Virtual Reading #1

Happy Friday to you all!  Today is the day we bid 2010 a fond(?) farewell.  As my own personal ave atque vale to this year, I’m offering a virtual reading of two poems from my collection The Spring Ghazals.

Both of these poems found their titles in the works of others—“don’t think twice” obviously coming from the old Bob Dylan tune & “what can we talk about that will take all night?” coming from a powerful Kenneth Patchen poem titled “Do the Dead Know What Time It Is?”  Patchen is a personal favorite. The poem “don’t think twice” falls in the middle third of the ghazal sequence, while “what can we talk about that will take all night” falls in the final third.

As a reminder: you can purchase The Spring Ghazals at the following online outlets (links go directly to the book):

Lulu
Amazon
Barnes & Noble (new—& a bargain at $11.04 US!)
Amazon UK (£7.94)

Both Amazon & Lulu have the book for $12 US. 

Hope you enjoy the poems!




Pic shows roses on the pergola at Swannanoa, Virginia-detail from a larger photo

"December Inventory"

December Inventory

sparrows in tousled hair a
banjo strung with iron wire an a-
temporal glass of milk—an

echo within a wishing well—white
stones an alphabetical hex sign
a red barn in my arms the

black water the black e-
motional cottonwood limbs a
yellow backloader creaking thru drifts a

globe on a shelf its ecru oceans its
pink mountains its blue islands my
empty arms in the fog

a plate of garbanzos
a plate of potatoes & coconut the
brown juncos tearing the Russian olive’s

pods my emotional fingers against a sky
no longer anywhere a hermetic
snowdome’s figure skaters

a glass door a
musicbox in my lungs an
opening in space where sound escapes

Jack Hayes
© 2010

Hope you enjoyed the poem.  I’m also here to announce that there won’t be a Homegrown Radio feature this month—long story, but suffice it to say that I do have someone lined up for January, & it’s going to be some exciting music—so stay tuned!

In other news: Many thanks to HKatz of The Sill of the World blog for an excellent & insightful review of The Spring Ghazals.  You can check out the review here.

If you aren’t familiar with this blog, you’re really missing out.  The quality of writing on The Sill of the World is high & HKatz’ The Week in Seven Words series is a unique concept that’s also executed with aplomb.  If you’d like to read HKatz’ observations on writing, you can check out my interview with her in the Writers Talk series right here.  There’s also a wonderful poem by HKatz accompanying that interview at this link.

Just a few reminders: The Spring Ghazals is now available on Amazon & Amazon.uk (& presumably other Amazon international sites, tho I haven’t confirmed that.)  It should be available on Barnes & Noble within the next several days.  If you haven’t purchased the book but follow this blog either on Blogger or thru Networked Blogs, please consider doing so.  If you have the book, please consider writing a review on Amazon &/or Lulu.  Giving the book a positive rating on either of these sites is also helpful.  The book’s Amazon page is here; the Lulu page here.  Of course, I’d always welcome other bloggers reviewing the book or setting up interviews with me about it.

Thanks for your interest!

"The Spring Ghazals" on Amazon!

Happy Wednesday, all!  Great news—The Spring Ghazals is now available on both Amazon & Amazon.uk.  It doesn't appear to be on Barnes & Noble yet, but I'll continue to check into that.  The links are as follows: Amazon is here; Amazon.uk is here.  If people want me to check on other international Amazon sites, I'll be happy to do so—just let me know.

I know a few people experienced problems trying to place an order with Lulu, & I'm hoping the process works more smoothly thru Amazon.  If you want to buy yourself or the poetry lover in your life a holiday present, now's the time!

If you haven't checked out the dedicated blog for The Spring Ghazals, please do.  There's a new series running there called "Music Theory for Poets," which has gotten some nice feedback.  Of course, if you're not a self-professed poet, you're still most welcome!

Also, for those of you who have read The Spring Ghazals or are in the process of reading it, it would be great if you'd consider posting a review &/or rating on either the Amazon page or the Lulu page.  

We now return you to our regular programming.  This includes Writers Talk tomorrow with fiction writer & poet Karen Schindler!

The Spring Ghazals Reviewed on "New England Travels"

[Apologies to those who've seen this earlier on The Spring Ghazals blog—it is a double posting]

I'm so happy to announce another wonderful review of The Spring Ghazals, this time by writer Jacqueline T. Lynch on her New England Travels blog.  You can read Ms. Lynch's review here. 

Jacqueline T. Lynch is a prolific blogger & writer in her own right.  She writes Another Old Movie Blog, which is a litertate & incisive look at classic film; Tragedy & Comedy in New England, her look at regional theater; & New England Travels, her virtual tour thru her native New England—a region I'm also from, & which is of course depicted in several poems in The Spring Ghazals.

