Snapshots June 25
Said Gertrude
"Look, look, " said Gertrude.
"There are
"pansies, poplars, and peaches,
"marshes, gorges, oxen,
"goats, farmlands,
"threshing machines,
"Artemare, Cesurieux,
"Paulet, ruins, towers."
Will you look?
Will you look?
Or will you close your eyes,
place your hands on your eyelids,
and say, "Enough."
No, no, no, "How do you do?"
"Very well, I thank you."
Harriet Zinnes, NY City, NY, USA, 10.46
IN REAL TIME
1
Who needs to believe in a higher being?
The canal's ripples tell us we'll be well
advised.
This rower knows what it's like; he produces a smile
the way you produce an identity-card.
2
The canal does not smell of the widow's soup,
of the mongrel's urine, of whatever was left
unsaid when your uncle kicked the bucket.
Nor does the canal smell these things. Still
it does not object to becoming
a subject. Even the breeze leaves it
unruffled.
3
At that cafe with the impossible name
she recalls her husband
as the dog might a salt-licked stick. Hearts
break but not so often as wine-glasses.
See how she toasts the rower, her finger
cocked.
Note: this lichen is appropriatley named 'graphis librata', which
means 'drawing' or 'writing'. you often find it on the trunks of
beech trees.
- David Howard, 'Max Gate', Purakanui, NZ, 9.21
a milk day in the sky
petal wet under cloud path
sun tips weak over the hill
oldest blessing dim
train in waves, ours late
in the day fidget tides
handles zippers phones
cold is always struggle
makeup on the run
wind piss and mirrors
rail yard's corrugations
green grey, roof and wall
ordinary traffic, limo and bridge
they go over, we go under
courts terraces the connections
stair slippy to exit
and late, the useless tilt
in rush and no escape
Jill Jones, Marrickville to Central, Sydney, Australia, 10.05am
the freshness of night - is still on papers - leaves at rest from the
wind - silence from friends - from interests - and work to be done -
counting pages - the passing car singles itself out - more trees are
needed - to release what contracted with tension - emotion reflected
as a diagram outlining itself independently - at the transfer of
energies - fallacies - as distant as the militiamen of the bishop of
corno - maybe now bricks supporting the roof - of a house in locarno
- or nourishment for a flower
1.58 am
tel calls - bright light - translation ready on the screen to be done
- on the front page of the ny times the photo of a pig to be eaten at
mcdonald's - incoming mails - upcoloring sun - pea-green the leaves
already bathed - almost sea-green the ones still benefiting from
shades - a summer day in all its violent strength - as iron said
mishima - as the tightly pulled leather of a drum - the darkened skin
of a swimmer - and iced coffee and plenty of vision, vision of light
drowning my sight
9.19 am
Anny Ballardini, Bolzano, Italy
On bin day, when the
wheelies wait by the gate
I'd like to dump
whatever clouds your eyes
and this anomalous sky
neither grey nor blue.
Norton Hodges, Oakham, Rutland UK, 8:35 a.m.
another week
another friend
dead
half my age
she young
and bright
songwriterpoet
caring person
had enough
a train.
patrick macmanus raynes park uk 8am
the song has ended
but the melody still
lingers on -
mother never one
to reveal much
about her youthful
activities her longings
unprompted
once confided that
her favourite groups
in her teens were die
kommedian harmonists and
the mills brothers and now
the old steam radio's
softly churning the song
has ended but the melody
still lingers on a
vintage mills brothers
number anno 1934 while
my youngest son's
room emits the uncouth riffs
from the kinks' first lp
he's just bought at a nearby
garage sale bringing
all that back to me
you really got me 1964
thirty years after the
mills brothers got my mother
and now forty years later girl
you really got me now you
got me so
i can't sleep
at night replace 'girl' now
with 'time' keep
afloat the past
is lapping my chin
if this be don't
play on play
on ...
Árni Ibsen
Place: Hafnarfjördur, Iceland.
