaking blast.  we did leave a little early to avoid the congestion.  the band performed 'linger' by the cranberries as we walked toward our respective vehicles.  the weather was warm but clement.  a slight breeze.  just enough to remind you that you are still alive.  the music was surging in the background.  & the whole of the experience reminded me, & not for the first time, that we are finite creatures who have been given a gift of music, community, love & friendship.  hippy ideals sure. but real enough for this old punk rocker to take heed.

peace & love

Friday, May 17, 2024

dada poet/pugilist arthur cravan

Tuesday, May 14, 2024

let us praise the wonderful roger corman

roger corman passed away at the advanced age of 98 on 5/9/24.  he was given the moniker 'king of the b movies' for his gifts at making movies fast & on the cheap.  corman also produced his films & distributed them as well.  the filmmaker was also an extremely gifted employer of top-tier movie-making talent.  the list of actors & directors, writers & editors. etc etc. that he hired for his movie studios is off the charts.  corman also was notable for hiring women in key important jobs, like directing films.  but for me, corman is a film lover's film lover.  the dude knew how to make every cent on his productions work for value.  he knew how to make a film & he knew how to market a movie.  roger corman's flicks have been -- are -- a great pleasure for this old filmgoer.  i cannot add anything that hasn't already been said about corman.  however, i did write, & publish on this blog, a sonnet i wrote last december about one of my favorite corman productions.  the movie is indefensible really.  but i love it.  it was directed by bettina hirsch & stars harvey korman in dual roles.  this pic is precisely the kind of quickie exploitation movie roger corman is famous for.  moviemaking & filmgoing were made infinitely richer for roger corman's cinema.  i know of no higher praise!


Roger Corman Sonnet: Munchies [1987]

before we blame it all on dad who knew 
we were visited by an alien civilization


& got proof in peru in the form of little arnold

the mischievous who learned both spanish & english


in the space of two minutes who wanted only

earth things like corn chips & salsa & clark bars


or blame it on dad's twin brother who wanted to 

control his own little postage stamp sized of america


& did stop at nothing including kidnapping little

arnold the mischievous for whatever his diabolical desires


let's begin with cindy played by nadine van der velde

who might be the cutest woman in 1980s U.S. cinema


cuz my gawd! paul her boyfriend played by charles stratton 

was a complete dork even if we've come to the end of the world


Thursday, May 09, 2024

bummer, dude!

 


Friday, May 03, 2024

it's friday nite & you wanna 'be bop a lula!'