Pride of Man: Issa's Sunday Service, #39

John Cipollina of Quicksilver Messenger Service






Trimmer, non-ugly version


This week's Issa's Sunday Service selection is from one of my favorite bands from the 60's, for which I took a lot of riding from my friends: Quicksilver Messenger Service. The song is the opening cut of their debut album and was written by musician/actor Hamilton Camp. It's another LitRock song that takes its storyline from the Bible; it's lead guitar line, by the late John Cipollina, comes directly from heaven, no intermediary necessary, thank you very much.

The lyrics are simple yet powerful. Quicksilver's take matches that power; as a folk tune, it has a different kind of power. Still, it works just fine both ways. Here's Gordon Lightfoot's version for comparison. And here are those lyrics:



Pride of Man

Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Can't you see that flash of fire ten times brighter than the day
And behold the mighty city broken in the dust again
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again

Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Babylon is laid to waste, Egypt's buried in her shame
Their mighty men are beaten down, their kings have fallen in the ways
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again

Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Terror is on every side, though the leaders are dismayed
Those who put their faith in fire, in fire their faith shall be repaid
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again

Turn around, go back down, back the way you came
Shout a warning to the nations that the sword of god is raised
On Babylon that mighty city, rich in treasure, wide in fame
It shall cause thy tower to fall and make it be a pyre of flame
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again

Oh thou that dwell on many waters, rich in treasure, wide in fame
Bow unto a god of gold, thy pride of might shall be thy shame
Oh God, the pride of man, broken in the dust again

And only God can lead the people back into the earth again
Thy holy mountain be restored, thy mercy on thy people Lord



For a taste of what the band was like at its peak, here they are covering Bo Diddley's Mona with a two guitar attack and lots of groovy dancing!





You will notice that the Grooveshark widget, above, has gotten decidedly ugly. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it at the moment; perhaps I'm just caught between changes or the GS people are just looking for some more real estate. All I can say is that you should have seen it before I edited it down. However, working with the old lemonade from lemons theory, I am going to try the reverse and whip up a giant widget covering all the songs featured to date. Stay tuned. (*** The decidedly less ugly version became available, so I've posted it side-by-side above ***)


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This week's selection comes from Lilliput Review #61. While looking through this issue, I was struck by the presentation of art and poems over these two pages so thought, for a change, I'd scan them in for perusal. The poems are "How She Slumbers" by Albert Huffstickler and "After Sex" by John Grey. On the left, the artwork is Huff again and Guy Beining on the right.


Click the image to read poems & see artwork close-up




And the final words to Master Issa:

wind blows--
the wild boar's sleeping face
so innocent

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,
Don

Forthcoming Issues and Joanne Kyger

Click image to enlarge

I'm currently working on, among other things, the new issues of Lilliput Review, #'s 169 and 170. Above is a sneak preview of the covers, by regulars Guy Beining, on the left, and Wayne Hogan, on the right. In a one person operation, the process can be quite drawn out. I hope to begin to get the contributor copies out first, in about two weeks or so, followed by the regular subscriber issues, coming out in waves beginning around the first of July. These days it takes me about 6 or so weeks to get the full run in the mail.

Why, you may ask? I often ask myself the same question.

The reason is I generally am replying to correspondence, poems and letters and all, and I always try to communicate in some normal, human way, as opposed to speaking editorese. I'm not always successful, in these as in many things in life, but I keep on trying. Simultaneously, I'm replying to the poetry batches I received, otherwise my 90 day turnaround would balloon to unconscionable lengths. And then there is that pesky full-time job.

Just so ya know.

My proofer remarked how this time round there was lots that grabbed her attention, going beyond her normal dispassionate demeanor (and the usual by-the-way-there's-about-a-thousand-typos-this-time, bonehead ... I added the bonehead, she's too discrete for that, but it is how I feel). So, hopefully, there's lots of good stuff to look forward to.

