James Koller
reads
Looking for His Horses
at
https://jameskoller.bandcamp.com/
Crows Talk To Him
As Jim hits the road once again we will keep you posted on his whereabouts. Please email poetry, photos, stories et cetera to crowstalktohim@gmail.com & we will share them here. Thank you.
10 December 2017
30 May 2017
17 December 2016
28 November 2016
THAT SAME OLD OWL
THAT SAME OLD OWL
Walking up to the window
winter gray first morning light,
I missed him, didn't see
he sat atop the garden fence post,
then did, & stopped, & he knew
I'd stopped when I saw him,
& he was still, no move
until I moved, took one small step back,
& he turned, flew straight away,
passed into the gray & white trees
James Koller
15 Jan 09
from A River I Couldn't Find
Walking up to the window
winter gray first morning light,
I missed him, didn't see
he sat atop the garden fence post,
then did, & stopped, & he knew
I'd stopped when I saw him,
& he was still, no move
until I moved, took one small step back,
& he turned, flew straight away,
passed into the gray & white trees
James Koller
15 Jan 09
from A River I Couldn't Find
07 October 2016
hello from Dianella
hello from Dianella; here my little poem about european memorial day for Jim with Thea and friends in august in Seggiano
Dianella
30 May 2016
26 May 2016
Hello from Placitas, NM
Here's a recording I did in (I'm pretty sure) 1986 in Albuquerque when I was setting up readings at the Central Torta.
Thank you for "Crows Talk To Him." I liked the song and I'm asking who wrote the lyrics -- is it Jim or his son?
If you happen to know what books Jim was reading from let me know and I'll add it to the information.
Sincerely,
Larry Goodell,
28 January 2016
Some older videos collected here...
On the Poet's Cafe July, 2011
https://vimeo.com/26735098
At RISD 20 Nov 2007
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myX_mX5hRMA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rNPaphtN40
In Rome April 2008
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GpXUdaHwo4
Performance di Stefano Panzarasa alla vernice della Mostra di Collage di James Koller tenutasi 6/11/2010 alla Grafica Campioli , Monterotondo ROMA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MzsnMa5Q_I
Recent Bone Show Excerpt May 2011
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pHDNnGe5SRE
https://vimeo.com/26735098
At RISD 20 Nov 2007
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myX_mX5hRMA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rNPaphtN40
In Rome April 2008
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GpXUdaHwo4
Performance di Stefano Panzarasa alla vernice della Mostra di Collage di James Koller tenutasi 6/11/2010 alla Grafica Campioli , Monterotondo ROMA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MzsnMa5Q_I
Recent Bone Show Excerpt May 2011
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pHDNnGe5SRE
22 January 2016
Traduttologia's new issue with a commemoration of Jim is available
dear friends
Traduttologia's new issue with a commemoration of Jim is available.
a. V (n. s.), n. 9-10, luglio 2013 - gennaio 2014
Per James Koller. A un amico, in memoria
It contains my translation of Wilderness by Carl Sandburg with Jim's short biographical note
my
translation of a slight different version of "A river I couldn't
find", worked by Jim and Stefano to be played as a song - we already
sent the link -
my
translation of "From the Hotel Alba, Pescara" and brief comments on
Jim's and Sandburg's poems. Some consideration on the term Wilderness
and its translation into Italian.
a big hug
Mariagrazia
10 December 2015
remembering the poets
We moved by water, slowly
found our way in the dark, through the canals,
around the tight corners. We moved slowly-
circled out & in, put it together
like some kind of needlework. Some places
folks don't live their lives in a straight line.
James Koller (1936-2014)
15 Oct 87 Venezia
***
One Journey
Moths and other sacred wings
Butterflies and bees whisper
In breath of the wind
Blessed way blessing way things
Dreams are the minds streams
Thought pictures of the spirit
There are dreams of the day
There are dreams of the night
Thinking and dreaming are related
Dreams of the day we make our own
Dreams of night part eternals stone
There are dream takers
Taking from dream worlds
Taking dreams as a way of
Stealing thoughts
Turning minds inside then out
Dream slavers want to change
Our connections to ourselves
Mess with our dreams make us unsure
Unclear about right and wrong
Feed our dreams and instincts
To industrial profit machine
Difference between dream and fantasy
Reality and illusion center and no center
Dreams of the day keep our spirits alive
Our creative mind who we really are
With dreams we can create and heal
Follow our original purpose
Dreams are protection good medicine
Blessed way blessings way things
Sun and moon continue
We are all on one journey
John Trudell (1946-2015)
from Children of Earth
Childs Voice
found our way in the dark, through the canals,
around the tight corners. We moved slowly-
circled out & in, put it together
like some kind of needlework. Some places
folks don't live their lives in a straight line.
