the moon turning round from white to
white in morning’s sky where mercy appeared
irrelevant, the cottonwood’s naked black
February limbs reached for that sky that after-
noon—a Union Pacific graffiti-tagged freight
train surging beside a black & blue river the
rain pinging the gray tin roof that evening, the
season’s first rain as if metaphorical tears could wash this a-
way—moonset along the mesa in nimbus
overcast & bitterbrush—a heart tattooed &
straining—a freight train inside the tunnel—a mild
edema, a waxing moon holding water, a white
rope hammock in graying snow between the
cottonwood & the locust—the unin-
habited house trailer atop the bluff where trees
did not take root, the rusted drag harrow
cast off in a sky gray snowdrift—gibbous moon
in an afternoon sky weighed down with
power lines, expectation, a promise of ice the
damaged heartbeat the naked trees the train’s
graffiti as far as the eye can see
Jack Hayes
© 2011
My mid-February poetry spasm continues today with another new poem—& a reminder: if you're interested in reading the poetry from my most recent book, The Spring Ghazals you can either read them on the dedicated blog at the rate of two per week (Wednesday & Saturday), or purchase the book from one of these fine outlets:
Lulu
Amazon
Barnes & Noble (new—& a bargain at $11.40 US!)
Amazon UK (£7.94)
Both Amazon & Lulu have the book for $12 US.
Showing posts with label JH poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JH poems. Show all posts
Time After Time
a diner coffee cup, white knuckle-white, the
flock of Trumpeter Swans at rest in the pasture—in-
exorable March wind, & Thorn Creek rippling
black thru the culvert & willow limbs gone
orange in February snow—a phone booth in
Vacaville, now this was a different time, palm tree
nodding in hot May streetlight evening—a
block of time, a mental block, the glass ashtray
choked with Marlboros—a pile of corrugated
north of the garden, the cock pheasant
pecks for grit in the road by the derelict ranch, the
Saxton River’s brown trout swirl, the
phrase from a song repeating—inexorable—a
white house brimming with roses but only in
memory—the grandfather clock’s
movement weighted with lead, a magnolia
blossom adrift on the back lawn—a color
photograph in which we are all present
Jack Hayes
© 2011
flock of Trumpeter Swans at rest in the pasture—in-
exorable March wind, & Thorn Creek rippling
black thru the culvert & willow limbs gone
orange in February snow—a phone booth in
Vacaville, now this was a different time, palm tree
nodding in hot May streetlight evening—a
block of time, a mental block, the glass ashtray
choked with Marlboros—a pile of corrugated
north of the garden, the cock pheasant
pecks for grit in the road by the derelict ranch, the
Saxton River’s brown trout swirl, the
phrase from a song repeating—inexorable—a
white house brimming with roses but only in
memory—the grandfather clock’s
movement weighted with lead, a magnolia
blossom adrift on the back lawn—a color
photograph in which we are all present
Jack Hayes
© 2011
January Morning
[This poem, written almost exactly one year ago, is from my collection The Spring Ghazals—more info after the poem itself]
January Morning
the cow pond exhaling smoke at 6 degrees the blue gray fog an aquarium miasma filled with sagebrush & emptiness
a face staring backwards & forwards in the blue gray frozen fog thru the willow thru the cloud of juncos & sparrows & the sagebrush breaking thru the snow on the round hill eastward
the rocks white the willow’s long hair black the poplars skeletal
a face staring backwards & forwards in a cloudy mirror & the mule deer outside the window leaping the barbed wire without any effort the dazzling flight of a magpie subdued in the freezing mist & white air
the chill is a teardrop mandolin tremoloed in its icy throat on a high octave E & the crow’s bitter snow is a chill in the heart muscle a contraction
tho the air is blue & gray & opaque & the ridge to the east has sunk below this sea of fog with its frosty water droplets distributing chill to the lungs
the cowpond exhaling smoke at 6 degrees the owl on the wing over the skeletal grape vines the owl appearing to me each night its face a white fog of feathers its wings knifing silently thru the white air soaring south
& the road is white with ice a frozen current swerving south without moving
a face staring in every cardinal direction seeing the white air the willow’s long black hair streaked white with hoarfrost
a rheumatic shoulder the lungs an aquarium miasma filled with sagebrush & emptiness the heart contracting its owl's wings in the white white air
a face staring into a blue gray frozen ocean stitched with barbed wire without a horizon
is it a new day
John Hayes
© 2010
My collection of recent poems is called The Spring Ghazals & it can be purchased at any of the following online outlets:
Lulu
Amazon
Barnes & Noble (new—& a bargain at $11.04 US!)
Amazon UK (£7.94)
Both Amazon & Lulu have the book for $12 US.
In addition, you can read an excellent review of The Spring Ghazals by Sheila Graham-Smith on the Tangerine Tree Press blog right here. In the course of the review, Ms Graham-Smith offers a beautiful reading of "January Morning."
