North of the Vortex

New Podcasts

2007-10-28T15:08:00.000-07:00

Sat, 13 October 2007

"Song for my Father" by Dale Credico, "My Father in the Store Commanding 'Buy'" by Joe Green, "Gondar Avenue" by Tim Smith, "Richie Halloran" by Joe Green, "Arnold Gates" by Tim Smith, "Peggy LaRue" by Tim Smith, "Go Tell the Achyans" by Joe Green, "Going to Goodland" by Tim Smith.

Brought to you by Mr. Clean, Camel Cigarettes, Beechnut Gum, Salem Cigarettes and the folks at Chevrolet!

With an appearance by Roy Rogers!

Direct download: Into_The_Past.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:50 PM

Comments[0]

Sat, 6 October 2007

A Salute to Francis Muir

A salute to Francis Muir – blithe spirit. Here’s a little bit about him:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Muir

and here it’s possible to read about his asteroid. http://ssd.jpl.nasa.gov/sbdb.cgi?sstr=95802

“Don't forget to include a reference to my Godfather, Dean of Balliol, and he after whom I was named: Francis Fortescue Urquhart.. Google or wiki will prolly set you straight.”

Direct download: A_Salute_to_Francis_Muir.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:41 PM

Comments[1]

Thu, 4 October 2007

The JD Salutes Sputnik!

"Famous Monsters" by Joe Green "One Step Beyond and Back" by Dale Credico "Immortality" by Tim Smith "Once There Was Childermas Gazelles" by Joe Green "The Wild One" by Dale Credico

Beautiful …That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly remold again and ever again, the face of this soiled world. Drum-Taps. Reconciliation Walt Whitman

Direct download: The_JD_Salutes_Sputnik.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:19 PM

Comments[0]

More Podcasts

2007-08-28T11:24:00.000-07:00

Tue, 28 August 2007

A Visit to the Minnesota State Fair.

Epiphany Diner. Haunted Mansion. Hot dog or Corn Dog? Confronting Patriot Radio.

Bucky Beaver? Prostate Cancer. At the Marines exhibit. Poet Laureate for Minnesota. The DFL Stance. Hungry again. Corn Fritters. University of Minnesota’s Great English Majors. Persist despite injury. At the Chapel. Let’s eat. Dipping Dots. The Great Machine. They don’t eat corn in Germany! Minnesota Zydeco! We meet a fellow student. At the Quilt center! Creative Activities. Lefse Bakery. “She always has to go.” Colleges and Lions. Jesse Ventura! Pickle Shirt. A question at the Mensa Exhibit.

A Strange Scene! The Parades! Ronald McDonald Confronted. Finger or Thumbs Down? Appalling Uniforms. The Mounties! Polka Spotlight. Al Franken Speaks! We cheer! Al remembers Dwight Eisenhower. Joe Lieberman’s Teeth. Petting a Piglet. Future Farmers of America. A Musical Interlude. Sheep bleating. Final Thoughts. On the Bus. Bus driver yells at kid who has hand out window. We overhear a guy who sounds just like the Rainman. He discusses Minnesota wrestlers of the sixties. Mad Dog. The Baron. All nice guys. “My aunt went out on a date with the Crusher.” Cindy Lou the Dog. Listen to this guy. Perfect!!!!!!!!

Direct download: A_Visit_to_the_Minnesota_State_Fair.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 10:04 AM

Comments[0]

Sun, 26 August 2007

The Ballade of Little Noddy

The time: 1992. The place: Smoking room of Cray Research. Time to Completion (est) about three hours over three days. Ah, the mojo was with me then!

Direct download: Little_Noddy_The_Ballad.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 12:32 PM

Comments[0]

Mon, 20 August 2007

DarkSource--St. Paul--The First Five Episodes

We all have to make a living-- even we poor poets. Here are five episodes of workday life from my office: DarkSource, St. Paul.

We write policies and procedures for our government here in Minnesota.

Goldy is our receptionist/switchboard operator. We are located on the corner of Selby and Western in St. Paul in the Blair Arcade. Drop in sometime. We won't be there but Goldy will. Just tell her what you want so she can forget it!

Direct download: DarkSource_St.Paul_Episodes_One_Through_Five.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 5:40 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 20 July 2007

The Limerick Odyssey

Books 12 through 24.

Direct download: odyssey1.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:03 PM

Comments[0]

Sat, 19 May 2007

The Mighty Jim -- A Tribute to James Joyce

Includes "The Mighty Jim" and "A Christmas Story,"

Direct download: The_Mighty_Jim3.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 12:22 AM

Comments[2]

Wed, 16 May 2007

The Limerick Iliad: Books One Through Four

Homer's Iliad translated into limericks by Tim Smith and Joe Green. The first four books.

"This translation fulfills an unnameable need" T.S Eliot

Direct download: The_Limerick_Iliad.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:02 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 11 May 2007

Babylon

The second episode of the Sir Douglas Falstaff Poetry Reading Showdown.

Distinguished jazz poet and roustabout Dale Credico reads "Babylon" by Robert Graves.

Direct download: Babylon.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 10:13 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 6 May 2007

Sailor Dreams

The first entry in the Sir Douglas Falstaff Great Poetry Readings contest.
Read by its author, Timothy Smith, twenty one years ago in the cabin at Owl Oak. Sailor Dreams.

Direct download: SailorDreams.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 11:14 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 29 April 2007

A Simple Desultory Philippic

William Butler Yeats comments on Ron Silliman's deep thoughts anent scrunchies.

The Flop Eared Mule brings you the first episode of "Dueling Poets."
Ron Silliman and Kent Johnson duel over a poet's clinamen! Yes! Shocking!

A Simple Pirate Song by Tim Smith

More about bums...

Direct download: SimpleDesultory.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 8:43 PM

Comments[0]

2007-04-27T19:15:00.001-07:00

Poet Ed Dorn sat writing "Abhorrences"
And the bastard persisted despite the assurances
Of posthumous poets who said "We don't like it a bit."
Ed Dorn kept writing. Said, "I don't give a shit."

He pissed off the gnarly and eluded the snobby
And he wittily titled his last book "Chemo Sabe."
And they all got together and demanded an answer.
So Ed Dorn lay down and then died of cancer.

So, farewell and adieu to the poor poet, Ed
Whose poems were better than whatever he said.
And, if he came back, he would wish he were dead.

2007-04-27T19:11:00.000-07:00

Podcasts available at http://thejeunessedoree.libsyn.com/

The Diamond at the End of Time

A la carrera on the run again and the Federales
On my tail and I don’t mean the Federales but
True hounds of Hell but I WAS in Mexico.
“Much madness is divinest sense” and it was
Me that said that though Shakespeare would never admit it
Following me around all the fucking time with his little notebook
And the Parker pen I gave him I mean he deserved it
Even though he took what the Hellhounds were after yeah
He had mojo and so there I was outside a little cantina
In Night of the Iguana country Senor Carrera to the Mexicans
And waiting..for what… but when you are looking
For the Diamond at the End of Time it might not matter
That Hellhounds are on your trail you are drunk again.
Rock Drill. It does not cohere. On the third lunation.

