tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46805787635008915762024-03-13T13:30:31.234-07:00Yardhogyardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.comBlogger175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-59187576837921733912015-06-27T11:26:00.001-07:002015-06-27T11:26:13.369-07:00GOODS<br />
<br />
It's the immemorial feelings<br />
I like the best: hunger, thirst,<br />
their satisfaction; world weariness,<br />
earned rest, the falling again <br />
from loneliness to love;<br />
the green growth the mind takes<br />
from the pastures in March;<br />
the gayety in the stride <br />
of a good team of Belgian mares <br />
that seems to shudder from me<br />
through all my ancestry,<br />
<br />
.Wendell Berryyardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-76601113159958951792013-03-24T04:11:00.000-07:002013-03-24T04:11:06.095-07:00GINSBERG HOWLS AGAINThe noon day sun shone through a skylight in the back room of the newly opened "Twice Told Coffee House" on Bardstown Road near a new clothes shop called "Grateful Threads." Two more of our city's recent tips of the hat to Bohemian culture.<br />
<br />
A sunbeam bounced off walls covered with enlarged book covers of titles like "Dharma Bums," by Beat generation icon Jack Kerouac, and a drawing of William Burroughs, the author of "Naked Lunch." Then it landed directly on the bald, bespectacled head of Allen Ginsberg, the poet largely responsible for the literary movement that spawned those books and writers.<br />
<br />
In Louisville for the first time, as the guest of U of L's "Thinker Review," the author of the revolutionary "Howl" and over 30 other books sat surrounded by about a dozen admirers, including his "Thinker" hosts, who invited him to teach and recite at the college.<br />
<br />
It was part of a "literary explosion" that "Thinker' editors Ron Whitehead and Kent Fielding say is going on in the Louisville area.<br />
<br />
As Ginsberg a vegetarian meal of beans and rice, a choice necessitated by his diabetes and recent heart failure, Ginsberg, a long time human rights activist, talked about censorship, politics and the state of the world.<br />
<br />
"It seems like the fundamentalists and neo-conservatives are trying to reimpose some kind of Stalinist mind control," he said. "They use the same language in attacking what they call corrupt art or dirty art or individualistic art."<br />
<br />
<b>What motivates people like Helms?</b><br />
<br />
"I think it's some kind of authoritarian impulse. They just want to be mind dictators. Jesse Helms is always talking about homosexuals. He's obsessed with the subject. He's always waving dirty pictures around. His relation to the gay scene is that he wants to be the dominator, the sadist...humiliating the passive partner. So he's the pervert."<br />
<br />
<b>What about the Republican party, Dan Quayle and their stance on family values?</b><br />
<br />
"Quayle is a prig and a draft dodger. Phyllis Schlafly's son is gay. Ronald Reagan's son his gay. The Reagans hardly ever went to church unless it was politically obvious and expedient. When George Bush was head of he CIA, he payed off Noriega knowing full well he was a drug dealer. So the whole family values thing is just hype, a con, a scam."<br />
<br />
<b>If these politicians are so bad, why did the American people put them in office?</b><br />
<br />
"Most everybody gets their information from television. And at this point, most public media is owned by 20 or 30 people. So it's like an oligarchy that's really determining what's emphasized in the news."<br />
<br />
<b>Do you think that people at the university level realize what's going on?</b><br />
<br />
"Yeah, I think so. I think that everybody knows it. And there may be a reaction with Bill Clinton. But I don't think Clinton is going to be much of an improvement except on the culture front. Reagan and Bush have dug the United States into such an economic hole, I don't think we are ever going to get out of it. We're going to lose the planet in the next 100 or 200 years anyway."<br />
<br />
<b>Only a hundred years left?</b><br />
<br />
"A couple hundred. I don't think there is going to be an explosion or an apocalypse. I think just a slow, sluggish gridlock. A Chernobyl here, a hurricane there, an ozone hole here or a weather change there."<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>Any advice for young people today?</b><br />
<br />
"It depends on what field they are in. If they want to be scientists, I'd say try and help to find some clean energy substance. Besides over population, I think the use of fossil fuel is our biggest problem."<br />
<br />
<b>What about the liberal arts? Are people going to be reading anymore or writing books? Is poetry still going to be important?</b><br />
<br />
"Yeah, sure. When they pull the electric plug there will still be books. And when the books rot or the libraries lose their lights, the only thing that will be left are singers like Robert Johnson and Bob Dylan. And they'll be considered the great poets because they will be stuck in memory."<br />
<b> </b><br />
So saying, Ginsberg scrawled a token of his appreciation, a symbolic sketch of a goddess figure surrounded by a circle representing the life cycle. At the bottom he drew a skull.<br />
<br />
"Existence contains suffering," quoth a departing Ginsberg.<br />
<br />
"So if you're not afraid of suffering, you can be happy. If you are afraid of suffering, then you are going to surround yourself with chemicals, TV sets, skyscrapers and atom bombs and make it worse."<br />
<br />
<b>by Danny O'Bryan</b><br />
<br />
<b>The Louisville Eccentric Observer (LEO) magazine</b><br />
<b>10/8/92 </b><br />
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<br />yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-72160702811773670822013-03-18T06:17:00.002-07:002013-03-18T06:21:58.321-07:00Danny O'Bryan's Louisville Jazz BlogLouisville jazzman Mike Tracey is always teaching it or playing it<br />
<br />
Remember the old 1950s stereotype of a jazz musician?<br />
<br />
He was the guy who hung out in bars getting strung out on a reefer - or worse - while playing his instrument, usually a saxophone, and grooving to its sensuous, sinful sounds.<br />
<br />
Over the last 20 years, that hedonistic image has been shattered by a new breed of jazzmen (and women) who have been coming out of the nation’s colleges and music schools with a serious and dedicated commitment to their art.<br />
<br />
A case in point is saxophonist Mike Tracy, 33, who is now appearing with the jazz band Chameleon at Howard Johnson’s Greenstreet Tavern, 100 E. Jefferson St. <br />
Tracy, unlike the 50s stereotype, neither smokes nor drinks, and his goal in life is to ‘become a better person.” He hopes to achieve his goal through playing jazz.<br />
<br />
Tracy, who holds a bachelor’s degree from the University of Louisville’s School of Music, has been playing jazz and teaching jazz theory in local high schools and colleges for more than 10 years. Besides being an artist in residence for the Jefferson County School system, Tracy is teaching jazz classes at both the University of Louisville and the University of Kentucky.<br />
<br />
And he does this while holding down a four-night-a-week gig at the Greenstreet Tavern.<br />
<br />
Tracy said his love of music developed early in life. “When I was a kid, my parents kept the stereo on all the time the way most people do the television. We listened to all kinds of music, from classical to big bands.”<br />
<br />
When he was in the fourth grade, Tracy began playing the saxophone. Later, while he was attending Seneca High School, he played in a number of all-state and all-county bands, plus stage bands.<br />
<br />
But it wasn’t until 1970 when he was a student at the University of Louisville School of Music that his jazz mania began. That year he met his mentor, New Albany jazz educator Jamey Aebersold, who was then teaching at U of L.<br />
<br />
“Before I met Jamey, I never really thought about jazz and improvising - but after we met, I knew that’s what I wanted to do,” he said.<br />
<br />
In 1974, when Tracy graduated from college, Aebersold quit teaching full time in order to devote more time to his mail order record business. “I thought that was a perfect opportunity for me to jump in and start teaching because Jamey and I are a lot alike. We both like to teach jazz and be around young people,” he said.<br />
