Bob Barnes (1963-2021)

 we are warnd abt meeting people online. I'm lucky. abt a quarter century ago I became part of a group that met regularly in a chatroom. in the early years of our chatting I met several of these men & a couple became great friends.

one of them I first knew as Malibu Boy. he cd be wickedly funny. but he was also mysterious. it turnd out he wasn't a Californian at all but a Texan. & because of the sensitivity of his job with the US District Court he kept a low profile & forbade use of his image on social media.

soon we began e-mailing daily. Bob called me his "greatest penpal." eventually he visited me in Santa Fe & I him in Fort Worth. we trustd each other & shared secrets. & we laughd. boy did we laugh. like any deep friendship there cd be prickly moments but we workd them out.

besides being one of my best friends Bob was one of my biggest fans. his last e-mail to me began: The Khashoggi poem was excellent. he was over the moon with "Covid Valentine" & wonderd if anyone wd find one of the hearts & keep it. & over the years he became part of several of my pieces ("The 1943 Pennies" & "Torn Together" & "Butch Series" & "Book of Java"). every time he visitd we had to shop at Trina Turk. so he put at the top of our to-do list for that next visit my bench in front of the store.

Bob retired last year. his plan was to divide his time between Fort Worth & Palm Springs. on his last visit we lookd at rental properties. & he constantly checkd the market. just last week he mentiond a unit for sale in my complex. but then the pandemic...

the kettle was on when an unexpectd call came last nite. I wonderd why I had no e-mail from him all day. in shock I went to the guest room he loved. there waiting for his next visit was a little box. from it I removed the Lucy mug I purchased for him just before lockdown a year ago. I put a tea bag in it & filld it with hot water. Lucy & I sat at the patio where Bob & I had laughd. it was a beautiful nite. even tho there were tears on my face I felt a smile as I lookd up at the stars grateful to have had such a friendship in my life.

with Bob & his lifelong friend Lisa dining at Blue Bayou in Disneyland almost 2 years ago

Hidalgo

 on my morning walk this word jumpd into my head. as far as I can remember I've never uttered this word before. I haven't seen a film or read anything recently using the word. where did it come from? why did it pop out?

I call the 3 palms

beside the pool

the Andrews Sisters 

their jive

is music

for my swim

underwater

I boogie

to their bugle

then flip over

& look up

at their shimmy

filling with the joy

that guides me

thru the day

20th anniversary

congrats to Robert Hansen who has publishd some 2000 wee books in these 2 decades. he is a poetry hero.

so do I

 on my morning walk I finishd a poem that's been rattling in my head.

after breakfast I was "organizing" piles & came across a Xerox of a journal I kept in 1968. in a summer entry written at Jean-Claude van Itallie's farm in the Berkshires I relate that after reading one of my poems Joe Chaikin told me "I hope you keep writing all your life."

2 lines from "Alex in Movieland"

sees "The Dead Don't Die" while eating kale salad

sees "I'm No Angel" while eating a brownie from Trio

another year another book

 what a wonderful way to start my day. a reader in Holland sent me a photo he'd taken of my new River Dog release Still Marching which had just arrived in the mail. it's a collection of protest poems written over a 55 year period. it continues to amaze me that magazines began publishing my poems in 1962. 

Victor Clevenger & John Dorsey did a beautiful job with this little book. I love their idea to wrap it in a band which replicates the sign I made & used in 2 protests which are subjects of 2 of the poems.

a year to remember

 

"Under Full Moon I Write"

 

 

day after

yesterday I did Pandemic Thxgiving with the self assurance of a loner. today startd well with golden time in the pool but then a snafu which will delay delivery of my laptop. so I decided I'd see if I can post photos here on my phone. I think I can.

update

 sooooo.... my computer crashd. I'm doing this on my phone to see how that works.

scatterd like seeds

 Robert Hansen is an extraordinary figure in contemporary American poetry. for years now he's been publishing tiny books. he's done over 2000 titles. the series is calld "poems for all." & besides sending them out into the world he generously gives his poets copies to scatter as well.

over the years he's done several of mine. I delight in giving them away.  recently he surprisd me. he saw photos online of The Poet's Bench & turnd them into a wee book. he sent me extra copies so that I cd leave some on the bench which I did this morning.

doing my duty

 I first voted for president in 1964. I haven't missd an election since. in the 3 different states in which I've lived I've happily waitd in line. it seems to me the most American activity there is & it always makes me feel good.

however this year is like no other in my life. my state maild out ballots. I got mine yesterday. so this morning I voted from my house for the first time ever. then I put on Dad's American flag cap & walkd my ballot several miles to the official drop off box. unfortunately the dastardly Republicans of my state have distributed fake drop off boxes. the GOP here is as evil as in the South. & we know what the president's pawn has done to the postal system. so I was determined to witness my very own hand putting my ballot in the proper & safe place. we must all do our part to rid the country of this mentally-ill man & disinfect the White House.