Ed Baker, always on the prowl for new, interesting items, passed along a link to new, free online poetry publications from ungovernable press: specifically, to Joanne Kyger's new poem, Permission by the Horns (this is a .pdf file). For those of you unfamiliar with Kyger, her work has been associated with the Beats and the general San Francisco poetry revival, strongly reflecting her Buddhist predelictions. Here is a photo of Kyger with Gary Snyder and Peter Orlovsky from a pilgrimage to India in the early 60's (photograph by Allen Ginsberg).


In addition to Permission by the Horns, which shows her unique balance, both literally and stylistically, of the personal, the political, and the natural, you may also read 10 (More) Lovely New Poems by Kyger at Michael Mcclure and Ray Manzarek's website (yes, that, Michael McClure and that Ray Manzarek).

This week's featured back issue of Lilliput Review is #26, from November 1991. It was a themed issue in that it had no theme; titled Poems Without Segues 1, it was a larger than usual issue (8.5 x 4", 8 pages total, jam packed with 45 poems), in a somewhat desperate attempt to deal with a back log. The "without segues" part was me throwing my hands in the air and just fitting everything in I could with a crowbar. Here's some samples, beginning with what may be may favorite Lilliput poem of the 1st 20 years, followed by one of Steve Richmond's demon haunted "gagaku" poems:

in a fold
of Balzac's coat
spider eggs

William Hart

-----------------------gagaku

-------accused of
---------------self indulgent narcissism
--------------------I
------------------admit it

demons clap
they like me honest

Steve Richmond

fall from grace

long way
to the bottom
I'll hold
your hand

Michael R. Battram

after the demons
have all gone...
bright moon

Issa
translated by David Lanoue

best,
Don

Building a Butterfly

Cover by Bobo

A couple of miscellaneous notes this morning and some samples from a featured back issue of Lilliput Review. First, a call for poems from one of my long-time favorite small press publications, Chiron Review:


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The editors of CHIRON REVIEW are reading submissions for
an "All Punk Poetry" issue to be published Dec. 2009. Poetry,
fiction, b/w line art, comics/cartoons, photos, nonfiction,
whatever should be sent via snailmail with self-addressed,
stamped envelope for reply/return to: Chiron Review, Attn:
PUNK, 522 E. South Ave., St. John, KS 67576. Name and
complete mailing address should appear on every poem,
story, etc. Deadline: Sept. 1, 2009. Material is copyrighted in
author's/artist's name. Payment: one contributor's copy with
50% discount on additional copies. If anyone wants to help
spread the word, just copy & paste this in an e-mail. We will
forward a flier for posting to anyone who asks:

chironreview@earthlink.net.

Chiron Review is open for submissions year-round. Postal
submissions with name, complete mailing address (on every
poem), and SASE are welcome at Chiron Review, 522 E.
South Ave., St. John, KS 67576-2212. Writers are invited to
send up to 5 poems, 1 long poem, or 1 short-story. We're also
open to reviews, interviews, black and white art and photography,
and essays of interest to writers and the small press literary
community. We ask writers to limit submissions to four times a
year or less. We do not consider simultaneous or previously
published submissions; nor do we consider e-mail submissions
though exception is made for book reviews and foreign/overseas
submissions. CR copyrights in author's name, all rights revert to
author upon publication. Pay is one contributor's copy.
We would like to exchange subscriptions with other magazines
and receive review copies of small press books and magazines
for review and listing in my "News, Etc." column. They can be
sent to the address above.

Subscriptions and donations are welcome. A one-year/four issue
subscription is $17. The "Triple S" discount is offered Seniors,
Students and Starving Artists. Don't be afraid to ask. And of
course, those who are able and wish to provide more support
than $17 a year are most welcome to do so. Subscribers may
send cash, check or money order to the address below or we
can accept payment via Paypal: poetry_man61@earthlink.net.
The Personal Publishing Program under Kindred Spirit Press
imprint is available to poets and writers interested in self-
publishing. Through arrangements with a highly specialized
printer, I can offer small press runs for reasonable prices.
These prices include professional typesetting, printing and
shipping. Click on the Kindred Spirit Press button below for
more info.


Chiron Review presents the widest possible range of
contemporary creative writing -- fiction and non-fiction,
traditional and off-beat -- in an attractive, professional tabloid
format, including artwork and photographs of featured writers.
About a quarter of each issue is devoted to news, views and
reviews of interest to writers and the literary community.

