REVIEW: "Bird Effort"

BIRD EFFORT
by Ronald Baatz

Kamini Press Ringvagen 8 4th floor SE-117 26, Stockholm, Sweden

This is another of those gorgeous little editions Henry Denander, who's a poet of considerable talents himself, is producing on his Kamini Press, and number 4 in the series is another selection of poems by Ronald Baatz. 46 (I make it!) American tanka, one might as well call them, and two haiku about nature, animals and ageing--which may not sound promising to anyone who prefers urban poetry or who isn't versed in the traditional forms Ronald adapts so marvellously to the modern idiom. But trust me if you can! The poetry is melancholy, funny, lyrical and even the simplest observation echoes in the mind with revealed truths for a long time afterwards.You'll read it, then you'll step outside and notice something you've never seen before. He's the successor to Kerouac as a poet in adapted Chinese and Japanese verse forms, to my mind, is Ronald, and very few people could have taken Jack's mantle off his shoulders.

t. kilgore splake

cojones time



“sun light here i am”



charles bukowski





muse long gone

no blank page contests

past distant memories

destiny in hand

hot chivas rush

bardic blood boiling

brain skull cavity

distant gray fog

dull hum hum humming

.357 ticket to ride

spared nursing home

score tied

overtime eternity









compulsive voyeur





talking only to talk

never understanding

emptiness of spoken word

drying alone on hospital gurney

helpless afraid

his song unwritten









winter diary





too late

to tell my story

artistic essence fading

shadow dancing

across new borders

something more intense

darker











sweet dreams





only white guy

ghetto hoops team

big city metro

jukes and dekes

pulling up

skyin’ high

top of the key

soft fade away j

rippling chain net

street cred









waking from darkness





tortured eternity

writer’s black brain death

skull cavity empty

first dawn

streaking far horizon

steady light snow

turning paris white

rue montparnasse

lover’s footsteps

vanishing in

early morning light









tru gen





fancy workout threads

logging exercise miles

video with jake

air conditioned

knotty pine

bulls in hot pursuit

wanabe lady brett

cohn flynn

on pamplona holiday

bloody shit stink

wine soaked sweat

wild ass frenzy

racing toward

sun’s

black side









time to go home





midnight quiet

streetlight blinking below

seventh story window

hospital cardiac unit

saline iv solution

staccato rippling echo

distant owl calling

winter coming









mad poet passing





waking from blackout

night light shadows

scattered jelly glasses

empty thunderbird deliriums

gone gone gone

“last train to clarksville”

racing through the station

chest throbbing

jackhammer heart pains

stomach acid boiling

oxygen tank hissss

needing new diaper

distant graying poet

nurse stealing meds

no longer feeling welcome

“shit and git”

vanished youthful memories

boy doing things

missing sweet wet kisses

no more nights together

black magnum solution

hole behind his ear

left this morning

never coming home









last clarksville train





washing down aspirins

warm blue ribbon suds

damp gray first dawn

jerry lee’s cassettes silent

black terminal loneliness

yesterday wife saying

“things got to change”

squeeze the trigger

gain methodist salvation

promised better life

Review: COKEFISH ing

IN ALPHA BEAT SOUP
A Beat-Post Beat Independent Poetry Broadsheet
January 2009

"Cokefish" or "Cokefishing" is a pretty unique publication in that it really is a broadsheet, printed on two sides of a giant piece of paper which arrived at my door (at least) folded in quarters, and set in a variety of types, largely because the type that each poem or letter (it features author letters too) was submitted in seems to have been copied directly onto the broadsheet. And this is a choice the editors Dave and Ana Christy are making: "This broadside is dedicated to the small press and the way it used to be," reads the legend over the top of the first poems, next, in this issue, to a photocopied picture of the late, much lamented Dave Church, whose passing several poems and letters commemorate.

I like their style here. This is the sort of homemade, no-frills publication which sold me on the romance of the small press in the first place, when Bryn Fortey was doing something similar in Wales, though he folded his sheets in half and stapled them. Bryn introduced me, through his "Outlaw" magazine, to some of the best living poets, including (as he was) Church and t.kilgore splake; and Dave and Ana's roster includes both of those old greybeard heroes, along with Steve Dalachinsky, whose work I found impossible to format for BEATNIK (sorry Steve) and Gundy, whose name I came across a few years ago and haven't heard from for a while, during my own weird peregrinations around the literary world and in real unreality. It's good to know that there are still some places where the way a magazine/ publication looks doesn't matter and the way it reads does. Lately even Beat-influenced sites have gone for fancy production which has nothing to do with the original spirit of the writing.

You can track "Cokefish (ing)" down via Alpha Beat Press and Dave and Ana Christy at 806 E. Ridge Ave. Sellersville PA 18960 USA. And like I said, it's a buck an issue, so remunerate the Christys accordingly.