January Morning
the cow pond exhaling smoke at 6 degrees the blue gray fog an aquarium miasma filled with sagebrush & emptiness
a face staring backwards & forwards in the blue gray frozen fog thru the willow thru the cloud of juncos & sparrows & the sagebrush breaking thru the snow on the round hill eastward
the rocks white the willow’s long hair black the poplars skeletal
a face staring backwards & forwards in a cloudy mirror & the mule deer outside the window leaping the barbed wire without any effort the dazzling flight of a magpie subdued in the freezing mist & white air
the chill is a teardrop mandolin tremoloed in its icy throat on a high octave E & the crow’s bitter snow is a chill in the heart muscle a contraction
tho the air is blue & gray & opaque & the ridge to the east has sunk below this sea of fog with its frosty water droplets distributing chill to the lungs
the cowpond exhaling smoke at 6 degrees the owl on the wing over the skeletal grape vines the owl appearing to me each night its face a white fog of feathers its wings knifing silently thru the white air soaring south
& the road is white with ice a frozen current swerving south without moving
a face staring in every cardinal direction seeing the white air the willow’s long black hair streaked white with hoarfrost
a rheumatic shoulder the lungs an aquarium miasma filled with sagebrush & emptiness the heart contracting its owl's wings in the white white air
a face staring into a blue gray frozen ocean stitched with barbed wire without a horizon
is it a new day
John Hayes
© 2010
My collection of recent poems is called The Spring Ghazals & it can be purchased at any of the following online outlets:
Lulu
Amazon
Barnes & Noble (new—& a bargain at $11.04 US!)
Amazon UK (£7.94)
Both Amazon & Lulu have the book for $12 US.
In addition, you can read an excellent review of The Spring Ghazals by Sheila Graham-Smith on the Tangerine Tree Press blog right here. In the course of the review, Ms Graham-Smith offers a beautiful reading of "January Morning."
Who’s in the Audience?
How does this idea of audience energy pertain to writers? After all, theater, music & dance are “performing arts”—writing poetry & fiction—the actual creative acts—this is almost always done in isolation—we don’t invite our friends to watch us while we type out words!
But for me, audience has always been a crucial part of the writing process. However, for the longest time, I focused exclusively on those few faces I could see past the stage lights, not on the figures beyond them who were faceless shapes. Yes, I’ve always written with an audience in mind, but an audience made up of a discrete number of people—a half dozen, perhaps a dozen at most. & indeed, I received energy, vitality & inspiration from that audience.
How is this relevant to publishing in general & to the process of publishing The Spring Ghazals in particular? The Spring Ghazals actually began with a series of poems addressed to an old friend—I say “friend,” because I don’t know a word to better define what has been a complex & perhaps unique relationship. In any case, the poems that now appear in the book as the “Kitchen Poems” section began as a direct address to her, tho they were shared with a handful of other people as well—other distinct faces in the audience.
This was before Robert Frost’s Banjo. With one exception, a poem which this friend posted on her blog—a once popular site that’s no longer extant as she’s moved on to different things—the “Kitchen Poems” had a very small audience.
I’ve generally made myself comfortable with that—I was content circulating poems in a circle of other writers & creative people while taking an MFA—this included publishing in journals run by friends & acquaintances; I was content giving readings & publishing in a punk rock ‘zine while in San Francisco. I used to say I had a very 16th century view of publishing—that I wrote poems for an intimate circle—those few recognizable faces in the first rows.
But at a certain point, I realized that if I were to keep writing now, in my middle-aged return to poetry, I needed a larger sense of audience. First there was the Robert Frost Banjo blog—the prose poems in the “Cloudland” section of the book were written for the blog long before I even knew a book was in the offing. Then the “Ghazals” themselves were written for the blog in the spring of 2009, & as the sequence grew, I began to see a “book” taking shape.
But all the time I was posting these poems on a blog with a growing readership, to be read & commented on by people I scarcely knew, I was also writing the poems for the same intimate circle as always; & I was writing them as much for my old friend as ever, tho at that point we were no longer in touch….
Here’s the fact of the matter: at a certain point I realized that it’s necessary to draw energy & inspiration from the audience as a whole, not just from those few faces you can see. If what we’re giving in art is a mode of communication, & this seems true whether we’re using words or notes on a guitar or dance gestures or brush strokes, then at some point we have to decide whether we really want to circumscribe that communication. If I’m onstage playing music & I decide to somehow restrict my communication to the few people I can actually see in the front row, then I won’t give a good performance—it’s all about “giving” & “receiving.” But yes, I do focus on a few faces I recognize, but I let them take me to the rest of the audience—the indistinct figures in the further rows.
In the writing game, we call that publishing.
On Thursday: “What Have You Published?”
Photo of the Alice in Wonder Band during an ovation at the Alpine Playhouse by Tim Hohs
The Spring Ghazals on Robert Frost's Banjo
As some of you know, I started a blog dedicated to my collection of poetry, The Spring Ghazals. In case you’re not familiar with this, The Spring Ghazals is made up of poems I wrote between May 2008 & February 2010. The poems are concerned with love & loss & memory & time, & in a fragmented & lyric sense of the word, describe a narrative arc.
I decided recently, however, that the dedicated blog wasn’t really spreading the word about the book in the way I’d hoped. As a result, I decided to close the shutters on that blog & try to spread the word here in hopes that the wider readership would result in more people being interested in & ultimately purchasing the book. Speaking of which: The Spring Ghazals is available at Lulu, as well as on Amazon & Amazon UK.
As a “kick-off” to this new series, which will appear at irregular but frequent intervals (at least weekly) during the month of December, & then will probably move to its own weekly day in January, I thought I’d post a virtual reading of one of the poems, complete with video slideshow. This poem, “Fondue,” comes from “The Kitchen Poems” section of the book, seven poems all based on some type of food.
Future posts will include discussion topics about the book & self-publishing; some background about the composition of the poems; (more) virtual readings; a series called Music Theory for Poets; any noteworthy book news—& more. Hope you enjoy it!
