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Today’s prompt: “Today, I’d like  to challenge you to write a poem inspired by your favorite kind of music. Try to recreate the sounds and timing of a pop ballad, a jazz improvisation, or a Bach fugue. That could mean incorporating refrains, neologisms and flights of whimsy, or repeating/inverting lines or ideas – whatever your chosen musical form would seem to require! Perhaps a good way to start is to listen to your favorite piece of music and “free-write” for the duration  of the piece, and then use what you’ve written as the building blocks for your poem.”

freewrite prep:

sometimes jackson browne is easy listening
sometimes less so despite his oiled voice
“lives in the balance” is masterfully unsettling
“sky blue and black” makes me cryabit for the loss
of my so great friend
but it is good to be uneasy
it is even good to wallow
as karen said she did
while playing beethoven’s “moonlight sonata”
which she said left her sopping
and jackson browne now sings
“if you ever need holding
you’re the hidden cost and the things that’s lost
in everything I do
YEAHHHH, and i’ll never stop looking for you…
that’s the way love is”

and the way love also is
is quicklikeabunny goneinaminute
when it’s at its best….

****

Geez Louise, did that open up a vein. All right, then, let us begin.

Uneasy Listening

In the course of one day
The mix tape may lull
and then excite
and then inspire
NEED A SKETCHPAD A PENCIL crankcrankcrank

and then the music fades without loss of volume
Because focus Because otherrealm Because it does not fit
AND Then there is a bit of discontinuity
And THEN the music returns to the ear

and the sequence is off
and the mood Doesn’t match
Through no fault of the performer
nor the receiver/it’s just a jump cut/that’s life

find McCartney/Lennon/Billy Preston/georingo

GET BACK
GET BACK
GET BACK twear youonce blongd

twiddle that dial
no–Why So Sirius?
Seek The Specific
Heal The Unease
find Jackson Browne
and let him sing for both of you:

I’M
ALIVE

And then get centered with Mitchell, Joni
with the roundabout
cyclic delight
“The Circle Game”

Gooooood…

And then Prine
Lost-But-Not John
“When I Get To Heaven”

smoke em if ya got em John
we love you
have a Vodka Ginger Ale for me

Ease
Restored….

1520963737479132841699

Prefatory note: I’ve just been through a breakup. No fault is assigned. I posted about the breakup on Facebook, and dozens of friends offered support and kind words. “Make a clean break,” said felinophile and caring friend Sandra. “Turn your angst into art,” said superbly talented, recent-award-winning artist, and dear friend since high school, Beth. “Make art your key love,” said sweet-natured sculptress supreme Deborah. And so this blog post comes to be.

The poem below partakes of several relationships I’ve had but tries not to be specific about who did what to whom, but also tries to avoid being a jumble of ambiguous mush. The three epigrams are of songs that the inner jukebox in my head has been playing in Scramble mode off and on since the breakup, three days and an eternity ago.

To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before
Who traveled in and out my door
I’m glad they came along
I dedicate this song
To all the girls I’ve loved before…

From “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before”
Lyrics and music by Hal David and Albert Hammond
Performed by Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias

YEEAAAHH…now I’m rolling down California 5
With your Laughter in my head…
GONNA HAVE TO BLOCK IT OUT somehow
To survive,
‘Cause those dreams are dead,
And I’m alive.

From “I’m Alive”
Music, lyrics and performance by Jackson Browne

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way I feel
When every Fairy Tale comes real
I’ve looked at Love that way…

But now it’s just another show
You leave ‘em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away…

I’ve looked at Love from both sides now
From Give and Take, and still somehow
It’s Love’s Illusions I recall
I really don’t know Love
At all.

From “Both Sides Now”
Music, lyrics and performance by Joni Mitchell

Collapse of a relationship! Clench fists hang head and sob
Concoct an explanation for the heart that lost its throb
Could be that there was too much scorn upon the daily cob

Lost hope and lost respect will lose the grip of what’s held dear
Loose talk and snarky attitudes make closeness disappear
Left unattended, intimacy withers, it is clear

Entanglements then trip the feet a home becomes a cage
Enlightenment occurs to one or both to disengage

And fancy explanations all add up to Just Don’t Wanna
And then the nearness stifles like an overheated sauna

Now come finalities and benedictions–one last look
New possibilities are on the next page of the book

20170821_131258

Today Greater Phoenix became the Valley of the Partially Eclipsed Sun. I poked a pencil-hole in a sketchbook page and viewed the eclipse indirectly, sketching the nonshadowed part of the page. The time was 10:38 AM, which according to an online source was close to the ideal viewing time.

