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2021 0922 trish justrish

The superlative poet who calls herself Trish Justrish has been involved in the Valley poetry scene forever, both solo and as a member of The New Subterraneans. The last time I saw her perform, pre-pandemic, I was moved to caption a photo of her “This is Trish Justrish, whose cerebral and yet heartfelt poetry reveals a more-than-passing knowledge of certain of the sciences. You have to love a person who can wield the word Omicron effectively. You have to love her more for the layered expression on her face when she delivers the line “I KNOW you want to kiss me.” She brings a quality to the New Subterraneans that helps them be more NewTrishous.”

Doing her page got me thinking about the “Just” part of the name Trish Justrish. It does not have to mean “merely” or “ordinary.” Another definition of the adjective Just is “righteous” or “fitting” or “demonstrative of appropriate karma.” She IS righteous. Her poetry is honest, as I attempt to convey in the convolutions of my acrostic.

Trish Notjustany Trish

The words so coherent dispelling the mist
Tell thoughts that would wow a devout scientist
Rewoven reality makes to career
Reverse/hearsals juxtapose woes far and near
If heartache’s subsumed in a vain search for Pi
In fact it will wrestle on deck or lanai
Submerse in the New Subterranean blues
Set poems to paper and pay up more dues
Her work is True Blue it is not Bait & Switch
Her clear voice will stymie the false then enrich

That “Thanks, Trish!!!” I put to the left of my signature is for more than Trish’s gracious permission to do this page. I sent her an early draft of the acrostic, and it was much more ambiguous than this final version. She wrote back expressing confusion over my reference to Abercrombie & Fitch, makers of fine suits and other clothing and accessories. And she was right as rain; the obscure reference in the second-to-last line knocked the acrostic’s integrity way off plumb. Trish Justrish knows poetry, whether she is writing it or reading it. She is a cerebral wonder.

A few things happened and are happening to me in the last twelve months that are irreversible. I cannot not have had Covid, for instance. I tested positive in mid-August and went through a week and a half of fatigue and mild misery. I made the choice I was offered, to get a monoclonal antibody infusion, and now I experience what I am pretty sure are side effects from that infusion: almost every day I get an itching, especially in my hands and feet, upper arms and ankles, and every few days there is a numbness in my forearms or face as if they were wrapped in mildly electric wool. And the literature I got relating to the infusion said that there might be side effects, and itching due to anaphylaxis was mentioned.

Months before I got Covid, though, in late March, my daughter and I became estranged. No details, Friends, for privacy’s sake. But there it is, and it’s more negatively impactive than the Covid. I was hoping we’d resolve things long before now, but we may never. And she had been the most important person in my life.

And now we come to the photo above. You see a drawing I made today, and my airport and employee credentials. A little over a week ago I sent this e-mail to certain managers at SSP America, the company I work for:

****
Subject: Graceful Exit (two weeks’ notice)

Priority: Important

From: Gary Bowers

To: Jake W; Maria W; Tommy R; Linda W; William H; Lieryn J

Sent: Sep 7, 2021 4:46 PM

Dear Managerial Friends,

It is with some wistfulness and regret that I hereby tender two weeks’ notice of my exit from SSP America. I have had a thoroughly wonderful time in my five-plus years with you fine folks. But two things have become acutely obvious in recent months. The first is that the physical and logistic demands of my job with my hours are taking too much away from my creative endeavors. The second is that I am running out of time to do the many things I need to do before my time is up. I’ve just turned 67, and the meter is running.

Bless you all and thank you for all you have done for me. I have a headful of memories I will cherish always.My last day of work at SSP will be September 21, 2021, two weeks from today.

My very best regards and wishes,

Gary Bowers
Host/Cashier, Matt’s Big Breakfast

 

Here are Jake and Linda, two of the managers who got my e-mail. They are fine people to work for, and I am going to miss them terribly.

As for the drawing, it isn’t very good. I have not done much sketching since my Covid episode, and this was forced. But it seems to reflect, even in the forcedness, a sort of Yin/Yang dynamic that is part of the mix when things change.

Hell Own’d

Here&Now I am hurt so
Even snakes don’t get so low
L
oss of friends & sacred kin
L
eaves me lost & feeling skinn‘d

Hay Bud

Haboob
A
perçu
Y
arrowstalked

“A river is never the same,” says the ancient wisdom, and so it is with our lives.



2021 0829 sams club

Here’s a Valley poet who’s been a part of the scene far longer than I have, going back to Willow House, which I never had the pleasure to attend. “I have dozens of Ted Christ stories,” he says with glee in his voice. I have about three Ted Christ stories. I envy Perry.

