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poetry matters with barry spacks poetry matters with barry spacks tuesday june 12 2012 last entry i see that the new improved version of this blog machinery must turn poems into run on prose and since what i post is poetry i can no longer control lineation the soul of poetry s music and so farewell dear followers i hereby end this run victimized by new and wonderful impossibilities so helpfully ruinous posted by barry spacks 4 53 pm 1 comments unable to correct mishmash of previous entry dear reader my previous poem has a little intro and then the poem appears as run on prose thanks to all the new and unhelpful improvements we must constantly suffer on line in any case hoping the following will be allowed to remain a poem with some respect for lineation which sometimes takes 30 years to get right it s an oldie that seemed right for the end of the school year final exam once i dreamed of a golden beetle a tiny machine with metal like parts that grasped in its buzzing mandibles a rose with a lady s name and gnawed i woke all sodden with wonder and set this final exam the beetle is perfect likewise the rose and all deconstructs all s stunningly strange as venus the goddess or venus the planet is rated more dear than pluto plus look how we kill the roaches accounted ugly though they like us only wish to be happy asking so little grease from the stove dust from the floor an ugliness scampers darkly about in everyone who ll doubt it and yet how many pause to glance their own way while stoning the neighbor o cause no pain but likewise swallow no stone of course he eats the delicate rose my beetle of course it s sad the ruined rose so quick as to this system of ours improve or explain posted by barry spacks 4 41 pm 0 comments thursday may 17 2012 thought to offer a mini show from a new collection arriving from cherry grove in july 2012 this is a collaboration with my friend lawrence leone we ve been ping ponging back and forth by e mail for about 10 years using a form i invented the 84 the rule of exchange every poem must total exactly 84 characters not counting spaces why 84 because the buddha is said to have left us 84 000 different teachings and our 84 count represents a playful gesture toward that number why so many different teachings because we re all so differently the same from a bounty of 84s to live within a golden bell that has no tongue to sound devoting long days to the polishing of silence after a time the lama forbids note taking simply listen he says and students write simply listen such great practice to love a tree to take on its patience and calm the trust that the sun will return ah dear lama i want so to love all the precious details is okay just try squeezing not so hard what s needed comes an answer get yourself a radish oh get yourself a japanese radish be simple we re wadded up defended in our own knot when what we really desire is to river what we need is to flow the great sage soraya after years of retreat still hadn t got it till he was told to lie on the earth feel its firmness hear the now then barking of the monastery dogs gaze at the stars those billions there are days the mind clenches a fist battering itself other days it opens a helping hand what lies closed may open as a door implies a room unguarded houses a town in boundless silence sound more amazing than blue sky or these trees of maniac green is how seldom we pause to gaze in awe upon them amazing that they gaze on us watching stress flow from our pores wishing us deep roots and sweet water think of the child s amazement to learn as he cries i want i want that the work of life is not to want and so the play of life is to give but what your heart to your sexual dream your body to the bloody war no pilgrim the work and play of life is to be exactly where you are with all the shadows and light awake it would feel good to start a new project make a little transition say to speak no words for a month or so i tell my students disappear you re in the way make space for everything baffled they gaze at me many times a day the transition from self disdain to self grandiosity with tiny ah un self gaps of the air are spoken many useless words and yet poetry all of it comes from where we catch what we can do not stretch to reach the fruits of the practice wait for those branches to sag from their fullness fruits of the practice calm reading minds a desire that others be less troubled pervasive calm immunity to most poisons and as to life in general terror hilarity that the children are in charge rabbi does a teacher stop opening doors when he leaves the building no but they are harder to find elvis has left the building likewise jesus so will we leaving on the porch light for the new owners posted by barry spacks 9 24 pm 0 comments saturday may 5 2012 inspired by kind words from former student homer christensen on the last poem i posted here i ve picked out another earlier effort that might serve to mark a return from long illness to my life s main work beginning again what is it for this labor of poetry kenneth rexroth the young tree just outside my window a volunteer locust sapling flails back and forth in the rain driven storm dipping and nodding this way and that in a sort of a mad girl dance and i i m freeing its chaos rhythms in thought pretending for comfort that consciously it tolls the mindless bells of the wind tomorrow i ll see it motionless calm like a poised adolescent on point on five toes granted our fancies won t keep us unbroken but as we imagine compassion arises dignity offered even to stones for we are the choosers reporting this realm its grand displays its flowers its glory declaring the world so to be in the end having our say and beginning again posted by barry spacks 8 44 am 0 comments saturday april 7 2012 a year or so since last posting alas dear world i ve been down with exhaustion for quite a time this past year heart trouble and have only recently broken through and been resurrected thanks to a pace maker my wife s named thumper here s an old poem of mine that seems a reasonable candidate for marking the occasion of a return to the blog all good things b black star yearning black star yearning old heart grinder nothing to do but to sweat you out tear up the list of urgencies fold the long legs of the day evening again a school of starlings swirls the sky like a dreamed explosion and wildflowers flare my speeding windshield briefly yes but unspeakably blue o star meat o incarnate source shatter my iron parentheses though often i stall like the undropped shoe i m still held in my own friendly hands blessed are those whose work is presence dogs by the sea so joyful they re teachers donkeys who move like little mothers people so strong they risk being kind the air provides it feeds the breath there is no sun that lacks for light blind blossoms can t see their colors glow in unwillable ways we are beautiful posted by barry spacks 7 58 pm 6 comments sunday march 13 2011 poem from the past i still like a true story sears roebuck mr roebuck upped and sold his shares pretty early having had it he lived the rest of his ninety years modestly in retirement sniffing his garden s sensible airs marveling at his luck often he must have thought of sears how sears mucked on poor cluck sears making millions millions on his ashpit and roebuck making roebuck posted by barry spacks 10 45 pm 0 comments friday december 10 2010 beautiful faces a poem biding its time in the possibles file for years maybe with this morning s tweaking ready to be seen beautiful faces teachings that come in dreams are easily lost so teasing ephemeral yet no use grabbing at them fist like crushing dream diamonds to sand last night i woke from a dream of faces poised between the male and female and me as a dream figure there in the field among them meditating knees bending flat to the ground ideal posture legs tucked spine straight mountain like a dignity i lack in waking life for there my knees strain upward ungainly this dream story focused on those faces blending the genders skillful means and wisdom united the dream was telling me such union would henceforth be my prime devotion to rise up from meditative calm and go about the brutal world reflecting grace so there on my cushion my dreamed knees at last kept flatly down wait wait let me experiment with them here in the so called real in this actual body fierce of will frail daunted by pride posted by barry spacks 11 38 am 3 comments about me name barry spacks life long university teacher poet painter married to the best person in the world kimberley snow view my complete profile links google news edit me edit me previous posts last entry i see that the new improved version of unable to correct mishmash of previous entry thought to offer a mini show from a new collectio inspired by kind words from former student homer a year or so since last posting alas poem from the past i still like a true story beautiful faces 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