Improvijazzation Nation, issue # 33
There have always been “supporters” for this ‘zine, many of them musicians… but the most frequent purchasers have been those who write and submit (sometimes tomes of) material for publication. I’ve thought (for quite some time, actually) about running an issue that provides more focus on this valuable area. Some musicians express the opinion that poetry isn’t a part of their “scheme” of things. How difficult I find THAT TO HANDLE!
Spoken word HAS to have been among the first art-forms existing on this ball of mud. The rhythms that eventually translated into instruments can only be viewed (to this jaded ear, anyway) as EXTENSIONS of the voice. The expression of visual imagery through spoken word is an art unto itself, I believe… how much more wonderful it becomes when it’s COMBINED with a chorus of instrumental voices!
That’s why you’ll find the highlight of this issue being (many of) the poets who have faithfully sent things our way for consideration over the last 10 years… “gourd, ‘as it BEEN that long?”, sez’ da’ Zzaj. I won’t try and “explain” the intricacies of each piece, but contact addresses (many of which are still good) are listed for each person published… get in TOUCH with them!
Rotcod Zzaj
THE STICKS IN THE NEST WERE BEAUTIFULLY WOVEN
The season is half over
it covers the cats with sun
a quirk of imagination escapes covertly
fingering keys for admission
as the clock starts Mingus makes his move
too many years of submission
fingering for something versatile
the conglomeration of mixed animal sounds
or fireworks viewed six flights-up
punched into a trap you refuse to leave
only relief is on the maps of squealing
instruments like suffocated
sounds from gloved lips.
Joan Payne Kincaid
132 Dubois Avenue
Sea Cliff, NY 11579
The deal
You can tell the habits of men who never listen
They close all the doors in the faces
Of what you might have had to say
This is no exaggeration
They smell of silence
And neglect
Habits hermit shell them
Eggs globe hard boiled
Between thumb and pointer
Eggs globe what will
Never crack out from within
To out hibernate those habits
We formless form no exalted exit
For no exalted exile
Here for the duration
We work with what we have
Tools traded for instruments
Guitars for songs
Jonathan Levant
24 Gunckel Ave
Dayton, OH 45410
PROMENADE
Light loosened across the lake
traps the eye.
The water wrinkles in the wind
fluffs along the edges
and taps the air like a hidden drum.
Trees nest their leaves above the shore.
The stars, resting in a somber bed
attend the moon
which somewhere distant, like a clock
hangs quietly.
In the cylinder precinct of the lake
the walls of trees
dark rises up to meet the sky
where it evanesces
into the gleam and glint of space.
There it dwells in awesome quiet
A lovely cover for our walk together.
David Napolin
125 Colonial Avenue
Williston Park, NY 11596
Mulberries and Milkweed
The taste of sweet wine
Lingers in my mouth,
lingers like the taste
of you. You are mulberries
and milkweed, rolling like
thunder beneath my soft eiderdown.
We met on the street
that day you wore a green
carnation behind your ear.
I wanted to sniff it.
I have secrets and secret places.
I open myself like a perfectly
Symmetrical clam shell and
allow you in.
Barbara Cooper
POB 185
Auburn, MI 48611
bomb
trashcan mailbomb Alabama Churches
uno-uni-unabomber
miltibombers more subtlesubversive
with ultimate destruction.
Bombardiers, they are-
Bomblasting with news that is definitionally
Important, but idealistically worthless.
Bombardiers, they are-
Their fragmentary device is the maimed claim
That de-fusion of the nuclear family
Will destroy society. Justlook at Japan.
Elder-respect and geisha girl
Equals high-productivity.
Bomardiers, they are-
Laying waste with the American Church
Jan Bryan
30 N. Brainard
Napierville, IL 60566
Hovering Like Stars
His fingers
trace worlds across my back
in the oldest half-light
of an autumn dawn.
Burning like heat
safely contained in glass.
A gift
From my private saint.
To lock me inside
a smile
that will never be lost.
On his lips.
Amy Jo Huffman
2507 Mercer West-Middlesex Rd
West Middlesex, PA 16159
I’M DOING MUCH BETTER HE SAID BEFORE AND THEN,TWO WEEKS LATER, ON CHRISTMAS, GO ON, IT’S OVER FOR ME.
his room a clot
of ice, color-
less as scar
tissue where
something was
cut away. “Do
you know how
much I love
having you in
class?” dissolves
with his grin
at each new color
of Rachel’s lips.
