PARTITA

pOYM FOR THE fantastical RAYMOND PETTIBON


"Deciphering the content of the Bach Partitas and figuring out how to communicate it with passion and conviction requires knowledge, hard work, discipline and endless imagination. The fact that there is flexibility in the assembly of this musical puzzle, and more than one right way to do it, is endlessly fascinating, challenging and a joy." Miriam Fried

I play a Bach partita on guitar. The piece is in basic 3/3 time, but I realized at one point that I could play it in 5/5 time, which I can't even quite fathom mathematically. Is that even possible? But it worked and became something wholly other. I somehow just slipped into it while I was playing it one day. Total mind bender.

BTW I disagree with Fried on the "knowledge, hard work and discipline" part. You just keep doing it because you love it. But the endless imagination and "more than one right way to do it" is on point.


cut fown to essential

"The fact that there is flexibility in the assembly of this musical puzzle, and more than one right way to do it, is endlessly fascinating, challenging and a joy." Miriam Fried on the Bach Partidas

I play a Bach partita on guitar. The piece is in basic 3/3 time, but I realized at one point that I could play it in 5/5 time, which I can't even quite fathom mathematically. Is that even possible? But it worked and became something wholly other. I somehow just slipped into it while I was playing it one day. Total mind bender.

three crossroads pics from anselm.

point of the cape

48

When I blew out my birthday candles this year it seemed sacrilege to wish
for anything beyond the moment itself. I just blew. No wishes...
Dexter and Nori brought a bottle of Hudson Valley Bourbon,
best I've ever had, with a burnt caramel flavor, wood smoke,
pass it around, get a magic 8 Ball from KC Trommer, kids go crazy,
Lilla brings a peach torte from patisserie, Amy brings a peach pie,
Cristina, fancy snacks and socks, Therese a painting of a hummingbird,
Catherine a handle of rum, Nonna and Papa delicious boursin cheese,
Marco oak aged beer, Quinn guitar strings, picks and a pear,
Tyler and Karen, wine and a watermelon: and more I'm forgetting,
suffice to say it was superabundance. Just so happens
that Flicks & Jazz in the Garden was scheduled on my birthday.
Big band jazz plays for an hour. Meanwhile I throw a giant frisbee
high so it comes back to me, as if I was playing catch with the sky,
while dozens of kids swirl around me trying to catch it too.
After the big band jazz the Brooklyn Raga Massive plays versions
of Beatles and Zeppelin, with the Pyeng Threadgill singing
(daughter of jazz great Henry Threadgill who just won the Pulitzer.)
I danced with my daughter Lucia and she was so fantastic!
It was the highlight of a night filled with highlights.
Then my favorite new band, The Flushing Remonstrance,
played soundtracks to old experimental films,
including George Melies' Trip To The Moon.
This was followed by old Felix The Cat Cartoons.
Soon it was 10pm and the girls were both lying on me
comfortably, while we watched cartoons outside in the park. Perfect.
A wild Austrian neighborhood kid, Hans, hanging around my neck too.
I hardly know him, but it seemed natural, and no one, least me, objects.
It was a warm night, with a cool breeze. Full harvest moon! No bugs!
Better than I could've imagined, like when Whitman says,
" O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you-yet I love you;
You express me better than I can express myself; You shall be more
to me than my poem." The night expressed me better than I could.
Or when Seamus Heaney says, "And what happens next is a music
that you never would have known to listen for."
We end Saturday evening drinking port that brother-in-law Matthew
hand delivered from Portugal, Dow special reserve. Best port
I've tasted, with distinct flavor of strawberry, raspberry, plum
and chocolate. We paired it with Lilla's peach torte. Now that's the life!
Sunday, the weekend extends still further with a Doppio Giallo style
doubles tennis tournament in the park, a fundraiser for earthquake in Italy.
I'm curious what Doppio Giallo means. Carlo says it means Double
Mystery. But doesn't giallo mean yellow I asked? Carlo says yes,
but yellow in Italian also means mystery. Do you know why, I ask,
but he doesn't. So now we have a "giallo" giallo,
why is mystery in Italian the color yellow? It's a mystery.
Afterward off to see the opening of Mierle Laderman Ukules' show
at the Queens Museum. Gen and I were so tired after night before
and the doubles tournament that neither of us really wanted to go,
but we rallied, and so glad we did. Such a great show. So inspiring.
And doubly glad that we got to meet Mierle. Do you know her?
Now thoroughly tired, and pinching myself to see if this all
might be a dream, but instead of waking up, I fall asleep!

48 Reach Peak

My 48th birthday was better than what I could've imagined.

When I blew out my birthday candles it seemed a sacrilege to wish

for anything, for anything beyond the moment itself. I just blew. No wishes...

