Hi. I have become a bit tired of LiveJournal. The format is slow and clunky and the imports to my Facebook page are slow. So I am moving to a new blog, called Putah Creek, which was the name of a previous blog. Putah Creek will be like this blog, a place for my poems, but I may post more poetry links that I have been. I'll leave this up for a while, maybe a week, while I transfer links and things over. That's all, folks.
SUNDAY April 11 4 - 6 p.m Celebrate National Poetry Month at Valona!
1327 Pomona Street Crockett
Hosted by Connie Post
Our Featured Poet is:
Troy Jollimore!!
Troy Jollimore’s poems have appeared in publications including the New Yorker, Poetry, The Believer, McSweeney’s, Ploughshares, and Indiana Review. His first book of poetry, Tom Thomson in Purgatory (MARGIE/Intuit House, 2006), won a National Book Critics Circle award for poetry. His second book, At Lake Scugog, will be published in the Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets in 2011.
He has taught in the philosophy department at California State University, Chico, where he is currently Associate Professor, since 2001, and is the author of a philosophical book about love (Love’s Vision, Princeton University Press, forthcoming 2011).
Jollimore’s essays and reviews have appeared in publications including the LA Times, the Chicago Tribune, the Washington Post, St. Louis Magazine, The Walrus, Wilson Quarterly, Truthdig.com, and the Boston Review.
Other Notes:
The Valona Deli "Take One Leave One" Lending Library
Bring one Poetry journal to donate and take one from the lending Library.
(please no donations of local poets' books and really "take one, leave one" )
For our wonderful open mic: (One of the best open mics in the Bay Area!)Please always bring a "back up" short poem (20 lines or less) ! In case we have a very large crowd, everyone can be heard with the "lightening round" open mic if necessary! Otherwise, bring a poem 40 lines or less for open mic.
Remember to stay for the wonderful Terry Henry Trio Jazz at 6 p.m.!
Your smell, your taste, your press of flesh late when all the night is a window.
Your feet drawing warmth from mine under woolen winter blankets, our toes lost in laughter.
Your voice in song, the car radio up loud with music that you love, the highway dancing along.
Your smile when I present you with a shell from our sea, driftwood from our beach, or a perfect waffle.
The candlelight glow in your face when we throw love down naked on the rug, our bodies still carrying a scent of our youth.
Your hands in mine, the affection of fingers, the closeness of a whisper.
Our changes through years and hard days, and the bond of that struggle, that work.
Simple stories that lovers tell in quiet voices while shadows dance on the wall.
The many things you and I will never have, love which we will never know.
---
A poem a day. I've been this merry-go-round for months! I've written so many that I no longer remember the first one, back when this streak began last fall. Well, maybe a couple of them. I'm also not sure how good they are! I like them, at least. When this streak finally ends, I'm going to feel like a lover left me! And all things end, my friend. But not yet, not today.
Our universe has a uterus a billion lives long. That's why we are all brothers and sisters, really. We are born one city at a time, and we live different lives together, one day at a time. It is the small moments and we how we live them that define our souls. What other measurement is there, my friend?
---
A first draft, after breakfast this morning. All Good Things - Jobe
as often when I am writing them a spirit invades me,
and uses my hand and my memories.
This is my dark friend.
Many of these poems were written by this dark friend, not me.
At those times I retreat to a nice corner of my soul
where I keep a comfortable chair and a good reading lamp.
There I read poems from Ovid and Li Po,
from Rilke and Baudelaire, for long hours,
sometimes all night!
Later, when the spirit has gone,
I will come out of myself to edit those poems
that were written by something that is far more creative
than I could ever be.
I often have no idea what those poems are saying,
but when I read the words out loud
I feel a warm glowing ball in my chest.
My heart feels beautiful
and in this life I stay very warm.
Love,
James
---
A first draft. I used to write a lot of 'letter' poems once upon a time. It felt good to write this one. A first draft, just now. ALL GOOD THINGS /JOBE