A note to Andrei Codrescu on the launch of his Plague Diaries

Well Andrei, it’s good to see you’re alive. After all these years. Last time I heard from you was in a blanket cc email asking  me whether or not I was dead or alive. Afraid of the outcome, like Schrodinger’s cat, I didn’t know whether to answer it, or to not answer it. Rest assured, I didn’t take it personally. After all it was addressed—or was it undressed—to practically everybody else in Sonoma County. Is you in or is you out?

Yes, I’m delighted to say we’re all still alive and kicking. Gail King and Pat Nolan are on Facebook. Well, Gail is. You know how Pat. Jeffrey Miller is still dead. Hunce Voelcker, too. I wonder if his Brooklyn Bridge castle still stands in the deepwoods of Monte Rio?

I finally got around to scanning my old slides if it. All this free time. If you want to see them, give a shout. It’s fairly quiet in this neck of the woods. No one is out and about, it’s like a rollback in time to the 1960s sans logging trucks. The Summer of Love hasn’t yet happened. We’re all honing our backwoods skills. Victory gardens and foraging. Everybody’s baking bread. We’re all getting fat. And we howl nightly with the neighbors. Lately the coyotes have taken to joining us.

Glad to see you’re here. As you know, there is no there there. On some level, via group memory, we never quite let go of you and your stories. And you’ve no idea who is am, I was one of the young poets taking sprout in poetry’s garden. You are still part of the strange Ur text of our lives. And we’re delighted that you are in fine fettle too. You’re looking good. What a long strange trip it’s been. Carry on.

Bliss Buys Cochran saw my note and wrote: I'm also glad you're still around, Andrei. You probably don't even remember me, but maybe you remember the Sonoma County Stump, where Mo and I both worked. I believe you submitted some articles (a column?), it's been 50 years so forgive me if my memory's vague. I look forward to your Plague Diary and I hope you'll be safe in the epicenter. Tried to friend you, but FB says you already have too many friends—5,000!...never knew they could put a limit on your friends. Wonder if THEY'RE all still around.

I told Bliss that I posted her note to Andrei Codrescu. If you go to his author page you can like it and then leave a message there directly if you would like.

Andrei wrote back: Wow! What a blast from the past. Not quite sure who’s who but I’ve been in touch with Pat. I love his Lufe of Crine, his novels and blog. I’m back in New York after 50 years or do... living in Brooklyn. It’s like I left 10 mins ago — a huge demonstration just went past toward the Brooklyn Bridge, probably about to meet thousands in the other side in the old rad Lower East Side.
I have occasional bouts of nostalgia about Monte Rio but too busy to indulge it. I post 3x/a week a video Plague Journal at codrescu.com/my-news. If you want to see it on FB it’s at the Andrei Codrescu Here page. I wonder what Jeff would have thought about the internet, but he’d have recognized all this, it’s just crazy continued. I like your memoir and yes, I’d love to see those pics. Maybe send by We Share or Mail Drop?
Stay sane compadres, love,
Andrei

I said, Andrei,  Bliss Buys and Joe Leary ran the Sonoma County Stump, I was photographer and poetry editor, probably how I met Pat. But then I began to cut my poetic teeth by organizing readings at the Cotati Cabaret, and Sonoma State, circa 1979. I think you were long gone by then. But the stories of you survived. You were the grand poet in absentía at our gatherings. 

I remember when the Jeffrey Miller’s posthumous book came out, we read his poems from inside a redwood tree. Drinking may have been involved. But Marianne Ware was always championing your stories. You could hardly forget Marianne, Jewish mama as wide as she was tall, and a generous soul to go with it. If we ever get out of this alive, I will start scanning those photos very soon.

• A note to Andrei Codrescu on Life of Crime

My first depersonalized NYE assault email from Andrei Codrescu, redux

My first depersonalized NYE Assault Email from Andrei Codrescu. It’s becoming a thing. Last assault was in 2010. Better every little once and a while, than never. At least we’re still above dirt line.

Happy New Year 2019!

