Friday, May 26, 2017

"Low" from Mervyn Taylor's new collection #poem #poetry

Mervyn Taxor
Last night I was at a happy, rambunctious launch for Mervyn Taylor's latest collection, Voices Carry (Shearsman Press). We were at the Cornelia Street Cafe in Greenwich Village. The great David "Happy" Williams on bass charmed with a few Trinidadian-ish tunes. I'd been asked to read one of Merv's poems. Here it is. "Low"

Voices Carry is available from Shearsman, Amazon, B&N.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Flattened by Manchester: "A Bullish Run into Chambers" #poem

from the Express:*

Wrote this when Princess Diana was killed in the wreck and a friend subsequently criticized people who set out flowers in honor of strangers. Am flattened by the Manchester bombing. Setting out flowers. 

A Bullish Run into Chambers
When a stranger killed is laid to rest
at an altar for Public Mass of Remembrance,
African violets torn from a window’s sun
buttery as a tea cookie or rose petal,
prim Queen Anne’s lace for Diana,
buttery herself and silky, a fallen sulky,
for a child we will never meet,
a teenager who standing is caught
in crosshairs of our blood extravaganza,
we are allowed impersonal grief.
We pay to be hollowed by cinematic gore,
are immunized against capitalism’s rule:
a business must grow. The word was gore,
a bullish run into chambers born bursting
and broke. Along chain-link fences,
at street corners and Buckingham Palace,
wobbly petals mark our bid to be human.
Sarah Sarai, first pub. in Fringe, issue 26, now archived by Sundress Publications.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Poem: "There is no quantification of smallest powers which propel."

A Territory of the Miracle
Cool the crude map
fired in your dark palm. 
Slip around 1 corner,
then 2, 3, next
4. 4 corners squaring off
with Fate: It’s a start.
(Times x, a lifetime.) 
Now a dusty path to
green sorrow growing shoots.
Stop short of the bog.
A shape will approach,
reach for, comfort,
your weeping hand.

That outshining ray of
sun with tumbled motes,
spinning cities—
take the keys—
incorporeal shrines glinting,
imbuing strength
to leave the haze.
A territory of the miracle. 
There is no quantification
of smallest powers
which propel. 
Sarah Sarai. First published in Fringe, issue 26. All issues archived courtesy of Sundress Publications.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

The Heliocentric World, 1965, Sun Ra

A wee bit into "Outer Nothingness" I felt I was in a Buddhist Temple, that the gutturals were leading me to that promised higher plane. Then the sound changed and I was freely and happily allowing myself to be invaded by sound rays.

This is from the album The Heliocentric Worlds of Sun Ra. It may have been the best thing happening in 1965, other than the Voting Rights Act, which is currently imperiled by our spineless Congress. So if another Sun Ra wants to open America's heart, throat, insight, and crown chakras, do it.

Monday, May 15, 2017

Disney goes Samba

How to make the happy music of Disney even happier? Samba! The album is Disney Adventures in Samba. The artist is Diogo Nogueira. That person dancing is you.

Friday, May 12, 2017

Village Voice Sees Me, or, a Moment of Satisfaction in My Life

No, Dear magazine is a poetry journal dedicated to publishing fresh voices from the New York literary scene. This week, they celebrate their spring issue, "REPUBLIC," with readings by many of the dozen-plus contributors. Over the course of the evening, attendees will get to listen to the seductive lyricism of Renata Ament, the haunting investigations of Adjua Gargi Nzinga Greaves, and the wry declarations of Sarah Sarai. The writers No, Dear features are diverse in age, gender, race, visibility, form, and voice — a beautiful reflection of the city itself. In their work, poetics and politics converge, attempting a vision of unity and resistance in a deeply fractured America. Swing by to support a hopeful vision of our faulty Republic, and your local poet. Issues will be sold for $8 at the launch.

It's a nice feeling is all I will say, to be appreciated with an encouraging accuracy. "Wry" isn't all I am, but for sure my poetry stylings, to draw on the jazz world, can be wry. And warm congratulations to the other two poets named, Renata Ament and Adjua Gargi Nzinga Greaves. No, Dear is edited by Emily Brandt, Alex Cuff, T'ai Freedom Ford. 

Thanks to my friend, Pete Dolack, who did what Google Alerts chose not to, alert me to this clip.