Autumn rain in Chloride

The smell of rain in the desert
The sound of rain on a tin roof
The gentle rumbling of giant's conversations
The grey a grace and gratitude

And then lightning -
        the higher light light of
      comprehension and compassion -

The sand is thirsty and clears the air breath by breath -

Smell the roses
        smell the rain on sand

The highest mountain claims the cloud.

October 24 - 2016

So I am sand/ Zo ben ik zand

A short while ago I wrote a series of eight short pieces, influenced by the Gertrude Steins referential writing mainly in Tender Buttons. It were reflections on the desert around Chloride, which is my small town nestled in the Mojave Desert. Rose Vandewalle, very often my first reader, mailed the text to her publisher Bert Jans from Dodo Press (dodopers) in Eindhoven. He turned the text into a delicate, delicious small hand bound book. How can I express my gratitude to both Rose and Bert, my joy at showing the book in the Art Bar across the street. I have had the joy once before of being published in a book by dodopers, in Rose's bilingual book "Zwanenzang/Swansong". Here next to the Dutch poem, my English translation has found its place. This book too is a jewel. Bert and Rose, you made me very happy.

The Mohave Desert

I do love the desert. I love the gnarled trees, seemingly dead, but sprouting one green branch. I admire the decay after a cholla cactus just left it's ribs on the desert floor. I see how the washes run after a rainstorm and flooded small creeks or the dip in the road filled with mud and rocks...
And yes a heavy rain can lead to a leak in one's roof and then one needs friends to help with the repairs. Always repairs, most of my time  here is spend on repairs, organizing for it, supervising it.
The gas station itself seems solid, the leak was in the back house, where my guest(s) sleep and have their domain.
The night sky over Chloride with just two street lamps is gorgeous, wonderful, magic filled. Orion shows his every star, the Swan and Cassiopeia  can be seen. It is all clear and bright. One can read by the full moon. The air is crisp at the end of October, will be crisper in November still...

I want to do one more trip by Flagstaf to Hopi... I better make the phone calls to get the appointment with the people I need to see.

Omheind - Fenced

Yesterday in Het Letterenhuis Omheind / Fenced, the second novel by Hilde Keteleer, published by the young publishing house 'Vrijdag', was presented. Leen van Dijck welcomed the substantial crowd and spoke, explained a bit about the task of Het letterenhuis and  spoke warmly about the new book of Hilde. Jos Gijsels spoke eloquently about her book. It was obvious they have known each other for a long time and he pointed out the importance of her book. The the desert came to us with the haunting music by AISHAM, a Palestinian-Syrian ensemble. Their music lets you feel the sand run between your fingers... and then Hilde read pieces by each of the four voices of her novel. The novel introduces us to a hybrid, checkered family with hankering for  the love of the mother and unknown fathers. Hilde is an accomplished writer and does good research so in reading the novel you glean a lot of information. She does, what I couldn't do weave reality into fiction, incorporate it as the spine of the story. Her description of what a desert can do with a person did hit home for me and the difficulties of  not so simple love between different cultures. She sparingly incorporates a few Arabic words underscoring the fact that you are 'elsewhere' in her interesting, mature novel.

Time for the Colorado river

No power
packing water coffee bait
long drive
Pierce Ferry roiling rapids
no camping no fishing
no parking no fires
no rangers
sleeping without a moon
under the stars
in sandstorm wind











It's all about leaving
running out of time
not knowing
was it dream time or
think time yet
fear of frailty
longing for water
and
the fluidity of joy
the adventure
the call of the
wild one
the one I was
I am

White Cliff Canyon

The first time

the first time I drove

through white cliff canyon

in tony’s cherry red and silver Z 220

then in my yellow Z 280

the Blazer red and white

the silver grey Huyandai

and several miscellaneous rental cars

I always saw this brown horse

head held high

beautiful and masculine

would say hello and wish him well

today in the rented Toyota Prius

the horse was no more

so him I cannot now show

my head hangs low

Desert words

walking without talking
watch without time
Spanish daggers and
and soft singing sand
the crunch of a footstep
and flapping of wings
rabbit brush and rosemary
through chirps and tweets
hearing silence
sticks strait and twisted
sleeping snakes
from childhood nightmares
watching out for slithering
a fleeting movement of bees
beings and fleeing
in the sparseness of tracks on soil
around a solitary plant
desert words of burning sand

