Got through the first post, so now a toast to the blog. Language Knows, the shadow knows, shadow language. Actually, our usual use of language is the shadow, the ghost, representing such a fraction of what each word is and can do.. Since language knows so much more than I it seems arrogance to try and make language do exactly what I want. I understand some folks’ need for control, for precision, giving that a high value/priority. not how I work.

     art is magic, is unexplainable. sure it’s a high degree of perspiration but a little magic goes a long way, like most medicines are only a couple per cent active ingredient(s). the historical, psychological depth/breadth/content of each word is so potent. they have their affinities, potentials, secrets. it’s like the words are trying to tell us something. as if the mind is interacting with the stores of language to make some sense, cast light in unexpected places.

Didn’t want to forget the toast. Having my oldest beer, bottled 1/30/9, Devil Bear #7. Devil Bear is a Belgian strong ale of my own invention, with the name a mix of a fine Belgian ale, Duvel, and a style of Belgian ale, Brun. Sweet but with some hop edge, strong alcohol and plum pudding aroma, I taste coconut, alcohol, dark syrup. Was 9.1% when bottle but I think they grow a little. The devil bears are generally excellent, and this one is no exception.

Another element deserving celebration is The State I’m In, a collection of new poems from margareta waterman’s nine muses books. My first reading from it is Sunday 3/4, 4pm at Hawthorne Powell’s, with Jim Grabill.  Also 3/13 at 7 at Milepost 5 (900 ne 81^st) with Barbara LaMorticella; 3/24, 7:30 at the Cascadia Poetry Festival in Seattle  (http://splab.org/cascadia/, where I’m also teaching a performance workshop at 4:30 and participating in a panel at 9 am); 3/31 @ Niche Gallery and Wine Bar in Vancouver, with a workshop around 3 and a reading around 6 with saxophonist Rich Halley & drummer Carson Halley. Already have 2 readings in April & a great one in May (3 friend, 5/7.)

     The State I’m In is in 3 sections:  The City in me (urban), Rain is my Favorite Color (water) and One Among Many, each set up like an individual chap book. The word I associate with it is “substantial,” both in physical feel and poetic scope. At this moment it’s only at Powell’s or through me (raphael@aracnet.com), but  will soon be at Broadway and Mother Foucault’s.

     Had the manuscript fairly together nearly three years ago when Charles Potts offered to pay for Impulse & Warp:  The Selected 20^th Century Poems, which came out from David Memmott’s WordCraft of Oregon 9/10. And yes this means in an 18 month stretch I released 2 books and my first CD (Children of Blue Supermarket, with the Halleys, available on i-tunes and such.)

     With all this production I’m not pushing the next book, Like There’s No Tomorrow, fairly firmly assembled, with at least a dozen of the 47 poems needing major work, and probably few that don’t need a little tweaking. Continuing to line-up readings for State. Will be coordinating the Market Day reading series @ St Johns Booksellers, in conjunction with St Johns Farmers Market, Saturdays noon from 6/3 – 10/13. Start sniffing around for a residency where I can hole up somewhere and work on the next book.

     Here’s the opening poem from State. looking southwest from the Kaiser Sunnyside hospital:

If not, the Future is History

i’m seeing 200 years ago

                                      celebratory forest burning

lightning come to call

few buildings        no roads        many aliens in furry disguises

fungus taking years to translate from the soils last 10 meter flip-over

when people walked beneath the earth

                                                       their soles sipping sifted sun

when wood is the fruit

how can we brook structure

                                        glowing clots in acre wide arteries

we carry but we do not ride, immobile in the often rain

we smolder to invert our lungs, to have a hundred eyes

like octopus arms listening to hearts dissolved in the sea

food is the clock—certain plants at certain times, fresh meat

on either side of winter, fish when we can remember

the water already fallen

a rain drop as big as 4 men wrestling

where too many have walked  or the river has an idea

         where its lost fish went

a place only the sun can see

because the earth got creative     irregular     sudden

disproportionate run-off from unexplained mounds