Time: Half-past midnight
Dr. Terror's House of Horror's
Her Hat Frogs of Shadow
of Dragons Venom of voice
Ritual Dragons Venomous understandings
Frogs of Cloths of Iguanas, of Pythons
Frogs open colors Shadows open
Venomous dreams Scorpions open
Dreams of Smoke Frogs of Shadows
Darken Venomous Chameleons dream
Scourging of Iguanas Bearded Dragons
Tarantulas of Smoke Scorpions Groan
Scourging of Shadows Iguanas Bemoan
Scorpions of Smoke Frogs with Gloss
Venomous Bubbles Geckos with Bristles
Frogs of Cloth Tarantula in Shadows
Venomous murmur Geckos Bristle
Scorpions murmur Frogs Bristle
Rainbow Boas Bristle with murmur
Frogs of Closed Doors Tarantula of Shadows
Scorpions of venomous understanding
Scorpions of voice understand dreams
Geoffrey Gatza, Buffalo, NY, USA, 7:50AM
the rain
showing mercy
is in retreat
replaced
by heat
humidity
left over puddles
mosquitos
the typical nj june
between this cocoon
and the street
two machines
loud as presidential choppers
one old, both
noisy, percussive
tunes
change the household
current
the channel
on the tv
lowering
the level of tolerance
in the brief hours
between work
Deborah Humphreys, Newark, NJ, USA, 8:02 am
rushing to pack all
I won't forget
forgetting something
s part of the plan
part of parting
the kiss unforgotten
saying goodbye
see you soon
have a good day
Douglas Barbour, Edmonton, Canada, 07;12
Puppy-Love
Late-shopping nights, near closing time,
an elderly man flops
on the mall bench facing the pet shop.
In the left window
in drifts of shredded paper,
multicoloured kittens tumble over each other;
in the right: flop-eared rabbits
and guinea pigs like furry wind-up toys.
He fancies none of them.
At both windows the trickle
of laden shoppers heading for their cars
hesitates, women and girls
pitch shrill love-cries at the glass:
'O-o-o, aren't you gorgeous!'
(The man privately rolls his eyes.)
'We'd love to take you home!'
'But look at the price!' The central
recessed windows sport puppies:
on one side lapdogs with petulant faces,
on the other Labradors - golden,
sturdy, athletic, modestly noble.
Since opening time - how many days? -
they've pressed their puppy-love
against the glass, baulked.
These are the stars - price on application.
The man's wife arrives with her parcels -
straight to the Labradors:
'Darling, look, aren't they perfection?
I'll just ask the priceŠ.M-m-m, I see.'
He rolls his eyes, privately grateful
they're unaffordable: 'Besides, you've got
your perfect dog already, waiting at home.'
'She'd love a puppy too.
She's getting old - ' 'Like me.
So let's make do with old dog love,
doggedlyŠ'
[snapped last week, developed this...by an elderly Max Richards
11pm, North Balwyn, Melbourne, Australia]
Wayang
the sun high enough
to look over the yard wall
casts a row of shadows
onto the concrete
out from a veil of leaves
move clean definite shapes
like black paper cutouts
hosta bamboo fern
and the huge hands
of the fatsia stretched out
I would go out move the pots
stage-manage this shadow play
but the different scenes
as the sun moves through the day
and each leaf-character enters
have their own drama
I'm only audience
Joanna Boulter, Darlington, UK, 2.45 pm
LOSSES
New Jersey has gone
from November to July
with nothing in between.
Spring has been lost.
We are the meat in the middle
of the sandwich.
It seems too hot to think of words.
Nothing to say until
I read of the death of someone
probably far too young.
Then it all returns:
spiritual acid reflux,
undigested memory rising
like Mme Kristeva's black sun.
A year ago tonight Miles my cat,
at seven also too young,
becoming food for his own body,
euphemistically was put to sleep.
That morning on Staten Island,
I'd stood at Dorothy Day's grave,
asking only to accept what I knew
might come.
And did.
And did.
Kenneth Wolman, Princeton, NJ, USA, 3.38pm
A thought process -
the dream's heaviness melting into day.
In the evening I wrote to her.
Her reply was a glimpse of the heaven
advertised by psychics: correspondences
revived, the loved in one anothers' arms
in a long dance, interleaving partners -
surrender and return on equal footing,
the bar of memory lifted, and the air
sweet with the sighs of liberated ghosts.
Dominic Fox, Leicester, UK 9:32pm
DOROTHY & RUTH & SARAH
via Dorothy Arzner
Do not want to drive a truck.
Once more,
rent. Just like that,
out.
They
have turned off the gas.
You alone,
rent.
Und I kill him.
Think I am crazy, may be?
He. Where is he?
Say,
and if you don’t give him to me, I will give you trouble.
Refined;
a lovely Mimi.
Hello.
Barry Alpert, Silver Spring, MD , USA,7:05 PM
Note: Joining the concept of an acrostic sixteener to an early
writing strategy I
derived from Tom Raworth's "Claudette Colbert By Billy Wilder", I was able
to snap these shots amidst a screening of Dorothy Arzner's "Sarah and Son"
(1930), starring Ruth Chatterton. For further detail on Arzner, I'd point
to www.sensesofcinema.com/contents/directors/03/arzner.html
--
Alison Croggon
Blog
http://alisoncroggon.blogspot.com
Editor, Masthead
http://au.geocities.com/masthead_2/
Home page
http://www.users.bigpond.com/acroggon/
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