Dear Friends –  Some of you may be dead. If so, I beg your forgiveness. Everyone else, thank you for your patience. I am now indulging in a 21st century depersonalized assault on everyone I know. I resurrected some old mailing lists and made them One. My dear friends, and most of you are, not in the Facebook meaning of it, but in the sense that we once actually touched. I'm unaccountably giddy. They are legalizing pot twenty years after I quit smoking it. Thanks a lot!  The other day I read poems in public at the Russian Samovar in midtown Manhattan, and there was the silence poets dream of. That night I had a dream that I was in a crowd waiting for an airplane to fly somewhere to vote. A mountain lion was walking around. I asked it: "Hey, what are you doing here?" The cat just shrugged and moved on. If you are in that crowd, the plane will come. Don't fear the lion. It was just walking around twirling a magnificent tail.  Likewise, I invite you to stroll through the my website. Come and pre-order my new collection of poems NO TIME LIKE NOW here. Indeed. My undying affection goes to all, including my dear dead friends.`1` Andrei PS: Don't pretend that you're dead if you're not. There are consequences. But, if you're not, here is a present for you. Lagnappe - listen to the the Valley of Christmas audio play here Naturally I wrote back. Exquisite corpses and all that. Dear Andrei, Well, I ain’t dead yet but thanks for asking. Your missive came just as I was putting the finishing touches, or rather it touchés on an old project on my bucket list: make a blog for the Russian River Writers’ Guild, which was a bit nameless when you were involved. But you do get considerable mention. https://russianriverwritersguild.blogspot.com/search/label/Andrei%20Codrescu Any sundry flyers or memories you might add would be most welcome....still to do, get Gail King and Pat Nolan’s backstories.... I came aboard ca. 1978... I take it you’ve left FhaceBook? Merry Mishmash to you. And may you win the rhyming contest with the Mari Lwyd. Maureen A note to Andrei Codrescu on Life of Crime 2010 A note to Andrei Codrescu on the launch of his Plague Diaries 2020

Remembering John Prine's Brother at Garbo's

Chicago Sun Times columnist and movie critic, Roger Ebert, wrote "John Prine is the poet of my life. People say he's great, but he's a lot better than that." I recommend reading Roger Ebert's Journal, a column he originally wrote in 1970, "John Prine: American Legend—A Singing Mailman Who Delivers a Powerful Message in a Few Words."

(Ebert's also updated the original story by posting some great John Prine YouTube links. The " Angel From Montgomery" backstory is worth the price of admission.) Bob Dylan once said "Prine's stuff is pure Proustian existentialism." I concur.

I have an interesting John Prine segue too via his brother. Circa 1980, John Prine's brother played John's songs for drinks at our Russian River Writers' Guild Monday Nite Poetry & Prose Reading series at Garbo's bar in Guernewood Park, CA. That's how I first learned to really listen to the words of John Prine's songs as poetry.

Ironically, it was songs—Irish ballads that first led me to writing. But that's another story. Prine always had such good angst-riddled lines: "You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness...How can you ask about tomorrow?" My kind of lines. I was living in a perpetually warped möbius strip time.

(In the 1980s, we were living under a dark cloud: many of the gay club owners who housed our poetry venues were succumbing to a mysterious disease. Nobody knew what it was. Or its name. But we personally knew the names of the fallen: Peter Pender, the pianist/gold medal figure skater, bridge/chess champ who owned Fife's Resort with partner Hugh Ross, Stumptown Annie's owner, decorated Vietnam Purple Heart veteran, Leonard Matlovich, the first gay man to "come out" while in the military—was no longer looking like Kevin Spacey. It was too much to bear.

There was also my neighbor, handsome Bill Dutra, the original Marlboro Man, his beautiful face ravaged... Note Bene: I can't find info on Bill on the internet but he may have been Christian Haren. The info on Christian (or Chuck) fits—he owned The Chocolate Factory in Guerneville. But I can't find a photo.

Bill showed me an old tear sheet photo of him as the Marlboro Man—which I recognized. Bill told us amazing stories of being an actor, working with John Wayne—how I found out Dr. Kildare was gay—and stories of Key West. So all the pieces fit—just not the name of the Castro Street Cowboy.

I could have confabulated the name—but I've an uncanny memory for details. Whoa! Now I've segued so far from my story, I'm even scaring myself. So sorry. Another story, another time. (The Russian River basin attracted many Hollywood types, Fred MacMurray, Raymond Burr, Irene Dailey all lived in its watershed.)

My personal John Prine favorites were the songs that had recently made the charts. I loved "Paradise," but we all called it " Daddy Won'tcha Take me Back to Muhlenberg County," a song Prine says he wrote for his father. There's some good backstory video on the song here.

When I was a senior in high school in 1969, the town of Paradise, in Muhlenburg County, was drowned by the floodwaters of the Green River when a dam was erected, so barges could get to the Peabody coal fields. All about progress.

A note to Andrei Codrescu on Life of Crime

I sent Andrei Codrescu a jpg of the just released Life of Crime.
Andrei,
Have you seen the book yet? At long last....

Maureen

He said, It' a wonderful book! What scurrilous characters! What grand times! Fine pics, too, made me nostalgic (a bit). Oh, Ron, we love you! We were such boys! And now they write books about us we didn't even preorder! I'm enjoying Andrew Epstein's BEAUTIFUL ENEMIES -- I met him in Florida, read the intro on the plane. Terrific.

O yes, when you were such boys! I grew up on some of those tales—er—should I say tails? Marianne Ware's young daughter Laurie (now my landlady!) couldn't get your name right, and called you Andrei Undressyou which had something to do with you ravaging some young willowy sweet young thang (a poet-ess, no less?) over the top of of the McPhail's propane tank....OMG, I miss those days!

