////outside beat////a mixtape////

COSMIC EQUATION

Then another tomorrow
They never told me of
Came with the abruptness of a fiery dawn
And spoke of Cosmic Equations:
The equations of sight-similarity
The equations of sound-similarity
Subtle Living Equations
Clear only to those
Who wish to be attuned
To the vibrations of the Outer Cosmic Worlds.
Subtle living equations of the outer-realms
Dear only to those
Who fervently wish the greater life

- Sun Ra

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angels and demons at play - sun ra

utopia & visions - don cherry

africanasia part II - claude delcloo

b.t. - arthur jones

legacy - andrew hill

tarik - dewey redman

the will come is now - ronnie boykins

hum-dono - joe harriott/amancio d'silva quartet

rufus 3rd - new york art quartet

lonely woman (ornette coleman) - marzette watts ensemble

humility in the light of the creator - kalaparusha maurice mcintyre

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{{{Charles}{Bukowski}}}

Here's one more selection from the poetry I've been reading over the last year or so: Charles Bukowski (1920-1994). At least a year ago I'd seen a documentary entitled Bukowski: Born into This. Shortly after that I picked up The Last Night of the Earth Poems. I had heard of the man. The things that are said of him are true. To say that he is outrageously rough around the edges would fall very short. Much of what he said and did and wrote hold great potential for blushes and offended feelings. However, reading poems like the bluebird, and having a sense of his backround, I find him endearing despite his many faults. For all his crass, drunken sputterings, he is a very good writer. He had a simple cleverness and made readers of more hard-livin' blue collar folk than probably any poet ever did. His poetry is direct and very prose oriented. The below poem is in fact unlike much of his stuff in that it makes use of literary devices much more liberally. Enjoy

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Gonna Find Me a Bluebird - Skeeter Davis & Porter Wagoner
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the bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.

then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

{{{{{-}}}}}}-{{{{{{-}}}}}}-{{{{{{-}}}}}}-{{{{{{-}}}}}
{{{{{-}}}}}}-{{{{{{-}}}}}}-{{{{{{-}}}}}}-{{{{{{-}}}}}

<{(Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg)}>

Been reading loads of poetry lately. I recieved a mound of it for Christmas Hallelujah! One of the books given is called The Triggering Town by Richard Hugo (1923-1982). This is not a book of poetry but rather a book of instruction, lectures & essays on poetry that a professor recommended to me. It's excellent. Nearly done with it. I intend to put up "Triggering Town Tips" from time to time along with a poem for those interested in experimenting with their approach. For now I just wanted to introduce you to the poet who wrote the book. Enjoy.



Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg

You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss
you had was years ago. You walk these streets
laid out by the insane, past hotels
that didn’t last, bars that did, the tortured try
of local drivers to accelerate their lives.
Only churches are kept up. The jail
turned 70 this year. The only prisoner
is always in, not knowing what he’s done.


The principal supporting business now
is rage. Hatred of the various grays
the mountain sends, hatred of the mill,
The Silver Bill repeal, the best liked girls
who leave each year for Butte. One good
restaurant and bars can’t wipe the boredom out.
The 1907 boom, eight going silver mines,
a dance floor built on springs—
all memory resolves itself in gaze,
in panoramic green you know the cattle eat
or two stacks high above the town,
two dead kilns, the huge mill in collapse
for fifty years that won’t fall finally down.


Isn’t this your life? That ancient kiss
still burning out your eyes? Isn’t this defeat
so accurate, the church bell simply seems
a pure announcement: ring and no one comes?
Don’t empty houses ring? Are magnesium
and scorn sufficient to support a town,
not just Philipsburg, but towns
of towering blondes, good jazz and booze
the world will never let you have
until the town you came from dies inside?


Say no to yourself. The old man, twenty
when the jail was built, still laughs
although his lips collapse. Someday soon,
he says, I’ll go to sleep and not wake up.
You tell him no. You’re talking to yourself.
The car that brought you here still runs.
The money you buy lunch with,
no matter where it’s mined, is silver
and the girl who serves your food
is slender and her red hair lights the wall.

...Christ Climbed Down...

I happened upon this poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti (from his book, A Coney Island of the Mind) today, and it expresses many of the thoughts that have been running through my mind this Christmas season. We sell this time of year short, as well as lessen the potency of the Messianic story, when we lose the anticipation of its promise of Divine Incarnation- both individual and universal.


