%-------CUT HERE--------------------------------------------------- % % (This and related files are now archived at the public site % etext.archive.umich.edu (anonymous ftp) in the directory % /pub/Poetry/Sand.River.Journal, courtesy Paul Southworth.) % % This is the TeXfile for Sand River Journal. While you can read % the poems easily enough in this file, the formatted journal can % be obtained by (1) saving it, (2) removing the header, % (3) compiling it: % tex srj % and (4) viewing or printing it: % preview srj % dvips srj % % These are commands on my unix-based system, but the process is % similarly easy on PC's and Macs which support TeX. People ask % me why I don't use PageFrameII with widget-bin caucophony and % marble-maker, but this works and is fairly standard. % \raggedbottom \baselineskip=12pt \font\journal=punksl20 scaled 2000 \font\byline=ccmi10 \font\lsl=cmsl8 \font\smtit=cmr9 \font\tit=cmdunh10 scaled \magstep2 \font\ref=cmitt10 scaled 1200 \font\astro=astrosym \font\editorial=cmr6 \moveright -1.8in \vbox{% \centerline{\journal Sand River Journal} \vskip 0.9truein {\editorial \baselineskip=0pt \narrower\narrower\narrower\narrower\narrower Sand River Journal is a collection of poems gathered from the newsgroup rec.arts.poems; it is posted monthly in ascii and \TeX\ formats to r.a.p. and related newsgroups. Current and archive issues may be retrieved by anonymous ftp at the site etext.archive.umich.edu in the directory /pub/Poetry. This archive includes PostScript versions of the formatted journal, which is publication quality and may be printed on most laser printers. \medskip Poems appear by authors' permission and constitute copyrighted material. Free transmission of this document (electronic or otherwise) is permitted only in its entire and unaltered form; to inquire about individual poems contact the authors by their email addresses. The editor takes no responsibility for the fate of this document, nor does he claim ownership to any of the contents herein. \medskip Many of the poems appearing in this issue were collected and forwarded to me by zita while I was traveling. Send comments and contributions (please reference SRJ) to asphaug@cosmic.arc.nasa.gov. Enjoy! \medskip \hskip 2.2in Erik Asphaug, Editor \baselineskip=12pt} \vskip 0.5truein \centerline{\ref Issue 7, Sunday October 31 1993} \medskip \centerline{\ref Samhain} \bigskip \centerline{\astro d \hskip 0.2in n \hskip 0.2in u } \medskip} \def\title#1{\vskip 0.8in\bigskip\bigbreak\centerline{\hskip -3.5in {\tit #1}}\bigskip\nobreak} \def\smtitle#1{\vskip -0.15in\centerline{\hskip -3.5in {\smtit #1}}\bigskip\nobreak} \def\author#1#2{\nobreak\medskip\line{\hskip 1.5truein\hbox{\sl #1\/}\hfill}% \line{\hskip 1.5truein\hbox{\lsl #2}\hfill}\goodbreak} \hoffset=1.6in \obeylines \title{Travel Advice} a word of advice there will be times sunrise over the Ganges slap of wet slap washing slap rams wailing loincloth devotions powder into your mind cannon arms around a backpack there will be no-one to touch no-one to tell the film is not important you must be a poet of the moment \author{Michael J Norris}{michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au} \title{angels + angel, a poem for the misinterpreting reader} today the ineffable angels press ever closer around me wavering, howling calls of wild electric fires away afar all around my cliff-dwelling. \medskip a different angel, an angel of unwavering kind summoned me, voice sullen with news, then wavered. \medskip did so when i said, will you still? and the angel said in zen: i love you. talk about communication gaps \dots \medskip it's the cold that makes the howling angels bold. they move closer. \medskip my angel's hot remorse gives off a twin sodium line sign, a harvest of gold a touch like the other angels' torching: \medskip i think i might street? should i avenue? would i drive? could i place? need i pee oh box? give you up for dead \medskip end? \medskip don't fret so much angel, love. look at things this way: an angel hasn't flickered until showered in smooth shudders, skinned in swarms of warmths. you have serious angel merit badges to pick up, angel. with a slick load-bearing groove. \medskip the other angels, the ones howling bone china-hard flicker now rising as flame over the fires of lights --- i merely glance at them, peripherally take them in. \medskip you, at you i look more closely. now, about that life of ours. in sin. \author{Marek Lugowski}{marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu} \title{perdus} o\`u