Review: WATCHING SPARROWS

by Ronald Baatz

Kamini Press
Ringvagen 8
4th Floor
SE-117 26
Stockholm
Sweden

www.kaminipress.com

A beautiful little volume, this; and little it is--a three stanza poem by Ronald on high quality paper tastefully presented inside a harder cover which itself features a picture by Kamini's Henry Denander. The picture illustrates the main subjects of the poem: two sparrows feeding. But of course, Ronald's not just a nature poet describing the pleasurable things he sees in front of him when he looks out of his window. He's a little bit of a Zennist and a little bit of a Surrealist, writing with the elegance and mystery of the former tradition and the sly intelligence of the latter. There's a lot going when Ronald writes about two sparrows. But to try to tell you what it is would be absurd, a complete waste of time. The birds would only fly away.

You will read him if you want to.

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

ed: i think there's something subtly original in Luis' poetry, which is why i'm always thrilled to publish anything he sends.i don't quite know what that quality of originality is--how exactly to define it--but it's there. have a look for yourself and tell us what you think.




TERRIBLE FEARS



I harvest fears
like a worried farmer.
My tools of the trade
are my thoughts.

My nights are sleepless
and my days are long.
I can't stop looking
over my shoulder.

Every step I take
I fear will be my last.
I succumb to
my fears sometimes

and I hide under
my bedcovers.
I worry about
spiders and bedbugs.





ONE OF THE STONES



I was online at an early hour.
I was living online.
I was one of the stones
in this great online city.

I was the stone Sisyphus
could not budge. I was not soft
and I stood out. Man after
man tried to push me offline.

A minister thought I was evil.
At three a.m. the minister
could not bear my presence.
His sermon e-mails went straight
into my spam folder. I was
an unholy stone in the online city.





ANOTHER VOICE



I heard another voice
in my head that
put me in a bad mood
and made my heart
beat without rest.

The voice made me shake
from my head to my ankles.

It was not pretty.
Another voice made me come
apart and took my pride.
I was not much of anything.

I asked the voice
politely to get out of my head.
The voice paid me no mind.

J.D. Nelson

The Good News Dumpsters of Chicago


BLAB-OON IN A TEST TUBE: This is some first-rate carrot cake!

DUNGAREE CLYDE: Mirror plaid -- the lyre is smelty.

BLAB-OON IN A TEST TUBE: I'd be better off if I were a potted plant.

DUNGAREE CLYDE: Butter nuff ye scone!

BLAB-OON IN A TEST TUBE: Ask for crackers & a lantern.

DUNGAREE CLYDE: I ain't jokely -- ching wooze alumna.

BLAB-OON IN A TEST TUBE: Whose nuts are in this dish?

DUNGAREE CLYDE: You deserve a snake today.

*******

(haiku)


drifting off to sleep
I jump straight up out of bed --
spider on my nuts

*********

Later, at Feeney's


COKES-ARE-ON-ME: Hey, gang -- Cokes are on me!

DR. ZOLAR: Seriously.

ATTN. PEAT: I lichen this to moss.

RECLUSE X'OR: I peanut buttered & I Shatnered.

OILY CUKE WARBLE: Ghana aftersauce.

COKES-ARE-ON-ME: Pie, Dr. Zolar?

DR. ZOLAR: Three point one four dot dot dot.

ATTN. PEAT: I lichen math jokes.

RECLUSE X'OR: Whadya mean, 'orchid pie' ?!

OILY CUKE WARBLE: Ghana aftersauce.

*********

Good News for Night Owls


1. Salad-a-Day Jon has another red cabbage special.

2A. No more 4 in th' morn corn.
2B. No more blue soda.

3. There's a butterfly in the chocolate milk.

4. (backpack full of weed & zines)

Royce Icon: Great Name, Great Poems

An apology?

Whilst leaning towards oblivion,
I accidentally tripped on your eyelids,
Which smashed the fish-tank
In symphonic precision
And sent all of the fiji mermaids
Screaming on their bellies,
Ruining your white Christian carpet

In the aftermath,
I searched in my pockets
For some kind of apology
But all I found was link
And a very old condom,
So I guess this will have to do


........

> Flocking the seagulls

Steaming piles of worm food,
They exit their stables with glee:

I attach their pigeons
Alphabetically,
In order to avoid confusion
And feelings of preference:

I am king of desolation
And this is my bastard's song

..........

> While you were sweating

Dismal orgies congregate
In groups of ten or twelve.
They sing old church hymns
And pass around the ganja,
Illusive and unimaginative
In their acts of rebellion


5 seconds later and it's time
To get back to work
Swinging slopping limbs
Into every available orifice

.......

> No Sé Nada. Mija

Frustration mounts
Oregon drowns in sand
I lick my wounds
For the billionth time
And wonder:

Does it get better than this?