fiesta

from the street i heard
heard a voice
a voice shouting joyfully
into the air of south denton TX
i followed the sound till i found
a gathering of folks
music i'd never heard
indigenous folks
spanish with native language
well mixed in
i stopped i looked in spoke
broken spanish broken english
to two inebriated gentlemen
i went up close to see the musicians
i looked and looked could not see them
then there they were
in full appearance
two saxes one tenor another baritone
and a trumpet
and a drummer hitting archaic wooden hide drums
and a chanter a MC yelling into the mic
as the one minute tirades into primeval jazz ensued
then died down into a sonic chatter of broken dying sound
i saw the orange toss the humorous innocuous innocent
tossing of oranges back and forth and people rushing around getting the oranges
after the tossing
i have no idea
and then as i watched the beginning of the dance of
the bulls i was pushed into the center
and as the music started i was taught the moves
the one fingered horns
the slooping around and steering for the capes
held by beautiful women
i heard the caller sing out
el americano el americano
the sax players winding about in intense 16th note
parallel voicings parallel but distinct
and the trumpet
playing some sort of indiscernible
rampage of sonic mayhem into the air
as careless as a bird singing
the drummer looked to me to be someone
who had transcended the normal trappings
of human expectation
he was someone else to contend with
and a whole different set of values
the caller MC looked like a priest
and there i was in the center everyone clapping at me
smiling like i'd just arrived somewhere
very important
in the dancing i had become their friend
but i had to go
as i left i had the very disctinct sensation
that i had just spent a good deal of life
with a very strange people
20 minuttes seemed then like
20 yrs
life will never be the same again

i inquired into the name of the music
no one could tell me
they looked with indignity and
befuddlement
there is no name one person said
another said
la viento

when i think of life getting back to normal
i am covered in sadness

this headline just in:

st. (that is saint) marianne moore
intercedes for minnesota twins

in a rather startling well nearly miraculous
turn of events the minnesota twins have
captured the AL Central
the words on everyones' lips whether spoken or not
after the game on 10/6 was
"unbelievable" until the rallying record of
the monkees surged into the dome and
everyone sang
"i'm a believer"

i've been struggling with notions
of mystical intercessions ever since
could it be?

i half heartedly requested in a jest really
over on kirby's blog that because of her
deep convictions that appear to be more catholic than
anything else
(although i am starting to wonder if her
concept of liberty was perhaps too protestant...
too lockean
i mean c'mon marianne -
liberty for what??)
i apologize for the digression
i requested that we at least think
of marianne more in terms of
saintliness in strong catholic terms..
and yes
at that very time
i made prayerful petition
to her knowing that
the saints hear about everything
either directly or indirectly
i mean the gossip line up there
is ridiculous

on one hand the almost incredible
march of the twins was something of a phenomenon
that carried with it some startling
energy some truly inspiring
momentum
in the 21 games leading up to last nights
title game
the previous lackluster twins went 17-4
think of that 17-4
to finish off september
so maybe it was more a factor
of basic physics than heavenly intervention
on the part of a pretty good poetess
who so happened to like the sport
of baseball
she saw the poetry in it i guess
an odd thing when you think about it
i mean it is a male game through and through
i am always surprised when i meet women
who understand the game
usually i'm not so sure they aren't conniving
somehow to be in control of men
in the domain of men par excellence
but then last night i was sitting next to two
women whom i took to be spinsters
who were actually keeping boxscores
as the game progressed
maybe marianne moore her spirit
that is
came to a subtle
reincarnation in the two women
sitting next to me

at any rate i am busy writing up the forms
for the vatican office which oversees
these matters and am inquiring with
some of my favorite bolandists
to see if any sort of precendent exists

the miracle at hand is no slight matter
and whether rome chooses to
actually canonize marianne moore
or not
i have begun the procedure which will bring her into
the consciousness of roman saintmakers

cassilla smacks a base hit down the
first baseline and gomez scores
from second to end the game
in the 12th 6-5
after a three inning
standoff tie
and all this as detroit
and minnesota
tied at the very end of the regular season
forced a play-off game
to clinch the division title
then about 15 minutes of complete
dome mayhem and delirium

