Showing posts with label dead poets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dead poets. Show all posts

Saturday, March 6, 2021

Remembering Ben Rader (1947-2021)

I met Ben Rader for the first time at a reading Larry Smith hosted at Joe Sundae's in Sandusky in 2008. I immediately liked him. Since then, I've run into him at probably a hundred open mic venues across the state including right here in Cleveland, where he was born, and it was always good to hear and talk with and learn from him. Ben was known as a master of the haiku form, but was accomplished in a wide array of other poetic forms as well. And he was always generous with his time and knowledge. 

Here is a brief clip I recorded of Ben on the occasion of our first meeting:

https://youtu.be/hnk5j2r1IHk

Sadly, Ben passed away near the end of February following a battle with Covid-19. Our deepest condolences go out to his wife Willa and the rest of his family and everyone who loved him.

A celebration of Ben's life will be held from 2 to 4 p.m. on Sunday, March 7, 2021 at the Norwalk Masonic Hall, 319 E. Main St, Norwalk, OH 44857.

Read his obituary in the Norwalk Reflector: https://norwalkreflector.com/news/306098/bennett-james-rader/.

And here's one more short clip from that day in Sandusky:

https://youtu.be/6Y4-oe4PRaw

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Late Great Cleveland: Langston Hughes


The Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes (1/1/1902 - 5/22/1967)


I've known rivers

I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than
the flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathe in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.


My soul has grown deep like the rivers.



* * * * *

"The Negro Speaks of Rivers" was first published in the
June 1921 issue of Crisis magazine, published by the NAACP.

Langston Hughes' biography & bibliography are available here.

Every Hughes poem in the public domain is online here.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Late Great Cleveland: Hart Crane


Garden Abstract
by Hart Crane (7/21/1899 - 4/27/1932)

The apple on its bough is her desire,—
Shining suspension, mimic of the sun.
The bough has caught her breath up, and her voice,
Dumbly articulate in the slant and rise
Of branch on branch above her, blurs her eyes.
She is prisoner of the tree and its green fingers.

And so she comes to dream herself the tree,
The wind possessing her, weaving her young veins,
Holding her to the sky and its quick blue,
Drowning the fever of her hands in sunlight.
She has no memory, nor fear, nor hope
Beyond the grass and shadows at her feet.


* * * * *

"Garden Abstract" was composed and first published in 1920,
then collected in Crane's White Buildings [Boni & Liveright, 1926].

Hart Crane's biography & bibliography are available here.

Every Crane poem in the public domain is online here.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Late Great Cleveland: d.a. levy


the wandering white
by d.a. levy (10/29/1942 - 11/24/1968)


Tulips burst their languid lips
Riveras Lenin leaps up to world chaos of fresco
shattering HAMMERS
Sombre ugly tongue of protest

if it is too tired to yell
or put it down on paper
slap it in the coughing crib
or laugh it silently
who hears it anyway?
except snakes rippling knives of grass

the blasphemy of your necessity
nigger - jew - faggot - wop
indian squaw we conned the country from your innocence
raped you with cut glass and catholic beads

We Learned So Fast
We Forget The Weight
Of Lions Eyes

Spic don't lay my sister
Chink dont poison my eggroll
Brother dont look me face to face
the color never washes out but the HATE of it IS
ivy entwining limestone
CRUMBLES

of our death
We Learned So Fast
to forget the scars

We are only clouds that darken
and rains of suffering on ourselves
cast urgent shadows in our paths
we pile our precious gems
they SPARKLE - reflect a melange of
color in the sand our dreams wash
away with the brutal surf
we understand yet
Build Our Dams anyway

We Learned So Fast
We Forgot The Weight
Of Lions Eyes


* * * * *

taken from ukanhavyrfuckinciti bak
originally collected and edited by rjs and
published by t.l. kryss, GHOST PRESS CLEVELAND, 1967

For more levy, visit http://www.clevelandmemory.org/levy

*

Cited...

The poet doesn't invent. He listens. ~Jean Cocteau