tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post1669838476508237957..comments2024-01-28T03:56:39.351-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: Joanne Kyger: Eight Poems / Playtime / The buying of an American corporate oligarchy ("And if the President's a bozo? He's fine with that.") Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-17254705864970413082017-12-19T04:45:19.295-08:002017-12-19T04:45:19.295-08:00Hello Scott McRobie you vile Orange County spambot...Hello Scott McRobie you vile Orange County spambot, thanks so much for attempting seven times over the past few months to litter this memorial post with your realtor spam, we would suggest to you a trip to Cancun to have a dental implant executed on your sick white ass. Have a nice procedure!TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-37317862179052059552017-03-25T22:18:28.814-07:002017-03-25T22:18:28.814-07:00Thanks Brenda. Caught us woolgathering a bit there...<br /><br />Thanks Brenda. Caught us woolgathering a bit there, among the memories.<br /><br />The nights here spent revisiting Joanne's poems, strange, thoughtful uplifting. <br /><br />May our poet friend's soul find rest (hers once often restless, as so many of ours), and peace, and serenity, indeed may all souls be somehow permitted to do likewise, if only for a moment, and let's include the souls of all animals in this as well, while we're at it, as it's a Saturday night.<br />TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-53883078306546561762017-03-25T12:18:24.415-07:002017-03-25T12:18:24.415-07:00Your usual brilliant collage, Tom-- I'm so mov...Your usual brilliant collage, Tom-- I'm so moved by how her poetry stayed fresh, vital, cranky, resonant. i'm sharing this link right now.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01647850360398068726noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-52798988756204238592017-03-24T22:38:11.426-07:002017-03-24T22:38:11.426-07:00William, Hanford, Steve, very many thanks. J's...William, Hanford, Steve, very many thanks. J's poems keep on responding to the delicacy of the moment, though she's no longer in it. That range of feeling took in so much. Touch is, well, touching...TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-91147621253516379932017-03-24T17:29:30.136-07:002017-03-24T17:29:30.136-07:00Thanks so much for posting this Tom, showing us su...Thanks so much for posting this Tom, showing us such sides of Joanne -- that attention to details of house and yard in "swept the floor,/ planted 2 rows of onions, snow peas"; that out-of-the-blue humor in "And I am now looking forward to washing my hair"; that clear-eyed view of the craziness going on in the world beyond the one she chose to live in here in Bolinas in "corporate crooks! have fucked with your energy! 'Freedom' is dubiously hyped to a world against which 'our country' seems to be waging a war! Yes, a war against The World! which is full of creepy crawly evil turrrists. 'You' my government, have made us Totally Unpopular." And also that great photo of Joanne and Jack Boyce --- and all of these followed by evidence of the disasters still going on . . . Sobering stuff.STEPHEN RATCLIFFEhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12339481653546188412noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-61392007571251089302017-03-24T16:32:48.644-07:002017-03-24T16:32:48.644-07:00Tom,
Thanks so much for all this. Susan and I wer...Tom,<br />Thanks so much for all this. Susan and I were sitting in a car in which there happened to be a copy of Joanne's Japanese Journals. Random readings, enjoying that special clarity of mind distilled into beautiful prose, and such a range of feeling. Led me back to the eulogy she delivered just two or three months ago at Bill Berkson's memorial: haunting, enchanting. And then we learn of her death the following morning. One by one the lights go out, but how brightly they have shone through our time.Hanford Woodshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10415085044561156724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-67736103239722402352017-03-24T13:35:48.126-07:002017-03-24T13:35:48.126-07:00Sorry to hear. Her Selected (with that lovely cove...Sorry to hear. Her Selected (with that lovely cover of galvanizing stillness) will ever be floating to the top of this or that ziggurat of preferred forever reads. Thinking now of her poem about her father that has such love wrapped around the coldness of facts and, well, coldness. This one often returns to me, but often returns to many, I suspect, since it's much anthologized: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qsWVbWsid0YWilliam Kecklerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09492547054986452311noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-84620460190420318392017-03-24T12:13:59.670-07:002017-03-24T12:13:59.670-07:00About the top photo, a word may be in order. Keepi...About the top photo, a word may be in order. Keeping in mind we were all young once! Jack Boyce, the axeman, was felling those trees in that eucalyptus glade, out Mesa Road, in order to build a palace for Joanne. Dear souls all, and the picture reminds that beneath the overgrowth of talk and tale, there is the complication of reality, as it went down. Not long after that picture was taken, Jack fell to his death from the unfinished sleeping loft of the still roofless palace in which the woman he'd built it for would never live. As for Joanne's very funny poem about the dream in which Ted and I figure, it shows her wonderful wicked sense of humor at its very best, I reckon. She had Smarts, she had Touch.<br /><br />(Brit Pyland helped out with the selection of poems, hail!)<br />TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.com