A Different View of Diamond Head
"The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep's throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as his liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act, as the destroyer of liberty. Plainly the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty; and precisely the same difference prevails today among human creatures."
Lincoln
A Working Artist Making People Happy in Waikiki(see his wheels?)
"Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts."
Einstein
That's "Haute" Dog!
"There's only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that's your own self."
Aldous Huxley
"When one door closes another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us."
Alexander Graham Bell
Actually I revere poetry.
But not the way it's presented in snooty publications that I otherwise enjoy, like the NEW YORKER.
They run only "challenging," good-for-you stuff that demands a thesaurus and a masters degree in the current, insular, expert-driven jargon to "get."
The enjoyment it conveys to its devotees must be the shallow, acid satisfaction of exclusion.
Makes your heart sing, doesn't it?
How nice for "them."
But the rest of us, we need to re-read Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Rilke, Whitman, Basho, or Richard Wilbur to get our fix of words dancing with deceptively weighty import.
They make it simple and welcoming,
so you may go deeper as you grow
yet still resonate to the
simple,
the true.
Well a tough little weed of authentic beauty is attracting attention to the vacant lots, gunshots in the night, and strangely proud despair of once-mighty Detroit.
There at the epi-center of "whats gone wrong with America" is a prime example of what is best in our country: a craftsman with nicotine stained fingers, a retired mechanic who can fix cars as well as conundrums, a fiercely honest, yet compellingly stark-gentle soul who produces Real Poetry, proving that this miraculous species, yet thumbs it's nose at the hot-house imprisonment attempted by academe.
Words, those impish little gods, will find a mouthpiece, one who has been made ready by a life at the working-edge of grass roots, in da street, a democratic genius presenting a scornful, sage appraisal of the
"way things are going."
This is no hot house flower.
This is the guy you want to have a shot, and a smoke, and a convo with at 3am as the sirens wail:
Meet Mark Durfee
AKA "The Walking Man"
on his coffee stained, eponymous blog:
This grizzled wanderer/biker/war veteran/no-bullshit workman has recently produced something like 100 straight days of Real Poetry at his blog!
The rythmn and gravity of his words are the exposed beams of a meaning that had been torturing your abilities to express it; Then Mark dashes it off and posts it for us to read,
in a form that is spare, and rich, and usually inspiring.
I feel that I have made a friend, hell, I know that I have.
This poetic voice has my vote:
Mark, you may speak the keen truths that knife through our coats, and walls,
for me, for millions.
We remember comon sense, responsibility, and governing based on more than "say anything" power games, and spoils for the rapacious.
We remember a trust and a solidity that has decayed:
just like Detroit it's perfect emblem.
So visit The Walking Man.
Obtain there his slender new volume, beautifully named:
"STINK
Poetry and Prose of Detroit"
If I know you as well as I think I might, you'll taste something fresh, yet beautifully familiar: your own
despair & unquenchable hope
dancing cheek to cheek, down the broken sidewalks
of Detroit
at close to midnight.
For reals!
A L O H A cloudia
A Different View of Diamond Head
A Working Artist Making People Happy in Waikiki
That's "Haute" Dog!
15 comments:
Cloudia...I am stunned to near silence. I guess the best thing to say is thank you and for this moment I will let the work speak for itself.
STINK
I light a scented candle
and leave it in the wind…
the odor takes me places
I’ve already seen;
I stand outside the abandoned spaces
and sail in on the shallow light.
I see the ghosts
of everything;
writhing in an endless
mass orgy
of over making;
everything
while sucking
polluted air from
the dark hole production
of the coal mine…or was it salt?
One or the other.
In turn,
ghosts
tell me tales
of being
men once
loved becoming
ignored;
reduced
to
just
another
mouth
to
feed.
The images talk
and I smell the smoky tales,
rising on the scent
of a low burning candle.
from attic to cellar,
from machine floor,
to tool room door,
cast off clothes
and the dreams they
once protected,
now left behind
when the final whistle blew.
Fading stories
(with pictures)
flow freely;
the fights,
the strikes,
the fucking for fun
and profit.
Mysterious stories
of babes born in years
fat and skinny;
birthed
when socket wrench A
met tab B
inserted into slot C;
tightened to torque producing
product pushed out in a three way
fever fucking
Folktale’s of piggy back rides
through living rooms,
long since burned down
for insurance money
that paid better than any buyer ever could.
Whispers of dreams come from
the exhalation produced
in a lost virginity
stolen through 40,
no 50, hours of labor
and the
screaming,
moaning,
accusatory
crying
when the
crashing,
falling,
tumbling
wealth left only
the phantom images
of days gone by,
bloated from
naked possessions
now repossessed only
to rise on the musk
in the rising smoke
of a long dead wick
blown out in
a tornado of time.
6-10-09
(c) Mark C. Durfee
Where is that Haute Dog Stand? It's not the one on Coral Street. I was going to guess International Market, but I can't for the life of me remember seeing it there.
True that! I took some poerty and euro lit classes in college -- I to read sentences sometimes 3 times.
But still am a fan of the classics. I'm a sucker for Dickerson.
Today, give me an Augusten Burroughs memoir and a box of tissues and I'm estatic!
LOve the Einstein quote.
Aloha friend
Sue
I am re-reading STINK ... because no matter who the author is, poetry often eludes me ...Aloha! xo
Alexander Graham Bell is one smart man...
Always so much to learn here. I had to laugh at your assessment of some of the poetry presented today. I agree. Thanks for the link. Aloha.
Cool! Loved the way you introduced this. And a well deserved acknowledgement to Mark!
Wonderful Cloudia, and thanks so much for this. I grew up in Detroit back in the 1950s and 60s, and I still love the old city, and am sad that she's come on such hard and dangerous times. Will check out the blog and book.
Thanks for the link, Cloudia. I loved your quotes and your alternate views.
Your posts are always so informative and interesting Cloudia, thankyou. :)
Beautiful post, Cloudia. You have an amazing way with words in poetry or prose.
As much as every second counts, as much does every word you write, winding me up into a spiral of comfort in your poetry, hate it or not, it's brilliant in my opinion.
Thank you folks for this great crop os Sunday comments!
The hot dog stand IS a branch of Hank's on Coral Street, AND is in the International Marketplace in Waikiki.
Big thanks to each and every one of you!
thanks, Got to check this guy out
poetry raw
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