They keep watch on the hilltops.
The moon was big and yellow and bleary so I was
Feeling fine and it was Midsummer and I was thinking
About Shakespeare take and take motherfucker
And the moon was big and you think I’m running again
The Black Zorro and then the moon winks at you
And you are someplace else and that’s how it happens
Back in time or somewhen or somewhere. Man, I was
Just back from London 1590 or so I never checked
Exactly and it is so strange everyone you see there
On London bridge as you smell the stench everyone is dead
And you can’t get that experience except by going
To a Republican convention but the stench is from the river.

I never thought Death had undone so many.
Another fine line of mine stolen but here I was
A black man in a white hat with a white feather and a silver suit
But they never gave me a glance onliest thing wrong
Was my bootheels were too low They knew how to dress then
And there it was The Globe Theatre. Show out. Around Five o’clock
In the Afternoon as it always is at time like these
When you are flung backward in time and you know
The little guy with the devil beard the ink stained
Wretch squatting outside the theatre trying to write something
With a goddamn quill as the Producer screams at him and he
Acts like he’s someplace else his lips moving writing writing
Is the Bard himself. Mr William Shakespeare blotting
The Hell out of his lines and there is a tide in the affairs of men.

You got to catch it at the sticking point. It’s like this
And I explained it to Shakespeare after I helped him out
With what to do when the bad guys got the the drop
On the hero. You gotta have a distraction I told him
Christ don’t you know that and the bad guys look away
And the hero grabs the sword and it’s best if you have
A chandelier to swing from as he cries “Sa-thump whoreson
Hound taste cold steel!” and it’s in his plays someplace
So I went right up to him and took his hat.
He jumped up. Shakespeare my man I said. Give me back
My hat and I am not your man he said and then when he looked
At me cried Amoor and I gave him back his hat and smiled
And said Yeah Love gets you into trouble I know
You got Dark Lady problems. But I ain’t here for that!

Then I took out my Parker pen and said This is for you
Yeah it’s a pen try it and he did. Who are you he said
A free black man from the seacoast of Bohemia I told
Him and he didn’t blink geography not being his strong suit
We gotta talk let’s go man and he just nodded We’ll go to the Mermaid
You interest me strangely and I could tell it had happened to him
Before the deer stealing son of a bitch because he had
A little smile as he picked up his quill. You won’t be needing
That anymore I said. You got a Parker pen there with endless ink
So don’t try that shit on me what do you know about the Diamond.
“What Diamond he said. That would be the Diamond at the end of Time.
Rock drill he said. Is Immortal Diamond he said.
Brother I said. He smiled. I said. Let’s be off to the Mermaid!
Fine Canary wine and and the lascivious pleasings of a lute!

Milton stole that line. Shakespeare would have but he was sweating it
Like you do when you meet a free black man from the 20th century
Giving you a fine Parker pen with endless ink and some
Of your best lines. We got drunk first of course. Ben Jonson
Came in. What a damn bore but we didn’t pay him no attention.
Ok I said you always callin people whoresons in your plays, Bill
Why don’t you just say motherfucker means the same thing
And he laughed and wrote it down and he admitted yes
He knew about the diamond and then the shadows seem to
Get more like real fucking scary shadows when he said
Alright I know Ezra Pound sent you he promised to come back
I tried not to act scared. When was this I asked and where.
Hsein he said Nova Vita. The Commonwealth.
That far shore at the Third Lunation. What the fuck does that mean

I asked as I melted into the air.

Fool-begged, foolish-compounded, folly-fallen footlings foison plenty
Of flickering Flibbertigibbets, fluxive flouting-stock flewed as
Flax-wenches, fleering and flap-mouthed flirt gills and flesh mongers
Full-gorged yet frustrate. Pajocks and pantaloons you scream but
No one hears as you melt. The crystal fretting (CF) is fracted.
A certain ontological void is created.The exterior envelope is palpated to
Effect a hiatus in the lattice-work. Dehiscence or fission de facto
Of course always implicated and a liminal porosity but anticipated invagination of light
delayed And the Da of Sa and the
Non-place of Vorstellung
Temporarily inhibited by glissement all glockenspiel causing
The CF to groin glutted by vacuum awaiting glissando. You get pretty fucking tense
So no wonder all you want is a Margarita and then another
And then another as you find yourself of all the Gin joints in the world in a Mexican

Cantina where you have to take your tequila straight and
You know what you have what all hell wants which includes
Mr Ezra Pound so you are outside of that cantina and it happens
Again. We go all darkling. You step out into darkness.
If I didn’t want to die I wouldn’t have lived and you know you are there
The Commonwealth. The far shore of the third lunation so, of course
There are black riders. There’s just about anything in the Commonwealth
All Stories All sweet days. This is where you grew up if you
Were a certain kind of Kid so I knew where I was Midsummer Nights Dream
Woods Near Athens. Musick. Alone of us Ben Jonson said
Shakespeare would put an ass’s head in Fairyland. And my black ass
Was there. Hell as they say could be Ilion Rome or any other town and
Even the woods behind Athens where right then two goblins got me
Ofays with SS insignia dragging me to a Castle a bleak wind rising.

Ah, bitter chill it was. Across the drawbridge. Stone and cold moon. Gargoyles.
And then into a room a lofty chamber triple arched the window
Candlelight, torchlight and they threw me down before the throne. Snarl
Of silver trumpet. They killed Keats! But no I see it is the Bard himself
Two goblin fuckers holding him and before me on the throne and stepping down
Mr Ezra Pound himself. Ezra, you're a scholar, what's the time of day?
I say since it’s important to confuse the motherfucker and maintain a high
And haughty style for that’s the way it’s written. You ready to be put in a cage?
Where is it he says? I want it and I will have it. It does not cohere
Which last I attribute to him being confused that a proud black man
Would have the Mojo. Which I did have which is why the hounds of Hell
Etcetera. Now you have to keep one step ahead of these evildoers so I
Took it out. You looking for this and I laughed to see him. Here’s the Mojo.
Here’s what you lookin for. Fix your poetry right up. Here it is.

