New Horizon

July 4th, 2014

horizon

A NEW HORIZON

 

My Robert loved reciting his proud

Eskimo Haiku: “Drip, drip, drip! Spring

has come into my livingroom.”  Now

I have a poem called grip, grip, grip.

I have a grip on grief,  i have a grip

on not telling lies,  I have a grip on moving,

plowing away avalanches of cobwebs

obscuring my thinking clearly, oh indeed.

 

You see, I am sissified cowboy who has been

on range of broken fences way way too long.

I’ve been lately avenging my cravenness.

This point, I’m going say I love you to everybody,

even ones I’ve felt slighted by, granted they may

have all reasons because of my shortsightedness.

I ponder now Robert Frost’s mended fences,

I have a front hedge that makes me neighborly.

 

So all and all weary worn but mending I’m proverbially

putting my newly refurbished saddle on my horsey.

Let me spelled out so plainly, I’m truly glad about all

this invigoration pulsating in my sheer existence.

By Cracky!  I’m Gordon MacRrae, “Oh, what a beautiful

morning” as I rise for another cup of Yuban, shutters open.

 

The New Studio in Venice

June 29th, 2014

Ford & The Doorshen house Studio

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE NEW STUDIO IN VENICE
(Hen House Studios–June 27, 2014)

A premiere starring Michael C Ford
the seasoned baritonal bard got us all
looking in each other’s ear fait accompli.
His lyrics invoked invisible smoke permeated
the barely built studio’s sound booths
but soon be bards and new sound rockers
will be carrying uniquely this old bard’s cords.

I witnessed the unfolding of the gala

viewing Harlan the maestro of the studio

jam rehearsing on an one and only drum wishing
now I had asked the name of his beat. Ah yes!
I had the honor to assist the maestro’s mistress
unfolding the patio table cloths for the dignified

I had the honor to assist the maestro’s mistress
unfolding the patio table cloths topped with sturdy
candle lights & goblets of munchies for the dignified
motley guests to arrive with valets adorning the alley.

 

motley guests to arrive with valets adorning the alley.

The Mexican mobile caterer coasted  in feeding us
shrimp tacos all before and during the cast
of sound mixers unfolding their equipment for
infusing sounds of the deceased Ray Manzarek
of The Doors and ones still with us,  plus a choral
annexed musicians all enhancing Ford’s voice for being
the spoken instrument of innovative protest how sweet.

Lil Marlene

June 27th, 2014

for_you_lili_marlene

Publisher’s Weekly Review

In this touching sequel to Crunching Gravel: A Wisconsin Boyhood, the poet recalls his search for self-knowledge and sexual identity as a young draftee in WWII. A gentle lad who grew up in a sheltered farm environment, he had to learn how to cope with emerging homosexual feelings while dealing with the supermacho culture of the barracks. He was assigned to the European theater of operations as a clerk, and his only combat experience was his own inner wrestling with sexual fantasies involving both genders. Wondering if God were somehow testing him, he refrained from homosexual relations despite the pressure from fellow GIs who flirted with him. On leave in Paris, he shared a female prostitute with a sergeant he secretly desired and later drifted into an awkward affair with a German woman while on occupation duty near Heidelberg. The highlight of his European hitch was his attendance at one of Marlene Dietrich’s more memorable concerts: “I loved this androgyne.” This elegantly written memoir has much to say about the relationship between sex and the military life. Photos. (Dec.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Library Journal Review

With the anniversary of the end of World War II looming large on the cultural calendar, poet and critic Peters has written tenderly of his naïve entry into adulthood courtesy of the U.S. Army. He is neither sentimental nor mawkish in his coming-of-age story, which is made complicated by his ambivalence over his strong homosexual feelings. From his account of his boyhood home in rural, impoverished Wisconsin to basic training in South Carolina and finally to Europe, his lucid prose gives access to both the man and the child. It is a rare adult who can convey the anxieties of youth as vividly as Peters does. Readers encountering this chapter of his life will want to seek out his other memoirs, Crunching Gravel (Univ. of Wisconsin Pr., 1993) and Nell’s Story (Univ. of Wisconsin Pr., 1995) and will eagerly await the next installment. Recommended for public and academic libraries.‘David Azzolina, Univ. of Pennsylvania Libs. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Evocative Chair

June 27th, 2014

 

photo (4)

THE EVOCATIVE CHAIR

 

Back back in the seventh grade an

art teacher, “now paint something SAD”.

My little growing brain was so literal.

Classmates conjured on their canvases

dark clouds, willows,  and abstract hues

while I water-colored big tearful eyes.

 

I glanced at my teacher when I got up,

she averted her eyes but kindly sent

“you don’t get what the others do.”

It took me constant flashbacks to do.

It is not really wallowing, it is reality.

