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PoetsWest Selected - a page for poetry and essays
(Authors retain copyright to all poems and writings posted on this page.)
POETSWEST ONLINE
Volume XIV, No. 3
Poems by Keenan Cheney, Yearn Hong Choi, J. Glenn Evans, Kristine Iredale, Charles Portolano, Len Tews.
And a special message from John Peterson of Poetic Matrix Press http://www.poeticmatrixpress.com/.
If poets and lovers of poetry don't write, publish,
read, and purchase poetry books then we will have
no say in the quality of our contemporary culture
and no excuse for the abuses of language, ideas,
truth, beauty, and love in our cultural life.
Decrypted Words
I am not a face
in a book
I am a heart
that looks, and sees
a new world
I am not a woman
that bleeds by forces
I cannot control
and then some
though controlled is my body
by wombness itself, mooning
the earth as we do
I never have eyes
to judge the content
of another's life story
through the cover, images,
nor the words spoken or written
life impossible to fit into
any place other than itself,
in any form, even then rarely
seen for what it is beneath it's cover
Scripts written, ever new
deleted scripts with compass redirecting
all pages hidden from view
of the real life in here, recorded
for all time, unlimited by any mind's conception
of what is or isn't
For the secrets I need not know,
are the same as mine and yours
so I know them all just as we all do
Not secrets at all, but for the grasp in
our fear that makes us think so
and feel we are anything worthwhile
anyone worth freeing from the bondage
of secrets wrapped up in bundles
of tumors just under our skin
The firelight and the lamplight
give way to the sunlight's dominion
and the moonlight's reflection
the light and shadow we can see
grace words with freedom
to dissolve and evolve
the power of words ever true
though scattered in diminished view
in too many faces and places
Revolve their meaning,
words no more held captive
by the tongue, nor the eye
that reads meaning, into them
into us, as if our being could be literal
and the compass of culture speaking
our language, no cover can bind
nor tongue unwind this history
we each struggle to escape some sort
of oppression on our being
a tide carried along with history's misconceptions
limiting us by our own limited thoughts
The clock ticking the rhythm of
a work-a-day world, timed not quite aligned
this distraction from the endless heart beat
we all groove our own through, and then some
The body of any book
not a body of words alone
nor literal for reading
simple meanings into the hands and mind,
the heart and aim of the writer
reading their best attempt into form
Letters always encrypt their
deeper meanings, combined
into literal and encrypted seemings,
in and out of context, diluted in disbelief
that we could create all that we see
So we decrypt and read our secret,
out of fear's way
© 2009 Keenan Cheney
An Oregon native, Keenan A. Cheney has lived and studied abroad in Peru, India, Thailand, Italy and other countries. A photographer/printmaker, former concert violinist and folk rock musician, she's preparing her own music production while getting ready to publish at least 3 books of poetry and much more. She has written poetry, been a visual artist and musician continuously for most of her life, with over 500 poems, various logos and visual art contributions, and numerous songs composed. She now resides in Portland, Oregon. Her main web site is coming soon, with others to follow: www.keenancheney.com
Alaska
American people rushed to Alaska to find gold.
Whales swam into Alaska to find their cozy summer house.
Salmon set their hometown in Alaska’s cold creek water.
I found my blue solitude in Alaska’s Glacier Bay.
Yearn Hong Choi
******************
Salmon
Salmon traveled the Pacific Ocean for seven years
In order to return to their hometown.
I traveled the world for 50 years
In order to find my hometown.
We shared a couple things in common:
One was the clean-water creek hometown
And the other was the vast ocean and the world.
Oh, one more:
We were seafarer and wayfarer.
Salmon escaped and avoided brown bear’s sharp and brutal teeth and toes
On the way to the sea,
Huge fishing ship’s widest net in the sea,
Killer whale’s very big mouth,
And eagles waiting for their homecoming.
Homecoming is always touch and rough
Through life span.