James Koller (1936-2014)
15 Oct 87 Venezia
***
One Journey
Moths and other sacred wings
Butterflies and bees whisper
In breath of the wind
Blessed way blessing way things
Dreams are the minds streams
Thought pictures of the spirit
There are dreams of the day
There are dreams of the night
Thinking and dreaming are related
Dreams of the day we make our own
Dreams of night part eternals stone
There are dream takers
Taking from dream worlds
Taking dreams as a way of
Stealing thoughts
Turning minds inside then out
Dream slavers want to change
Our connections to ourselves
Mess with our dreams make us unsure
Unclear about right and wrong
Feed our dreams and instincts
To industrial profit machine
Difference between dream and fantasy
Reality and illusion center and no center
Dreams of the day keep our spirits alive
Our creative mind who we really are
With dreams we can create and heal
Follow our original purpose
Dreams are protection good medicine
Blessed way blessings way things
Sun and moon continue
We are all on one journey
John Trudell (1946-2015)
from Children of Earth
Childs Voice
25 November 2015
hello from Dianella in Italy
Ciao, with the permission of Jed Koller almost every day I put in my blog one poem of Jim from "A river I could't find":https:// poesiaprosaspontanea. wordpress.com/2015/11/21/a- river-i-couldnt-find-di-james- koller-2/
I love so much these poems of Jim and I remember him as poet and as person. In few day is the 10 dicember, as you know naturally14 October 2015
13 March 2015
20 February 2015
Another song for James Koller. Love, Bertie
Searching For Blue Sky
my father died an old
man coyote crow
face to the open
window sky road
we gathered around
the world together him
a lifetime of
children lovers friends
searching
for blue sky
oh joplin missouri
wind & clouds & rain
a poet died in your arms
but to you it's all the same
we're all just passing through
nomads drifters tramps
on our way to somewhere else
black coffee & maps
searching
for blue sky
set me loose on the
highways back-roads trails
let my heart
open love wail
for the days yet to
come be pass
from now until my
final closing last
searching
for blue sky
my father died an old
man coyote crow
face to the open
window sky road
beneath a mid-day sun
whiskey feathers bells
together we bade him
fare-thee-well
searching
for blue sky
23 Jan 15
05 February 2015
from Ida Rose
There is a chair in my kitchen where you've always sat
I look over
and see you there
watching me.
You smile. And with your same eyes,
I smile back.
2/4/2015
(I love you, dad.)
I look over
and see you there
watching me.
You smile. And with your same eyes,
I smile back.
2/4/2015
(I love you, dad.)
04 February 2015
M. Swift - For Jim, on the 49th Day
For Jim, on the 49th Day
Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world:
a star at dawn,
a bubble in a stream;
a flash
of lightning in a summer cloud,
a flickering lamp,
a phantom
and
a dream.
— The Diamond Sutra
29 January 2015
After reading " from a daughter" - Dianella
After reading " from a daughter"
Ci sono persone
che rimangono sempre fuori di noi
anche se le tocchiamo
ci parliamo
ci scambiamo parole
e ci auguriamo belle cose -
altre le vedi due volte
ma intensamente
altre non le hai mai viste
sono morte da anni e decenni e anche più -
eppure le senti ogni giorno dentro di te -
sono i tuoi maestri -
oppure
le hai viste quelle due volte
intensamente
e quando ti dicono è morto
senti che è venuto a stare da te
dentro di te -
è una cosa strana ma vera
------------------------------ ---------
Dianella
Ci sono persone
che rimangono sempre fuori di noi
anche se le tocchiamo
ci parliamo
ci scambiamo parole
e ci auguriamo belle cose -
altre le vedi due volte
ma intensamente
altre non le hai mai viste
sono morte da anni e decenni e anche più -
eppure le senti ogni giorno dentro di te -
sono i tuoi maestri -
oppure
le hai viste quelle due volte
intensamente
e quando ti dicono è morto
senti che è venuto a stare da te
dentro di te -
è una cosa strana ma vera
------------------------------
Dianella
from John Lane
Thank you for sending me this link. I was so sad to hear of Jim's
passing. Please accept my sincerest condolences. Peter Garland had
emailed me to let me know that Jim had passed. I wish we had been able
to mount a production of The Bone Show for them, but I just couldn't get
it together.
