Photo of the Week 1/29/12

MAX Yellow Line Light Rail Tracks

Seen From N Prescott St Station

N Interstate Avenue

Portland, Oregon

Saturday 1/28/12

"Ruchama In Her Worn Nightgown,"

[Much gratitude to my friend Brittany Newmark for making this powerful poem available to Robert Frost's Banjo.]

Ruchama In Her Worn Nightgown,
               

1.

It has taken so long to arrive here, late,
                                              the dust in my shoes
                                              and my pockets
                                                                                turned out like some clown in a silent film. 


Sometimes it was like
Rowing across the lake where all the fish were named for saints
And feeling like you were not a tourist,
                                                                                (in other words feeling smug)
and then being slighted
And at last knowing, how fragile it is to belong.



Ruchama you had a white dress, before white dresses.
Do you remember it?
I do,

                                              on two counts,

1. it was so much more than I could have ever afforded, even now
and 2. It was braver than I have ever been, especially now.


 Nu, your feet are bare,
The wells of your clavicle filled with indiscretion. 
No need to worry the last bleeding cuticle
or to scour the teakettle at all hours of the night.

O you must be so cold,

Go, go back to bed.  What is happening will go on without you. 
It does not concern you.

Stay out of it.   No good can come of it.


I am sorry to say that there is no one left to comfort
or to betray. 

                                  Whatever beauty was
                                                            She has picked another hill to die on.

               
2

They were good times though,
                                                    those parties you used to throw,
                                                                                                  And how you served

                                                    entire meals of revenge, the sweet breads of ambition,
                                                    the small red fruits of petty resentment. 
                                                    You knew.

Really, what else can you offer to a room full of opportunists?
                With their hands outstretched like ghouls in a B movie

They got what they deserved
                                                    and that is so rare in this life. 
What did you tell me?
                            You had the salon repainted and the shutters opened wide
and even the workmen
yes especially the workmen thought
of bedding you,
                                                    it was hot repetitive work, 

they all imagined you
naked.  We all always imagined
you naked, with a pool of clothing at your feet.

That thought and those conversations
pure, like an American song on the green radio:

You don’t believe I love you,
            Look at the fool I’ve been.
You don’t believe I’m sinkin
            Look at the hole I’m in.


By that time, so many had abandoned their rituals, in the fields,
In the camps, in the gulags—


They understood oppression not as the boy in fawn colored pants
looking out of the French doors onto a garden,
but they knew it
                                  from a hut, the inside of a latrine.

Then there was the man, in the army greens
he waded through the canal
choked with corpses, both theirs and ours. 
And he told those stories over and over,

                                                    or the story was told around him
after he left.


Of course you know
He did not get separated from his unit
He walked away
                                                    at nineteen—armed to the teeth
We all know what happened from there, not pretty. 

And he left behind a lesson that would serve.

But even he went on to marry and have a life,
                                                            (meaning a wife and children)
Alongside a beach and striped umbrellas.
But of course you know that,


How else could he have slipped so neatly
between you and what could have been?
                                                How else was there always sand on your stone floors?

               
3

I am not sure if I fully understand the premise
                                                            But it interests me.
In each generation there are 36 righteous men.
I expect one or two must have been impulsive youths,
                                                                                              hellions in jaunty grey caps. 

Or just boys playing chicken on a long dark stretch of highway,
                                                                                                                                          and lost.
They are not angels these men, who may be fewer than 36
                                                            they may not even be righteous
But they carry a generation.
                              I can’t say how to manage the darkness or the isotopes of faith

You can no longer manage even the red scarf or the sassy quip,
they seem sad and ridiculous—old woman, ugly woman.

Because even if they are silent—long gone
the ghosts of guests are well positioned around the room,
                                                                                      just where you placed them
one in the blue velvet chair,
the other just leaning by the bookshelf.