I overcame penniless poverty, cultural and language barriers, racial bias
And prejudice in the world,
And returned to the hometown.
What sustained our lives had been our common desire to survive
And return safely to the hometown.
That was victorious and glorious to both of us.
My ancestors could come from the salmon family
Or I will be a salmon after this life.
Yearn Hong Choi
******************
At the Glacier Bay
The waters are cold and blue.
The mountains are high and steep.
The clouds hang on the waistline of the mountains.
The whales, sea lions and sea otters are the living things
On and under the waters.
The sound and sight of the glacier falling into the waters
Awaken my sleepy conscience,
Making the solitude so deep.
The glaciers are crying for their disappearances
From the Earth,
From the Glacier Bay in Alaska.
Yearn Hong Choi
******************
Renate Hong
----Who can blame this German Woman?
A young German woman fell in love with a North Korean student at Yena University in the 1960s. Their first love overcame the national boundary line, color of skin, ethnic looks, and language differences. They married and the first son was born in a year and another pregnancy came in joy and happiness. Then, the young father had to return to North Korea. Recall from the Communist Party! They parted at the Yena Railroad Station with tears. He promised her that he would return. She did not doubt his words. However, his promise was not fulfilled in the following 48 years. In those 48 years, she wrote mountains of letters to the North Korean Government, the International Red Cross, the United Nations organizations, and South Korean president Kim Dae-jung who earned the Nobel Peace Prize to get back her husband. Finally, she received a letter of invitation from her husband in North Korea. She prepared multiple photo albums for hundreds of photos of their two sons from their childhood to adulthood. Then the despair: visa was denied from the North Korean embassy in Germany. She sent many letters again to North Korea and finally received the visa. She and her two sons were greeted by her husband and their father, and his daughter from his second marriage to a Korean woman at Pyoungyang airport. They spent three nights together. He handed a short note to her at her departure:
“I want to see you in Berlin next year!” Next year has not come yet. She does not know when next year will be.
Who can blame her fatal attraction to a North Korean student?
Who knows their love story?
All humankind should know and read their love story.
Their love story will touch all humankind.
They met when she was 21. Now, she is 71 years old.
Who drew the national boundary line?
Who invented the passport and visa?
Freedom to see her lover should be respected and admired with tears from our eyes.
Yearn Hong Choi
A prolific and distinguished writer who has won awards in Korea and the US with six books of poetry and one collection of short stories. His essays and short stories appeared in prestigious journals such as Short Story International and World Literature Today. In 1994, he became the first poet from Korea to be invited to read at the Library of Congress; Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Gwendolyn Brooks introduced Choi by reading a poem she wrote about him! He served as executive director of the Korean PEN Center and edited Korean Literature Today. He founded the Korean Poets and Writers Group and the Korean-American Poets' Group in Washington, DC.
A Ph.D in political science and public administration, he has written extensively on current issues in Korea and Korean-US relations, worked for the federal government, and taught at the University of Wisconsin, Old Dominion University, the University of the District of Columbia, and the University of Seoul, retiring recently.
With Haeng-Ja Kim he published the first anthology of Korean-American literature, Surfacing Sadness: A Centennial Celebration of Korean-American Literature, 1903-2003. He also edited three landmark anthologies of Korean-American poetry: Mother and Dove, Fragrance of Poetry: Korean-American Literature, and An Empty House: Korean American Poetry. He has published two poetry books in English, Autumn Vocabularies (Writers' Workshop, 1990) and Moon of New York (PublishAmerica, 2008) and four poetry books in the Korean language. His memoir, Song of Myself: A Korean-American Life, was published by Poetic Matrix Press in 2010.