Mojave dessert

 










Sunday morning breakfast

window rattling wind

clang banging doors

clattering tin roof in rain

sand-drifting crevasses

all dust my home

desert lilies’ white stain

a jittery fix for cows and deer

as for folks meth & beer

war stories on Sunday mornings

of fallen heroes

at the VFW breakfast boasting

of classified unmarked secret

warfare & all alive to tell it

to the stranger that I am

and in this desert storm

I hear the sand grain wail

Sunrise in the desert

It has almost been a week since I am home again in the desert. The last guest left the place in total disequilibrium but three days later my place almost looks like I like it to look. Thus I walk in the morning, watch the changing of the light as the sun climbs up from behind the mountains and changes the world. My friends seem truly glad to have me back for a while and seamlessly I am reintegrated into the small community. So one buys too many goodies at the all town yard sale: delicious sinfully rich pecan squares, light upside down pineapple cake and moist scrumptious banana bread... It was good that unexpected guests showed up so that I could share. The desert holds its own secrets, its special charm: from the tracks in the sand to the tiniest lizard darting away and gratefully I heard the coyotes yesterday afternoon. Now I know I am home again. Till now I saw: Gamble quail, a doe and her young one probably from this spring, jack rabbits and rabbits. I spoke with the cactus wren and saw 18 buzzards sail over Silver Hill. All the friendly dogs got petted and like a fool in honor of my friend Cese I danced alone in the local restaurant bar... Cese this one is for you.

Wolves and ranchers

There is a rancher I know, a good person, I even call him my friend, yet... He kills coyotes to protect his cattle, notwithstanding the fact that he says that feral dogs are worse than coyotes and wolves. Predators are beautiful and contribute to a viable ecological system. I don't understand the demonizing of wolves and coyotes. My friend once even shot a coyote from his truck while I was riding 'shotgun' with him. I must admit it made me more distant towards this person. I endorse the wolf protection actions of the Center for Biological Diversity. I also endorse US Rep. Peter DeFazio of Oregon and US Rep. Ed Markey of Massachusetts, with US Rep. Raul Grijalva of New Mexico as a lead sponsor. Right now they are circulating a letter to their colleagues in the US Congress, expressing support for America's wolves still under federal protections, and that those federal protections remain in place. I quote from the Center for Biological Diversity:

As if the persecution and killing of over 1,000 wolves, over the past six months alone, in Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Minnesota and Wisconsin, is not enough, the US Fish & Wildlife Service now wants to remove federal protections for wolves in the remaining states where they are still under federal  protection. This unethical, anti-ecology political maneuver includes states that have just a few dozen wolves or none at all! How ridiculous is such a proposal? Why even have an Endangered Species Act if corrupt federal officials or any corrupt state government can declare a persecuted and endangered animal unworthy of protection due to lies, mythology and dirty politics? 

When I first came to Arizona, I used to hear the coyotes every night. Their night song was a reassurance, a connection to all what lives, made the stars shine brighter and the full moon more purposeful. Last year was the first time I didn't even see nor hear a coyote and I miss them bitterly. It just doesn't feel right. Also, I once encountered a red timber wolf near the Colorado river, about four in the afternoon. We looked at each other. I saw his magical brown eyes, he must not have sensed any danger coming from me, so he slowed, glanced back at me and went his way disappearing in the desert. That was however in the early '90's... Yet I can still feel the enchantment thinking about my coyotes and wolf encounters.

Sweat lodges

Most, if not all, Native American nations hold sweat lodges. To the eastern Cherokee it doesn't seem to be a typical thing to  practice. Here a description by a singer of the Hualapai way of doing a sweat:

“ The East represents the fire; there rises the sun we greet in the morning. It represents your emotions. It is the first thing to get hurt. It is the same with the world: volcanoes and fire, caused by wrong emotions like anger, envy and greed, destroyed our first world. Those will still hurt you. That is what has to be worked through in the East. It is considered a male energy.

