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This was a good idea, a tribute to four deserving women with lovely singing voices who also happened to inspire, and thus be Muses. The execution isn’t so hot, but that’s what I get for using the Unforgiving Pen for this one.

Mama Cass Elliot was compared by Graham Nash to Gertrude Stein, that patron of the arts of yesteryear. Joni Mitchell inspired Nash to write “Our House,” one of the loveliest songs ever written in the service of describing the bliss of ordinary life. Linda Ronstadt inspired Jerry Brown, called by some “Governor Moonbeam.” She also showed up in one of Paul Simon’s songs in his classic “Graceland.” And Carole King inspired an entire generation in general, and James Taylor in particular.

Brava, sweet-sounding Ladies. I hope some day to do you better justice.

2020 0506 muse

Sing O Muse

Saintly Mama Cass had donned a muu-muu with some room
Innocence in Joni Mitchell fed her aperçu
Next came Linda Ronstadt with a songbird’s light caress
Go-to gals like Carole King rule airways with finesse

I was hoping to get this piece done by midnight. I am eleven hours early, having rushed its completion, just as I said I DIDN’T want to do (see my previous post, “Throes of Creation”). But that’s a good thing, as I will explain.

20200421_124255

Behind the “finished” page is the copy on which I thrashed out the penultimate draft. The missing lines of the acrostic are written wraparound-style outside the right and top page borders.
****
Here Are the Elsewheres

HOPEWARD bound, on wings of raging Flame
Endless Void the Heaven, Sol the Hell
Righteousnesses seem like voodoo games
Empathy the Childe of Beast & Belle
A
ngst, Begone. Come Progress swift AND slow
RENT from shackling History’s catarrh
Emphasis on Health from head to toe
Then comes TRAVEL meaning-full and far
HOPE is Blissful Silence–just ask these
E
verlasting Peacefulness agrees
****
So here, Friends, is a poem in Trochaic Pentameter, ababcdcdee rhyme scheme, all but one pair of lines perfect rhymes, and that one pair of lines varying merely by the difference between Singular and Plural. I am proud. It is a sort of sequel to the decades-old song “After the Gold Rush” by proud “Canarican” (as of January of this year!) Neil Young, which includes the last stanza

Well, I dreamed I saw the silver spaceship flying
In the yellow haze of the sun.
There were children crying and colours flying
All around the chosen one
All in a dream, all in a dream
The loading had begun…
Flying Mother Nature’s silver seed
To a new home in the sun.
Flying Mother Nature’s silver seed
To a new home…

Tomorrow, April 22, 2020, is the 50th Anniversary of Earth Day. Neil’s song, and his album of the same name (the lovely word eponymous means “of the same name”) were recorded that same year. So here’s to Neil Young, and also to Dennis Hopper, whose movie The Last Movie (a “follow-up to Easy Rider” according to rock historian Nick Hasted) inspired Mr. Young to write “After the Gold Rush.”

So–why the rush job? I promised an explanation. See, if you look at the drawing/illustration, the middle lines of the poem seem most hastily placed. They are. Two reasons. A, the faster you skate across the (Stonehenge White, thick, super-absorbent) paper with a (Pilot PRECISE V5 Ultra Fine Rolling Ball) pen, the fainter the penstroke appears to the eye, and I wanted to have my cake and eat it too as far as shape-repetition of the floating rectangle-with-cutout was concerned. B) This drawing is a Qualifier, meaning that I deem it worthy of the time and trouble it will take to use it as the basis of a large-scale painting.

Now it’s time to talk, briefly and glowingly, about my ex-wife, Joni.

A couple of months ago Joni was cleaning house, and she had decided that it was a shame that the art supplies she’d acquired during her time of journaling and other creative expression were going fallow. She asked me if I knew of someone who could put them to good use. I nominated myself. And Joni, bless her sweet soul, not only gave me a boatload of art supplies, including a COMPLETE, UNUSED set of acrylic paints, and a FIVE-DRAWER CABINET containing all manner of other media, but she also HELPED ME PUT THEM IN MY APARTMENT. She has not let the dissolution of our marriage interfere with the kindness and compassion she extends to a fellow Creative. But since my acquisition of these fine supplies, I have made sparse use of them–some sculptural enhancement here, some sketching on a pad there. Now–and I will devote Earth Day (and probably beyond) to this endeavor–I will use the paints and brushes she endowed me with to make a more fully realized version of this page.