In addition to her blogging activities, Jacqueline T. Lynch has published articles and short fiction in regional and national publications, including the anthology “60 Seconds to Shine: 161 Monologues from Literature” (Smith & Kraus, 2007),  North & South, Civil War Magazine, History Magazine & several plays with Eldridge Publishing, Brooklyn Publishers, & Dramatic Publishing Company, one of which has been translated into Dutch & produced in the Netherlands.    Her novel Meet Me in Nuthatch is now available as an ebook through Amazon.com & Smashwords, & her recent short story Interfacing is also available as a Smashwords selection here.

If you'd like to learn more about this talented writer, please check Robert Frost's Banjo on Thursday, as Ms Lynch will be participating in the Writers Talk interview series!

Finally, many thanks to Jacqueline, with whom I've had a long-standing cyber-friendship that actually went "3-D" when we were able to meet last March during a cross-country trip I took back east.  I so appreciate her support, as well as support from so many other friends from blogs & Twitter & Facebook.

& remember: you can still purchase The Spring Ghazals on Lulu for 15% off thru November 15th by entering the code LEAF305 at check-out!

Pic shows the Vermont house where I grew up

Interview on “everything feeds process”

Happy Wednesday afternoon, everybody. I’m once again intruding on B.N.’s story to bring you more news about my book, The Spring Ghazals. You can read my interview about the book right here on Jessica Fox-Wilson’s blog everything feeds process. Jessica has been so generous with her support of The Spring Ghazals, & I’m very grateful for all her efforts.

I know of one more review that’s slated to appear next week, but I do want to remind everybody that I’d be happy to have more reviews or interviews. It’s not always easy trying to market a self-published book of poetry—actually, if you asked publishers, I think they might say the same for poetry that’s published traditionally—& it sure is great to have help in the process.

You can hear a couple more of the ghazals in the ongoing virtual reading over on The Spring Ghazals blog—just follow this link. Also, I’m happy to announce that you can get the book at a 15% discount (all absorbed by Lulu in case you’re curious) from now thru November 15th—simply by entering coupon code LEAF305 when you checkout—you can read all the details here. Once again, The Spring Ghazals is available on Lulu right here.

Now we return to our regularly scheduled programming….

The Spring Ghazals Reviewed

Sorry for barging in on the middle of B.N.’s great story, but I did want to take a moment to note that poet/artist Jessica Fox-Wilson has written a wonderful review of my book, The Spring Ghazals on her blog, everything feeds process.  You can read her review, for which I’m truly grateful, right here.

Ms. Fox-Wilson’s blog is always worth reading—I subscribe & look forward to new posts, which can be anything from poetry to insightful discussions on the creative process to photos taken during a commuter bus ride.  Jessica Fox-Wilson is currently working on her own poetry manuscript, which she intends to publish in the near future.  When she does, I assure you it will be reviewed here!

You also can read some of Jessica’s poetry on our own satellite blog, Writers Talk, right here;  you also can read her interview at this link.

Thanks so much, Jessica!  & by the bye: to those of you who doubt Twitter—this review & much of the book’s publicity wouldn’t have happened without it. 

Banjos, Ghazals, Buses & More

Happy Wednesday afternoon, all. It’s yours truly checking in with news & highlights & coming distractions!

Speaking of which, & as illustration of the titular “more,” check this out: tomorrow on Robert Frost’s Banjo: a Writers Talk interview with our own regular contributor & fan favorite, L.E. Leone! In addition to her interview, L.E. will also have a new poem for us tomorrow on the Writers Talk blog.

But there’s more: regular contributor, B.N.—who is now officially in the market for a different nom de plume—will have a 5-part story running in this space Sunday thru Thursday of next week. The story is titled All Knees Shall Bend And Every Tongue Shall Vow, & it’s a powerhouse. To accommodate the story, the Photo of the Week feature will move to Saturday.

Not to mention: 2 more installments of Homegrown Radio with Joel Murach, both this Friday & again on October 29th!

Ghazals? Yes, folks, The Spring Ghazals is on Lulu.com & is awaiting all you kind potential buyers! Is it ill-advised to self-publish a book of poetry during an “economic crisis?” Perhaps, but there you have it—the book is published. I can honestly say that The Spring Ghazals is a good book, one that I’m proud to have written, & one that stands up to comparison to other books of contemporary poetry, whether self-published or not. I also can honestly say that I’m not a natural marketer or self-promoter. If I were those things, it’s safe to say my life experiences would have been quite different. But having said that, I do hope you’ll consider purchasing the book, & that in addition, you’d consider writing a review on your blogs &/or giving yours truly a “writerly” interview. These things would be much appreciated & would I believe win you much good karma in the long run.

Speaking of poetry (& more): how about The Poetry Bus? I have my copy, I’m happy to say, & it’s wonderful. Lots of good writing in this issue, & yours truly has a poem in there (page 32!)

You can get The Poetry Bus for approximately the cost of a movie ticket, & you can get The Spring Ghazals for less than the cost of your average cd (per CDBaby, the average cd is $12.85)! Just saying.