“Ballet isn’t
life.” But when
the government
said no teaching,
he started getting
paler. They took
Medicaid away,
Anyway. “Don’t get
To the next position
Too soon and just
Hang out there,
“he said as he
rushed and
froze to
his last
Lyn Lifshin
2719 Baronhurst Drive
Vienna, Virginia 22181
I painted a picture once
Of ships, nude women and semen.
A very seductive painting.
So I had to paint it blind
because my virgin eyes
couldn’t bear to see the lust
it portrayed.
Even though my imagination told
what there was to see.
Michaelangelo would be ashamed.
So would Raphael,
Donatello,
Oh, and most likely, Leonardo.
Probably because I can’t paint their friendly ideas.
Brad Henz
30 North Brainard
POB 3063
Naperville, Illinois 60566-7063
Weather Emotgion of Spring Equinox
Rain has subsided
Storm clouds suddenly diminish from view
Sun begins to take over
What was once a gloom filled misery of discontent
Now a joyous
celebration of peace throughout the land
nature springs into place according
to plan
sky becomes a deeper shade of blue
flowers bloom
leaves decorate branches once again
in accordance to all of this
my love for her is enhanced
erasing all the depression and anxiety
filling what was once my internal hollowness.
Chris Baum
22674 Hartley Rd.
Alliance, OH 44601
The people and their crazy ways
Look at me in my staid phase.
Hob nob-nobbin’ ‘mong the weirder crew,
Looks me for normalcy in this strange brew.
Straight straights in clean pants,
Wonders me why we choose these ways.
Doing crazy time in stuffed boxes,
Swears me I’m the only one sane.
David Sloves
1528 Haight St
San Francisco, CA 94117
Esculent Soul
Somewhere – above my being –
celestial maggots dine on hope and milk the stars for gold
Violent pauses in existence
feed hungryworms – feed empty minds
A death more painful – meaningful –
than the visit we call our life –
Slowly being chewed away by
eager teeth – by eager lies – crunching bones as they go
In the above, far atop this untruth,
sleeps a meaning far deeper than insect-eaten deceit –
Constantly draining the riches
from one last light – and pushing the chair from the table.
Shane Birdsill
POB 134
Bozeman, MT 59771-0134
A Pessimist’s Logic
The man who once grew roses
now raises thorns instead
Those remain forever,
Whereas the flowers will soon be dead.
Shane Birdsill
POB 134
Bozeman, MT 59771-0134
My life
Fear
No words
just pages
alone to be read
no explanations needed
no excuses said
Just a book never opened
nor heard of but read
“I could’ve, I should’ve
but didn’t is all
it says
Mike J. Svec
1123 Caroline
Port Angeles, WA 98362
WHITE DEATH
White is the color of death.
Grinning skulls, bleached bones,
even weathered tombstones
shimmer with a pale Goblin-light glitter
of white.
It has been said that fear will give you
an ashen face and snow-white hair.
Meanwhile, Death just grins in the pale shadows,
wrapping himself in the faded cobwebs
until he is completely enshrouded
in white…
D.L. Harris
Rt 4, Box 70-B
Marion, VA 24354
In Memory Of
The sound of dancing fingers
upon strings, silver and gold
only echo empty chambers
with the ghosts of yesterday.
Left with only memories
We will cling to the façade
Of the smiling magic man,
The mortal magic man.
Stephen R. Reed
58 Mapleton St
Brighton, MA 02135
some will strongly dispute this
one good Chet Baker session
is worth more
than the whole tired beat scene
John Levin
331A Harvard St #6
Cambridge, MA 02139
Unit Without
pant
him
timely
28.8
explore
hit
hard
crash
Software
girl
his
sacrifice
micro
Valory Banister
POB 1591
Upland, CA 91785
Use
breath
give
Re
frame
the
trip
Valory Banister
POB 1591
Upland, CA 91785
CABIN FEVER
Too much
depends
upon
a T.V. set
turned on
in the winter.
Joseph Susick
7012 Springhouse Lane
Columbus, OH 43229
Flatware Fandango
Forks and spoons
samba
in the soapy cycle,
so,
it’s no wonder why
tines
tingle
when the dry
dancing
ceases.
