Part 3 of 4 Tuschen wrote: Andrea Musher was named Madison’s second Poet Laureate by then Mayor Sue Bauman in November 2000. Hardly a “laurel sitter,” we will continue to benefit from her spirited activism as a Laureate through November 2004. Ms. Musher is also a professor in the English Department at UW- Whitewater... - JT Andrea replies in 2016: In 2011, after 26 years of teaching English and Women’s Studies at UW- Whitewater, I retired, but I find that there’s no time to sit on my emeri-tusch. 66 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Oct 23 - Nov 5, 2003 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Vol.2, #4 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Losing Daylight How should I save or spend my dwindling days' light? What graces autumn's edge on winter? There is a lesson, surely, in what Miranda told me of Marco's death. Marco, who years ago drove us to distraction driving us in his VW Bus to all those anti-war rallies, who died a mensch though he could never hold down a steady job as he helped raise a stepdaughter who would never forgive him for not being her real father. Marco, the Polish borli-poet sucked life's pulpy mango to the slippery hard pit, teeth rapping against white juicy bone not letting sleeping dogs lie knowing how close he had come to those Nazi ovens. He was born at war's end to a mother who looked passingly un Jewish. Devouring the English language, in his exile's life-it was his fifth and first mother tongue after Polish, Yiddish, French and Hebrew- he didn't know what a waist was, could not reassure his •girl friend that she had one though he tapped out the tapioca tango and the Baba au Rum Rhumba 'till the coffee cups danced and his big dog spun in circles on the kitchen linoleum. He dog-eared my books, left cigarette stubs everywhere, argued politics and poetry loud enough to wake the living, resisted any man's army in letter after painfully drafted letter to his draft board though he still died too young (fifty no longer seems old) be did not deny the course of bis ravening cancer let those who would, say good bye, laid out bis desk.like a poem with messages and metaphors about how to mourn and celebrate his passing. He is somewhere teaching us to look death in the eye even though he says it's all right to wink for now. Andrea Musher Copyright 2003 Tuschen wrote in 2003: John Lehman's newest book is a biography of Wisconsin poet Lorine Niedecker (1903 – 1970) entitled America's Greatest Unknown Poet (Zelda Wilde Publishing). He is also the founder of Rosebud, a nationally respected magazine, the poetry editor of the Wisconsin Academy Review, and the person responsible for the annual Wisconsin Academy Review John Lehman poetry award. Finally, he's a wonderful human being, a fine presenter of his work and – John is probably the only SSPS contributor with that much “Wisconsin” on his boots... - JT 68 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Nov 6 - Nov 19, 2003 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen A Chinese Puzzle Vol.2,#5 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" My first wife was artistic, self-assured and short, the second is slender, more spontaneous and warm, but over time some of their traits have converged, or is it me whose myopic vision sees all things one peculiar way? Perhaps at different ages I had wanted different lives-"young man lacking confidence seeks articulate voice" became "failing businessman desires a sweet embrace." But, that's unfair to both. I am more like someone eating take-out food by himself who's been given two fortune cookies, instead of one. "You will succeed beyond your wildest dreams," says the first while the other warns that "All things are subject to a drastic change." Does this mean I'll find success and give it up, or that happiness is just a u-turn away? The answer is as puzzling as two women, so different, who I've loved or the sun shining in the rain. John Lehman ©2003 Tuschen wrote in 2003: Poet Suni Caylor was an active participant in the “Yopackian Renaissance” that took place in the early ’70’s on the near-east side of Madison. Gallery 853, MAMA, Chid , art exhibits, poetry readings, and the seeds of the Willy Street Fair - all flourished in those heady years under the grand, anarchistic tutelage of Danny Yopack (oh wait - I’m quoting from my upcoming book here - sorry). Anyway, Ms Caylor was there. She left a pamphlet of poems, Midnight Blue, and many irreversible memories. She is currently living, writing in Michigan, and aiding her ailing mother. She is missed... - JT The Editor adds: Suni is a poet now living in Madison, WI. She discusses the Williamson Street neighborhood and John Tuschen, Madison’s first Poet Laureate, in the interview in 4 parts from “History of the Arts on Willy Street in the 70’s” on youtube: 1)“Art on Willy St changed the perception of daily life.” 2)“All the artists I knew were driven to make their art.” 3)“We practiced giving up fear.” and 4)“He had the most beautiful butt I had ever seen.” 70 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Nov 20 - Dec 3, 2003 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen The Real Quantum Physics And how do these feelings fly faster than an ion stream into the brick wall of the future, past the next calvary, into the firestorm of passionate atoms even now pulling apart yet still configured in the zero point of what always has been? Vol. 2, #6 