For All, poem by Gary Snyder

FOR ALL
Poem by Gary Snyder

Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

Photo: “Moffat Lakes, Boulder, Colorado” by Tyler P. Porter, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

New Orleans in September, quote by Tom Robbins

“Louisiana in September was like an obscene phone call from nature. The air–moist, sultry, secretive, and far from fresh–felt as if it were being exhaled into one’s face. Sometimes it even sounded like heavy breathing. Honeysuckle, swamp flowers, magnolia, and the mystery smell of the river scented the atmosphere, amplifying the intrusion of organic sleaze. It was aphrodisiac and repressive, soft and violent at the same time. In New Orleans, in the French Quarter, miles from the barking lungs of alligators, the air maintained this quality of breath, although here it acquired a tinge of metallic halitosis, due to fumes expelled by tourist buses, trucks delivering Dixie beer, and, on Decatur Street, a mass-transit motor coach named Desire.”  

TOM ROBBINS, Jitterbug Perfume

Find Tom Robbins‘ 1990 novel Jitterbug Perfume at Amazon.com.

Birdcall, poem by Alicia Suskind Ostriker

BIRDCALL (Excerpt)
by Alicia Suskind Ostriker

Tuwee, calls a bird near the house,
Tuwee, cries another, downhill in the woods.
No wind, early September, beeches and pines,
 
Sumac aflame, tuwee, tuwee, a question and a faint
But definite response, tuwee, tuwee, as if engaged
In a conversation expected to continue all afternoon,
 
Where is?—I’m here?—an upward inflection in
Query and in response, a genetic libretto rehearsed
Tens of thousands of years beginning to leave its indelible trace,
 
Clawprint of language, ritual, dense winged seed,
Or as someone were slowly buttoning a shirt.
I am happy to lie in the grass and listen, as if at the dawn of reason,
 
To the clear communal command
That is flinging creaturely will into existence,
Designing itself to desire survival,
 
Liberty, companionship,
Then the bird near me, my bird, stops inquiring, while the other
Off in the woods continues calling faintly, but with that upward
 
Inflection, I’m here, I’m here,
I’m here, here, the call opens a path through boughs still clothed
By foliage, until it sounds like entreaty, like anxiety, like life…

…read more at Poets.org.

Photo: “Autumn Tree Bird” by Ellen Gee, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (from Poets.org): Born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1937, Alicia Suskin Ostriker received a bachelor’s degree from Brandeis University and an MA and PhD in literature from the University of Wisconsin–Madison. Her collections of poetry include The Book of Seventy (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009); The Volcano Sequence (2002); The Little Space: Poems Selected and New, 1968-1998 (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1998) which was a finalist for the 1999 Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize; The Crack in Everything (1996), a National Book Award finalist and winner of the Paterson Poetry Award and the San Francisco State Poetry Center Award; and The Imaginary Lover (1986), winner of the William Carlos Williams Award of the Poetry Society of America. She teaches poetry in New England College’s Low-Residency MFA Program.

New Orleans Nature Walk, Quote by Tom Robbins

“Louisiana in September was like an obscene phone call from nature. The air–moist, sultry, secretive, and far from fresh–felt as if it were being exhaled into one’s face. Sometimes it even sounded like heavy breathing. Honeysuckle, swamp flowers, magnolia, and the mystery smell of the river scented the atmosphere, amplifying the intrusion of organic sleaze. It was aphrodisiac and repressive, soft and violent at the same time. In New Orleans, in the French Quarter, miles from the barking lungs of alligators, the air maintained this quality of breath, although here it acquired a tinge of metallic halitosis, due to fumes expelled by tourist buses, trucks delivering Dixie beer, and, on Decatur Street, a mass-transit motor coach named Desire.”

…from Jitterbug Perfume, a novel by TOM ROBBINS

Find Tom Robbins‘ 1990 novel Jitterbug Perfume at Amazon.com.

“Jitterbug Perfume has a large and exotic cast of characters, all of whom are interested in immortality and/or perfume… Go see for yourself; you’ll have a good time.” The Washington Post

Happy Birthday, Stephen King!

“But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.” STEPHEN KING, Salem’s Lot

On this day in 1947, Stephen King was born in Portland, Maine. From his first novel, Carrie (1974) to his upcoming Doctor Sleep — a sequel to The Shining scheduled for a 2013 release — King has written over 80 novels and short story collections, releasing about two books per year during a nearly 40-year writing career.

For his dedication to his craft and love of books and writing, Stephen King is a true inspiration. Happy birthday, Stephen!

For All, Poem by Gary Snyder

FOR ALL

Poem by Gary Snyder

Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

Photo: “Moffat Lakes, Boulder, Colorado” by Tyler P. Porter, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Happy September!

As we enter September, I’m celebrating with a 79 cake! Why? Because September (derived from the Latin “septem,” meaning seven) was the seventh month of the Roman calendar until Julius Caesar bumped it to the ninth month, where it remains today. (Julius was born in July and wanted the 7th named after who else? Himself.) So enjoy each and every one of the 30 days that September hath! I share a slice of my 79 cake with you!