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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.

This September I’m showcased at Bookman’s Entertainment Exchange, and on September 29, 2 to 3 PM, I will be there at a Meet the Artist event, making free sketches and doing a demo on acrostic poetry creation. My last work day at Matt’s Big Breakfast/Airport is the day after tomorrow. The good feeling I have now is captured in the 11th line of Shakespeare’s Sonnet XXIX: “Like to the lark at break of day arising…” Hope you are equally, Friends.

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 0703 quoth the scarecrow

This page began in May, and I dinked with it and dabbed at it till today, when a little voice said, “You haven’t published anything on your blog in July, and it’s July 3rd. Now or never, dude.”

It’s mostly an idea: Write a bit of narrative and embed in it the opening lines from “If I Only Had a Brain,” in the film version of The Wizard of Oz. I’ll describe one motivation for doing so before we are done here. Meanwhile, here is the bit of narrative:

A quorum gathers for thematic scarification. We’ve a farce to throw: Throw on some ribeye styeaks/Pour Julep mix that slakes/No knowing what is true/Or what we might could do while the metaphorical cat’s away and we analogous mice savor the unsupervised hours

Iconic discoveries caressing us with their mmind-tickling delights

As the ideas flow some of the others convened in insulated waiting rooms, with plenty of fodder for the Truth-thirsty brain…


The embedment:

quoth the scarecrow:

i could while away the hours
conversing with the flowers
consulting with the rain…

Why did I do this? Several reasons. I wanted layering–several related things going on at once and overlapping, because that is sometimes a closer approximation to Reality than a static, one-thing-going-on illustration. I also wanted to pay tribute to the amazing lyricist, Yip Harburg, the amazing composer, Harold Arlen, and the amazing Ray Bolger, who brought Harburg and Arlen’s song to life. And I wanted to challenge myself with a word-puzzle with a high degree of difficulty.

But the BIG thing I wanted to do is a takedown on a book called The Bible Code. Published in 1997, The Bible Code is a piece of flimflam that purports to reveal hidden prophecies the the Old Testament, using equal-spaced gridding of certain texts. It was a New York Times bestseller and so was its sequel. People believed that the author was sincere, and brilliant.

But he wasn’t. He was a puzzle-creator, just as I am. He dinked with and dabbed at certain Scripture until he got certain patterns to emerge, which is exactly what I do with my acrostic poetry. And then he sold it as Cosmic Truth.

Shame on him. And shame on the people who believe not the Truth but what they want to believe. (Shame on me too. I do that. I am All Too Human to that extent.)

In the Wikipedia entry on The Bible Code, this delightful passage appears, under the heading “Criticism:” “The general construction of alleged “Bible Codes” and Drosnin’s methodology in particular have been criticised by mathematicians and others.” Bless the Mathematicians, and bless the Others, for knowing Hooey when they see it!  

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