After calligraphing the double acrostic, which seems sexist but is double-straitjacketed by the acrostic format and my notion of Calypso-esque lyrics, I had the left third of the page to fill. It occurred to me that the Jackson Browne song “Linda Paloma” refers to the corona of the Sun, which is viewable at totality sometimes. This yielded the image-notion of a white dove against the disk of moonshadow.

Words to the acrostic:

Erin go braless all to C

Cali go kitnish at high tea

Lolly go pop! at sound of bell

Iris go eyeroll and send us to hell

Please pretty Ladies I love you–don’t stop

Send me to heaven and then call the cops

Ever so often effacement will go/Wit’ an eclipse and Calypso like so

image (6)

Here is the “final” version of “buster browne,” my acrostic homage to Jackson Browne. I put “final” in quotes because I had intended to make this an oil pastel, and I may yet, when I am sure I will not ruin it. I refer you to Part 1 for a clue as to how shaky my proficiency with oil pastel is. This drawing has nuances that I cannot yet transcribe into that more difficult medium; but I see nothing wrong with glorious black and white, for now.

The title/acrostic is “buster browne” both for the irony of the reference to the shoe spokesboy Buster Brown and for my admiration for certain of Browne’s songs, in particular “Lives in the Balance,” wherein he calls to account (busts) the Reagan Administration and its shenanigans in Central America. “Lives in the Balance” is equally applicable to other misdeeds worldwide, with passages like this:

In the radio talk shows and TV
You hear one thing again and again
How the USA stands for Freedom
And we come to the aid of a friend.
But who are the ones that we call our friends?
These governments killing their own?
Or the people who find they can’t take any more
And they pick up a gun
Or a brick
Or a stone . . .

Browne is deservedly in the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame. He has solid songs in each of five consecutive decades. A year ago January I recited “For a Dancer” in its entirety, from memory, at a poetry event after the death of my beloved friend Karen Wilkinson. Here is its finish:

Keep a fire for the human race
Let your prayers go drifting into space
You never know what will be coming round . . .
Perhaps a better world is drawing near
Just as easily it could all disappear
Along with whatever meaning we may have found . . .
Don’t let the uncertainly turn you around–

( The world keeps turning round and round)

Go on and make a joyful sound!

Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown;
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own,
And some time between
The time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive,
But you’ll never know . . .

Browne could be a bit of a rascal, too, with sexual innuendo. Try on his song “Red Neck Friend” and see where it gets you. And his song “Rosie,” about a sound man who lost a girl to the drummer of the band, has this chorus:

But, Rosie, you’re all right (you wear my ring)
When you hold me tight (Rosie, that’s my thing)
When you turn off the light (I got to hand it to me . . .)
Looks like it’s me and you again tonight,
Rosie.

And that is why in my drawing, in the background sub-portrait, I have Jackson Browne sporting a halo that also puts bunny ears, or devil’s horns, on him.

Here are the words, which refer to his songs “The Pretender,” “Walking Slow,” “For Everyman,” and “Running on Empty.”

buster browne

bitterness of brew and herb
urgency!!! dissolve and stir
some pretender? we dunno
though he takes his walking slow
every man ought say it plain
runs on empty keep us sane

*****

image (7)

Here is a rough cut of the illustrated version of my poem “come love me.” In Part 2 I intend to have a less sketchy illustration and a more calligraphic transcription, and I am also thinking of writing variations and additional stanzas. But as of now the words are these:

come love me

come love me said the blinking text
come play with fire come share my bed
we will disrobe and do what’s next
with no regrets and nothing said

come love me he replied at last
we’ll dine on scones & tea & such
our eyes will meet our souls hold fast
our hopes will mix our psyches touch

come love me now and bring your trust
her answer came ten minutes hence
we will be naked as we must
our lust become our testaments

come love me if you dare he wrote
we’ll shed our bodies get our bliss
we need no flesh to cross the moat
nor lips to frame the perfect kiss

an hour passed
two hours

ten

the silence s t r e t c h e d and
too
despair

they sought a love
had never been

they wanted something

was

.

not

.

.

there

image

I’ve spent the last few days in an off-and-on Jackson Browne immersion. Mostly this is due to some advice I solicited from my good friend and Confidante, Genevieve L, asking her for thematic input on my last few posts leading to Blog Post #1000. Among her many wonderful suggestions was to concentrate on a famous person.

