tv [untitled] August 20, 2010 4:30am-5:00am PST
decades to feel our roads, our access, our country side but itit will come like the clearest of mornings after the harshest storms like the soft soothing rain after the years of drought, it will come. hundreds of millions of people will stop feeding the beast of war. will stop crafting armor and boiling machines with their children's blood sacrificed. thousands upon thousands of solders will turn away from their leaders doomsday aspirations. refusing the burden of being a destroyer of homes. rejecting the obligation of being the killer of brothers, spurning the mantel of murderer
of children, decimator of families, poisoner of the earth. one day it will happen. on this tiny planet, flushed with blues weeping in reds opening green and fresh. tell be quiet on this day. so quiet it will pass almost unnoticed. because there will yet be hunger and floods and fire. there will yet be storms and despair and disease. there will yet be struggles and madness. but when that morning come thousands upon thousands will get up, millions inside millions will stretch out and face the challenges of the moment with our tongues wrapped around the idea of peace. feel it's weight, hear it's
song, remember in vent, discover, recreate it's rhythms as we begin to walk the long trail of healing. sew it to grow on it be it to see it, peace. sew it to grow it, be it to see it, peace. [applause]. >> flying inside the evening sky. i don't know the name of the blues that shadow our past. one is sweet and light a cool meringue. another sharp but still. a third thick presses down upon the rest. colbolt. a blue that hums deeply a harmony of ferm ment denying
stars shining inside the cosmos. forever blue where life dies and is reborn. an eternal blue that exists above the storm. a blue that doesn't suffer discord that would smile if it had a mouth. embrace if it was armed. comfort if it grew heart. instead it arcs a concert of blues hovering over the earth in an endless ocean of impossible quiet. thick with blue beyond blue. a blue that disappears when clutched in the fist, a blue invisible and solid. thank you very much. [applause] >> please, welcome camill. >> that was a great reading and you changed up my play list.
>> start with a poem i read after i learned that the rate of valum prescriptions in baghdad sky rocketed after the u.s. entry into that space. the title of the poem and it is the words the probably roost which is bitter. biting, cutting, sharp. bitan. once, she was a fearest dark girl who's tongue skipped top of meeting. teeth, teeth top of mouth like double dutch with the word that ment her thoughts cutting circles through the day. no chance she'd be the one to trip and break rhythm.
then she could sit all day on her porch memorizing the trees. she could be still. the birds, winged through leaves like they didn't know anyone could hurt them. once she believed steam curled off asphalt when summer rains stopped with a prophecy. she believed this looked the way she would feel after touching a man. her body clean. and black. and right. something beautiful and painless rising up. i was talking with a friend about that idea of leaving places. and leaving places behind the
title of this poem is stolen directly from this conversation in which he said there is a particular state that he would never go back to. >> that's a state i will never go back to. for doug. >> once i got over the problem of not knowing how i couldn't go back to not curbing my tires. it took a while to get past forgetting to register street cleaning hours and love, love was my handicap. though i had no permits to hang from my rear view so i collected 7 or 10 slips i had every intension to pay off except i skipped town for the summer. and returned to find the guy staying in my apartment toss them. i'll admit i was relieved not to face these expensive reminders of the girl i have been how
stupid i was about life in the city. and as i finished school, was moving south for good this time. and as i lived then in a state of great anticipation. the potential of a record never acrossed my mind. but now, on account of those parking tickets i can't go back there with a car. though everyone who loves me know i love that tiny window each october in the south nub of the state you can't reach without driving. i missed it once and waited a whole year regretting the lost chance to track the lyndon leaves tiny migration. the next fall, refusing to endure that state of desolation again i asked everyone who loved me to please meet me just south of the border. we ordered green mussels and
popcorn shrimp. the shrimp beat the mussels to the table. i drank for pleasure but since i left that state i hadn't found anything delicious so iate all the mussels. crouched, later in that state betrayal that come from learning some green things are not good. considering the law averages that a body in motion stays in motion unless faced with an equal or opposite force, peer pressure, skitology the projected near devastation of world forest should population the motdz of toilet paper consumption. germs vary. my role in the pressing the mean agent of common human hygiene i knew i never wanted to be near
that state again. with extradition i was hardly away at all. when i first rolled over my parents were pleased and i left the state of never having rolled before. ditto, something on all fours to crawling. and once i could walk we all knew i was never going back. i just pulled myself up and started moving. i grabbed at everything i could reach until i learned better i put my tongue on anything. once iate papaya straight from the tree and i mourned the abject state of created fruit i living in that state in my ignorance thought i loved. i denounce such love. i married a local. i taught myself how to keep his
garden. i swear i'm staying away from that state for good. i heard this quote a while ago and i just loved it ever since. >> just before she died, gert trued stein was able to ask, what is the answer? she got no response. her last words were, in that case what is the question? it is not who is it, are we there yet, is anybody home. not, how much for the lemon, not, how much for the ivory, leopard, the peach. not, when are we leaving. not, how will we leave. not, do you know who she came with? how many clowns will hit in the