They are not listening they do not look up from the papers they hold out in front of them. 
                              Ruchama, your hand,
                                                            you have a tremor.



In the hot wind of August
                                            and in another century
somebody on the fourth floor throws open the door and steps out onto the porch,


Ruchama, you are lovely with a belly full of loquats

                              that you picked up under the tree, just outside the gates.
Was it stealing? 

No more or less than the man, 

                                            what he took from you,
                                            he carried back to her
I suppose everybody needs to eat.



Brittany Newmark
© 2012

“Steam Powered Aereo Plane”

Welcome to Banjo Friday! It’s the final Friday of the month, so if you’ve been following along, you know what that means: Bluegrass!

Actually, today’s song & today’s artist probably both defy strict genre categorization. Let’s consider the artist first. Chances are, unless you are a fan of modern bluegrass, & especially the “Newgrass” movement, you may not have heard of John Hartford—or it’s possible that you know him for the one song that made his fortune—which was not a bluegrass song at all. John Hartford wrote the song “Gentle on My Mind,” & was the first to record it. His recording was a modest hit at best, but when Glenn Campbell recorded the song, it became a real chart-buster & ultimately a song that was covered by artists as diverse as Elvis Presley, Aretha Franklin, Dean Martin, Lucinda Williams & R.E.M., just to name a few. In fact, during the height of the song’s popularity, the royalties were bringing Hartford a cool $100k per year; according to his online biography, “Hartford often said that Gentle On My Mind bought his freedom. He used that freedom to explore his various creative curiosities, and was usually happy to take his friends along on the trip.”

John Hartford had an abiding love of country music & bluegrass, but he was about as far from a hidebound traditionalist as one could be, & he brought more than a little counter-culture sensibility to his brand of bluegrass music. In 1971, he released the album Aereo-Plain on Warner Brothers, & this is one of those truly innovative albums that a lot of the general listening public have never heard or even heard of.  Aereo-Plain didn’t sell well at the time of its release, & in fact Warner failed to promote his follow-up work as a result, which led to him asking for (& receiving) a release from his contract. But history, at least, was on Hartford’s side, as Aereo-Plain is considered seminal to the “Newgrass” movement that sprung up in the 1970s, 80s & beyond. 

One thing about Aereo-Plain: Hartford assembled a dream line-up of bluegrass musicians to make the album. In addition to Hartford playing banjo & taking the vocals, Norman Blake played guitar, Vasser Clements played fiddle, Tut Taylor played dobro & Randy Scruggs played electric bass.  Actually, the story is a bit more complicated, because Hartford played some fiddle & guitar, Blake also played mandolin, & Clements added in viola & cello(!) 

The album is largely comprised of Hartford originals, tho it does contain a cover of the old country gospel song “Turn Your Radio On,” as well as a Bluegrass version of the old fiddle tune “Leather Britches.”  Otherwise, there’s some great song-writing by Hartford, & great music-making by all involved. Listening to the album while preparing this post, I was reminded how much Hartford partook of the musical clown role—evident in both his lyrics & singing style at times, tho he could also be as straightforward & sincere as they come on numbers like “First Girl I Loved.”  Of course, the musical clown role has a venerable history amongst banjoists, dating to disturbing origins in the days of minstrelsy, but having been largely transformed thru the years in the stage personas of great players like Uncle Dave Macon, Stringbean & Grandpa Jones. I see Hartford very much as a part of that tradition. 

“Steam Powered Aereo Plain” is just sheer fun & great music. I know you’re going to enjoy it!

