My Three Poems for Huntingdon Valley Library Poetry Night - Altered State - Evergreen Shampoo - Lawn Party

ALTERED STATE

Me, one of the millions

who have diabetes. Not grossly

overweight, not a junk food

addict, my antirejection

meds gave me the disease.

Diabetes rules my life, I told

my sister, who can eat anything

she likes, grilled cheese

sandwiches on rye and Archway

cookies straight from the box.

She has no idea what happens

to me in the dead of night

when I awake and am “low.”

The “low” killed Bobby’s roommate

found face-down on the floor,

a promising pharmacist, like Bobby

himself.

With the purple light of dawn

filtering through my drapes

I arise like Lazarus from what

might be my tomb, pause a

moment, and close my eyes.

Something is wrong.

Very very wrong.

Aha! I am low and bound

down the stairs in my

pre-owned striped pajamas

that make me feel like George

Elliot. If only I could wear them

to the Vietnamese restaurant.

Switching on the kitchen light

the room vibrates

boink boink boink!

as I reach for the foods

that will save me.

I rip open a new bag of

pretzels, flood them into

my mouth, then get some

chocolate raspberry yogurt

from the fridge, dripping it

onto my PJs.

My sugar level is 35. Normal

is 80 to 120. I step onto

the front porch in my pink

diabetes socks, then run

down the sidewalk to

look up at the stars.

Jupiter, I wave, with its

many moons. I am

saved. I am saved.

Lying in bed, body

heaving, I think

this must be like

taking drugs. Cocaine

where they

get the bloody noses.

Hands on chest, I am

rocked to sleep by

Charlie Rose humming

in the distance. 

***

Hurry Perseus, I'm frightened!

EVERGREEN SHAMPOO

The tiny transparent bottle I stole

from LaQuinta Hotel in

New Orleans, resembles a

lipstick container or

a coffin. I husband the

remaining sweet-smelling

drops I rub through my

silver hair, never believing

I would get this old. Rubbing

my skull, I remember my

week in The Big Easy. As long

as I have the shampoo, I will

still be in New Orleans.

Ever eaten Shrimp Po-Boys

at the Commerce Deli? Bread

that crackled like a mouthful

of diamonds, and succulent

shrimp who gave their lives

for us.

Most of all I’ll remember the

bus ride. Legs

dangling as helplessly as

Andromeda tied to

the rock. Where was Perseus?

The god was in my suite

on the fifth floor.

Listening to the patter

of the rain on the roof,

I massaged my ankles,

swollen as the Crawfish

Sandwich I ate at the

park, staring at

St. Patrick’s Cathedral,

and wishing I could

ask Jesus for help.

***

 

LAWN PARTY

The Queen of England

dressed in yellow, is

hosting a lawn party

and so shall I.

Please be my guest.

Out come the picnic tables

spread with tiny cucumber

sandwiches, on whole wheat

toast. The lone maple tree

nods in approval.

What’s a spring party

without lemonade? I’ll

serve it in my pink pitcher

Mom gave me, though at

ninety-two she would

no longer remember.

You’ll meet my mom

along with a dozen guests.

Beethoven will be there

with his wild eyes and

white poodle hair. A silver

ear trumpet will rest on

his table. I do hope he likes coffee,

the Vanilla-Hazelnut

I drank earlier today.

I’ve always admired the

poet Rilke. He’ll sit over

by the forsythia bush,

spiking toward the sky.

I’ll only invite one dead

boyfriend. Not Simon

The Hoarder, but

Christopher. He’ll drive up

in his Mazda truck, brimming

with laughter in his plaid shirt

and faded blue jeans.

You thought I’d forgotten you,

I’ll say, though you left me for

another.

I’ll stand atop a table and

recite through a megaphone:

We’re having a party of the world.

And the bluejays and cardinals, the

tiny little sparrows, will twitter

in approval as they

soar across the yard,

pooping as they go.

Part Two - Poetry Night at the Huntingdon Valley Library

Eileen, dressed to the nines, wrote a stunning poem about Anxiety. After our last Sonnet class, she went home, so inspired that she wrote about what was on her mind.

