Reviews and Remembrances from Sympetalous

POETRY REVIEWS WESTERN MASS

So '07's off an' runnin', kinda gettin' warm
in the white hot micro universe of spoken form
and formless poetry it's free an' still early on
an' hence not too late to honor and appreciate
the still shimmering residue of our '06 spin,
a revolution it was around the sun just passed

In addition to the aforeposted and reviewed
(or rather words o' mine that swiftly ensued)
re: the hipster Chris Chandler on 5/02/06
at quaint, funky Oobah's Deli
in old-school down-bound-town
Main Street, Willi-mantic, Conn
~ and ~
the Queen o' Cool, she's La Blue Belle Patricia Smith
on a Brainiac-Black-Smith-Word-Smith College Gig
in Northamp-tone on an 09/28/06 eve...
there were others on which to report,
five of shiny sterling note
still compounding interest
in my confounded memory bank

1/ Patti Smith reads on 2/08/06 at Cooper Union in The Village, NYC
proudly standing at an ancient massive lectern once used by Lincoln to announce
his opposition to slavery in 1859 and later by Twain no doubt wrly musing on the
sadly humorous fall from grace of a clearly unevolved human race, while literally
Mark-ing his territory via salivated tobacco stains still visible these five long
quarter centuries later to Patti, our dear speaker, the feisty, long in the tooth, forever young at a still growing heart warmed by an everpresent fire in the belly
of a beat-nik-chip-monk-punk-poet-shaman sharing her latest penned musings,
these sooth-said so dubbed "Auguries of Innocence", these icy hot & fiery cool incantations on a future still to be "plenty fucked with", miraculously chanted,
carved deep and clean in dark soapstone, then brought down the mountainside
to be cast upon the waters amongst adoring masses masquerading as a precious few dozen, and all as if by divine calling, then soulfully held in sacrosanct retrospect,
the destiny of this sweet pleasured, painfully shy, self-deprecating yet supremely brash and bold jersey word warrior with an uncompromising passion for the ragged
edges of life, and true compassion for the outcast and the downtrodden exceeded
only by her stunning vision of our world as Peaceable Kingdom where the instinctive Artist simultaneously on street, stage & endless galleria blends seemlessly with her
Art as well as an Audience of Clear Light Seekers whose very existence depends on their subtle merging with the various pulsating, luminous creations...

(alright, I didn't get alllll o' that from just one ever so slightly awkward reading...
cuz Hall o' Fame Rocker Patti girl, now thrice score in years, has shaken and stirred
my conscious soul to its uncompromising core for 30 years now, cuz she and I sweet
sister brother nama-stay we're still dancin' bare-foot bein' re-born til dyin' day
headin' most sure enough for a spinnnnn...an' then some strange music draws me in,
makes me come on naturally...like some speara-chewal hero-in(e)))))))

2/ Hugh Ogden reads on 5/04 at Bacon Academy in Colchester, CT
(and then drowns in Rangeley Lake on New Year's Eve)
The straggley long gray maned quixote/coyote rebel marchin' into the maw of hell
on a heavenly cause, twinkling eyes at once at seeming rest and now fully ablaze
fueled by a blend of light, wry, dry wit...and a piece of the deep uncommon wisdom
that would 241 days later barely freeze then draw him gently in and smoothly under...
Now and forever the image of an aging american gothic bard artist as flannel clad
guru slo-mo slip slidin away and between those thin, cool, white sheets... of ice,
the dear lake his eternal bed indeed, perpetually warmed and comforted by the
lofty irony that the Maine waters that Hugh so wholly loved would swallow him whole

3/ Roger Bonair-Agard on 10/25 at Molton Java in Bethel, CT
So Rajah B.A. you rocka my world say
feel like I'm smokin' purpley haired sinse-ay
Hey Roger B.Ar, the Be-All an' End-All
before you were born but af-ter the fall
from grace stilla trace, the only thing that's all
that will be droppin' would be our slackened jaw
from your pure power pipes and those silkychops
yeah, he's Ace, he'smoooooth Roger Bonair-Agard

4/ Martin Espada on 11/02 at RealArtWays in Hartford, CT
Then there's the cooly cerebral sword o'
the Esteemed Professa Marteen Espada
and you just know he was mo' than just riffin' by sorta
pitchin' perfecto while pluggin pure Pablo Neruda
like some newfound Johnny Jumpin Jesus Appleseeder
sowin' fertile mindsouls as would any Buddha feeder

Sadly he seemed a little distant and lacking in the fiery spark that
must have named his and now my "Mayan Astronomer in Hell's Kitchen"
as he generically signed this skinny, steely blue scintillating volume

5/Magpie Ulysses on 11/21 at Reflections Cafe in Providence
Why you brilliant, instinctive, rhythmic, twitching, slightly damaged
slammer, you! workin' both sides of the tracks on the Vancouver docks,
baby's helpin' folks with needle tracks, maybe layin' soulful slammin' tracks
for torn and reborn troubadors and minstrel whores who seemed to slip right
on thru the invisible cracks of amorphous life, a coupla which may've held a
piece o' you after just wriggling past in your adventure travels and travails,
all the while living on the prayerful edge and then surviving therefore
thriving on the Pure Power of the Words and your staggering ability
to mount your special passion and then hump that quivering truth,
conveying climax and sweet release as a rarified free juice for those
fortunate enough to be present and then ready and willing to go deep
within and ride that baby blue wave and catch that violet wind...

and now if she'd only return my e-mails...like she said she would on the
last goddamn page of her book... hey, whuddup with that?