Raintown #5

2 empty hopper bird feeders dangling
from bare limbs on N. Mason—2 broken
concrete blocks out of kilter cast down be-

side a trailer—it devastates me not to
know the trees’ names—black gnarled
limbs out of whack yet budding blood-

red in January—black crow leaning in-
to its caw from a power line—my shortness of
breath, breathing thru pursed lips ex-

haling trapped air— alveoli col-
lapsed—2 pink flamingoes skewer a
lawn past the deadheaded roses—a second

crow swoops down on the blacktop—chest
rale as if someone mumbles walking just a
few steps back—on a concrete block

wall on N. Vancouver Ave in careful white
paint: tonight I can write the saddest of all
 lines—disturbing not to hear sparrows in

red willows become unadulterated
melody—as if someone walked a few steps back:
our death unswerving comrade

Jack Hayes
© 2012

Welcome to Rose City

Downtown Portland-taken from the Portland Aerial Tram

Happy Wednesday, friends, & welcome to Portland, Oregon! As I mentioned last week, Wednesdays here on Robert Frost’s Banjo will be featuring posts about my new hometown. I hope to explore various places, events, & landmarks, with possibly a bit of Portland history & fun facts thrown in. One thing I know will happen: restaurant reviews! This is a great foodie town, & I’ll be checking out some places that look likely to have both good food & fit in my tight budget.

But today’s post is an overview & all about preliminaries—some of the “facts” here have been mentioned in previous blog posts, but as this is the beginning of the series, I think I may be excused for going over them again. Portland is divided into “quadrants,” as you can see from the graphic. The city is divided into “east” & “west” sections by the Willamette River, & divided into north & south sections by Burnside Street. Therefore, street names typically have the SE, NE, SW or NW tag, & people talk about their neighborhoods as being in “the Southeast,” “the Northwest,” etc. However, as you’ll notice from the map, there are actually five “quadrants,” because there’s also “the North.” & as I can’t seem to help being different, I live in that fifth quadrant.

Mississippi Studios - North Portland-my neighborhood

Portland Streetcar on SW Market in - you guessed it - Southwest Portland

Each of these quadrants—or for those who insist on mathematical corretness, sections—are divided into a number of neighborhoods, so it seems to me at least that it’s difficult to make sweeping generalizations about any one of the geographical designations—to say, “the Southeast is thus & so” or “the Northwest is like this.” Two things I should state, one a historical fact, the other personal. Portland originated on the west side of the Willamette, so from 1851 until 1891, the city existed solely on land that now falls within the Northwest & Southwest quadrants. In 1891, Portland absorbed Albina, Oregon & East Portland, Oregon, & these brought in parts of the current North, Northeast & Southeast sections; further expansion in 1915 gave the city most of its present-day territory.

Looking back toward Northwest Portland from the Steel Bridge

The Laurelhurst Theater on E. Burnside - the street that divides North & South

On a personal note? Fact is, I know the east side of Portland better than the west. In my almost 6 months of living here, I’ve been on the east side, & when I used to visit Portland while living in Idaho, I also spent most of the time in the east, & especially the Southeast, because that’s where many of my friends live.

Quonset Hut Bar - NE Alberta

Avalon Theater - SE Belmont

Other fun facts about Portland? It’s the 29th most populous U.S. city with a 2010 census population of 583,776, & the greater Portland metro area—which includes the city of Vancouver, Washington, as well as other areas in Washington just across the Columbia—numbers around 2,260,000, making it the 23rd most populous metro area. Tho Portland is Oregon’s largest city, both Seattle, Washington & Vancouver, British Columbia are larger cities within the Pacific Northwest. The climate? Per Wikipedia, “Portland experiences a temperate climate that is usually described as oceanic with mild, damp winters and relatively dry, warm summers.” Some might note that “damp” is a relatively mild term, & Portland does get a lot of rain, especially in the late fall thru the winter & into the spring. But as a result of its temperate & damp climate, it’s a great spot for gardening—hence, the nickname “Rose City” or “City of Roses.” 

The Portland Aerial Tram arriving at OHSU with the Willamette River in the background

Although Portland is a mid-sized city, it truly has a lot to offer, & I’m very happy & grateful to have the opportunity of living here.  Also looking forward to sharing it with you readers every Wednesday!
 