CHRIST CLIMBED DOWN

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees
and no tinfoil Christmas trees
and no pink plastic Christmas trees
and no gold Christmas trees
and no black Christmas trees
and no powderblue Christmas trees
hung with electric candles
and encircled by tin electric trains
and clever cornball relatives

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no intrepid Bible salesmen
covered the territory
in two-tone cadillacs
and where no Sears Roebuck crèches
complete with plastic babe in manger
arrived by parcel post
the babe by special delivery
and where no televised Wise Men
praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no fat handshaking stranger
in a red flannel suit
and a fake white beard
went around passing himself off
as some sort of North Pole saint
crossing the desert to Bethlehem
Pennsylvania
in a Volkswagen sled
drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer
with German names
and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts
from Saks Fifth Avenue
for everybody’s imagined Christ child

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no Bing Crosby carolers
groaned of a tight Christmas
and where no Radio City angels
iceskated wingless
thru a winter wonderland
into a jinglebell heaven
daily at 8:30
with Midnight Mass matinees

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly stole away into
some anonymous Mary’s womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody’s anonymous soul
He awaits again
an unimaginable
and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest
of Second Comings

{(-)}For Japan{(-)}Part Two{(-)}

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Be Still My Soul - Kosuke Mine Quartet
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Drizzling Rain - Masabumi Kikuchi
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Sun In The East - Masayuki Takayanagi & New Direction For The Arts
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In the same spirit as Part One, my focus on the rich artistic contributions of Japan are intended to draw our attention toward their present needs and to cause us to ask the question, "What can I/we do?" In answer to this question, any comments or suggestions are very encouraged. Beyond this, I hope that you enjoy the content.
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I first latched on to Gary Snyder when I started getting serious about poetry - about a decade ago I guess. He's a very interesting man & much more than just a poet. He's accomplished a great deal in his 80+ years. If his work inspires you I would recommend reading up on him a bit. He lived in Japan from 1956 to 1964 I believe, studying Zen Buddhism & poetry. My original intention was to use his poetry exclusively, but after reading thru some of his translations of Kenji Miyazawa, a Japanese poet, science teacher & social activist (1896-1933), I felt compelled to use several of his poems. I'm gonna start out with one from Gary & follow up with three from Kenji:

{(-)}FOR JAPAN{(-)}PART ONE{(-)}

a few haiku from the master as well as two ode's to Japan via some fine jazz compositions (one original & one reworked). for part two i intend to flip this scenario with a poem that is an ode to Japan from a non-native followed by some excellent Japanese jazz - please look for it. lastly, if you're a person who prays, as you enjoy the contents of this post, please pray for Japan. let's encourage one another to support them in this and any other way. doug

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Japan - Pharoah Sanders

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Japanese Folk Song (Kojo No Tsuki) - Thelonious Monk

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211th chorus

211th chorus

by jack kerouac

from mexico city blues

The wheel of the quivering meat

conception

Turns in the void expelling human beings,

Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits,

Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan

Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,

Horrible unnameable lice of vultures,

Murderous attacking dog-armies

Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the

jungle,Vast boars and huge gigantic bull

Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,

Pones and Porcupines and Pills-

All the endless conception of living

beings

Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness

Throughout the ten directions of space

Occupying all the quarters in & out,

From supermicroscopic no-bug

To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell

Illuminating the sky of one Mind-

Poor! I wish I was free

of that slaving meat wheel

and safe in heaven dead.

[{( in the saffron sky )}]

{a few of my favorite haiku/american pops from kerouac}

..............

I'm so mad
I could bite
The mountaintops

.......................

~~~~~~~~

"You and me"
I sang
Looking at the cemetery

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

------------

One flower
on the cliffside
noddong at the canyon

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***************

Everlastingly loose
and responsive,
The cloud bussiness

****************

..............

Gull sailing
in the saffron sky---
The Holy Ghost wanted it

................................

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you know why my name is Jack?
Why?
That's why.

~~~~~~

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Beautiful summer night
gorgeous as the robes
Of Jesus

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*****************

When the moon sinks
down to the power line,
I'll go in

******

...................

The little worm
lowers itself from the roof
By a self shat thread

..........................

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other man, just as
lonesome as i am
In this empty universe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~