Banjos: Well, Eberle & I had a music show on Friday. First, let me say that Eberle played great. In retrospect, I wish she’d played on more songs. Yours truly? Well, my guitar playing was fine—I felt a bit off, I think largely due to a small turn-out, but I do have a margin on the guitar. But the feedback I’ve gotten so far is that there was just too much intense blues stuff & that my singing style (at least my delta blues singing style) is too “talky” for a full-length stage show. This feedback has been the source of much soul-searching over the past few days. Right now, I’m leaning toward spending the winter working on some instrumental material, both on the guitar & on the banjo—so for a bit at least, future Monday Morning Blues segments may be instrumentals. I’m also considering expanding my repertoire to involve what’s typically referred to as “old-timey” music these days. Can I mix “I Wish I was a Mole in the Ground” with “Banty Rooster Blues” or “Gonna Wear That Starry Crown” with “Levee Camp Moan?” We shall see!

Have a great rest of Wednesday, folks, & hope to see you early & often around Robert Frost’s Banjo for the great upcoming features.

The Wednesday News

Hi folks! A bit of a chatty post this morning, as I keep you up-to-date on things around Robert Frost’s Banjo central.

Music life has been very busy of late around these parts. I played the Cambridge, Idaho Fall Festival last weekend—one set with Heather Uebelhoer in our still-unnamed incarnation of eclectic cover band: everything from the Carter Family to the Cure! Heather is a fantastic singer who also accompanies herself with fingerstyle guitar, while I fill in on dobro, tricone & banjo (see pic below)—& one set of old blues, both solo & with Eberle (see top pic.) During that set, Eberle debuted her blues yayli tambur playing—we don’t have a pic of her accompanying me with that instrument, but there’s a pic below showing the yayli tambur along with Buffy the musical buffalo, our mascot & good luck charm. For those who don’t know, the yayli tambur is a Turkish instrument that looks a bit like a banjo on steroids. The instrument is either plucked or bowed—Eberle bows hers. The yayli tambur is traditionally tuned D-A-D (actually, there are paired string courses), so the instrument is actually kind of perfect for playing the blues in D, especially on the more “modal” delta blues. The yayli tambur is also notable for the fact that its frets (which are tied on) are set up in microtones—in other words, you can play the tones “in between” the notes of a Western scale. Eberle joined in on the yayli tambur on “Banty Rooster Blues,” “Levee Camp Moan,” & “Hobo Blues.” I’m constantly amazed by her ability to fit unusual instruments into the blues—a big part of this is her ability to think rhythmically & percussively.

Eberle & I will be playing essentially the same show on Friday evening in McCall, Idaho at the Alpine Playhouse—hope to see you local readers there! Admission is $5.00—a bargain, I say—& the Alpine will be receiving 50% of the proceeds to benefit the Playhouse. Will this be my last show of the season? I don’t know; I don’t have any other shows booked, but I’d like to keep things rolling at least while the nice weather lasts. We shall see.

On the poetry front: as you probably know, I’ve “re-launched” The Spring Ghazals, my book of poems written 2008-2010. It’s available for purchase here, & you can also read about the book & the publishing process on my new blog, The Spring Ghazals. There have been some really good discussions from the commenters that will be of particular interests to any authors out there who are thinking about self-publishing. Also, today on The Spring Ghazals blog, you’ll get to hear recordings of yours truly reading a couple of poems from the book.

& be sure to stay tuned, because we’ll have a very special guest tomorrow on Writers Talk!

Return of The Spring Ghazals

Happy Saturday, all.  I’m very pleased to announce that I’ve re-published my book The Spring Ghazals, complete with a distribution arrangement that will have it available on Amazon as well as Barnes & Noble, & also available to brick-&-mortar booksellers.  While it may be several weeks before it shows up on the major book retail websites, it’s already available at Lulu.com right here.

If you’ve been following this blog for some time, you may recall that The Spring Ghazals is made up of poems I wrote between the spring of 2008 and early this year.  The collection is very much “of a piece” in terms of theme & voice, & I do feel it represents my best work to date.  If you’d like to learn more about this project, please visit my dedicated The Spring Ghazals blog; there will be updates there about the book, as well as ongoing posts about the book’s background & the self-publishing process.

I do hope some of you will decide to purchase this book.  As far as my fellow bloggers go, I’d love it if some of you would see fit to review the book &/or possibly host yours truly for an interview during the next several weeks.  Certainly I’ll do my best to reciprocally boost any projects you’re doing, be they music, creative writing or graphic art.

& finally, I want to thank all the many folks who’ve supported this blog & my other online ventures with readership, commentary & even friendship.  It means a great deal to me, & your support has been a big factor in my seeing these poetic projects thru to fruition.  Thanks to you all!

“the past didn’t go anywhere”

Sunday is upon us again, which means more original poetry for Original Poetry Sunday, the excellent idea hit upon by Sandra Leigh of the excellent Amazing Voyages of the Turtle blog. My offering is the latest in my series of ghazals.

