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~ arts journal~ Lewis J Whittington

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Monthly Archives: June 2009

potd by Jan Carroll

13 Saturday Jun 2009

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‘some blue inside’

bloglog

13 Saturday Jun 2009

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Bit overwrought that, but those men are my time travelers from a poem cycle I started about ten years ago that I’ve been trying to edit with some sort of linear sense. Later I have them in at a circuit party in a k hole delirium circa 2002. They are less dramatic on drugs.

13 Saturday Jun 2009

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from Sassafras diary 1858

If I couldn’t get
you down from that

holler tree where you keep

the bottles

to sit

to hear
the tea

steep

steep steep as it

does seep seep seep
or some such thing

through my skin

to my soul

 

I watched you

while waiting
over the basin
in amber

light your lips muttering curses and prayers

not knowing the meanings

so if then

we drink

together in peace
If then

we are

bound together
If then lain down

if then

it’s not over

(midwinter 1848)

When my fevers came
You crawled in

Until dawn
Digging up the deepest
Sassafras root
From the dried mud
Hills and I heard
You boiling those root
iron cauldron

And I heard you blowing
The sticks that fired its smoke
You came in to me
Carrying the root like snakes
And steeped them over
sweated
body until
Those vapors
searing to skin
when I went

dried-up inside that
I saw the torturers from my
Life tumbling in front of my eyes
eating my soul
out of the livid

flight saw you
Lay over me dripping
Water from your mouth
Between my blistering lips and eyes
And you bled out the poisons
And demons from
My head and
The devils in flight
from putrefaction

if it tried to
Break your body
This land,
When you
When your
rabid eyed
saw everything but
the miracles of the sky
Didn’ come to you
As you glared down the sun
scarred your eyes
tore your skin
When you finally screamed
I lived.

(year of the dead lords 1849)

Those days and night
Hours on hour
When you drunk all
Of the liquor

that was supposed to
Keep us all winter and
Ran Out into the woods naked
Against the snow and I found you
Frozen on the rocks under
That rotted dam with
Your blood froze on your brow
Your eyes horrid
Like they were seeing death
miracles at the same time
Your face sunken as a three day corpse

I carried you on my shoulder
Across the river and
Couldn’t feel my feet or hands
Ice was breaking off of my hairs
And all I heard was it my breathing hard
And the death of my footfall
and you slid through my arms

like a mother damned
Cradling her dead child.

I tied you to the bed
Next to the fire rocks
And I read the Christian Bible all day
And night for days and nights and
All moments were one
Then I chanted
The Buddhist prayers I learnt
On the ships in the devil seas
Out of Cape Horn
I said these prayers to you
Over and over and the Tranta
Of seed soundings of ages
That I heard from Pyrian on
The Indian Ocean
Sri ram, shivaya Ram
Ram shivaya ram sri ram
I hollered out

in my soul
fell silent
over the crag imagining

shelter

the trances

in this book of yours
With other prayers from the Jews
saying from the Gypsy slaves of Europe

who survived and dare not
seeing the cruelty

of kings and gods

I prayed over them
Prayed and prayed when you were
Firing through this terror
The torments of your soul
On you face and
Your body stiffened
Pitching like the sea
Your organs swelled through

Out of your body
And I gave up
And I gave up
And I gave up and all gods were

cursed upon my lips

& in my heart I renounced their souls
And I screamed
And I clawed and pounded the ugly lies back into the ground.

when you woke
When you woke
When you woke

I heard you growl

“Get me out of these fucking ropes you fucking welp.”
And then you just
Were cleaved to my neck
Licking my skin and then you were with me again
You were youou were

(summer 1849)

you were with me again

I saw you in that fine sky
on the outcrop
Your torso like marble
e’er o’er the fields
This again
Just as I saw you at first
And you came down
To me
As the wind timed
The shade by us and you knelt
At my feet
Took my arm and I saw
The steel flecks
In your coal eyes.

The next winter I knew
How you
Were dead inside even when
You said the same things and we did
The same things, but you had no life
Even when I had learned your ways
I knew you were here but I lost you again

I stood in the black autumn creek
Every night where we first loved each other.
Night when you passed
Out on that holy fire
I shivered
That I would hate you
I must finish my life and
Go back on the sea and I prayed that
If then
Your soul would return.

I saw flames
On the water
Heard the vile echoes
Seep, seepseepseep

seep through your flesh
That was red and wet with
Firelight
Standing over that flame
Like a god cast out
Through miracles visited on this night
we cast out to sea
As if we scarce knew then,

If then,

we lay bound to go

-Sassafras diary 1859

bloglog-

11 Thursday Jun 2009

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waiting for the city rain and checking out the truly inspiring Staten Island P.S. 22 chorus videos on YouTube. The teaching talents of Gregg Breinberg is obviously transformational and impossible not to watch these kids without a lump in your throat. The new Mr. B directs the music program with incredible heart using songs like Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ and Coldplay with no sheet music. (there is also synergy being fueled by his piano/guitar playing that the kids obviously respond to). PS 22 chorus will be onstage with Stevie Nicks tonight at Madison Square Garden singing her classic ‘Landslide’ which she said brought her to tears when she saw it. Hard to make a rock star cry.

potd by Jan Carroll

11 Thursday Jun 2009

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‘fleur de leaves’

dancemetros

11 Thursday Jun 2009

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Pennsylvania Ballet hasn’t performed La Sylphide in 20 years, but nothing has mossed over. The Scottish castle is toasty with that antlered chandelier as imposing as the Academy’s famous crystal hanger. Those lads and lassies are brightly kilted for the odd highland fling.

Frances Veyette gets some fine character movement in as Madge the witch and part time yenta. Here he is cooking up reptiles over the cauldron in the moor, he gets his minions lethally drunk and dancing amok. He vanishes the riff-raff and the cauldron with a crooked finger. If only one had him at the bars.

potd by Jan Carroll

09 Tuesday Jun 2009

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‘bend and drape’

tonytonytony

08 Monday Jun 2009

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The 3 Billys win best actor Tony. Their message to dancing boys- PREPARE!

LOTN-Neil Patrick Harris drafting through the show to nail the ending number with his GREAT show voice to realtime lyrics provided by Marc Shaiman (who else)to melodies from ‘Tonight’ and ‘Luck be a Lady’ to wit-

This show could not be any gayer
If Liza was named mayor
and Elton John took flight.

stage

08 Monday Jun 2009

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Caught up with the Tony Awards and Liza was indeed shaky, but she was probably dodging sets & industry bullets. She looked dazed making her way in the opening number in a Vegasy spangly black ensem and belted out ‘And the World Goes Round’ a song that is indeed hers at full warble. It really was a great lead in to the cast of ‘Hair’ who used the opportunity to get their message to the world of peace, love and singlehandedly could bring back shag. All of the performing shows and presented joined them for ‘Let the Sunshine In’ and suddenly it was a happening. As slick as the Tonys now are that movement energy and chorus is something that can’t be rehearsed.

Global pride

08 Monday Jun 2009

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The BBC is reporting on China’s first ever gay pride event. Although it is not in the public square, it is not being banned by the government. The two women who head up the team organising Shanghai Pride are both Americans who live have lived in the city for a few years.

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All poems by Lewis Whittington unless otherwise noted

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gownsbyadrian

  • review: A Sumptuously Rustic ’Into The Woods’ at the Arden Theater | EDGE Media Network edgemedianetwork.com/story.php?3168… latest theater reviewtravlin' light 6 days ago

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