[Thanks & gratitude to my friend Brittany Newmark for making her latest poem available to Robert Frost's Banjo.]
Salt & Song
1.
What if you were to sing to me?
Would that be so hard? Am I asking for so much?
Make it in illo tempore
and only in a woman’s voice,
Let her voice taste of salt
and smell of chalk and
let us know the hunger behind the voice
In fact let us hear it once and
then instantly be ground down to dust and course grains
as if some terrible desolation is visited upon those
that even heard her voice
because it will happen soon enough.
Oh look at us. Oh hold us tight
No one shall be amazed
when they realize that it will be
the voice of a woman that calls us home and soothes our reckless past.
This is the caesura I speak of . . .
My opus, will knock down barn doors,
will call a hoedown,
will spread it wings, arch its neck and coo like a fat grey pigeon,
in the next life.
In the meantime we wear the error of our ways like a black eye patch
Heroic and elegant that invariably leads to
some gossip that is told before we even enter a room
and gives us a kind of cachet in certain circles.
In truth we should be overlooked (we have done nothing worthwhile)
Except for the fact that
the Google camera watches us from nearby trees and poles,
Its heart is breaking and it cries its eyes out, for us.
But we do not have the technology yet to tell it that it will be okay.
It will all be all right,
as soon as we . . .
2
Oh ye of little faith
Praise the salt,
Lick it off the back of his neck,
And listen
It tells the story of old wounds and of lives not yet born
It tells the story carried in the DNA
That we don’t talk about don’t dare tell the unborn what will happen in
this life.
They say each of is visited by an angel in the womb and shown the whole
expanse of the world and the angel strikes our baby lips and we forget the vision,
lose sight of the world.
Maybe that’s what going on
Because salt is human, the brine of our being and memory an empty room.
There was a time when I walked around hearing the sonorous calls
Of men like some kind of evangelism. Tonight, America is tired
and bored and angry
The voice now that fills the gaping yawn on the radio speaks of
the religious oppression, and the caller,
“Caller from Athens, Ohio,
Yes you’re on the air”
The voice fills the air with enough sexuality for me to admit, yes my pain
Is of a sexual nature, identity by rote.
We are going off the grid,
Can no longer bear the roar from the black helicopters
3
In the morning I will place the white tulips and the Asian Iris in a cream colored pitcher that holds milk or hurts
that pours out the sad chronic fatigue
We don’t have the technology yet to address the pain, so we treat it like hunger
With daily bread.
What a loss:
And the only words of the song I remember,
Oh my you have a pretty face,
How would it be if we got to see our own lives open like a secret note passed
Out of the camera shot?
Or as a sweep panorama seen at the great distance, like from the
Deck of the Starship Enterprise
The newest among us, how awed and baffled they must feel with their eyes flooded
And any memory of the eternal
wiped clean
Can we tempt fate, or hum and tap our lips to forget what we have seen and then
Admonish each other for not feeling the right sorry.
I know what to do because
If I went into the coffin business people would stop dying.
Brittany Newmark
© 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
City of Books
One of my errands today (Wednesday when this is being written) was a trip to the local branch of the Portland Library to pick up a book I’d placed on hold. But this isn’t in fact, a story about the Portland Library system—no, tho I thought I’d begin by explaining why I felt it was so crucial for me to get a library card when I moved here—it was in fact one of the first things I did! The biggest reason for that—Powell’s Bookstore, or the City of Books.
Now don’t get me wrong: as will become clear in reading this post, I think Powell’s is wonderful. But I moved here with a shoestring budget & not a lot of books; the library card continues to be an insurance against any sort of splurge!
Because Powell’s is really a book lover’s & book buyer’s paradise. Occupying a full city block bordered by W Burnside, NW 11th, NW Couch (pronounced so as to rhyme with “hooch,” not with “ouch”) & NW 10th, the main city of books is located in the westside’s toney Pearl District, & also bordered by the officially designated Downtown area to the west, across Burnside. In the three story building (with a mezzanine level between the first & second floors, you can find over 1,000,000—yes, folks, that million there—books ranging from archeology to zines, both used & new, with a literature section that is almost overwhelming in its inclusiveness. The store map (which you can view as a pdf here) shows 47 separate sections. As far as used books go: the Burnside Powell’s store purchases 3,000 per day, so there’s a great selection of used as well as new. There’s also a coffee & tea room on the first floor.