Winter Landscape
Tout était comme dans une image enfantine
Robert Desnos
it was all as if underwater: indigo
magpie
white white sky the coralline
sagebrush spiky with hoarfrost a copy of
Bettleheim’s The Uses of Enchantment un-
opened on a maple nightstand
a chrome guitar’s rattle &
whine behind a glass door
a green tinsel “Happy
Holidays” banner strung between streetlights
you can never set foot in the same room twice
a sea-change
the implacably lonesome Sonoma
coast March 1988 a Winston cigarette in Virginia’s
Valentine’s Day rain 1986
the creamsicle sunlight in
Malibu May 2000
today’s pale headlights at noon a
sea-change a
bass clarinet intoning “Full
Fathom Five” meditative but stolid
hope against hope
6 of one
will you go home for Xmas
will you go
will you go home
plastic dinosaurs an overdue
credit card statement you placed a
red leather bookmark between the pages of
The Complete Lewis Carroll &
forgot it
a naked cottonwood a silver
hay tarp like coming awake unsure where you are
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Robert Desnos
it was all as if underwater: indigo
magpie
white white sky the coralline
sagebrush spiky with hoarfrost a copy of
Bettleheim’s The Uses of Enchantment un-
opened on a maple nightstand
a chrome guitar’s rattle &
whine behind a glass door
a green tinsel “Happy
Holidays” banner strung between streetlights
you can never set foot in the same room twice
a sea-change
the implacably lonesome Sonoma
coast March 1988 a Winston cigarette in Virginia’s
Valentine’s Day rain 1986
the creamsicle sunlight in
Malibu May 2000
today’s pale headlights at noon a
sea-change a
bass clarinet intoning “Full
Fathom Five” meditative but stolid
hope against hope
6 of one
will you go home for Xmas
will you go
will you go home
plastic dinosaurs an overdue
credit card statement you placed a
red leather bookmark between the pages of
The Complete Lewis Carroll &
forgot it
a naked cottonwood a silver
hay tarp like coming awake unsure where you are
Jack Hayes
© 2010
"December Inventory"
December Inventory
sparrows in tousled hair a
banjo strung with iron wire an a-
temporal glass of milk—an
echo within a wishing well—white
stones an alphabetical hex sign
a red barn in my arms the
black water the black e-
motional cottonwood limbs a
yellow backloader creaking thru drifts a
globe on a shelf its ecru oceans its
pink mountains its blue islands my
empty arms in the fog
a plate of garbanzos
a plate of potatoes & coconut the
brown juncos tearing the Russian olive’s
pods my emotional fingers against a sky
no longer anywhere a hermetic
snowdome’s figure skaters
a glass door a
musicbox in my lungs an
opening in space where sound escapes
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Hope you enjoyed the poem. I’m also here to announce that there won’t be a Homegrown Radio feature this month—long story, but suffice it to say that I do have someone lined up for January, & it’s going to be some exciting music—so stay tuned!
In other news: Many thanks to HKatz of The Sill of the World blog for an excellent & insightful review of The Spring Ghazals. You can check out the review here.
If you aren’t familiar with this blog, you’re really missing out. The quality of writing on The Sill of the World is high & HKatz’ The Week in Seven Words series is a unique concept that’s also executed with aplomb. If you’d like to read HKatz’ observations on writing, you can check out my interview with her in the Writers Talk series right here. There’s also a wonderful poem by HKatz accompanying that interview at this link.
Just a few reminders: The Spring Ghazals is now available on Amazon & Amazon.uk (& presumably other Amazon international sites, tho I haven’t confirmed that.) It should be available on Barnes & Noble within the next several days. If you haven’t purchased the book but follow this blog either on Blogger or thru Networked Blogs, please consider doing so. If you have the book, please consider writing a review on Amazon &/or Lulu. Giving the book a positive rating on either of these sites is also helpful. The book’s Amazon page is here; the Lulu page here. Of course, I’d always welcome other bloggers reviewing the book or setting up interviews with me about it.
Thanks for your interest!
sparrows in tousled hair a
banjo strung with iron wire an a-
temporal glass of milk—an
echo within a wishing well—white
stones an alphabetical hex sign
a red barn in my arms the
black water the black e-
motional cottonwood limbs a
yellow backloader creaking thru drifts a
globe on a shelf its ecru oceans its
pink mountains its blue islands my
empty arms in the fog
a plate of garbanzos
a plate of potatoes & coconut the
brown juncos tearing the Russian olive’s
pods my emotional fingers against a sky
no longer anywhere a hermetic
snowdome’s figure skaters
a glass door a
musicbox in my lungs an
opening in space where sound escapes
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Hope you enjoyed the poem. I’m also here to announce that there won’t be a Homegrown Radio feature this month—long story, but suffice it to say that I do have someone lined up for January, & it’s going to be some exciting music—so stay tuned!
In other news: Many thanks to HKatz of The Sill of the World blog for an excellent & insightful review of The Spring Ghazals. You can check out the review here.
If you aren’t familiar with this blog, you’re really missing out. The quality of writing on The Sill of the World is high & HKatz’ The Week in Seven Words series is a unique concept that’s also executed with aplomb. If you’d like to read HKatz’ observations on writing, you can check out my interview with her in the Writers Talk series right here. There’s also a wonderful poem by HKatz accompanying that interview at this link.
Just a few reminders: The Spring Ghazals is now available on Amazon & Amazon.uk (& presumably other Amazon international sites, tho I haven’t confirmed that.) It should be available on Barnes & Noble within the next several days. If you haven’t purchased the book but follow this blog either on Blogger or thru Networked Blogs, please consider doing so. If you have the book, please consider writing a review on Amazon &/or Lulu. Giving the book a positive rating on either of these sites is also helpful. The book’s Amazon page is here; the Lulu page here. Of course, I’d always welcome other bloggers reviewing the book or setting up interviews with me about it.