He said: A propane tank? Boy, were we limber!

I continued: Somebody on Facebook found my name—and wanted to know if I was the one doing standup at West of the Laguna, Sebastopol ca 1980. Er, I thought it was poetry (sigh). But then Alastair Johnston says he treats all his poetry readings like standup comedy. There's comedy in that.

Worth it all just to see Ron Silliman snort & fart over "Life of Crime." Ah, yes, those were the days. Maybe we should sic some Jeffrey Miller poems on Ron—or maybe a copy of Huntsie's treatise on Brooklyn Bridge...

I see my photo of Hunce Voelcker made its way to Exquisite Corpse—thx for giving me photo credit BTW. Must've been Pat Nolan that sent it to you. Weirdly, I can still hear Hunce's laugh in my mind's ear—after all these years...

If you want more geezer pix, I'll be posting them in my Poet Archives album—and if you want pix of someone in particular who haunted The River ca 1980-1996, I might have a negative or two somewheres. Sorry, none of you...

Maureen

Recent Publications

Whereas it's true I'm a less than prolific blogger, that I endlessly rewrite my blogs until I'm right sick of them (Octopus blog was rewritten over the course of a month),

& that I didn't write a thing while I was in Hawaii bad—(but I did take 5000 photos—which serve as a remarkable memory aid),

& that I also didn't write a New Year's resolution, (but I'm a finicky bahumbuggerer affected by a lack of winter light),

nor did I write a blog on Haiti—tho I twittered endlessly, so much so that Tweetmeme picked up my tweets—as did CREDO, and many NGOs.

I now have more followers on Twitter than I have for this blog—unless you count the spammers—about the only mail I receive these days for this blog are from loyal spammers—it's gotten so bad, I've had to turn comments off under several blogs—something I am loath to do as I get little enough feedback as it is. Now my Literata comments are filed under Spam in my Gmail account. Is there no way to put a captcha under Blog Comments? I searched the Google Blog database, to no avail.

Then it dawned on me that I also haven't written about my latest publications either.

Though I must admit, with all the atrocities of Haiti, there's room for little else in my psyche. It's like what Meryl Streep said at the Golden Globes. How can I go out there? Put on a happy face, shove some money over to an NGO and go on...the show must go on. Yes.

So here's a bit of show and tell (I haven't been a total slaggard...).

1) My Beat poet pix* are featured in the just released "Life of Crime" the complete collection of newsletters from the Black Bart Poetry Society—for those who think poetry is a crime, about SF's Poetry Wars featuring NPR's Andrei Codrescu, Tom Clark, Dave Benedetti; and of course the editors themselves: Pat Nolan, Steve LaVoie, and Alastair Johnston... (Poltroon Press 2010) *Bob Kaufman, Joanne Kyger, Bobbie Louise Hawkins, etc. In Moe's and independent Berkeley bookstores now, trade copies at Small Press Distribution.

Hmm, Jack Crimmons gave me a headzup: "Life of Crime" made Ron Silliman rather cranky this morning! Alastair was pleased, said it'll stir up sales! The Poetry Wars do go on.... Andrei Codrescu dropped me a note: It's a wonderful book! What scurrilous characters! What grand times! Fine pics, too, made me nostalgic (a bit).

2) What the World Hears: California Poets in the Schools Statewide Anthology—45th Anniversary edition (with a foreword by Gary Soto). I've got a poem and two student poems in it.

3) Full Circle: Poems from the 2009 California Poets in the Schools Symposium, Santa Barbara, CA. Mary Lee Gowland & Holden Way-Williams, editors.

4) Changing Perceptions: California Poets in the Schools Conference Anthology, Kim Shuck, ed. (2008) just arrived in the mail nearly a year and a half late with no © or publisher imprint. I'm rather disappointed in the haphazardness of the whole thing and the two-year wait, well, that's anti-climatic. There were many blank pages at the end that could've been used to cover the gobbelygook. Even if my CPITS anthologies, with the pages designed by kids, are funky, I take pride in what I do and always include the © and the credits... Many valid excuses were given but why didn't Kim give a shout out for help? We would've gladly helped, had we known.

For the record, Blogger has "updated" the blog editor and it's now much worse than back in the day when we had to enter our own HTML codes. What You See Is NOT What You Get.
It's an utter and counterintuitive nightmare to format—and getting photos to align up is another cashmar in perseverance. I hate it and would happily go back to the last version—if only I could figure out how. Gratuitous white spaces and line breaks not only drive me crazy, it makes me psychotically irate. Who designed it, and for whom? Inmates

RRWG demise? The reports of its death were greatly overexaggerated

Missing page 2

Obligatory Hug, June, 1984, Russian River Writers' Guild, Maureen Hurley