Satchel pitching in Ponce de Leon Park against the Birmingham Black Barons
Threw the ball so motherfucking fast that it disappeared. And here it is Pound
But you don’t know nothing about it. Here’s the ball. Here’s the Mojo you want
But you don’t know nothin about it, do you? And Pound jumped back.
And the Nazi goblins jumped back. Whoa! Yes. Here it is and he couldn’t say nothing
But you know it is what it is when you see it. And Shakespeare was getting off of the floor as I told them all and threw the disappeared Satchel Paige ball up just a little
Smiling at them like the devil smiles looking Pound right in the eye thinking get
Up get up Shakespeare. Hsien. Rock Drill! You reading Frobenius, Benton, Del Mar
Aggassiz, Fenelolla knowing nothin about Ruth, Cool Papa Bell, The Splendid Splinter
Or the little guy sweating each pitch against class D minor league semi-pros, thinking
St. Louis Stars, Detroit Wolves, Kansas City Monarchs, Homestead Grays, Pittsburgh Crawfords

Memphis Red Sox, Chicago American Giants, Kansas City Stars, Detroit Senators
Get up Shakespeare . Grover Cleveland Alexander sick and dying at Beaubier's Hotel
Get up your deer stealing fuck . All over all over. You never even went to a Yankees Game and you want the mojo? Here take it and I wound up and threw the ball at Pound
Ran at the goblins, faked, got their swords flipped one to the Swan Of Avon sword glittering in the torchlight cried I was born to this motherfuckers and of course
The torches guttered up with a goblin flame a hot wind from Hell blew into the chamber
And who should leap out from behind the arras but more coldly grinning Nazi shitheels
Saw Shakespeare cut down two of them howling Angels and Ministers of Grace defend Us! Ha Ha I laughed We gotta do it ourselves and the disappeared ball of course back
In my pocket mojo working Shakespeare and I back to back grinning as darkness surrounds us and what should we do against it but leap on the chandelier swing to the
Tower winding stairs kicking Pound on the head rush like happy ghosts up the dark
Stairs making it to the great door and shutting it just in time. All Hell pounding.

Remember this when you write Macbeth I panted. Knock Knock Knock on the gate
A great effect no don’t try to write it down and we were on the ramparts Hell’s Agents
Pounding at the door. That fuckers gonna break I warned him. The clouds blowing Across the moon darkness surrounds us and then I saw it the star the greeny star
Winking in the west low there right over the trees. I pointed to it as the door began breaking We can’t hold em off Shakespeare screamed. I looked round the ramparts Hey a Great place for some Prince’s fathers ghost to walk o nights I told him just trying to calm Him down . Look at that star. That greeny star. We going there. He was too scared. Look up I shouted at him for the wind was blowing now and shadows comin down From the moon. We’re gonna go there and my mojo will get us there. What the fuck are you talking about you crazy black bastard he screamed. I grabbed him took him to the edge of the ramparts 300 feet up and they had broken through the door. Jump I screamed Jump like Butch and Sundance! Whooped grabbed the Bard and we jumped into the dark!

All the Federales say, they could of had him any day.
They only let him slip away, out of kindness I suppose. I’m Pancho
I shouted and you my man are Lefty cause we floated away into that
Dark me waving at the goblins floating towards that greeny star
And I got the ball and threw it right up whoosh felt a little sick and
We were there I looked down the green diamond and of course
Remembering how I first walked into Connie Mack stadium with my Daddy
Seeing the diamond green and eternal always remember my Daddy said
We were at The Diamond at the End of Time! I knew right away.
We stood there in the stands. The Diamond at the End of Time shone below us. It was The fifth inning of the 1932 World Series. Number 3, Babe Ruth, was at bat. Charlie Root was pitching. The Babe pointed to center field. I shouted
That's the Babe and that's the Called Shot. Watch! And we watched as Root
hurled the fastball that Ruth hit high high and out of here to forever!.

The Called Shot -- the immortal moment of baseball. The Diamond at the End of Time.
We were alone in the stands except for a hunched seated figure not far way in a tan Raincoat I recognized him at once. It was God. He was God That’s God I told the
Bard Oh, shit the Bard said Its true. God's a Yankee fan. How the hell did he
Know about baseball The Babe headed for home and there was Lou Gehrig ready to shake his hand. The Iron Horse! Man this is great. I said Cool Papa Bell did that kind Of shit all the time. You never hear about it though. And Gehrig is at bat and hits another Home run! The thunder after the lightning! Then it happened all over again. Again the Babe raised his hand indicating strike two and again he stood out of the batter's box and Pointed a finger at center field and hit a tremendous smash 436 feet over the fence and Into a ticket booth at Waveland and Sheffield Avenues and again he rounded the field Holding up four fingers now and the Iron Horse was up to bat and again smashed the ball into Eternity. And then it all happened again What's s the matter with God I asked
And I knew God is trapped watching beauty over and over and over. It was 1932.

Goddamn it I shouted He’s watching while the Nazis are taken over. Again
It happened. God stood up and looked over at us. He looked sad standing there Surrounded by empty Beer bottles. We went over. Me and Shakespeare.
He looked at me. Gimme the ball he said so I flipped it to him
He flipped it back to Shakespeare standing there grinning with his little devil beard.
God gave me a box of crackerjacks. Nice to have met you Dooley Shakespeare said
Tossed the ball up caught it and disappeared I really didn’t say everything I said
God said and later I remembered Yogi Berra had said that and the next thing
I knew I was outside of Wrigley Field It was 1932. Chicago.
God was not watching here. Hitler and all that and me just standing.
It, of course began to rain.
And I knew why I was the Black Lone Ranger.
Knew again why I was the Black Lone Ranger.
God gone. The Nazis closing in. And the white man had my mojo.

Finis.

2007-04-27T17:16:00.000-07:00

Podcasts available at http://thejeunessedoree.libsyn.com/

Sat, 21 April 2007

The Great Train Journey

The Great Train Journey of Rashmi Prakash as told by Sir Douglas Falstaff!

Direct download: TheGreatTrainJourney.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:07 PM

Comments[0]

Mon, 2 April 2007

Rambling Dale Credico

Rambling Dale Credico abuses some ducks, moans about robot women and reads three poems!

Direct download: RamblingDaleCredico.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:46 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 1 April 2007

Gamblers Three

Dale, Tim and Joe on the Midnight Train.

Direct download: Gamblers3.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:55 PM

Comments[0]

Sat, 31 March 2007

Walk On The Wild Side

Shake that thang!

Direct download: Walkonthewildsided2.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 4:32 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 25 March 2007

Helen B Denis-- A Lost Poet

From the Introduction to her Book "Gardens of Eden" by Leslie Burton Blades author of "Fruit of the Forbidden Tree."

"Quite young and alone in a strange land, she found herself at the outbreak of the World War in the United States and facing the inexorable knowledge that her German relatives were plunged into the anguish and terror of that great disaster.

Disconsolate, her tongue condemning her to the suspicion and dislike of war inflamed people, she was forced to solitude to seek what comfort could be found in communion with nature.

She begins to write...without knowledge of the technique so highly developed in English poetry...

Such an impulse has prompted many a poet; but few there are who, lacking the irresistible urge of glowing genius, would have attempted poetry in a tongue the rudiments of which were scarcely familiar...Yet..the author bent herself mercilessly to the mastery of English...speaking in a strange tongue, without the knowledge our literary traditions, unacquainted with the trend of our present day poetry...