<br />
Tracey said a lot of people have made comparisons between him and Aebersold because they are both thin and have a lot of energy. “But basically we just enjoy doing the same things. I enjoy giving and getting from my students. And I was fortunate that Jamey saw something in me that he could use,” Tracey said.<br />
<br />
Over the last ten years, Tracey has traveled to Nova Scotia, New Zealand and Europe teaching at Aebersold’s jazz camps. “It’s been great and I’ve learned a lot and had the opportunity to teach with great jazz saxophonists like Joe Henderson and Dave Leibman,” he said.<br />
<br />
Tracey is very excited about the new job at the Greenstreet Tavern. <br />
<br />
“I think Chameleon (which includes pianist Glen Fisher, bassist Tyrone Wheeler and drummer Daryl Cotton) has the best rhythm section in town. Our goal is to play good jazz with a lot of variety, everything from fusion to bebop,” he said.<br />
<br />
“Jazz requires you to search within yourself and be inquisitive about things. I’m very busy, but jazz has given me the freedom to look deep within myself and become a better person, a better teacher and a better musician.”<br />
<br />
By Danny O’Bryan<br />
Nightlife Columnist - Louisville Times’ SCENE magazine<br />
October 1985<br />
<br />
From the up-coming book “Derby City Jazz.”yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-87084169963418220492013-02-01T05:35:00.000-08:002013-02-01T05:35:05.868-08:00My 1993 LEO article on the Literary RenaissanceRANT<br />
<br />
Ron Whitehead and Kent Fielding, co-editors of "The Thinker Review," a University of Louisville student literary journal, were having a leisurely lunch with the famous Beat Generation poet Allen Ginsberg ("Howl") after his reading at the UL Student Center in October 1992.<br />
<br />
Ginsberg commented that is plane was to leave Standiford Field at 2:30 p.m.. "I told him to look at his ticket," Whitehead says. "He pulled it out and it read 1:30."<br />
<br />
By then it was 10 minutes to lift-off, so Whitehead and Fielding packed the poet into a car and took off for the airport at 90 miles an hour, disregarding red lights along the way. When they got to the terminal all three jumped out and sprinted toward the boarding gate.<br />
<br />
"We'd almost made it when Ginsberg started running away from us. "Whitehead says, "Kent and I both began running to keep up, when suddenly Ginsberg turns around, bends down on one knee and pulls out a camera and takes our picture."<br />
<br />
The resulting snapshot, which catches both men in mid-air, arms and feet flying, is emblematic of the frantic pace at which Whitehead and Fielding have operated for the past two years while trying to make Louisville a world literary capital. (Whitehead teaches literature at UL, Fielding is working on his master's degree in creative writing.)<br />
<br />
Last spring after collaborating on the last of three widely praised editions of "The Thinker Review," the dashing duo joined forces with Louisville business man Judah Thornwill to form the "Literary Renaissance,"<br />
a non-profit organization whose ambition is to make Louisville the home base of a global literary community.<br />
<br />
Thornwill, 31, owns Integrated Customer Services (JCS), a telemarketing company that specializes in promoting the arts; it's past clients have included the Louisville Orchestra and Stage One: The Louisville Children's Theatre. Thornwill said that he became involved because he thought what Whitehead and Fielding was doing was unique.<br />
<br />
"The volume and variety of things they had already accomplished amazed me," Thornwill says, "I thought this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for me to lend my expertise to something I really believed in."<br />
<br />
In addition to revitalizing the UL student review, Whitehead and Fielding has published numerous chapbooks (small, paper bound editions of poetry) featuring local and national writers; put out "The Dark Woods I Cross," an anthology of Louisville woman poets; and sponsored readings at UL by several world renowned writers, including Ginsberg, fellow Beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti and African American poet Amiri Baraka.<br />
<br />
Most of the products of the Literary Renaissance - locally produced cds, posters and chapbooks - are aimed at college educated consumers younger than 30 who attend music concerts and poetry "slams", competitive readings.)<br />
<br />
One division of the Renaissance, Riche's Lemon Herb Media, records and markets cds - the first being "Omphalos," a wild combination of a poetry reading by Ferlinghetti, Baraka and several Louisville based poets with music ranging from classical to experimental rock.<br />
<br />
Sales of "Omphalos," were brisk during October's 62-hour, Renaissance sponsored "Insomniacathon," featuring 90 poets and 40 bands over three days and nights at the Brewery Thunderdome and Tweligan's Tavern.<br />
<br />
Whitehead says he's is happy to leave the marketing to Thornewill.<br />
<br />
"It's a good thing that Judah is helping us," he says, "but I don't give a damn about money. All I care about is the generation of the creative spirit, which is the imagination."<br />
<br />
(Whitehead and Fielding's lack of concern about money landed them in controversy last year, when their stewardship of "The Thinker Review," left the magazine $5,000 in debt and the two of them in dutch with UL's administration.)<br />
<br />
In Whitehead's view the ultimate purpose of the Renaissance is to bring people together.<br />
<br />
"When a new poet reads on stage during one of our events, he or she gets the same respect and appreciation as someone who has written six or seven books," he says.<br />
"This is not an elitist organization. We want to be inclusive rather than exclusive."<br />
<br />
Ferlinghetti told Whitehead during his visit last spring that "not since the 1950s had he seen such energy and interest in poetry."<br />
<br />
Especially that of the Beats. Whitehead and Fielding clearly are fans. They recently read their own poetry at a festival celebrating Beat icon Jack Kerouac ("On the Road") in the writer's hometown Lowell, Mass., and even put a "Insomniacathon" ticket on his tomb stone. More recently they sponsored a Louisville appearance by Beat poet/enigma Gregory Corso.<br />
<br />
And Rant, the literary journal of the Renaissance, a 12 by 12, 400 page publication due out early next year, reflects a diversity of tastes; it will include the work of writers from South Africa, Ireland, Norway and Kentucky.<br />
<br />
The featured artists will include Wendell Berry, Sarah Epstein and Diana Di Prima, whose poem "Rant," provided the journal's name and its anthem, "The only war that matters is the war against the imagination."<br />
<br />
Danny O'Bryan<br />
Louisville Eccentric Observer (LEO) 1993<br />
<br />
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<br />yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-25827205445126184042013-01-26T01:30:00.001-08:002013-01-26T01:30:18.896-08:00PurgationAs I mentioned in an earlier blog I am going through a purgation, a spiritual renewal, a casting out of the devils. The scales have dropped from my eyes. It's now 3 a.m. and I'm back at it after dropping like a rock on-to my new couch (newly acquired furniture is analogous to my present situation) in my studio.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I felt like playing my saxophone, which I haven't in months and of course I have been singing every day. Purgation requires it. Also yesterday I ate very little. I'm fasting before Mardi Gras. It doesn't matter, it has to do with my timing no one else's. Speaking of Mardi Gras my new Mardi Gras wreath came in the mail yesterday and I hung it on my front door. All the way from Louisiana it's bright colored strings of gold, purple and green announce my allegiance to the holiday season. The one that began with twelfth night and ends with Fat Tuesday.<br />
<br />
During one of my last purgations several years ago I accumulated the strength to assemble all my old photos in binders along with other memorabilia. I haven't gone through it in years but yesterday I found this written poem in the binder across from some of photos of my very young mother and me as a toddler:<br />