Friday night watched "Popstar: Never stop never stopping" in bed with Gen. Laughed.

Then a hard lost tennis game to Kevin in the morning. Would rather lose than win.

And then spend the day preparing for party.

Around 4:30pm friends and family come to the Sunnyside Gardens.

Dexter brings a bottle of Hudson Valley Bourbon.

Best bourbon I've ever tasted, with a burnt caramel flavor, wood smoke.

Pass it around. Get a magic 8 Ball from KC Trommer,

Lilla brings a peach tort from patisserie, Amy brings a peach pie,

Cristina brings fancy snacks and socks, Therese a painting of a hummingbird,

Catherine a handle of rum, Nonna and Papa some delicious boursin cheese,

Marco oak aged beer, Quinn guitar strings, picks and a pear,

Tyler and Karen, wine and a watermelon: and more I'm forgetting

suffice to say it was superabundance.

Strikes me that 3 of the neighborhood friends, Justin, Tyler and KC

I also happen to know through poetry circles, Venn Diagram bonanza:

friends, parents with kids the same age as ours and poets. 3!

Just so happens that Flicks and Jazz in the Garden is scheduled on my birthday.

Hard not to take things like this personally. Because it feels personal. 

Big band jazz plays for an hour. Meanwhile I throw a giant frisbee

into the air so it comes back to myself, as if I was playing catch with the sky,

while dozens of kids swirl around me trying to catch it too.

After the big band jazz the Brooklyn Raga Collective plays versions

of Beatles and Led Zeppelin, with the great Pyeng Threadgill singing. 

(She's the daughter of jazz great Henry Threadgill who just won a pulitzer.)

I danced with Lucia in front of the crowd and she was so fantastic!

It was the highlight of a night filled with highlights.

Then my favorite new band The Flushing Remonstrance

played soundtracks to old experimental films,

including George Melies' Trip To The Moon.

Followed by old Felix The Cat Cartoons.

10pm and the girls are both lying on me comfortably

while we watch cartoons outside in the park. Perfect.

A wild Austrian neighborhood kid named Hans is hanging around my neck too.

I hardly know him, but it seems natural, and no one, least me, objects.

It was warm night too, with a cool breeze. Full harvest moon! No bugs!

Yes, better than I could've imagined, like when Whitman says, " O public road!

I say back, I am not afraid to leave you-yet I love you; You express me better

than I can express myself; You shall be more to me than my poem."

The night expressed me better than I could've expressed myself.

Or when Seamus Heaney says "And what happens next is a music

that you never would have known to listen for."
\
We end Saturday evening drinking port that brother-in-law Matthew

brought me by hand from Portugal, Dow special reserve. Best port I've ever had,

with distinct flavor of strawberry, raspberry, plum and chocolate.

Pairing it with Lilla's peach tort. Now that's the life!

Sunday, the weekend extends still further with a Doppio Giallo style doubles

tennis tournament in the park (can you believe this park?)

as a relief for earthquake in Italy. I'm curious what Doppio Giallo means

and Carlo says it means Double Mystery. But isn't Giallo mean yellow

I ask? Carlo says yes, but yellow in Italian also means mystery.

Do you know why I ask? But he doesn't. So now we have a giallo

giallo, why is mystery the color yellow? Afterward off to see the opening

of Mierle Laderman Ukules at the Queens Museum, thanks to a tip

from our friend Noel Black. Gen and I were so tired after epic night at park

and the doubles tournament that neither of us really wanted to go,

but we rallied! And so glad we did. Such a great show. So inspiring.

And doubly great  that we got to meet her! Lucia even got an autograph.

Now thoroughly tired, and pinching myself to see if this a dream I go to sleep.

Further Edit

When I blew out my birthday candles this year it seemed a sacrilege to wish

for anything beyond the moment itself. I just blew. No wishes...

Dexter brings a bottle of Hudson Valley Bourbon.

Best bourbon I've ever had, with a burnt caramel flavor, wood smoke.

Pass it around. Get a magic 8 Ball from KC Trommer, kids go crazy,

Lilla brings a peach tort from patisserie, Amy brings a peach pie,

Cristina, fancy snacks and socks, Therese a painting of a hummingbird,

Catherine a handle of rum, Nonna and Papa delicious boursin cheese,

Marco oak aged beer, Quinn guitar strings, picks and a pear,

Tyler and Karen, wine and a watermelon: and more I'm forgetting,

suffice to say it was superabundance. Just so happens

that Flicks and Jazz in the Garden was scheduled on my birthday.

Big band jazz plays for an hour. Meanwhile I throw a giant frisbee

so it comes back to myself, as if I was playing catch with the sky,

while dozens of kids swirl around me trying to catch it too.