Dr. H. Spencer Lewis (on the flyleaf of the book jacket) remarks "The first poem is certainly symbolic and very beautiful." Dr Lewis is none other than Harvey Spencer Lewis F.R.C., Ph.D. (November 25, 1883 – August 2, 1939), a famous Rosicrucian author, occultist, and mystic.

These poems were also endorsed by Paul Swan -- the most beautiful man in the world.

This is the only recording of her poetry available.

Here -- at the Jeunesse Doree.

Direct download: exordioum1.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:52 PM

Comments[0]

Mon, 12 March 2007

In Lunar Conversation

"In Lunar Conversation" read by Sir Douglas Falstaff.

Direct download: inlunarconversation.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:14 PM

Comments[5]

Sun, 11 March 2007

Oh! Donna!

Direct download: Oh_Donna.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:37 PM

Comments[1]

Sun, 11 March 2007

Weary Tune

Soldiers in the rain...

Direct download: wearrytunef.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:36 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 11 March 2007

The Sinking of the Bismarck

The real story.

Direct download: sinkthebismarckf.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 5:22 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 11 March 2007

Poetry Baseball: Avalon Archers vs. 20th Century Limiteds

Poetry baseball as it is meant to be played!
The Avalon Archers versus the 20^th Century Limiteds

The Archers

Coach W. H. Auden, John Keats, John Donne, John Milton, William Wordsworth, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

20^th Century Limiteds

Coach Walt Whitman, Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, William Carlos Williams, Allen Ginsberg and Ron Silliman

Broadcast from Don Schaeffer Memorial Stadium on the Sunny Slopes of Parnassus!

Direct download: poetrybaseball.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 2:34 PM

Comments[0]

Mon, 5 March 2007

Don Schaeffer Once More

Once more into the breach with Master Poet Donald Schaeffer.

Direct download: donpoemsandmusic.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:22 PM

Comments[0]

Mon, 5 February 2007

Ken Wolman Reads

his great poetry.

Direct download: KenWolman.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:10 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 22 December 2006

Joe Green Live at Boston University(R)

Recovered!

Direct download: Joe_Green_Live_at_Boston_University.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 5:48 PM

Comments[1]

Fri, 22 December 2006

A Jeunesse Doree Christmas--Stave the First

A Dale Credico Christmas. A Poem on Dale's Loss by William Butler Yeats. A Loneliest Christmas. The Lawn Jockey Christmas Carol by Tim Smith. "Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh" a Hannukah poem by Don Schaeffer and "Don's Dreidel" composed and performed by Joseph Green.

Direct download: JDChristmas_Stave1.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 1:34 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 22 December 2006

A Jeunesse Doree Christmas--Stave the Second

Christmas spectaculars by Tammy Turner Peaden and Mike Antonelli and two trifles by Joseph Green.

Direct download: JDChristmas_Stave2.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 1:30 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 22 December 2006

A Jeunesse Doree Christmas--Stave the Third

Joe Green tells us how -- on a Christmas long ago -- his sainted mother gave up drinking gin and Tim Smith descants on a California Christmas.

Direct download: JDChristmas_Stave3.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 1:23 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 22 December 2006

A Jeunesse Doree Christmas--Stave the Fourth

Poems and Song of Joe Green and Tim Smith. Don't miss Tim's "A Sad But Merry Christmas" in which he cries wassail to the great spirits of the JD!

Direct download: JDChristmas_Stave4.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 1:19 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 17 November 2006

Letters to Denny

Letters sent to my Uncle Denny during WW2. All from 1945. He never answered. Found in his cabin after his death a few years ago. Worlds and worlds -- all lost. Here.

Direct download: Letters_to_Denny.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 3:12 PM

Comments[1]

Thu, 16 November 2006

Therapy at Parapark

Discovered today in the old trunk in the attic of the Jeunesse Doree studios!
The time: 1986. The place: the Owl Oak cabin in Owl Oak woods in Carmel, California.

Yes, I was up in the attic looking for letters to my Uncle Denny sent to him during WW2 (soon to be a major podcast) and found the old tape. Tim Smith as Samson Shillitoe performing on the Parapark Therapy hour. You must hear this and just when you think it's over, it ain't. Listen to the immortal flamenco stylings of Tim Smith back when (as he has said) he could really play. Is Immortal Diamond.

Direct download: Therapy_at_Parapark.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:00 PM

Comments[0]

Wed, 15 November 2006

The Jeunesse Doree at the Movies

At last! For the first time ever! The Lost Poems of Robert Mitchum!

"Out of the Past"

"On Location"

"At Schwabs with Archerd"

and much much more!

"Picture of Brando in The Wild One" Dale Credico

"The Defiant Ones" and "LA Song" Rin Tin Tin

"What Frank Knew" Tammy Turner Peaden

"The Stand In" Tim Smith

"My Brooklyn -- the Movie" Joe Green

"Movie About Murder" Don Schaeffer

A Short Ending --Voices of the Stars

The Kindness of Movies -- Jean Marie Green, Johanna, Joe.

Direct download: The_JD_At_the_Movies.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:53 PM

Comments[0]

Mon, 30 October 2006

A Visit

A visit with my mother. This summer. Concertina stylings by Joe Green.

Direct download: A_Visit.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 3:37 PM

Comments[2]

Sat, 14 October 2006

Halloween with the Jeunesse Doree

Eldritch songs, poems and tales from Jewelmoon, Johanna, Dale Credico, Thomas Lovell Beddoes, Tammy Turner Peaden, Baron Donald Schaeffer, Tim Smith, Joe Green, Sir Valentine Ravenscar, Basil Firth and others. Tu Mani Martini is your host.

Direct download: AJDHalloween.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:20 PM

Comments[1]

Wed, 27 September 2006

Autumn with the Jeunesse Doree

Direct download: Autumn_with_the_Jeunesse_Doree.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 10:12 PM

Comments[0]

Wed, 27 September 2006

The Magic of Don Schaeffer

Direct download: The_Magic_of_Don_Schaeffer.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 8:51 PM

Comments[0]

Wed, 6 September 2006

Well Met by Moonlight

A song and two poems. Tim Smith -- lyrics. Tim Smith --guitar.

Direct download: tim.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:10 PM

Comments[1]

Sat, 10 June 2006

The Silence of Men

The Silence of Men. The Silence of Men. The Silence of Men.
What is it? It's the silence that ensues (according to a certain poet who has written what is, perhaps, the worst poem ever -- a poem that features a waltzing penis) when men can no longer speak of sex or violence.

In this broadcast Marty and I try to break through The Silence of Men.

I don't think we succeed.

But we try. Dammit, we try.

