redeeming snowy rooftops
upper east side manhattan
looking toward sunrise
12th floor blinking red for planes
and below the neighbor's hillocked roof garden
at night the jewelry of tiny glowing rectangles
infinite humans in that flying brick
the chirping of a small bird
a siren far then near then far
the rush of tires
a horn
– Deirdre LaPenna (© 2010)
This poem was originally posted in response to one of my own (Ditty in celebration of a grey city morning).
Other poems by Deirdre:
First poem
It is not imaginary
Older poems
1.5.10
29.4.10
And give us today our daily mixture
Elton John says GOP oil leak in trouble for 5 states
Shootings kill census mail blockade of Bullock
Illegal Alabama immigrants say new congress may not tackle
Baby results could be well of sunken drilling rig
Ariz. governor candidate plans to leave over Obama
This is Mexican border city: we speak law
US Navy has encounter with Ryan White
AP source is divorcing James, adopting immigration soon
Iranian jet turned his life around
Banking regulation bill abandons 16 people in English
– Iself 2010
Blended, mixed, inverted, contorted from 10 current headlines for napowrimo #29, front page news
Shootings kill census mail blockade of Bullock
Illegal Alabama immigrants say new congress may not tackle
Baby results could be well of sunken drilling rig
Ariz. governor candidate plans to leave over Obama
This is Mexican border city: we speak law
US Navy has encounter with Ryan White
AP source is divorcing James, adopting immigration soon
Iranian jet turned his life around
Banking regulation bill abandons 16 people in English
– Iself 2010
Blended, mixed, inverted, contorted from 10 current headlines for napowrimo #29, front page news
26.4.10
From across the river
Dark-eyed,
from across the Hooghly she beckons to me
Mysterious night
across the river beckons to me
The old chamber softly lit
beckons to me
A sweetly solemn thought, sun and wind and beat of sea
beckon to me
“I am your woman,” she says
and beckons to me
– Iself (© 2010)
Written for napowrimo #26, get scrappy.
Note
As I was quite sure that I did not have any scribbled or unfinished poem in my wallet or in a notebook, I went to a random poetry generator for inspiration, picking a poem from the “poetry in motion” category. The above romantic/folkloric poem, which is more or less in the form of a ghazal, is the result.
I’m not posting the original generated poem because it has ingredients I did not care for and did not use.
The Hooghly river is a distributary of the Ganges in West Bengal, India, and flows by Kolkata.
from across the Hooghly she beckons to me
Mysterious night
across the river beckons to me
The old chamber softly lit
beckons to me
A sweetly solemn thought, sun and wind and beat of sea
beckon to me
“I am your woman,” she says
and beckons to me
– Iself (© 2010)
Written for napowrimo #26, get scrappy.
Note
As I was quite sure that I did not have any scribbled or unfinished poem in my wallet or in a notebook, I went to a random poetry generator for inspiration, picking a poem from the “poetry in motion” category. The above romantic/folkloric poem, which is more or less in the form of a ghazal, is the result.
I’m not posting the original generated poem because it has ingredients I did not care for and did not use.
The Hooghly river is a distributary of the Ganges in West Bengal, India, and flows by Kolkata.
25.4.10
The first word to hear
It’s 7 a.m. on Sunday morning.
It’s the apartment and me.
The first word to hear is yet to come
from somewhere –
most likely through a telephone wire
or wireless or from someone
at a bakery.
But there’s bird song
through the open window,
and those birds
seem to be saying something.
– Iself (© 2010)
For napowrimo #25, first things first.
It’s the apartment and me.
The first word to hear is yet to come
from somewhere –
most likely through a telephone wire
or wireless or from someone
at a bakery.
But there’s bird song
through the open window,
and those birds
seem to be saying something.
– Iself (© 2010)
For napowrimo #25, first things first.
21.4.10
La salsa
Alors vint la salsa...I
– Gino Ducreuil
The salsa enters on the tiptoes of celery
its bongos are maroon leathery mushrooms
And the fat singer after margaritas
is pulsating fire: Celia Cruz
II
The little black angels deform
under the blasting wall of electric strings
Willie Colón the outlaw in-law
and this is the moment Brunilda Ruiz rises
from a vogue for an eternally long
second-long long bridge
The span of her foot is the graves of Puerto Rico
and the glistening rainy streets of Nueva York
Spanish words by Adrés Eloy Blanco
music by Manual Álvarez Maciste
for this elating bow the salsa
now playing in some nightclub in París
– Johannes Beilharz (© 1981/2010)
One quarter elemental for napowrimo #17, something elemental.