<br />
My darling little Danny boy<br />
you have been here just a year<br />
you've filled my every hour with joy<br />
each day you've grown more dear.<br />
<br />
With your eyes which are of deepest blue<br />
and hair with touch of gold<br />
and laughter like a tinkling bell<br />
you've brought me joys untold.<br />
<br />
Each minute of this precious year<br />
has been so full of fun<br />
for mother and for daddy too<br />
your such a darling son.<br />
<br />
I know as each year passes<br />
that you will have to grow<br />
I want to see you be a man<br />
but I love my baby so.<br />
<br />
Margaret Shaw O'Bryan - August 22, 1948<br />
<br />
<br />
yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-23624093358311765032013-01-25T08:20:00.000-08:002013-01-25T08:20:41.579-08:00Like a Cathedral<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
"My experience, my passions, my ideas, my images and memories are all I know of this world-<br />
And they are enough. The absurd person can finally say "All is well."<br />
<br />
"The purest of joys is feeling and feeling on this earth."<br />
<br />
Albert Camus<br />
"The Myth of Sisyphus"<br />
<br />
I'm currently going through a cyclical purgation, using the old Catholic term. Gregory Corso said "Once a Catholic always a Catholic." And he was right. But while I'm tossing my spiritual demons aside, I'm also dealing with more mundane things like cleaning my office loft, which manages to collect tons of detritus from my life-long passions. Latest find, a short poem written by one of my English 101 students at UL in 1996.<br />
I have no idea where the author, Laura Reisser is today but if anyone reading this piece knows her please inform me. I'd like to know how her life turned out 17 year later. I nearly cried reading her beautiful piece this morning. Dig it:<br />
<br />
A Trip to New City<br />
<br />
My first poem ever, that's what this is.<br />
Well, unless you count the made up versions of "Roses are Red" or the diamond shaped<br />
poems I used to do when I was a kid.<br />
But now life is not so rosy.<br />
I just have a few questions.<br />
Why do we work to make money that we won't have in a few weeks and why do we<br />
sleep when we'll only be tired again tomorrow and why do we clean our house when<br />
it's going to get dirty again.<br />
Something keeps us going.<br />
Something gives us the strength to witness things like rape, serial killings, animals<br />
dying in oil spills, car accidents, fires, shootings, bombings, earthquakes, plane crashes.<br />
I almost can't watch the news anymore or even scary movies because they're not so<br />
far from the truth.<br />
<br />
And then one time I went to New York city and it made me feel even worse because<br />
just this one city has more people than the entire country of Sweden and it made me<br />
feel so small and insignificant.<br />
My cat is chewing on my pen right now and all I can think about is how lucky she is<br />
because she doesn't even know what kind of world she lives in or maybe even that<br />
she is going to die someday.<br />
She's not afraid.<br />
And in New York city there was never a sign that I was there.<br />
I met lots of taxi drivers but they don't remember me now, and I guess I left some<br />
garbage in my hotel room but I'm sure it's cleaned up by now.<br />
A least in a smaller place you can leave parts of yourself around places.<br />
I get my haircut in Plainview and the ladies there know who I am and what I look like<br />
and my neighbors recognize my car when I pull in at night and at work I have a desk<br />
with my name on it and at school teachers notice when I'm not there.<br />
But New York city was different.<br />
People were everywhere.<br />
Rushing,<br />
Talking,<br />
Shopping,<br />
Fighting,<br />
Eating,<br />
Cleaning,<br />
Rollerblading,<br />
Walking their dogs in Central Park.<br />
And they all have their own story and they all eat and clean and work for the same<br />
reason I do.<br />
And if I were to die today none of these people would notice or even care.<br />
They'll go on doing what they've always done until they die.<br />
So, I guess we are all insignificant.<br />
So what keeps us going?<br />
I guess for some people trying to get to Heaven keeps them going.<br />
But what about people for whom Heaven doesn't exist?<br />
What do they live for?<br />
<br />
You know, I guess that's why I like to go to Spain.<br />
I mean, families talk to each other and little kids play in the Plaza Mayor and eat ice<br />
cream and people relax with friends and are true to themselves.<br />
And besides in the United States, what do we that's really that old?<br />
In Spain there are towers and medieval walls and castles and Roman theaters and<br />
cathedrals so beautiful and powerful that when you walk in you can feel centuries and<br />
centuries of souls and spirituality.<br />
Maybe that's why I like to go there.<br />
Because people left things and did things and felt things.<br />
So, it's hard sometimes.<br />
I wish I were a kid again so death wouldn't exist and mommy would fix everything.<br />
And the worst that could happen is that I'd be sent to my room where I'd sit on the<br />
bed by the door and stick my foot out and say, "Look mommy I'm out of my room."<br />
And now that I'm grown up and will someday be a mommy it makes me wonder why<br />
I'd want to bring a life into this world that is so painful and may not even be here in<br />
50 years because someone want to see what happens when you set off a nuclear<br />
bomb.<br />
<br />
But I guess I will definitely have a child because it's an emotion that I don't want to<br />
miss before I die.<br />
So women are lucky because we get to feel something that men never get to.<br />
A new life comes out of your body and you know you're leaving something behind.<br />
Something beautiful and powerful.<br />
Something kinda like a cathedral in Spain.<br />
<br />
Laura Reisser<br />
3/21/96 <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-87697557354430058682013-01-25T00:55:00.001-08:002013-01-25T00:55:12.809-08:00The Freaks, the Wonders in Wonderland!I had a meeting last night with Ray Smerlin and the "Wonderland" crew. My kind of meeting. In attendance two magicians, two comics, a fire dancer, a contortionist and me. I was in heaven. We're planning to perform singly in multiple venues for up-coming Louisville trolly hops hawking the March 14 "Wonderland" performance. Don't forget, anyone reading this blog is invited to "Mardi Gras at Wonderland," pre-performance party on Sunday - February 10 - 6 p.m. to 11 p.m. at my studio - 3541 Nanz Ave. in Louisville.<br />
<br />
To use an old carny line, we will be featuring "the freaks, the wonders, the strange, the unusual people. We are going to whirl you way into the land of mirth magic and mystery!"<br />
<br />
So far, my college class is going wonderfully. At our last meeting I think I singed their eye brows with my enthusiasm (en-theos) full of the gods, whatever, it's back and I'm going along for the ride.<br />
<br />
They all read their first two page paper on writer Stephen King's "On Writing." King believes that you must be totally immersed in language in order to be a good writer. Passion is the word. He believes this applies to any endeavor, giving the example of his son who wanted to play saxophone but wouldn't put in the hours of practice needed to master the instrument.<br />
<br />
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The students all read their papers aloud. Good flowing, sweet, enthusiastic prose. Sharing their ideas on King's essay with vigor. Monday we will all meet downtown at Hotel 21 C. I think this is going to be one hell of a good semester! <br />
<br />yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-89213598163357665502013-01-24T01:14:00.000-08:002013-01-24T01:14:19.817-08:00Danny O'Day is Back in WonderlandI haven't had anything really extraordinary to write about in this blog for many a moon. But today something occurred which is worth scribbling about. I have been going through one of my down periods. Months of dullness despite teaching a college class and producing a weekly two hour radio show on the best public radio station in town. This month alone I hosted "Wonderland" a new variety show at the Vernon Club and appeared on WHAS television's "Great Day Live."<br />