Direct download: The_Silence_of_Men_1.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:01 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 19 May 2006

Bob Marcacci Live from Beijing!

Bob reads at a birthday party on April 6th, 2006 for Alex Jorgensen at 13 Club in Beijing, China, which featured a number of poets and musicians.

Direct download: maracacci2.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:53 PM

Comments[0]

Thu, 18 May 2006

The Great Flood

Being a true account of my trip to Dartmouth through the Great Flood (greatest downpour of rain on those granite hills in 70 years) to meet my translator. Includes a jaunt to Detrroit, my mechanical incompetence, dining at Big Boy's, a tribute to Tim Smith, a brief account of the great conference, literary chit chat beneath paintings of men and dogs chasing foxes, a reading of my poem by myself and my great translator and a moving account of my arm wrestling a Russian poet as I recite "Paradise Lost."

Direct download: The_Great_Flood.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 3:46 PM

Comments[1]

Sat, 6 May 2006

Trifles

Trifles from Joe Green

Direct download: Trifles.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 10:34 PM

Comments[0]

Sat, 6 May 2006

Diner, Harvest, Horses, Shiny Stones

Poems from the third day of the Dale Credico festival!

Direct download: Diner_Harvest_Horses_Shiny_Stones.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 5:33 PM

Comments[1]

Sat, 6 May 2006

Noire for Celia

Dale Credico -- the rain, the city...

Direct download: Noire_for_Celia.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 12:42 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 5 May 2006

Dale Credico Live!

Dale Credico, blithe spirit, performs two poems!

Direct download: Dale_Credico_Live.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:50 PM

Comments[3]

Mon, 1 May 2006

Six More by Don Schaeffer

Six more by Don!

Direct download: Six_More_by_Don.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:09 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 30 April 2006

The Dark Bark

It has been six years since Rinty died at the pound in Brighton Beach.
And now, for the first time, audio of his selected poems is available to the general public. He would have wanted it this way. Of course, all sorts of problems remain. His assertion that he killed JFK still questionable. His assertion that he was the greatest Hamlet of the twentieth century not accepted by all.

But what is beyond question is that in these poems he gives us a glimpse into an extraordinary dog -- a spirit who, in these querulous times, can, perhaps, lead us to an understanding of what it really means to live and to hope.

The very last minutes of this reading should be listened to with especial attention by those of you who are not quite convinced that the myth of the eternal return of a spirit, destined to again and again, bark at the dark until the darkness yields, is merely the embodiment of a vain hope.

See! They return!

Direct download: The_Dark_Bark.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 11:54 AM

Comments[1]

Fri, 28 April 2006

Flarf Hell

Did you miss the Flarf festival? Here is an account exactly (well, almost) transcribed then recited. The temptation to overlay it all with various news from the suffering world resisted. At least.

Direct download: Flarfhell.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:28 PM

Comments[7]

Thu, 27 April 2006

The Transgressive Poet

You can change your life. Here's how I did -- following the advice of Kent Johnson (yes, to younger poets but what the hell) to stop blogging and engaging in the usual reindeer games and do something to show that they know life is short, to defy the pezzonovantes of poesy and to live, to live!

Thanks to "The Black Robes" for the music!

Direct download: The_Transgressive_Poet.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:50 AM

Comments[3]

Wed, 26 April 2006

The Sense of an Ending

This podcast -- by special request -- combines two transcendent moments in World Poetry: the return of the Lonliest Ranger and Kent Johnson's Descent from Heaven in his Swan Boat with what has been described by one fellow as "The Greatest Poetry Reading I Have Ever Heard."

Ah, well. The Exorcism is deleted. Why include it? The Pezzonovantes have been dealt the final blow and, of course, they can't know this. Please don't tell them.

The Collector's Edition.

Direct download: The_Sense_of_an_Ending.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:09 PM

Comments[0]

Sat, 22 April 2006

The Devil in Kent Johnson -- Part Two

The Exorcism continues and then...transcendence! And more.

Perhaps the greatest Vision ere podcast.

Direct download: TheDevilinKentJohnson2.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 3:16 PM

Comments[7]

Sat, 22 April 2006

The Devil in Kent Johnson-- Part One

Exorcism on a wet afternoon. Join me as I travel to Castle Dracula on the express invitation of Andrei Codresceau and am trapped into witnessing the Exorcism of Kent Johnson by Franz Wright, Charles Bernstein, Rob Silliman, the Flarf Gang, Louise Gluck, Ted Kooser and other great Pezzonovantes, Poobahs and Bonzes of American poetry. Appearances by Jim Behlre and Curtis Faville and many others!

WARNING: This podcast contains some of the most frightening conversations ever heard.

Direct download: DevilinKentJohnson.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 3:04 PM

Comments[1]

Sat, 22 April 2006

Kent Johnson Comes Back!

AMerica's most beloved poet returns with a new poem -- Thirty Three Rules of Poetry for Poets Twenty Three and Under -- and with many new epigrams.

Epigrams for Josh Corey, Stephanie Young, Galway Kinnell, Ryan Daley, George Bowering, Bob Perlman, Joe Amato, Daniel Borzutzky and others.

Recorded on the same Radio Shack tape Kent received for Christmas in 1978 or thereabouts!

Direct download: Kent_Johnson_Comes_Back.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 2:54 PM

Comments[3]

Sun, 16 April 2006

Inferno Stave 1--Yet Again

By special request etc. great engines etc. this the First Stave of the Inferno is forthwith published yet again.

Direct download: Inferno--Stave_the_First.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:59 PM

Comments[0]

Sun, 16 April 2006

The Battle -- Yet Again

By special request of those who depend on not seeing these and having them simply downloaded by great engines. This -- The Battle -- is republished.

Direct download: The_Battle.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:54 PM

Comments[0]

Sat, 15 April 2006

Kent Johnson: A Jeunesse Doree Book Club Discussion

Join Joe Green and Marty Brennan as they stroll, as if strolling through a wood near Athens in the great tradition of Flute, Snout, Plato and Parminides, and discuss Kent Johnson's new book, his character, his probable ethnicity, his probable sexual procilivities and the direction he should take in his art.

Discussion also includes:
Annette Funicello
The theft by Walt Disney of a painting by Marty
The power of the legs of women
The mysterious book of Genta.

Direct download: Kent_Johnson--A_JD_Book_Club_Discussion.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 1:01 PM

Comments[10]

Thu, 13 April 2006

Marty-- Stave Four

A leap from a balcony, An unfortunate fall.

The mysteries of the Book of Genta.