It is lovely to see all of the tributes pouring in from various poets and friends. Thank you for sending me the link.
I have a picture of Jim and Peter. Perhaps you'd like to put it up? It is from 2011. And here's a link to excerpts from The Bone Show: https://www.youtube.com/watch? v=pHDNnGe5SRE
All the Best,
JL
It is lovely to see all of the tributes pouring in from various poets and friends. Thank you for sending me the link.
I have a picture of Jim and Peter. Perhaps you'd like to put it up? It is from 2011. And here's a link to excerpts from The Bone Show: https://www.youtube.com/watch?
All the Best,
JL
15 January 2015
from a daughter
Poem title: "Because I told you that you would live on through me"
When a person dies
many say that they leave
an emptiness
I have been looking for this emptiness
under rocks, in the sky, in city bricks and on train tracks
in sounds
like the tea kettle whistle, or the winter rain hitting the window
Disconcerted
I can't find the emptiness
I keep running into You
here, there
here, there
Even the prism through which I see and hear
all of these things
has your hand so firmly in its blueprint
So why should there be emptiness when You are everywhere
and the world has become so full of You
that my heart intermingles its beats
with Your own?
02 January 2015
Jerome Rothenberg - The Sky that Harbors Heaven
The Sky that Harbors
Heaven
into the
homeless
state
the lines
of poets
move
not hardened yet
into belief
& other acts
of cruelty
their voices
lost to us
signal a silence
sure as death*
* as breath
& louder
even now
I hear
& treasure
like a cry
the greatest
cry
is silent
as the wise man
says
& turns
facing
the future
still behind him
mysteries
we love
only because
they break
the world
apart
enough to let
the faintest
light
shine through
the sky
that harbors
heaven
is no sky
the darker world
enfolds it
waits there
mindlessly
until it swallows
mind & body
leaving scarce
a trace
behind
once &
for all
29 December 2014
Harry Hoogstraten - Kerst groet
sad so sad ....
***
Dear Maggie here are some of the poems I know Jim liked, wishing you and the children all the best , love Harry
https://soundcloud.com/ sloowtapes/harry-hoogstraten
23 December 2014
Bertie Koller - Old Black Crow - song for James Koller
Performed at a Winter Solstice celebration at my neighbor's house.
Accompanying me are Jamie (bass) & Sean (percussion) Oshima.
***
Old Black Crow
cold cold river
cold cold ground
I'm gonna lay this body down
but I can't stay
no I've gotta go
I'm gonna fly away with that old black
crow
old black crow
old black crow
I'm gonna fly away with that old black
crow
I've got rye whiskey
& cold ice cream
I've got all that I need
but I can't stay
no I've gotta go
I'm gonna soar away with that old black
crow
old black crow
old black crow
I'm gonna soar away with that old black
crow
these nights are long
cold & dark
but there's a sliver of moon & so
many stars
to guide my way
andiamo
let's go old black crow
old black crow
old black crow
let's go old black crow
hey blue sky
I won't forget
it is what it is
you get what you get
& that's just fine
it's the way things go
I'm gonna fly away with that old black
crow
old black crow
old black crow
I'm gonna fly away with that old black
crow
19 December 2014
for James Koller
Homage to poet James Koller...
Homage to poet James Koller on the Web site of the
Regional Nature Park of Monti Lucretti (Italy), where James had
frequently visited since 2002 and shared his poetry with students from
local schools. A heartfelt thanks to Stefano Panzarasa and Mariagrazia
Pelaia for their years of working with Dad in sharing poems about nature
with those children. This work meant a great deal to him.
The homage includes videos and translations in Italian.
Bobby Byrd - BIRDS for Jim
BIRDS
Winter Solstice 2014
El Paso, Texas
—for Jim Koller
Couldn’t sleep. Reading Gary
Snyder.
“Essential nature is not female or
male.”
So surprising, so obvious, so
revolutionary.
Woman and man. Good and evil.
Like golden aspen leaves fluttering
to the earth.
It’s been years since I lived in
the mountains.
I woke up at 4:30 and waited until
The night skies began to turn
Pinks and blues. A grey cloud
Stretched across the Rio Grande to
Juárez.
We moved to this house almost 40
years ago.
We have grown old inside these
walls.