Stephen Kopel
187 Beaver
San Francisco, CA 94114
SLEDDING ON THE BAY
In wake of blizzard a feeling of being
raked in drifts snow blind
snow ball
snow geese
like leaves
singing sentimental parades
paradoxical paradigm
the old puffy-fluff-feel
evolves its blitzkrieg.
teats of shadow like velvet leaves
lie in light that wants to seem perfect.
parturition ovulates blades
nibble love in violent crystals
trapped under harbor ice
last weak aura of meal rapport
of rope rappel
souza or something pomp in summer’s
neurotic rudely zipping-up
sunrise slashes pale violet
thigh-sinking sigh azure foreplay
lashed to sleds of hazzard
hard rudder’s pale feel.
Joan Payne Kincaid
132 Dubois Avenue
Sea Cliff, NY 11579
CLAIM-TO-FAME SINGER
the aura of lyrical Laura lingers
queening up the otherwise-doldrumed day
I say feel it, climb it to the attic
of your inner space
like a muscled full-merryground moon
winking spray off midnight waterfalls
heavy she’s got off her vocal rainbow
all funkrock rivulets publicity suspended
“full to bursting I am too
how about you?”
feel supreme to the opening riptheme
basic peppering bass
beatnotes and cruising professional hop
telepathy’s readouts, up the wild eyes
of the masses, living it high
way into the 40-top crest
of my head far like
altogether…
Jim Dewitt
2526 Chatham Woods
Grand Rapids, MI 49546
VITALE-LESS
Vitale-less, not Vitalis.
Imagine a world
where Diaper Dandies grow up to be men.
Where players, not coaches,
Get camera-time kudos.
Where Robert Montgomery Knight
is exposed as a brute and a bully.
Where Dipsy-doo Dunkeroos are simple
slam-jam, thank-you-ma’ams.
Where self-promo shrills are deep-sixed
for simple three-pointers.
Where PTPers are confused
with the PCPers of the drug culture.
Your shtick, Dick, grates on my nerves—
and my ears.
Remember, despite your hairless hysterics,
And motor-mouthed mayhem,
Basketball is just a game.
That’s awsome, baby! Awesome.
Mike Catalano
2026 Mt Meigs Rd #2
Montgomery, AL 36107
sighting
light leaving grandfatherly
eyes
looks downward
casting glances
cautiously
awaiting bus
at 3rd & vermont
hat pulled low over
whisping white hair
shredded by stale breeze
blowing
earth’s crust
walks forward
toward trashed out deli
old man
father time winning race
bearing withered sign
crying out
“please don’t shoot me”
Scott C. Holstad,
POB 17657
Beverly Hills, CA 90209-3657
the aging lady painter
the saggy skin of her neck
had deeply drawin in lines
like a necklace had been tatooed in
or was it a noose
strangling her slowly but persistently
through the course of time
her nose was dripping into her mouth
she never had it hacked off
to prove that she was demure
with a little model/baby-pig
like snout the kind that smells
the rich distinguished men
with money out
no she was something real
really unique
not pretty at all
pretty ugly to me
still her gray hairs were like tinsel
sparkling brightly in the sun
leaping out from her black
licorice braids
Laurie Calhoun
470 Third St South, #609
St Petersburg, FL 33701
spectacle
at Hindemith’s centennial
I recall the Times film critic
who sent me to the Mann’s Chinese
to see Mel Gibson sucking yogurt
C. Mulrooney
150 N. Catalina St. #2
Los Angeles, CA 90004
DANCE INTERIOR 12
Delight
falls in the body.
Truth dows not pull
so many muscles.
Don’t fear,
moments quickly sunk
consolidate.
Her criticism left eyelashes
hard and unstable.
The body’s spirals
unwrinkle in a closet.
I want a dance
where loneliness vanishes
and hope falls
where distinction
crumbles.
Nathan Whiting
POB 150649
Brooklyn, NY 11215-0649
I Dreamed
they tossed
my ass
out of Arby’s
just for sitting
there eating
a ham sub
(“hold the mayo
or whatever
else you like”)
I’d bought next
door at the up-
scale deli
you work at
…not
due to any
store policy
but because
they were all
jealous
that you’d made
it
Pete Lee
721 S. Allen
Ridgecrest, CA 93555
PLEZIR
These pleasures now seem trivial
I speak of salty days
of boys and girls walking away
from The Merry Widow Waltz
and into the starlight.