Perry and I both love both reading and concocting Bad Puns, so I threw in some Punnishment in the acrostic poem. And in a phone conversation just a few minutes ago, when I scored his permission to do this blog post, I told Perry there’d be a Bad Pun in the annotation, a mangling of a line from a Bruce Springsteen song. Asked him to try to figure it out, giving him an ETA of an hour and a half to do so before I published. But I’m going to pull a fast one and publish in far less than an hour and a half. That way Perry will rightly say that I didn’t give him enough time.

The mangled line, which will now refer to my friend and me:

“. . . Because Scamps Like Us, MAYBE we were BORN to Pun . . .”

Cheers to you, Perry Sams!!

Sams Club

Subverse in fun with kitsch & sync
And Pun in hand estop & THINK. You’ll
Meet a Queen & she will dub U
Sir Thickwicket so save your stub

2021 0724 manny

My friend Manuel Paul Arenas, whom the poets of the Valley of the Sun call Manny, with his poetry and fiction tills many of the same fields as H. P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, Clark Ashton Smith, and, last but first, Shirley Jackson. Manny’s work may be found in Spectral Realms and other…ah…spectral realms.

He is a soft-spoken and gracious man with a good, however dark, soul, and I am lucky indeed to call him Friend. When I texted him about doing this acrostic, I told Manny it might be fun to substitute “Pall” for his middle name. He texted back “Sure,” but I think he was being too nice to object. I ditched the idea, partly because there is a real apostolic quality to Manny. His Facebook video recitations have a velvety-voiced quality of arcane proselytization.

Manuel Paul Arenas

My friend explores an Area
Across the Primal barrier
Necropolyptal mise en scène
Undoes accursive Lion’s Den
Endearing ghoulish Shangri-La
Lets serve a plate of moist foie gras

2021 0705 tonal range

tonal range

torch’s blaze to darkest char
oleo to chop-fraught sea
new-paint-glisten on a barn
amateur but p.f.g
let the graphite SMILE & be

“P.F.G. stands for Pretty Good. 🙂 And the original meaning of Amateur is someone who does something for the sheer love of doing it. I love to draw.

2021 0622 icad2021 threefer

For those not in the know, “threefer” is American slang for “three for one.” It is also Gary slang for “triptych.” 🙂

The leftmost card features four similar-sounding words, with an attempt to visually make metaphors of the words. So “deifying” has a celestial tang; “defying” emphasizes the “fy” in the middle, which could well stand for “fuck you;” “DEAFENING” has a huge first syllable, which diminishes the “sound” of the last two syllables; and “defining” has the look of an entry in a dictionary, wherein one may find definitions. Not only does doing this feed my Poetry Beast, it is also a tip of the hat to one of my grade-school art teachers, Mrs. Johnson, who once had us think of a word we could demonstrate, e.g. make the letters of the word TALL tall, grow some hair on the word FUZZY, and so forth.

The middle card has a mesmerized mathematician at upper right, a pole dancer up the pole at center stage, and a festoonment of math symbology and equation fragments throughout. “What the Mathematician Saw at the Strip Club.” This is loosely inspired by Nobel-Prizewinning physicist Richard Feynman’s recollections of his strip-joint experiences, as published in Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! Adventures of a Curious Character. But my drawn mathematician does not bear any resemblance to Dr. Feynman, because his character is quite different, being enamored of the dancer and imagining what the possibilities of Booty were as She [dancer] approaches Me [mathematician]. A bit of combinatorial meandering, mixing playfulness and pathos.

The rightmost card is a drawing of an earthmover that illustrates my double-acrostic poem “Earth Mover.” I do so love the look and dynamics of these mechanized beasts, and do so hate the effect they have on animal habitats. My special Jiminy Cricket in these matters is American/British actress Beth Porter, whom many of you may have seen in the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. Beth once gave me a stern lecture of the effect of the palm-oil industry on the habitat of orangutans. And she was absolutely right to do so. “Earth Mover” is dedicated to Beth, with gratitude for making me more mindful.

Earth Mover

Engaging Soil to build a dream
Entrepreneurs may break a seam

Anticipating GO/NO-GO
Are machinations to & fro

Reverse & forward brake & rev
Reraise relower D r o p & Lev

The ground resists is indiscrete
Then Horsepower makes a dig complete

Here rises dwelling-place provider
Here falls the Habitat abider

2021 0526 grim repo

Stick around long enough on this slowly-twirling bonbon of a Planet and you’ll get little hints that the Fates want to keep you from overstaying your welcome. Your body begins to betray you, sprouting skin tags and inappropriate hair, gifting you with gout flareups and tooth tragedies, scaring the stuffing out of you with odd sensations in the chest, or the lungs, or the throat. Can’t you take a hint? Time to go.