I now see an old empty tattered chair.

 

Burial of the Ashes

June 22nd, 2014

burial

 

BURIAL OF THE ASHES

 

Oh, this is ancient theme

and what does it all mean?

Personification of the being!

I’m numb therefore calm to say

this pre-burial is public for

the celebrated being was too.

 

Does it make it easier for the theme

to hits us all one way or another

be it a loss of a child or a mother,

spouse, pet–we all know our losses.

And we all know there’s no textbook.

 

For me I will keep my stanzas to three

but personify my beloved ashes with

his little teletubby guarding his remains

boxed and covered by a mortuary cloth on

his apricot throne where he lived so much.

Robert Peters’ Obituary

June 21st, 2014
http://www.latimes.com/local/obituaries/la-me-robert-peters-20140619-story.html
It’s true the Times’ obit of Bob has depth but I must quibble a bit. Bob liked Poet James Dickey and saw him as a mentor for showing Bob one can be a poet and a critic. Of course this is here say from Bob to me, Dickey once wrote him and said after reading Bob’s Songs for a Son, “You don’t know how original you are”. Bob was glowing telling me this. As for John Ashbery, Bob was fond of him. The Times reporter must of misinterpret RP’s essay on John Ashbery titled DICK AND JANE AT HOME IN CALIFORNIA, TRY TO SAY SOMETHING SIMPLE ABOUT jOHN ASHBERY’S “LITANY” as being critical instead of playful.

Whitney Otto: 

“He was my professor at UCI, introducing me to, among other things, the work of Gerard Manley Hopkins. I adored his classes, and went to see his “performance” of the Blood Countess. I had read poetry before, even had a class or two, but no teacher ever made me understand that the complexity is the draw, not the barrier. He was a true influence in my life, even though he never knew it.”

 

MANY FACES OF ROBERT PETERS

June 16th, 2014

faces

MANY FACES OF ROBERT PETERS

 

Omigosh!  Did I live with a guy

for forty years with multi-personalities?

An eminent critic once said, Peters was

“our premier verse-biographer”.

Now I know why I was so vastly entertained.

 

My baby became Mad King Ludwig of Bavaria

who left palatial castles all over dreamland

My baby became a Cornish Vicar Robert Hawker

who gave proper burial for sea strewn sailors.

My baby became the blood countess Elizabeth Bathory

who bathed in the bloodof  virgins for maintaining her youth.

My baby became the explorer Elisha Kent Kane

who explored the Arctic with fatalistic results.

My baby became Mother Ann Lee founder of the Shakers

who was believed to be the female version of Jesus Christ.

My baby became 19th century British artist Benjamin Haydon

who is now a forgotten romantic and pitiful aesthete left impoverished.

My baby became Orange County Serial Killer Randy Kraft

who psychotically stolen lives of many lost boys, now walled away.

 

All these years, he kept the personalities hidden from me

reserved only for his traveling troubadour’s stage performances.

Some of his most darkest character had some audiences exiting,

I want to say one thing or two his personality reserved for me

was an undying and unconditional loving teddy bear–I feared him not.

 

AFTERMATH

May 24th, 2014

 

AFTERMATH

Around the corner seven-eleven

java nestling on the lap, crosswords

unfolded above the knees, his lovable

cane crisscrossing the thighs,

his needed-washing blanket

mummifying him in a repose.

 

Yesterday he had a great fall

whence rising to the john–an abrasion

on his forehead, bloody big toe &

a contusive  ado on his hand.

“I’m alright, I’m alright’–yea, yea.

His will and I got him dusted off.

 

Kaiser, ER ward vied for nite monitoring-

but my baby would not have it-onward home.

Here we are after a rise & shine needing

more shut-eye & I wait to reheat his java.

“He’s alright”, He’s alright” for the nonce.

 

aftermath

CROONER

May 23rd, 2014

crooner

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CROONER

(Ode to Jerry Vale)

 

Heat rises in a cool

smooth way and goose bumps

fly away from the arms,

the heart patters ethereally,

he’s got you under his spell.

 

He once sung a Chaplin serenade

“This is my Song” and Petula

took it away to the United Kingdom.

A crooners –an upside down Diva

replete with silk and smoke.

 

Celestial sighs within his arias

breathing out chic rose petals,

strewn on shrilling admirers.

CROONER

May 23rd, 2014

crooner

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CROONER

(Ode to Jerry Vale)

 

Heat rises in a cool

smooth way and goose bumps

fly away from the arms,

the heart patters ethereally,

he’s got you under his spell.

 

He once sung a Chaplin serenade

“This is my Song” and Petula

took it away to the United Kingdom.

A crooners –an upside down Diva

replete with silk and smoke.

 

Celestial sighs within his arias

breathing out chic rose petals,

strewn on shrilling admirers.