sont \smallskip les sourires et les larmes \smallskip d'autrefois \bigskip comme les oiseaux errants \smallskip de mes pense\'es \smallskip je ne sais pas \author{by zita, tr. by E. Russell Smith}{ab297@freenet.carleton.ca} \title{Contracting} ``Well, try it again," he said, dismantling the second floor. He sighed, wiping sweat from his eyebrows, and reached into the tool crate for a handful of words. Laying two phrases crosswise, he hammered them to the first floor with a verb. And then cursed. Capricious nature had warped the words through rain and sun; they joined only oddly. \medskip No sigh this time, a real grunt as his tired back heaved until the phrases came loose and the whole first floor with them, a pile of nouns, verbs, adjectives twined like licorice. He fell, himself, on his rump, face reddened in the setting sun. He kicked a dangling participle. It splintered. \medskip ``Ah, hell," he said at the sight, ``I'm too tired to rebuild it right." A little dejected, he rose and erected a quick limerick for the night. \author{Lee Merkel}{lmerkel@bix.com} \title{untitled} Late at night I am afoot \smallskip amongst the flowering plants \smallskip because I seek to discover \smallskip where butterflies sleep \author{Ronald M. Bloom}{cy092@cleveland.freenet.edu} \title{Roots} Refusing to be my father, I wandered San Francisco, looking for streets from family stories. Lost in fog, I found where my grandparents lived, where my grandfather cut stone, the post office he built, the pool hall where he won a billiards championship. \medskip I wasn't sure whether I was my grandfather or Henry Miller, drinking wine on Mission Street curbs, patronizing Tenderloin hookers, reading obscure literature in the public library. I sat on the cliffs at Land's End watching waves crash over rocks --- I was Richard Henry Dana. Or Melville. I would have been Rimbaud but, by the time you discover him, you're always too old. \medskip I was twenty-three when my parents visited. Mother wanted Chinatown, Fishermen's Wharf. I showed them North Beach where I was Kerouac. \medskip At the Palace of the Legion of Honor, Father --- an Okie who laid bricks, didn't read --- touched a sculpture, rounded the curve of a dancer's frozen pose. I saw his hands were like Rodin's and I knew who I was. \author{Lee Duke}{duke@louie.dfrf.nasa.gov} \title{caveat} do not \smallskip teach me \smallskip your music \bigskip i might \smallskip own your heart \smallskip forever \author{zita maria evensen}{bu016@hela.ins.cwru.edu} \title{Moving Song} Let me wrap this crystal ornament in velvet, many turns in swaddling softness for the journey, as the setting sun adjourns this phase of light, this time of feeling, concentrated till it burns. It must be packed away in silence, cushioned well against concerns. On any journey, often little things go wrong. \medskip This is a delicate memento made of glass, reflecting glints of captured sun from more than one or two who warmed me. There are hints of frequent handling, careless holding, fracture lines and finger prints, but never once has fear of being broken up been this intense, a sense of frailty in me, frighteningly strong. \medskip Will you believe me when I say that you are never far from me, and what I put away is not your image, or your memory? Yet I must separate myself from this harmonic sympathy before these piercing, sweet vibrations shatter all serenity \dots but I will promise not to stay away for long. \author{Jennifer Merri Parker}{jmparker@ra.msstate.edu} \title{milkweed} a thousand clamourous birds have come to feed then rise as one amoeboid shade \qquad\qquad against the pallid height \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad in black on white \medskip \qquad\qquad west along the ridge beside the farms basswoods raise their naked arms \qquad\qquad into the cherry light \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad to block their flight \medskip a reach of sterile pool holds back the sky perversely so would you and I \qquad\qquad denying cold and bright \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad the coming night \medskip and fearful we draw back avoiding still \qquad\qquad the spines of ice that creep and chill \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad beneath the darkening hover \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad then cross over \medskip \qquad\qquad when, plucked and shaken by a fickle air the milkweed cockles launch \qquad\qquad their fair intrepid squadrons