We shared our goldfish
and strawberies in the yard
and our little idiosyncrasies
now only a memory.
We meet again Vanessa
in the revelation of spring
and you know my secret ways
the ways of the panther
and of the shadow that seeks the dawn.
These pleasures are not dead
though we have died a thousand times
together and alone
in the cold morning mist
when all the angels tread about us
in an ineptitude.
George Gott
504 N. 19th St
Superior, WI 54880
SUNDAY
across the way
a woman’s
maniacal laugh
said
I’m injured
forever
but here’s
what a good sport
I can be
Walt Phillips
4291 Monroe #117
Riverside, CA 92504
NO UNECESSARY WORDS
Clouds press down
On the lips’reed
in rows of too many drivers
trying not to remember last night
a wet drunk and a dry
slide next to me
empty rising view
Chinese scroll unroll hills
mist, small villages
dreadfully dressed in boredom
and absolutely no where.
They line up harmonies in
the grass parks where they press
complacency and repeat signs
near the beginning or the end
a shrew shreiks “Stop talking!”
Too many musicians
too many mouths to satisfy.
Joan Payne Kincaid
132 Dubois Ave
Sea Cliff, NY 11579
Janet Leigh
her of the astrodynamic breasts
and the seething wit
ivory poaching
twice I’ve told your head today
it’s my game now we’ve come to play
C. Mulrooney
150 N. Catalina St
Los Angeles, CA 90004
Traces of Collective Guilt
There is blood in every window
And a rope around her neck.
Still the desire
to dance
in oiled black
burns her skin.
Until her eyes melt
silver.
And split the shackles
dripping from her wrists.
Amy Jo Huffman
2507 Mercer-West Middlesex Road
West Middlesex, PA 16159
Delicious Feast
We’ll cuddle. We’ll curl like two spoons.
Maybe we’ll talk about food – you’ll whisper
in my ear “lobster thermidor, chicken cordon
bleu, baked alaska.”You’ll whisper “chocolate
covered cherries,”and I’ll giggle deliciously
and wrap my legs around you. I’ll curl the hair
on your back with my little finger, and say
“crab legs with drawn butter, moussaka,
stuffed grape leaves.” You’ll shudder
with pleasure and massage my back, telling me
of trout almondine and escargot.
Finally, you’ll say to me “my little cocktail
onion, my pimento,”and we’ll roll under the
eiderdown all night, feasting at the delicious
meals of ourselves until fully satisfied.
Barbara Cooper
POB 185
Auburn, MI 48611
bomb
trashcan mailbomb Alabama Churches
uno-uni-unabomber
multibombers more subtlesubservsive
with ultimate destruction
bombardiers, they are –
bomblasting with news that is definitionally
important, but idealistically worthless.
bombardiers, they are –
their fragmentary device is the maimed claim
that de-fusion of the nuclear family
will destroy society. justlook at Japan.
elder-respect and geisha girl
equals high-productivity.
bomardiers, they are –
laying waste with the American church
Jan Bryan
30 N. Brainard
Napierville, IL 60566
TRAIN RIDE
On the bay’s edge the lamps are a long necklace
Stars are burning above
and in one hurled range
splash the sky like magnesium.
Inland from the coast the tracks swing.
Always with the gallop of wheels
and the slow repetition of hours
thought, like wind, flows with memories.
When lights dangle on the water’s edge
and the sky is a gigantic jewel
and the shore is plunged in the train’s yellow,
why, insistent stars, mus you bring her back.
David Napolin
125 Colonial Ave
Williston Pk, NY 11596-1528
three titles: ohio in the morning
the ghost of jocasta art colonus
the last of the last
I have learned silence from these pages
like puff the magic adder
venom is mixed with vision & voice
ambition so blithe and brutal
I have shut up for decades
judged unworthy so often by so many
just trespassing through
across your excruciatingly exclusive treasure
the sea is already two thirds witch’s blood
greed is the great intrinsic satisfaction
as gore to the hilt // skin to the blade
the dangerous idiot’s infection
first you risk your mask
then you risk your face
6 million Europeans
murder 6 million jews
other slaughters have other sites
Jonathan levant
24 Gunckel Ave
Dayton, OH 45410
store
only when they’re not working
are they worth a damn at all
they’re either cops putting up a front
or else they’re crooks like ditto
C. Mulrooney
150 N. Catalina St., # 2
Los Angeles, CA 90004
Remnant” The “Mump Cage”
The worst thing
Mom swore she would not
it happened
a little sister (I fight
“Rid myself a cage
A mump is an imp a DISEASE
fight back) an ugly
Swelling
the size of a two-year-old:
Why not?