I believe the following blogs (at least) are “officially” participating this week, but everyone’s welcome:

The Amazing Voyages of the Turtle
Poetikat’s Invisible Keepsakes
Secret Poems from the Times Literary Supplement
Yes is Red

You also can find daily poems at Apogee Poet, & frequent poem postings at Keeping Secrets, Pics & Poems (there’s a very good one up there today already). Dominic Rivron posts some very good poems, tho not on any regular schedule, & the same can be said for TotalfeckingEejit & Mad Aunt Bernard of Mad Aunt Bernard’s Tortoise Poetry, as well as Willow of the popular Life at Willow Manor. There are also poems occasionally on the excellent blog Radish King, which is written by poet Rebecca Loudon, & which always contains very high quality writing, & also on Premium T., which, like Radish King is well worth a visit whether there’s a poem posted or not.

Of course, there are any number of poetry blogs out there, but these are ones within my experience. Hope you get a chance to visit them & enjoy their poetry.


“the past didn’t go anywhere”


the story I told about the mourning dove’s coo in
the draw a low grey clarinet note washed over by

sparrows’ silver chatter the grapefruit sunrise the one
pink poppy coming awake amongst orange poppies the

irises purple & yellow & maroon a metal spiral
staircase outside an old white farmhouse a teardrop

mandolin posed on the lawn near the young catalpa’s
teardrop leaves—the story I told about red red shoots of beb

willows in the draw & the stream’s liquid song thru the
underbrush a purple chord on an archtop guitar in a per-

petual evening—& the lilacs’ whispering evening even at
6 a.m.—the story I told about the mourning dove’s coo in the

beb willows & the sparrows’ rippling conversation—ok
I know “the past didn’t go anywhere”—the stream’s liquid

song the cowbirds’ liquid song a horse trailer rattling up the
dirt road—the story I told didn’t go anywhere in

the grapefruit sunrise—traveling into the past to avoid
death—we talked about that & sex which is perpetually

now—the mourning dove’s gray coo in the grapefruit
sunrise wasn’t the past it was a memory drenched in the

stream’s liquid song over slate grey rocks where per-
petual past & future embrace in a liquid moment


John Hayes
© 2009


quote is from folksinger/songwriter Utah Phillips

Original Poetry Sunday – Ghazal 5/23

It’s Sunday again, & still more poetry—another ghazal from yours truly for Original Poetry Sunday. Hope you enjoy this & also check out other possible participants (based on last week) like Sandra Leigh at Amazing Voyages of the Turtle (Sandra's poem is already posted—please check it out here) & René Wing at Yes is Red. Anyone else who wants, please join in, & let someone know so we can check out your work.

Stay tuned—there’ll also be a post this afternoon.


Ghazal 5/23


the electrical chirp of cicadas at 3:00 a.m. a warm
sky swarming with sparks of stars

a time prior to sleep’s invention in the hollows of an
archtop guitar trembling an A six chord thru the f-holes

a time prior to lilacs & the columbine petals’
violet gentle stare the white eye streaked purple

a glossolalia of crickets amongst holly
leaves in a Virginia backyard dusk August 1984

the cigarette smoke growing moths’ wings the
white web lawn chairs the green air asking for grief

the locus of sleep’s invention amidst a
flurry of spectral butterflies grazing the columbines’

eyes—I’m mostly awake—sparks of stars
scintillate thru crepe myrtles prior to meaning’s invention a

blue & green & gray chord plucked on an archtop
guitar in the purple void—a columbine’s eye

lidded in electric night—always sparks of stars al-
ways a time before time was a time after time

John Hayes
© 2009

Original Poetry Sunday: "Ghazal 5/16"

Sandra Leigh of the fantastic blog, Amazing Voyages of the Turtle has come up with the excellent idea of Original Poetry Sunday, & as my contribution I'm posting the latest poem in the ongoing Ghazal series; as per the title, it was written yesterday, tho it received a rather extensive revision this morning.

Which leads me to the observation that a poem can seem to be technically polished—the "sounds" can seem right, the images can seem to be arresting—but if it's not "true" to itself, it remains "bad poetry." In the original version, the poem was much more "lush" & dream-like, but it really called for a more direct presentation. While technique is crucial, technique by itself can't redeem a poem that's untrue to itself. What this poem "wanted" to be about was a moment that passed between a friend & myself many years ago; in a sense that moment encapsulated much about our relationship—misunderstood "rejections" springing from self-consciousness & jealously guarded personae coupled with a tendency to "poeticize" events & to become trapped in imagined narratives. Such "imagined narratives" are perhaps an inherent danger of the poetic course I've pursued for the past 30 years & more. Of course, when we continue to cast events in a false light, that's when poetry becomes deception in the sense stated by various philosophers—when we cast events in the light of awareness, that's when poetry can, I believe, be part of healing. This all has been part of an ongoing argument with myself about poetry for more than 20 years.