i will confess that for a good
5 minutes my demeanor was
to be compared to that of a
ridiculously overjoyed 12 yr old
i was beside myself with happiness
along with 54,088 other mortals

i sat with an old college friend
who is a baseball scholar
and he carried on
at least six conversations
with people around us
for the whole game
we actually hugged and danced in the end
we had seats 10 rows up
on the lower level just off
the plate umps' right shoulder
we purchased two tickets
from scalpers
that could be the topic
of another post

the more i think of it
the more it must be true

i don't know if st marianne has the stuff
to help the twins ruffle up the yankees
(this whole thing is taxing my ardent hold
on the faith of my youth...omg a crisis of faith again..
shit this can't be happening)
jeter and rodriquez beat up on minnesota pretty good tonite
the pitching staffs are visibly imbalanced
one mediocre the other
prednear impossible to beat
poetry is tragic when it is best

i know i have a renewed faith in something
perhaps it is 20th century mainline
presbyterianism
i'm not sure i know what that is
but
with a little more help
i may be able to believe

as for surreal
there's nothing i know of
like standing outside the
"hump" dome in
dwntwn mpls
listening to the whole thing
the crowd the announcer's laconic
rant the whole thing
resonating like a big drum
with a radio inside
while standing in the rain
that's how i learned
tigers scored first

still at least one more game
scheduled for the dome
on saturday i believe

i'm almost too timid
to ask
but ahem ahem
i offer up these voiced
petitions for your sweet and most divine
interlocutionary intercessions
that from some nether mist of
ordinary cloud you might
with your powers now gained
in the growing reverence we
keep for you that you might with
all diligent kindness might just this once
OK for the second time
assist us as we you know
you know what we do in our hearts
i mean now you're alive and insubstantial
so i want you to give this message to the
yankees
"you must lose to the twins"
just plant that in derek jeter''s mind
show us your power
o loving spinster saint of all of baseball
yes we will make you the patron saint
i mean the matron saint of baseball
if you could only maybe this once
help the impossible to indeed happen
one unbelievable time more
amen...oh and marianne
thanks

harvest knowledge

amen
so the harvest is all but finished
i was on pause there for awhile wondering
if it would turn cool
and alas the weather did not turn cool
but i had enough red showing in the tress
to move me to begin my harvest
and 'twas a good thing i did
for the day after the bulk of the apples
were boxed and in the cellar
a huge wind storm came up
trees around here were uprooted
branches down everywhere
i'm sure i would have lost quite a few apples
had i not been moved to pick

what am i to make of my ongoing experiment
with non-toxic low-impact pest control

my sense is that it works and it works fine
i estimate at this point that i have 60 bushels
there are still a number of smaller trees
the ones somebody has called connell reds
which i am holding out for a few more weeks
there's another good 4 or 5 bushels there

my simple separation is fourfold
primo = the red beautiful apples one might like to see
on the table and grab for a crisp sweet tart snack
average = are the apples not so handsome
but they make good pies and apple crisp
cider = those apples already on the ground
or at least half the apple would be good cut up and thrown
into the cider press
deer or earth = the remains

so far we've pressed about 8 gallons of cider
two young families joined me last saturday
and the kids did a great job climbing the trees
for an hour
then we shifted gears and pressed some of the apples
into cider
this was a very joyous high energy afternoon

thus i got to thinking
an orchard should not be a place limited
to work and profit
there was boisterous regaling and glee
mmmnhs and aahhhs after gulping fresh cider
work play and the parents insisted
that a healthy exertion of youthful energy
is a very good thing
good humour amongst the adults
some poetry
some other folks stopped by and tasted the cider
and they were not a little overjoyed with it all

i've still a little bit of sorting to do
and i plan to do some peddling
at an upcoming football game

from those folks to whom i've granted
free access for picking i've heard nothing
but amazement at the size (quite few softball sized and bigger)
and flavour of the apples

my measure of success must be calculated in terms
of aesthetics quantity
& human response and i suppose money
will have to figure in at some level

i've some work to do yet
before the orchard sleeps
some tree protection
and some pruning of dead limbs

while i had some workdays in the sun
i am left with the profound realization
that i participated in an act of creation
and it was not I who brought about the yield
not I at all
save for the sweat and laughter

i'm thinking of a name

HOWDJYALYKESDEM
apples