<br />
But the last two weeks have been amazing. I'm on fire, my creative energy is flowing without cease. Everyone I talk is in the opposite mood, sick with flu or winter depression. On the phone last week I told my friend, writer Ed Mcclanahan, "I'm flying." He said , "I'm dying." Sick with the flu he wasn't all that eager to hear about my ecstasy.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's the recent return of my alter-ego Danny O'Day, the saucy burlesque comic and singer I created and lived as for nearly ten years during the 1970s.<br />
<br />
At the time, I was working my way through college with my sights on a "straight job," thinking at the time I could possibly do such a thing, foolish me.<br />
<br />
You see, O'Day is back and just like old times will be singing, telling jokes and hosting Ray Smerlin's brand new variety show at the Vernon Club for the second time March 14. <br />
<br />
I will be introducing a huge variety of magicians, ventriloquists, dancers, circus acts and artists of all kinds.<br />
<br />
But back to my extraordinary experience. I was cleaning out my office loft this morning when I unearthed one of my old journals. I've kept daily journals for years. There is a stack five feet high in one corner of my loft. But this one was by itself, covered by a bag of old Mardi Gras Beads, that's another amazing fact I'll tell you about later.<br />
<br />
As I said the journal was by itself on the floor open to the first page, the first entry February 23, 1994. I yelled down to my wife, "What day is it?" She says, "I think it's the 23rd."<br />
<br />
I nearly had a stroke. "Something, somebody, somewhere is trying to tell me something!" Then I realized it was still January. I always get mixed up this time a year. But still that's pretty cool. My journal was talking to me, from 21 years ago.<br />
<br />
Let's see, I wasn't having a bad time back then. I was acting in a "short silly" play written by a local playwright and had recently attended a benefit for "Kentuckians for the Commonwealth" at writer/teacher Gurney Norman's home in Lexington.<br />
<br />
When you keep a journal it's always nice to go back and read what you were doing decades ago.<br />
<br />
On a another note, I spent yesterday arranging new furniture in my studio, singing and getting ready for the party I will be giving on Sunday, February 10.<br />
<br />
Entitled "Mardi Gras at Wonderland," it will feature many of the musicians, poets, magicians, performers and artists that will be part of Ray Smerlin's "Wonderland," a large variety show that will be held next, we did the first one in January, on March 14.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for more in the mean time "I'm flying." <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-57021592342765848422013-01-20T21:01:00.001-08:002013-01-20T21:01:38.744-08:00My 1993 Interview with Arlo GuthrieArlo Guthrie is back. Not that he ever left, but with the current craze for music and culture of the 1950s and 60s, Guthrie and people like him, Bob Dylan for instance, do appear to be back in the saddle again.<br />
<br />
Dylan gave a concert in Louisville just last week and Guthrie brought his long locks and guitar to the University of Louisville on March 27.<br />
<br />
Guthrie and I engaged in a sort of extemporaneous dance outside UL Students Activities Center that evening. He had just finished a sound check and was getting a breath of fresh air, when I approached him tape recorder in hand.<br />
<br />
The bearded, long-haired Guthrie, who was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and a patterned shirt, didn't look quite old enough to have been one of the performers at Woodstock.<br />
<br />
He insisted on standing throughout the interview, but he answered all my questions thoughtfully and in a refreshing sanguine manner.<br />
<br />
What does Guthrie think about the renewed interest in the music and culture of his generation?<br />
<br />
"I see it being like a spoke in a wheel. And every time it comes around you hear it. And when you're in a time when you're not hearing it, you look back to the last time you heard it," he said.<br />
<br />
According to Guthrie there are times in history when people wake up and become very creative and spontaneous and explore what it means to be a human being.<br />
<br />
"But there are also times when other people say well enough with that, we got to get back to selling washing machines," he said.<br />
<br />
Does Guthrie think the sixties was one of those creative times?<br />
<br />
"Absolutely, if not one of the major times," he said swaying back and forth, the toes of his cowboy boots pointing in one direction and then another.<br />
<br />
How do the 1990s differ from the 1960s?<br />
<br />
"Wavey Gravy said the 90s were just the 60s upside down. I saw some bell-bottom pants for sale in a store the other day and it scared the hell out of me," he said.<br />
<br />
"People talk about the sixties as if it were a decade worth of stuff. But to me the sixties were really between<br />
1967 and 1972. And the real heart of that time was a moment when all of a sudden things changed. And I remember the day. It lasted about three months and that was it," Guthrie explained.<br />
<br />
On that day according to Guthrie, a large number of people woke up and began to notice the world around them.<br />
<br />
"You could look into somebody else's eyes that happened to be a little awake and it was like one of these monster movies. You knew they were awake. And you could walk up and talk to them. And they could be white, black, yellow, red, or they could be big and fat, skinny or thin.<br />
<br />
It didn't make any difference what they looked like or where they came from. They were just people who were a little more awake than everybody else, and they all knew each other, even though they'd never met. And it lasted for about three months," Guthrie said.<br />
<br />
Why did it end?<br />
<br />
"Pretty soon everybody thought well, this is pretty good, whatever these people are doing I want to do it too. And pretty soon people were marketing blue jeans. And then people were saying 'Geez lets make some sheets and wall paper like the stuff they're wearing.' And all of a sudden it became a consumer culture.<br />
<br />
And we took something spontaneous and we started to sell it," Guthrie said.<br />
<br />
Don't you think that's pretty bad?<br />
<br />
"I don't think it's good or bad. It's just the way it is. And I have a kind of criminal instinct to be wary of the way it is, no matter how it is," Guthrie said.<br />
<br />
But don't you worry about people becoming zombies like in the move "Night of the Living Dead," getting up every morning and working 9 to 5 jobs, coming home to watch television and never thinking about social issues?<br />
<br />
"My dad thought of it this way. He said a certain amount of people are working right now and a certain amount of people aren't. And he said if one of these people stop what they're doing he might have to do it.<br />
<br />
"So, Woody Guthrie said 'Thank God that everybody is doing what they're doing. Because that means they're sparing me the job.' We should congratulate each other on the work we do. I'm very appreciative of people who are doing things I would hate to do," Guthrie said.<br />
<br />
By Danny O'Bryan<br />
<br />
LEO Magazine April 21, 1993<br />
<br />yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-18705933500216124132013-01-20T19:01:00.001-08:002013-01-20T19:01:55.119-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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River Tails<span id="goog_29579873"></span><span id="goog_29579874"></span><br />
<br />
When I got to Cox Park today it was already mid-afternoon but the bright winter sun was still high in the sky casting a glorious winter light on the river. I got my two dogs, Rufus T. Firefly and Charlie "Chihuahua" Parker out of my car and headed for the concrete walkway by the river-side only to find it covered with debris and a foot of dirty brown water.<br />
<br />