"The Poet's Bench" & other gifts

I've written that 2020 is "the year from hell."  but as a writer I must say it's been heavenly as well.

first there was the publication of the initial 30 years of  Alex in Movieland. blessings forever to John Burroughs for giving page to dream. then there was the exhibition "Poetic License." yes it didn't make it to gallery walls. but several artists of note responded to my poems & the show took place online. thankfulness to Terry Hastings for guiding this to light. & now "The Poet's Bench." a poem of mine to dance by. let residents & tourists find a smile in this little love song to Palm Springs. gratitude to Emeline Tate for designing & painting it.

how lucky I am to be able to write & to let my lines loose in a world where love remains more potent than lunacy.

when a bench is more than a bench

 for the third time in nearly 7 months I walkd to town & back. & again it was to see art. outdoor art (so it's safe).  but this time it was personal.

Palm Springs Public Arts Commission has been sponsoring a project for artists to paint the concrete benches in the downtown area.  Emeline Tate -- with whom I collaborated on some small wall paintings -- suggestd that we work together again. so I wrote a new poem & she designd the bench.

this morning I left my house with the moon still in the sky & arrived almost a hour later at our bench in front of Trina Turk -- one of the city's most popular shops. within minutes Em drove in. she had paintd the whole bench white & only the yellow letters in the poem. while I photographd she went to work on more colors.  after the piece is finishd next week I'll post a photo.

this is a thrill for me. I love Palm Springs & this is my first city-sponsord project since becoming a resident. & of course I adore the idea of having so many people read my words.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg (1933-2020)

 the president is mentally ill. the attorney general a criminal. half of Congress are folks you wdn't want as neighbors. the air is unbreathable because of fires caused by our disregard for the environment. we're in the middle of a pandemic while people still have birthday parties & pool orgies. there is too much racism & homophobia & misogyny.

I try hard each day to find joy & create magic. but it's becoming more & more of a struggle.

Dinos Christianopoulos

 he died 2 weeks ago in the Thessaloniki he rarely left. he was 89.

we met at his gallery in 1987. somewhere I have notes of that. after we met he translated my poem "For Jim Provenzano's 19th Birthday" into Greek. it was publishd later that year.

just now I was going thru some files & found a journal I kept online when I got my first computer.  it commentd on a manuscript I was working on my with partner who was Greek  -- translations into English of Christianopoulos. I rememberd we'd translatd a very short poem of his on the plane to Greece & showd it to him. but I'd forgotten we workd on more after returning. I knew no Greek so I suspect it was the same as with the one Cavafy poem I did a version of. my partner did a literal translation which I then turnd into English a la Robert Lowell.

I don't have a copy of the translations & my partner kept no possessions on going to the next stage of his life. 

today

 is the anniversary of Woodstock. so it came as a surprise that I was going thru a file of forgotten writings & found this. have no idea of the date but it was scribbled on the back of a library card. & yes over the past century I have dabbled in fiction. this is the opening of a story that I never finishd.

____________________________

Rose Tarragon was embarrassed by the pictures of her romping nude at Woodstock. She was only 3 then but it embarrassed her now almost as much as her full name -- Rosemary Thyme Tarragon.

"Poetic License"

 a summer like no other. so much sorrow & death. so any personal disappointment seems trivial.

however one of the events I was most looking forward to was the art exhibition "Poetic License" at the Palm Desert campus of UC Riverside.  abt a year ago curator Terry Hastings askd me to write a suite of poems. then artists were given the poems for response. an opening was on schedule for june. I was to read my work with the art on the walls around me.  a poet's dream.

in an attempt to save the spirit of the event Terry put together an online exhibition/reading. I wrote 9 poems. the first 4 were coverd in a Zoom presentation which is now available on You Tube here.  then the final poems were on another episode here.

this was not what I expectd this summer. but no one expectd what we got. & if I didn't get a reading before faces beside actual art this will have to do. & it's still one of the lovely moments in a sad summer. I'm grateful to Terry & to all the artists who took my words & flew with them.