Listening to jazz now
by Jimmy Santiago Baca

1.

Listening to jazz now, I'm happy
sun shining outside like it was my lifetime achievement award.
I'm happy,
with my friend and her dog up in Durango, her emailing
me this morning
no coon hound ailing yowls
vibrant I love yous.
I'm happy,
my smile a big Monarch butterfly
after having juiced up some carrots, garlic, seaweed,
I stroll the riverbank, lazy as a deep cello
in a basement bar--

smoke, cagney'd out patrons
caramel and chocolate women in black
shoulder strap satin dresses,
and red high heels.

It Happens Like This
by James Tate

I was outside St. Cecelia's Rectory
smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me.
It was mostly black and white, with a little reddish
brown here and there. When I started to walk away,
it followed. I was amused and delighted, but wondered
what the laws were on this kind of thing. There's
a leash law for dogs, but what about goats? People
smiled at me and admired the goat. "It's not my goat,"
I explained. "It's the town's goat. I'm just taking
my turn caring for it." "I didn't know we had a goat,"
one of them said. "I wonder when my turn is." "Soon,"
I said. "Be patient. Your time is coming." The goat
stayed by my side. It stopped when I stopped. It looked
up at me and I stared into its eyes. I felt he knew
everything essential about me. We walked on. A police-
man on his beat looked us over. "That's a mighty
fine goat you got there," he said, stopping to admire.
"It's the town's goat," I said. "His family goes back
three-hundred years with us," I said, "from the beginning."
The officer leaned forward to touch him, then stopped
and looked up at me. "Mind if I pat him?" he asked.
"Touching this goat will change your life," I said.
"It's your decision." He thought real hard for a minute,
and then stood up and said, "What's his name?" "He's
called the Prince of Peace," I said. "God! This town
is like a fairy tale. Everywhere you turn there's mystery
and wonder. And I'm just a child playing cops and robbers
forever. Please forgive me if I cry." "We forgive you,
Officer," I said. "And we understand why you, more than
anybody, should never touch the Prince." The goat and
I walked on. It was getting dark and we were beginning
to wonder where we would spend the night.

Our Land

Our Land

We should have a land of sun
Of gorgeous sun,
And a land of fragrant water
Where the twilight
Is a soft bandanna hankerchief
Of rose and gold
And not this land where life is cold.

We should have a land of trees
Of tall dark trees
Bowed down with chattering parrots
Brilliant as the day,
And not this land where birds are grey.

Ah, we should have a land of joy
Of love and joy and wine and song
And not this land where joy is wrong.

Oh, sweet away!
Ah, my beloved one, away.

--Langston Hughes

Introduction to Poetry

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Billy Collins

The Song of the Wild Dove

THE SONG OF THE WILD DOVE

Deep within the blacklands I walked along the road,
the coffee plantation was far away.
It was then I heard your song
sounding like the endless sobbing of distance...

The longing for all that is tall like palm trees.
The yearning for all that is long like rivers...
The lament for all that is purple like dusk...
The weeping of all that weeps because it is far away...
very far away.

-- Cassiano Ricardo
Translated by Jean R. Longland

Introductions
Some of what we love
we stumble upon —
a purse of gold thrown on the road,
a poem, a friend, a great song.

And more
discloses itself to us —
a well among green hazels,
a nut thicket —
when we are worn out searching
for something quite different.

And more
comes to us, carried
as carefully
as a bright cup of water,
as new bread.

~ Moya Cannon ~

(The Parchment Boat, 1997)

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy,
a quickening, that is translated into action
And because there is only one of you in all time
this expression is unique
And if you block it, it will never exist though
any other medium and will be lost. . .

The world will not have it
It is not your business to determine how good
it is, nor how valuable, nor how it
compares to other expressions

It is your business to keep it yours, clearly
and directly. . .to keep the channel open
You do not even have to believe in yourself
or your work. . .You have to keep open and aware
directly to the urges that motivate you
Keep the channels open!

Martha Graham

Kashyapa's Smile
On a mountain
at the edge of the abyss
With a single red lotus
and a subtle smile
The torch is passed.

Ignorance

Ignorance

Strange to know nothing, never to be sure
Of what is true or right or real,
But forced to qualify or so I feel,
Or Well, it does seem so:
Someone must know.

Strange to be ignorant of the way things work:
Their skill at finding what they need,
Their sense of shape, and punctual spread of seed,
And willingness to change;
Yes, it is strange,

Even to wear such knowledge - for our flesh
Surrounds us with its own decisions -
Andyet spend all our life on imprecisions,
That when we start to die
Have no idea why.

(1955) Phillip Larkin

Advice

Someone dancing inside us
has learned only a few steps:
the "Do-Your-Work" in 4/4 time,
the "What-Do-You-Expect" Waltz.
He hasn't noticed yet the woman
standing away from the lamp.
the one with black eyes
who knows the rumba.
and strange steps in jumpy rhythms
from the mountains of Bulgaria.
If they dance together,
something unexpected will happen;
if they don't, the next world
will be a lot like this one.

Bill Holm