Blood pressure 133/86. I am 72
years old.
My friend Jim Koller died last
week.
Room 124 of the Motel 6, Joplin, MO.
A stroke scrambled his brain into
darkness.
A few days later the rest of his
body
Followed to the other side.
A road runner stared at Cirrelda
Through her Albuquerque window
That same morning. The bird
Preened its beautiful feathers.
“Jim Koller,” Cirrelda said.
Her body warm under the covers next
to J.B.
She makes those connections.
A very human gift.
We have a mockingbird always
Screaming at me to open the gate.
“Nothing to it. Just let go.” Jim
Killed an elk on San Antonio
Mountain,
The horses snorting and whinnying
At the crack of his rifle. It
pierced
The peace that passes all understanding.
That morning likewise was years
ago. Was ice cold.
Death steam rose fresh from the elk
cavern
As Jim, kneeling like a priest,
Sliced into the dark center of life,
The bloody knife razor sharp,
Hands trembling in the terrible
cold.
“CAW, CAW, CAW,” the crows
screamed.
CAW,
CAW, CAW, CAW
Beauty
at the beginning
Man
and woman. Good and evil.
Aspen
leaves rotting into the cold earth.
Beauty
at the end
No
beginning. No end.
Beauty
all around
That day and for weeks to come
Jim, his lover, his friends feasted
on elk meat.
“Delicious, “he said.
Goodbye, Jim. Goodbye.
We’ll keep it real as long as we
can.
Giuseppe Moretti - Remembering Jim Koller
Remembering Jim
Koller
I came to know
James Koller thanks to Gary Lawless, who told me “you must know this guy” and he
gave me his email address. I wrote him and he answered sending me The Bone Show
text, one of his masterpieces. I answered back “whow, this is good medicine!”.
And there it started our friendship which lasted till the day of his passing
away. Before that I knew him through occasional reports from the Sixties &
Seventies’ counterculture press (he had a few of his things published in Italy,
thanks to his friend Franco Beltrametti, in the rather famous Fernanda Pivano’s
anthology “L’altra America degli Anni Sessanta”) and the perception I had of him
was of a man hard to locate, perpetually on the move.
Eventually we met,
during one of his frequent visit to Europe, and we started journeying through
the Italian watersheds for poetry readings and talks. He has been very
instrumental and supportive to our work of promoting the bioregional vision in
Italy and I owe him lots of discussions and deepening on the concept. His points
were always acute and accurate as they reflected years of study on culture and
nature. Although at ease in every context he was perfectly comfortable when he
was on the road (a pleasant anecdote: every time we were about to leave, we
approached the road singing “On the road again / just can’t wait to get on the
road again…” of Willie Nelson), I would say the road was his daily bread, an open door to new
possibilities, alliances and new territories. His bioregion reflects the map of
his travelling and spoke in terms of poems, landscapes and stories around the
fire. Over the years he build up an extensive network of people and situations
over which he could count for hospitality and a chance for sharing poems and
thoughts, and I’m very proud to have been a little nod in his
net.
Thanks Jim for
your art, your exquisite poems, for the little Coyote book of mine “Watersheds
of the Mind” you did (in three languages!!), for hosting me in your home in
Georgetown and for the walk in the Maine woods to see the beaver dams and later
along the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachussetts, to visit Thoreaus’
cabin site. For the journey along the northern coast of California to see Mount
Tamalpais, Bolinas, Point Reyes and up to Mendocino County, and before that the
ride to Kitkitdizze where I attended to a memorable conversation between you and
Gary Snyder on the good old days, and thanks very much for offering your time to
edit the translation in English of my writings. This is the first without you…
and the difference is evident.
Giuseppe
Moretti
(on winter
Sostice’s day)
22 December 2014
Winter's coming - from Stefan Hyner
THE PILLION-RIDER’S BLUES
There never was a more honest place to be
as when Jim was riding
the road of this Saha-World with me
21 December 2014
Rita degli Esposti 19 December 14
part
of a poem I really loved to hear from Jim's voice, for Dario Villa, and now,
sadly, for Jim...
(...)
...immacolato, spirit
from il cielo
an immaculate
segreto della notte
agitates the secret
agitava the stars
la brezza della night
my passion
fuso con luce
in this country
(...)
(...)
...immacolato, spirit
from il cielo
an immaculate
segreto della notte
agitates the secret
agitava the stars
la brezza della night
my passion
fuso con luce
in this country
(...)