But, Friends, it is not time to go. Not for me, and I suspect not for you either. Some of us have unfinished business, and that business includes the fulfillment of long-held dreams. It also includes betterment. What kind of difference might we make, in the time we have left? Whose days might me lighten? Which causes are the most worthy of our contributions financial, advocative, or immersive?

Today I went shopping, at Arizona Art Supply and the supermarket Fry’s. I had a less cluttered version of the page above with me. I was especially keen to get an electric eraser, being frustrated with the limitations and ineffectiveness of the erasers I have. A demo online showed a little jackhammer of a thing making precise, superclean erasures. Want!!!

Got!! And now I hope my images will enjoy a crispness many of them have lacked. I mean–look at the page above. Don’t feel bad if you think it’s ugly. It makes its metaphorical point with overlay and Breughel-like misdirection, but damn. The next one better be easy on the eyes, and a joy to behold.

Inventory: there is a grocery list for an art supply store and a grocery store. Art supply items: big paper (got some Stonehenge White 30″ x 40″, three sheets, $7.21 per sheet, and a 99-cent bargain basement whocares practice sheet, 20″ x 30″), electric eraser ( they had three; I got the most expensive one, Sakura’s SumoGrip, $41 and change), scratchboard (didn’t get) and plaster/resin (got modeling clay instead). Grocery items: St. Pell (San Pellegrino, my favorite sparking water; got two glass-bottle bottles at an outrageous $1.99 each, just to tide me over till I get another case), dental floss (got the Glide, two kinds; my personal superstition says that if I ever run out of dental floss, the Universe will punish me severely), bus pass (31-Day Reduced fare because I’m over 65 years old, a STEAL at $32!!), and “old people vitamins” (didn’t get; decided to wait till I used up the ones I had, even though they have probably lost some of their potency).

Lists like these are death-defying. They tell the Fates that the listmaker has better things to do than die. And realizing that fact, as I held the list, the notion of making the list a part of a death-defying image took hold. So, Inventory (cont.): an ominous hooded figure with scythe is saying “Time’s UP, Bud.” Defiant not-THAT-old Gary holds up a “You Shall Not Pass” left palm, balls the right hand into a fist, and says “Get lost. My number’s NOT up–I CHANGED it.”

Inventory, concluded: The double acrostic “grim repo.” Defiant signature beneath

grim repo

go black camel to the rear
rise and trot off far from here
in the prime immortal soup
my bird bathes–so toodle-oo

Defiantly,

G Bowers
26 May 2021

Trivia note: the Black Camel is a symbol of death in some cultures. When it kneels in front of your tent, it is your time.

This has been a time of loss, and many we’ve lost managed to reach the century mark. Lawrence Ferlinghetti was one of them. He was a dreaming visionary, and one of my heroes. I will strive to live at least as long and as dreamily as he did.

2021 0525 well well well

I am going to repeat myself. It is not only a consequence of being a man in his mid-60s who has said so much he is losing track, but it is also a reflection of the Zeitgeist, the Spirit of the Times, wherein indoctrination all over the belief spectrum involves repetition. Say something enough times and it becomes part of you. (Aldous Huxley described a process called “hypnopaedia” in his Brave New World, imagining that the World Controllers would have their citizens listen in their sleep to things the Controllers wanted their citizens to believe, like “Ending is better than mending” because it increases consumption and helps the economy thrive. But hey, if you search my blog posts for Huxley references you’ll find I’ve mentioned that already. I am repeating myself.)

I’ll also repeat a riff I made long ago, cheerfully ripping off Walt Whitman. He said something like “Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes.” Now, as long before, I say, “Do I repeat myself? Very well then, I repeat myself. I am redundant. I contain backup systems.”

I’m not EXACTLY repeating myself, though. Time is too precious for me to hunt down the original thing I said. And the flaw I found in my favorite book in the Bible, the Book of Ecclesiastes, is a slightly different flaw from the one I’m looking at now. The flaw, then as now, may be found in Ecclesiastes Chapter One, Verse Nine, which–surprise!–is about repetition. One translation: “All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again, there is nothing new under the sun.” The flaw I found long ago was in the last phrase, “there is nothing new under the sun.” The flaw is describing Earth and its repetitive travails as being UNDER the sun. We are NOT under the sun. We are OVER the sun. When we drop something into a well it goes DOWN into the well, not UP. And the Sun is at the bottom of our local gravity well.

The other flaw in Ecclesiastes 1:9 is that of COURSE there are new things. Humans did such a thorough job of changing the environmental mix that we now have much more strontium-90 in our skeletons than we did a hundred years ago, and all kinds of nasty stuff in our fat cells. Communication is now nearly instantaneous for almost all of us: I write this at 9:29 PM, Mountain Standard Time, on Tuesday, 25 May 2021. As quickly as five seconds after I post it I will probably see that someone, somewhere on Earth, has seen it. And that instant communication is changing the course of world history.