On a lighter note, I've been thrilled to see all the poems being written in the blogging community I feel a part of, & I think Sandra's Original Poetry Sunday will not only highlight this, but also inspire others to try their hand as well.

I hope you enjoy this & all the other Original Poetry Sunday posts.

Ghazal 5/16


waxing crescent afloat within a white nimbus—
nothing’s distinct—a tremoloed note on a

mandolin & the willow limbs’ gray resignation—an-
other night amongst visitations convinced I’m really there—

a Virginia cottage house on a street “that
really went no place”—a silence with eyes singing

hysterically & I said Let’s dance taking her hand &
she turned aside— another visitation across pages

of poems singing You must change your life—
a walk thru muttering streets thru a white fog—I

keep writing the same poem for how many
nights & years & mornings a streetlight’s white

nimbus beyond an electric typewriter’s midnight hum in a
Virginia cottage house—a tremoloed mandolin a hysterical

silence becoming a blurry nimbus the weeks & years
& hours of the same poem repeated a

visitation becoming dawn’s twilight a
tremolo on a mandolin this whitening morning

Two More Ghazals

Here are two more ghazals written a few days back; sorry there’s no audio this time around. As I mentioned yesterday, this week has been kinda unbelievably busy, with a string of appointments & tasks.

In addition, I’d like to thank Cheryl of the wonderful Lizzy Frizzfrock blog for her kindness in awarding me the Palabras Como Rosas. According the Cheryl’s post, “The award is for words that like roses, leave a wonderful perfume, lingering for a while.” That’s a lovely thought, & I’m very flattered that Robert Frost’s Banjo was chosen to receive this. I will be passing the award along, but it may be a day or two on that—so many deserving blogs to choose from!

In the meantime, hope you enjoy these.


“what can we talk about that will take all night?”

footsteps descending a staircase a cello played pizzicato
a sense of anticipation within the ribs the

blue haze this morning the redwinged blackbirds’
chirp amongst the cherry blossoms an unsettling

silence in an amber apartment a skybluepink porcelain
Blessed Virgin on a knickknack shelf

there was always something left unsaid—
10 years prior footsteps coming down stairs in a blue

Vermont summer evening the damp air off the big lake the
Virginia air spring 1987 was a red rose blossom on a white

pergola an unsettling silence pulsing pizzicato around an em-
brace beside a staircase the unsettling skybluepink

laughter around an embrace the “thin whistled
notes” of white-crowned sparrows’ song within a cottonwood’s

boughs—columbine about to bloom—a room trembling with
anticipation within the ribs—a

sob in the hedge a laugh in the green green streetlamp’s light—
a sigh inside the ribs a mahogany mandocello’s low

C-string tremolo the continual thrill of birdsong in the
cottonwood this morning the echo of unsaid words


(quote from Kenneth Patchen’s Do The Dead Know What Time It Is?)


Ghazal 5/11


the difference between frail pink quince petals & delicate yellow
pistil & an inability on the part of two young people to

speak their hearts’ desire is a breeze shifting the willow ‘s
delicate boughs on a spring morning when I’m 52 already my

beard streaked gray like a white-crowned sparrow—the
difference between rollicking whitecaps across Lake Champlain past

the causeway toward South Hero & the words in a young
heart saying “there will always be a time” is a yellow headed blackbird’s

harsh trill in cattails surrounding a pond refelcting an un-
clouded sky—the difference between grape vines embracing the cedar

posts in contorted gestures & two chairs in an apartment in a white
building beyond a red door in Burlington, VT is a

young peach tree’s pink blossoms beside a wrought-iron
glass-topped table reflecting blue haze—the difference be-

tween an inability for young quince petal lips to tell the entire story &
the call of sandhill cranes circling becomes a May forenoon scribbled
        with poems


John Hayes
© 2009

Two Ghazals

Here are two more ghazals for your reading pleasure; & I’ve added an audio clip of these read by yours truly. Actually, I recorded all 14 of the ghazals written to date, & if folks want, I can continue to post recordings of the poems already on the blog. Since the poems average close to a minute & a half reading time, I think that audio clips of two or at most three poems is the way to go.

A word on the audio: because Blogger doesn’t have a way of directly uploading MP3’s (I know there are some ways around this, but they all strike me as a bit complicated), I’ve come up with the expedient of creating slideshows to present our music, & I enjoy putting those together quite a lot. However, in the same way that I never include a picture when posting my poetry, I decided that I didn’t want to have a slideshow accompanying the poems, & so after a title frame, there is no video—all you need is one image to make a “movie” in Windows Movie Maker.

Hope you enjoy this.


