Issa's Untidy Hut: C Ra McGuirt

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Shangri-La: Issa's Untidy Hut, #126

Friday night, one of the greatest singer/songwriter's of the rock and roll era was in Pittsburgh, PA and, yes, Bruce Springsteen was here, but no, that's not who I'm talking about.

I'm talking about Ray Davies, one of the greatest, indeed, and Friday night he proved it. With a set list full of songs (yes, lots of Kinks era stuff) that an aspiring rock band would give their right arm to have just one of, in no particular order, here is what I pieced together from the set

I Need You
Autumn Almanac
Dead End Street
Sunny Afternoon
Till the End of the Day
Too Much on My Mind
Waterloo Sunset
Nothing in the World Can Stop Me
Worrying About Her
20th Century Man
All Day
Apeman
Misfits
Full Moon
Harry Rag
I Really Got You
David Watts
Dedicated Follower of Fashion
Celluloid Heroes
Lola

All that and I know that I've forgotten quite a few. His accompanist on guitar during the acoustic set was Bill Shanley, who was amazing, and the backing band, which opened with a 12 song set of their own and with whom people didn't get restless for a minute, was The 88, an LA band that has a new wave, Elvis Costello-meets-The Shins quality and musical chops second to none (with more than a touch of Kinks like harmonics). Here is a taste that may give you a good idea why Davies has them backing him:

And here is the whole shebang, Davies and The 88s together on a recent morning show doing "Lola":

Davies was charming, relaxed, and a real jewel of a performer. Rabid Kinks fans knew all the words. I heard two songs I'd never heard before and even they knocked me out. As a poet, his acapella version of "Harry Rag" was enough for me - I was very happy, indeed.

And, oh, yeah, today's LitRock song is an old Kinks tune, deep from their catalog, said to be composed for a TV series in the UK that never came to be. Shangri-La, a fictional place that has made a previous appearance on Issa's Sunday Service.

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This week's poem from the archive comes from issue #62 is by small press legend, and former professional wrestler, the one and only C Ra McGuirt.

watching the detectives

sex
drugs
religion
art--

everyone buys
information.

only fear
is free.

C Ra McGuirt

through the great red gate
no fear...
cuckoo

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,

Don

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Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 126 songs

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Thursday, October 2, 2008

Tapping the Barometer, Why Buddha Sat Under the Tree, and Joe Pesci in Pittsburgh

The sad news of recent days is that the death of Hayden Carruth is reverberating through various poetic communities (no, I don't think there is only one, in practice or theory). Ed Baker was kind enough to send along notice, and point to a poem well worth sharing.

Agenda At 74
Tap barometer, burn trash,
put out seed for birds, tap
barometer, go to market
for doughnuts and Dutch
Masters, feed cat, write
President, tap barometer,
take baby aspirin, write
congressman, nap, watch
Bills vs. Patriots, tap
barometer, go to post
office and ask Diane if
it's cold enough for her,
go to diner and say "hi,
babe" to Mazie, go to
barber shop and read

Sports Illustrated, go
home, take a load off,
tap barometer, go to
liquor store for jug
(Gallo chablis), go
home, pee, etc., sweep
cellar stairs (be careful!),
write letter to editor,
count dimes, count quarters,
tap the fucking barometer ...
Hayden Carruth

This so perfectly captures a day in the life of an aging poet that it almost takes the breathe away with its understated quality and matter-of-fact resonance.

Beautiful.

Yesterday's poetry appreciation session went well, though not quite as I expected. Part of an overall package of programs for lifelong learners, the general attendance had been between 15 and 17; yesterday, there were 9. So it was cozy and comfortable. After a half hour intro, we got into the poems and folks didn't quite respond to the questions I'd prepared to stimulate discussion, so the session transmuted into more traditional class, with me riding herd all the way. Folks were much more comfortable with this and, as I pointed out various aspects of the poems (in a declarative rather than inquisitive manner), they began to respond and responded very well. Since I noticed three faces from last year, I didn't want to repeat poems I'd covered then so asked them where to start. One person wanted to hear the Ted Kooser poem ("For You, Friend"), so I told them I had two poems to lead into it and proceeded to show them how one poem directly and indirectly influenced the other. They were taken with the similarity of imagery (which the relationships are built on) and we just took off from there. They were enthused enough with the three poems ("Donal Og - Broken Vows," "Funeral Blues" by Auden, and "For You, Friend), that I decided to stretch it and go for the Shakespeare "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day"), which really spun out well from the Kooser. They loved it, particularly when I read Howard Moss's poem of the same name:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Who says you're like one of the dog days?
You're nicer. And better.
Even in May, the weather can be gray,
And a summer sub-let doesn't last forever.
Sometimes the suns too hot;
Sometime it is not.
Who can stay young forever?
People break their necks or just drop dead!
But you? Never!
If there's just one condensed reader left
Who can figure out the abridged alphabet,
-----After you're dead and gone,
-----In this poem you'll live on!

I did this in my best "drop dead" Jersey accent and they loved it - when I heard the unrestrained laughter, I knew they were enjoying poetry and, so, I'd accomplished what I came for.

One of the more enlightening moments for me came during the questions that were asked as we were wrapping things up. One person in particular asked why is it that many times when she hears poets read, on places like the NewsHour, they just sound so flat and they drone on and on. As I paused to answer, everyone in the room was either vocally assenting or nodding their heads at this observation and I realized poets are very often their own worst enemies. My response was that I'd chosen works I love and greatly admire and those kinds of works for me contain a great deal of emotion that needs to be conveyed. They are works I believe in.

Everyone seems to lament the fact that no one reads poetry anymore and yet, when we have the opportunity to put our best faces forward, we drone on and on and on. And it is not just a matter of entertainment, though this too is a factor. A woman I ran into at the library an hour after class stopped me to say how much she enjoyed the session and how moved she always is by Auden's "Funeral Blues," to the point she has difficulty listening to it, yet finds it immensely powerful even in the extreme emotion it invokes. She noted how she could never have expressed those emotions in words yet the poet had gotten it perfectly. I told her the old adage was true: we look to our poets to speak for us, they give us our own voice.

That, friends, is poetry, to be touched deeply, to be moved permanently.

If you write something, you better believe in it. And if you believe in it, when you read it spin it like the bottle you want to land on just the right spot ...

In other news, the Basho Haiku Challenge entries will be accepted up until midnight this evening. The response has been quite amazing and I'm very pleased. I finished up David Landis Barnhill's translations, Bashō's Haiku, and had intended to report on that today but am running out of space and time, so I'll postpone it until next week. Suffice to say that of the over 700 haiku, I marked 35 that grabbed me.

Eventually, when I run out of back issues to feature, I've got a couple of ideas about featuring different work here on a weekly basis. One of the ideas I mentioned previously is to showcase work from the books on the Near Perfect list (157 and counting). Though I'm not going to begin that now, I ran across a video of one of the poets on the list, the amazing and powerful and moving Etheridge Knight. Here is a video rendition of his poem, "The Idea of Ancestry."

This week's featured back issue is a special one, issue #75, from January 1996. As a milestone number, I came up with the idea to solicit poems, all to be entitled "Why Did Buddha Sit Under the Tree." I received lots of work and featured 14 poems in the issue, 13 entitled "Why Did Buddha Sit Under the Tree" (the 14th was called "The Joke" - and that's another story). So, here's a handful of the best, including the "Winner":

Why Did Buddha Sit Under the Tree
there is no tree
no Buddha
& no contest.

please go home.