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Archive for the ‘Poetry on Blogfinger’ Category

saul leiter my room

“In My Room”   Photograph by Saul Leiter.

 

 

Your bra & panties

hanging on the door—

Do Not Disturb

 

 

 

Joao Gilberto “Outra Vez” (Tr: Another Time)

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Hi Paul:

Greetings from Manhattan. Over fifty years ago, my grandmother said a few things to me shortly before she died that I knew would eventually find their way into a poem. Here is “Grandmother’s Note” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

Best wishes,

Charles Pierre

 

 

Paris. By Paul Goldfinger ©

Paris. By Paul Goldfinger ©  Click to enlarge.

 

Grandmother’s Note

By Charles Pierre

 

Looking for less with each added year,

I’ve begun to live in the small space

that surrounds me now, in the shadows

 

that gather at my feet and follow

as I walk along, and in the breezes

that take my shape for an instant,

 

leaving nothing but gentle creases

in my hair and a cool ripple

over my skin. Expecting little,

 

I go where my handwriting leads me –

become just a sound, a word, a phrase,

part of the impression on the page

 

for a moment, not an old woman

with the obvious lines of age, but

a clear thought in this surrounding space

 

CAL TJADER: “The Night We Called it a Day”

 

 

Charles Pierre. Photograph by Marcella Kerr. ©

Charles Pierre. Photograph by Marcella Kerr. ©

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Under the Coney Island boardwalk. c. 1960. By Bruce Davidson ©

Under the Coney Island boardwalk. c. 1959. By Bruce Davidson ©

 

 

BOARDWALK

 

By Charles Pierre.

 

This splintered swath

with its burning masses,

where nothing can grow,

 

hides a cool path

of sand and grasses

directly below,

 

a place of laughs

and eager kisses

only the teens know.

 

From the author’s 2014 collection Coastal Moments, Hayland Press, New York.

 

k.d. lang

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Hi Paul:
     Greetings from Manhattan. When March ends, and the last few patches of snow melt from the yards, and ice disappears from the ponds, those of us who live along the coast shed our heavy coats and head for the shore. Here is the poem “Orient Point,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

Best Wishes,

Charles Pierre

 

 

Early spring morning. Deal Lake. Ocean Township.  March 29, 2015,   By Paul Goldfinger ©  Click to enlarge.

 

 

Orient Point

By Charles Pierre

To find words again, after winter’s pause
and the stifled months of life ashore —
to hear voices, if none but the shrill sounds
of sailors boundless in April winds.
I slip from silence, English my ship and sea.
Speech as fresh as the first mild gusts of salt air
billows my cheeks, flying from my lips
to take me as far as sound can sail —
Speak, as if spring is all there is!

 

BEN PATERSON TRIO:  “Here, There, and Everywhere”   by Paul McCartney.

 

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Ocean Grove. November 28,  2014. Paul Goldfinger photo. ©

 

 

Toward Winter

 

By Charles Pierre.

 

In late November, after the abundance

of summer and early fall, when withered

vines and leaves deepen the solitude

of the land, one can walk almost unseen,

like the wind coursing through bare trees

or a dust mote crossing a shaft of sunlight.

In this diminished scene, the emptiness

can unburden, almost free, the self,

until one becomes aware of the season

but not the date, on an hourless afternoon,

neither mild nor cold, the slight stiffness

in the joints a certain sign of the short

clipped days and long crystalline nights

to come, as one walks the hardening earth,

with a hunger for less and less of the year,

into the devouring mouth of December.

 

 

 

BEVERLY KENNEY   from Sings For Johnny Smith

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“I’ll take Manhattan.”   Central Park in early spring (April 22, 2014) by Paul Goldfinger ©  Blogfinger.net

 



By Paul Goldfinger, Poetry editor @ Blogfinger.net.   Re-post from March, 2018.

 


This song is dedicated to those New York poets who enhance our e-pages with their art.  Charles Pierre and George Held often reference New York City in their poetry.

Both of them have sent us offerings set in early spring as crocuses emerge from the snow and as a poet finds nocturnal inspiration in a City park,  but I am waiting till all the nor’easters fly with the birds to other locales.

I try to make the reality of life provide a backdrop for their work when it is presented on Blogfinger.

Coming up soon  (Oct. 29,  2020) is a Charles Pierre poem for the 8th anniversary of super-storm Sandy.

The song below, sung by 5 time Grammy nominee jazz singer Karrin Allison from her album Collage,  was written by jazz bassist and songwriter Jay Leonhart.  I believe Jay is the bassist on this recording.

