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ghost train

and it's easter time too

26 June 1955
Poet, first last & always. artist next, but for some dang reason makes more cash than poetry. you can write by candlelight w/ mittens the fingers cut out, but rent: ya just have to pay...and poetry will rarely do it alone.

For me,listening to music is a religious experience.

i live in a caboose moved here right after the 1906 earthquake. that & an outhouse was supposed to be enough. (gak.) in '45, someone added two bedrooms & a bathroom all the size of the boiler cylinder in steinbeck's 'sweet thursday'. the backyard is the size of a postage stamp i've turned into a garden.
i love my caboose. i love my coffeehouse three blocks across hiway 101. i love my town where i feel 5,ooo people is getting too big. i love the Big Trees right outside town & the redwoods crowding up at the lawyer's office. i love it that if i want to buy a case of paper i have to go to my local printer who's a socialist historian. i like letting forests fall apart on their own; there are other things to make houses out of. it was the hardest thing to leave the eight room 168 year old cabin in the big woods, but i couldn't justify it anymore. i can't think my own romance is more important than the planet's livlihood. i don't drive any more, when my body is working (see accident story one of these days) mostly i walk or my husband drives our, dig this, an '83 chevy celebrity with 65,000 miles on it. the previous owner went to church, the market and parked it in the garage. she died and her son GAVE us the car. in our house when things like this happen, we whistle and say woo, God's talkin'... it's eerie.
we have a small press called Rainy Day Women Press and no, we aren't a women's press. we publish poetry or political work. if you happen to be a women great, if yr a guy, great. it's the work that counts. we're so small, we're broke half the time, but we love poetry, so suffering goes with the territory. heh heh. garret, caboose, same dang thing in the winter!

I have four books published, three poetry and one of short stories. I also make handmade books which are a collaboration of poetry and art, expressing my life in diary. Many of my handmade books are actual journals chronicling my life-long struggle with several heart conditions. I use "bird" as a metaphor for tachy-cardia and 'water' to describe the battle i have to stay healthy. my work is goofy, mysterious, unexpected and i take delight in using anatomical and medical journals fromthe 18th century to desribe my "secret-diary-under-the-bed" language. I like to think of these serious and weird books as visual aids to the King James bible in that they are of archaic language and glued with the faith of someone who walks both confidently and shaky through a many-roomed dark house.

footnote: weird comes from the anglo-saxon word "weiros" pertaining to the awe felt in the presence of God. when yr experiencing that, baby, listen up...
a cat's yawn, all gardens, any garden, aprons, artists' books(i make 'em), bill evans, bird's feathers, bird's nests, birds, bob dylan, broken watches, butter, c.s.lewis, chanel #5, chopin's nocturnes, christianity, coltrane, damian rice, dark weather, david meltzer, dorothy day, earnest little boys, elizabeth goudge, etruscan art, foreign newspapers, fountain pens, francesca woodman, gardening, gene stratton porter, george macdonald, herb gardens, hey kid, italy:especially pompei, jack hirschman, jacques brel, kate douglas wiggins, kenneth patchen, larry beckett, leonard cohen, lousia may alcott, magnolia trees, magpies, mary norbert korte, miles davis, neil young, old bones, pacifisism, paint, patti smith, poetry book collecting, radio-by-night, red lipstick, rumer godden, rust, sharon olds, sir james barrie, strawberry ice cream -homemade-or-breyers, string creek, tapioca, tea parties, the almighty penis, the medici society, the sparrow, thick creamy paper, thrift stores, tinned milk, vinyl as in lps, wearing red shoes, y'shua, yard sales, yom kippor