Past contributors include Charles Bukowski, William Stafford,
Marge Piercy, Wilma McDaniel, Edward Field, Antler, Robert
Peters, Leslea Newman, Erskine Caldwell, Janice Eidus, Felice
Picano, Will Inman, Richard Kostelanetz, Lorri Jackson, James
Broughton, Charles Webb, Quentin Crisp & a host of others,
well-known and new.

Most recent Issue: $7.00.
Sample copy/back issues: $7.00 ea.
Send all correspondence to :
Contact Info
Email: chironreivew@earthlink.net

Location:
Chiron Review, 522 E. South Ave., St. John, KS 67576


*****************************


Next, two more entire back issues are up online for free. Here's #159

And here is #157:

The purpose for putting up entire issues for free is to give poets a better idea of what the magazine is about and what types of poems are published there. Also, entire issues simply better represent the magazine as it is. Finally, it also helps those who'd prefer not going through the process of sending for (& possibly may not be able to afford) a sample copy. Issues #'s 160 and 161 may be found in this previous post.

Oh, and then there is the enjoyment for of reading poetry in its natural habitat for those who do that sort of thing. Failing that, there is usually some nifty art, by the likes of Wayne Hogan and Guy Beining, for the visually inclined.

I don't expect to be doing this as an ongoing project or archiving the entire run online (but it is an interesting thought, no) but I will now and again put up an issue when time and inclination allow. I'm also hedging against the eventual conversion of the back issue archive in the transition from google pages to google sites to something possibly untoward.

More about untoward in a bit.

This week's featured back issue is #28, from February 1992, and it seems to have a thing for butterflies.




Ars Poetica

Forging a poem is
Like nothing so much as
Building a butterfly
Of bronze.

Patricia Higginbotham

Mother

Surgical teams
Pinned her
Monarch glands
To a mythical cure
And she steeped out
Of her body
With scissors and rose.

Patrick Sweeney

prayer flags

battle flags

no difference
to the wind

Charlie Mehrhoff

Finally, the happy coincidence of Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, and Harlan Ellison all being born on the same day is just too good to pass without noting. Here's a trailer from one of the films Lee and Price starred in together, a tad less garish than the Scream and Scream Again trailer, another of their joint efforts (and we arrive conveniently back at untoward - faint-hearted viewers beware).

on the flower pot
does the butterfly, too
hear Buddha's promise?

Issa
translated by David Lanoue

best,
Don

Lilliput Review Back Issue: Homage

Cover by Guy R. Being

Today's featured back issue of Lilliput Review is #42, from March 1993. It was a rare theme issue: homage was that theme and, interestingly if my memory serves me well (it was 16 years ago), it was not an announced theme. It just came together that way. Enjoy.

Satie Revisited #14

if all goes
well
no one may be well ;
the worse,
the better, and if you see
any moment of light
it's like finding
moonlight
in your midnight sherry

Harland Ristau

Rimbaud

some one legged man
chained against the furnace wall
screaming:

hell has no power over pagans

charlie mehrhoff

Ode to T. S. Eliot

I can see clearly now
the need to be cheerful
anyway

Carl Mayfield

Salvador Dali

I can imagine myself
Slumped over a counter
In a downtown diner,
But not in a Salvador Dali

T. N. Turner

Jesus Christ

w/ a good roof,
everything else
is rain rolling

Eric Williamson

And the quote that started the whole issue off:

"If Al Green had one tit, I'd marry the motherfucker." Miles Davis

Richard Houff's poem above is simultaneously a concrete poem and a found poem; his young son had done the image and he added the title. Without Miles Davis, or Al Green for that matter, there never would have been a world worth living in.

I still miss Harland Ristau, very much. This one's for you, bud.

in honor of the equinox
the hedge
turns green

Issa
translated by David Lanoue

best,
Don

"I come like Water, and like Wind I go"

Today is the anniversary of the passing of Thelonious Monk, on February 17th, 1982, arguably the single most creative keyboard composer and player in the history of jazz. I'm not exactly sure who might argue with that: devotees of Art Tatum, Oscar Peterson, Fats Waller and a handful (or two) others no doubt.

