Albert Huffstickler Poem in New Arianna Huffington Book

Page 173 from Thrive: The Third Metric for Redefining Success and Creating a Life of Wisdom, Well-Being, and Wonder by Arianna Huffington

Anyone who reads this blog regularly or has been a subscriber to Lilliput Review from way back knows how much I love the work of Albert Huffstickler. A few months back I was contacted by a representative of Arianna Huffington about reprinting a poem by Huff that I had published in Lilliput Review #117 and, subsequently, in a blog post (scroll to end) for Lilliput's previous blog, Beneath Cherry Blossoms, where Ms. Huffington evidently encountered the poem. 

I, of course, had no objections, but needed to help find out who held the rights to the poem in the Huffstickler family. After a number of contacts, I was able to direct Ms. Huffington's representative to a member of the family who was able to grant permission. 

This is quite a journey by this brief, powerful poem by a small press poet who touched so many souls while he was alive and the decade plus since he's death. I don't know the print run for Thrive, but its a New York Times Bestseller, so 6 figures is not out of the question, possibly more considering the Internet dominance of her site, The Huffington Post.

And then, there is that poem that touched her like so many have been touched by Huff's work:

We forget we're

mostly water

till the rain falls

and every atom

in our body

starts to go home.

    Albert Huffstickler

I'm not sure what Huff would make of all this but I'm betting that he'd think, well, if a hundred thousand or so people read this one poem and if a it grabs a handful, I've done my job well.

Huff, 13 years after you've gone and you've still got it. Now that would bring a quick smile before returning to the next cup of coffee, the next cigarette, and the next blank sheet of paper beckoning for your whole heart and soul.

Thanks again, Huff. And thanks to Arianna Huffington, for passing a gift on to so many who would otherwise not known.

------------------

a day for wandering
a day for haiku...
spring rain

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

Wonderful video on Huff by Matthew Listiak

best,

Don

PS If anyone would like a copy of Lilliput Review #117 with the Huff poem, drop me a line. It's still available.  

Bastille Day, Judy Collins, Baudelaire, James Merrill and All That

Every Bastille Day, the first thing I do is put on the album (or tape or, today, cd) In My Life by Judy Collins that contains the song "Marat/Sade" from the Peter Weiss play "The Persecution and Assassination of Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade" or, as it is more succinctly known, "Marat/Sade." Here's the lyric, composed and written by Adrian Mitchell and Richard Peaslee, that perfectly captures the hope, pain, and ultimate failure of all political folly. It resonated throughout the 60's when it was first produced, simultaneously prophetic and mirroring the true insanity that one felt living through those marvelous, horrible times.

Did I say hope? Yeah, hope.

Via snail mail, correspondent Charles L. suggested some insightful connections (or, at least, synaptic crackling) between Stéphane Mallarmé's "Le Tombeau de Charles Baudelaire (The Tomb of Charles Baudelaire)" and David Chorlton's "Paginnini," which was previously posted here. So, here's the Mallarmé for comparison. He takes the connections even further with James Merrill's "Lorelei:"

Lorelei

The stones of kin and friend
Stretch off into a trembling, sweatlike haze.

They many not after all be stepping-stones
But you have followed them. Each strands you, then

Does not. Not yet. Not here.
Is it a crossing? Is there no way back?


Soft gleams lap the base of the one behind you
On which a black girl sings and combs her hair.

It's she who some day (when your stone is in place)
Will see that much further into the golden vagueness

Forever about to clear. Love with his chisel
Deepens the lines begun upon your face.

The Mallarmé is a bit of a muddle for me; I read three translations of this and couldn't really put it all together, but I've never really connected with his work. The link is to Anthony Kline's translation and I felt it was the clearest. After 5 or 6 readings, I think the Merrill is outstanding and feel the Chorlton and Mallarmé helped me appreciate it more (oh, yeah, there's some irony there and I've got to say it may touch upon the essence of what poetry really is or can be). Thanks, Charles.

All in all, though, it just feels like Monsieur Baudelaire should have the last word on this:

The Flask

So I, when vanished from man's memory
Deep in some dark and somber chest I lie,
An empty flagon they have cast aside,
Broken and soiled, the dust upon my pride,
Will be your shroud, beloved pestilence!
The witness of your might and virulence,
Sweet poison mixed by angels; bitter cup
Of life and death my heart has drunken up!

Finally, over the weekend I spent a bit of time updating the back issue archive at the Lilliput homepage. There are now sample poems from over 50 issues located there. I've created a section of link backs to the blog (and its former incarnation, Beneath Cherry Blossoms) so the samples in postings may now all be found in one place indexed by issue number.