My triple acrostic is a repetition of the word “well.” But one of the delights of my native English language is that “well’ means many more than three things. My eyes well up just thinking about the possibilities. Also reminiscing: I once conceived a character named Aloe Vera Welling-Goode, which is a bad pun of “All very well and good.”

I’m slightly sorry that my image is too chaotic for the viewer to easily read the acrostic. My sorriness is alloyed by the delight that its chaoticism (is that a new word? sounds like Catechism, doesn’t it?) may be viewed (watch that definition there!) as a metaphor for four fir fore the way the Universe ACTUALLY is shaped, as opposed to the way it’s SUPPOSED to be shaped–symmetrically pristine–and smart-aleck scientists are still grappling with the Actual. (“Smart-aleck scientists” is not my actual view of scientists, but an echo of intellectual thuggery as can be found in alt-right propaganda. I repeat their view satirically.)

Here is a much easier to read version of the acrostic:

well well well

when the warp and weft of flow
elongate a startled doe
lenses singular/sensational
loose their bedlams gravitational

The words are easy to read, but what do they mean? By “warp and weft of flow” I meant that aspect of Space/Time we call Gravity, which knits the All together, and the Altogether, and the Alto–get her on YouTube; she’s fantastic! As for that poor doe, she has strayed too close to a Black Hole and its gravitational force is so different from her nose to her hindquarters that she is being stretched like taffy. Thank Goodness, and Wellness, that she doesn’t exist! As for Lenses, Singularities and Sensations, they all also relate to Gravity. And “bedlam” is contractual of both Bethlehem and Craziness.

I wish you well, Friends. I also wish you well. Well…

2021 0520 master class

Rather, what this is is a PARODY of those Master Class things so heavily advertised on the Internet. People with more money than they know what to do with are getting yet more of that money by doing an instructional video of their area of expertise. Writers Neil Gaiman, David Baldacci, Margaret Atwood and Joyce Carol Oates are in on it. Three of them have my utmost respect, and one of them has my grudging admiration. (I leave it to the reader to guess Who’s Who.) Steve Martin teaches Comedy. So-And-So teaches Graphic Design. Whatshername is your new instructor for Profound Obscurity.

Not that it’s not a good idea. Who wouldn’t want to learn from one of their Heroes? The entertainment value alone would be immense. And anything that may contain a Clue, that X-Factor that turns strugglers into Superstars, may well be worth looking into.

But what nags at me is something Robert Mitchum said about people going to acting schools: “It’s like trying to learn to be tall.”

Long before these Master Classes came to be, Stephen King gave us Stephen King on Writing. It received well-deserved praise for its wisdom, and my own approbation for King’s sharing of the nuts and bolts of becoming good at a craft. He went into detail about his rejections, his slow acquisition of savvy, and the REwriting process, which really separates the wannabes from the doingits. I haven’t seen any of the Master Classes of the four writers I mentioned above, but I’ve seen all of their trailers, and all of them will have some overlap with the soil that Stephen King has already plowed.

The image I’ve posted above is something I have already put, in slightly different form due to a different scan/photoedit process, on Instagram and Facebook. I advised my readers on those media that anyone who really wanted a Master Class on Acrostic Poetry need only do an Internet search on the strings “Gary Bowers” and “acrostic poetry.” When I make blog posts like this one I put tags specific to the post; this post will have the tags “Gary Bowers” and “acrostic poetry” and “Master Class” and “Stephen King on Writing.” I might throw in the celebrity names I also mentioned, but probably not. Their fans might be disappointed that they are mentioned so peripherally. But a “Gary Bowers” and “acrostic poetry” search ought to yield hundreds of examples of my work, and the examples, plus the clues I leave on the image above, should be all the Master Class from me that you’ll ever need. 🙂

2021 0519 rose and sara

My poet friend Sara J Griffin seemed to have the post-birthday blues, so via text I asked her what her favorite flower was. She told me it is the Rose. So I told her Roses Rock and I’d be back in a couple of hours, and about an hour and twenty minutes later, I sent her this, telling her the likeness didn’t do her justice, but I think I got some of her Vitality. She is quite vital, and very much a force for Creative Greatness.

Rose & Sara

Revels of random Holiness
Of Waldorf and Astoria
Secure and power a girl and Flower
Engage and transit Gloria

The last line riffs off the famous Latin saying “Sic transit gloria mundi,” which translates “Thus the Earth’s glory passes.” Roses pass through briefly, the Earth’s glory comes and goes, and Sara J Griffin is visiting us, on her way to a higher plane of existence.