Now that all sounds rather overwhelming, but I've always felt at home in Powell's, whether looking for obscure writers or poets or browsing a generous selection of music literature. However, all those impressive stats are not the end of the Powell’s story, because there are a total of six Powell’s locations in the greater Portland area, including a technical bookstore now located on the corner of NW Couch & 10th, across from the main City of Books.
The other locations that I know well are on Hawthorne Street; Powell’s Books on
Hawthorne is a great bookstore in its own right, large by most standards, & again with a great selection in practically any category you could choose; & there's a coffee shop here too. Two doors down from the bookstore, there’s also a Powell’s Home & Garden shop that sells everything from cookbooks to home décor, & is a lot of fun. It’s where I purchased my Christmas cards this year. This is not to mention other outlets—which I’ve yet to visit—at Cedar Hills Crossing in the western suburb of Beaverton or at Portland Airport.Powell’s was founded in 1971 by one Walter Powell, who was soon joined in the store by his son, Michael, who is the current owner (tho plans are being made for ownership to pass to Michael’s daughter Emily.) Powell’s City of Books has been at its current location since 1979, & actually at that time, this was rather an edgy neighborhood. As the business grew, it expanded not only to other parts of the city, but also online as well—in fact, Powell’s website actually pre-dates Amazon! The store was also a charter member of Google’s eBooks service.
Now I’ll admit: Christmas cards are not the only thing I’ve bought at Powell’s since I moved here—after all, I’ve been going to Powell’s since the first time I visited Portland, which I believe was in 1999. Yes, the odd book or three (OK, maybe a half dozen) have entered my small library—all used tho! But I’m also happy to say that my library card has gotten a lot of use.
If you visit Portland, Powell’s City of Books is an absolute must on your itinerary.
The photographs weren't taken not by me—guess I've always been too intent on books to bring along a camera on a Powell's visit! The photos link to their sources, but I've also provided user info from Wiki Commons:
The Portland Streetcar in front of Powell's Books. [NW Couch & 11th] by Wiki Commons user Cacophony & licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license.
Powell's City of Books in Portland, Oregon. [W Burnside & 10th] same user info, same license.
Powell's on Hawthorne: links to the Powell's website
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
ANOTHER HAUNTING CHILDHOOD MEMORY
[A prose poem—& existential cooking lesson—from our very own Chicken Farmer Poet in Residence, L.E. Leone!]
ANOTHER HAUNTING CHILDHOOD MEMORY
My dad in an apron at the stove, cooking the pots and pans.
“You just don’t get it, Dad, do you?” I said. “You’re supposed to put stuff inside of them.”
“Like what?” he said.
“Supper,” I said. “Lunch. I don’t know. I’m a kid. What time is it, anyway?”
My father looked at his watch. “Holy smokes. The chicken is done!” He opened the oven door and a fully plucked chicken jumped down from the rack and started walking around the place, scratching the linoleum, pecking at Cheerios, and saying, in a word, “Cluck.” It seemed not only not cooked, but not put out in the least.
I couldn’t stop laughing. I was so happy. So entertained. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’re supposed to turn the oven on.”
“Holy smokes,” my dad said.
He turned the oven on, but then we couldn’t get the chicken to go back in.
L.E. Leone
© 2012
ANOTHER HAUNTING CHILDHOOD MEMORY
My dad in an apron at the stove, cooking the pots and pans.
“You just don’t get it, Dad, do you?” I said. “You’re supposed to put stuff inside of them.”
“Like what?” he said.
“Supper,” I said. “Lunch. I don’t know. I’m a kid. What time is it, anyway?”