Her daughter, she said, is really the poet in the family.

Well, so are you, Eileen, whose rhythmic poem echoed the feeling of being anxious. Something inside her, she wrote, was "desperately seeking to get out."

At one point, Janice Dawson - no relation, we presume, to the great quarterback Lenny Dawson born in 1935 - went to the Bethayres Train Station to pick up Daniel Simpson and his GF Ona Gritz.

Dan and David Simpson are identical twins. Both born blind. I believe it's b/c they were preemies. David Simpson has one of the most horrible of all disease: ALS. Read my post about him.

Janice read some lovely haiku. I'm not quoting them exactement. My pen wouldn't write fast enough. I'm not one of dem United Nations translators. 

April is not so cruel
Time to play baseball.

Experiences of today
are tomorrow's memories.

A polar bear
casts a white shadow.

FOREIGN FILM

She references many foreign films including Ingmar Bergman's


 The Seventh Seal. Jeez, it makes me wanna see these movies again.

Look! They're all available on YouTube.

I drank coffee today and am wide awake. Will watch one I've never seen before. How I love what's her name....

Here's what Liv Ullmann looks like today.

More from Janice's poem....

For it's all a Grand Illusion with the shape of things to come.

Ona Gritz is a wonderful writer. Look at all her accomplishments here.

She read from her book Geode. She wondered what it was like "to kiss a boy who mattered" instead of an idiot who lied about her.

To My Beloved Mr. Rogers was a wonderful poem. And, yes, how we loved Mr. Rogers.

  As a child he was obese, and was mocked by neighborhood bullies. He practiced kindness toward one and all.

Ona's restless child couldn't sit still for the program, but Mr. Rogers was ready to forgive her for all the things she would do.

When he tells you he loves you
it's like hearing music
in a cathedral.

*

Janice also read a poem by David Simpson called "My Favorite Silk Shirt." Of course he couldn't see it, but imagined "it was a deep green like what I imagine the sea would look like."

"Maybe I just imagine wearing the sea and the sky."

Dan Simpson stood at the podium and read a poem about why he never married.

"Of course" if he married "he could have all the guilt-free sex he wanted." The first woman he loved was his physics teacher. "She was crying with her back to us."

"The gravitational pull" meant he could love her the rest of her life, and then some.

Dan is the author of the book "School for the Blind," while David wrote "How Love Comes to Me."

Here's Linda Barrett's mom, Jane. She's walking with a new cane.

Typical phone conversation with Jane. Linda will always answer the phone when she's home.

"What! She's not home? Where does your daughter go all the time?"

Linda read three sonnets. You can read them here.

Linda is so bold. She asked our teacher if she should continue writing sonnets. Yes, indeed, said Lynn. You have a knack.

Dan was dressed up b/c he was at a funeral earlier.

He read a poem on Excuses for Not Being Married. Again, excuse me for my slow pen.

All I wanted was a narrow bed
safe and narrow. I saw the
rightness of getting married
a wave that would sweep me
over the playground.

PROVIDENCE

I met my girlfriend in yoga
"Meant-to-be," she laughed,
six months later.

Happiness is right next to you.

*

Dan talked about his male guide dog, Chandler. He feels guilty when he leaves him at home in Lansdowne. What if there's a fire?

He asked his mom if she believes in heaven? No, I don't absolutely know, she said. But she prays, just the same, in case there is a heaven.

He read a poem by his brother David.

His pony-tailed brother who is in hospice at Holy Redeemer, while his wife Emily recovers from "the kissing disease" mono.

When she's well, he'll return to their home in Glenside.

  Glenside, home of the Keswick Theater.

David has had ALS for a year and a half. Two months ago he wrote a poem "To My Terminal Disease."

Relentless wrestler, how you ruined my windpipe
elbowed in my eye

Thank you for teaching me not to
wrestle with the present moment.

***

Dan Simpson doesn't think he'll get ALS. He thinks many forms of ALS are caused by environmental factors, such as taking statins for your cholesterol.

His brother took statins and so do I. I have just contacted my family physician to ask him about Zocor. 

