Hey Mark, what have you been up to and please send a poem.
I've been working on the mixes of the concerts we gave at Outpost Performance Space in early May called Interlace, which might become a double-cd. (KAZZRIE JAXEN QUARTET W. CHARLEY KRACHY, DON MESSINA & BILL CHATTIN; VIRG DZURINKO, SOLO PIANO; PAYNE LIEBOWITZ DUO WITH MARK WEBER.)
I'm reading Karen Armstrong's HISTORY OF GOD, and Nicholas Wade's BEFORE THE DAWN (anthopology) and re-reading the KALEVALA and for a break am re-re-re-reading Ross Macdonald. Still doing my Thursday jazz radio show on KUNM-FM. And weekly installments on my on-line music journal JAZZ FOR MOSTLY.
POEM FOR SUPRITI
And now you're an orphan
like the rest of us
out on the Western Sea
in your little boat
with the tattered sail . . . .
Those far distant lands
where your mother went on Saturday
the only telephone that can reach her now
is called memory
pumpkin pie, a novena, that spanking
you got for refusing to do the dishes (or was it
when you used your uncle's tennis racket to
and your mother never spanked
you again because she cried
and you didn't . . . .
with the dust particles floating
in the afternoon window light
the bleak trees are beginning to remember
something like tea
that is memory in a cup, warm
and slightly acerbic, or is that melancholia?
something . . .
something . . .
you trail your hand in the water over the side
of your boat, there's a jet way overhead above the troposphere
do jets fly this far over the Western Sea?
maybe . . . .
the Buddha is up there?
going somewhere in a jiffy