Ghazal 5/9


two green morning stars phosphoresce above Indian Mountain
5:30 a m & finches & sparrows’ staccato outcry in willows’

arms & gray sky melting to whiteness a two story white
house & two green morning stars phosphoresce in a once up-

on a time whitewashed morning July 1978 & gray white air beyond the
screen window beyond a blue green orange batik—it could have been a

river—there aren’t any poems about this there’s 1 photo snapped
sometime later—red door & six steps—two green morning stars phos-

phorescing in a once upon a time distance amongst deep green
leaves & pungent white morning I didn’t have words for this

phosphorescence & you had few enough we were green
morning stars phosphorescing this morning & distant beyond a

screen window & sparrows call greenly to mates re-
peated patterns thru the weeping willow’s yellow empty arms


“it is night and it is serious”


a full moon’s amber light in indigo void a homestead’s
sodium light floating ghostly against the lower

ridgeline—an amber light in a floor lamp a hard-
cover book laid open across a birdseye maple table the words

were buried—I remember we used to sit together & read—an
amber light upstairs in a restaurant a candlelight’s sharp

blonde gesture inside the larger light & ghost-green
floodlights along Interstate 95 north past Perth Amboy the

green Vermont light thru lace curtains all evening we
used to sit together & read—a petrified silence the printed

words’ black gestures in amber light the full moon in
indigo void a Virginia indigo evening in a hilarious restaurant the

hennaed manic laughter “like dice shook”—the tailights’ red
shift fading along Interstate 81 south thru purple shadows

& printed words in a full moon’s amber light in a
void—the Vermont living room’s pine paneling a hennaed

page a ride thru ghost green light & serious words
I remember we used to sit together & read


(quote from Kenneth Fearing’s Green)

John Hayes
© 2009

4 Ghazals

Here are four more ghazals written over the past few days. I am going to do some recording of these as folks have asked, but haven’t been able to carve out a space to do this yet—I’ll shoot for having this done by Sunday & if so I’ll post it then. Again, I’ve been gratified by the generous response to these.

I will be posting again this afternoon in response to an award by Linda of World of Spirit: Population Unknown & also of North Sister/South Sister, both excellent blogs & well worth checking out. Linda generously presented Robert Frost’s Banjo with the One Lovely Blog Award. Thanks Linda!

In the meantime, hope you enjoy these.


Ghazal 5/3


everything as if in a picture the apple
tree budding in drizzle beside the barbed wire fence a dark

cornerpost bent backwards the tension of three wire strands
& cherry blossoms steeped in raindrops I’m strolling up-

hill thru the Haight in a mist dazzled by love I’m strolling
an aimless magnolia morning in Charlottesville white white

petals slick underfoot I have nowhere to go—a room
I can’t recall red sofa blue paisly curtains black

leather upholstered chairs a secret passage a
library giving onto a garden seen in a mirror a

white magnolia bloom in the backyard & fleshy
holly I’m walking thru glass almost unscathed the Conservatory of

Flower’s glass dome on a gray spring morning purple
dahlias rhododendrons’ lips the calla lilies gestures the

red roses brimming across a white pergola a white sun dress
somewhere else—Virginia in spring white white magnolia

littering my mind amongst the clutter
in a fully furnished room in a mirror’s garden


Ghazal 5/4


an opera’s snowfall in a wooden music box
a silhouette at a harpsichord pet-

rified between chords—white gloves caressing Easter
weekend the Canadian bare silver birches 1982 a

north wind barging thru hopper windows the peri-
winkle blue crocuses hold out their periwinkle blue

hands in the lemon Easter morning the daffodils spreading
butter along the garden’s edge you can practically

see this in the oval mirror in a library an oval mirror
in an orange swoon the orange tulips the lipstick crimson

tulips after an evening of laughter & unbearable
youth the trumpeter swans in the neighbor’s pasture

a landscape whitewashed in an opera’s snowfall—
white gloves folded across bare ground in a love act

the mourning doves on a power line cooing A minor nine
while daybreak returns to the present



“don’t think twice”


a yellow headed blackbird’s trilled caw a gaudy
orange tritone atop a cottonwood tree—I used the

word plangent in a poem once—primary colors mingling to-
ward orange green & purple is this all 1 big party—

what larks— a goldfinch dandelion riot across the lawn the
honeybees mounting the yellow fringe an oval mirror

in a garden a peach blush daffodil it could be some-
body I once knew her dogwood petal flurry of adjectives in

rose-pink twilight her verbs meantime compulsed thru amber air
I want to sing something devastatingly simple not

do re mi in a C# labial frenzy—it’s just what happened—
it ain’t no use etc. a pink & blue porcelain Blessed

Virgin morning sky across the harmonic convergence a
white sundress a yellow rose bouquet a secret passage a

yellow headed blackbird strutting in yellow sunlight pecking
cracked corn a Nuestra Señora statue praying a faded

rainbow palette beside a well            an image I ought to
transmit to someone I don’t recall the name