My father looked at his watch. “Holy smokes. The chicken is done!” He opened the oven door and a fully plucked chicken jumped down from the rack and started walking around the place, scratching the linoleum, pecking at Cheerios, and saying, in a word, “Cluck.” It seemed not only not cooked, but not put out in the least.
I couldn’t stop laughing. I was so happy. So entertained. “You just don’t get it, do you? You’re supposed to turn the oven on.”
“Holy smokes,” my dad said.
He turned the oven on, but then we couldn’t get the chicken to go back in.
L.E. Leone
© 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Poor Boy Long Way From Home #11 – RL Burnside
Today’s artist is RL Burnside, a favorite of mine, & his version of “Poor Boy Long Way From Home” is also one of my favorites. Burnside also introduces us to the song in an electric incarnation—tho he also recorded it acoustically, I’ve always thought Burnside was at his best with an electric guitar; I’ve read that he preferred to play electric & that his acoustic recordings were done mainly to please the “folk blues” purists.
Burnside grew up & spent most of his life in the hill country east of the Mississippi Delta region, mainly around Holly Springs, Mississippi. His music always had a raw edge, often featuring open tunings & slide & frequently not moving from the root chord. Reportedly Burnside began playing guitar in his early 20s after hearing John Lee Hooker’s hit "Boogie Chillen,” & his music has some similarities with Hooker’s, as it also does with Mississippi Fred McDowell’s playing—in fact, McDowell was something of a mentor to Burnside. Burnside was also related to Muddy Waters by marriage, & he claimed Waters as an influence as well.
Although he was recorded in the 1960s by George Mitchell (these recordings were released on Arhoolie), he spent much of his life as a sharecropper, commercial fisherman, & tractor driver, playing local juke joints as a sideline. Burnside did make some additional recordings in the 1980s on the Swingmaster label, & he was featured in the 1990 film Deep Blues; following this he signed with Fat Possum Records, a Mississippi label with the particular mission of recording older blues players. He also recorded with the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion during the 1990s.
This version of “Poor Boy Long Way from Home” is straight-ahead & driving like most of Burnside’s music. Its great strength is its simplicity, but this is simplicity of finely honed & definite gestures—a lot of folks can spend a whole lifetime playing music & not figure out how to get so “simple.” Burnside is accompanied by his grandson Cedric Burnside on drums & by slide guitarist Kenny Brown, with whom he played from the 1970s onward; he called Brown his “adopted son.”
This is the real deal, folks—enjoy!
Photo of RL Burnside (in 1984) is by Wiki Commons user
Bubba73 (Jud McCranie) & is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. The picture links to its source.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Raintown #9
So ist das Leben—hart aber dafür gemein
seagulls’ hard steel whine thru steel-
gray March air, raindrops’ splatter &
rasp against window screens, a plastic
clown a plastic rabbit, paint chipped on
each adorning a plot of geraniums, petals
flaccid, last autumn’s leaf-fall mulched
brown as an old bloodstain along the
sidewalks’ edge—the nurse’s 3-year-old
son is getting a drum for his birthday—
her hands in lavender surgical gloves she
wears a purple bandana—two men a-
cross the room discuss bone marrow transplants—
“better in the long run” one says—
outside Multnomah pavilion hybrid roses
bloom crimson against the wall in thick
drizzle—on the bus a woman knits doll
bathing suits discusses the expression
so ist das Leben—oh yes strident cries of
gulls thru the apartment complex hard
& mean no doubt—across the lot on the roof
the brown gull stretches its wings nearly angelic
Jack Hayes
© 2012
seagulls’ hard steel whine thru steel-
gray March air, raindrops’ splatter &
rasp against window screens, a plastic
clown a plastic rabbit, paint chipped on
each adorning a plot of geraniums, petals
flaccid, last autumn’s leaf-fall mulched
brown as an old bloodstain along the
sidewalks’ edge—the nurse’s 3-year-old
son is getting a drum for his birthday—
her hands in lavender surgical gloves she
wears a purple bandana—two men a-
cross the room discuss bone marrow transplants—
“better in the long run” one says—
outside Multnomah pavilion hybrid roses
bloom crimson against the wall in thick
drizzle—on the bus a woman knits doll
bathing suits discusses the expression
so ist das Leben—oh yes strident cries of
gulls thru the apartment complex hard
& mean no doubt—across the lot on the roof
the brown gull stretches its wings nearly angelic
Jack Hayes
© 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Danny Barnes: 21st Century Old-Time Banjo
Good morning, & a happy Banjo Friday to you you & all. A new month of banjo adventures are upon us here at Robert Frost’s Banjo.
