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Now that good people are starting to subscribe to Honey & Quinine, and now that I’m not writing as much poetry as I used to write, I remain as enthusiastic about poems I wrote years ago as I was years ago.  Some of my poems I neither like nor dislike. Those poems I am satisfied to accept. This is a poem I’d include in a list of my top 20 best.
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The high-brow touch of  “writata” which I usually speak as “wriTA-TA” like yo=HO-HO and sis-BOOM-BA. I’m not a big fan of the poetry academes who take special pride in the poetic “wuks ta ta” if they can classify them with Latin-rooted pidgeon=names. “I Am A Creative” is simply my way of making fun of things I’m too foggy in my belfry to understand.
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It’s ALMOST a song. At first I accompanied myself and sang it. These days I don’t touch the guitar and I sing it without accompaniment. The guitar gets in the way. My friend Barbara has commented favorably about it. She likes it, and I hope you do too.

I wrote this poem — to be really REALLY honest, I wrote the lyrics to a new song — a long, long time ago, but not a world ago. I’m living in the same house. I’ve made probably three new acquaintances I like since then, my kitchen floor is still torn up from the puppy I adopted but could not manage.  But the song remains my anthem of hope. Happy new year to you.

It’s the time of the season,
people go into hock
buying presents for others
and enduring the schlock –
the retail overselling –
as we push and we shove.
It’s a shame we forget that
it’s a season of love.
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From a brother to sister,
from a mom to a dad,
like a breath to revive us
in a time that’s gone bad.
Let’s remember the reason
for the way that it’s done,
as our God up in heaven
gave us his only son.
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Though the shiny, wrapped present
isn’t myrrh or fine gold,
we rejoice in the reason
that the scriptures have told
why we give unto others
as He gave from above.
I will follow the wise men
in a season of love.

(refrain, if singing)
Though Emmanuel’s coming
seems removed from today,
we rejoice in remembering
for He showed us the way.
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It’s the way to forgiveness
in the gifts that we bring,
and a heaven’s assurance
in the songs that we sing
all to say that “I love you”
like our father above,
and I follow the Father
in a season of love.

written December 12, 1993

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Gordon Lightfoot sings many poems put to music, and I call poems many songs I write when I print or speak and do not sing them with my guitar. For a long time I was looking for a song to rationalize this business of giving. All the music I knew celebrated the day with no connecting to modern giving OR talked about presents without talking about the big birthday. This song makes the connection. I’ve sung it in some churches (not enough) and at many parties (not enough).  More than my simple affirmation of my faith, I believe in the melody and consider my writing it a blessed gift from a higher power. I hope you liked it.
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To all readers of this blog, I extend best wishes for a warm, reverent and rewarding Christmas. If you don’t believe in Christmas, I wish you a pleasant Sunday just the same.
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Live long . . . . . . . . and proper.

A.D. Carspm. patriot

An artists’ coop  — make that co-op — rented by a group of visual artists, serves many artists. Those that chip in and help with the rent, the visuals, use it as a studio. There are paints finished paintings, easels, works in progress everywhere and words of the prophets written on the gallery walls.  Every fourth Thursday but in December is Spoken Word Night. The venue also welcomes aspiring writers to a weekly study group. The name of the co-op, located on the northwest corner of Pasfield at South Grand in Springfield, Illinois, USA is The Pharmacy. On Thursday, December 15, Springfield poet A.D. Carson came to The Pharmacy to share his poems, his music and excerpts from his first novel, COLD.

A.D. Carson, novelist

The audience arrived at 7:00 pm, “Springfield-style” which translates to 7:15 ish? 7:20? So what’s yer prablim dud? Before they began coming in, a well-done program had been placed on every chair. The publication  included a short biography of Carson and notes about his book excerpts, raps and poems he intended to perform. Once the featured guest made it to the microphone the fireworks began.