“ Next to the door in the South you put the hot rocks. This represents the earth and stands for our body. This is a feminine power. She destroyed the second world, by earthquakes.

“ In the West, next to the rocks is the place of the water in which you can put the plants and herbs or oils for healing. That is our spirituality and as you will remember floods have destroyed the third world. You use different plants for different illnesses. Eucalyptus for the lungs, ephedra, like the Mormon tea, is for the stomach and for colds. Juniper cleanses your liver and such.

“ The North side is the emptiness in the lodge; it stands for the sky, the air and our mind. When you know about the polluted air all around then you know how this, the fourth world will be destroyed. We already have this huge hole in ozone layer. The element of the North is the wind."

Black Eagle, half Navajo, is leading a sweat in the Flemish countryside today.

The desert poetry night

 Desert Poetry night, on April 30th, was the fourth and final leg of the Festival on Tour. We had a good crowd, listening well, showing their appreciation.

We counted 40 people sitting in the changing desert light. The first one to read was Carol Calvillo, with  a poem titled The House of Marie Durant. A great start. Although James Smiths, Jim, started with the intro signed in ASL by Dori, followed by Dan Bishop and the tribute to Johnny Cash. Some songs like Pocahontas and me and Jackson were just played over the loudspeakers but all the other songs Al Brock sang life with his guitar.

Jean Bishop read a poem by Jennielee Bishop, her mother in law: The Cowboy's wife. A fun, yet insightful poem about life on the ranch. Dan read two poems about work on the range, about a mean bull and building fences, written by Judd Bishop his father.

Cooper Gallegos read powerful poetry about living in an Hispanic  neighborhood in an abusive  relationship: bravo for brave and strong poetry. There was also Dori Signing three poems of her choice  from Traces, Annmarie Sauer  reading from Traces and Fred Schywek reading from Felsenleiter with the English translation. And then  10 poets read Global Night Car as a premiere in the USA. Then there was abundant food, excellent potato salad by Mary and a surprise birthday cake offered by Nadine. The next day was the big cleanup and saying goodbye to friends and neighbors... and on the road again.

Today: Desert Poetry Night...

Arizona is celebrating its 100th birthday this year.
Welcome to world poetry days 2012!
April is America's Poetry Month  -  on April the 30th 2012 ( Monday ),
desert poetry night will be held at Annmarie's Old Gas Station right here in Chloride Arizona.
   There will be poetry about people who settled the West: the landscape, the wildlife and the hardships they endured.
   The premiere of the Global Night Car project will be held right here under the Arizona stars... All friends of good music and poetry are welcome.
   There will be an open mike for all poets, right here under the Arizona stars.
   Also there will be a tribute to American legend Johnny Cash celebrating
his 80th birthday. More info: www.world-internet-books.com
*
 *OLD GAS STATION CREW*
CHLORIDE AZ
Tennessee Ave
near famous DIGGER DAVES

desert poetry night

desert poetry night

at Annmarie’s old gas station in Chloride, Monday April 30^th, 6 pm

Two poets, Fred Schywek from Germany and American born Annmarie Sauer, also translate poetry and produce multi-lingual books. Thus European authors can be read in the USA and American poets in Europe.

In the framework of April National Poetry Month, supported by the Academy of American Poets, they decide to organize a desert poetry night in Chloride, Arizona, at Annmarie’s Old Gas Station.

The experimental global night car will be premiered in the USA: it is a collaborative poem by nine poets from different countries and continents. Yet there also is cowboy poetry and work from locals like Jandolin Marks from Dolan Springs will be heard. Also Cooper Gallegos, California, will read from her latest book. Singer/songwriter and local country star Al Brock will perform in the Johnny Cash tribute for his 80 birthday this year. Donna Meyer will offer Chloride limericks. We strive for diversity and openness. Cowboy poetry by Judd Bishop will be read by his son Dan Bishop and Jean Bishop will read from her mother in law’s work, Jennielee Bishop. There is also an open mike.

Fred Schywek will read from Felsenleiter/Rockstairs and from Weiße Mühle/White Mill with a translation in English as a preview for the books to be published in early autumn.