(title with apologies to Bob Dylan)


song my father taught me


a Vermont May dusk so gray it turned green a
mallow leaf afloat on a black glass beaver pond

dad sank it a wrist-flick a gulp the stone gone
too amongst trilliums & ferns & jack-in-the-pulpit the

deep green & the grape vines gone native—a green
rowboat a caged white lightbulb dangling on a freight elevator in a

paper mill the dark air sinks more deeply in the light
a metallic fish presence dad’s black lunchbox

dented & heavy he fished in black pools
where perch swirled yellow the sawdust’s choking sweetness

in his workshop under the bandsaw’s gray evening whirr a
Black Ghost fly trawled in black bitter glacier lakes for

rainbow trout a metallic fish presence I think a-
mongst the silver birches & black glassy rocks the birches

grasped in roots my dad’s ruined black glass memory a
landscape without a definite article to its name


John Hayes
© 2009

3 (More) Ghazals

Happy Saturday all. Here are three more ghazals for your reading pleasure, written over the past few days. I'm really happy this sequence is continuing to move along, & I've been very gratified by readers' responses. Right now I'm going by the theory "write 'em fast, revise 'em fast;" actually that has been my theory for awhile. I recall that Thomas Hardy said something to the effect that a poem loses "its freshness" after a couple of revisions. Of course, like any rule, that one's just begging to be broken, but in general it works for me.

Hope you enjoy them.


“the rain is as classical as ever”

what else is like rain at 5 a m on the green tin roof a
marimba clucking a pentatonic scale under wool

mallets doesn’t cut it a clarinet in the backroom chirping
descending thirds doesn’t cut it an upright bass groaning chromatic

blues lines is not it—the coffee still steeping in the presspot
the mild embarassement of dressing in the kitchen when only the

cows are lowing dark in dark pastures—so exposed
to no one with memories of the Greek alphabet carved in stone as the           rain-

drops carve stones on the cliffs above Bodega Bay where the
gulls dip thru the mist & it’s last November & I could be

anywhere the rain drips on the green roof at 5 a m—
the tide pools awash in the surf off Lincoln City the

rain descending in sheets like extended chords
sounding crisp & without any sustain—a dish of

ravioli swimming in marinara a white
tablecloth—dressing in the dark as the coffee steeps ex-

posed a classical guitar left out on the
green tin roof in the rain & I could be singing


(title quote from Anne Waldman’s Holy City)


Ghazal 4/29

at 5:00 a m the stars are suspended raindrops thru the kitchen
window is there any sound in the smothered velvet air the

cascade of one semi southerly down the highway a huge exhalation a
transistor radio crackling a Red Sox game thru a

Rockingham VT hemlock green spring evening a screened-in porch in
1966 listening to balls & strikes with a man whose breathing was

labored—he did sit quiet in hemlock green air rising from the green
Connecticut River the house built into a hill it had hemlock green

trim—the new moon’s velvet dark this morning around the teardrop
constellations—a baseball scudding into leftfield at a park in

San Francisco a honeydew green spring morning 1996 the
memory of April air—the silence of baseball punctuated with the

report of a bat the silence of listening punctuated with a
wheeze a rale a cough—the stoic crying velvet morning sky


Ghazal 5-1


when stars flowered white & green & shattered to
constellations blooming over Indian Mountain as yet the summit

invisible in a sky that could be night tho it’s morning the
red roses brimming across a white pergola a white sun dress a

porcelain Blessed Virgin—the Joshua Trees’ white flowers
flowering thru shattered Owens Valley the

history of water in the city of angels etched into dry lakes the
stars’ petals unfurled along an invisible ridgeline—white roses for

innocence—hailstones pelting the driveway yesterday morning a
water glass smashed to constellations & orange

roses equal desire & lavendar roses for love at
first sight Dante’s for instance—stars blossomed lavendar white red a

Joshua Tree’s hunchbacked bouquets conferred whitely a
boarded-up diner’s windows shattered to constellations a pink gem-

stone rosary my father carried in wartime a porcelain Virgin—the
stars blooming white & yellow thru this sky’s

black waters tho it’s morning somewhere tho not here the
yellow stars shattered tho yellow roses say goodbye

John Hayes
© 2009

Three Ghazals

I had a "three ghazal" morning yesterday—just one of those things—& I’m posting them here. A couple of acknowledgments are in order. It’s been years since I’ve read Through the Looking Glass, so I’m indebted to Sandra Leigh of the fantastic Amazing Voyages of the Turtle for reminding me of this; & then Eberle reminded me that Lord Peter Wimsey also quotes that line in one of the wonderful Dorothy Sayers’ mysteries. Also, certain among you may notice the L Cohen rip-off at the end of “6 Impossible Things Before Breakfast”—I’m sure Citizen K at least won’t miss it.

Hope you enjoy these.