 

I’ve been working on a page in sporadic fits. There are still a thousand ways it can go, yet it’s “mostly” done. What I did this morning is take a black&white copy of it, and use that copy to explore, freed from the stricture of “ink is forever.” Here’s a pic, with the original on the left, and the worked-on copy on the right:

20200421_101243

Notice the final couplet was already done. Like many murder mysteries, this poem started with a theme (the double acrostic HERE ARE THE ELSEWHERES) and the “reveal” (the final couplet “Hope is Blissful Silence–just ask these/Everlasting Peacefulness agrees”). The bestselling mystery author Mickey Spillane once said cheerfully in an interview that he wrote all his books backwards, starting with an ending and then figuring out how to get there. And, Friends, speaking from the experience of the construction of, no kidding, more than a thousand acrostic poems, starting with the first line is the rare exception, not the usual way to succeed.

With my copy I composed a draft of the first four lines, but did it beyond the page border, using white Conté crayon. This is out of a concern that if I fill in the acrostic on the page itself, it might spoil the visual effect enjoyed by the similarity between the letters and words already on the page and the floating, flexing rectangle-with-cutout in the foreground. Also, the lines are a draft, and so subject to change. (I’m not sure, for instance, that it’s such a good idea to have a “Beauty and the Beast” reference in a poem addressing more eternal issues. But maybe it will be more relatable this way. SO many ways this thing can go!)

I filled in the letters for HERE on the left acrostic column and the HERE of the ELSEWHERES in the right column. Trying the resulting motif-tension on for size. I like it–it seems to work. The final version will include that.

I did a few other things too, and the reader is welcome to look for them. But this post is all about the anatomy of the creative process, and I felt it valuable to preserve this one step. There will be many more decisions to make, and more lines to compose. I hope to be done by midnight, but one BAD decision that has afflicted much of my work is to rush things. Don’t want to ruin this one by rushing it!

  1. My friend and former classmate Vicki makes COVID-19 masks, and she sent me one a couple of weeks ago. It fits great, and it survived machine washing. I am doubly lucky, because the Day 20 prompt for National Poetry Writing Month is “write a poem about a handmade gift.”

20200419_220852

To V. S. G.

now i take me out to shop

the mask that Vicki made WILL STOP

the dreaded Cee Oh Vee Eye Dee

19–just stay six feet from me!

THANKS, Vicki!!!

Today our prompt is to write a poem celebrating the little nice things that get us through a day, a year, a life.

2020 0418 lite nice ness

Lite Nice Ness

Let’s look at the things that give a day a bit o’ gain
It’s as small as landing safely when you’re on a plane
T‘would be mush less saucy had we not War Chest or Shires
E‘er the wee! sweet! lovelinesses spiking our desires

One of the little nicenesses that get me through a day is Bad Puns. I love making them up, and I love when other people make them up and I read them. The third line of this poem is straight out of Badpunsville. “mush less saucy” is doubly punnish. Mush could also be Much, but Mush is edible. Saucy could be either attitude or condimental. And then “War Chest or Shires” is a wretchedification of Worcestershire, which is a sauce pronounced variously as “wurrshurr” or “woostisure” or “watery brown stuff.” I won’t apologize that “War Chest or Shires” matches no known pronunciation. It is closer to the actual spelling as anything I’ve heard.

Lastly, the whole poem is a setup for a Bad Pun. Notice that the first word of every line is a contraction. “Why, Gary??” I hear you asking. SO glad you asked, Friend! (Or “Friends,” if there is still more than one of you still reading.) (Or “Is there an echo in here?” if in fact no one is left reading.) The reason every first word is festooned with an apostrophe is answerable in two words. Here they come. Don’t hate me.

“Contractual obligations.” [Bdumph/Shhhuhh] (Rimshot.)

Ah, Apostrophes!! Don’t you just love the Little Things that Get You Through Life?

2020 0418 over atop

This morning I was watching a video featuring the late John Prine. He was at a festival that had “Not Strictly Bluegrass” in its title. Inference says it was 2017 because Prine dedicated the song “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore” to “The New Führer, Adolf Benito Trumpetini.” And bless Honest John Prine’s protest-prone heart. He certainly had Trump pegged.

Prine has gotten a lot of deserved and long-overdue attention since he contracted, and eventually succumbed to, COVID-19. His many fans may enjoy a listen to another Heaven-related song, “When I Get To Heaven,” which begins with these spoken words:

“When I get to Heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand.
I’ll thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand.
Then I’ll find me a guitar, and start a Rock ‘n’ Roll Band.
And check into a swell hotel. Ain’t the Afterlife grand?”

John, this one’s for you. Wish you were here.