For me, however, he's the one. Let's see - Monk on piano, Mingus on bass, Jones on drums, Ornette on alto, Trane on soprano/tenor, Miles on trumpet, composing duties shared equally - that should cover it. Away with the fantasy, however: here's the real deal.

I promised, or perhaps threatened, more highlights from the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, which I was much taken with in a recent reading. Background highlights may be found in the previous post. For now, here's a thick, lyrical stew of death, booze, ennui, and love, not necessarily in that order.

Please use your hands.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
---Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend—ourselves to make a Couch—for whom?

Alright, maybe the annotating isn't quite over. Notice the words that he capitalizes. That capitalization is not largely gratuitous. Particularly, in this quatrain: Room, Summer, Couch, and Earth. And, also, what is not capitalized: we and whom.

Ok, I'll try to refrain from refraining.

24.

Ah, make the most of what we may spend,
Before we, too, into the Dust descend;
---Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!

25.

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
---A Muzzeín from the Tower of Darkness cries,
"Fools, your reward is neither Here nor There!"

26.

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so wisely—they are thrust
---Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

27.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
---About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door that I went in.

28.

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
---And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd—
"I come like Water, and like Wind I go."

29.

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
---And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

30.

What, without asking, hither Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence?
---Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence.

Well, it seems there must be a part three, because I could go on forever, but Omar says no! Since it is a little early for a Cup of Wine (No, again!), it seems it's time to turn to the Lilliput archival selections. This week's selection comes from December 1993, 15 plus years ago. Whatever were we up to then, eh?

Cover by Guy Beining

dead poem, #8

when the poets talk of flowers
I want them placed on their banal graves

big bloody hearts
hanging from a copperhead's mouth

a SASE
attached

Bill Shields

Early Robins

Orange breasted buddhas
test their beaks
against
the frozen earth

Bart Solarczyk

In A Time of Human Savagery

Woman in a blue car
holds a white flower
to her pink face

She breathes the flower,
eyes closed,
waiting to make her turn

Leaves open their arms
and fly wild onto the wind

Nothing can stop the world.

christien gholson

Becoming

white blossoms
& cranberry glass
the night more wild
than the red blood
of Egypt
each leaf
is not
what it
seems

Gina Bergamino

from Interweavings II

geovoidl

Richard Kostelanetz

Turner's Song

The player dances his keys
with pale tarantula hands.
His music moves into
the night where its staves melt
in the madness of the rain.

Gordon Grice

January 29th 1986

Winter is like losing
your luggage in Newark

Arthur Winfield Knight

Desacralizing
----sacralizing
Time into the serpentine
weaving of Café Latté
saxophone Kanishiwa
one month away
from
Spring

Hugh Fox

Finally, something of an update: I've printed the Basho Haiku Challenge chapbooks. This coming weekend, I hope to put a good dent into cutting, folding, collating, and stapling the contributors run of 50 or so. The new issues, 167 and 168, are also coming along nicely and all should begin to go out on time (well, that's a rescheduled on time) around March 1st.

And, then, perhaps daffodils.

spring begins--
sparrows at my gate
with healthy faces

Issa
translated by David Lanoue

best,
Don

Basho's Journey Continues & Dancing with Mr. B.

A couple of quick notes and then it's onto the continuing saga of Basho's journey. I was really happy to find out that the Voices and Visions series is currently available via the Annenberg Media site. The good news is that all 13 programs are streamable on line for free with a free signup. The bad news is the series and individual titles are pricey: $39.95 each, $389 for the series. That being said, however, they are available on DVD for the first time and this series is about as good as it gets in its treatment of classic American poets. I have used excerpts from these programs in a poetry appreciation class (the Robert Frost video is particularly fine) I've conducted in the past and plan to use them in the future. If I can come up with the dough, I'll definitely be investing.

I ran across another posting of a Brautigan poem on a Live Journal site that was too good not to share:

Star Holes

I sit here
on the perfect end
of a star,

watching light
pour itself into
me.