back \qquad\qquad in white on black \author{E. Russell Smith}{ab297@freenet.carleton.ca} \title{They Teach Children} I am afraid of being eaten she said whispering. \medskip I am afraid of ravens coming to pluck out my eyes beating blackly as night howls of mad wolves and crimson jackal laughter. \medskip I am afraid of lightning piercing; a flaming sword set ward across my secret Garden. \medskip I am afraid that it will swallow me whole and all that is me will be engulfed in screaming and I will be glad. \medskip She huddled small a child in woman's body and careful drabness could not hide a lush and terrible wanting. \medskip I am afraid. \author{M.A. Mohanraj}{moh2@midway.uchicago.edu} \title{Breakfast under Africa} Africa is like washing up gloves to me \medskip it always has been shruggy why \medskip maybe that rubber smell in mornings when \medskip orange kaffirbooms are spiny and disney \medskip i call them my t-rex trees \medskip breakfast this morning in whos shoes and potato jeans was two oranges some coffee and a storm long \medskip a photographic sky as flashy as anger \medskip with beatrice the sexy cat white blowey on the wall \medskip There is foreigness in africa \medskip not slitty conrad deceit \medskip but the foreigness of long stretch driving past wheat and wimpys \medskip Solitary musing on the steps of a sky \medskip under africa \medskip never felt so good \medskip I dreamt all night of david. \author{helen walne}{g93w5635@warthog.ru.ac.za} \title{Fall Magi} There was a day when I came \qquad\qquad to you with gifts: a wreath \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad of twisted vines, some \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad pieces of cinammon bark, a \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad very sticky pinecone, and a rusty \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad nail. \bigskip In return you gave only open \qquad\qquad open eyes and the sweet \qquad\qquad breath of the earth from \qquad\qquad\qquad your breasts. \bigskip And now, not even with the \qquad\qquad tartest of lemons or \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad the palest of flowers \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad could I repay you. \author{Corwin David Shackelford}{xdshackel@fullerton.edu} \title{Reliquary} Carry me in a charm about your neck, a strand of hair, a tooth, a spot of dust. \medskip Toss me in a cerebral ocean, to wallow a few decades longer. \medskip Carve me in granite, pink and enduring, and plant me in a garden with daffodils and mud. \medskip Catch me in dye and silver specks, and keep me in a frame upon the window sill. \medskip Scan me into one hundred thousand sintered dots, and store me on magnetic film. \medskip Do this in remembrance of me. \author{Karen Tellefsen}{kt1@cc.bellcore.com} \title{The Father \#3} He's told me that the ex-wife lets him take their daughter out alone for walks in their city. I imagine him holding her pink soft small cheek to his: large, scarred, scratchy. Once, walking in my city, I looked upon a building and voyeured into a window: a young father dancing with his child in arms. I wonder if this father jigs in the street, a music to celebrate. {\it Enjoy the trice,} the musicians say, {\it enjoy the innocence.} \author{Michael Hemmingson}{anon138e@nyx.cs.du.edu} \title{No room} Since words between us come to blows I will send silence instead wrapped in small packages which speak music and have no room for misunderstanding. \author{Ralph Wixer}{ralph@wixer.bga.com} \title{En la Plaza Dam} La generacion de los so\~nadores Con la guitarra y el verso Siguio buscando las se\~nales Que les abrieran el universo. \medskip Se marcharon caminando Con la mirada cansada Recogiendo los pedazos Que se les caian del alma. \medskip Muchos no regresaron De este viaje misterioso Se engancharon a una estrella En un dia de reposo. \medskip Mas, otros siguieron las campanas De mil iglesias agudas Bebiendo las palabras Como gotas de lluvia. \medskip Y el universo se abrio Crujiendo como pan caliente Dejando un rastro de pasas Y lagrimas de sal de la gente. \author{J.M.G-Faria}{lsijmgf@blues.upc.es} \title{already?