Note
Some explanation might be in order here to make this less cryptic.
This poem came about some time after the purchase of El Baquiné de Angelitos Negros, a 1977 album by Willie Colón. The cover shows dancer Brunilda Ruiz, and I somehow wove her, salsa and the much older song by Eloy Blanco and Álvarez Maciste into this poem along with salsa queen Celia Cruz, transplanting the whole show to Paris and quoting a non-existent Frenchman to introduce it.
20.4.10
I wanna be your hero
You call my attempts
risible, but please
leave me some lowly
pedestal at least
– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)
Written for napowrimo #20, the hero poem.
A tiny little antidote to Bonnie Tyler:
risible, but please
leave me some lowly
pedestal at least
– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)
Written for napowrimo #20, the hero poem.
A tiny little antidote to Bonnie Tyler:
12.4.10
Crystal clear
Crystal clear is my love.
– Jackie de Shannon
I approach the dark forest
Its darkness swallows me up
After a while I discern a path
It takes me up a slope to a clearing
In the middle of the clearing there is a pond
I dip my right hand into the pond
The water is cool and clear
It seems to do something to my hand
I take it out and look at the palm
But there is nothing
– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)
What code could be more secret and elusive than dream? Put on the 'net for napowrimo #12, secret codes.
10.4.10
They call him the breeze
It happened by unthought known –
he knocked up my friend
Said shucks when told
and for amendment from his native country
Há tempos ... there are times
Don’t cry sister cry – get ready
for the times to get better
– Iself (© 2010)
A late entry for napowrimo #1, iTunes on shuffle. The pieces were:
Knocked up – Kings of Leon
Don’t cry sister cry – J.J. Cale
Shucks – Bill Frisell
Unthought known – Pearl Jam
Há tempos – Legião Urbana
From memory I added a modified version of “They call me the breeze” by J.J. Cale for the title and “Ready for the times to get better” by Crystal Gayle for closure.
he knocked up my friend
Said shucks when told
and for amendment from his native country
Há tempos ... there are times
Don’t cry sister cry – get ready
for the times to get better
– Iself (© 2010)
A late entry for napowrimo #1, iTunes on shuffle. The pieces were:
Knocked up – Kings of Leon
Don’t cry sister cry – J.J. Cale
Shucks – Bill Frisell
Unthought known – Pearl Jam
Há tempos – Legião Urbana
From memory I added a modified version of “They call me the breeze” by J.J. Cale for the title and “Ready for the times to get better” by Crystal Gayle for closure.
Ditty
In celebration of a grey city morning
The sky is grey, the roofs glisten a lifeless red,
just rose from restless sleep in bed
Last night I inhaled tons of smoke
and had too much rum with my coke
Give this city boy some good country rest,
a tour in spring air and today will be blest
– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)
Havent’s quite shaken off the effects of last night’s outing with friends in a smoker bar as you can read here in this silly celebration for napowrimo #10.
The sky is grey, the roofs glisten a lifeless red,
just rose from restless sleep in bed
Last night I inhaled tons of smoke
and had too much rum with my coke
Give this city boy some good country rest,
a tour in spring air and today will be blest
– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)
Havent’s quite shaken off the effects of last night’s outing with friends in a smoker bar as you can read here in this silly celebration for napowrimo #10.
5.4.10
For her
Had a terrible Easter
weekend staying
away from you. You laid
down the rules. Your
plan is to educate me,
drive all the feeling for you
out of this torn mind.
But I don’t have to put
that shoe on. I can
shuffle on loving you.
Perhaps educate you –
who knows...
– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)
Something very personal for napowrimo #5.
weekend staying
away from you. You laid
down the rules. Your
plan is to educate me,
drive all the feeling for you
out of this torn mind.
But I don’t have to put
that shoe on. I can
shuffle on loving you.
Perhaps educate you –
who knows...
– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)
Something very personal for napowrimo #5.
4.4.10
Ms. Mueller’s Receiving Speech
“Here’s your room – there’s your view of the Alps.
On good days you can see the Zugspitze.
