Napa State Hospital Poetry Journal, Day 13
7/13/ Monday. Darrell C. asks for an independent critique. I moved it from 1 to 2:30 PM. He wants to know if he can publish a manuscript and he wants to know about sci-fi, and he is also very interested in the process of copyright. He's owning his work. I need to look into the William James Foundation see if there's any help for him there.
We look at form and structure, it was a good critique, the three best poems he chose included the two sci-fi pieces. They were looser than the one he read in class. We talked about editing—the hard work. I suggested that he rewrite four of his poems and gave him some writing assignments. He needs to write about being in Napa not just about elves. He has a good voice but he's prone to abstract ideas.
Heber met me at the door. What a change in him. The sullen man come alive. He's apologizing for not writing anything, but he said that he really wanted to. He's got a good ear and he said that his delusions may get in the way of accomplishing something, always an excuse.
7/13/ Monday. Darrell C. asks for an independent critique. I moved it from 1 to 2:30 PM. He wants to know if he can publish a manuscript and he wants to know about sci-fi, and he is also very interested in the process of copyright. He's owning his work. I need to look into the William James Foundation see if there's any help for him there.
We look at form and structure, it was a good critique, the three best poems he chose included the two sci-fi pieces. They were looser than the one he read in class. We talked about editing—the hard work. I suggested that he rewrite four of his poems and gave him some writing assignments. He needs to write about being in Napa not just about elves. He has a good voice but he's prone to abstract ideas.
Heber met me at the door. What a change in him. The sullen man come alive. He's apologizing for not writing anything, but he said that he really wanted to. He's got a good ear and he said that his delusions may get in the way of accomplishing something, always an excuse.
Darrell said the drugs make him less motivated. I told him he still has to keep on trying. Keep fighting. That's the artist's path.
Chuck showed up at half an hour late for his appointment so I didn't see him.
Howard wanted to talk—him, the non-talker—about his poem. He's concerned that someone may read it and then, know of something him. He was annoyed at the prospect. It was a Earl's appointment time, so I couldn't deal with him other than to say that I wouldn't type it up, if he felt uncomfortable about it.
3 to 4 PM Earl and I had a great time. I really like him. We talked of haiku. He dictated a couple of lines in a poem about Fujisan and read a few of Issa's haiku translated by Lucien Stryck.
In the middle of our critique time, a woman came running in, a teacher Floy D, who wanted to schedule a few classes for her adolescent group. Eric is one of her kids and he's loving the poetry workshops. Raving about them. That's how she found out about them.
The poetry program is really beginning to have an impact. People I don't even know, say hi and wave to me as I drive by in my VW bug. Word is out. The inmates like me and they like what I'm doing.
Floy said that she had seen me read in Sebastopol, so my name value is increasing. So ironic that the recognition I wanted is now merely a byproduct of what I am doing, living the life, being the artist, but not wishing for it.
FREEWRITE
In the middle of our critique time, a woman came running in, a teacher Floy D, who wanted to schedule a few classes for her adolescent group. Eric is one of her kids and he's loving the poetry workshops. Raving about them. That's how she found out about them.
The poetry program is really beginning to have an impact. People I don't even know, say hi and wave to me as I drive by in my VW bug. Word is out. The inmates like me and they like what I'm doing.
Floy said that she had seen me read in Sebastopol, so my name value is increasing. So ironic that the recognition I wanted is now merely a byproduct of what I am doing, living the life, being the artist, but not wishing for it.
FREEWRITE
Ancestral cairn,
the sky singing of tongues
from ironclad clouds
this cold, red road to the sun,
the ancestral wind
swims like a fish in the rain
the sky singing of tongues
from ironclad clouds
this cold, red road to the sun,
the ancestral wind
swims like a fish in the rain
A man's horn filled
with flowered words
and broken tables
with flowered words
and broken tables
Paper lion feeding on words
shaped cloth around my knees
falling like dusk to the ground
shaped cloth around my knees
falling like dusk to the ground
7/13 Driving country roads,
their twists and turns remains secretive
until I leave each band and curve,
and it unwinds like an arrhythmic black snake, or a ribbon.
The intimacy comes with time,
and I look forward to certain bend
that remind me of other roads,
passing under the redwoods at Papermill Creek
is very much like Mark West Springs Creek.
their twists and turns remains secretive
until I leave each band and curve,
and it unwinds like an arrhythmic black snake, or a ribbon.
The intimacy comes with time,
and I look forward to certain bend
that remind me of other roads,
passing under the redwoods at Papermill Creek
is very much like Mark West Springs Creek.
Like with Sir Francis Drake Blvd. Road
I'm beginning to recognize a particular band
not only by its forward face
but by how it looks coming the other way
in late afternoon, like film clips played in reverse,
there's that odd sensation as the reverse image
meshes with the current one,
engaging two points of view.
I'm beginning to recognize a particular band
not only by its forward face
but by how it looks coming the other way
in late afternoon, like film clips played in reverse,
there's that odd sensation as the reverse image
meshes with the current one,
engaging two points of view.
The road threads between the mountains
along the silver needle of the creeks in late summer.
COUNTRY ROADS
along the silver needle of the creeks in late summer.
COUNTRY ROADS
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