car. the head of a pin? no one cares how many angels. no one cares what you think of the smart bomb corruption, the mobs. your opinion on deregulation, no one's concerned much the question is not who done it the question is not what's for dinner, what's your beverage, where's the beef? the question is not who is your daddy? is not, which way will the wind blow? is not, where's the car. you wash behind your ears; right . question is not did you turn off the oven or turn off the alarm what's that got to do with the price of tea in china. did you bite it. what's gotten into you no one's asking if you know where your children are. no one's asking if you can locate the nearest exits. in some cases they may be behind
you. no one cares whether or not you are being followed. don't ask if it makes you look fat. the question is not, do you remember the time. do you remember the time? not, do you know the extension of the person you were calling. not, premium or regular. not paper, not plastic credit or deb debit. the question is not what can you do for your country. not now. not later. not okay? the question is not, what your country can do for you. the question is not, who will save us. how are you getting by? [applause] >> i'll end with a love poem.
>> my lover. who lives far. my lover who lives far away opens the door to my room and offers supper. in a bowl made of his breath. the stew has boiled and i wonder at the cat born from it's steam. the cat is in the bedroom now. muling. the cat is indecent and i whom trying to be tidy, i whom trying to do things the purpose way, i who am sick from the shedding. i, am undone. my lover who lives far away opens the door to my room and offers pastry in a basket spun from his vision. it is closely woven. the kind of container some women
collect. i have seen these in many colors but the basket he brings is simple. only black. only nude. the basket he brings is full of sweet burdens and i eat even the crumbs. as am i have not dined for days. my lover who lives far away opens the door to my room and offers tea made from the liquid he's crying. i do not want my lover crying and i am sorry i ever asked for tea. my lover, who lives far away opens the door to my room pretending he never cried. he offers tea and cold cakes. the tea is delicious. spiced like the start of our
courtship. honeyed and warm. i drink every bit of the tea and put aside the cakes. my lover who lives far away opens the door to my room like a man loving his strength. the lock i replaced this morning will not keep him away. my lover who lives far away opens the door to my room and brings me nothing. perhaps he has noticed how fat i have grown indulged. perhaps he is poor and sick as emptying his store. it is no matter to me any longer he has filled me already so full. my lover who is far away opens the door to my room and tells me he is tired.
i do not ask what he's tired from for my lover far away has already disappeared. the blankets are big with his body. the cat, under the covers because it is cold out and she is not stupid. muse. >> thank you. [applause]. >> please welcome mr. douglas kaerny. [applause] >> how many know the song living in the city by stevie wonder. that great skit at end where stevie plays all the voices and gets arrested. new york city, skyscrapers and everything. this is a poem that reimagines that gentlemen exists the bus in that skit as john henry. this is a section of it.
skyscrapers and everything. j hammer henry mallet [inaudible] could barely fit hammer poking out like natural man's skyscraper to the concrete for deep machine sleep abouts income. don't go john henry traffic man, don't go across that street. the flood song poems were poems written in reaction to katrina. how can i enter that space of writing poems about that. i'm not from there and don't have family there. who benefits from that tragedy? who benefits from that disregard for humanity and the thought animals would benefit from that. this first poem is flood songs
number 4 mosquitoes drinking didy. >> drink every hour next up this hour and every hour after. was born in the river there is enough to go around. drink every hour on the hour and every hour after. in the river there is enough to go around. drink every hour. there is enough to go around. drink every hour and every hour after. go to the river there is enough to go around. drink up the hours and every after burned down by the river -- drink air land is here for after survivors go around they are enough. [applause] >> flood song 8 stray dogs
duet. >> the every i learned. food. for the good. love. your hand smiled with me. you wanted me to understand you with -- my teeth. hunger seemed the only -- tongue we shared. the sky -- opened. closed it's door. the sky -- opens, closes it's door. the sky -- hunger seems the only master. no, we both understand something like love. good doggie, good doggie what i
do now. [applause] >> now you can feed pigeons and they know to go there to get food. sharks follow the ships because if you have humans packed and one gets sick you have to get rid of the sick one so it doesn't get the others sick you 3 them over board and the sharks follow. slim chance for [inaudible] it samples parliament, little mermaid. ts eljot and robert haden. >> never learned to swim. but we sure can dive. over million ships -- over million ship. iowa woo. let your fish bones live old
man. let your fish bones before man. make a wish the black fish there is company coming, coming. hammer heads ham or head until hammer fed company knocking. great white shark. great white georgia no, no. they company dining, dining. [inaudible] can't remember, can't remember. there is company [inaudible]. and all know was a dark room cloud and gullets filled with [inaudible]. cattle, chattel, channel of the deep blue. see all about that dark moon cloud and the gullets full of water and slaughter. assault, assault oh , channel of the deep blue sea. sure no one will see.