A.D. Carson, rap sta

 Bookending the show at start and finish were an Intro –  “Rap Star” — and an Outro (Carson’s word) — “My Hustle”  —  excerpts of prose from COLD read live over a music and sometimes, voice track on a CD or Blue Ray (I would not know a Blue Ray from a Charles ray.)
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The titles of Carson’s oratories would mean nothing to most Honey & Quinine readers as the titles of songs I have written would mean nothing to those who’ve not heard them. And as someone almost said, “You can’t judge a poem by its title.” or if you’re from corn country, “You can’t judge a poem by it’s title.”
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There is no mistaking The Pharmacy for Carnegie Hall.  But there is no denying that for A.D. Carson, The Pharmacy may be remembered, some day, as a step in that direction. And while conceding that many “performers” develop individual personnae – personnas if you don’t do Latin — there was no trace of such contrivancing before or during his time behind the microphone. As he set up his sound system he talked amiably with all who approached him. Before and during the patter, the reading and reciting — and I’m sure some folks will say I’m doing the man no favors by sharing this opinion  — he seemed the quintessence of Will Smith on the Letterman show. There is no hint of sullen resentment, the bravado of ultra-kewl and distancing from any living human being, present that evening. There were some who seemed to be marginally living, and one or two who seemed to be marginally human in their ways of being, but they all came to the event. And this happy circumstance “speaks” to the man’s wide-spectrum appeal.
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It was a complex production for a one-man delivery. Some items were read to a recorded musical background, most if not all his own two CD recordings of his own writing to music track and spoken word. He sang and spoke as a living second speaker in harmony, frequently, with what came from the recordings. Carson demonstrated an artist comfortable with intricate timing and production. He didn’t miss a cue. He talked about “rap tracks:”  recorded music and percussion serving as a foundation for what’s delivered live on stage. A major rap artist had offered to record a rap track for him for $300 and he declined because he would rather make his own.  The variety kept things interesting as he read from his novel, shared a poem . . . this, that and whatever and never overloading the preamble. Evident on the side where the audience couldn’t read the screen was a device that kept him on program, was used to cue the next number, and may have shown the texts of some poems he was reciting “almost” from memory. It was a nifty idea. He also read from paper, but was never chained to the pages. Eye contact with the audience was consistent throughout. Otherwise, poetry might as well be read to your living room mirror.
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The only down side was the question and answer period that followed directly on the heels of his performance. By the time I exited “with all deliberate speed” for home at the end of the complete package, I could not remember if there had been an intermission between performance and QandA. I don’t believe there was. If there had been, and if I had understood the likely . . . . . . . d-u-r-a-t-i-o-n . . . . . . . . . . . . of what was to follow, I would have thanked Carson for a terrific performance and departed cheerfully. Much of the second half was tech talk generated by aspirants in trail. There wasn’t a “dumb” question or answer in the onslaught of them. A surly,  but young,  dude who might have played a role in the dancing chorus of “West Side Story” as one of the Jets challenged Carson to a “rap off” or a “rap duel,” something like that. The gentleman in front fielded the question reacted as Fred Astaire might have, brushing powder off his shoulder after a slow dance with Ava Gardner. He explained The Pharmacy was not the place to discuss duelling rapsters; maybe later on the street corner. Smoooooth. It seemed obvious Carson was in familiar territory.
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But the session wasn’t happy time for me.  There was no escape because unlike the high school students who had exited during the performance during the introduction of the next book excerpt or poem, there was no time for breathing before the next question. There was not previously arranged end time, either. The longer it went, the more disappointed with that part of the evening. I was trapped in the front row! And by the time it all came to a lurching conclusion, I hated the world.
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The Visual Arts Gallery at University of Illinois Springfield brings featured artists to curious audiences BEFORE the official receptions begin, usually a half an hour before the gallery doors open. Artists talk about their art and then answer questions, and anyone with a question unanswered can talk to the artist during what follows. Launching the QandA after a n intermission where folks could socialize with Carson and then stay for the rest if they wanted to stay would have made a big difference in how I carried my attitude during the short walk back to my home down the block and around the corner.  In the future, I will exit soon after the last item in the performance is completed, even if there are crackers and wine promised after the QandA.
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I am still very happy to have attended A.D. Carson’s performance. I learned a lot about the man, his life on the journey to that night at The Pharmacy, and I guarantee all readers of Honey & Quinine — HandQ, if you prefer — you will be glad you shared what he shares, the next time you attend an event that promises more.
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Live long . . . . . . . and proper.