home s-alone
 wall advert frags - foto by smith in the first monthly sunday open mic poetry lady hosted in june here in oaxaca, 10 folk showed up. for the second reading, we were in the u.s. for a court date with lady’s dead beat ex-husband, and a local poet said she’d cover for us. she didn’t show, and the four folk who did were unhappy. in both cases, the cafe was too noisy, and mexicans told us sunday was a bad day for a reading because that’s essentially family day, so we decided to hold it in our home on the first saturday each month. we held our first home salon yesterday, and 2 folk came. had a good time, read a few poems, sat around and talked, and ate the spring rolls, potato pancakes and chutney lady made. so home salon-wise, we’re starting small. try to put out the word and get more folk next month. found out one of the attendees, our friend madmanmax, was with poet john berryman (”a major figure in American poetry in the second half of the 20th century and often considered one of the founders of the Confessional school of poetry” per wikipedia) when he committed suicide. berryman told him what he was going to do, max asked if he wanted company, berryman said yes, so max walked with him to the bridge and watched him jump. i asked max how it affected him and he just said “i wished he’d chosen another path.” max don’t think it’s his job to run another’s life. so, madmanmax roomed with bob dylan in college in the early 1960s, and walked with berryman the night he died. he was also an after-hours club manager and a mississippi boat chef, as well as a serious drug experimenter in his day. Dream Song 85: Op. posth. no. 8 Flak. An eventful thought came to me, Triune! My wood or word seems to be rotting. The cold is ultimating. The cold is cold.  death - foto by smith |
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