Direct download: Marty_Stave4.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 9:54 PM

Comments[2]

Wed, 12 April 2006

Epigramititis: Kent Johnson

Kent Johnson awkwardly discourses and clumsily reads twelve and Â½ new epigrams, to be included in the expanded edition of his recent booke of satirical trifles and incongruous pictures, Epigramititis: 118 Living American Poets [BlazeVox, 2006]. The second edition will be titled Epigramititis: 168 Living American Poets (also issued by BlazeVox and to weigh-in nigh 400 pages). The epigrammed writers honored on this recording are, in order of appearance, Jesse Glass, Noah Eli Gordon, Jonathan Mayhew, Jane Hirschfield, Cole Swensen, Katie Degentesh, Paul Hoover, Joshua Clover, Mark Doty, Tony Tost, Mark Weiss, and Joe Green.

Go here for the book: http://www.blazevox.org/bk-kj.htm

Direct download: Kent_Johnson-1.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 12:01 PM

Comments[19]

Sun, 9 April 2006

Inferno__Stave 2

The Descent into Hell. A word of caution to the troops. I am met by Dante -- but not that Dante. A problem with boneless breast of roast duck and seabirds loud with Dawn. Ron Siiliman in Hell. Poets in the Ninth Circle -- the most pitiful scene ever narrated. Up again to the bright world. Marty Brennan on Damnation. A plea for Mercy for All. And so home.

Direct download: Inferno2.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:25 PM

Comments[5]

Fri, 7 April 2006

More Blue

More poetry from Tammy Turner Peaden

Direct download: MoreBlue.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 10:58 PM

Comments[22]

Fri, 7 April 2006

Marty3

In his first broadcast of the Spring, Marty takes a break from recounting near death experiences of years gone by to tell us a simple tale of a frisbee, a janitor and an unfortunate fall.

Direct download: MartytheThird.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 10:26 PM

Comments[0]

Fri, 7 April 2006

Inferno--Stave the First

Into the Poetry Inferno

Direct download: Inferno--Stave_the_First.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 10:02 AM

Comments[2]

Tue, 4 April 2006

Vietnam

Tammy Turner Peaden was a medic in Vietnam for three years -- part of the time in the Aushau Valley during the Tet Offensive. Tammy talks about Vietnam. Reads some poems about the same.
Exact.

Direct download: BlueandNam.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 7:24 PM

2007-04-27T16:51:00.000-07:00

A Ballade

The Vietnam war was goin' on
And I was at Fort Hood
Sometimes feeling pretty sad.
Most times pretty good.

I'll sing of soldiers in the rain
And how its sometimes pretty hard
And tell you how it was so strange
On Tank Destroyer Boulevard.

I reported to the Orderly Room
To good old Major Moore.
Who said to me “Goddammit, son
Why don’t you close the door?

I about faced and about faced
The Major Moore put on his hat.
Said “Sergeant Green, I’m leaving now
Don’t let out the cat.”

I stood there in amazement
He said, “That damn cat talks Latin.”
He ugly, mean and crazy
And his name in General Patton.”

Now, I know the General Reader
Will cry out sans belief.
But Major Moore strode out that door
With his secret grief.

He had just returned from Vietnam
And was thinking “Fuck the Army.”
And he was not the only one.
All of us were barmy.

Major Moore went out the door
To his Buddha garden.
The Buddha looted from Saigon
When Major Moore was parting’.

He had two guys assigned just there
To care for the flowers and trees.
You don’t believe me? I don’t care.
This was the Seventies.

I went back to the Orderly Room
Right up to the company clerk.
“Jesus Christ what is my doom?
Where do I go for work?”

The company clerk stopped typing.
Said, “Here take a look at this.”
It was a novel he was writing
Entitled: “The Last Kiss.”

“It’s set in 1984
When everyone is dead
Except for a boy and his little dog.”
That’s really what he said.

He look at me inquiringly
As he adjusted his toupee.
He was a Mormon and a novelist
And, quite bitterly, was gay.

And he played fine jazz piano
In a melancholy way.

I read the page and looked at him
And pronounced the writing fine.
He perked right up. Said, “My name is Jim.
Do you really like the final line?”

I looked at Jim quite closely
And felt that I had no choice.
And said in a voice quite ghostly
“It makes me think of Joyce.”

The I picked up my duffel bag
And headed out the door
And I seemed to hear a Joplin rag
As I saw who I stood before.

It was Sergeant Major Gilmore Davis
Who said, “Boy, put down your gear
And go back and get a pair of pliers
And bring them over here.”

Sergeant Major Gilmore Davis!
In his Gilmore Davis way
Had a face like “Jesus Save Us!”
But a smile like Sugar Ray.

Last days in Army service
He’s been in since ’44.
And you’ll think he might be nervous
With all the shit he did endure.

World War Two and then Korea
Three tours of Vietnam
But you have the wrong idea
He was mellow. He was calm.

He took the pliers. Said, “Come with me.”
We went to the Rec room.
Where he adjusted the TV
Until Nat Cole began to croon.

“Stay here, boy” he said to me.
But he didn’t mean it meanly.
“After Andy Williams.
We’ll watch “I Dream of Jeannie.”

I went out into the Fort Hood night
With my gear upon my shoulder.
Humming “Mama, It’s Alright”
I had a chance of getting older.

I was there near the Second Armor
And the First Cavalry.
A screw-up in a lost brigade
In a Lost Company.

The Cobras shivered above us.
The tanks drove down the road.
And left us alone. God loved us.
Just like he loved Tom Joad.

I got assigned to language school
To that strange faculty
Or draftees, drunks and derelicts
Teaching deportees:

Wives brought back to the USA
From Korea and Vietnam
From little villes and long lost hills
From Seoul and from Saigon.

So they could work in restaurants
Or dance in topless clubs
And smoke opium in trailers
And give those fine “back rubs.”

One day Captain Thomas
Came looking for his wife.
"Where’s that gook bitch? I’ll kill her!"
Then he took his life.

And she got all of his insurance.
She had quite a business sense.
And opened up a pawnshop
With Sergeant Gilkey, hence

Her marriage to the Sergeant
Which followed hard upon
The orders Sergeant Gilkey
Got to go to Vietnam.

And when he was listed missing
And then he turned up dead
She said “I was always lucky lucky.”
And then was quickly wed

To the guy across the street
Who had the Army Surplus store.
If you don’t find that just and meet
It what this country’s for.

She was in my English class
Before these sad events.
It was time for her to give a speech
And she seemed somewhat tense.

“I was at the movie.
On Tet. We in Saigon.
Big noise. Scream everywhere.
Go up a big bomb.

Kill everyone. My mother!
My mother, my sister died.”
She looked at me and then sat down
And never never cried.

And I remember young John Kostovich.
He was from Chicago.
He had a Ford Econo--Hippie van
With the usual strange cargo.

On one side was the Peace Sign.
On the other side a frog
And underneath that was the line
”Onward through the Fog!”

He drove that van to Mexico
And came back with some grass.
He told me “Joe, I wanted to just go.
They all can kiss my ass.”

And I remember him a year from then.
On the phone. I heard him scream.
“My brother got killed in Fucking “Nam.”
It all seems like a dream.

