tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67215853879518312322010-01-01T08:59:10.508-08:00joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comBlogger356125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-65225870265027844282010-01-01T08:05:00.001-08:002010-01-01T08:59:10.532-08:00

~Cold steel people don't like.--Keith RichardsMy frivolous submission to the sun,my gift and theft and subtle wisdom morning,and my energized service, and my chaotic warningall booked uncertainty, hung redemption, died...Then seven stories from the clattering swordschattered as a rival mistress of a spouseand fell as magic rain upon the housewhile I worked, then napped, in the dazzle of

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-83556033277407345922009-12-20T10:50:00.000-08:002009-12-31T13:35:47.129-08:00

~Good fellow of the hills,when I shared my tale with you,about the girl in the red knit sweateron the bicycle with the basketfull of books--when I packed my bags, andtook my thumb alongfor wayfaring alone,You refused to shakemy hobo hand adieu:but you predicted,blithely, brazenly:"The only tragedyof a broken heartis that it mends."~

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-17005192938807811902009-11-24T04:03:00.000-08:002009-11-24T05:01:48.919-08:00

~An empty notebook, on an emptyshelf in an empty time; the thickmembranes of self creepinginto the lattice window, weepingfor a place that cracks a heart,it was once empirical, nowit is empty art and discotèquesalong a Parisian thoroughfare—When, when was the dayI left the notebook at home andwent into the world without a wallet—when did the summer cupidstand on my empty shelf, hectoringlike a

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-44102985214013535252009-11-02T13:05:00.000-08:002009-11-02T13:18:48.545-08:00

~for Raf MauroOn a sound stage in Burbankan actor, lines in pocket, pondersprecisely how high to raise the browto fetch a comic puzzlement. The blocksare toed, the brow is raised, the take is cut.Throughthe metaphysical conceit of televisionthere is a viewer in Charlestonand one in Poland, years later—who willuse the brow to tame a scolding wife,who gives him vitamins, and forbids himthe second

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-55368249090862708022009-10-14T17:17:00.000-07:002009-10-20T15:52:25.577-07:00

~All of it comes down; the philistinestook the lady's chamber; theybroke the moon with American junk,they snapped Excaliberlike a popsickle stick, crushed Nothunglike a cupcake. Lose the cutlass, losethe weapon, lose the war.This is our dark night.The coughs and sins, the sunken eyesthe battles of an ancient age,the indignity of fear; they allside with the snidenessthat crushes our sad lungs,we

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-46392124502422299052009-10-04T17:49:00.000-07:002009-10-07T07:58:20.270-07:00

JM, LS @ FIDM with student work, 10.6.09...A quiet, quiet day. Subdued and busy at home. Now we're settling into a dinner with John Dory and preparing it Veracruzano style.A few friends today did call to recall what we recall: that October 4 two years ago, Lynn had her surgery and diagnosis. She continues to test well since chemo ended in spring of last year, and all we can do to commemorate

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-49738183635789433832009-09-12T10:40:00.001-07:002009-09-12T11:00:40.283-07:00

~Their families, known for weepy speeches,took short sleep with wristwatches on;they tersely folded dough; now, the glitterof Aeneas, shining on the new landlike a minute of coffee, awes them all;they sour over the athletes who won the gamesand the sisters who lost their names, their frozenvessels, their cracked kraters,their little fissures of ageworn thin around the eyes;worn brittly in the

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-14718803523999162222009-08-16T07:10:00.000-07:002009-08-16T07:16:46.376-07:00

~Coward, do you know the truth?The truth is neither here nor there.The truth is in the heavy air.You said the truth was plasma, like a flameThat briefly flickered in your youth,That flame has forged the sword; now, live the truth.~

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-23142538063475956822009-07-20T15:24:00.000-07:002009-08-16T07:17:10.046-07:00

JM, Sunset on Sunset, Echo Park, 7.20.09The MagicianI knew it would be easier—thisLife here in the clouds—I knewI could open the sunroofAnd let jacaranda blooms fall through—I knewI could catch the purple rainAnd put it in the armrest—I knewI would change the Sunset laneAnd open the moonroof to the dawn—I knewI would say Nothing and she wouldSay Nothing and I knewMy life of pain but not my

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-1957492871166516432009-06-05T11:09:00.000-07:002009-06-05T11:10:43.004-07:00

~Two more poems of mine that originally appeared here earlier this year---The Hanged Man and The Knight of Swords---now also appear in this month's issue of Yareah.The Hanged Man, the Tarot card that also appears in The Waste Land, draws on some images from the Pisan Cantos of Ezra Pound; most notably his noting the birds on telephone wires as similar to musical notes on a staff, but also from

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-2022911377811003322009-05-09T16:28:00.000-07:002009-08-16T07:17:32.903-07:00

~I saw you working onceat Théâtre Odéon.You are from a timeWhen honesty had two edges.You distinguished sin from crime.Pride, envy, lust, greed,Wrath, sloth, and my gluttonyFor pain—all were nothing to you.In your emerald taffeta dress,You won the Furies over—I was redeemed—Then you tiptoed across the island sand,Masked for a ballroom dance.~

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-21023475013033710292009-05-06T14:05:00.001-07:002009-05-06T14:12:18.206-07:00

JM, A swarm of white moths, 5.6.09Both orchids blooming for the third time in nineteen months. Note the promising shoot for fall blooming on the one on the right.

