Saturday, January 24, 2009

New Poems By Doug Draime Part 1

In this editors humble opinion Doug Draime is one of the most important voices in underground literature today. His poems are refreshing, entertaining, and address what is really going on. Enjoy!-MDG

Doug Draime first emerged in the 'underground' literary movement in the late 1960's, in Los Angeles. Most recent books are: "Los Angeles Terminal: Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press) and "Bones" (Kendra Steiner Editions). Forthcoming are,"Transmissions From The Underground" (d/e/a/d/b/e/a/t/ press) and "Farrago Soup" (Coatlism Press). His diverse range of writing, including: poems, short stories and plays, continue to appear in publications worldwide. He moved to the foothills of Oregon in 1981, where he still resides.

You Might As Well Dance Till The Fat Lady Sings

Tune in to the tuned out
Turn on to the turned off
It doesn’t Matter
Anyway you work it
You can’t please ‘em all
Who cares if you’ve written
40, 000 poems
Blind folded in a deep dark pit
Though you may be the
Last poet standing
Some poet-ego-enfant terrible
Will come along & bomb
You when you least expect it
All you can do is keep on keep on
Pounding those keys like freedom

Tune in to the tuned out
Turn on with the turned on
It can’t Matter
Anyhow you work it
You can only please yourself
Who cares if you’ve written
100, 000 poems
Blind folded in a pig stye
Though chances are you are the
Last real poet standing
Some poet-ego-enfant terrible
Will come down the road & shoot
You when you have your back turned
All you can do is keep on keeping on
Pounding those keys like freedom ringing

Tune out to the tuned in
Turn off to the turned on
It don’t Matter
Any time you work it
You can only please the moment
Who cares if you’ve written
420, 000 poems
Blind folded in a vat of pointlessness
Though the fact is you are the
Last poet with balls standing
Some poet-ego-enfant-terrible
Will stick the blade repeatingly into
You just as everything seems to be falling into place
All you must do is keep writing the truth as you see it.
Pounding those keys like freedom singing


Blazing Sun

What good is a poet
who cannot dig a ditch

What purpose is a poem
that is not a blazing sun

What value is art
that does not rage at war

What importance is love
that is not fearless spirit


When Rock n’ Roll Was A Teenager

When rock n’ roll was a teenager,
Great Balls Of Fire
was throwing punches
at a man twice its age
on a gravel parking lot in
Westport, Illinois,
laughing and drinking Jim Beam
straight from
the bottle,
between ducks and jabs.

When rock n’ roll was a teenager,
Heartbreak Hotel
had its finger up the local car hop
after she closed down A&W for the night,
her hand around its hard dick,
pumping it slowly,
in the back seat at the drive-in movie,
Marlon Brando
in the Wild Ones
on the screen.

When rock n’ roll was a teenager,
Only The Lonely
was in the county jail locked up for
drunk and disorderly, reading
Tropic of Cancer and writing poems
of sex, rage, and revolution,
trying to conceive a way
to escape from jail by taking its own life,
but, oh, we all know, rock n’ roll
can never/will never die!

Part 2 coming up in a few days!-MDG

Thursday, January 8, 2009

"AUT" and have done: Travis Johnson, St. Augustine; Kali, Philadelphia

North Florida : St. Augustine mixed media shaker and mover, TRAVIS JOHNSON reminded the ULA's FDW at one point that HP Lovecraft spent some quality writing time in the Ancient City and for good reason.
Well it all begins to fall into place, doesn't it.
This amazing creative livelihood reflected in Travis' performing in big experimental "noise" music projects in mostly underground outlets cooperatively and independently, his organizing and hosting the notorious
WEIRD FILM SOCIETY FESTIVAL OF ST. AUGUSTINE, his genuinely surreal verse of an accomplished degree, and especially amazing textured paintings, found object bricolage and constructions, goes without saying, yet at the same time crazy grace under pressure from a right wing privileged Jim Crow contempt from the vested interests of law enforcement and commerce in America's oldest city.

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From Philadelphia's West Bank, its cold flats, squatter strongholds, newly rehabbed tenements expensively falling down under the weight of corrupt utility company monopolies and red- line Immanencies find below samples of the experimental socio-real expressionist "autiste"
KALI MILES CLARK. A self determined alchemist and gypsy wanderer haling from the crossroads of the Great Smokey Mountains... she is currently showing her work at the Satellite Coffee House at 50th and Baltimore much of which incorporates encaustic, hot organic bees wax techniques where found substances are suspended and applied to photographs that have the general effect of illuminating the arte-fact...