He ran right out. Got in the van.
Screaming all the way.
Jim Linden said to me
“Do you think he’ll be ok?”

He got a “compassionate discharge.”
And then in 71.
I got a letter. “I’m living large.
Up here in Oregon.”

The real war was still going on.
Then Sergeant Davis said “You losers.
Grab your packs and get you guns.
We’re going on maneuvers.”

I was in charge of our two squads.
Prayed “God, I thee implorest.
Enlighten all the little gods
To get us lost inside the forest.”

I told my guys. “We’ll need a lot of beer
For this goddamn fake war
And guitars and books and a lot of grass.
What are you waiting for?”

So we drove off in our Army truck
And I did not feel bereft.
Said “Damn, I can’t believe our luck.”
When they turned right then we turned left.

The real war was still going on.
The fake war did not alarm us.
I lounged outside in the Texas sun
In my Grateful Dead pajamas.

I had brought along “Ulysses.”
Joyce was always such a charmer.
But I lounged outside in that Texas breeze
Reading Philip Jose Farmer.

And that night Tom played his guitar.
Beneath the Texas moon.
So far away from the real war.
“Lay Down Your Weary Tune.”

“Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.”

Thirty years ago and more.
Some are dead. All to me are gone so long.
What in hell was all that for?
I end this weary song.

“Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.”

The Sinking of the Bismarck

It was Nineteen Hundred and Forty One. The war had just begun.
The Germans had the biggest ships. They had the biggest guns.
It was the biggest screw up the world had ever seen.
They were hanging men and women too for the wearing of the green.

Then up spake my stout crewmen on the good ship Fiddler of Dee
Human all too human. Here's what the said to me.
“Einstein O'Brien! I hope you do agree!"
We gotta sink the Bismarck to the bottom of the sea!"

I turned then to my stout crew and cries out “Sorry, men.
We’re getting the Hell out of here. We won’t be back again.
We’re just a little fishing boat. There’s nothing we can do.
We must save ourselves for our sweethearts dear at the Foggy Foggy Dew.”

Ah, the name of that blessed tavern seemed to move them all.
Then Mo Shapiro shouted out a truth -- a truth that did appall.
“We can’t let them get to Ireland. They’ll shut our dear pubs down!”
And though I had cried “Hard Astern!” I cried out “Turn Around!”

I turned again to my good crew and shouted “Here we go!
We’ll ram the Nazi Bastards but does anybody know.
What the Hell good that will do?” But then I heard a voice.
It was the fine old baritone of the First Mate Jimmie Joyce.

“Full speed, ahead!” brave Jimmie cried. “Are ye brave Irish Jews or sissies?
I know just what we need to do. It’s in my tale of brave Ulysses.
“Full speed, ahead!” he cried again. Oh ye brave gentlemen!
We got to sink the Bismarck with the Eternal Feminine!

I want every man among ye to kneel down on the deck
And apologize sincerely for the lives of women ye have wrecked.
All your forlorn sweethearts and all your sainted mothers
And then you’ll all cry desperately for the another and another.

Yes, all of the poor innocents killed in all your wars
And those screwed by your religions -- your virgins and your whores
And every single woman enslaved by feary fear
That some priestly poobah will someday say “Come here, my dear, my dear."

And fuck them up with all that crap. You know what crap I mean.
All that crap that’s the worst crap this sad world’s ever seen!”

He eyed us then with his mad orbs-- his Betty Davis eyes--
But he had saved the best for last. Ah, Jimmie you are wise.
“If you can’t do it for the lasses given the cads you’ve been
Then remember that the Nazis will drink up all your malt and gin!”

Then we all knelt down and cried aloud. What happened next was queerly
Like what happens in a song when you find yourself sincerely
Suddenly not the jerk you are because something strange and new
Transcends the swarms of ugly harms that is the beast in you.

So we raised a song against the wrong committed by sad men
To that Eternal Feminine as yet beyond our ken.
Including almost all women… with certain obvious exceptions
Like Messalina, Paris Hilton and…I won’t go in that direction.

We sang that song but that song rang out unto an empty sky.
Where was the Eternal Feminine? Surely we would die.
When suddenly there then appeared a figure from a myth
A consulting contract in his hand. Yes, it was Tim Smith!

“Come all of ye brave sailors. I’ll perform an intervention.
There are some among you -- just a fact that I will mention
Who seem somewhat reluctant…well, whosoe’er ye be
When all of this is over…the whisky’s all on me!”

Then we took heart and sang our song louder… then much louder.
Then suddenly there was a voice. “Ah, boys could I be prouder?
Your song is heard where it is heard by the goddesses not gods
It is the best that you can do you pack of silly sods!”

Ah! We turned our eyes unto the skies and what do you think we see?
All Nine of the fair muses and many pissed off Valkyrie!
And you never will believe it but it’s a sight I won’t forget.
The sailors of the Bismarck began dancing a minuet!

Then by the grace of the Immortal She we sang ourselves aboard
And the Nazis kept on dancing as we found where drink was stored.
And the Nine Muses laughed and laughed as I poured whisky down my throat.
And cried “The Bismarck ne’er shall be. This is the Love Boat!”

Then a whistle blew and the Bismarck’s crew jumped and swam for land.
And a new crew filled the upper deck. First came the Samba Band.
They shook their sweet marimbas… began playing their guitars.
And we sailed through the air to the Southern sea beneath the moon and stars.

The Bismarck’s now the Love Boat! We got rid of all the guns.
The boat is all the sweet sweet forms -- all of the immortal ones.
A rare and beauteous sailing ship of the really godly sort.
And, sadly we have passengers at almost every port.

And the passengers we take aboard are all the innocent
Victims of the Godly wars from ungodly Heaven sent.
And they cruise with us eternally up in the May-warm sky.
Love goes on ever ever and the good will never die.

Love goes on ever ever and the good will never die!

2007-04-27T16:44:00.000-07:00

The Deaths of Cruel Joe Green

Some are pleasant. Some are nice.
And some are simply mean.
But all agreed that fire and ice
Should rub out old Joe Green
And chief among them all was God
Which Joe Green thought so very odd.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green

After the first death there is no other.
“Except for Joe,” sneered God’s great mother
“He shall die nineteen”.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green .

First he died in Arizona.
He did not stop singing “My Shirona.”
Squashed quite flat on the macadam.
He thought “I guess that’s that.”
Then a cat pissed at him.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

Then God put him on a log
And ordered him to do the frog.
Joe smiled and said “I guess I’m willin’
This all reminds me of Bob Dylan.”
And before he sank into the bog
He was pissed on by a yellow dog.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

Then God made Joe read Silliman, Ron.
Then insisted that he cry “Tres bon”
Mean Joe died in a little while.
Done to death by Ron’s prose style.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

And on mean Joe Ron micturated.
And declared him somewhat dated.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

Then God took Joe by the behind.
And filled his ass with turpentine.
“I’m waiting for the rainbow sign!”
Cried cruel, cruel Joe Green.

