Poetics and Ruminations

Daily Bluesanelle 4/26/13

THE MASSES

A Sandburgian Tailgater Bluesanelle

 

A million young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads;

They got stiff last night but this morning they’re still on the roads

Trying to get high on the funny mushrooms and the juice on the toads.

 

Since my day there’s all sorts of new stuff that they can use

To get high and drunk and imbibe to confuse

These million young workmen straight and strong lying stiff on the roads,

 

But in their condition it’s getting harder and harder to catch those hoppers

Jumping from pond to pond, turning the young themselves into hoppers

Trying to get high on the funny mushrooms and the juice on the toads.

 

They don’t have enough to do, I guess, to keep them busy,

So they go out every night to get completely confused and dizzy --

They got stiff last night but this morning they’re still on the roads

 

And on the grass in the fields searching for who knows what these days:

A new sort of high, something that can keep them for days in a daze

Trying to get high on the funny mushrooms and the juice on the toads.

 

It makes you wonder how you ought to pronounce the term “the masses”

Nowadays, where to break the syllables, as for instance: “Them asses!”

A million young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads,

Trying to get high on the funny mushrooms and the juice on the toads.

 

Copyright © 2013 by Lewis Turco, all rights reserved.

 

An epitaph for Carl Sandburg may be found here:

 

Wesli Court’s Epitaphs for the Poets, by Lewis Turco, Baltimore, MD: BrickHouse Books, (www.BrickHouseBooks.com) 2012, paperback, ISBN: 978-1-938144-01-1.

 

Critical material on Carl Sandburg may be found here:

Visions and Revisions of American Poetry by Lewis Putnam Turco, Fayetteville, AK: University of Arkansas Press, 1986, 178 pp., ISBN 0938626493, cloth; ISBN 0938626507, paper. Melville Cane Award of the Poetry Society of America.

 

Daily Bluesanelle 4/25/13

 

THE MORNING AFTER

A Poundian Tailgater Bluesanelle 

 

She lay beside me in the dawn,  

The breaking dawn, the brooding dawn,

But the dew was chilly on the lawn.

 

I wished to sleep indoors, in bed,

But she preferred a grassy bed,

The breaking dawn, the brooding dawn.

 

The leaves of grass were wet and cold --

I thought that we would catch a cold,

For the dew was chilly on the lawn.

 

We woke and rose and she turned tail,

Ran indoors, stopped turning tail

That breaking dawn, that brooding dawn,

 

And now we’re sneezing, hacking phlegm

Here in bed, no longer phlegm-

atic: dew out on the lawn

 

Was chill and now it’s in our bones,

In our noses and our bones.

The dew was chilly on the lawn.

Damn breaking dawn, that brooding dawn! 

 

Copyright © 2013 by Lewis Turco; all rights reserved.

 

An epitaph for Ezra Pound may be found here:

Wesli Court’s Epitaphs for the Poets, by Lewis Turco, Baltimore, MD: BrickHouse Books, (www.BrickHouseBooks.com) 2012, paperback, ISBN: 978-1-938144-01-1.

 

Critical material on Ezra Pound, including an essay titled "The Age of Pound, may  be found here:

Visions and Revisions of American Poetry by Lewis Putnam Turco, Fayetteville, AK: University of Arkansas Press, 1986, 178 pp., ISBN 0938626493, cloth; ISBN 0938626507, paper. Melville Cane Award of the Poetry Society of America.

 

Dog Show

 

A Canine Tailgater Bluesanelle

 

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd...,

When last out there our lilacs bloom'd,

A poodle appeared in the dog show, groom'd.

 

The hounds and other breeds, too, appeared,

Looking handsome and seldom weird

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,

 

Except, of course, if the breed were odd

(The handlers often seemed rather odd),

But the poodle appeared to be well-groom'd.

 

The judges were perfumed and large

If they were female; the males in charge,

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,

 

Looked like captains leading the charge--

They were shaven and in charge,

Like the poodles which were well-groom'd.

 

The cute little Scottie was Best-in-Show,

Perky and pert -- wouldn't you know!

When last in the dooryard lilacs bloom'd

And a poodle appeared in the dog show, groom'd.

 

Copyright © 2013 by Lewis Turco; all rights reserved.

