Addition
Please note that I have added Gerald Nicosia's fine heartfelt poem here
Poem for Jack Mueller (1942-2017) by Gerald Nicosia
What I remember most--your cigarettes and your bourbon
and the crazy gleam in your eye when you got a new idea
you were a fountain, a machine of ideas
had a hard time making them real
which you knew, but no one cared
We wanted too much that magic you
gave out as freely as the poems or the jokes
you'd recite for anyone anywhere who
took the time to listen to you
in that deep, resonant voice
that could have come out of a Kentucky coal mine
if coal miners had all the wisdom of the ages
at the tip of their tongue
You were one of a kind, "Don't include me
with all those Jacks!" you'd say
in your mock-angry voice--or maybe
it was real anger too
for sure it was real compassion you had
for almost all of us, for me I know
you truly worried about
how vulnerable I was to women and you
told me once, "Don't let Charmaine
make you her paunce!"
And who else but Jack Mueller
could say it in just that way?
You loved your daughter terribly
"There's nothing better in the world,"
you told me, "than reading
"the Sunday comics with her, the paper all
spread out and both of us
on our knees, laughing
our heads off!"--you didn't believe in God
but if that wasn't a kind of praying
I don't know what is.
I dreamed of you four months before you died
I'd never dreamed of you before in 40 years
You were in some kind of danger,
a train was coming
I tried to reach you but couldn't get your number
I'm writing this poem because
it's the only way I have
of reaching you now.
Money In Poetry?
Essay by Lee Rossi
Recently on Twitter I came across a statement by a well-known poet that sounded like a truism but that on further reflection seemed more and more problematic. What the poet said was that he was divided when it came to giving free poetry readings. On the one hand, he wanted to do it, but on the other hand considerations of self-care and financial security suggested he do otherwise. I’m sure my thoughts on the matter are colored by the fact that in 30 years of writing poetry I have earned something less than ten thousand dollars. Poems, reviews, readings, books—less than ten grand. Not that I’m complaining—that almost ten grand is, to borrow Ray Carver’s deathless term, gravy.
Also, I never expected to make my way in the world by writing poetry. There was always a day job for that. I sympathize with those without a day job and those whose day job pays so miserably that they don’t have the time, energy or peace of mind to write. I was lucky enough to be able to pay myself to be a poet.
It used to be thought that a performer, a singer or an actor, would enhance their value by refusing gigs that were beneath them. Once he was an A-lister, no B-movies for Clark Gable, no coffee-house sets or open mics for Madonna after “Borderline.”
I wonder though if such a rule obtains with regard to poetry. People who wish otherwise complain about the fact that poetry is a gift economy. Why don’t poets get paid, they say, for all their contributions to the culture? It’s a good question, the answer to which involves an examination of our society’s “skewed,” “perverse,” “inhuman” priorities. I leave that to folks who are angrier than me at the current state of affairs. (Not that I’m not angry, just not angry enough.)
The fact is, if a poet wants to make a contribution to the culture, i.e. to all those other human beings who are living, working, and worrying alongside her, she could do a lot worse than participate in free poetry readings. At its leaves-of-grass roots, a poetry community is just a bunch of people who like it and try to write it. Some of them are good, some not so good. Some are getting better, some will stall out, trapped on some plateau hospitable to rants or limericks or self-exposure.
I think the best poets among us have an obligation to get back to their grass roots, the local poetry community which nourished them when they were baby poets. If you’re a transplant, I think you still owe something to the locals, encouragement certainly and the daring of your own example. Why put up barriers to what is potentially your best audience?
Of course, there are circumstances where I would agree with the Twitter poet. If someone in a foreign land wants to hear you read, somewhere farther say than a half-hour’s drive, then yes, that someone should at least pay for gas. Cross country, they should pay airfare, hotel, and something to eat. The fact is, people will not pay 75 or a 100 dollars per seat—what they’ll pay for a Grateful Dead tribute band—to hear even our best poets. Someone has to subsidize the reading—the NEA, P&W, the local university, the local arts council. Yet that money exists because at least some of our fellow citizens recognize that poets do indeed provide value to the culture, which like sunshine and rain are necessary but hard to price. So, my recommendation is: if there’s cash, grab it, otherwise remember where you got your start and do what you can to make sure it’s still a healthy place to grow.
--Lee Rossi
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Performing Hoodoo Girl
from David Madgalene's Call Down The Angel. At Occidental Center for the Arts a couple of months ago. My grandson Justin Coletti is on guitar. Watch the You Tube video here
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Exclamation Points and Then Some
The Alarming rise of exclamation point abuse
A
year ago, the New York Times wrote forebodingly about the decline of
the period, which now signifies a weighty intent if used while texting.
But I am far more disturbed by the rise of the exclamation point.
Everywhere I look, I’m bombarded by this tall, pointed signifier of
overwhelming emotion.
Has this punctuation mark become ubiquitous
because our discourse has risen to a fevered pitch? Or because we’ve
co-opted a mark of astonishment or severity to instead convey
solidarity, friendship or friendliness?
I took my concerns to two language scholars who both tried to persuade me to give up the fight.
Exclamation
mark avoidance is just as much a fetish as its abuse, said Geoff
Nunberg, a linguist who teaches at University of California-Berkeley.
Overuse is particularly vexing to writers and journalists who have been
trained to use them with restraint, he said. Perhaps that’s true, but I
argued that those of us who use it sparingly are on the right side of
language.
Relax, Nunberg practically exclaimed at me. It’s not
that there’s a proliferation of exclamation points. It’s just that we
see a lot more casual conversation in the form of texts and tweets. And
people attempt to reproduce the rhythms and contours of natural speech
in their conversational writing, he said.
That’s true, I agreed. But I suspect there’s more to it than that.
The
president himself is a lover of the exclamation point, more likely to
use multiple marks in a single tweet than anyone I know personally.
Philip Cowell, of the BBC, writes that in 2016 alone the
@realDonaldTrump posted 2,251 tweets using exclamation marks. He’s far
more likely to end a tweet with a shriek than not.
“Overuse of any punctuation mark tells us something about
ourselves, in the same way overuse of any object does. How you
punctuate your sentences might have something to do with how you
punctuate your life,” Cowell writes. Drawing attention to itself, the
exclamation point is the selfie of grammar, he noted.
To Read More, Go Here Now
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any of the above or below. If you do not have a Google account, then log in by checking "Name/URL," (it's
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Sonoma County Poets and Writers in Journals
On a monthly basis I publish the names of poets and writers who have had work published in literary journals during the previous month. The posting is at Sonoma County Literary Update
Just go there and follow the directions for this category. It will place you in touch with me, and I'll be pleased to include your information. Essentially, I'll need your name, title of the publication, its URL, and the names of your poems or pieces. I look forward to hearing from you.
2017 Petaluma Poetry Walk
And while we are looking at the SF Bay Area, I strongly recommend that you attend the 20-year old Petaluma Poetry Walk on Sunday September 17th from 11AM until 8PM at venues all over town. The slate of poets and musicians is particularly strong this year. Here's a brochure
Jim gave me the permission to paint. This was a gift that I never had given to myself. Beyond this, Jim was my friend. He was witty, very intelligent, quirky, and very very talented. Right now, I'm feeling emotional and unable to continue eulogizing. I'll let some of my favorite Spitzer's speak for themselves.
