Wednesday, February 06, 2013

another day

the refrigerator sits full of juices in the corner
the wooden chairs gleam in the light
the sober reflections of mentalist ways through our changes
the birds sit down, and the cats fly across the grass
We all feel as if they are stand up men somewhere, editing themselves
the houses sink down in the moonlight.
it's the winter, the edge of things, the changing light
it's all dark in the head, we would have thought, and we change
somnabulent criticism, edited detail, and the marks of honor
we come home through the breezes
we tell black women to stop staring, they start yelling
we slice through the edges of our emotions and the edges of actions
the fast energy of a mentality, cutting through the conscious,
the reality of positivity, guitarists with sweet lyrics,
all the emotion, all the energy, all our ambition
suddenly gone through cookie-cutter lights.
-chris farrell

Tuesday, February 05, 2013

patsy and other poems by me...

Some words on Patsy

Patsy Todd was born in Compton, California, on August 3, 1929.  She moved to Oregon in ’37 during the depression, picked fruit, and her father bought a farm and sold it in ’47, moved to the coast, built a motel, called the “Miles Motel”, went to Chemeketa, learned to weld, worked at Wade’s manufacturing plant.  Mother did rations, worked for a millionaire, the father building fences, mothing taking something, moved father out to St. Helens and rioting started.  Worked at Smokecraft in the ‘70’s, linen mills in Jefferson, talked about Burt Reynolds.  Smacked her because she liked Bob Hope, not Burt Reynolds.  Joined the union and quit, kind of fraudulent run in Salem, bring my grandchildren. Can’t see after wreck, living with man, worked in restaurant “Chilibowl”, early shift, met guy, snow started, guy came over, started the affair, died of a heartache.  Clarence came home smelling of gasoline, left, after six years

-Chris Farrell

The following are more poems that I wrote:

Down in Reno
some seedy hotel
two fat people
amused by a rubber dinosaur

was down at the circle k
a bum looking for a cup of coffee
grizzled and disturbed
had encountered an old black man with a cane
had been here and there with a backpack
learned an odd sort of kung-fu
demonstrated in the misty grass
needed a ribbon to tie back the hair
needed a sleeping bag on a cement floor
asked me for a dime later
walking around with an indian
lighting up cigarettes in Starbuck's.

grass outside waving in the wind
wood bench on the large porch
Ann coughing in her large hair
cars whizzing by
notes of hope and worry
and tunes of bruce and jerry
the fourth string in need of tightening
the module coming out in rapid haste
and more trouble and worry
and the thought of the ant
and the poke-weed and parturience
and limitless are the leaves
stiff or drooping in the fields
portraying a frightening eschatology
and sense of the smart-ass

When I am in my room
I see again
the thousand daffodils laughing in the wind
and think again
of her long hair and green eyes.

So, when it comes to locating the precise measure of things
and leading to a preoccupation with the word
of where all this came from
who are active and residing on an earthly level
as one who is a doubter by practice
and tends to by longing reach the other side
who keep such a disconnectedness
that it is impossible to know what is rational, as
the lady that goes on about airplanes
the smoke trails are giving her signals
by sign language she communicates with them
by sign language she is in touch;
to sullen doubter she says
"well, buck-o, what do you know?"
and with wanton excitement will explain
how they follow her around

On Mary's Peak the rain came down
out the foggy windows the huge trees
I drove out a side road
far hills covered with green
electric poles cutting down the hill
a little creek ran by
in which I washed my feet, and drank
blackberries and thimbleberries here and there
failing heavy force of that which remains...
unsaid, and yet pervades all things
from this eye of the world
nature and its quiet rain

Monday, February 04, 2013

thoughts and Neitzsche

Thinking of my life, and how it has been going the last three months or so...I've been pretty stressed, seeing things that I didn't like, seeing people that seemed dangerous around town, and did the impression I have match with reality?  I'm going to assume that it did.  I've met a lot of people, a lot of good people, or people that have good qualities, and that is in some kind of contrast with the nastier people in the world...but the fact is, does what is going on in my mind really correspond to the world and how it is?  I think it does, because I get feedback from real people, who value my judgements and observations, but maybe haven't gone through precisely what I have gone through.  On the other hand, I think a lot of people, older people, have gone through getting stressed out like me, from who knows what.  I don't want to go into the details, and it is hard to see what about me would appear that interesting.  I guess a quality of me that is pretty interesting is that, for one thing, I'm kind of in my own little world, and on my own schedule, and for another, I'm not really seemingly connected with an identifiable group of peers.  But I got to where I am through some painful processes, through trying hard to make it in the working world, through having to go into the mental hospital at various times...the first time being back in Berkeley, when nothing seemed to make sense, but I did have friends that cared what happened to me, and I appreciate that....and over the years, slowly gaining some self confidence, finding some groups outside karate..finding people that meant something to me, that also might have been having issues, and trying to make sense through the personalities, and through trying to do the right thing and get through the hard points, to get to a place that makes sense.
  And as of now, I theoretically need to go out and get a job.  I guess I will volunteer at stone soup again, and at the homeless drop-in center, because I'm familiar with those.  Somehow shelving books at the library doesn't appeal to me.  I went over to the co-op to try to see about volunteering, and I mentioned stone soup, and the lady seemed to get really agitated with me, like she was making some unfortunate assumptions about me just because I'm working in programs that help the homeless.  People making judgements about me who don't really know me are kind of annoying.  For one thing, I don't have much to feel guilty about, having tried hard my whole life to improve as a person.  And furthermore "ye who has no sin on his hands, cast the first stone" as bob weir said.
  It's good I have one roommate who seems to be doing well.  The other seems to be moving out.

Nietzsche, from "Thus Spake Zarathustra", "On Scholars": I am too hot and burned by my own thoughts, often it nearly takes my breath away.  Then I must go out into the open and away from all dusty rooms.  But they (scholars) sit cool in the cool shade: in everything they want to be mere spectators, and they beware of sitting where the suns burns on the steps....

I think of the above line when I think about why I'd rather do actual creative writing than try to write academic papers, or teach.  I never enjoyed teaching, whether it was trying to teach english, or karate,....that's about it ..but I seem to write stuff.