like a germ the worst
I lead her alone:
the garage.
sit her
on the floor
Rigged
like a stockade
kindling; like a stockade
break out anytime
a game:
sitting inside
Virginia fatwood it’s called
which goes up in a
flash
Mary Winters
434 East 52nd St # 4E
New York, NY 10022
Ez
it’s you and me America
and the fencepost from now on
C. Mulrooney
150 N. Catalina St. #2
Los Angeles, CA 90004
Rehearsal
Standing here in front, eyes
seemingly staring, stripping
all sense of ego and destroying
the dwindling fabrics
of my once delicate comfort zone.
Speech speeding,
improper pronunciation
muttered words stutter
while sweat strands
stroll briskly down my forehead.
60 degrees becomes 115,
perspiration becomes saturation,
Air pipe tightening,
knees clacking
like the engine of my 74 Monza.
Note card number 2…
skipping to 6 out of 7,
shuffling eyes of uninterest
wander off to the side,
staring eyes of those entwined
hypnotize my make shift mind
smiles of interest…
or discontent.
If such thing as Speech Speed Police
I’d be in prison.
A five minute speech in two
Finally done.
Sitting down with cards fluttering
in my rapidly shaking hand
Whew!!
My audience pantingly looks on in discontent
barking as if to say, “is that all”
I get a bag of puppy chow and
satisfy my crowd, while thinking
of tomorrow’s speech…
will be satisfied”.
Mike Svec
1123 Caroline
Port Angeles, WA 98362
Arizona
under withering desert
sun
great white god
rules once more
NO
honor black brother
they have
equal status
what more do
they want why
don’t they just
fucking go back
to Afrika maan
it smells in here
when de sun
go down
de shit come
out
‘why
I am o
ffended
that they even
call him a
reverend’
you
know tennessee
no compare to
this shit
old rich white folk
an poor desert scum
running around with
guns
goin POP POP
let’s go
vermin hunting.
Scott C. Holstad
POB 17657
Beverly Hills, CA 90208-3657
BEEN HERE AND GONE
across the years
and miles
I hear an old blues preacher
says
devil’s got
90,000 women
sun’s almost down
got to go to bed in
the alley
I hear the old blues preacher
through the crackles
of time and
nothing ever
secured
Walt Phillips
4291 Monroe #117
Riverside, CA 92504
MIDNIGHT GALLERY
Measured steps wept silently
Feet fell, like sorrow’s tears,
So still you heard the whispers
As abandoned consciousness
Swept through the dead of night
In borrowed phantom slippers…
Through corridors illumined
With flashing moonlit thought,
Where so brightly, you could see
Your window frame of mind
Showing you the sadness
In the art of memory…
Masterpieces, in those halls
Recalled your yesterdays,
As sculptures carved by lonely times
Stood in brazen attitudes
Waiting for the reaper
To come and claim his prize…
You soon returned, awakened
Cast off the haunted cloak,
As you exposed your feeling
Fell into your lover’s arms,
And shared the sustenance
That’s kept the joy in being
Rotcod Zzaj
5308 65th Ave SE
Lacey, WA 98513
The Cave
Picutre a cave
Musty, cold and dark
As night
The hermit’s retreat;
Now look at the man
Who sits there within,
See fear in his heart
Dry him up, like a bone
Or an old witches teat…
The one who sits there
Has never come out,
No resemblance to man
Til you look at his eyes,
Seeing myriad dreams
In his horrible stare;
And know in your mind
What you feel in your soul,
No matter how dull
This hulk may appear,
The stature he shows
Is not his true size…
You ask him a question
His lips form replies,
Rapid streams
Of pollution,
Come out all at once,
His secrets have worth
And you feel you MUST know,
Who he is, where he’s been
You must see his dream,
So look back to his eyes…
Your gaze falls on pupils
So deep, chilling black,
As eyes, universal
Holde yours in a trance,
Make your will
Come off track;
As this small
Dingy ;hermit,
Pulls you into himself
And tales, grim and fearful,
Pierce your soul
Like a lance…
The pain that you see
And anger you feel,
Making you wonder
If he is someone,
You’ve known, who is real;
As fear that comes from him
Takes a hold on your mind,
You sit in his place
Your heart torn asunder,
’cause you see that the hermit
Wears YOUR lonely face…
Brave warrior, undaunted
You stand strong and firm,
Tear yourself from his eyes
With tears falling free,
Take a rest on life’s berm;
Now turn rather quickly
Sort of proud,
Look out at the sunlight
Sally forth with the news,
And no longer feel
Alone, or unwanted!