 

A Message from Carl Stevenson

A MESSAGE FROM CARL STEVENSON

I started my own campaign on CREDO's new site that allows activists to start their own petitions. My petition, which is to members of Congress, asks the following:

Support the Student Loan Fairness Act (H.R. 1330), which is common-sense legislation offering a 10-10 repayment plan that would require borrowers to make 10 years of payments on their federal student loans at 10% of their discretionary income, after which the remaining student loan debt would be forgiven. The legislation would also limit interest capitalization to 10% of the original principal.

I graduated from the University of New Hampshire in 2008. Although I am fortunate to have a job doing what I love, I can never pay all my bills in any given month because of the amount of student debt I am in.

I grew up with a single mom, and worked hard to get myself into and through college. I did everything I could to help myself--I went to a state university, applied for scholarships, and worked full time for most of my college career. It took me six years instead of four to graduate because I was working so much. And yet I still graduated with almost $50,000 worth of student debt.

But my story is not unique. There are millions of Americans in the same position as I am. That's why I am asking you to sign this petition to support the Student Loan Fairness Act.

There are many good things in the Student Loan Fairness Act (H.R. 1330) that will help people like me, including capping interest rates on federal student loans at 3.4%, capping monthly payments at 10% of borrowers' discretionary income, and putting limits on interest capitalization. These provisions will help me and millions of other Americans get out from underneath our crushing debt loads. This is good for us and good for the economy. Click here to learn more and add your name to my petition to members of Congress urging them to support the Student Loan Fairness Act (H.R. 1330).

Carl Stevenson

A REPLY TO CARL STEVENSON

Dear Carl,

I was born in 1934, the heart of the depression, the son of an impoverished Sicilian immigrant who served in two armies, the Italian and the American. He put himself through grammar school, high school and seminary by working many jobs, to become an Italian Baptist minister. My mother was a Methodist missionary who grew up in rural poverty in Superior, Wisconsin, but managed to work her way through secretarial school in Chicago and subsequently, working as a stenographer, through Boston University.

Neither of my parents could afford to give me a nickel to attend college, yet now I am a retired professor of English who put himself through college and graduate school in the 1950s by graduating from high school and giving eight years of my life to the U. S. Navy in exchange for the Korean War G. I. Bill. I put my daughter through college with her help: she worked.

I have little sympathy for young people who put themselves deeply into debt in order to go to college. You could have managed in other ways, for instance by working and saving for a few years before entering, or by working full time and going to college part-time, or by working part time while you attended college, as my wife and many of my friends and acquaintances did. You chose your path. Live with it.

Lewis Turco

 

The Good Gray Poet

THE GOOD GRAY POET

A Walt Whitman tailgater bluesanelle

 

I am large, I contain multitudes --

I’m quite large, containing multitudes,

All of whom are males and mostly nudes.

 

Just call me Walt. I write my poems in prose…,

I know quite well I write my poems in prose

(I am large, I contain multitudes);

 

I write in prose because the term “free verse”

Has not been coined yet in my universe.

All my friends are males and mostly nudes,

 

But I don’t write about them. It’s perverse

To write about them in my universe

And century, though I have multitudes

 

Of friends. I have no “ear,” I can’t write verse,

Although I’ve tried. I don’t get paid per verse

Anyway. My friends are mostly nudes

 

Including Emerson who’s never met me

But much admires the Muses who beset me,

All of whom are males and mostly nudes.

I am large, I contain multitudes!

 

Copyright © 2013 by Lewis Turco, all rights reserved.

 

An epitaph for Walt Whitman may be found here:

Wesli Court’s Epitaphs for the Poets, by Lewis Turco, Baltimore, MD: BrickHouse Books, (www.BrickHouseBooks.com) 2012, paperback, ISBN: 978-1-938144-01-1.

 

Critical material, including an essay titled, "The Good Gray Poet," may be found here:

Visions and Revisions of American Poetry by Lewis Putnam Turco, Fayetteville, AK: University of Arkansas Press, 1986, 178 pp., ISBN 0938626493, cloth; ISBN 0938626507, paper. Melville Cane Award of the Poetry Society of America.

 

Big Nate the Poet

 

A Little-Leaguer named Nate

Had a coach who was not a good skate.

      Nate was benched for his rhyming

      And disrupting the timing

Of those batters who fell for his bait.

 

 

Emersong

EMERSONG

A tailgater bluesanelle

 

Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting --

Waldo Emerson’s wisdom-fruiting

Transcendental instituting!