When Will It Stop
Eight thousand helpless prisoners
Polish military officers
Taken from their country and never seen again
Until their bones were found
How many First Peoples
North and South America
How many thousands in Bosnia
How many millions is Black Africa
How many more millions in Germany
In Iraq and Afghanistan and the Holy land
How many millions lie in unmarked graves
Innocents— civilians, soldiers with no say
From Caesar to Sharon to Obama
Mankind shall never know
Who’s to blame for these atrocities
Thugs in high office, citizens who cooperate
Do not speak out in protest
Soldiers who follow the chain of command
Yet all under God whoever we are
Have a moral obligation
To say no, no more will we not do your bidding
We may die, but so will some of you
No longer will we kill our brothers and sisters for you
In the name of religion, patriotism, power or money
It stops right here now with me
J. Glenn Evans
J. Glenn Evans is founder and managing director of PoetsWest. Has written three books of poetry Window In The Sky, Buffalo Tracks and Seattle Poems and a novel, Broker Jim. Has written several local histories under the name Jack R. Evans, and two local biographies. A former stockbroker-investment banker, he has engaged in mining and co-produced a movie, Christmas Mountain, featuring Slim Pickens. Widely published in magazines and anthologies. Awarded the 1999 Faith Beamer Cooke Award by Washington Poets Association in recognition of service to the poetry community of Washington State. Listed in Who’s Who in America and Who’s Who in the World. Past president of Seattle Free Lances, Academy of American Poets. On the advisory board for the University of Washington Extension Writing Program. Producer and host of weekly radio program on KSER 90.7 FM.
The Phoenix’s Lament
Long slender neck
Perfumed plumage
Impressive wing span
And vivid tail feathers.
Beautiful
Yet, tears fall down her face.
Her sorrow heals others pain
All benefit except her
For she is all alone.
No one gets near.
What with
powerful talons,
sharp beak,
and burning flames?
Nothing touches
Her immortal soul.
Kristine Iredale
Is 22 years old, a soldier in the National Guard, and a full-time student. “I have traveled the Middle East, Australia, and the West Coast. My favorite poet is Jacques Prevert and my ultimate goal in life is to become a renaissance woman.”
The Haters
From the very beginning
of our time together
the wolves
were the ones
that would not be tamed,
they would not
be touched by us,
howling in the night
bringing fear to man.
Unlike the dog
they would not
sit by our side
under a bright moon
by an open fire
licking our hands
to be fed by us.
They roam the night
working as a pack
they survive
on their wits alone, and
for this they become
the target
of bounty hunters,
poisoned, trapped, shot,
$50 a carcass or pelt.
It is what man has
given up
that makes him hate
the wolves;
man just follows
a path set by others,
the wolves
run free, wild
in the wilderness,
still one with nature.
Man has given up,
now man is the enemy
of all that is free.
Charles Portolano
******************************
Existential Depression
I found my ten-year-old
daughter Valerie
sitting on our couch
crying, shaking, trembling,
ashen in color
with the TV clicker in hand.
“Why is Mother Nature
so mad at us?
Killing innocent children,
both their parents,
destroying whole families,
first in Haiti, now Chile.
Terrible earthquakes that
topple buildings, homes,
destroy roads, bridges;
leaving people buried
under concrete buildings;
leaving people homeless,
starving, lost without
loved ones to hold onto.
I had to turn off the TV
because their pain
was too unbearable
to watch, people
running for their lives,
not knowing in what
direction they should go
for their world was in
complete and utter chaos.”
She stood up for a hug,
her shoulders sagging
as she rested her head
in my waiting arms.
I couldn’t find any words
that might bring her peace,
so we stood in dead silence.
Charles Portolano
******************************
Winner Takes All
In the span of four years
while away at the University,
I return to my hometown,
gone the only hospital,
the Art Museum,
the Opera House,
the churches turned to dust;
whole blocks of buildings
blown to smithereens,
no cars can pass
down any of the avenues;
ravaged by war
women and children
live on the streets
begging for money
for the littlest of food
barely able to stay alive,
cripples crawl across
the rubble-laden paths
looking for a safe place
to finally fall asleep.
My home is nowhere
to be found, nor any
of the houses around
where I once played
with friends for hours
until dusk set us to
our homes for dinner.