When I turned to make my way up the hill is when I saw them. A large flash of white wings high above the river swirling in the air. Not one but two or three dozen seal gulls. More than I've seen on my trips to Gulf Shores. Beneath the gulls where at least thirty or forty mallard ducks floating on the water, some with their heads down and tails up in the air feeding on the bottom. Every now and then a gull would swoop down from the air and land in the river sometimes hitching a ride on a long piece of drift-wood, looking like a feathered captain manning a ship.<br />
<br />
I watched the show for a while before moving on down the river bank where I encountered a young woman with a camera.<br />
<br />
"I've never seen this many gulls on the river before," I told her. "I saw some people feeding them a little while ago," she said. "I guess that's the reason they congregated here," I thought it might be something more dramatic like global warming." Laughing she agreed pushing her long brown hair out of her eyes. "This is the first time I've been down here because a birding group told me they'd seen a rare, long, necked duck here yesterday."<br />
<br />
For a moment I thought she was talking about the "old duck" she was talking to then Charlie suddenly began growling and lurching toward her. "You know, if a large dog had the ferocity of these small ones they'd be like having a "Hound of the Baskervilles," I told her.<br />
<br />
"That's true," she said laughing and quickly walking back to her car. I think it was Balzac that said, "Never bring a chihuahua along if you're trying to meet women," lesson learned.<br />
<br />
Photo and story by Danny O'Bryan <br />
<br />
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<br />yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-44102837008595963722012-07-16T12:33:00.000-07:002012-07-16T12:38:15.910-07:00DEAD BUGS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<b>INCANT AGAINST SUICIDE</b><br />
<br />
<b>Buy neither gun nor blue-edged blade.</b><br />
<b>Avoid green rope, high windows, rat</b><br />
<b>poison, cobra pits, and the long vanishing point</b><br />
<b>of train tracks that draw you to horizon's razor.</b><br />
<br />
<b>Only this way will another day refine you. (Natural death's</b><br />
<b>no oxymoron) Your head's a bad neighborhood:</b><br />
<b>Don't go there alone, even if you have to stop </b><br />
<b>strangers to ask the way, and even if</b><br />
<br />
<b>spiders fall from your open mouth.</b><br />
<b>This talk's their only exit. How else </b><br />
<b>would their scramble from your skull</b><br />
<br />
<b>escape? You must make room first</b><br />
<b>that the holy spirits might enter. Empty</b><br />
<b>yourself of self, then kneel down to listen.</b><br />
<br />
<b>Mary Karr </b>yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-16444854194083105922012-06-26T05:01:00.002-07:002012-06-26T05:01:43.061-07:00testingyardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-53171198792924623382012-06-26T04:53:00.000-07:002012-06-26T04:53:13.888-07:00MAY THE GREAT SCOTT HENDERSON REST IN PEACEA Tale of two guitarists: Jimmy Raney and Scott Henderson<br /><br /> Bach’s “Goldberg’s Variations” poured from the stereo speakers in jazz guitarist Jimmy Raney’s East End apartment.<br /><br /> Sitting on a couch between the speakers was guitarist Scott Henderson, shaking his head and marveling at the music’s intricate patterns. “Scott’s about the only young jazz guitarist I know who likes to come over here and listen to classical music with me.” Raney said.<br /><br /> But Raney and Henderson have a lot more in common than their love of classical music.<br /><br /> Henderson, 27, has been an ardent fan of Raney’s music ever since Henderson’s family moved to Louisville during the early 1970s. Back then, he sought out the world famous guitarist and became one of his pupils. Last week, Henderson and Raney began playing together as a guitar duo on Sundays at the Phoenix Hill Tavern, 644 Baxter Ave.<br /><br /> Henderson, who graduated from Westport High School in 1976, has come a long way since the days when he was so enamored by Raney’s playing he transcribed an entire book of his recorded solos.<br /><br /> In recent years Henderson has traveled all over the United States and Europe playing and teaching jazz - but Raney is still his favorite guitar player.<br /><br /> “I’ve always wanted to make my guitar sound clean and precise like a trumpet. I think Raney was the first jazz guitarist to get that kind of sound and feel,” Henderson said.<br /><br /> Raney, who is a Louisville native, patterned his revolutionary guitar style after the bebop lines of alto saxophonist Charlie Parker. Raney’s “horn-like” improvisations on recordings with jazz greats like Stan Getz, and Red Norvo during the late 1940s and early 1950s were an important part of the evolution of the jazz guitar.<br /><br /> Henderson said that Raney’s style is very compatible with his own.<br /><br /> “I’ve studied a lot of Jimmy’s music over the year’s,” Henderson said. So, I’m very familiar with his technique. One of my friends said the other day that when we play together we almost sound like one guitar. That’s really the effect we’re shooting for.”<br /><br /> Raney added, “It’s a traditional thing for two guitars to play together. I even made an album in Jamey Aebersold’s play-along series called “Play Duets with Jimmy Raney,” for guitar players who live out in the boondocks and don’t have another guitar player to play with.<br /><br /> “The guitar is a ‘complete’ instrument like the piano. But it doesn’t have a piano’s overbearing tonal qualities. Two guitars blend well together,” he said.<br /><br /> The music Henderson and Raney create can be compared to classical chamber music, Henderson said. “We play a lot of standards like ‘There Will Never Be Another You’ and ‘Our Shining Hour,’ plus a few originals. But it’s different from a lot of jazz you hear. We play many lines in counterpoint. And the volume is down real low.”<br /><br /> Henderson just returned from New York City, where he led a trio with another Louisvillian, drummer Mark Plank. “Since I’ve been back in town, I’ve been playing all the Broadway Series shows. I get a lot of calls for those jobs because I read music well and can fit right in,” he said.<br /><br /> But Henderson never intends to become just another everyday studio musician:<br /><br /> “I know if I got involved with that studio nonsense it would hurt my playing. I think that it’s important that there are people around like me determined to play jazz. Jazz is the most significant art form of the 20th century, and someone has to keep it alive,” he said.<br /><br /> In the near future Henderson hopes to go back to New York City and record a jazz album with an all-star rhythm section.<br /><br /> Raney said he was very happy to see his former pupil doing so well. “He’s really come through the process perfectly. He has good phrasing and ideas, plus originality,” he said.<br /> Henderson, who has eclectic musical loves, has composed a ballet; his tastes in classical music range from Bach to Charles Ives. He said that jazz is an international language.<br /><br /> “Last year when I was teaching jazz in Europe with Jamey Aebersold, some of the musicians I encountered couldn’t speak English well, but they knew all these jazz tunes. We couldn’t communicate verbally, but as soon as we started playing, bang! They were right on it. They were familiar with the jazz style, the stock endings, everything.”<br /><br />Danny O’Bryan<br />The Louisville Times “SCENE Magazine<br />Sept 7, 1985<br /><br />From the up-coming book “Derby City Jazz.”yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-25491900556575907462012-05-14T08:40:00.000-07:002012-05-14T08:42:57.467-07:00( I Think The Strange, The Crazed, The Queer)<br />
<br />
I think the strange, the crazed, the queer<br />
will have their holiday this year,<br />
I think for just a little while<br />
there will be pity for the wild....<br />
<br />
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Tennessee Williams <br />
<br />
<br />yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-43004541512805171182012-05-08T18:36:00.001-07:002012-05-08T18:36:43.011-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"His mother said, "Are you going to Sunday school this morning, Sugar?"