& I do expect March to indeed be an adventurous month here on Banjo Friday—& what better way to start the month off than with banjo wiz & innovator Danny Barnes? I had the good fortune to hear Danny Barnes this January at the Crystal Ballroom in Portland; I wasn’t familiar with Barnes’ music before that show, but I was pretty much floored by his inventiveness, musical spirit & sheer banjo chops.
However, as you’ll hear in the two video clips below, Danny Barnes is not about simply churning out new versions of old-time banjo standards, fun as that may be. His musical vision encompasses innovation to a high degree. In fact, Barbes is the first person I’ve heard or heard about who makes extensive use of looping technology while playing the banjo! It may perhaps be difficult to imagine the sound of an expertly picked (& sometimes frailed) 5-string banjo playing on top of a funky bass beat & looped fuzz guitars, but I can assure you that Barnes has an impeccable ear for orchestration, & these songs always come across as fully realized musical statements rather than eccentricities. I’d certainly compare his work very favorably to the music of two other looping artists I like a lot, cellist Zoë Keating & guitarist Matt Stevens.
Of course, Keating & Stevens are both instrumental composers, whereas Barnes composes a lot of songs, & his lyrics are consistently wise, witty & quirky in a way that dovetails perfectly with his music. One thing that’s notable about Barnes—he thinks contrapuntally, which is ideal for the banjo. Unlike the guitar, the banjo is at its best when its music is more scale-based & modal—music where melody & accompaniment weave together rather than exist in parallel planes, as when a guitar lays down chordal harmony under a melody. In this sense, too, the looping tends to accentuate the contrapuntal nature of the music.
Barnes’ most recent cd projects are based on the music from his album Rocket, released thru ATO Records. This set of songs exists in three recorded incarnations: as a full-on studio album (Rocket), as demos under the title Poison (which has been released as a cassette!) & solo acoustic versions as Angel. Barnes is currently fascinated with cassette tape as a recording medium, & you can hear him talk about this, as well as the recording of Rocket in an excellent interview by Dreamspider Publicity’s Erin Scholze for Lingua Musica
in the third video below. I know three videos is a lot, but Barnes’
music & ideas are sufficiently complex & interesting to warrant
this—plus, Lingua Musica rocks!*
There’s a good selection of Barnes’ music on YouTube if you want to explore further—which I recommend highly. In addition (with Barnes’ blessing—he even mentioned this at his show) there’s an extensive collection of music from his live shows at the Internet Archive—in fact, you can even listen to the January 29th show I attended.
Because there is a good selection of Barnes on YouTube, it was a challenge limiting myself to two music videos, especially since I wanted to break with my usual two video limit overall & include the Lingua Musica interview. In the first video Barnes plays a memorably reconfigured & re-imagined version of the old time song “Crow Black Chicken”; if you’d like to hear a “straight” version of the song, check out the New Lost City Ramblers here. “Caveman” is an original piece from his 2009 release Pizza Box, & on that you get to hear not just Barnes’ formidable banjo chops & great songwriting, but also his use of looping.
Great musician—I know you’ll enjoy & be inspired!
* You may be interested to know that Lingua Musica has a direct connection to this blog because our very own Rockstar Poet in Residence, Barbie Dockstader Angell, is also a member of the interviewing team & has conducted interviews with David LaMotte, Nicky Sanders of Steep Canyon Rangers & Roseanne Cash!
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