The light pours
itself through
a small hole
in the sky.

I'm not very happy,
but I can see
how things are
faraway.

Richard Brautigan

I may be doing a blog only haiku challenge in the future, with print publication of the winner in a future issue of Lilliput Review and also a neat prize for the winner. More on that in a future post but, for now, I will say that all of this is Basho-related.

Over the past week I've been immersing myself in a variety of Basho translations. At work I'm reading Basho's Haiku: Selected Poems by Matsuo Basho translated by David Landis Barnhill, which I'll be getting to in a future post. At home I've just finished up On Love and Barley translated by Lucien Styrk and have been dipping into a number of volumes by the classic haiku commentator, R. H. Blyth, concerning Basho. Blyth is amazing, his knowledge of haiku all-encompassing, and he always manages to off-handedly put in a word about Wordsworth or Lawrence or Whitman, so much so that I have to admit I actually like a critic. Hmn, I've been a bit faint of late, perhaps I need to take my temperature.

It took me quite sometime to get with the flow of Stryk's Basho but once I did there was much to appreciate there. Of the 250 plus poems here, I marked off 15 as being particularly noteworthy. The virtue of Stryk's translation also exhibits its flaw: brevity. These are stripped down to the barest bones. Most are under 10 words, some less than five. When the translations work, they are like the Eastern style of brushwork art; a stroke here, a bird, a few there, an entire mountain range. The brevity suggests boundless possibility and the reader fills in the details. When they fall flat, there is simply nothing, in a most unzen-like way. The ultimate success of the work, I believe, is that some of those that fall flat for me may work for someone else and vice versa. Ultimately, it is Basho who shines through and I suspect the less-is-more approach might have appealed to his monk-like sensibility. He certainly knew how to pack a rucksack with the minimal amount of things!

Here's a few highlights that grabbed me:


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If I'd the knack
I'd sing like
cherry flakes falling.

Skylark on moor -
sweet song
of non-attachment.

Cormorant fishing
how stirring
how saddening.

Come see real
flowers
of this painful world.

Morning-glory -
it, too,
turns from me.

Man's end -
a bamboo shoot,
or less.

Year-end sprucing,
carpenter
hanging his own shelf.

Summer grasses,
all that remains
of soldiers' dreams.

June rain,
hollyhocks turning
where sun should be.


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The "summer grasses" haiku is one that I featured in another translation in a previous post. Stryk does it with more economy and equal effect, I believe. It is all, perhaps, a matter of taste, but the more translations I read, the fuller the picture of the original poet, Basho, I seem to get. The verse about the cormorant fishing perhaps needs a gloss. Fisherman commonly used the cormorant to fish by tying a string around its neck so when the bird snared a fish it couldn't swallow and the "fisherman" would simply remove the fish and put the bird back in the water. Not quite fishing with hand grenades, but certainly in the same mode. What really captures the true Basho spirit here is that he is both stirred and saddened, he still sees the miracle of nature despite the appalling behavior of nature's "highest creation", man.

Cover Art by Guy Beining

This week's featured back issue is #160, from November 2007. Enjoy. Beginning next week, we'll going into the way back machine to sample issues from places long ago and faraway.


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in
cottonwood
bark's cleft

a lichen
buddha

John Martone

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

#213
Only a wisp
Of cloud above,
But like a
Sacred Song
It pointed the way.

Yosano Akiko
translated by Dennis Maloney

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



Crows sitting on naked trees. Expecting snow.

Alan Catlin

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

No appetite
I have no appetite for verse,
but for the velvet vesture
of lamb's ear savored.
between my lips, tonight,
your lobes and limbs
wooly sward and bole,
succulent mullein, growing
virgate among your leaves.

Jeanne Lesinski

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



two wings per pigeon
and this is where they gather
on a wire
in the city
Ah, what do I know

Shawn Bowman

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

washing
dishes first
then shaving

John Martone

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

Till next time,

Don

Keith Reid and Cid Corman

Perhaps the single most neglected writer of rock lyrics is Keith Reid, the non-playing sixth member of Procol Harum. Among other non-playing lyricists, there is Robert Hunter of the Grateful Dead and Peter Brown of, among others, Cream. In a post from last year at the old Beneath Cherry Blossoms blog, I placed the Reid penned "Conquistador" side by side with Shelley's "Ozymandias" for comparison and resonance.