Thanks for your interest!
"The Spring Ghazals" on Amazon!
I know a few people experienced problems trying to place an order with Lulu, & I'm hoping the process works more smoothly thru Amazon. If you want to buy yourself or the poetry lover in your life a holiday present, now's the time!
If you haven't checked out the dedicated blog for The Spring Ghazals, please do. There's a new series running there called "Music Theory for Poets," which has gotten some nice feedback. Of course, if you're not a self-professed poet, you're still most welcome!
Also, for those of you who have read The Spring Ghazals or are in the process of reading it, it would be great if you'd consider posting a review &/or rating on either the Amazon page or the Lulu page.
We now return you to our regular programming. This includes Writers Talk tomorrow with fiction writer & poet Karen Schindler!
Writers Talk with Jack Hayes
Y’all know me, right? OK, here’s a brief bio, just in case:
- Jack Hayes-born Bellows Falls, VT 1956
- Educated University of Vermont (BA); MFA in creative writing/poetry from the University of Virginia, 1986.
- Some publications in magazines, three self-published books: The Spring Ghazals (poems 2008-2010); The Days of Wine & Roses (San Francisco poems 1989-1996); Nightingales in a Stateside Zoo (Charlottesville poems 1984-1989). All are available here on Lulu.
- Maintains this blog & a few others.
- Plays guitar & banjo & ukulele & performs on same.
- Has lived in Westminster, VT; Burlington, VT; Charlottesville, VA; San Francisco, CA; & Indian Valley, ID, where he currently resides with wife & fellow writer/musician Eberle Umbach.
- Apologizes in advance for interview’s length.
When did you first realize your identity as a writer?
After an initial go at this question, it now strikes me as a bit of a moving target—I mean my identity as a writer has been quite fluid over a long period of time. If I’m looking at the question as asking “when did you decide that you wanted to be a writer,” then I’d say it was probably when I read J.R.R. Tolkein’s The Hobbit at 9 or 10 years old. Upon completing the book, I immediately began a novel of my own, which my mother has preserved to this day. I do not plan to publish it or my other juvenalia, however! From this point—1965 or 1966—I thought of myself as a writer—& wrote on a mostly regular basis—until I stopped writing 30 years later in 1996.
But there were other points of “identity” along the way. For instance, until I was in my mid 20’s, I thought of myself as a fiction writer who occasionally dabbled in poetry. At a certain point in the early 80s, I saw that my strengths were actually in poetry, & I put fiction writing on the shelf—permanently, it would appear. It’s odd to think of this now, but it was only a couple of years before applying to MFA programs in 1984 that I’d actually started writing poetry “seriously.” But the years were so much longer then.
& then, there was the period from autumn 1996 until spring 2008 when I didn’t write at all. What was my identity then? Ex-poet? I actually went out of my way to bury that identity—I turned down offers to come to San Francisco to read, for instance, & in terms of creative life I thought of myself as a musician. & how do I see myself now? My identity locally is still that of musician. Yet I continue to write poetry, even tho from a certain perspective I’m struck by the absurdity of that.
Describe the creative process involved in any one piece you’ve written—this could be book, a story, a poem, an essay, etc.
This is really the hardest question for me, as I don’t particularly like to discuss process—maybe it’s my superstitious side—always on the look-out for a possible jinx. A couple of general points: first, I’m not very big on revision—since I look at my poetic process as being in large part improvisational, I generally stick with what I come up with in the first couple of drafts (not counting “false starts”). Thomas Hardy said something to the effect that a poem “loses its freshness” after a few drafts, & I find that to be true for my writing. I do know others rely on many drafts—hey, whatever works.
Because my poems are improvisational, they tend to be creatures of the moment—in my mind, at least. I’m intent on the process while actually composing—then it slips away once the poem is completed. I rarely look back over past poems unless I’m compiling a manuscript or looking for something to post, etc.
But I’ll try to write about the “Grace” poem sequence—four prose poems that punctuate the various sections of The Spring Ghazals. At a certain point in February of this year I realized I needed to be finished with composing the book—since the fall of 09 I’d been aware of The Spring Ghazals as a “book,” not just some poems I’d happened to write recently. There was a lot of turmoil involved in writing these poems, & I reached a point where I said, “this has to be done.” But I realized I wanted some connecting thread—some sequence that would comment upon & also tie together the books’ thematic elements.
Why did I decide to use the prose poem form?—I can’t recall specifically, but I love the form for its flexibility, & that was no doubt a consideration. Why did I call the poems “Grace?” I’ve tried for 2-1/2 years now to look on the poems in The Spring Ghazals as offering some sort of psychic redemption from some severe turmoil. I believe it was important to me to try to reach a poetic space where there was some “grace” amidst the welter of images & emotions. Did “I” succeed? As far as the “I” that’s a fictional narrator goes, yes, I believe so. Beyond that? Next question. You can read the “Grace” poems sequence on the Writers Talk blog—or you could purchase The Spring Ghazals! See next question.
Could you describe your relationship to the publishing process? (this can be publishing in any form, from traditional book publishing to blogging, etc)
I’ve written about this quite a bit both on this blog & on The Spring Ghazals blog. When I was younger, in my 20s & 30s, I published in literary journals. At the time, I fully expected to follow the conventional route to a career as an academic poet, with a tenured professorship either as a writer or a scholar. Somewhere along the way, I rebelled against this. However, I think in retrospect that there was a problem with my rebellion in that I didn’t carry it all the way thru; while I remained prolific in terms of poems written thru the 90s, I didn’t really figure out how to “effectively” develop a poetic presence outside the mainstream.