} no \quad no \quad it can't be here \quad already splashes of reds and golds dazzling against red-rich canyons burning a thousand shades of green \medskip my summer shoes are not ready to be put away not willing to jump into piles of ready-for-scuffing leaves not ready to tumble into sedona tones of mellow pink-reds of maples golds of sycamore and cottonwood \medskip i still have crowns of white daisies to weave and billowing dresses of cotton lace to dance in on full-moon summer nights \medskip \medskip air so warm \quad so assuringly \quad caressingly warm cools \quad like a lover's absent-minded kiss it can't be here already i am not ready to cry or say goodbye just not ready to break \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad away \author{zita maria evensen}{bu016@hela.ins.cwru.edu} \title{Im a poet and yore not} o i feel like writing a funny poem but i really don't feel too funny and i sure as hell can't think of anything to say that's worth saying because not much is at least not by me \medskip i could talk about some deep issue some big emotional anti-abortion environmentalist gaggledeegee but i really don't think so i really don't give half a shit about that shit \medskip surprisingly enough, i thought all poets were faggety art-bamboozled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee \medskip see you can tell i'm a poet because i never capitalize jack shit and i'm allowed to say shit and shit because of my artistic freedom and i'm just too cool to ever end a damn sentence cuz i'm a poet and yore not \medskip wait a second check this deep shit out: \medskip the birds \quad fly over $]$ \qquad\qquad the sky and \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad the sky is blue and purple and pink and mauve \medskip damn that was deep alack for my deepness and the deepness of poets in general if you didn't understand it then you must suck pretty badly \medskip it's amazing how poets can get away with this foozled shit it sure makes it much easier to write meaningless bullshit it's really funny when scrubs try to say that you are talking about some deep shit or tried to do something deep \medskip people are too impressed with their intellects these days \medskip back in my day you wouldn't see a bunch of faggety-assed art freaks trying to analyze our poetry no sirree bob we talked about chopping wood and life on the old homestead and shit like that but mainly about chopping wood which is a real man's poem we also used to complete our sentences in my day and we used punctuation too. but nowadays everybodys too trickified for that crap cheese bubbles dominate the landscape \medskip \medskip dang hot damn sheet take it billy \author{Ander S. Monson}{asmonson@mtu.edu} \title{Overrated} Don't bother me with sex, sweet muse; your titillation's overused. Romantic love is overrated treacle and won't leave me sated. \medskip The moon in June is nice enough, why spoil it with that spooning stuff? The stars above are sharp and bright, why paint them with this pensive blight? \medskip Infatuation, go away. I've better things to do today. Romantic love is overrated treacle and won't leave me sated. \author{Karen Tellefsen}{kt1@cc.bellcore.com} \title{untitled} \dots she knows the colors' names and the hues they sing through i close my eyes and listen to her \medskip i can't tell between a color and a neighbor \medskip to talk of blue is to ignore societies of reds and greens and my smooth greys \medskip black to white the greys last all day \medskip so i close my eyes and the girl who knows the words colors my world in pastels \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad (she taught me that word, pastels \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad (soft . afternoon . diffusion \author{Chris Losinger}{cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu} \title{wicasa wikan} my brain feels crammed full of holiness that makes me feel sort of ill \medskip i need to write higher than ``love" and ``wanting to die" and ``masks" and ``loneliness" \medskip i need to write about burying my dog banging my head touching my girlfriend's breast fighting with a stranger stressing out over final exams and just how i felt after i lost my virginity \medskip shaman \medskip i need to write some miracles drain the holiness \medskip i've got no room in my head for a savior \author{d. broderick gould}{dbg2@lehigh.edu} \title{Triptych} \vbox{ \halign{\quad#\hfill & \quad#\hfill & \quad#\hfill \cr Sense & Her & Near you \cr Her & Heart beats & Quickly \cr Trembling & For you & Hold her \cr Love her & Like the stars & Forever \cr Lost in the & Shine & In her eyes \cr Caress & Her face & With great tenderness \cr You share & Smiles & She holds you \cr With Love & With Love & With Love. \cr}} \author{Joseph V. Bopp}{jbopp@vaxc.stevens-tech.edu} \vfill\eject \end