Currently, I have the first four Procol albums on my mp3 player and have for the last month or so. It might seem odd to call them timeless; perhaps the more apt description would be out of time. Here are the lyrics from "Pilgrim's Progress," the cut that closes their masterwork, A Salty Dog:

Pilgrim’s Progress

I sat me down to write a simple story
which maybe in the end became a song
In trying to find the words that might begin it
I found these were the thoughts I brought along

At first I took my weight to be an anchor
and gathered up my fears to guide me round
but then I clearly saw my own delusion
and found my struggles further bogged me down

In starting out I thought to go exploring
and set my foot upon the nearest road
In vain I looked to find the promised turning
but only saw how far I was from home

In searching I forsook the paths of learning
and sought instead to find some pirate’s gold
In fighting I did hurt those dearest to me
and still no hidden truths could I unfold

I sat me down to write a simple story
which maybe in the end became a song
The words have all been writ by one before me
We’re taking turns in trying to pass them on
Oh, we’re taking turns in trying to pass them on

In the history of rock, there has been many a concept album; most of them have been noble, if pretentious, failures. The reason A Salty Dog is, in my opinion, the very best is simple; the concept is metaphoric, not literal. To sustain an entire story over a whole album strains believability, mostly because the medium cannot bear the weight (if truth be told, herein lies where many an opera fails, but, of course, that's not the point: so, too, rock fans might argue with, perhaps, less credulity). But the subtle art of suggestion, one of the writer's most powerful tools, within a loose conceptual framework is what gives this album its incredible power, a staying power that only grows over the passing years. Because A Salty Dog, magnificently executed by a fine band at the top of its game, is quite simply one man's story: the story of one particular writer.

Keith Reid.

The enigmatic quality of "A Whiter Shade of Pale," with its allusion to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, has often stumped the casual listener of popular music. The allusion in "Pilgrim's Progress" is even more overt. The words "anchor" and "pirate's gold" tie the song to the overall concept, but no one would mistake this for a song about anything other than a metaphoric salty dog. This album smokes; if you can listen to "Crucifiction Lane" without a wince of recognition, you're a better person than I.

I was very happy to see this week that Garrison Keillor is doing his bit to keep the memory of Cid Corman alive. Check out his rendition of "Someone I cared for" by Cid from Monday's The Writer's Almanac.

Long live Cid.

Cover art by Keddy Ann Outlaw

The ongoing tour of past issues of Lilliput Review brings us to #145. For those following along, #144 is a broadside by Christien Gholson entitled Spiral, that does not lend itself to excerpting so has been skipped.

Enjoy.

The Arrival
We have arrived without luggage
in a country we don’t recognize
among people who distrust us
where the walls have no windows
and the doors open only
for the chosen. We are home at last.

David Chorlton

moist petals open,
the tumor blooms

Karen R. Porter

cutting glass
the guy in the neat suit
picked his way into a part
of the mirror & began
to see everything backwards.

Guy R. Beining

The short space
between the joints
growing along the Naniwa shore
- may the time before
your next visit be as brief

Princess Ise
translated by Dennis Maloney & Hide Oshiro

Till next week,

Don

Robert Service, Jean Shepherd, & Gary Hotham

Artwork by Guy Beining

As inevitably happens from week to week, I think of something to share and, in the press of getting other things done, forget some detail or other. One thing I really wanted to post last week relates to the recent anniversary of the birth of Robert Service (January 16^th). Though I’m not much for narrative poetry, the uniqueness and power of the work of Service is something it would be foolish to ignore. As with all great poets, Service had an insight and overwhelming empathy with the human condition; yes, empathy, because, I believe he wasn’t particularly happy about it but he knew it to the core, not unlike Bukowski, the subject of last weeks musings.