Rotcod Zzaj
5308 65th Ave SE
Lacey, WA 98513
A Bunch of the married
women in the office
have a bet going
among them as to
who can set ue up
with a future
wife by Easter.
One at a time,
they stop by my
cubicle & grill me
regarding my likes
& dislikes.
I can’t tell ém
I’m happy alone.
What married woman
wants to hear that
from a man?
So I’ve got my
little routine
down. “I won’t tell you
I don’t like Asians,
but my first wife
was Chinese.
“& it wouldn’t be
fair to say I can’t
stand Latin women,
but my second wife
was Cuban.
“But my real love,
the one I lived with
between marriages,
ah, now she was
Jewish. Yeah,
“bring me a Jew
for Easter.”
Pete Lee
721 S. Allen
Ridgecrest, CA 93555
ISLAND
So many years the crickets sing
the trees renew and grass reroots.
So many years the body sleeps and the body rises.
So many times passion turns and sadness delves
and always we stirve to leave our microcosm
to partake of tree or cloud
to surrender to a loved one.
THE FLUME
Down cascades our moments fall
and bury themselves in pools of the past –
a soundless fling
that sinks without foam or mist,
but in the steadfast drop
strains to fly
like white water that lifts to spray.
MOZART QUINTET
Strings wing me darkly
through lake’s morning haze
over the water’s sheen
into the captured light of the lake’s depth.
I am sunk in the wavering green
rocked in stillness and light
entombed, swaying before mysterious motion.
David Napolin
125 Colonial Ave
Williston Pk, NY 11596
DANCE INTERIOR 9
Is earth cared for?
Is air protected?
A rake circles, circles ribs.
Near moss muscles
hands close, now.
The high skull
is rarely visited.
Birds race and retreat.
Insects flutter down
roads of nerve.
Flute sounds roll through
bone centers.
Birds swarm, search
the city earth cares for,
air protects.
Nathan Whiting
POB 150649
Brooklyn, NY 11215-0649
The Robins
The robins nest each year in the fir trees
next to the house. They simply lay their
precious nest on a loose tree limb; they
don’t bother to weave it into the needles
to secure it, and each year a strong wind blows
down the nest. You find it on the ground with
one or two perfect blue eggs not smashed. The futility
makes your heart sick. You wonder at their useless
effort; each year fills you with more despair. You
end up cursing the pretty songbird who can’t do
any better with her life than you can with yours’.
Barbara Cooper
POB 185
Auburn, MI 48611
Twisted in White
She was wrapped in silver
Hundreds of links and braids
dripping from her waist.
And five perfect nails
polished to the point
and hovering over her breast.
A final barrier.
Praying
for his lips
to break her vow.
Amy Jo Huffman
2507 Mercer-West Middlesex Ave SE
West Middlesex, PA 16159
crushed
rubber doorstop
class 3 slope
for skateboarding
snails
pales
beside 18 wheeler tire blocks
clad
in Egyptian cotton
slacks
for formal morning inspections
at state line
agricultural
stops
gasteropodous mollusks
in their tracks
Stephen Kopel
187 Beaver St.
San Francisco, CA 94114
ommunication-cay
7 years old
brothers speaking foreign tongue
oe-jay is etting-ga an ike-bay
or-fay istmas-chray
10 years old
still desiring a willed interpreter
eeet-may e-may at
our-fay
12 years old
and in glorious revelation
of discover
I finally understand…
ontday ell-tay im-hay ut-bay the octor-day
aid-say ee-hay is oing-gay o-tay ie-day
…why some things are left unsaid.