Sugar Mecklin said, "Haven't decided."
His mother said, "I wish you would put on a clean shirt and go to Sunday school once in a while."
Not today. Today was a Sunday, this was a whole summer,
in fact, in which magic might prove once and for all to be true.
It was summer in which Sugar Mecklin noticed many things,
as if they had not been there before, like the mice in the mattress,
like Elvis on the Philco. This summer Sugar Mecklin heard the high soothing music of the swamp,
the irrigation pumps in the rice paddies, the long whine and compliant, he heard the wheezy,
breathy asthma of the compress, the suck and bump and clatter like great lungs as the air
was squashed out and the cotton was wrapped in the burlap and bound with steel bands into six
hundred pound bales, he heard the operatic voice of the cotton gin separating fibers from seeds,
he heard a rat bark, he heard a child singing arias in a cabbage patch, he heard a parrot make
a sound like a cash registar, he heard the jungle rains fill up the Delta outside his window, he
heard the wump-wump-wump-wump-wump of bi-planes strafing the fields with poison and defoliants, he
read a road sign that said WALNUT GROVE IS RADAR PATROLLED and heard poetry in the language, he heard
mourning dove in the walnut trees.
And for a moment, when he arrived at the edge of the water, Sugar Mecklin almost believed that he had
found whatever magical thing he had come looking for...
Lewis Nordan
"Music of the Swamp"yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-79195017942567194392012-02-05T06:43:00.000-08:002012-02-05T06:45:02.989-08:00ADVICE ON SUNDAY MORNING"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening<br />That is translated through you into action.<br />And because there is only one of you in all time,<br />this expression is unique.<br />If you block it,<br />it will never exist through any other medium<br />and be lost.<br />The world will never have it.<br />It is not your business to determine how good it is.<br />Nor how valuable it is,<br />Nor how it compares with other expressions.<br />It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly<br />to keep the channel open.<br /><br />You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work.<br />You do have to keep open and aware<br />directly to the urges that motivate you.<br /><br />Keep the channel open.<br />No artist is pleased.<br />There is no satisfaction whatever at any time.<br />There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,<br />a blessed unrest that keeps us marching<br />and makes us more alive than others.<br /><br />KEEP FAITH WITH YOUR VISION AND PASS IT ON!<br /><br />Martha Graham to Agnes Demilleyardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-13651458372492952802012-01-28T09:08:00.000-08:002012-01-28T09:11:12.896-08:00Pay Attention to the Miraclethe click of miracle<br /><br />by Charles Bukowski<br /><br />at the quarterhorse meet<br />at Hollywood Park<br /><br />around 5 p.m.<br /><br />if you are sitting at <br />ground level<br /><br />in the <br />Pavilion<br /><br />the track appears<br />to <br />be<br /><br />above you<br /><br />and<br /><br />in the strange<br />shadow-<br />sunlight<br /><br />the silks<br />are <br />so <br />bright<br /><br />the color<br />is<br />like<br /><br />fresh paint<br />on<br />canvas<br /><br />and<br /><br />the faces of<br />the<br />jocks<br />look<br /><br />heroic.<br /><br />it's a <br />grand<br />time<br /><br />then<br /><br />a perfect<br />and <br />peaceful<br /><br />photograph<br /><br />dream-<br />like.<br /><br />such small<br />moments<br /><br />keep<br /><br />people<br />alive.<br /><br />such small<br />moments<br /><br />so<br />large<br /><br />when<br /><br />it<br /><br />all<br /><br />comes<br />together<br /><br />and<br /><br />holds.yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-56399019825810350192012-01-19T03:08:00.000-08:002012-01-19T03:09:12.564-08:00Life is a CarnivalPoem: "Sunday Night In Santa Rosa," by Dana Gioia from Daily Horoscope<br />(Graywolf Press).<br /><br />Sunday Night In Santa Rosa<br /><br />The carnival is over. The high tents,<br />the palaces of light, are folded flat<br />and trucked away. A three-time loser yanks<br />the Wheel of Fortune off the wall. Mice<br />pick through the garbage by the popcorn stand.<br />A drunken giant falls asleep beside<br />the juggler, and the Dog-Faced Boy sneaks off<br />to join the Serpent Lady for the night.<br />Wind sweeps ticket stubs along the walk.<br />The Dead Man loads his coffin on a truck.<br />Off in a trailer by the parking lot<br />the radio predicts tomorrow's weather<br />while a clown stares in a dressing mirror,<br />takes out a box, and peels away his face.yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-72664819710769741562012-01-18T02:54:00.000-08:002012-01-18T03:00:05.263-08:00Money Can't Buy You Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGoR3r5OFwlZzW9xGdBzVxNSA83YqSHgWEuEzpkQFuHP1tay_R7OjBjsR_QO6LC1ohCGxbyqQ7ia5IlQQ4GWE-lixSeGAHiS68kTVePuqn4Ar4r79v5txDOcGTdpBJ2nXI1R6Jr6VCFLj/s1600/IMG_0637.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGoR3r5OFwlZzW9xGdBzVxNSA83YqSHgWEuEzpkQFuHP1tay_R7OjBjsR_QO6LC1ohCGxbyqQ7ia5IlQQ4GWE-lixSeGAHiS68kTVePuqn4Ar4r79v5txDOcGTdpBJ2nXI1R6Jr6VCFLj/s320/IMG_0637.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698924713663671650" /></a><br />Money <br /><br />Money is a kind of poetry.<br />-Wallace Stevens <br /><br />Money, the long green, <br />cash, stash, rhino, jack<br />or just plain dough.<br /><br />Chock it up, fork it over,<br />shell it out. Watch it <br />burn holes through pockets.<br /><br />To be made of it! To have it<br />to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles,<br />megabucks and Ginnie Maes.<br /><br />It greases the palm, feathers a nest,<br />holds heads above water,<br />makes both ends meet.<br /><br />Money breeds money.<br />Gathering interest, compounding daily.<br />Always in circulation.<br /><br />Money. You don't know where it's been,<br />but you put it where your mouth is.<br />And it talks.<br /><br />Dana Gioiayardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-57305890848356331742011-05-27T06:18:00.000-07:002011-05-27T06:54:13.882-07:00FEAR AND LOATHING<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9IX7-gxLPAdBrj9eLkRtm0XesFBatUwpZNuC2JxxPogEZFyO7GeTSvtONIKBEkMt1dqIQ_2Hnr2WqtmmTlZGLcQgb40jL5wMsOedDyC6RACuWRoJNE1of-2bPYKzE7XdAmlfXbq6c5SA7/s1600/the+end+is+near+036.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9IX7-gxLPAdBrj9eLkRtm0XesFBatUwpZNuC2JxxPogEZFyO7GeTSvtONIKBEkMt1dqIQ_2Hnr2WqtmmTlZGLcQgb40jL5wMsOedDyC6RACuWRoJNE1of-2bPYKzE7XdAmlfXbq6c5SA7/s320/the+end+is+near+036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611393690802508578" /></a><br /><br />RAPTURE<br /><br />It's not the end of the world,<br />Maybe your world or<br />Mine, but let's face it,<br />Every second, someone's <br />World ends.