 

Rainbows love to come to flower,

Arch above his orchard bower,

Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting

 

While he tries to meditate

On his Concord apple-crate,

Transcendental instituting!

 

Something good will happen soon,

Probably before high noon,

Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting,

 

The rain will stop and he’ll dry off --

The sun make rainbows of his cough,

Transcendental instituting!

 

He needs a literary hit-man…,

Perhaps he’ll hire Walter Whitman!

Waldo Emerson’s wisdom-fruiting,

Transcendental instituting! 

 

Copyright © 2013 by Lewis Turco, all rights reserved.

 

Take Heart: Poems from Maine

THE HABITATION

 Listen to Lewis Turco read his poem "The Habitation" --

          There is no way out.

      Now the windows have begun

      to cloud over: cobwebs, dust.

   The stairs and floors are unstable —

the hours nibble the foundations.

 

         In the bedrooms, sheets

      have begun to yellow, spreads

      to fray.  coverlets have worn

   to the colors of late autumn,

thin as a draft sifting at the sill.

 

         On the kitchen floor

      crumbs and rinds lie recalling

      the old feasts.  In the larder

   preserves rust among speckled jars;

the bins yawn; shadow sates the cupboards.

 

         The fire has been damped

      at the hearth: its bed of ash

      sinks in pit-holes over brick.

   The ceiling snows on the carpet —

Rejoice!  Rejoice!  The house is failing!

 

 

Take Heart: Poems from Maine eduted by Wesley McNair

 

THE STREET

 Listen to Lewis Turco read his poem "The Street" --

In the street the wind gutters, moving papers

and leaves into heaps or sworls.

The scraps of the year make some kind of pattern,

some calligramme of their own,

beyond the imprint of new snow.

 

Lightly, on the flourishes of silence,

on the heaps of leaf,

the snow touches and explores.

Finally, in folds of stillness,

flakes begin to form wrinkles of crystal.

 

By the time dusk deepens,

the wrinkles will be pure streams

drowning whatever is old.

Then, in the night, in the darkest hours,

the road will be a river of snow

aiming toward morning, lost at either end

in the curbs of vision.

 

SPRINGTIME BLOUSE

A terzanelle for Ruth

 

“Tulips and rosemary in front of my house,”

Ruth F. Harrison, Waldport, Oregon, April 12, 2013.

 

My world has donned a springtime blouse --

I’ve taken a photo of it for you:

Tulips and rosemary in front of my house.

 

The rosemary blooms, of course, are blue,

The tulips, by contrast, yellow and red;

I’ve taken a photograph of them for you.

 

As you can see, rosemary has spread,

But so have the tulips, though just a few

Of the latter are blooming, yellow and red.

 

I’m hoping that soon yours will, too,

Down East there, in frozen Maine,

Perhaps just crocuses. Only a few

 

Would lift your spirits, for they contain

The colors of summers yet to come

Down East there, in frozen Maine

 

Where surely soon the bees will hum,

For the world is donning its springtime blouse

Like the tulips and rosemary before my house

Containing the colors of summers to come.

 

By Lewis Turco

Copyright © 2013, all rights reserved by the author.

 

 

Child Abuse

 

 

T. S. Eliot

CHILD ABUSE ★

A tailgater bluesanelle, 12 April 2013 

 

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Winter weather of the basest breeding

While the infant March is still breast-feeding.

 

Fare thee well, grim month, you ancient March,

Get thee begone! Attention! Forward march!

April is the cruelest month, breeding

 

The most disgusting weather here in Maine

Long after states below us, in the main,

Have started weaning. March is still breast-feeding

 

Here while, there, crocuses abloom

Encourage daffodils to start to bloom.

Winter weather of the basest breeding

 

Squalls and wails away in April’s cradle

Here in Dresden Mills. April’s cradle,

Where the infant March is still breast-feeding,

 

Rocks and trundles with its little bundles

Of snow, sleet, and wind, those joyful bundles:

Winter weather of the basest breeding,

While the infant March goes on breast-feeding.

 

by Lewis Turco

 

© copyright 2013, Lewis Turco. All rights reserved.

★PLEASE NOTE: Certain readers are allowing the title of this poem to influence their ability to actually read what this poem says. The only "child" in the poem is the month of March which this year refuses to grow up and turn into spring. IT IS THE CHILD MARCH THAT IS ABUSING US ALL; the infant year is the abuser of us who live in Maine.