Joseph Susick
7012 Springhouse Lane
Columbus, OH 43229
Marrowfat Pea
naked
nozzle
polished
between
Polish
thighs
my fountain dries
at midnight
stiff hoses
douse a
flaming
ferris wheel
and I conceal
a rounceval
inside a metal nut
Stephen Kopel
187 Beaver St
San Francisco, CA 94114
HOMOGENIZED HOMOPHONES
The “Claus” is not in claws.
The sink is knot in sync.
The nose’snot in knows.
The weight is naught in wait.
The bell is not Inn, belle.
The Lear hiss not in leer.
The mousse is gnawt in moose.
The medal is not tin (meddle.)
The end is.
Mike Catalano
2026 Mt. Meigs Rd. #2
Montgomery, AL 36107
Deliriousing Soon 486
father printer
would be your
moist prison government
remember our
density
believed wastless?
sure you do,
like the conspiracy
from beyond
and ice broken up
without body
Valory Banister
POB 1591
Upland, CA 91785
Saludo
Yes Domingo, I accept
your remarkable invitation,
I will spend two weeks with you
on the River Salado.
Y buscaremos perdices.
Where can we find the jilguero:
Will it be in the forest
near your goyhood home
or somewhere in the wilderness
beyond our recognition.
Y Domingo
no hay placer
como el que buscamos.
Earth has sometimes its madness,
earth has sometimes its gloom,
and the shadows will quarrel
now and then with the shadows,
but two weeks Domingo,
two weeks to embrace
the earth and the trembling sky.
In the morning shall we wake
to the sunrise,
in the evening shall we sit
by the fireside,
and the long dark nights Domingo:
Y el cuerpo no mas que el alma
despertando con la luz.
George Gott
804 N. 19th St
Superior, WI 54880
Feel
heart of net
sure control
beauties symphonize
with silicon color
current grey
for contact froze
Valory Banister
POB 1591
Upland, CA 91785
CARLA
If February3, 1998
had been three centuries earlier
they would have burned you at the stake
but these are modern times;
we could sing hymns or spirituals
make up a rapid rap
to reveal your sad saga
in the security of prison
political men in charge..
of life and the ending of it
and all the others on death row
we could sing to you of love
while you are treated like a toy
that could be tossed;
tubes in both arms you gently lay
strapped on death-room gurney
arms waving visions of Jesus in your mind
grown innocent as a child..
gesture a spiritual cue maybe a Cecil B. Demille
swelling orchestra and voices imitating an angel choir
soft-spoken soft woman with accepting eye
they would never let you stay.
but we could write a folk song about you.
Joan Payne Kincaid
132 DuBois Ave
Sea Cliff, NY 11579
AN
ODE
OF
THE OVEREAGER
SWORD-SWALLOER
occupational hazard
metallic appetite
larynx loosener
exhibitionist
deep throat
vomitless
pit nic
stuck
die
!
Mike Catalano
2026 Mt. Meigs Rd. #2
Montgomery, AL 36107
propriety
for the first time in eighteen months
he spoke to me as though we inhabit
the same planet but not in the relation
of man to roach he spoke as though
we could understand one another
but then we could have eighteen months ago
now this: what was it? a form of
temporizing through yet another what
is this hiatus? or was it just a joke?
or maybe it’s not but it really took
eighteen months to come to believe
what is impossible to believe
looked at in this way eighteen months
seems short indeed
a tiny mark on the time line
which stretches both ways and never stops
or chases itself like a mobius solenoid
or never stops because it never starts
eighteen months: not even real
just another fact in our private dream
Laurie Calhoun
470 Third St. S. # 609
St. Petersburg, FL 33701
Above The Word Valley
a poltergeist’s daughter
modeled of sun
seanced blind shadows
liquid with wonderlust
and
the fog channeled fast
creating a sad hand
to power a miss star
Valory Banister
POB 1591
Upland, CA 91785
Wolf Man
I will leave the door unlocked, the lights off,
the window open. You will come to me on a mid-
summer’s night, my wolf man, my animal lover.
The pads of your feet will soften the noise of your tread,
but I will still hear your nails on the kitchen floor
as you approach my bedroom. I will be waiting
for you, my heart in my throat, waiting for the sudden
leap on my bed. Your sweet, sweet violence against
my body will delight me all night. I’ll cling
to you at dawn, and try to make you stay but you
will go back to your lair, satisfied and selfish.