So here we are with Clyde Jackson Browne. He has been in the American-Music Group Mind for more than 40 years. Bruce Springsteen, inducting him into the Rock&Roll Hall of Fame, referred to Browne’s landmark LATE FOR THE SKY album as “America’s Paradise Lost.”

This being Part I, I will just add that from here to #1000 I intend to splice the finished image/text of a given Part 2 to the next installment’s Part 1. The next post will be titled “BB(p2)/come love me (part 1).” My Part 2s will be polished and complete; my Part 1s will be raw and exploratory.

Back in a week or so . . .

001

One thing Clark Gable and Jackson Browne have in common is the nonuse of their first names. Wikipedia says they were born Clyde Jackson Browne and William Clark Gable. Another thing they had in common was their alleged scandalous involvement with movie stars. Mr. Browne was with Daryl Hannah and Mr. Gable was with Loretta Young. Ms. Hannah has alleged that Browne physically abused her; Ms. Young alleged that Mr. Gable fathered her child. One story has been discredited; one has not.

Both of these fellows indulged in derring-do. Jackson Browne wrote one of the greatest protest songs of the 20th Century, “Lives in the Balance.” Mr. Gable flew combat missions in WWII.

And why do I put myself in their company? Well, my hair is straight and used to be brown, like Jackson’s; my moustache is semi-sparse, like Clark’s. All three of us did some time in California. None of us is 99 and 44/100 % pure. And all three of us have had a woman close to us die before her time.

But that isn’t it. Not really. The thing is, Jackson Browne and Clark Gable both possess a quality I want. They have both been Champions, and so I wish to be. I’m not a Champion yet, but I’m encouraged by my Champion’s Training of late.

No need to wish me luck, Friends. If I have it in me to be a Champion, Luck is something I won’t need.

003

I once loved a girl, her skin it was bronze.
With the innocence of a lamb, she was gentle like a fawn.
I courted her proudly but now she is gone,
Gone as the season she’s taken.
Bob Dylan, “Ballad in Plain D”

When you see through love’s illusions, there lies the danger
And your perfect lover just looks like a perfect fool
So you go running off in search of a perfect stranger
While this loneliness seems to spring from your life
Like a fountain from a pool…
Jackson Browne, “Fountain of Sorrow”

It was a time I won’t forget
For the sorrow and regret
And the shape of a heart
And the shape of a heart
Jackson Browne, “In The Shape of a Heart”

The dance was good. Now let it end.
Roger Zelazny, “A Rose for Ecclesiastes”

I did love a girl. Her skin it was bronze, especially when she sunned. On June 14, 1971, I fell for her hard. In January of 1979 I left her. In August of that year we went to Colorado together for a week, but things were not the same between us and would never be so again. In midsummer 1990 she called me and asked me to come see her, and I did, and it provided some closure for me, and I hope for her. In March of 1993 I did a marathon in the city where she lived (and lives), staying as a guest in her house while she stayed with her husband-to-be. I haven’t seen her since. We used to call each other on our birthdays, but we haven’t done so this century.

There’s a lot left out of the above paragraph, just as there’s a lot of detail lost in the page I scanned and selectively deresolutioned. Restored, it reveals a portrait of her very young self and a double acrostic poem based on her name. She deserves her privacy, and I need a shorter leash on my spilling-my-guts tendency. But this blog, which will be the chief trace of myself left over after my death, is intended to be holographic, and I could not leave her out of it.

COMPLETENESS

Compulsions are more easily conducted through tradition
Confusion’s quelled & then resolved if we’re all on a Mission
Of quirks and failings are we all however we may pose
Obtuse investigation lets us call a guess surmise
Machismo or our “best behavior” muffles up our cries
Micromanaged sorrow tells the news feed so it goes
Put Piggy Banking off its feed–you need a lack of plinks
Put Love and Money on whatever brings the richest thinks

So I wrote in late March of 2010. Neil Armstrong was still alive and smiling, Philip Seymour Hoffman was still alive and performing, and Marty Stoneman was still alive and theorizing. Now two of them are gone, and the third is going: I saw Marty last Saturday but he was never conscious enough to converse. His breathing was a little shallow, but steady. His head was at an angle that seemed odd and uncomfortable, but his spine has been collapsing for years. His flesh was suffused with the color of jaundice, as if some chef had added saffron to the mix. My first sight of him prostrate on the bed gave me a flash of Michelangelo’s “Moses”: that heroic head, stricken with tragic necessity.

