Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Thoroughfare rushes by oblivious people
who sit still exactly where
gravity dumped them, more or less.
History has no conscience otherwise
it would quit repeating us.
Candace Kaucher appeared through the front door of Voices & Visions (one of Philadelphia's FINEST bookstores!) recently to my shocked, delighted face. I was giving a reading from my new book, and Candace found out about it and decided to surprise me. She almost never comes into Philadelphia since she moved to Reading, PA.
For years she lived down the street from me when I resided in the old Imperial Hotel on Juniper Street. We'd hang out in Duck Soup Diner sharing books of poetry we were reading, and would read our own poems to one another.
She was included in that anthology Lisa Jarnot, Chris Stroffolino and Leonard Schwartz edited, An Anthology of New (American) Poets, published by Talisman. I've always wondered why the parenthesis around American? I mean, it's not clear to me at all, since all the poets included are clearly American. Anyone have a clue?
A couple of years ago Frank Sherlock invited Candace to read at La Tazza. Maybe it was more like three years ago? Anyway, I was sitting next to Magdalena Zurawski, whose mouth dropped open as we fixated on Candace's punk rock expository poems of her mind's genius map of the cosmos. You get to where she's going on her every uttered syllable. She's like a lecture around a fire circle with drums and whiskey. She's a madwoman poet, and one of my favorites, and I'm so VERY HAPPY to find out that she's not only still writing, but writing better than ever! Here's another poem from her new chapbook titled KEEP OUT!
In many mortal forms I sought
The shadow of that idol of my thought
Fumbling through life's completeness
as far as the mind forms
around idea without a clue,
I hit the highway running
but lacked perspicaciousness enough
to connect with the ordinary
where I sought sanctuary in you,
got let out like iron freed,
no cold solidity running interference
between my A and your B.
Two closeted souls separate together
now released to sift through
the sieve innumerable oceans,
we filter out atoms of ourselves
in ready for more universal constructions.
Silhouettes and shadows cast,
we move beyond emotion.
We vie for emergent status crawling
through ruptures in the banal dusk
of blanketing virtual reality charged
to free up our ineffable
things from the "stuff"
of stuff where we were
like interlinked polymers,
much too ubiquitous
to come to a head
where I want you
before all is lost
to uncertain future inexhaustibly
unveiling your quiet beautiful
radiantly poised on the summit
of change to fall immortalized
in history which is either both
impermanence or stasis,
ceaselessly the same
enticement to reach for a moment
crystallizing, breaking clear
even as it fades. Love is the aim.
Its dream is the over arching entity
where the soul of my forest is saved.
If thought works such synthesis
it's glue as I remember
Vivaldi plays to a time
and place that he still
moves in your immediate
vicinity until it translates out
with more sweeping implications
sowing empirical existence
for no particular reason.
Alchemical longing at the core
of person pulsed eternity
keeps transforming trade.
And then, they rearrange.
(posted by CAConrad)