Barbara Cooper
POB 185
Auburn, MI 48611
In Memory Of
The sound of dancing fingers
upon strings, silver and gold
only echo empty chambers
with the ghosts of yesterday.
Left with only memories
we will cling to the façade
of the smiling magic man,
the mortal magic man.
Stephen R. Reed
58 Mapleton St.
Brighton, MA 02135
CABIN FEVER
Too much
depends
upon
a T.V. set
turned on
in the winter
Joseph Susick
7012 Springhouse Lane
Columbus, OH 43229
There’s only one bit of news that’s really IMPORTANT this month! Th’ 1998 OLYMPIA EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC FESTIVAL! View calendar information, ticket prices & contact info for many of the artists at:
http://www.olywa.net/rotcod/~4sked.htm
GAJOOB ‘zine is still at the forefront of those who DO somethin’ with their music (& poetry, too). To get more information that will keep you up to date & informed, point your browser to:
Please consider purchasing one of Zzaj Productions’ CD’s… they make really nice gifts that will pleasure th’ earz’ & mindz’ of those with PERCEPTION! Contact me via e-mail at rotcod@olywa.net, or via phone to (360)456-1683.
That’s about it from th’ Zzaj camp for this issue…
as you might imagine, I’m just plain TIRED from
all th’ activity surrounding th’ EXPERIMENTAL
MUSIC FESTIVAL… ergo, issue # 34 could
experience a slight delay! Keep on submitting
all those wonderful musics & spoken word
works to:
Zzaj Productions
5308 65th Avenue SE
Lacey, WA 98513
Th’ thing that’s on my mind (as it usually is around this time of year) is how important it is to EXPERIMENT! To take th’ BULL, twist it & turn it & shape it’s horns into somethin’ no one has ever SEEN before! I believe that’s just as important in our poetry & spoken word as ’tis in our music!
I know from experience (at writing) that it’s often easy to feel like there’s just nothing more to say… outta’ words, outta’ inspiration – nuthin’ could be further from truth! All that’s called for is a new APPROACH! Go somewhere new, meet folks you’d never think to meet, even EAT somethin’ new/different! Th’ new words/music will come!
One of th’ reasons I spent so many years wandering across th’ face of th’ planet is that each new excursion gave me a different view of what I thought I knew beyond shadow! & yes, it WAS something as simple as th’ breaking of a new-fashioned bread that would get me to realize that there’s ALWAYS something new to say… to write about or incorporate into my music.
What it takes, tho’, is a willingness to (at least temporarily) suspend th’ things we’ve been taught (no matter how gently or forcefully)… to release our preconceived notions & revisit things (literally ANY things) from a new perspective. In my own case, that quite often met EMPTYING my cup (not a very good way to go about this process of rediscovery), so I could refill it! I wouldn’t advise going THAT far for most folks, ‘coz th’ depression can very easily set in – gourd, don’t I know THAT!
Anyway, what brings all this on (for me, anyway) is th’ excitement of preparing to receive a whole BUNCH of new artists & performers into th’ town of Olympia for what’s (over these last 3 years or so) become more than just a tradition – it’s now a NECESSITY! A whole WEEKEND of people who understand that if you want to create something, you have to reach that point I speak of – sorta’ un-remembering all the things we’ve been told, and in that process finding all the new things we hadn’t known were there. Of course, that doesn’t mean that it really IS anything NEW! Purely a matter of
re-shaping, re-crafting & bending/twisting words/music/sound into new interpretations!
Actually, that’s why this issue placed such a strong emphasis on poetry… I wanted you folks to see just how MANY people there are out there that DO this… for that reason, I believe I’ll do this special poetry issue each year! As a part of your re-discovery, jot down an address or two & write those poets (from this issue) who you felt really communicated to you! I can tell you, that’s what’s kept ME going all these years… not just th’ contact, either (though that’s certainly a wonderful part of it) – but th’ new ideas that COME from being in touch with new ways of perceiving th’ things around me!
Please don’t hesitate to provide me with feedback (pro OR con) on yer’ thoughts about th’ poetry issue, either! & keep those poems, tapes & CD’s comin’ to us for review! See ya’ after th’ fest (or, better yet, mebbe’ see ya’ AT th’ fest, eh?)
Rotcod Zzaj J
…
jjj
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.