The God threw Joe down to Guantanamo.
But all Joe did was cry “Geronimo!”
As he was waterboarded by a hippopotamo.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

The God chased Joe throughout the universe.
“Fuck off,” cried Joe feeling somewhat terse.
Joe ended up on the planet Jupiter.
Which is bigger than Earth but somewhat stupider.
“Shows God,” Joe said, “just how crass he is
This place is cold and too goddamn gaseous.”
Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

Then God caught Joe Green reading Shelley
And put a weasel in his belly.
Joe died but he could hardly tell he
Was having fun just reading Shelley.
Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

The God sent down a plague of nitwits
Liars, tyrants and religious hypocrites.
Joe told them “I’m with the “I don’t give a shits.”
About your bullshit you damn hypocrites.”
Which made them all just keep on killing.
Thing is, they were always willing.
They see themselves. There are no others.
There are no fathers and no mothers.
Their’s is a universe of one.
Which was sad and no damn fun.
For cruel, cruel Joe Green.

How many times now has God killed Joe?
Eleven more deaths Joe has to go.
And so he died. There were 19
Horrible deaths for cruel Joe Green.

“Dear God, said Joe, “19 seems plenty.
But I’ll’ bet you can’t go for twenty.”
“Oh, yeah,” said God “Here try some cancer.”
But Joe kept singing “Tiny dancer.”

Cruel, cruel Joe Green.

2007-04-27T10:07:00.000-07:00

The Iliad of Joe Green

I beat up the Gamashay twins
It was back in 61.
My friend Johnny said to me
Do you know what you’ve done?
Do you know what you’ve done, Joe?
Do you know what you’ve done?

I looked up to my friend John.
Looked up from my book.
My book was the Iliad.
I gave a John a dirty look.
There’s no balm in Giliad.
For those moronic twins.
I caught the bastards going out.
And caught them going in.

It was my left hook, John.
It was my left hook.

Did you forget their cousin Frank?
Johnny said to me.
He’s built just like an M1 tank.
And he’s back in town you see
He’s 16 and he’s damn insane
He already has a beard.
He’ll take you like a freight train.
Plus he’s really weird.

I looked at John.
Put down my book.
I’m sure my eyes did narrow.
Then I gave John a frightened look
Thought of the falling of the sparrow.
Tell me John, say it ain’t true.
Their cousin from Wilkes Barre?.
Their cousin from Wilkes Barre?.

Yes, that’s who I mean, Joe.Y
es, that’s who I mean.

I ran back into my room.
Stayed there for a week.
I read and read the Iliad
But I was somewhat meek.
I tried to think just what to do.
And concluded I would run.
Living in Honolu -lu -lu.
Might be rather fun.

But the best and well laid lams
Often go astray.
My mother she did come to me
At the dawning of the day.I
t’s a perfectly nice day outside.
I want you to go out.
I'm taking your library card.
Go ahead and pout.

Go ahead and pout Joe, go ahead and pout.
I knew then my doom had come.
So I snuck out outside.
Look here the bastard is
The Gamashay twins cried!
And there like some damn dinosaur.
Stood their cousin Frank.
He was taller that he was before.
Still built like an M1 tank.
Lord!Still built like an M1 tank.

Come here, you little shithouse rat.
Cousin Frank did cry.
And I saw just where my doom was at
And knew that I would die.

But than I thought ‘If all is lost,
To Hell with all these willies."
I would pay a terrible cost.
But I’d take it like Achilles.

And so I sneered at Cousin Frank
And started spouting Greek.
The first lines of the Iliad.
I prayed my soul to keep.

I almost got up to that part
The great part in Line Nine.
When I heard Line 10 In Homeric Greek
And the voice it wasn’t mine.
The voice it wasn’t mine.

I stopped and stood in wonder.
Seeing what I saw.
There was a clap of thunder.
Oh, the Gods exclaimed in awe.

It was Cousin Frank reciting.
Homer’s immortal verse.
He was weak on the pluperfect.
But, by God, I had heard worse.
Weak on the pluperfect.
But, by God, I had heard worse.

And Frank and I smiled one to one.
And left the rest behind.
Two youths in a steel mill town
Loving the life of the mind.

We fell into discussion
Of Homer’s metaphors
And just what Herodotus said
Of all those damn Greek wars.

Frank and I strode out rightthen.
From that steel mill town.
I mean this metaphorically.
You better write it down.

I went on to a wild, wild youth.
Frank stayed on the straight and narrow.
And in three years led the Classics Club.
At the University of Wilkes Barre.

Some come all of ye strange young lads
Who love the classics well.
But despair of ever leaving
The awful Steel mill hell.

Pay heed to this fine story.
And know you might be free.
Leaving the steel mills behind
For the wine-dark sea!

2006-06-26T09:53:00.000-07:00

2006-06-26T09:16:00.000-07:00

2006-03-17T09:24:00.000-08:00

http://thejeunessedoree.libsyn.com/

Is just where you should go to hear podcasts immortal.

Rinty will be there soon and...

The Dark Bark

2005-11-22T13:29:00.000-08:00

The memoirs of Rin Tin Tin. Posted today on the anniversary of the death of the president he killed. See the comments section for the rest of the story.

First Poems

2005-10-28T09:15:00.000-07:00

Here are two poems by Michael Palmer; they appear consecutively in the section of his book Sun entitled “Baudelaire Series.”

A man undergoes pain sitting at a piano
knowing thousands will die while he is playing
He has two thoughts about this
If he should stop they would be free of pain
If he could get the notes right he would be free of pain

In the second case the first thought would be erased

causing pain

It is this instance of playing

he would say to himself
my eyes have grown hollow like yours
my head is enlarged
though empty of thought

Such thoughts destroy music
and this at least is good

*

The opening is read by the tongue
momently for the dead now

as they multiply
far from here—are

(as words this high)—are
amid sand the few fragments

bowl bread violet
curve swollen outward

of flies gathered
at lips and eyes

Here is a poem by W.S. Merwin:

THE ASIANS DYING

When the forests have been destroyed their darkness remains
The ash the great walker follows the possessors
Forever
Nothing they will come to is real
Not for long
Over the watercourses
Like ducks in the time of ducks
The ghosts of the villages trail in the sky
Making a new twilight

Rain falls into the open eyes of the dead
Again again with its pointless sound
When the moon finds them they are the color of everything

The nights disappear like bruises but nothing is healed
The dead go away like bruises
The blood vanishes into the poisoned farmlands
Pain the horizon
Remains
Overhead the seasons rockT
They are paper bells
Calling to nothing living

The possessors move everywhere under
Death their star
Like columns of smoke they advance into the shadows
Like thin flames with no light
They with no past
And fire their only future