Poetry Part One - Poetry Night at the Huntingdon Valley Library starring Lynn Levin and special Guest Dan Simpson

Judy Diaz of Niwot, Colorado called while I was at the Poetry Reading.We both were THRILLED that the six brutal police officers who killed Freddie Gray are being charged with murder. Read it here in the Times.

Here's one of the 1581 comments:

Baltimore has just become, with Marilyn Mosby's courageous actions, a leader in seeking justice for all African-Americans who have suffered at the hands of the police. An historic and surprising news conference that goes to the heart of illegal police behavior and it's devastating consequences. Hopefully, other cities will take note and learn from this remarkable woman's stand on behalf of the truth.

Judy told me that her former husband, Andy Diaz liked to talk to police officers. This is when they lived in Washington, DC. They told Andy how they hated African-Americans and liked beating them up.

"We'll never get caught," they said to Andy.

*

What a busy day I had. May is Mental Health Month. I wrote Alan Kerr, the editorial page editor of the Doylestown-based Intelligencer and asked if I could write a guest column.

No, he said, b/c I have a column coming out on Mother's Day. But, he said, you can write a Letter to the Editor, 300 words max.

That's even better, I wrote, and mailed it in around noon, before I wrote the three poems for tonight's reading.

*

I told Lynn Levin that I lost my desire for creative writing b/c for two days I was filling out odious paperwork to get my yearly Chronic Renal Discount. The medication is hugely expensive.

This morning I shopped at the Giant Supermarket and asked nutritionist Mary Ann Moylan a question.

See the clementines on the right. How many carbs are they, I asked.

About 10, she said, b/c they're small. Figure that any small fruit has about 10 carbs.

Great news!

*

The bird bath in my back yard keeps tipping over. Went to the little woods behind my house, searching for a good-size rock and plopped in the bird bath.

So, where are the birds?

*

We profusely thanked Lynn Levin for organizing this event at the Huntingdon Valley Library, after we took three Sonnet-appreciation classes. She teaches poetry at Drexel University and University of Pennsylvania.

The class was free so we saved $750, I'm guessing, if we'd taken her class at one of the universities.

  Sculpture on Penn campus by Robinson Fredenthal, who I interviewed for Art Matters. He died in 2009 of complications from Parkinson's.

*

Now comes the hard work of reading the notes I took at the reading.

Without exception, every poem was outstanding.

Lynn Levin has written six books! Recently she received rave reviews for

      
Birds on the Kiswar Tree.

She read selections from that book which she had translated from Spanish.

A couple of lines:

about a concubine.... I shall not hang myself with my long braids.

The chatter of the parrots transforms me.

Author Odi Gonzales wrote about churches in the high Andes, the city of Cusco.


Oh dear, it reminds me of Nepal and the dreadful earthquake that killed 6,000 with thousands unaccounted for.

My friend Ellen Rosenberg was in Cusco for six weeks teaching English at an orphanage.

     
Everything is on the Internet, except me sitting on my red couch in my plaid pajamas.

Wait a minute! I just figured it out.

The Internet is God Almighty!

Lynn Levin read from her book Miss Plastique, at various stages in her life.

  No matter what, she always gets dressed and puts on her make-up.

She also writes about ordinary things such as the importance of buying cage-free eggs. If you look in my fridge above, you'll see I do the same.

She refers to the other kinds of eggs from chickens in "high-rise jails" with "the poop" of the ones above falling on their heads.

In "Small Change" she talks about "touching" the check-out clerks hand when she puts the change into the palms of their hands.

And the importance of buying produce from the "marked down" cart.

"I think of them as little brains on the tree" - "more than anything I hate waste and think of all the time I have wasted."

In her poem on snakes, she writes "the unbearable vigilance of living." 

Brenda who attends Old York Road Temple Beth Am wrote a gorgeous poem dedicated to Sherri, who "I honor as the moon honors the night."

There's a special celebration called Rosh Chodesh, for women only.The participants choose a woman to honor.



 

Awesome movie staring Ingrid Bergman, her last film. She was dying of cancer.