When I started the Robert Frost’s Banjo blog, I didn’t intend to post my own poetry—actually, tho I’d written several poems a few months before starting the blog, I wasn’t writing poetry in August 2008 when the blog launched. At a certain point I did start posting poems, & I was struck by the fact that the poems probably had a larger audience than they would have if published in book form.
But as regular readers know, I decided to self-publish both my poems from San Francisco & my poems from the last couple of years back in February of this year. Why did I opt for putting the poems in books? They were being read & appreciated on Robert Frost's Banjo, & the blog has a good readership in more than one sense. But a blog is not a book. As far as creative writing goes—poetry in particular—a blog may mimic an anthology in some ways; at its best, it may mimic a serialization. But at least using current technology, it can't replicate the experience of a book of poetry.
Given that I wanted my poetry to be experienced in this way—because assembling the manuscripts had been itself an act of making—self-publishing seemed like a “no-brainer.” I knew the grind (& expense) of sending poems out to lit mags & contests in order to build up enough publications to shop a manuscript, & given the fact that I’m not pursuing a potential academic career, this conventional route made no sense to me. These days, with print-on-demand, self-publishing ranges from free to cheap, & I found the actual task of uploading manuscripts, etc. to be pretty painless. In the case of the recent poems, I even shelled out a modest amount money for a better distribution package, confident that I’d more than break even on this.
But the aftermath of publishing has been mostly filled with disappointment, which is always a bad force to allow into one’s creative life. Sales for both The Days of Wine & Roses & The Spring Ghazals have been very slow—as of this writing, we’re talking single-digit sales for each book. Now, I know there’s no real money in poetry, because there’s scarecely any market for it, especially in the States, but I did expect more than this. It’s also frustrating, because I have a tendancy to brood on what I may have done wrong—not publicized enough, publicized too much, publicized ineffectively—or: is the poetry just plain no good? At a certain point, one’s ego gets caught up in this & if you’re not careful it can be quite detrimental.
So I don’t know where I stand vis-à-vis publishing “going forward.” It’s quite possible that if/when I publish more poetry, I’ll do it privately, just for distribution among close friends. This is more than a bit of a ponder these days.
How has being a writer affected your relationships?
Who thought up these questions! As the old song goes, “If they asked me, I could write a book.” But I don’t know if I can answer this question in any succinct form. Here’s my attempt at doing so: “some of my best friends are writers”—no seriously, it’s true! I’ve always gained inspiration from writer friends, & I generally find their way of viewing the world congenial to mine—furthermore, we all love words, so it's fun to talk with with them or correspond with them. On the other hand: my tendancy to entangle relationships in the poetic writing process has wrecked havoc both on some important relationships & also, I think, on my own psyche.
How would you describe the community of writers you belong to—if any? This may be a “real” or “virtual” (in more than one sense) community.
With the very significant exception of my wife, Eberle Umbach, my writing community is all in some sense virtual, since Eberle is the only writer I know locally. Obviously I do see some of my “3-D” writing friends from time to time, but at this point we’re far dispersed geographically, so most of the communication is online. I do have writer friends in California who I get to see a bit more regularly.
But I must say, I’ve developed some very satisfying relationships with writers that I know only virtually. Although only a handful of people have purchased The Spring Ghazals, a few virtual writer comrades have really gone out of their way to publicize it, & I appreciate that so much. I also think the Writers Talk series has helped me to expand my virtual writing community & get to know some folks better. Twitter has been a really good tool in this regard—just saying, in case you're still among the doubters.
What are your future goals in terms of writing?
To keep writing—I don’t mean this in a flip way. Stopping is always an option—I did it once before. But ultimately, I don’t think stopping is good for me. Continuing despite the fact that it seems an absurd exercise is necessary for whatever part of me might be called a soul.
Bonus Question: If your writing were a musical instrument, what would it be?
Ruling out some favorite instruments as not being quite appropriate, I’d have to say the upright bass. Rhythm is a strong element in my writing, but I think I succeed in creating some music as well—at least outlining the chords!
Half Moon
for MH
a cup half filled with time
a willow tree spilling
apparitions
a silver cloud
a star tattoo on the upper arm a
blue moment
a sip of tea on Clement Street
a calla lily a recollection a
bicycle
a telephoto lens trained on an-
other time & place a blank
calendar page
a cup of shaved ice a
1930s Windsor banjo a
waning moon
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Hope you enjoyed this new poem, which was inspired by my misreading a friend’s comment on her beautiful photograph of a half moon. What she actually said was, “I’m trying to think of this as a cup half full time.” What I read was, “I’m trying to think of this as a cup half full of time.” Admittedly, I believe there were hypens in the original comment, but I didn't let that deter my misreading.
In other news on the poetry front: I recently was interviewed for the Tangerine Tree Press blog about my book The Spring Ghazals. It was a challenging & insightful interview, & I’m delighted by how it turned out. Many thanks to Sheila Graham-Smith for the fine work she did on this! Hope you’ll check it out—you can do so at this link.
Finally—not to belabor a point—if you’re if you’re thinking of buying The Spring Ghazals, what better time to do it than when you can purchase The Spring Ghazals for $10.20 instead of $12.00? All you need to do is enter coupon code LEAF305 between now & 11:59 p.m. on November 15th when you checkout with The Spring Ghazals at Lulu. Here’s the link for purchasing the book.