Annmarie Sauer will read from Traces/Sporen in which you’ll find several Cerbat and Chloride landscape inspired poems. Dori Vaughn will perform/interpret three poems of her choice from Traces/Sporen in American Sign Language.

You can follow the developments concerning these readings on:

www.world-internet-books.com

www.poets.org

Route 66- continued

The route is all about the road, the place longed for, dreamed of, imagined in one's soul. The state of the road doesn't matter.
Neither does the means of transportation. being on the move, desire, solitude and beauty are the guiding lights.  

Restaurants I didn't stop at. And forlorn places where time was framed in old signs: Roadrunner Restaurant.
One  almost hears the jazz of those days in the purring motor.


Waterside property advertised in the enormous and beautiful Mojave Desert... No, no, not a sedentary life, near a moist air river.



It is all about the road, the encounters, the sharing of long vistas which heal your eyes. There is a road to where you're going.
May traveling the Route 66 help each of us find our road, straight or winding, up and down with left curves and straight ahead: a metaphor for life, a road with many futures.

 

 From the glamor of Hollywood to the Old Historic Route 66. At first still maintained but then fallen to the wayside.


Present Past and Future is the slogan of Route 66...

 The Best Western in Bartsow with a view of the trucks going by on the I 40. Imagine the joy of a road all to oneself... In Ludlow there is a new coffee shop, its fate uncertain.

House -garage - gas station -
Ludlow café -
all derelict
publictés fanées
faded billboards
fallen by the wayside

a good life
with a real house across
at the east direction
nobody took
all went west

and needed shelter
repairs
gas
sustenance
courage for the crossing
but NO CHECKS CASHED


neither is anybody responsible
for fire or theft
of ones dreams
on Route 66.
How long before new Ludlow resembles the old
before the desert has taken back its space
before a new generation builds
a fresh watering hole for the thirsty and weary

From art deco to Hollywood nature

The art deco in Hollywood is incredible, many buildings are worthwhile closer inspection. It speaks of lighthearted fun and quality of life for those who could and can afford it and who exit theaters with security screening the surroundings. Yes men in black, but no Johnny Cash.

The street musician, unperturbed was great blowing his trumpet and singing. Some passers by putting something in his trumpet case. With the lights of the Hard Rock Café on the shiny sidewalk we leave the boulevard to go look for the Hollywood sign.

 We tried Mulholland drive and ended up in narrow private streets with lots of security and signs stating "armed response". Quite the opulent serie noire athmosphere.

We never got to the sign but found a nice spot with a tree tunnel cave.

Wild tobacco grows there and a band of crows circle and call to you.
Peaceful in the warm California spring sunshine. A two and a half hour hike would have been too much under this sun on exposed hills.
Maybe one day in other season...

Cowboy dreams of wild horses

 I had seen wild mustangs before and yes they used to hang out along the back road to Mineral Park, AZ. They used to be a bit higher up but clearly visible. And then, they were gone. Three, four, maybe five years I didn't find them. Yet now low and behold, they are grazing even near the road's edge. Driving gently and stopping in order not to scare them away we watched them grazing while keeping an eye on the car.

There are still two cowboys running cattle in this area and it is obviously free range land.

One is from Quail Springs Ranch.

It is still cowboy country  and culture with places like the Dambar where good cowboy food can be had in a rustic and pleasant ambiente.

On the road again- Up the flyway - Las Vegas and down the highway

Flying over Colorado and Northern Arizona the sun catches some mountain peaks. here and there still patches of snow.

Touching down in fun and gun crazy Las Vegas

The contrast between the architecture of opulence and beggars on the sidewalk, between a perfect world based on greed and habits supposed to bring joy... I did sleep once with my dog Vee in the motel 8 across the street. The door of the room was repaired with cardboard and everything was screwed down... Hookers and dealers walked around all night.

The photographer takes his job seriously taking in the surroundings sitting not on a manicured lawn but on Astroturf.
Even the hedges on the Tropicana are plastic

Inside view of the MGM's dark, rich ambiente. Light flashing, Internet gambling with Internet croupiers talking to the people strolling by.

The grand scale and life games of craps... and then to the car leaving Las Vegas crossing the by pass over the Hoover Dam and the glorious desert landscapes no Casino can compete with.