Poets and Poetry
| Leonard
Cohen http://www.plotkinart.com/ |
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| Jack
Winter from his 1972 stage play, "Waiting" and reprinted in Merle Shain's 1973 book, Some Men Are More Perfect Than Others
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Love, now, love's
another thing. Normally speaking, there's your four kinds. First off there's
your light / fast: the sort as happens on a train or in swimming or a
movie. Takes a lot of cheerfulness, does your light / fast. Then
there's your heavy / fast. That's the sort as happens in a war.
Happened to a nurse and me just beside the field-kitchen till the cook leaned out to cast
slops. Or was that your light / fast? No, no. To her, maybe,
as she soon aftwards proved out by going over the hill with the cook. To her it was
just your old light / fast, but not to me and that's where you have your
trouble. Then there's your light / slow. That's the best of the lot.
Like floating, is your old light / slow. Like two swallows of wine
on top of a pain pill. I only had your old light / slow once and she left,
but that didn't stop it. Still get a touch of it now and then, especially when you
can smell last year's leaf mold. Then there's your heavy / slow.
Watch out for your heavy / slow! That's the sort as spoils bad
habits. I know a man got so improved by your old heavy / slow that he
married her! Haven't seen him since, of course, but as I've heard he's not dead. |
 Bert
GlickOn the sand of the northern Oregon coast in the 1970's, Bert read to us two poems he had recently composed. Those works (about "Linda the poet" and "hunger") have rung in our ears ever since. Twenty-five years passed without word of him, or any sign his poems had been published. Then in March 2001 his web presence announced: Bert Glick is alive and well in Santa Cruz. And his book is for e-sale. Shown here is one of Bert's more recent poems. http://www.bertglick.com |
She said I had a cookie aura about me I was sweet yet a crumb at heart I for my part accused her of having a chocolate chip on her shoulder and so we nibbled away at each other 'til I melted in her mouth |
David LaFlamme
The then-recently imported "It's A Beautiful Day" vinyl LP played in our home frequently during the summer of 1975. It was not heard there again until mid-April 2000, when out of the blue we became overwhelmingly possessed by these songs, bought a new CD copy and played it repeatedly--for about a week. Then as suddenly and unexpectedly as it had possessed us, we were freed from its spell. And left wondering. |
The leaves blow 'cross the long black road To the darkened sky, in its rage But the white bird just sits in her cage Unknown. White bird must fly or she will die. The white bird dreams of the aspen tree With her dying leaves turning gold But the white bird just sits in her cage Growing old. White bird must fly or she will die. The sunsets come, the sunsets go The clouds float by, the earth turns slow And a young bird's eyes do always glow And she must fly. White bird in a golden cage On a winter's day, in the rain White bird in a golden cage Alone. White bird must fly or she will die White bird must fly. |