With all this heady Mallarmé, Baudelaire, and Merrill, it's time to clear the cobwebs. Let's end with The Hut's laconically precise proprietor:

today again
death draws nearer...
the wildflowers

Issa translated by David Lanoue

best,
Don


PS. Looking back at Beneath Cherry Blossoms as I did over the weekend, I realized that July 17th will be the 1 year anniversary of the combined Lilliput blogs. Party time!

"There are so many stories ..."

Cover art by John Bennett & Cornpuff

Last week was the anniversary of the birth of James Wright, one of finest poets America produced in the 20th century. His combination of moving lyricism and deep-felt sadness served as a model for some of the best 20th century poetry to follow. White Pine Press, which I mentioned in my last posting, has recently reissued the wonderful collection of prose/prose
poem pieces The Shape of Light by Wright. Most of the pieces in this book run from a paragraph to a few pages and center around an Italian journey. The following, in its entirety, is one two line sentence that captures the flavor of this resonating book:

Saying Dante Outloud

You can feel the muscles and veins rippling in widening
and rising circles, like a bird in flight under your tongue.

Also in my last posting, I mentioned the latest chapbook by Gary Hotham in the "Modest Proposal" series, Missed Appointment. Here a few of poems from that collection:

window, window...
the child pressing against
the rain

missed appointment---
late morning sun spreading over
the faded sofa

farewell party---
the sweetness of the cake
hard to swallow

Over the past two weeks, I've added 8 more issues to the Back Issue Archive, each containing 6 poems per issue, for a total of 11 issues. I will be posting more back issues to this archive on a regular basis for general reading and to give newcomers a chance to see what Lilliput is all about. Combined with the samples given in the 7 previous postings in this blog and over 30 postings in the old Beneath Cherry Blossoms (beware, pop-up zone) blog, there are now sample poems from nearly 50 back issues available.

Also, a page of Small Press Links has been added to the homepage this week in my regular effort to transfer over material from the old homepage. Do feel free to suggest other small press links, particularly to pages for Lilliput poets and mags that count themseleves among Lilliput's friends.

So, what is the title of this posting about anyway? Well, over the last few weeks I've been slowly going through Mary Oliver's stellar collection, House of Light, where I came across the following, from the poem Snake:

There are so many stories,
more beautiful than answers.

Frequently, I'm asked for the magazine's guidelines and, of course, I provide the usual, poems under 10 lines, a 3 poem limit per batch etc. But qualitatively, the above two lines might serve very well, indeed.

Finally, it's on to a selection of poems #134, which originally appeared in October 2003:

2003
Just before spring
the war begins

but - - ignorant - -

the pink blossoms
keep opening
their tiny fists

Judith Toler

what far off peace
some will war for--right here
a moon

Scott Watson

Rain at the window
wood doves of the morning's first
light. How long, how long?

David Lindley

a long sleepless night-
your voice on my machine
saying hello
again and again
while the rain softly falls

James Rohrer

Till next week,
Don

"Beneath Cherry Blossoms" disappears

Just back from vacation to discover that the entire Lilliput blog, "Beneath Cherry Blossoms," has disappeared. Thanks, Tripod; six months of postings, with lots of poetry samples, down the tubes. It is the little things in life. I don't really know where to start after this. 8 glorious days in London? An absolutely wonderful vacation of bookstores, museums, pubs and did I mention bookstores? Yes, glorious indeed, despite the horrid rate of exchange on the dollar.

Well, this new blog, "Issa's Untidy Hut," and it will be a bit of an experiment since I don't know where it'll be going from here. I'm going to go ahead and post some work from Lilliput Review #129, as part of the continuing tour through back issues of Lillie. Here's some samplings ....

Like a blind dog
I turn my nose
to the wind
and truth
enters me.

- Albert Huffstickler


Well, it seems formatting may be an issue with "Blogger" - let's try another (by the way, I think a dedication to of "Like a blind dog ..." to Tripod seems appropriate ...)

after
all
it's
only
one
wave
- Ed Baker

And, lastly, this little number, which goes out to the memory of all those lost postings from the defunct Beneath Cherry Blossoms:

Mirrorspeak
I'm off Buddha's eight-fold path
No Gods speak to me. Past a blur.
Future
bone
black -
ashes in mountain air.
- Dave Church

My apologies to all, including the above poets excerpted to a nefarious purpose.

Hopefully, more soon.

- Don