<br />Get used to it.<br /><br />Danny O'Bryan<br /><br /><br />MR. FEAR<br /><br />He follows us, he keeps track.<br />Each day his lists are longer.<br />Here, death. And here,<br />something like it.<br /><br />Mr. Fear we say in our dreams,<br />what do you have for me tonight?<br />And he looks through his sack,<br />his black sack of troubles.<br /><br />Maybe he smiles when he finds<br />the right one. Maybe he's sorry.<br />Tell me, Mr. Fear,<br />what must I carry<br /><br />away from your dream?<br />Make it small please.<br />Let it fit in my pocket,<br />let if fall through<br /><br />the hole in my pocket.<br />Fear let me have<br />a small brown bat <br />and a purse of crickets<br /><br />like the ones I heard<br />singing last night<br />out there in the stubbly field<br />before I slept, and met you.<br /><br />Lawrence Raabyardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-23446718594722397432011-05-14T05:46:00.000-07:002011-05-14T05:51:24.285-07:00Mr. Electrico says "LIVE FOREVER!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZFBGxjcmOFE_Usoiv0Bporc87SC7xVt-cEjdWwiPiLBqlu-WZdmTkSZBhAljDQ1nhguM8GHVau9lW-zjb0jLCxGCF4hSDBK_CkoxbrVw3mJCPZoWQGf1TK1pddMZuR7FLP55r7qi5SdR/s1600/speculation+004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZFBGxjcmOFE_Usoiv0Bporc87SC7xVt-cEjdWwiPiLBqlu-WZdmTkSZBhAljDQ1nhguM8GHVau9lW-zjb0jLCxGCF4hSDBK_CkoxbrVw3mJCPZoWQGf1TK1pddMZuR7FLP55r7qi5SdR/s320/speculation+004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606552626088339090" /></a><br />Carol Mcleod's "Speculation<br /><br />INTERVIEWER<br /><br />That's the character who makes a brief appearance in Something Wicked This<br />Way Comes, right? And you've often spoken of a real-life Mr. Electrico,<br />though no scholar has ever been able to confirm his existence. The story has<br />taken on a kind of mythic stature-the director of the Center for Ray Bradbury<br />Studies calls the search for Mr. Electrico the "Holy Grail" of Bradbury<br />scholarship.<br /><br />BRADBURY<br /><br />Yes, but he was a real man. That was his real name. Circuses and carnivals<br />were always passing through Illinois during my childhood and I was in love<br />with their mystery. One autumn weekend in 1932, when I was twelve years old,<br />the Dill Brothers Combined Shows came to town. One of the performers was Mr.<br />Electrico. He sat in an electric chair. A stagehand pulled a switch and he<br />was charged with fifty thousand volts of pure electricity. Lightning flashed<br />in his eyes and his hair stood on end.<br /><br />The next day, I had to go the funeral of one of my favorite uncles. Driving<br />back from the graveyard with my family, I looked down the hill toward the<br />shoreline of Lake Michigan and I saw the tents and the flags of the carnival<br />and I said to my father, Stop the car. He said, What do you mean? And I said,<br />I have to get out. My father was furious with me. He expected me to stay with<br />the family to mourn, but I got out of the car anyway and I ran down the hill<br />toward the carnival.<br /><br />It didn't occur to me at the time, but I was running away from death, wasn't<br />I? I was running toward life. And there was Mr. Electrico sitting on the<br />platform out in front of the carnival and I didn't know what to say. I was<br />scared of making a fool of myself. I had a magic trick in my pocket, one of<br />those little ball-and-vase tricks-a little container that had a ball in it<br />that you make disappear and reappear-and I got that out and asked, Can you<br />show me how to do this? It was the right thing to do. It made a contact. He<br />knew he was talking to a young magician. He took it, showed me how to do it,<br />gave it back to me, then he looked at my face and said, Would you like to<br />meet those people in that tent over there? Those strange people? And I said,<br />Yes sir, I would. So he led me over there and he hit the tent with his cane<br />and said, Clean up your language! Clean up your language! He took me in, and<br />the first person I met was the illustrated man. Isn't that wonderful? The<br />Illustrated Man! He called himself the tattooed man, but I changed his name<br />later for my book. I also met the strong man, the fat lady, the trapeze<br />people, the dwarf, and the skeleton. They all became characters.<br /><br />Mr. Electrico was a beautiful man, see, because he knew that he had a little<br />weird kid there who was twelve years old and wanted lots of things. We walked<br />along the shore of Lake Michigan and he treated me like a grown-up. I talked<br />my big philosophies and he talked his little ones. Then we went out and sat<br />on the dunes near the lake and all of a sudden he leaned over and said, I'm<br />glad you're back in my life. I said, What do you mean? I don't know you. He<br />said, You were my best friend outside of Paris in 1918. You were wounded in<br />the Ardennes and you died in my arms there. I'm glad you're back in the<br />world. You have a different face, a different name, but the soul shining out<br />of your face is the same as my friend. Welcome back.<br /><br />Now why did he say that? Explain that to me, why? Maybe he had a dead son,<br />maybe he had no sons, maybe he was lonely, maybe he was an ironical jokester.<br />Who knows? It could be that he saw the intensity with which I live. Every<br />once in a while at a book signing I see young boys and girls who are so full<br />of fire that it shines out of their face and you pay more attention to that.<br />Maybe that's what attracted him.<br /><br />When I left the carnival that day I stood by the carousel and I watched the<br />horses running around and around to the music of "Beautiful Ohio," and I<br />cried. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew something important had happened<br />to me that day because of Mr. Electrico. I felt changed. He gave me<br />importance, immortality, a mystical gift. My life was turned around<br />completely. It makes me cold all over to think about it, but I went home and<br />within days I started to write. I've never stopped.<br /><br />Seventy-seven years ago, and I've remembered it perfectly. I went back and<br />saw him that night. He sat in the chair with his sword, they pulled the<br />switch, and his hair stood up. He reached out with his sword and touched<br />everyone in the front row, boys and girls, men and women, with the<br />electricity that sizzled from the sword. When he came to me, he touched me on<br />the brow, and on the nose, and on the chin, and he said to me, in a whisper,<br />"Live forever." And I decided to.yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-79195565393288259102011-05-09T04:48:00.000-07:002011-05-09T04:59:59.805-07:00Another One for Frank<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMyrdVZMg2GcAnFdTigH4V_QqqIWa3_14z0IBC-8p5S3C_z0dknP0dLc7v83YjT7VSwe-0H14vV9fk634d5qhcPEBjAJ-16X5pWi8HQso8cg5M_lHF5GP7w5HSer4gNxo8O0xc6C3StiQ/s1600/frank+longley+001.