Ghazal 4/27

redwinged blackbirds trilling from willow
limb to willow limb as the morning unfolds most blue & yellow

a daffodil bouquet in a white & green vase almost gone past the
blooms slightly wrinkled & fatigued a consciousness

vanishing as it shrivels—a rest home in Florida the staff
puffing cigarettes by the walkway the morning light quiet thru

tall windows—not knowing the time or the day or the circumstance—a
boat in the grey Gulf of Mexico rolling across the swell the

cormorants the scarcity of things to say amongst the orange bouys &
white gulls an am radio tuned to the Ray Conniff Orchestra’s
          sharpened

strings in Vermont in a green July humming with grey wasps nests
suspended above the workshop’s screen windows, the tablesaw’s

dire hum the shellac's metallic fish presence a
summer evening grey in the garden amongst orange poppies

the pipe smoke’s choking sweetness dispelled thru the trellis this
Idaho morning shifting to grey above the blue blue hills


"6 Impossible Things Before Breakfast"

blue dahlias a bass clarinet strewed thru golden gate park that mango
california forenoon you didn’t drop by for java & poems & smokes the

orange tulip rufous hummingbird dreams in this April’s new moon
perigee midnight amongst phosphorescent solar lights afloat in the
          dark-

ling garden—the hex sign sunrise emerging from Lake Erie a
          milk-paint
yellow horizon swabbing brushstrokes across the harmonic
          convergence a

vibraphone nestled amongst yellowed birch leaves last October the
leaves afloat in the Weiser River’s troubled glass—magenta

ice plants scattered across the Ocean Beach dunes that lime green
Saturday you couldn’t make it for bicycling & java the Blue Ridge

Virginia brick walkway dotted with dogwood petals those fractal
Petrarchan sonnets scattered by footsteps speaking in off-rhymes
          only


Distance Equals Rate Times Time

the distance between a grey stone diner in South Hero, VT &
this green salad day April 27th 2009—the unsettled sky

the goldfinches’ hollow whistle—the distance as
measured against the speed of light or any imagined constant—

I have nothing to say about the white cirrus clouds as they canoed
over the motley sky in a distant Vermont October—a Camel straight a
          plaid

scarf a cream turtleneck an instamatic camera the wind de-
scending thru Canadian silver birches their fall leaves in-

congruous lemons shaken in a grey breeze—the cattle across the
road grazing on new grass the prussian blue clouds waiting for birds
          to

measure the distance to & in fact my mind wandering—the
geese veering across the bosom of Sage Hill late last month

there isn’t any circumference there isn’t any
fixed center there isn’t any sky blue nothingness to fly back into

John Hayes
© 2009


UPDATE: Thanks for the positive responses. Upon reflection, I decided to get rid of the epigram for the "6 impossible things before breakfast" poem. Not that I don't like Lewis Carroll; I love his writing; but the epigram was about as long as the poem - thus unwieldy - & also what drew me was the phrase itself more then the context. THANKS AGAIN EVERYONE.

Ghazal 4/25

I’ll be posting about our day yesterday—probably in the mid-afternoon. Meanwhile, another ghazal, this one written yesterday morning.


Ghazal 4/25

a 1940s car chassis planted amongst trilliums & ferns &
jack-in-the-pulpit the deep green & the grape vines gone native

as helixes climbing the maples—a creamy orange light
swathed to the east & the prehistoric hills & mountains

insubstantial & blue gray as storm clouds falling into the horizon
there was a refrigerator without a door a white bulk amongst

underbrush—white & the tiny flowers of rust blossoming
‘round the hinges—a club house with 1 window & 1 bench en-

wrapping another maple & later swept away amidst logs & green
rowboats & brown trout in the flood the sky is white in the

pond right now the water glass the poplars along the creek reflected
vibrantly green the cows lowing & grazing the sparrows

& blackbirds busy in the willow’s supplely
gesticulating branches the fractious swell of the Saxtons River thru

a 1960s Vermont woodland we no longer have access
to—the static pond to the east out of reach & white this white morning

Ghazal 4/24

A poem that happened this morning after a rather restless night. The ghazal is originally an Arabic form that also has had some notable English language practicioners—my favorites are Adrienne Rich’s Ghazals: Homage to Ghalib & her Blue Ghazals. Other English language poets who’ve used the form include Maxine Kumin, W.S. Merwin & Thomas Hardy.

Ghazal 4/24

the willow’s limbs fidget in an April breeze from the west
& the sun is nonetheless blind white in implacable blue

so I have to ask why the dead & the lost come to visit
as I wander the night away in an old house up a staircase

a maple bannister a light in a cut glass fixture a cold white
light—the bedsheets creased & wrinkled into alphabets &

so I have to ask why we have travelled so far from the white white
magnolia blooms of another April & the granite statue of Christ loom-

ing at Swannanoa lugubrious & floating on another wind rattling
with laughter “like dice shook” I said—the breeze agitating the willow

voicelessly—in a supermarket parking lot far over the hills & the
rolling gnarl of bitterbrush & the rudbeckia’s buttery eruption—

we were going our separate ways & there was eye contact
unsettling across the blue cigarette smoke years the curtains carried

across a street to a house as dark as spruce trees en-
circling a Vermont backyard in an August green

dusk—the lost & the dead come turning their faces into the
breeze—the sharp white ripples across the wind-stirred pond

John Hayes
© 2009