In any case, what rescues Service from morose oblivion is humor; an overriding, abundant, dark, deep sense of humor. So, for his birthday, here is a real treat: a dramatic reading by another student of the human condition, radio monologist and raconteur of many an obscure topic, Jean Shepherd. Admittedly someone who is little known outside the New York metropolitan area (aside from the adaptation of his work in the holiday perennial A Christmas Story), Shep was something of a rite of passage for the young in the late 50’s and early 60’s, one of the last threads to old school radio. He had a soft spot for poetry in general (he once did a whole show reading haiku translations of the masters, deadpan, with “Oriental” music wafting in the background, to somewhat limited success) and Service in particular and, on odd nights when in a certain mood, he would break out the Service and regale the WOR airwaves with tales of the Yukon. So, in celebration of Service’s birthday and in concert with the recent cold snap that has much of the country longing for a little heat not unlike ol' Sam McGee, here is The Cremation of Sam McGee. For more Shepherd, unexcerpted from his natural environment, see the archive of shows Mass Backwards, by Max Schmidt of WBAI, which has a permanent link at the bottom of the sidebar on this page.

I’ve received news that Gary Hotham’s Missed Appointment has been reviewed in the British magazine Presence. Here is a copy of that review by Matthew Paul:

Missed Appointment, Gary Hotham

22pp, $4 inc. postage ($3 within USA).

Cheques payable to Don Wentworth, from:

Lilliput Review, 282 Main Street, Pittsburgh, PA 15201, USA

Gary Hotham has been writing haiku for four decades and his economical style is one of the most distinctive within the homogeneity that comprises much of the English-language haiku published today.

In a brief introduction, Hotham approvingly quotes the belief of Billy Collins, the American 'mainstream' and haiku poet, that haiku contains "a very deep strain of existential gratitude" and that "[a]lmost every haiku says the same thing: 'It's amazing to be alive here.'" This 'Modest Proposal Chapbook' of just 15 haiku exemplifies Hotham's ability to be absolutely in tune with what it means, at any given time, to exist. Quite simply, and in plain language adorned only by mundane adjectives, Hotham writes about things that most haiku poets would overlook:

no where else

but the next flower---

afternoon butterflies

over the parade---

a window no one

looks out of

Whether other writers would ignore such subject matter deliberately or merely by not paying enough attention to the world around them is open to debate. Hotham certainly attunes himself and his readers to moments which, rather than being vitally significant, could be considered trivial, perhaps to the point of banality; but, for my money, the humble and persistently downbeat nature of these poems is admirable in a small dose such as Missed Appointment provides. In longer collections of Hotham's work, though, I'd need a dollop or two of verbosity to offset and lighten the minimalism.

Whatever the merits of his style, one fact about Hotham surely cannot be disputed: that he writes excellent, poignant senryu, two of which I'll end with:

farewell party---

the sweetness of the cake

hard to swallow

Dad's funeral---

the same knot

in my tie

Review by Matthew Paul

This week, the following poems are from LR #141, from January 2007. If anyone is following along, you might notice I’ve skipped #140. #140 is a broadside by Alan Catlin in honor of Cid Corman, entitled “For Cid.” It is a 7 poem collection of short, delicate work which would not be served well by excerpting, though many of the poems stand well alone.

Roethke wrote:

It will come again.

Be still. Wait

How to embrace the stillness.

How to wait with grace.

Pamela Miller Ness

pollen-heavy

a bee easily clears

the headstone

LeRoy Gorman

What is there

before or after

experience?

Everything waits in the dark

for you to say,

Come in.

David Lindley

My heart is torn

since I’ve seen you.

Like the watermark in Osaka Bay

I measure my life

waiting to meet you again.