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Nothing has happened that isn't already happening. No tears ever falling into arid darkness but into the sea that has already washed away the sacrifice; this sacrifice, not like any other, yet always the same one, breaking the same heart bursting at the speed of light, not quite fast enough to escape the pull of calvary, and always, always remembered by the atoms that only exist when they are seen. Suni Caylor ©2003 Tuschen wrote in 2003: Mary Grow is a Cultural Anthropologist. She writes ethnographic poetry, influenced by the many places she has lived. In the mid-70s she maintained a weaving studio in Greece. This was during that perilous and purgative time of the military junta and Ghika’s House is descriptive of that era. Ms. Grow, as an artist and writer, anthropologist, friend and mother, carries with her a deep compassion for fellow human beings - in a true Buddhist sense. Recently returned from Southern France with her husband, Jean Marc, Ms. Grow will be a wonderful (re)addition to the local literary scene... JT 72 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Dec 4 - Deel 7, 2003 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Vol. 2,#7 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Ghika's House 1974 - Greece Ghika's house rises out of the dark charred walls of deserted stone, haunting the edge of a quiet field. As moonlit windows vault to the sky, this painter's cathedral casts memory to the wind. Gone are the divas with the lavender eyes, their perfume now tangled in vines of wisteria draping the door. Their laughter is silent, sealed in the cracks that mark each room. Artists and writers have all disappeared, banished by fascists who have ransacked this house. They have fled in despair to far off lands, tortured with grief as they patiently wait. Scorpions now scurry from stone to stone, silently guarding the sec.rets of hope. Beauty is lethal as it gathers dust and nests in the corners of tumbled remains. In the courtyard, beneath the stars, the cypress grow. Tonight, these trees that remember the missing and the dead sway mournfully on the wind of change. Mary Grow @2003 You can hear Tuschen reading his poem Uncle Harry’s Tombstone by going to Vimeo.com or Youtube.com, typing in Jordan T. Caylor and clicking on Uncle Harry’s Tombstone. As he often said, the poem is in the hearing and hearing him read is an experience all to itself. Editor. 74 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Mar 4- Mar 17, 2004 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Finally Meeting Neruda (in a dream, real as blue dust) lam rich! I have clicked my silver spurs thru the blue dust of the Neruda moon. I have curled among the trappings of truth - whispered blade sharp thru Whitman's leaves of grass. I have lain warm-wrapped and naked on the tongue of the Blakean sun - and I need go no further into this galaxy- misunderstood by Philistines, crusaders and the New York Mets. I am nothing now - nothing but rich, blue dust - sparkling and radiant, filtering through the dead American night. Vol. 2, #8 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Three Poems Trying To Catch Some Sleep In The Cement Vortex Of America's Vast Interstate Highway System Outside Jersey City One Night In 1967 When The Moon Was Hard And The Rain Was Pounding And Joey Just Kept Laughing Damn, Damn Itwas cold. Damn ... When The Night Wanders When the night wanders across the machinery of the dead, your gaze, though far and tremulous, is home to me. I sense your passion - you twitched when you said, "There is beauty in vision - there is beauty in those who have bled." John Tuschen ©200i Tuschen wrote in 2004: My bet is there aren’t a lot of Assistant Attorneys General writing poetry. Perhaps you know the type: verbose, semantic, driven folks but with original and deftly penned sonnets, sestinas and/or free verse mixed among their briefs as they swarm around the Capital Building. Well, introducing herein - Mark E. Smith. Sure, he’s retired from law now but but not from literature, working part-time in both a used bookstore AND a wine shop (ah, the life!). He continues writing “poems based on truth” as evidenced by the piece published here. Thank you, and have a great day! - JT Mark E. Smith 76 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Mar 18 - Mar 31, 2004 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Recycled I had a blue suit - Left high school In its padded shoulders, Wore it through College. It hung out Of style At home in dad's closet Until he let it out, Wore it awhile. Suddenly, Grandpa had no suit For his viewing. So it led a long life - In on a boy, Gone on a little man Of eighty-eight. Now he wears it everyday, ''Wore it out" My dad would say. Vol.2,#9 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Mark E. Smith ©2004 Tuschen wrote in 2004: John Lehman, I've stated here before, has more Wisconsin on his boots than any writer I know and to quote a felon, “It’s a good thing.” Personally, I think John and Richard Brautigan were trout fishing somewhere in Northern California in the mid 60s, John fell in and somehow floated out here to do some wonderful things. I am more than happy he made it. Google his name for more info... thank you, and have a great day! - JT 78 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET April 1 • April 14, 2004 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Journey's End Simplicity you had