Strafford Notes, November 16, 2012 (news) with Chip Bergeron on AuthorsDen

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Strafford Notes, November 16, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012 11:14:00 AM

by Chip Bergeron

Poetry

Poems and stuff for a lazy Friday

Nov 16

Events:

Nov 16 L.A. Cal. 8:00p Click here, Los Angeles A Spoken Word Event Produced by Rex Weiner, Michael C. Ford and Eve Brandstein O Poets! Shamans of the word! Click here Click here

Born:

1116

Click hereClick here (1873 – Click here/1958) US blues composer "the father of the blues,"St Louis Blues

Click here

Nicholas Moore 1918 – 26 January 1986) Click here poet,

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Click here 1922-2010 Portuguese writer, novelist, Land of Sin (1947), Blindness (1997), Nobel Prize Nobel Click here in literature. 1998

Click here

Click hereClick here (1930 – ) Nigerian writer

Click here

Click here 1941- Soul songwriter, Dark End of the Street

Click here

from Do Right Woman

Take me to heart and I'll always love you

And nobody can make me do wrong

Take me for granted, leaving love unsure

Makes will power weak and temptation strong

A woman's only human

You should understand

She's not just a plaything

She's flesh and blood just like her man

If you want a do-right-all-day woman

You've got to be a do-right-all-night man

-As recorded by Aretha Franklin

Click here

Diana Krall, 1964, - Canadian jazz artists / singer, songwriter.

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Tim O'Brien ( 1964 Click here Click here.

Click here

Passed:

1116

Click hereClick here (Click here/1882 –1961) US Rep (TX) Click here Click hereSpeaker of the House for 17 years

From HELL IN TEXAS

The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,
And a thousand years he there remained,
And he never complained, nor did he groan,
But determined to start a hell of his own
Where he could torment the souls of men
Without being chained to a prison pen.

So he asked the Lord if He had on hand
Anything left when He made the land.
The Lord said, "Yes, I had plenty on hand,
But I left it down on the Rio Grande.
The fact is old boy, the stuff is so poor,
I don't think you could use it in hell any more."

But the devil went down to look at the truck,
And said if it came as a gift, he was stuck;
For after examining it careful and well
He concluded the place was too dry for hell.
So in order to get it off His hands
God promised the devil to water the lands.

For he had some water, or rather some dregs,
A regular cathartic that smelt like bad eggs.
Hence the deal was closed and the deed was given,
And the Lord went back to His place in Heaven.
and the devil said, "I have all that is needed
To make a good hell," and thus he succeeded.

Click here

Click hereClick here (Click here/1916 –1973) English writer Click here

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Charles Edward Gordone (October 12, 1925 - 1995) Click here playwright, actor, director, and educator. He was the first Click here to receive the Click here

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Ruslan Akhtakhanov ( Click here poet and academic.

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Sites:

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History:

1116

1849, Click here was sentenced to death for engaging in socialist activities. At the last moment before his execution, his sentence was commuted to four years' hard labor in Siberia.

1889, the Oahu Railway and Land Company (OR&L) began operating on Oahu.

Click here

1907. Oklahoma entered the Union as the forty-sixth state

Click here

Bonus Poem:

Old Poets

(For Robert Cortez Holliday)

If I should live in a forest
And sleep underneath a tree,
No grove of impudent saplings
Would make a home for me.

I'd go where the old oaks gather,
Serene and good and strong,
And they would not sigh and tremble
And vex me with a song.

The pleasantest sort of poet
Is the poet who's old and wise,
With an old white beard and wrinkles
About his kind old eyes.

For these young flippertigibbets
A-rhyming their hours away
They won't be still like honest men
And listen to what you say.

The young poet screams forever
About his sex and his soul;
But the old man listens, and smokes his pipe,
And polishes its bowl.

There should be a club for poets
Who have come to seventy year.
They should sit in a great hall drinking
Red wine and golden beer.

They would shuffle in of an evening,
Each one to his cushioned seat,
And there would be mellow talking
And silence rich and sweet.

There is no peace to be taken
With poets who are young,
For they worry about the wars to be fought
And the songs that must be sung.

But the old man knows that he's in his chair
And that God's on His throne in the sky.
So he sits by the fire in comfort
And he lets the world spin by.

Joyce Kilmer

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