Here's the info on the neighborhood graphic: This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license by Wiki Commons user Sean Kelly

"ENGINE, ENGINE"

[Hey, folks, time for an L.E. Leone poem—but not just any L.E. Leone poem: an L.E. Leone poem about trains! How cool is that?]

 
ENGINE, ENGINE


Two of my dearest dears wrote
poems about trains last week, so
I thought I would jump on board

But

One featured the clatter
of the tracks, while the other
touted the toot-toot of it all

So

That leaves me with steel
on steel. Or the tick, electric and
loud, between cars in the station

Or

Silence. Hmm: This one
is way up there somewhere
in the mountains, buried in snow

And

To think, just last week I learned
that shhh is spelled with three h’s,
not sssh! . . . I am ready now.


L.E. Leone
© 2012

Poor Boy Long Way from Home #9 – Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee

A happy Monday, friends, & welcome to the Monday Morning Blues!  We’re here with another installment in the Poor Boy Blues series, & this time around we have a version by the great Brownie McGhee, accompanied by his usual musical partner, the equally formidable Sonny Terry.

McGhee’s version of the “Poor Boy Blues” is one of the more mellow songs in the series, & the lyrics are more individualized; other than the “Poor boy, a long way from home” statement—which is de rigueur with slight variations for all songs in the series—the song doesn’t dip into the usual pool of “Poor Boy” lyrics—there’s none of the existential angst of the Ramblin’ Thomas, Booker White or John Dudley versions.

Of course, McGhee & Terry, at least in their folk music incarnation, were two of the most musically easygoing bluesmen around.  They were fixtures on the folk music circuit from the late 50s on until the 80s; as such, they lived different lives from many of their contemporaries—they recorded with Woody Guthrie & Pete Seeger, for insatnce, & made recordings of songs like “Pick a Bale of Cotton” & “Skip to My Lou” along with such blues classics as “Key to the Highway” or “Sportin’ Life Blues.” 

But McGhee & Terry actually lived a few distinct musical incarnations in their lives. Both suffered significant disabilities from an early age: Terry lost his eyesight in his teens, & McGhee was unable to walk after having polio (an operation funded by the March of Dimes later enabled him to walk.) Growing up at a time when jobs were scarce for everyone, but certainly for African-Americans & even more so, men with significant disabilities, both relied on their considerable musical abilities. Terry became a street performer, & partnered with the great Blind Boy Fuller, & McGhee later came under Fuller’s tutelage as well. 

Fuller is considered one of the great exponents of the “Piedmont” style of guitar playing, & McGhee is considered another—not only did he learn from Fuller, but he was a gifted player in his own right, & with assistance from Happy Traum, who was his student, he published a book on his guitar playing in the early 70s.  McGhee & Terry met, of course, thru Blind Boy Fuller, & not long after Fuller’s death in 1941, they became a hit as a recording duo.

It’s interesting to me that McGhee & Terry continued a completely separate musical career during the time they were such prominent figures in the folk scene.  They fronted a jump band called Brownie McGhee & his Jook House Rockers" or "Sonny Terry & his Buckshot Five." This combo included not only horns & piano, but also McGhee on electric guitar, which was of course taboo in the folk music at that time!

I should also note that Terry’s harmonica playing is at least as masterful as McGhee’s guitar picking & smooth singing—his blues harp is almost immediately familiar, & not just from his characteristic whoops, but from the sound itself. Terry was known not only for his ability to produce any number of effects using the harp, but also for his outstanding breath control.

Finally, I’m not sure when this particular recording was originally released. There is a live version of “Po’ Boy” (as they invariably titled the song) from either ’61 or ’62 (the notes on that vary), but this is a different recording. I do know that it was released on the 2003 Tomato release Sun’s Gonna Shine, but this is a compilation—both men passed away in the 1980s.

Hope you enjoy these two top-flight musicians’ gentler take on “Poor Boy Blues”!