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SEQUENCE:19009304
CREATED:20220302T145400Z
DESCRIPTION:San Francisco authors read from their work. That means you, too. \nSan 
 Francisco located stories given preference. \nMic-less open-mic. 
 \n\nLoose-leaf authors \nscat \nter \nwords in \nthe wind sha \ndow \nof a 
 library \n\n\nRemember Charlie Varon's\n"Ralph Nader is Missing"?\n(In such 
 constructions the question mark goes outside\nThe quotation marks to make 
 the meaning plain.)\n\nWhere's MLK got off to?\nBLM doesn't invoke 
 him.\nNor the King Center, down at Stanford.\nMy God, only the No-vaxxers 
 inveigh,\nWith non-violent resistant practice their hero.\n\nAnd the point, 
 my Droogies,\nIs NATO throws Mig 29s from Poland,\nAnd we cheer tossing 
 Molotov cocktails\nFrom behind our Youtube screens\nJust a pious season 
 since MLK went missing.\n\nThe question mark of our actions stands\nOutside 
 our actions, my friends.\nIt's way past time to find\nMLK.\n\nHere's a 
 recent work read: \n\nBetween the heat and Greta Thunberg lies the whole of 
 America, \nStill romancing road trips \nSky trips \nCheap stuff from Amazon 
 \nAnd a mythos that if only you had the expanse of a continent \nYou'd be 
 as righteous and grand and pious and independent \nAs George Washington, 
 who raped black women to supply his \nSubstitute for fossil fuels \n\n\nAnd 
 another: \n\nJack Hirschman \n\nJack the magnificent translator, \nThe 
 charge d'affaire of North Beach plump words to the world, \nDrank his 
 Stalinovich vodka with a bobbing scoop of ice cream, \nThen took to the air 
 waves with a little murmur, \nTrailing Italian and Spanish rime into the 
 brisk begotten vaporous sky above Coit Tower. \n\nI hosted him once, \nHe 
 and four others; \nPaid them car fare to Bernal. \n\nAnd now? \nHis slushy 
 pronunshiation \nWon't fit into a single poem or eulogy, \nBut comes 
 spilling out the alleys and cracked windows \nOf the little town smelling 
 of focaccia if you wake early enough. \nAye, North Beach. \nAye, aye, Jack 
 Hirschman. \nYou've escaped the neighborhood and gone on tour. \n\nAnd one 
 more: \n\nLet Sleeping Dogs Lie \n\nThe neat, sweet, and big as life 
 stenciled stick-on film \nAdheres to windows beautifully: \nBlack \nLives 
 \nMatter \n\nYet when I wonder out loud, \n"Enough to end the private 
 ownership of the Earth?" \nThe shushing begins. \n\nI guess if you peel 
 that lettering on film off your window \nThere's no need to feel like a dog 
 in heat, \nHumping everybody's morality trousers \n\nAnd you can go back to 
 backing Trump \nBy default as he collects the ground rent \nat 500 
 California Street. \n\n\nNo, no, really; just one more: \n\nSPRAWL \n\nYou, 
 know, even in San Francisco \nWhere the fog clogs the valleys \nAnd cars 
 gum up the streets, \nThere are plenty of vacancies \nObscuring the view 
 that we could have. \n\nThe Ohlone landscape you can fantasize \nOf scrub 
 and sand and rock \nOnly needs the natives--all of 'em: \nEverybody 
 sporting a Giants cap or jersey-- \nTo embrace the free market pricing 
 \n"We are on indigenous land" belly-ache-ers \nAnd righteous do-gooders 
 abhor, \nApply it to land as though Occupy San Francisco \nMeant the land 
 was ours, \nAnd demand the titled landowners \nFork the location rent over. 
 \nThat's what it means to eat the rich on their own tines. \nThat, kiddies, 
 would obliterate land speculation \nAnd give open space scrub and sand and 
 rock \nA kick in the Ramaytush. \n\nand how 'bout one for this week? 
 \n\n\nAmnesia \n\nGive me Columbus Day sans the Indians, \nSans the 
 free-loaders, sans the socialists, \nSans the bison, sans the snail darter, 
 \nSans the carrier pigeon, sans Bears Ears, \nSans the whole of the 
 Americas. \n\nGive me Columbus Day with \nOnly the Atlantic, grey and vast, 
 \nOr blue and green and vast, \nWith impossibly beautiful blond highlights 
 at \nStart and end of day, \nLuring the dauntless voyager \nTo China and 
 India \nAnd nothing, absolutely nothing in between. \n\nAnd from a short 
 while ago: \n\nPore over and pour out the poor. \nAnother study, please! 