Fred Wah 19 December 2014
From the blog, Red Log, by Fred Wah:
"I met Jim, after many years, at the 70’s event at Orono
several years ago. His attention and energy seemed still as he had been in the
early 60’s when he and I, at Robert Duncan’s suggestion, talked of publishing a
book of his poetry as a SUMbook. We were living in Albuquerque and had just published
Duncan’s Writing Writing. Though Jim and I explored the possibility of doing his
book, it didn’t happen. It was published as Two Hands in Seattle in
1965. I was attracted to Jim’s poetry in pretty much the same way I had
taken to Snyder’s: northwest, mountains, rivers, trees, animal spirits, etc., a
poetics of place I felt aligned with. We published Jim in SUM #2 (February,
1964) and in the final issue (#7, 1965). I’d like to honour Jim’s poetic
presence through the years by offering these pages of his from SUM #2."
Giuseppe Moretti 14 Dec 14
... Thanks Jim, for all the journey through the Italian
watersheds we had together. For all the books and booklets we did together, for
all the poems shared and the readings you generously gave for us all. You’ve
been such a good friend and a great poet.
I’ll keep you in my heart forever.
from Po river watershed to the Blue Sky...
Giuseppe Moretti
17 December 2014
from Rita Degli Esposti
"...Gonna miss you more when you're gone"
Supenova edizioni in Venezia (John Gian who organised Jim's very first reading in Europe, Armando Pajalich, Rita Degli Esposti) published "Fortune", by Jim, in 1987,( translated by Franco Beltrametti) and this iconic poem was in it.
"Gonna be worst than now"
Supenova edizioni in Venezia (John Gian who organised Jim's very first reading in Europe, Armando Pajalich, Rita Degli Esposti) published "Fortune", by Jim, in 1987,( translated by Franco Beltrametti) and this iconic poem was in it.
"Gonna be worst than now"
With love, Lily Bruder
I had the privilege of sharing this dance with Jim at my wedding last year. It was the last time we were to see each other.
I will miss him and continue to be inspired by him always.
With love,
Lily
I will miss him and continue to be inspired by him always.
With love,
Lily
with love and gratitude, David Schneider
Jim strode towards me the first time we met,
holding a creased sheet of paper bearing my picture. I’d sent him the
image by email, so we’d recognize one another, and he’d printed it out. I
stood at the head of the train in the Cologne station, where I said I
would, and he came right on, and held the sheet up next to my head to
compare. Then he extended a hand. We’d been exchanging emails for some
time.
Jim—chiefly
through Coyote Books—had been one of Philip Whalen’s principle
publishers, and I was at work on Philip’s biography. Jim had also served
as one of Philip’s editors, especially on the large compilation On Bear’s Head.
Philip was grateful for all of Jim’s efforts, but beyond that, he also
admired Jim’s poetry a great deal, and he enjoyed Jim’s company. He said
this repeated. Philip also often leaned on Jim for transport—of himself
and of many assorted belongings—because Jim usually had a truck, and
Philip usually needed a ride.
On
the day we met, Jim had taken a slightly longer route to Germany,
kindly coming through Cologne, so I could interview him. We had lunch
first, at a brewery close to the station. After I translated pretty much
all the menu items, he said, “If they really have a liver-dumpling
soup…well, I haven’t had that in a while.” As a source, Jim was precise,
and when he couldn’t be, he restrained himself from speculation. He was
surprisingly talkative about what he knew, and he knew an awful lot.
As
I worked at writing the book, Jim would graciously look over chapters,
query some things, point out others I hadn’t seen. He and Maggie Brown
published one long chapter about Philip and Gary Snyder in the online
Coyote’s Journal. Jim was a tremendous help and friendly, generous,
guiding spirit.
I attach two pictures:
— one the day we spoke, at a cafe near the Cologne main station;
— one of Jim’s name, copied out in a formal hand.
Partly
because Philip Whalen was a buddhist, because I am, and because Jim
seemed at least respectful of buddhism, the card will sit on my shrine
until the traditional seven weeks have elapsed since his passing.
16 December 2014
Video: Last Will and Testament
Last Will and Testament
Monte Matano, Moricone, Italia - 2006
Un abbraccio,
Stefano Panzarasa
14 December 2014
Love, Giona Beltrametti
LOVE
15 Novembre 2008 - Como Train Station.
1979 - Wolf dog, Franco and Jim, Monte Generoso near Riva San Vitale.