just look out the world around you right here on the ocean floor. such wonderful things around you what more is you looking for. rag ed claws scuffling across the seas. tell be thin, fine, attention nigger mermaids, chains like hooks and sifrpgs are didy don't bleed into the sea the stains won't watch out we ain't responsible for your mess. the management. there is company, can't remember. there is company. the stains will not wash out. [applause] >> he wasn't dragged death in a quick casual way. they had fun with his body they chained him to the back of the
car did fish tails. forensic evidence suggests his body came lose and some of the men confessed and rechained him after rolling back over him to get him. most of us heard aboutthis tragedy. something we don't hear is because dragged to death we assume he was dragged like this. see that way chained to the truck it's not true. he was not dragged like that he was dragged like this. chained the back of the truck watching the road behind him. this poem is called big thicket jasper, texas. a crack is a buck shot. big thickel. crack, headlights staggering home. the road kills. crack, big thicket. the sticks, drink, drink,
headlight stagger in the road. creek, crack, stick broke light kills. big thickel. buck shot by the white headlights to big thicket. what you looking at. crack, the white stick big thicket along the trees. the buck is staggering home. crack, we go to big thicket what you are doing here. break for home. on the road, go, go, crack, crack, crack, big thicket. headlights what you think you are. huff, is this, critic o crack, a stick broke. buck in the brushes. put them back on. what you think. in the rushes. put them back o. big thicket we go to creek. go to head staggers along the trees. crack, a stick broke the creek breaks big thicket we go, buck
shot, home we go, go, big thicket. road kill. staggering bucks. headlight rushes. screeching. road screeching, what you what you. we go, we go. crack. bones. road kills a broke stick along the staggering creek we go on. [applause] >> i will close with a poem from the book it's live evil. a name of a miles davis album we know that miles davis abused his wife. physically. pearl initially had mad at miles the reason this poem exist system because of that esan and the epigraphs that will ground it some more. quote, miles was guilt of self
confessed violet crimes against women we should break his records and burn his cd's until he apologizes. the trumpet's mouth is apology. you just write a poem about your need to do that a madual johnson. all right. live people. the pins point come downs on the butter fly. the knuckle come down on ms. sisly. the mallet come down on the cd case. wait! the mallet come down on the butter fly. the pins point come down on the ms. sisly. the knuckle come down on the cd case. wait! >> the knuckle come down on the
buttir fly. the pins point come down on the cd case. dammit. the butter fly, ms. sisly the cd case. the roses rips at the spit much the phoenix dazzling petals births something. the martir's smile that saves something. what did we make? listen to the butter fly, the pinpoint makes no sound sticking the [inaudible] no brass wail to the air here it's silent as a necktie this is not right. ms. sisly a cd case and a pin striped suit did he stick her lips red. i don't know, i don't know. sometimes he wore a pin striped 3 piece and a dazzling tie. i have a mallet did he kiss her.
lips red. did he stick her with a pins point much listen to the brass ware and butter fly the plastic and silence breaks. this is a man thinking he can build with a mallet. a martir with knuckles. this it is a man who through out the notes. wait. dammit, ms. sisly why won't you listen to the man who writes lynches. he had a mallet and the oils in the hands cripple the butter fly won't fly again so butter wait. butter stay. butter still. what have we made that awakes. stay still. listen to the song of a man in his sleeping shell. it come down it come down. the pinpoint, the knuckle, the