After the big band jazz the Brooklyn Raga Collective plays versions

of Beatles and Zeppelin, with the great Pyeng Threadgill singing.

(daughter of jazz great Henry Threadgill who just won the pulitzer.)

I danced with Lucia in front of the crowd and she was so fantastic!

It was the highlight of a night filled with highlights.

Then my favorite new band, The Flushing Remonstrance,

played soundtracks to old experimental films,

including George Melies' Trip To The Moon.

This was followed by old Felix The Cat Cartoons.

Soon it was 10pm and the girls were both lying on me

comfortably, while we watch cartoons outside in the park. Perfect.

A wild Austrian neighborhood kid, Hans, hanging around my neck too.

I hardly know him, but it seems natural, and no one, least me, objects.

It was warm night, with a cool breeze. Full harvest moon! No bugs!

Better than I could've imagined, like when Whitman says,

" O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you-yet I love you;

You express me better than I can express myself; You shall be more t

to me than my poem." The night expressed me better than I could've.

Or when Seamus Heaney says "And what happens next is a music

that you never would have known to listen for."

We end Saturday evening drinking port that brother-in-law Matthew

hand delivered from Portugal, Dow special reserve. Best port

I've ever had, with distinct flavor of strawberry, raspberry, plum

and chocolate. Pairing it with Lilla's peach tort. Now that's the life!

Sunday, the weekend extends still further with a Doppio Giallo style doubles

tennis tournament in the park as a relief for earthquake in Italy.

I'm curious what Doppio Giallo means. Carlo says it means Double

Mystery. But isn't Giallo mean yellow I ask? Carlo says yes,

but yellow in Italian also means mystery. Do you know why? I ask

But he doesn't. So now we have a giallo about giallo.

Why is mystery the color yellow in Italian? It's a mystery.

Afterward off to see the opening of Mierle Laderman Ukules

at the Queens Museum. Gen and I were so tired after night before

and the doubles tournament that neither of us really wanted to go,

but we rallied, and so glad we did. Such a great show. So inspiring.

And doubly great that we got to meet Mierle! Now thoroughly tired,

and pinching myself to see if this all might be a dream before fall asleep.

I'm sick of no poetry

I’M SICK OF NO POETRY

G6, set the record straighght.
I've kept my eyeye on Strawberry
and her sister Cream of crop circle fame.
As the nephews sit and vegetate
on roundelays of fate and Shakespeary
farce, which always ends well enough too late,
I'll send a note to the stage and tell them to stop
by. The shines outsize like a demo brought home.

On the point of the cape

The moon
Lights up the clouds
Like a sunflower at night
Through the round glass window
With the Diamond pattern open
So the flies can come in and land
On the solitary blue chair below
The monkey puzzle tree
With white honeysuckle draping over
Like a blanket of perfume
As mommy and Ed walk
Out the gate to the piano bar
Where the show tunes seem old
Until the wine gets past
The row of four lighthouses
On the point of the cape.

At 41

At 41

I almost went

into a trap

but was sent

a map

of the senses

by the deuses

ex machina via

a phone call

so I went out

dancing alone

into the glance

that becomes water

Leave weddings

for thunder

and alight like the summer

despite winter warnings

Abate and desist

in orderly fashion

Soon we'll insist

on therapist sessions

Who has the time

has water is water

and who comes after

is on time every time

Dave Outhouse asked me for a poem for him to submit to Seattle buses. Theme is "our body of water." So I sent him these three.

Sea Shanty

I'm covered up with sand and

all the weight of the Puget Sound

With words harder than rocks

for getting off my chest

but boulders are swayed by waves

and waves swayed by tides

So I give whatever I take
and take whatever is best

Words May Be

Webbing in which
vertical tiers maintain
horizontal buoyancy

or

The very shears to snip
the strands to sink ourselves
in the roiling sea

(I love how that poem's form matches content, the way the latinate words buoy up the first stanza and then the second sounds like something sinking fast.)

Last Night


Glowing phosphorescent footprints

receding before me as I

walk backward

into the

sea

(and another where form matches content)

Hart Hits The Koop

Hart Hits The Koop

The beer of some dear friends

is made with sheer hops

(the will-'o-the-wisp

in the lion's den)

with happiness and bliss

so real and intense

it's like new love.

The holy drunk at

the happy dumb show,

a way to agree, three

and you're full, four

and the keys to

the universe are yours.

A memory can be

erased forever? So then

do it again! Men in black

erased your memory, an epic day,

somebody happened, but who?

The bartender's listening,

she doesn't want too many

question marks or

exclamation points.

She pours us another beer

and then the archer,

the flickering candle,

and the point of the arrow

finally arrives.