15 Novembre 2008 - Como Train Station.
1979 - Wolf dog, Franco and Jim, Monte Generoso near Riva San Vitale.
for our Wild Bardo James
I am Gino from Napoli, south Italia.
James was here many times...was time of poems and heart..big heart.
so..i am with You and with all your family this time of His journey in the eternal Nature of Bliss...
Him is always Live...eternal heart poem.
Yours in LOve
ginOM
love from massimo and corine
Jim in Selva del Lamone (Maremma- Italy) - September 2004 for the second Festival of Reistent Literature
Love from massimo de feo and corine young
Jim in Roma, May 5- 2010, with his daughter and Corine Young
Jim in Spoleto with massimo de feo, in the morning of May 5- 2010
Jim in Spoleto with massimo de feo, in the morning of May 5- 2010
too young - Rita Degli Esposti
Crossing the corner,the shop where we used to laugh and watch the
window , those clothes " for retired people"...no you were too young to
die, your soul was young your poetry your heart your pure
presence...maybe those who die so young, like you, never die
the sense of love and sobriety you took into my life
OM A HUM
the sense of love and sobriety you took into my life
OM A HUM
from Judy Goldhaft
Dear Folks,
I had hoped to post this on the blog for Jim.
It took me awhile to put my thoughts into words, so here is a
weeks worth of thoughts.
I send you all my best energy to deal with this difficult time. Such an incredible loss.
Please keep me updated and let me know if there is any way I can be of help or support to you.
Judy Goldhaft (Judy Berg)
San Francisco 12/11/14
Dec 5
So good to see so many of your friends writing on the blog.
Brilliant silver sky full of rain. Thinking of you water dripping from my eyes too.
Thanks for the twinkle in your eye. Loved your conversations with Peter Garland. Loved even more our conversations together with Peter Berg – us three rolling in the grass at night, drinking Old Overholt, howling at the moon.
Many thanks for WIND, Fragments for a Beginning. We’ll sing it when we give Peter’s ashes to the fire and the sky on the beach.
Loved your response to my pointing out how many wives you’ve had. Ingenuously, “Well, it wasn’t my fault.” You are such a lover. I love you Jim.
Judy
Dec.6
Driving out to Pt. Reyes predawn
Your presence is with me
Your laugh
& smiling eyes
The sun’s orange glow warms the fog at the rise into Olema. Ravens take flight.
The shimmering water on the road reflecting brilliant winter light recalls wet and snowy streets in Bath
We visited in the nowever as I drove through fog mists along wet highways.
Recalling other times, another trips, some poemized by you – captured moments in time.
.… Dreamtime visitin’
Dec. 9
In the dark
You transport me
Wrap me in your reality
I breathe with you
From you
For you
Dec. 10
Sadness overwhelms me
Big wind coming tonight
perhaps you’ll blow through
A VENEZIA per Jim Koller, in ricordo
A VENEZIA per Jim Koller, in ricordo
In questa città
dove tutto fluttua, dove siamo stati vivendo,
come hai fatto notare, in cerchi concentrici, sono
andato a letto tardi stanotte e come poche altre volte
ho sentito dentro il cielo grigio una stella respirare
alta nel suo pianto. Una nuvola a forma di lupo
poi è corsa qui sopra ad essa vicina, libera, in questa città
dove come scrivesti la gente non vive la vita
in linea retta. Un' ultima cosa, si procedeva lenti,
girando per strade d'acqua nella sera improvvisa.
Non c'era per forza qualcosa da fare.
dicembre 2014, Francesco Giusti
In questa città
dove tutto fluttua, dove siamo stati vivendo,
come hai fatto notare, in cerchi concentrici, sono
andato a letto tardi stanotte e come poche altre volte
ho sentito dentro il cielo grigio una stella respirare
alta nel suo pianto. Una nuvola a forma di lupo
poi è corsa qui sopra ad essa vicina, libera, in questa città
dove come scrivesti la gente non vive la vita
in linea retta. Un' ultima cosa, si procedeva lenti,
girando per strade d'acqua nella sera improvvisa.
Non c'era per forza qualcosa da fare.
dicembre 2014, Francesco Giusti
"From my perspective"
"From my perspective"
Outside in hall squeaky soles
machine to lift move muscles drained
lights on paper wall attempt cheerful
smiles over cataclysm
Knock open door reveal words
tearful life words singing family
root-tight togetherness walking
him through to new life.