November
the night is longer black automobile hood tattooed with
constellations the digital clock’s red numbers at
2:34 a.m. Nevada salt flats a cyclone fence in headlights spume
from an ancient sea it could be snow strewn across the sand the
highway toward Fallon the night is a remnant of an
ancient lake in eastern Oregon’s high desert the cold ache of
basalt cliffs the Milky Way adrift above the barn & the power line
owls on a church bell owls in a dead gray apparition of
cottonwood an owl exploding from a pasture just beyond the
headlights the night is longer the Time Zone Bridge a-
cross the Salmon River in a thick rain a movie theater black-
out a hotel room in Roseville & soup in a Chinese restaurant in the
rain in a strip mall a bass guitar a bass guitar the night is longer e-
lectric violin a cyclone fence in headlights the apparition of
tumbleweeds tangled in the fence wire sand & spume & a cold ache
the night is longer & filled with dashes & numbers I have to
keep moving a farmhouse with defunct electric furnace I
have to keep moving a glass guitar slide the thick rain the
windshield tattooed with headlights I have to keep
moving the sparks of snow igniting to freezing fire in the Sierras black
pines & trestles the night is longer an empty infinite rearview mirror
I have to keep moving an apparition of Russian olives an
apparition of salt lakes an apparition of a UP
freight’s headlight traveling south there's nothing else
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Don’t forget: you can purchase my book of recent poetry, The Spring Ghazals, at this link. You can also stay updated on news about the book, as well as tuning into virtual readings & posts about the book’s back story (& more) on my dedicated The Spring Ghazals blog.
constellations the digital clock’s red numbers at
2:34 a.m. Nevada salt flats a cyclone fence in headlights spume
from an ancient sea it could be snow strewn across the sand the
highway toward Fallon the night is a remnant of an
ancient lake in eastern Oregon’s high desert the cold ache of
basalt cliffs the Milky Way adrift above the barn & the power line
owls on a church bell owls in a dead gray apparition of
cottonwood an owl exploding from a pasture just beyond the
headlights the night is longer the Time Zone Bridge a-
cross the Salmon River in a thick rain a movie theater black-
out a hotel room in Roseville & soup in a Chinese restaurant in the
rain in a strip mall a bass guitar a bass guitar the night is longer e-
lectric violin a cyclone fence in headlights the apparition of
tumbleweeds tangled in the fence wire sand & spume & a cold ache
the night is longer & filled with dashes & numbers I have to
keep moving a farmhouse with defunct electric furnace I
have to keep moving a glass guitar slide the thick rain the
windshield tattooed with headlights I have to keep
moving the sparks of snow igniting to freezing fire in the Sierras black
pines & trestles the night is longer an empty infinite rearview mirror
I have to keep moving an apparition of Russian olives an
apparition of salt lakes an apparition of a UP
freight’s headlight traveling south there's nothing else
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Don’t forget: you can purchase my book of recent poetry, The Spring Ghazals, at this link. You can also stay updated on news about the book, as well as tuning into virtual readings & posts about the book’s back story (& more) on my dedicated The Spring Ghazals blog.
The Spring Ghazals Reviewed on "New England Travels"
[Apologies to those who've seen this earlier on The Spring Ghazals blog—it is a double posting]
I'm so happy to announce another wonderful review of The Spring Ghazals, this time by writer Jacqueline T. Lynch on her New England Travels blog. You can read Ms. Lynch's review here.
Jacqueline T. Lynch is a prolific blogger & writer in her own right. She writes Another Old Movie Blog, which is a litertate & incisive look at classic film; Tragedy & Comedy in New England, her look at regional theater; & New England Travels, her virtual tour thru her native New England—a region I'm also from, & which is of course depicted in several poems in The Spring Ghazals.
In addition to her blogging activities, Jacqueline T. Lynch has published articles and short fiction in regional and national publications, including the anthology “60 Seconds to Shine: 161 Monologues from Literature” (Smith & Kraus, 2007), North & South, Civil War Magazine, History Magazine & several plays with Eldridge Publishing, Brooklyn Publishers, & Dramatic Publishing Company, one of which has been translated into Dutch & produced in the Netherlands. Her novel Meet Me in Nuthatch is now available as an ebook through Amazon.com & Smashwords, & her recent short story Interfacing is also available as a Smashwords selection here.
If you'd like to learn more about this talented writer, please check Robert Frost's Banjo on Thursday, as Ms Lynch will be participating in the Writers Talk interview series!
Finally, many thanks to Jacqueline, with whom I've had a long-standing cyber-friendship that actually went "3-D" when we were able to meet last March during a cross-country trip I took back east. I so appreciate her support, as well as support from so many other friends from blogs & Twitter & Facebook.
& remember: you can still purchase The Spring Ghazals on Lulu for 15% off thru November 15th by entering the code LEAF305 at check-out!
Pic shows the Vermont house where I grew up
The Spring Ghazals Reviewed
Ms. Fox-Wilson’s blog is always worth reading—I subscribe & look forward to new posts, which can be anything from poetry to insightful discussions on the creative process to photos taken during a commuter bus ride. Jessica Fox-Wilson is currently working on her own poetry manuscript, which she intends to publish in the near future. When she does, I assure you it will be reviewed here!
You also can read some of Jessica’s poetry on our own satellite blog, Writers Talk, right here; you also can read her interview at this link.
Thanks so much, Jessica! & by the bye: to those of you who doubt Twitter—this review & much of the book’s publicity wouldn’t have happened without it.