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-84220581405218780372009-04-24T12:37:00.001-07:002009-04-24T12:41:28.769-07:00

JM, Old World, 4.24.09Rather than trivialize the longer efforts, I will be sending out my more artful, more labored, more favored correspondence on stationery going forward.

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-66657465007342161752009-04-09T06:55:00.001-07:002009-08-16T07:17:58.443-07:00

~Searched and seized, The Hanged Man hums,first made mad by the whole wide world. His Tau a good bar for a traitor——The Hanged Man, dangling upside downsees birds on nearby telephone wiresas whole notes on a treble staff; he notes melodic birds prefer mad perches,underpasses, wires to trees.His coins drop to the ground. He humsthe melodies birds perch and chirpon buzzing wires, then falls to

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-31802386814045079962009-03-05T13:54:00.000-08:002009-08-16T07:18:40.810-07:00

I want to know. I willRock the planet. I willProve my love. I willGet the girl in the end.Because I don’t know.I don’t rock.I can’t prove a thing.The girl won’t talk to me.I have a swordAnd one at home.I am always with myLove, she is always with me.I’ve never stabbed a soul.I barely have a home.I don’t know who my love is,I don’t know where I am.I fought for peace.I built the castle.I read the

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-81572088111725692212009-03-01T08:22:00.001-08:002009-03-01T08:23:19.071-08:00

~My poem The Queen of Cups, which originally appeared here, appears this month in the Spanish zine Yareah, and is also online at their site.For March of this year, I drew the Knight of Swords.~

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-62295164387245810762009-02-27T15:11:00.001-08:002009-08-16T22:02:56.816-07:00

~You said: "I'll go to another country, go to another shore,find another city better than this one.Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrongand my heart lies buried like something dead.How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?Wherever I turn, wherever I look,I see the black ruins of my life, here,where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."You won't find a

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-68341735998499498172009-02-25T12:05:00.000-08:002009-08-16T22:05:05.916-07:00

~Where shall the word be found, where will the wordResound? Not here, there is not enough silenceNot on the sea or on the islands, notOn the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,For those who walk in darknessBoth in the day time and in the night timeThe right time and the right place are not hereNo place of grace for those who avoid the faceNo time to rejoice for those who walk among noise

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-39314011370285663462009-02-04T11:38:00.000-08:002009-08-16T07:19:22.063-07:00

~Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,Had a bad cold, neverthelessIs known to be the wisest woman in Europe,With a wicked pack of cards.~~--Eliot, The Waste LandThe wisest woman in Europe, feeling cornered,told me this morning, "The Questionis choosing between waitingfor paint to dryor leaving footprints and making a mess."What makes her so wise?She follows her heart.She is moved by pain.She is

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-46681007377954551832009-01-20T16:49:00.000-08:002009-01-20T17:19:21.525-08:00

~For the first time in my life, the president is younger than me, and likely than you too, if I know my readers.The president does not let onto being a baby boomer, but he is. He won't be fifty, however, until August 4, 2011.It was welcome for him to give a shout out to nonbelievers in his Inaugural; I am almost certain that's the first time that that has been done. It came right after the most

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-19449235173031255352009-01-08T15:11:00.000-08:002009-01-08T15:35:39.971-08:00

JM, The Year of Cups and Swords, 1.7.09And so what were the thirteen cards I drew for the year?January: The Sun.February: The Queen of Cups.March: The Knight of Swords.April: The Hanged Man.May: The Queen of Swords.June: The Knight of Wands.July: The Magician.August: The Ace of Swords.September: The Six of Cups.October: The Nine of Swords.November: The Page of Cups.December: The Three of

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-86262430565479771622009-01-05T16:58:00.000-08:002009-02-04T12:22:35.358-08:00

~Beyond wishes for good health and wonderful living to all, my overriding personal aspiration for 2009 is to publish more fiction, essays, and poems. In that spirit, here's a timely and wild page devoted to some work of mine at Yareah. This new zine, based in Madrid, Spain, publishes work in both Spanish and English.Both poems as well as the short essay originally appeared here at mainbrace.

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-911351268375632912008-12-30T09:50:00.001-08:002008-12-30T09:53:28.091-08:00

JM, fracturedself portrait/Virgil & Santa Monica, 12.29.08

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-10097632995487880862008-12-29T10:15:00.001-08:002008-12-29T12:11:58.713-08:00

~I think families feud at the holidays because the holildays are, as we practice them, largely boring to the point of exasperation. Santa is for children and Jesus has been kidnapped by hillbillies and retailers, leaving little room for actual adults to negotiate their lives in a festive way. Generals look at the holidays as opportune times for bombing.The dull and genderless drama of the family

joseph mailanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17173034143303371790noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721585387951831232.post-40240651702508373332008-12-26T11:59:00.000-08:002008-12-26T12:31:31.502-08:00

JM, Deliciosos Tamales, La Fama, 12.24.08Better. These are better days, hopeful in fact. We had a wonderful crowd yesterday afternoon and evening. I had fun driving around town with a duck in the trunk on Wednesday. We were gifted not one but two sets of tamales from two different neighbors. And there were even more tamales; we learned that we agree with Jonathan Gold: Juanita's tamals are

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