I have heard Jay perform live  on a number of occasions, and he is known for singing his original and funny songs while playing his upright bass. Sometime he works alone—singing while accompanying himself.

Jay Leonhart has played bass with all the greats, including Sinatra, Gerry Mulligan, Marian McPartland, Tony Bennett and so many others.

 


I suspect our BF poets will enjoy this song called  “Robert Frost.”  It’s wonderful!

 


 

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“The New Moon.”  Greetings from Igor Timkovsky. Sent to the Goldfinger family. September 19, 2020. ©

 

Igor Timkovsky is a big fan of Ocean Grove’s.  He is a poet and an artist.     He loves to come here with his family each summer, but this year he had to stay home. Igor is a Jewish immigrant from Russia and he is very appreciative of being an American.

 

From Igor to Paul :  Sept. 21, 2020.

I would like to say that for a person like me who came from the former Soviet Union where Jews were not able to openly celebrate Jewish holidays,  it is very rewarding to be appreciated and understood by American Jewish people.  
Thank you again for your time and kindness.
Best,
 
Igor

 

 

Igor  wrote a poem about OG.  A  link to that post is below.

Igor’s poem about Ocean Grove

 

JEWEL:

 

 

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Beachfront Sunrise. By Paul Goldfinger. Ocean Grove. Blogfinger.net ©

 

Hi Paul:

Greetings from Manhattan. I was struck by your quietly beautiful photo, “Beachfront Sunrise,” (posted recently on Blogfinger), and your statement that you preferred sunrises to sunsets because “beginnings are happier than endings.”

Here is the poem, “Dawn,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.

 

Best wishes,

Charles Pierre

 

 

Dawn

By Charles Pierre

 

The first hint of morning on the ocean

is a trembling of shadows,

 

a dark hovering of muted tones

that moves with imperceptible pace,

 

a vanishing medium through which

the day brightens and widens,

 

the new light going on for miles and miles

in the shine of emerging surf.

 

BILL FRISELL. “Across the Universe.”

 

 

 

 

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urthonaessays.com

urthonaessays.com

 

“The Red Wheelbarrow”. *

 

– William Carlos Williams, 1883 – 1963

 

so much depends

upon

 

a red wheel

barrow

 

glazed with rain

water

 

beside the white

chickens

 

Submitted by Lee Morgan of Ocean Grove:  Re-post. 2018.

Lee says, “William Carlos Williams was gifted at painting images with his poetry. After reading it again this evening I wonder if Williams felt an interconnectedness of all things as he observed the world.”

(First published in Williams’ 1923 book Spring and All)*

 

Editor’s note:  Williams was a practicing pediatrician in my hometown of Rutherford, New Jersey.  But, unfortunately, I never heard of him then. Charles Pierre told me that there were other writers  who were physicians including Oliver Wendell Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle  and Michael Crichton.

I never understood this poem, but Lee says it is about imagery, as in painting images with words.  OK, that is understandable, but, as with all poetry, there’s probably more there there.

What do you think?  What about the opening sentence:   “So much depends upon….”    Anybody out there?

Read the comment by “Blind Pursuit.”   It is excellent. —Paul Goldfinger, Editor @Blogfinger.

ALEXANDRE DESPLAT:   “Elisa’s Theme” from the movie score of The Shape of Water.

 

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Paul Goldfinger photo. 2019. ©

 

 

Bee Gone

By Jean Wiarda

 

When I stepped through the doorway a bee flew by and was gone.

Standing motionless, I realized that something was different, very different.

The world was oddly still and utterly silent, as though everything was over and gone

and the bee had been the last to leave.

Had there been a message to go?  A text, an email that I’d missed?

I wondered, “Is everything OK?  Is everything ‘as it should be?’”

If everything is ‘as it should be’, shouldn’t I have been gone before the bee?

If everything else is gone, why am I still here?”

I paused, looking and listening for some sign, an indication that nothing was amiss.

Not a leaf was stirring, no bird twitter, no far off sounds of people or machines.

All was eerily quiet, as if I had stepped into a photo

instead of through my front door.

And then, there it was . . . finally . . .

a chirp, a note and then a few more bird calls.

It was over, this strange interlude.

 

Jean Wiarda is a Jersey Girl living in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania.

She is an FOB  (Friend of Blogfinger)

 

AARON COPLAND:  “Appalachian Spring”   From the Lincoln Portrait.  Zubin Mehta conducting.

 

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