Did you see it on the way? There’s one place
around Fernpass where you can see it. I see,
you didn’t stop there. Here’s the bathroom,
please use the toilet brush. There’s hot water
in the mornings. Breakfast from 7 to 10
in the cellar or on the terrace on sunny days.
Tomorrow won’t be sunny, going by the forecast.
And tomorrow you plan to be where? Merano?
Well, then, good night.”
– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)
Lends itself quite well to inside out for napowrimo #4.
On good days you can see the Zugspitze.
Did you see it on the way? There’s one place
around Fernpass where you can see it. I see,
you didn’t stop there. Here’s the bathroom,
please use the toilet brush. There’s hot water
in the mornings. Breakfast from 7 to 10
in the cellar or on the terrace on sunny days.
Tomorrow won’t be sunny, going by the forecast.
And tomorrow you plan to be where? Merano?
Well, then, good night.”
– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)
Lends itself quite well to inside out for napowrimo #4.
2.4.10
Radiant Wall Panels
Now that Chucky
had finally –
after months of begging
and coercion by
his beloved Tilda –
installed the
radiant wall panels
in their Sears Roebuck
kitchen, temporary happiness
had been established
in the Elmore household
– Iself
Another non-abstract RWP acronym-based poem. This time I took "radiant wall panels." See previous post for more details.
had finally –
after months of begging
and coercion by
his beloved Tilda –
installed the
radiant wall panels
in their Sears Roebuck
kitchen, temporary happiness
had been established
in the Elmore household
– Iself
Another non-abstract RWP acronym-based poem. This time I took "radiant wall panels." See previous post for more details.
Stuck
A rear wheel push
got us out
of the slushy mess
– Iself
Written for Read Write Poem's napowrimo #2. The task was to type "RWP" into Acronymattic and then write a poem with one or several of the resulting explanations. "Rear wheel push" appealed to me more than anything else because of its absence of abstraction, which fits in nicely with William Carlos Williams' "No ideas but in things."
Ernst Stadler: Bahnhöfe
Bahnhöfe
Wenn in den Gewölben abendlich
die blauen Kugelschalen
Aufdämmern, glänzt ihr Licht in die Nacht hinüber
gleich dem Feuer von Signalen.
Wie Lichtoasen ruhen in der stählernen Hut
die geschwungenen Hallen
Und warten. Und dann sind sie
mit einem Mal von Abenteuer überfallen,
Und alle erzne Kraft
ist in ihren riesigen Leib verstaut,
Und der wilde Atem der Maschine, die wie ein Tier
auf der Flucht stille steht und um sich schaut,
Und es ist,
als ob sich das Schicksal vieler hundert Menschen
in ihr erzitterndes Bett ergossen hätte,
Und die Luft ist kriegerisch erfüllt
von den Balladen südlicher Meere
und grüner Küsten und der großen Städte.
Und dann zieht das Wunder weiter.
Und schon ist wieder Stille und Licht
wie ein Sternhimmel aufgegangen,
Aber noch lange halten die aufgeschreckten Wände,
wie Muscheln Meergetön, die verklingende Musik
eines wilden Abenteuers gefangen.
– Ernst Stadler (1883-1914)
Wenn in den Gewölben abendlich
die blauen Kugelschalen
Aufdämmern, glänzt ihr Licht in die Nacht hinüber
gleich dem Feuer von Signalen.
Wie Lichtoasen ruhen in der stählernen Hut
die geschwungenen Hallen
Und warten. Und dann sind sie
mit einem Mal von Abenteuer überfallen,
Und alle erzne Kraft
ist in ihren riesigen Leib verstaut,
Und der wilde Atem der Maschine, die wie ein Tier
auf der Flucht stille steht und um sich schaut,
Und es ist,
als ob sich das Schicksal vieler hundert Menschen
in ihr erzitterndes Bett ergossen hätte,
Und die Luft ist kriegerisch erfüllt
von den Balladen südlicher Meere
und grüner Küsten und der großen Städte.
Und dann zieht das Wunder weiter.
Und schon ist wieder Stille und Licht
wie ein Sternhimmel aufgegangen,
Aber noch lange halten die aufgeschreckten Wände,
wie Muscheln Meergetön, die verklingende Musik
eines wilden Abenteuers gefangen.
– Ernst Stadler (1883-1914)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)