Love and peace to you all - Chaplain Justin Coberley, S.R.C.V.
Outside in hall squeaky soles
machine to lift move muscles drained
lights on paper wall attempt cheerful
smiles over cataclysm
Knock open door reveal words
tearful life words singing family
root-tight togetherness walking
him through to new life.
Love and peace to you all - Chaplain Justin Coberley, S.R.C.V.
Jim super Jim
ti pensiamo e ancora una volta ti abbracciamo, un abbraccio anche a tutti coloro che ti stanno vicino
cita mimi e miguel
cita mimi e miguel
from Thea - Last Will and Testament in Spanish
Sólo quiero que me cubra un cielo azul
quiero nubes, tantas
de ellas, cambiantes, pasando,
cambiando al pasar.
Quiero las noches más oscuras
repletas de estrellas girando.
Quiero que me encuentren los pájaros,
quiero el aliento cálido de los animales.
El viento también ha de pasar,
en su camino a los lugares
en los que estuve.
quiero nubes, tantas
de ellas, cambiantes, pasando,
cambiando al pasar.
Quiero las noches más oscuras
repletas de estrellas girando.
Quiero que me encuentren los pájaros,
quiero el aliento cálido de los animales.
El viento también ha de pasar,
en su camino a los lugares
en los que estuve.
10 December 2014
Love, Bob & Susan
It's all a great loss
But the greater loss
is not wanting to have
a world without your dad
I've never been in
this world
without him
James Anthony Koller Jr.
30 May 1936 - 10 December 2014
LAST WILL & TESTAMENT
I want only blue sky over me.
I want the clouds, so many
of them, variations, passing,
changing as they pass.
I want the blackest nights
filled with turning stars.
I want birds to find me,
want the hot breath of animals.
The wind too shall pass,
on its way to places
I have been.
30 Nov 95
Battle Mountain
I want only blue sky over me.
I want the clouds, so many
of them, variations, passing,
changing as they pass.
I want the blackest nights
filled with turning stars.
I want birds to find me,
want the hot breath of animals.
The wind too shall pass,
on its way to places
I have been.
30 Nov 95
Battle Mountain
from Cirrelda Snider-Bryan
here is another photo from that June of 2006 time in New Mexico … along the walk we found this sculpture
solidarnösc, cirrelda
From Patsy to Jim
Dearest Jim,
almost 50 years of knowing you
loving you
missing, greeting, apart,together
connecting, missing again and again
don't know where to start
can't get arms around you not there
not here
your voice
that precious voice on the phone
instantly making me smile
all is forgiven
all is just right
all the letters
later the emails,
filled with your narratives,
your poems
we married others,
had our children with others;
this was how it was
some things are never completed.
now you are getting ready to fly away
this is how it is
all who love you are trying to let you go,
to cheer you,bless you on your journey
I know I should too.
Am working on it.
For now am sending you all love
on every sparkling channel
I can dial in:
love to you
and to your dear family, encircling you.
In the woods I looked up,
saw two Flickers high in a tree.
Watched them a while.
Suddenly one took flight.
There was a little pause,
then the other flew after.
They were calling to each other.
Love, Peter Coyote
Ceremony
Shrouded in coast fog, the chitter
of Nuthatch and Junco
crisp as a shaman’s
rattle. All morning
late plums drum my garden
steps. I am mixing my mother’s ashes
with birdseed, elbow-deep
in a galvanized pail.
I am swishing the whispering
seed with ghostly flour
ground in the flower-blue bell
of the crematorium’s roar
pollinating each grain
with her smoky voice, the ghost
of her elegant pearls.
Plunging my hands into the seed
her flesh a gritty surprise
more sand than smoke.
The seed, the chaff, the hazing vapor
stirs memory --a downy puff dusting her angled cheek
the glow of her in a child’s eyes---
the scented fog,wobbling motes
hopping,
waiting, head-cocked birds and songs
flow through my fingers,
ticking into the tinned tub
These powdery seeds offered
to couriers carrying her
through the dilated iris of the sky
rustle the tips of the grass,
slough off her exhausted flesh,
with acrobatic abandon
and detachment.
Rising from this meld of future and past
my spooky hands.
August 17, 1999
revised 2003, 8-14-2013, 03-24-14
Lethal Grain
for Daniel Pearl
Insoluble grit
stimulates nacre
shielding tender
oyster flesh from pain
creating
the splendor of a pearl.
Suffering is
lodged in the heart of beauty.