Banjos, Ghazals, Buses & More
Happy Wednesday afternoon, all. It’s yours truly checking in with news & highlights & coming distractions!Speaking of which, & as illustration of the titular “more,” check this out: tomorrow on Robert Frost’s Banjo: a Writers Talk interview with our own regular contributor & fan favorite, L.E. Leone! In addition to her interview, L.E. will also have a new poem for us tomorrow on the Writers Talk blog.
But there’s more: regular contributor, B.N.—who is now officially in the market for a different nom de plume—will have a 5-part story running in this space Sunday thru Thursday of next week. The story is titled All Knees Shall Bend And Every Tongue Shall Vow, & it’s a powerhouse. To accommodate the story, the Photo of the Week feature will move to Saturday.
Not to mention: 2 more installments of Homegrown Radio with Joel Murach, both this Friday & again on October 29th!
Ghazals? Yes, folks, The Spring Ghazals is on Lulu.com & is awaiting all you kind potential buyers! Is it ill-advised to self-publish a book of poetry during an “economic crisis?” Perhaps, but there you have it—the book is published. I can honestly say that The Spring Ghazals is a good book, one that I’m proud to have written, & one that stands up to comparison to other books of contemporary poetry, whether self-published or not. I also can honestly say that I’m not a natural
marketer or self-promoter. If I were those things, it’s safe to say my life experiences would have been quite different. But having said that, I do hope you’ll consider purchasing the book, & that in addition, you’d consider writing a review on your blogs &/or giving yours truly a “writerly” interview. These things would be much appreciated & would I believe win you much good karma in the long run.Speaking of poetry (& more): how about The Poetry Bus? I have my copy, I’m happy to say, & it’s wonderful. Lots of good writing in this issue, & yours truly has a poem in there (page 32!)
You can get The Poetry Bus for approximately the cost of a movie ticket, & you can get The
Spring Ghazals for less than the cost of your average cd (per CDBaby, the average cd is $12.85)! Just saying.Banjos: Well, Eberle & I had a music show on Friday. First, let me say that Eberle played great. In retrospect, I wish she’d played on more songs. Yours truly? Well, my guitar playing was fine—I felt a bit off, I think largely due to a small turn-out, but I do have a margin on the guitar. But the feedback I’ve gotten so far is that there was just too much intense blues stuff & that my singing style (at least my delta blues singing style) is too “talky” for a full-length stage show. This feedback has been the source of much soul-searching over the past few days. Right now, I’m leaning toward spending the winter working on some instrumental material, both on the guitar & on the banjo—so for a bit at least, future Monday Morning Blues segments may be instrumentals. I’m also considering expanding my repertoire to involve what’s typically referred to as “old-timey” music these days. Can I mix “I Wish I was a Mole in the Ground” with “Banty Rooster Blues” or “Gonna Wear That Starry Crown” with “Levee Camp Moan?” We shall see!
Have a great rest of Wednesday, folks, & hope to see you early & often around Robert Frost’s Banjo for the great upcoming features.
The Wednesday News
Hi folks! A bit of a chatty post this morning, as I keep you up-to-date on things around Robert Frost’s Banjo central.Music life has been very busy of late around these parts. I played the Cambridge, Idaho Fall Festival last weekend—one set with Heather Uebelhoer in our still-unnamed incarnation of eclectic cover band: everything from the Carter Family to the Cure! Heather is a fantastic singer who also accompanies herself with fingerstyle guitar, while I fill in on dobro, tricone & banjo (see pic below)—& one set of old blues, both solo & with Eberle (see top pic.) During that set, Eberle debuted her blues yayli tambur playing—we don’t have a pic of her accompanying me with that instrument, but there’s a pic below showing the yayli tambur along with Buffy the musical
buffalo, our mascot & good luck charm. For those who don’t know, the yayli tambur is a Turkish instrument that looks a bit like a banjo on steroids. The instrument is either plucked or bowed—Eberle bows hers. The yayli tambur is traditionally tuned D-A-D (actually, there are paired string courses), so the instrument is actually kind of perfect for playing the blues in D, especially on the more “modal” delta blues. The yayli tambur is also notable for the fact that its frets (which are tied on) are set up in microtones—in other words, you can play the tones “in between” the notes of a Western scale. Eberle joined in on the yayli tambur on “Banty Rooster Blues,” “Levee Camp Moan,” & “Hobo Blues.” I’m constantly amazed by her ability to fit unusual instruments into the blues—a big part of this is her ability to think rhythmically & percussively.Eberle & I will be playing essentially the same show on Friday evening in McCall, Idaho at the
Alpine Playhouse—hope to see you local readers there! Admission is $5.00—a bargain, I say—& the Alpine will be receiving 50% of the proceeds to benefit the Playhouse. Will this be my last show of the season? I don’t know; I don’t have any other shows booked, but I’d like to keep things rolling at least while the nice weather lasts. We shall see.On the poetry front: as you probably know, I’ve “re-launched” The Spring Ghazals, my book of poems written 2008-2010. It’s available for purchase here, & you can also read about the book & the publishing process on my new blog, The Spring Ghazals. There have been some really good discussions from the commenters that will be of particular interests to any authors out there who are thinking about self-publishing. Also, today on The Spring Ghazals blog, you’ll get to hear recordings of yours truly reading a couple of poems from the book.
& be sure to stay tuned, because we’ll have a very special guest tomorrow on Writers Talk!