Princess Motoyoshi

translated by Dennis Maloney & Hide Oshiro

Finally, let me recommend this morning’s poem on The Writer’s Almanac: “How to Kill” by Keith Douglas, who died in the Normandy invasion. It puts a human face and sensibility on the deaths that continue today as war rages on.

best,

Don

Your John Thomas, My Lady Jane

Cover by Guy Beining

This week's posting begins with a recommendation: the new movie entitled Lady Chatterley. Lent to me by a friend, I came to it with some trepidation. Many have taken a crack at DHL's novelistic masterwork (he wrote much better short fiction), with very limited success, including a 1992 Ken Russell BBC TV production. Newly released on DVD, this is an excellent representation of Lawrence's work, only it's not the work you may have thought. This Italian production, directed by Pascale Ferran, is an adaptation of the second version of what was to become Lady Chatterley's Lover, entitled John Thomas and Lady Jane, the title deriving from what Monty Python would have called the names Constance and Clifford have for their naughty bits (or as the tagging at IMDB only slightly less obliquely opines, "Genitalia").

I knew something was off as soon as Mellors came on the screen. He was all wrong and I thought did they read a bad translation? But when Mellors was addressed as Parkin, I finally figured something was up. And what was up turns out to be a very good film, indeed, minus Lawrence's more polemical views that seeped into the final version we've all come to know and ban. I did some background work and was reminded (I'd taken a course in Joyce and Lawrence as an undergrad back in the days before VHS) that an early draft of the novel was called Tenderness, and this name is a clue to this film adaptation. The focus is, as in LCL, the relationship between Parkin and Constance, minus the Lina Wertmuller-like politicization of the personal that DHL prefigured by nearly half a century. The Italians have managed to bring love and lust back into the matter, center stage, where it belongs. Of course, the final test of any version of this work is, plain and simple, sex: will we get the full frontal male nudity that, as a culture, we have been so ludicrously avoiding for what seems like forever? The answer here is, unfortunately, yes and no. We get the usual, if you'll pardon the expression, dollop of frontal views, with but one measly scene shot straight on in what may be kindly termed a semi-excited state of things.

So what, you may ask? Doesn't this bring the politics back in, in a way? My thought is no. The sexual portrayal of women on the screen since cinema began trumps politics here. If you show the woman, show the man. That's it.

And that's my only gripe. This is a fine film to see. The lighting of the Italian countryside passing for a British summer at it's very, very best may be a bit of a stretch, but it is lovely and it is fitting. The acting is superb and the de-demonization of Clifford, for the most part, is actually welcome. If you are inclined to Lawrence, do see this; you won't be disappointed.

Back in a posting (beware of pop-ups) at the old blog last July, I talked about d.a.levy and a new book entitled d.a.levy and the mimeograph revolution, which chronciles the life of levy and a seminal period in small press history in America. A review I wrote for The Small Press Review has just come out and I've posted a pdf file for those interested here.

On the Lilliput front, a couple of new issues have been posted to the Back Issue Archive, making a total of 16 issues with an average of 6 sample poems per issue. In addition, two new indexes of Lilliput materials by M. Kei are now on the homepage sidebar: one is an index of all the poems in the Modest Proposal Chapbook series and the second is a Lilliput Special Item Index. The "Special Item" index covers all the Broadside Issues, Special Issues (themes and size) and the Modest Proposal Chapbooks by author and title. These, along with the index of the first 158 issues, covers everything published at Lilliput since its inception in 1989. Thanks again to M. Kei for his careful work.

Sample work this week is from issue #137, published in May 2004. It begins with a poem about spring by the British poet David Lindley; somehow, this seems just the right ticket for the dead of winter with wind chills in the single digits and my two mile walk to work today looming large in the next hour or so. It's no Italian representation of the English countryside, but it will do for now. Enjoy.

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Spring

The earth bears

everything,

even your sadness.

David Lindley

Haifa
The butterfly
alights on the bomb
summer Haifa afternoon

George Longenecker

hearing

nothing

is

telling

me

something

Ed Baker

Faces

When our enemy had a face
its jaw was wide, the eyes
were narrow, and the lips

rarely curved into a smile.
It was the soldier’s
face stamped a thousand times
from a single mould, combing his hair

in a rest room mirror
a face we wouldn’t recognize
even if it were our own.

David Chorlton

lone blackbird
in the far away sky
all of it

Giovanni Malito1957-2003

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This issue was dedicated to the memory of Giovanni Malito and, so, we still remember him now, all these years later. A fine Irish poet. 'Nuff said.

Till next week,
Don.