Conducting
an interview
he never
suspected the story
featured
his assassin. A few quick strokes
sketched a
plum-colored tulip of his throat.
Wide-eyed
at the final instant
did he
understand
the debt
of red-ink pooling in his lap?
His head drops
like a petal.
The camera
he assumed would guarantee
a ransom,
scooped him.
He became
the last editions
of himself.
He became:
“the Jew”,
“the Journalist”, “the American”
and
finally “the Patient”
in a
straight-to-video snuff film.
Had he no
notion that he would be held
responsible
for the deaths to which others
had signed
his name? No notion that rocks for
the Jews
of Nablus and Ramallah were also pitched
at him? The
‘doctors’ struggling to vanquish
foreign
disease mock his wife
compound
bitter ironies from gall,
inoculate their own hearts against remorse
with homeopathic doses of their own
dismembered
wives and children.
They
cannot claw pilots from the sky
so slice this Pearl
or whatever they can catch.
Feed it to their God, Kalashnikoff.
The robed men milk poppies--
calculate
his life an overdue bill
resent the
shade he casts on the goat
they’ve
staked for slaughter. Their parched lips
calculate
goat and reporter equal.
And the pearl
is passed from hand to hand
the hand
of the giver shadows for an instant
the hand
of the receiver, passing
the
darkness with the gift— the sharp-edged grain
disguised,
transmitted through time
as an
accumulating viral load.
Feb.
25, 2002
rev.
April 14, 2014***
Earth is a Woman,
Sure
I.
Earth is a woman, sure
but most beautiful when
she weeps. Tears shining, falling
from fluttering ravens lashed
to the cheeks of the sky.
Soot-streaked hills
softened by mist and stinging rain
the cries of wild geese singing
Avalokiteshvara’s pity for
the passing world.
II.
And you who know me well
who question my proclivity
for women in perpetual shade
hiding their flesh from the sun,
Beside the mystery of myself
I can only add that tears
are the heart’s juice, some balm
against the diamond chill
of beauty.
III.
A young boy safe in the fragrant loft
of a tin-roofed barn, wrapped
in the blanket sheltering his sleeping father
from the fury pelting the roof—
the heaving flank of mountain-- his
chest--
an unusual comfort.
April
25, 2014
***
The Dogs of Bucharest
The dogs of Bucharest are dusted
with crumbled mansions, ash
of red flags. They doze
in ruined dreams abandoned
by their masters. They bark
whelp and die without
plan or permission. Occasionally,
like thinkers, like poets,
they are rounded up
and shot.
A bitch with flapping teats
haunts the ruined foundry
where I film an entertainment
for my country.
This feral dog eyes the roll I proffer
trembles, intention whittled
to a point. The whimpering
pups beneath a wrack of ruined iron
cannot soften her stiff legged fear.
Sad and sooty sumacs,
tattered sorrel, small luminous, lavender flowers
conquer the twisted rubble
vanquish the iron track.
Seed, stem, and
bramble
trump the stained concrete
trump all, except
the gnawing hunger of the dogs.
June
26, 2004
***
Hunting
Rubies
Empty
even of hunger
the
bones of your heels
are
restless to leave the rail.
Loss
is in the air
and
underfoot.
A
cord has snapped.
My
love once sought
her
rubies in the deep pile
of
our scarlet carpet.
Eyes
shadowed by loss,
Owl’s
keen sight piercing the dark
She
anticipates the finish
where
pavement and clear sailing end
and
her feet will seek mercy
between
the stones.
My
beloved,
my
hands too are empty
dusted
only with the pollen of your body.
Can
you not follow my tracks
to
where I’ve dried and stored the corn?
“You give me champagne and I’m
starving.”
Has
all of me been refused?
Have
I stolen your portion of the bee’s gold--
the
bird’s songs from your throat?
Have
I taken the best of you?
Oh,
wait! Please just wait!
Can’t
you see how feverishly
I
am tying feathers.
to
your arms?
June 30, 2008
rev. April 14,2014
***
The Dogs of Bucharest
II
Romanian dogs have drum-tight skin.
Hearts slap the ribs drumming loss
through jungles of ruined concrete.
Heads down, clustered like jackals
scanning the broken streets
they are afraid of men.
American dogs shine like gold.
Are sleek with oil, have energy
confidence to burn.
They have vitamins in their feed
by law, are better fed
than our own poor.
June
26, 2004
rev. July 11, 2014
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