Union Pacific #11
I’d had enough lonesome blues the over-
cast June sky the mountain ridges
east & west bruising the horizons the
highway itself for that matter then
the sky turned liquid in an instant
& it was June as I said the rainy season had
ended in the high desert I’d had enough
blues & greens the sagebrush & bitter-
brush reflected in a swollen irrigation
ditch running north-south as I was running thru
time & memory north of Burns Junctions’
deserted pink & green gas station & café
I'd had enough colors unlike the gray
shades in memory the improvised moment
each time I live it again somehow different a
blue turning gray the windshield wipers’
rhythm a green sage pasture a red car a-
head on its way to Nevada too there’s nowhere
else to go the memory turning gray the
black power lines almost solid
I’d had enough lonesome blues a 100
miles north of Winnemucca each time
I live it again somehow different the
highway itself almost deserted
Jack Hayes
© 2010
[The Union Pacific series is still moving on, tho slowly. If you’d like more information about my recent poetry, please check out my blog, The Spring Ghazals. That blog is devoted to my recently published collection of the same name. You can purchase The Spring Ghazals (the book, not the blog!) at this link.]
cast June sky the mountain ridges
east & west bruising the horizons the
highway itself for that matter then
the sky turned liquid in an instant
& it was June as I said the rainy season had
ended in the high desert I’d had enough
blues & greens the sagebrush & bitter-
brush reflected in a swollen irrigation
ditch running north-south as I was running thru
time & memory north of Burns Junctions’
deserted pink & green gas station & café
I'd had enough colors unlike the gray
shades in memory the improvised moment
each time I live it again somehow different a
blue turning gray the windshield wipers’
rhythm a green sage pasture a red car a-
head on its way to Nevada too there’s nowhere
else to go the memory turning gray the
black power lines almost solid
I’d had enough lonesome blues a 100
miles north of Winnemucca each time
I live it again somehow different the
highway itself almost deserted
Jack Hayes
© 2010
[The Union Pacific series is still moving on, tho slowly. If you’d like more information about my recent poetry, please check out my blog, The Spring Ghazals. That blog is devoted to my recently published collection of the same name. You can purchase The Spring Ghazals (the book, not the blog!) at this link.]
Return of The Spring Ghazals
If you’ve been following this blog for some time, you may recall that The Spring Ghazals is made up of poems I wrote between the spring of 2008 and early this year. The collection is very much “of a piece” in terms of theme & voice, & I do feel it represents my best work to date. If you’d like to learn more about this project, please visit my dedicated The Spring Ghazals blog; there will be updates there about the book, as well as ongoing posts about the book’s background & the self-publishing process.
I do hope some of you will decide to purchase this book. As far as my fellow bloggers go, I’d love it if some of you would see fit to review the book &/or possibly host yours truly for an interview during the next several weeks. Certainly I’ll do my best to reciprocally boost any projects you’re doing, be they music, creative writing or graphic art.
& finally, I want to thank all the many folks who’ve supported this blog & my other online ventures with readership, commentary & even friendship. It means a great deal to me, & your support has been a big factor in my seeing these poetic projects thru to fruition. Thanks to you all!
It May Be Autumn, But….
On the The Spring Ghazals blog, I’ll look not only at the nuts & bolts of the publishing process, but also at the book’s background &, by extension, my own poetic background & uneasy relationship with the mainstream of contemporary poetry—what my friend B.N. & I have referred to as “poebiz” for the past 25 years. Links for yesterday's & today's posts are here & here.
Hope to see you there—& happy Saturday, all!
The Spring Ghazals Revisited
I’m in the process of re-publishing The Spring Ghazals, my collection of poems written between 2008-2010, & I’ve started a new blog to record the process & also as a site where I can look back at the earlier stages of the book’s existence. You can find The Spring Ghazals blog right here; & the first post went up today.
That’s it for now! Hope to see you at The Spring Ghazals—& of course stay tuned for the conclusion of B.N.’s story Still Life, with Girl, which will post tomorrow morning.
Union Pacific #10
A green sign reading “Nebraska the
good life” pocked with bullet holes the static
scars the power poles trace east-
ward a boarded up service station ex-
hausted March snow in dormant grass a
sky you couldn’t
touch but if you could it would be cold dripping
slate not dripping exactly the frozen
fog inert for all practical
purposes the gas station’s white metal
siding oxydizing at a geologic pace the
gravel lot gashed by tires be-
low the stone Our Lady of Peace
statue’s petrified outstretched gesture the
semis ascending west to Cheyenne one
red cab one silver cab one blue cab
I’m headed the other way but not yet
I’ll stop another place for the night but not yet
in downtown Pine Bluffs Wyoming a yellow
Union Pacific caboose parked on a
siding behind a cyclone
fence hasn’t moved in decades
a sort of peace but
you couldn’t touch it
the junkyard sprawl behind the
statue’s back the
power poles’ quantum motion
Jack Hayes
© 2010
[To see other poems in this sequence, please click on the "UP Poems" label]
good life” pocked with bullet holes the static
scars the power poles trace east-
ward a boarded up service station ex-
hausted March snow in dormant grass a
sky you couldn’t
touch but if you could it would be cold dripping
slate not dripping exactly the frozen
fog inert for all practical
purposes the gas station’s white metal
siding oxydizing at a geologic pace the
gravel lot gashed by tires be-
low the stone Our Lady of Peace
statue’s petrified outstretched gesture the
semis ascending west to Cheyenne one
red cab one silver cab one blue cab
I’m headed the other way but not yet
I’ll stop another place for the night but not yet
in downtown Pine Bluffs Wyoming a yellow
Union Pacific caboose parked on a
siding behind a cyclone
fence hasn’t moved in decades
a sort of peace but
you couldn’t touch it
the junkyard sprawl behind the
statue’s back the
power poles’ quantum motion
Jack Hayes
© 2010
[To see other poems in this sequence, please click on the "UP Poems" label]
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