Over Atop

OMGDG someone call the DEA
Onward! For amazement jazzes up both alp & lea

Verily some Jameson laced your café au laît
Very Fine to Mint–remember LSMFT

Endchronic maelstromic War serves the libretto
Ectoplasmic echoes gather souls from manse to ghetto

Romper Room is OVER friends–balloon’s about to pop
Rise the fell APOCALYPSE the fullness of the stop

Today’s National Poetry Writing prompt called for a poem that featured technology that is no longer in vogue. When I saw the prompt the memory of the scent thrown off by the mimeograph at Glendale High School–of the ink and spirit developer, that second cousin of Magic Markers, liltingly aromatic–hit me in the nose, so I did a little bygone-era walkabout via Internet search, and watched a training film on mimeograph techniques courtesy of the University of California at San Diego, which in 1958 was called San Diego University.

(More Memory Laning came when the film reminded me of the sound the film projector made when in grade school and high school they showed us stuff like that. I remember in 8th Grade, Mr. Gasser showed us a film on digestion, featuring fluoroscopy after a food or drink item had been put in the mouth, and seeing the journey down the gullet to Stomachville. Hilarity ensued when Mr. Gasser ran the film backwards, and you saw stuff gradually coming up a kid’s esophagus, then consolidating in the mouth, and then you see the kid chew and chew, stick his fork in his mouth, and pull out an unchewed piece of cherry pie. Our darkened room exploded with laughter. So hey, Rudy Gasser, wherever you are–thanks for all the fun stuff like that!)

2020 0417 mimeo

Mimeo Graph

Make a stencil/get an ink pad/paper: cotton rag
Mockup/test/& crankcrankcrank/you got it in the bag

Images come flying out, 12 dozen for a dollar
It’s a boogie-woogie noise the envy of Fats Waller

Memoranda/flyers/Hell: The History of Cholera
Maybe even comic books–Osiris Vs. (Taller) Ra

Eventually, Xerox gave the mimeos the slip

Obsolescence makes them one with petro/hieroglyph

In a previous post I did a poem intertwining Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Allan Poe and Sylvia Plath. “Kip Poe Syl” lent itself to an acrostic, but I did not do one. Now I do.

2020 0414b kip poe syl

Kip Poe Syl

Khartoum beckons. Reaper reckons. Lass
Keeps fiendish company as love takes pass

Into Manhood-proving fateful fray
IF NEVERMORE & Daddy go away

Pip Pip hooray Bedeviled eggs go well
Parboiled plenteously here in HELL

Day Fourteen, and here is a paste of the prompt:

“Today’s optional prompt asks you, like Alice Notley, to think about your own inspirations and forebears (whether literary or otherwise). Specifically, I challenge you today to write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems. These could be poems/poets/people that you strive to be like, or even poems, poets, and people that you strive not to be like. There are as many ways to go with this prompt as there are ways to be inspired.”

So I thought of the poets, and there are too many. Then my inner acrosticist took three cards out of the Rolodex: Rudyard Kipling, Edgar Allan Poe, and Sylvia Plath. All left their mark. All were driven and bedeviled and haunted. And they haunt me. I know the opening lines of “The Raven” and “Daddy” and I know all of “IF-” And Kip, Poe and Syl uniquely identify them with three letters. So there may be an Acrostic in the future…but I’m not feeling Acrosticky right now. But let’s see what happens.

2020 0414 kip poe syl

Kip Poe Syl

Rudyard and Edgar and Sylvia Plath
Let us be shaped by this odd Threefold Path.
Let us get Kip for the blood and the bone,
Firmly embed in Testosterone Zone.
Poe is for Passion so darkly uncomic,
Endlessly rhymed with a beat metronomic.
Syl’s so unsilly, such willies she gives,
Pouring her hope into such porous sieves.

Put them together, you get KipPoeSyl,
Mournful and frantic as Hank’s Whippoorwill.

“Hear the lonesome Whippoorwill.
He sounds too blue to fly.
The midnight train is whining low,
I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”
Hiram “Hank” Williams, Sr.

2020 0412 dondoff

I’ve been wearing a mask when I go out. It looks like this on me:

2020 0412 gbmask

Some people don’t wear masks going out, despite convincing evidence that they slow the spread of COVID-19. I was thinking about that when I conceived this acrostic. “Off/On” is as binary as “Doff/Don.”

It is a bit uncomfortable to wear, but Friends, I’d rather be uncomfortable than in the ultimate relaxation and comfort condition known as The Dirtnap.

Don & Doff

Danger! Cee*Oh*Vee*Eye*D
O how Bug does Dirty Deed; O
No wonder we’re put off
& can’t STAND a Scoffer’d SCOFF