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMyrdVZMg2GcAnFdTigH4V_QqqIWa3_14z0IBC-8p5S3C_z0dknP0dLc7v83YjT7VSwe-0H14vV9fk634d5qhcPEBjAJ-16X5pWi8HQso8cg5M_lHF5GP7w5HSer4gNxo8O0xc6C3StiQ/s320/frank+longley+001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604682395524576658" /></a><br /><br />A Borrowed lyric<br />(for Frank Longley)<br /><br />"Life is just a bowl of cherries,<br />don't take it serious,<br />you'll be delirious."<br /><br />I told the old man <br />I never go to funerals,<br /><br />"You work you slave<br />you worry so, but you can't<br />take it with you <br />when you go, go, go.<br /><br />He looked at me with<br />sad eyes and said,<br />"When you get to be my age<br />you better get your suit pressed."<br /><br />The next day one of my <br />best friend died.<br /><br />"The best things in life,<br />for you are just loaned<br />you can't keep what<br />you've never owned.<br /><br />Just keep believing<br />it's the berries,<br />and live and laugh<br />at it all."<br /><br />Danny O'Bryan<br />1/31/02yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-70821453018360835662011-05-07T05:00:00.000-07:002011-05-07T05:04:58.192-07:00For Frank Longley<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJQfj-FvBIF6uEfFhGMdrrwgMwtDgnXSotszMItUb39DKoXo1_g07zF1jxm1X-AGi1BpiCE_M3ZsmEs1GywqJ5sSEwSEXM17lCcIn-MZlxqTXzKgqN1eBuZ6gwRQPNXWT-vRmxGr8ys8A_/s1600/frank+longley+004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJQfj-FvBIF6uEfFhGMdrrwgMwtDgnXSotszMItUb39DKoXo1_g07zF1jxm1X-AGi1BpiCE_M3ZsmEs1GywqJ5sSEwSEXM17lCcIn-MZlxqTXzKgqN1eBuZ6gwRQPNXWT-vRmxGr8ys8A_/s320/frank+longley+004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603943236255879842" /></a><br /><br />For the last few days I have been haunting my recently deceased co-worker Frank Longley's cubicle. Noticing things like an un-eaten apple, post notes with numbers, a<br />time stamp machine that never ceases clicking off the minutes, and then this<br />morning I come upon a poem featured on "Writer's Almanac." Sometimes poetry<br />says all that needs to be said.<br /><br />Luv, yardhog<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">In the Museum of Your Last Day<br />by Patrick Phillips<br /><br />there is a coat on a coat hook in a hall. Work-gloves<br />in the pockets, pliers and bent nails.<br /><br />There is a case of Quaker State for the Ford.<br />Two cans of spray paint in a crisp brown bag.<br /><br />A mug on a book by the hi-fi.<br />A disk that starts on its own: Boccherini.<br /><br />There is a dent in the soap the shape of your thumb.<br />A swirl in the glass when it fogs.<br /><br />And a gray hair that twines<br />through the tines of a little black comb.<br /><br />There is a watch laid smooth on a wallet.<br />And pairs of your shoes everywhere.<br /><br />A phone no one answers. A note that says Friday.<br />Your voice on the tape talking softly.</span>yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-16574144352866354052011-05-04T00:54:00.000-07:002011-05-04T01:13:38.813-07:00A Poem for Frank Longley<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPLVOcHUZutwzrSzanJsScaiaCwUQFuS9Gbc7jdH3MPgC-pEYYkF5HfochhlDtubgFhtNhy0Cn3ujM_0yDZq2BEcZ5_uZRZUxHvOfkRBQRWFyIKIM8dqKhQT6bxydo1ciahLTM5ZJQFS4/s1600/frank+006.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPLVOcHUZutwzrSzanJsScaiaCwUQFuS9Gbc7jdH3MPgC-pEYYkF5HfochhlDtubgFhtNhy0Cn3ujM_0yDZq2BEcZ5_uZRZUxHvOfkRBQRWFyIKIM8dqKhQT6bxydo1ciahLTM5ZJQFS4/s320/frank+006.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602770763267006690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKhxFyzpuh0874OaRgx6RbFvP-DGSMhi29GSAnAuQYO4MSxunWbsyGXUJkQBca3pMqlXKQvEJ0VVNCG53suxWYXK3h0Zco37spM8GfxW1H-nHiMkB84930tiuLqX-_Tn0WXFTk7PyW2nt/s1600/frank+007.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKhxFyzpuh0874OaRgx6RbFvP-DGSMhi29GSAnAuQYO4MSxunWbsyGXUJkQBca3pMqlXKQvEJ0VVNCG53suxWYXK3h0Zco37spM8GfxW1H-nHiMkB84930tiuLqX-_Tn0WXFTk7PyW2nt/s320/frank+007.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602766551515016018" /></a><br /><br />Out of the night that covers me,<br />Black as the Pit from pole to pole.<br />I thank whatever gods may be<br />For my unconquerable soul...<br /><br />William Ernest Henley "Invictus"<br /><br />Master<br />(for Frank Longley)<br /><br />The first thing I noticed about him <br />Were his arms, big muscled, hairy<br />Arms digging through boxes of office files.<br />Not the kind of job you'd expect<br />A man like him to have.<br />After all, he played All-State football,<br />Ran with the bulls in Spain,<br />Sailed a home-made raft<br />Down the Mississippi to New Orleans,<br />Been 'around the world and back.<br />But at 50 he decided to marry,<br />Have a child, which he would worship,<br />And become a bureaucrat, but not really.<br />Like the old sea captain, whose picture<br />Hung proudly on his office wall,<br />He was captain of his own ship,<br />Unafraid of the darkness that waits for<br />Everyone.<br /><br />Danny O'Bryan<br />5/2/11yardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4680578763500891576.post-11609069534696463902011-04-11T09:40:00.000-07:002011-04-11T10:04:51.048-07:00GOOD FROM BADA weekend filled with bad luck/good luck a severe wind storm blew down a tree in my back-yard Saturday destroying part of my deck and patio furniture. My house phone service went off for an unrelated reason so, I had to call Insight over to solve the problem.<br /><br />A young man, probably in his 30s, spent two days hooking up two new cable connections to solve the problem. This morning he said he'd noticed a lot of musical instruments and recordings in my house and asked me what kind of work I did. I told him I was a part time College professor, entertainer and jazz radio dj.<br /><br />"I thought I recognized your voice, I listen to your show on WFPK every Sunday morning." <br /><br />He said he was a jazz fan and it was the only kind of music he listened too.<br /><br />"I listen to the jazz programing all day on WFPK Sunday, but there's no way to hear jazz on the radio during the week in Louisville,"<br /><br />Before he left he asked me if I would play Louis Armstrong's "Muskrat Ramble" for him.<br /><br />You bet buddy, glad to know I'm appreciated.<br /><br />luv, yardhogyardhoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13503982845236607404noreply@blogger.com0