Only two old friends
are alive or in the area,
both paralyzed by shrapnel,
many buried beneath
piles of concrete.
I wonder to myself,
“Was there a winner?
And what did they win?”
Charles Portolano
Charles Portolano started writing poetry 13 years ago to celebrate the birth of his daring, darling daughter Valerie. “I wanted to preserve all the memories of the first time she walked, talked. Valerie was born with many obstacles to overcome giving me much to write about. Writing soon became my way of saving my sanity. Valerie is doing great now; she is quite the young writer.”
His collections of poetry include:
Storytelling, 2009
All Eyes on Us, Rockford Writers Guild, 2007 (trilogy of three chapbooks: The Devil’s Advocate, Into the Wild, The Triad)
Inspired by Their Spirits, Wyndham Hall Press
The Nature of Darkness, Wyndham Hall Press
The Soul Decision, Wyndham Hall Press, 2003
Firsts (written with Valerie Portolano).
Immigrants
Strange - white and huge.-
and I was puzzled
when I saw one the first time
on a pond in our park a year ago
my first White Pelican
alone and out of place.
This year - more of them
in small groups
high in the sky,
I can see their black-tipped wings
and how they hold their necks in an S.
I watched them in gangs,
scooping up fish or unwary birds.
No gourmets – crude
they swallow their food whole,
in one gulp.
But it’s rough for immigrants
new kids on the block
thought odd, not wanted
living as they must.
They cruise together
hang tough and take their knocks.
*White Pelicans have recently migrated into Wisconsin from the Plains States.
Len Tews
******************************
We Were Lions
when my uncle grabbed my aunt’s arm
and marched her around the lawn –
hup-two-three-four - showing off
on leave, before he went
to fight the Nazi’s.
I didn’t know, just a kid
but we seemed so Right and Invincible.
Of course we would win, didn’t we always?
D-Day, A-bomb, H-bomb, VE day, VJ Day.
Hitler and Tojo finished.
Myron Krebs pedaled his bike
down our road yelling The war is over! The war is over!
And the boys came home
went to college on the G.I. Bill,
raised their families, got good jobs.
There was money to be made and we made it.
We were Lions, cat-trotting the globe –
Viet Nam, Grenada, Korea, Panama, and Iraq.
And we ate the lion’s share,
bought and bought –
Mediterranean furniture, TV’s, stereos, grills,
lawnmowers and other junk filled our garages
parked two cars in the driveway, jammed our
basements with home theaters and rumpus rooms
stuffed our closets and freezers. The joists groaned
knick-knacks Made in China
precarious on the shelves.
Now, a man of no-color
I am pushed around
the cruise ship in a wheel chair –
pinched nerve.
People of color wait on me
while I buy T-shirts
on their islands. Hey, Papi.
Damn global warming!
The lions want more.
Glen Beck cries on Fox News,
Here I stand with my God and my country,
paranoid about health care
and creeping socialism.
Wooly hair begins to grow
here and there
We swallow another pain pill.
Our roar becomes a bleat.
Weak and obese –
we leave like lambs.
buy a cap cheap.
Len Tews
Len Tews retired in 1996 after teaching biology for thirty-two years at The University of Wisconsin. He moved to Seattle where he took up the writing of poetry, first as a genealogical pursuit, believing the most important memories of people are their stories, then moved on to other subjects -- Buddhism and nature particularly.
He became active in the Seattle poetry scene reading at open mikes and publishing. Some of his poetry has been collected into four chapbooks: Family Poems, Dance Steps in Brass, The Moon Is Not Yet and Frayed Ends. His work has also been published in Bellowing Ark, Mid-America Poetry Review, The Wisconsin Review, Fox Cry, HA, Writer's Haven Press's Moons Upside Down, Stars in Rows, Cascade, and other places. His poetry has won prizes from Peninsula Pulse and The National League of Pen Women. He was nominated, but did not win, Seattle’s Poet Populist. He recently moved back to Oshkosh, Wisconsin where he raised a family.
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