 \nGrab some data off the "net." \nConvene a panel. \nConceive a syllabus: 
 \nList a course . . . Poverty 302, meets \nIn McClellan Hall, Room 
 407,Thursday afternoons. \n\nOr, in a fit of pique at the dawdle: \nTax the 
 rich, \nEat the rich, \nBuild houses, buildings, \nSkyscrapers to the stars 
 \nFilled with running water and \nMicrowavable food, plus organic 
 \nVegetables. \n\nBut whatever \nWhatever \nwhatever you do, \nDon't simply 
 earnestly behave like the soil out of which they were formed was every bit 
 theirs as yours. \n\n\nFrom this past weekend: \n\nSabbath in San Francisco 
 \n(At Civic Center upon seeing the city's homeless village adjacent the 
 Main Library, and then viewing a City Hall steps rally by Sudanese in favor 
 of restoration of civilian government in Sudan) \n\nOn the other side of 
 Jordan \nLies the promised land-- \nJehovah said so-- \n\nFor the Sudanese 
 lost boys, \nFor Aunt Midge, \nFor the vets \nOf wars and the streets \nOf 
 CRT denial \nOf the puny property tax on land. \n\nOn the other side of Van 
 Ness \nLies the opera house and Herbst Auditorium \nWhere the UN was born 
 \n\nFor the healing of the nations, \nFor the deconstruction of colonialism 
 \nFor the slow travail of one earth, one people. \n\nOn the other side of 
 your life \nLies your body, aching for return, with the \nWords of Natalie 
 Merchant and Phil Ochs in mind: \n\n"Which side are you on?" \nand \n"I 
 guess I'll have to do it while I'm here." \n\n\nANOTHER: \n\nThe barber's 
 in; \nBuildings--even the hills!--have lost their tops \nIn fog, mist, and 
 settled clouds \n\nAND YET A WEE 'NOTHER: \n\nChuck that, Chuck \n\nThere's 
 the sonnet sonatina, \nFine in form branding high culture, \nAnalogous, I 
 say, to the pomp \nOf academia and place \nHeld in esteem by voter's 
 choice, \nSelected for a blue-ribbon \nCommittee studying the faults \nOf 
 you and me--hapless it seems-- \nTo give to them what it takes for \nThe 
 poor to ride the bus for free \nWith dignity, without crashing \nThe fare 
 gate. I prefer a snort \nAnd a simple communism \nOf the land rent, thank 
 you kindly. \n\nRESTAURANT WORKERS ON A SMOKE BEFORE THE FOODIES CONVERGE 
 ON UNITED DUMPLINGS \n\nWhat good's a smoke without fire? \nThe Prince of 
 Dumplings steps to the corner, \nSucks a hint just a shake from the door, 
 \nChecks his pants and shirt for a match, a Bic, \nHell! a flint he could 
 strike on the sign pole, \nFumbles, despairs, steps back inside, \nThen 
 exits with the whole crew \nWho share a flame and nothing worse, really, 
 \nThan the 5G radiation the clientele walk in with. \n\nLooking south, the 
 big blue tank stands high atop McLaren Park, \nPerched like a fat minaret 
 or a medieval watchtower \nCalling to submission or standing standing 
 guard, \nSilhouetted by near evening's burning haze; \nAnd th city, with 
 nothing worse than a few car break-ins and a racist epithet \nSteps back 
 inside for pork buns and sweet bean paste, \nWaiting, very patiently, for a 
 spark. \n\n\nTHE "MONSTER IN THE MISSION" 's LAND TRADED TO BUILD A 100% 
 MARKET RATE TOWER SIX BLOCKS AWAY \n\nBlock by block, \nStreet by street, 
 \nMan by man, \nWoman by woman: \nApartheid; \nAll over here, \nY'all over 
 there. \n\nOnly the universe \nBeyond \nEscape velocity \nUnites us, as on 
 a \nPlantation, overseer \nAnd field hand \nUnder the sheen of heaven, 
 \nManning the gun 'against God's \nReckoning E.T. return. \n\nY'all won't 
 make The Man pay \nFor his forty acres year after year, \nSo he cuts you 
 ten, keeps his thirty, \nAnd slinks back to his bougie ghetto campus, 
 writing \nThe ten off as charity, \nWhile Y'all, high on the low rent 
 filched from \nPocket-bled collards and millennials, \nStew in the ant hive 
 they built for you. \n\nI TAKE TIME TO IMAGINE MY FUTURE \n\nNear 20th and 
 Alabama \nThere’s supposed to be a live performance art program, \nBut 
 once I arrive, the word is it’s virtual… \nAnd Eventbrite won’t 
 recognize my password, \nAnd though the program’s free, \nAn hour’s 
 gone; \nMy life an hour shorter, \nAn hour nearer being virtual; \nThat’s 
 why I write, record an iPod, paint the walls so \nSomething’s there when 
 I’m not. \n\nIn the parklet a kind colleague of Camilla treats her to a 
 goodbye tea and bagel \nAs she departs curating employees at a graphic arts 
 outfit; \nMeanwhile, twelve disciples of the food bank pass, \nPushing 
 laundry carts full of pintos and arroz, \n\nSo what’s going on? \nWho’s 
 growing almuerzo? What’s unseen that’s real that lunch goes on? \nThat 
 out of the earth tendrils, blooms, and harvest? \n\nThe solace, then, is 
 \nWhen I’m gone—and you too— \nWe’ll be back, on a plate, \nOut of 
 the earth, \nReal, real time, with every bite. \n 
 https://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2022/03/02/18848329.php
SUMMARY:Bernal Litterati [sic]
LOCATION:outdoor amphitheater at the corner of Cortland and Moultrie\nnear the 
 Bernal Branch library\n500 Cortland Avenue\nSan Francisco
URL:https://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2022/03/02/18848329.php
DTSTART:20220303T010000Z
DTEND:20220303T020000Z
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