engraved within my wedding ring. Now I keep it on my desk in a box made of tin. Art of Reconciliation Vol. 2, #10 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" After my wife left me, and then returned, I wrote a one-act play about it, which we performed on a Sunday afternoon at the local bookstore. She, as the "repentant spouse," me, a "cocky but forgiving god." Later that evening, she rammed my car through the back end of our new garage. Men Still Like The Smell of Fresh, Clean Clothes My dead parents drive by our house. They see their youngest child, now a gray-haired man with an aching toe, mowing the lawn. "He still doesn't do a very careful job," my mother notes. "Let it go," my father grumbles, more impressed by my young second wife hanging out a washing of clothes. John Lehman ©2004 Mary L. Grow is a cultural anthropologist whose ethnographies have appeared in Asian Theatre Journal, Journal of the Siam Society, and Yale University Press, among others. An intrepid traveler, poetry has been her companion during many years of fieldwork. Mary maintained a friendship with Tuschen for over 30 years and often participated in his poetry readings. Her favorite poets include Kenneth Rexroth and Blaise Cendrars. Mary’s poetry and short stories have appeared in Gargoyle, Dalhousie Review, and Rosebud. Also the author of two children’s books, ‘Chester Meets The Walker House Ghost’ and ‘Chester & The Mystery of the Tilted World,’ Mary shares a creative life with artist and illustrator, Jean-Marc Richel. She currently lives in the Pojoaque Valley, outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Contact: growml@gmail.com. Tuschen wrote in 2004: Dr. Mary Grow, poet, anthropologist, teacher has lived in southeast Asia, Greece, France and Mineral Point. Ms. Grow and her husband, Jean Marc, are back in Madison probably wondering – “why?” Anyway, thank you for reading/thinking and remembering the wonderful sponsors who literally "backup" the State Street Poetry Sheet. Oh, by the way – have a great day... JT 80 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET April 15 -April 28, 2004 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Vietnam 1968 Wrapped in bamboo, spirits from north and south float through an emerald sky scanning the craters below. Scars tear this land where rice and rain Vol.2,#11 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" plant the peasant's foot in the earth of hope. Ancestors remember. They do not forget. Their incense coils into black clouds thundering toxic streaks. Flames scorch the thatch of village homes. Idyllic in construction. Exotic in demise. Martyrs with purpose torch their liberation. Melting desire in a saffron robe. Begging bowls empty, their dharma complete, ashes sweep the wind with cinders of shame. As rusted steel collapses into tracks of time, joining white bones littering the fields, ghosts silently weep in this de-humanized, de-militarized zone. Mary Grow 102004 Tuschen wrote in 2004: The State Street Poetry Sheet can hardly let April (the national “Poetry Month”) slip by without publishing a poem by Andrea Musher, Madison’s Poet Laureate. Thank you for reading and have a great day! _ JT 82 PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET April 29 - May 12, 2004 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Vol.2,#12 "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Milk and Honey I wept for beauty when I was 20 standing in the Rijksmuseum In Amsterdam there is a woman timeless, glowing, pouring milk from a pitcher pouring liquid, pouring light. She wears something yellow, something blue a cap on her head And the light coming in through the window just above like blessing like beauty like healing like hope like light--though it is paint. There is no reproducing that Vermeer its glow its life so much rounder than what we walk around each day more precious than the morning light we waste wishing we could sleep more write sing love more than we do in our moments of waking to doing what is expected instead of what we are called to when we stand weeping for beauty in front of a painting that is not political --though its preservation and presentation is- whose meaning is the illusion it creates of understanding beauty, the timeless, the real She stood by the window She poured milk from a pitcher It was a picture in a museum a cupboard opening in the heart the ache of feeling understood the ache of longing for the touch beyond touch Where is this place withheld that I would enter? At 20 I wept for beauty At 40 beauty is the deep hold of memory: Light honeying the pitcher of milk Me all unused to the world Andrea Musher ©2004 F.J. Bergman appears once again in the State Street Poetry Sheet. She is, of course, the “Bringer of Storms and Space Lord Mother” with the deceptive haircut (but I’m sure you already knew that) and the author of Sauce Robert, published under the pen name of “Easter Cathay.” The shadowy Ms. Bergman is also the guiding force behind a wonderful and invaluable website “The Home of Mad Poetry” www.madpoetry.org. This galactic site has information on Madison poets, readings, contests, awards and links to the national scene. Now concerning the last issue of SSPS - issue #12 - it was printed as #11. My staff here at SSPS is admittedly overworked and underpaid. Mistakes are bound to happen. Sorry. Anyway, thank you for reading and have a great day! - JT Editor, 2016: We fixed the problem, no problem. 84