With my words came an image that revealed the triple acrostic COMP LETE NESS. Looking at the image today, I realized that it itself was incomplete. I added more words, in the form of a pseudo-haiku:

..,say, One-Small-Stepper:
did you, when you passed away,
make that Giant Leap?

This to me is the “overwhelming question” referred to by T.S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock. And by Jackson Browne, thus, in “For a Dancer”:

I don’t know what happens when people die
Can’t seem to grasp it as hard as I try
It’s like a song I can hear playing right in my ear
That I can’t sing…

I also enhanced the image somewhat, with Ticonderoga #2 pencil, and eraser, and paper stump. But it STILL isn’t complete; so my second signature on the page has “completed” in quotation marks.

002

My mother tells me that Marty was saying “I’m done” over and over again in the last couple of weeks, and that despite a lifetime of nonchalance about the prospect of dying, he has become fearful. I weep and mourn for him. He is still fighting, but he will lose soon.

Jackson Browne finished his song this way:

“…and somewhere between the time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie the reason you were alive–but you’ll never know.”

Image

You’ll find the circumflex right above the 6 on your keyboard. By itself, it’s called a caret. I mention that only because in posting, entertaining, or teaching, getting your point across is often due to a good mix of caret and schtick.

(Sorry…)

The circumflex is used in French for words that used to have an S. Thus forêt means Forest. The Latin words circum (around) and flectere (to bend) mashed up to make circumflexus. This made me think of Dance, which is a lot of bending around, and also the life-journey step of turning a corner. Thus my image is of an introspective dancer. The Jackson Browne song works with her well.

Here are the words:

Chuckleheads deride & scoff
In their forêt of felafel
Ridicule a Dance de Luxe
Cacophonic at its crux
Understatement will cohere
May observers stand & cheer

Image

“I’m gonna tell on you” is one of the oldest tropes in the history of sibling interpersonal dynamics. Given sufficient maturity a civilized human being sheds this tendency. But in the world of hegemonic power-lust, withheld-for-profit revelation is very much alive and well.

My hero Kurt Vonnegut, long before he became world-famous, wrote a classic science fiction story entitled “The Report on the Barnhouse Effect.” In it he imagined Professor Barnhouse, a man of conscience becoming more and more psychically powerful through accidental discovery of the key to Mind Over Matter. Soon he attracted the interest of the American military, who wanted him to use his power to destroy enemy weaponry, and to inflict domestic weaponry on the enemy. Professor Barnhouse humbly asked if it wouldn’t be better to solve the causes of conflict, for instance moving cloud masses to relieve drought. He was told he was being naive. Soon after, seeing the handwriting on the wall, Barnhouse escaped military jurisdiction and hid out, destroying ALL Weaponry when and as it was revealed to him. What followed was called “The War of the Tattletales.”

I won’t be a tattletale and reveal what happened next, but it is one humdinger of a good story and I urge you to read it.

J. Edgar Hoover was tattled on in a book by Fred J. Cook entitled The FBI Nobody Knows. When Rex Stout, creator of Nero Wolfe, read it, he was so impressed and outraged that he wrote what for my money was the best of his stories, The Doorbell Rang, which had Nero Wolfe defying the FBI in the pursuit of the greater public good, not to mention the mystery he had to solve.

J. Edgar Hoover needed tattling on. He abused his power shamelessly.

Here are the words to the acrostic:

Jury’s been out since Ham & Shem
Eavesdrop/know stuff/aye: dilemma
How & when to reveal/demean
Out in the open & onto the scene
Otherland voices revealing un peu
Voltage delivered sans call from the Guv
Ever-electrical verdicts to share
Rosenbergs roasted in long underwear

Historical note: Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were executed for passing secrets involving the atomic bomb to the Soviet Union. The FBI was instrumental in their conviction and execution. What is particularly interesting is who was, and who wasn’t, executed. Should Ethel have been electrocuted? Shouldn’t her brother, David Greenglass, have been executed? And what about Gold and Fuchs?

“Lives in the Balance” was written in the mid-Eighties by Jackson Browne, protesting Ronald Reagan’s war crimes in Central America. It is for my money one of the best protest songs of all time, applicable to a multitude of American improprieties involving administrations across the political spectrum. And, tragically, “Lives in the Balance” does not and has not amounted to a hill of beans as far as Saving the World goes. But, Jackson, you had to try, and your “Lives in the Balance” earns my admiration.