Passport Always Everywhere Poems

By Mary Rudge

Travel in poetry of intimate, stirring, personal and unique insights, through time and cultures a passport that is universal and always. In a book like no other, International Poet Laureate, peace activist, educator, Mary Rudge, known world wide for her legendary travels on 5 continents as poet, speaker at global events, gives a kaleidoscopic view of the world. A significant, eclectic collection. Follow the poets ardent heart through a wide range of interest, from ancient China to Elvis, the Beats and The Doors. People everywhere will choose this book for pleasure and knowledge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781469117973

Mary Rudge

Alamedas Poet Laureate Mary Rudge is a phenomenon who is unique but not rare since many literary persons: William Saroyan, Jack London, Don Blanding, Robert Louis Stevenson, Robert Duncan, poet-musicians such as Jim Morrison of The Doors, with Phyllis Diller, (and numerous visual artists, musicians, writers, fi lm-makers, actors such as Tom Hanks, and peace activists not encompassed in this book) have made a connection to this island that has become legendary for the genius of its people in a place so small. Readers of this story-map of the islands literary history by Mary Rudge will have a fascinating experience following the route around the island where her ardent heart leads you; where poets in the past have been touched by the sense of place and their experiences. A walk around Alameda, following passages in this book, is an adventure in the real world of the excitement in lives of poets.

Book preview

passport

Always Everywhere Poems

image.jpg

by Mary Rudge

Copyright © 2010 Mary Rudge.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2010909866

All rights protected under International Copyright Law. Material in this book may be used only for review purposes crediting the book and author. For permission to use any material in this publication in any other way, in any media, contact:

Mary Rudge

532 Haight Ave.

Alameda, Ca 94501, USA

[e-mail]

Great appreciation is expressed by the author to Artists Embassy International and to the numerous artists dedicated to this organization, since its founding in 1951 to network around the world for inter-cultural understanding and peace, through the universal language of the arts.

And to Amy Vallejos and Sarah Arizala of Xlibris, for their dedication, good work and good spirits in bringing several of my books through the process of publication for international distribution.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

51573

Contents

INTRODUCTION

1 Stamp My Passport

STAMP MY PASSPORT

ARRIVAL

SO WE DECIDED TO

THE WEDNESDAY AFTER TUESDAY

WHO EVER HEARD THE DOORS?

FLYING LIKE ANGELS DANCE

POETS BUMPER STICKER

CALIFORNIA DAY

ON THE WAY TO TRANSFIGURATION

IT WAS A DIFFICULT JOURNEY

POETRY COMES THROUGH

POETRY on ANOTHER PLANE

SOMEWHERE, FLOATING

HEY YOU POET BEYOND 2008

LOOKING BACK

LEAF BY POET

TO LI PO, ON THE MOUNTAIN

2 The Skin of God

GRAFFITI

WHATEVER IS HERE

UNKNOWN TONGUES

BORN IN THE TIGER YEAR

INDELIBLE MOMENTS

THE MONTH WHEN

LOVE LINES

MYSTERIES OF THE DEEP

METAMORPHOUS

TO A POET

POETS WAIT FOR LUMINOUS BUSES

ON THE BUS

POEM FOR THE

BOOKMOBILE DRIVER

PAPYRUS IN ALEXANDRIA

DIALOGUE WITH MY SELF

ON COMPUTER

O, ICON BALLET

3 Holding Stone on the Mountain

the pilgrim journey

SILK/SPICE

THE PILGRIM BEGINS THE JOURNEY IN THE FOREST

PILGRIM PASSES OVER THE RIVER

THE PILGRIM REACHES A SUMMIT HOLDING STONE

PAINTING WHAT TO PAINT

4 The Butterflies Decree

THE BUTTERFLIES DECREE

ON THE DEATH OF HO CHIOU

MORE THAN

TWENTY THOUSAND ANTS

TO THE ANT NATION;

A DECLARATION

5 She was riding the elephant. Shewas riding the camel. She had the snake around her neck.

MESSAGE FOR HALF THE WORLD: HER FEMININE ESSENCE

MESSAGE FOR HALF THE WORLD: RECALLING THE GODDESS

HERITAGE

THE HOSTAGE POEM

PELE LEGEND

OCTOBER*

WEST OAKLAND CHARM

QUESTION FOR MY DAUGHTERS

TEACHING FIRE TO DANCE

OLD WOMEN POETS

BLESSING

BLESSING FOR WOMEN

IN THE CITY

AS A WOMAN I MUST TELL YOU

O CHILDREN,

MOTHER WANTED TO BE A POET!

FOR WOMEN IN FRINGED SHAWLS

THREAD OF WOMAN SEWING

BRINGING THE WATER FOR TEA

LUNCH AT JOHN’S GRILL,

SAN FRANCISCO

THE FORTUNE

I WAS TRYING ON ITALIAN SHOES AT THE TIME

IN CHARGE OF THE DANCE

THE EYE’S ANATOMY

CONVERSATION IN THE SOUTHWEST LANDSCAPE:

THE DESERT CREATURES

POEM OF PRECIOUS WATERS: A SEQUENCE FOR WOMEN’S VOICES

SHE WAS RIDING THE ELEPHANT. SHE WAS RIDING THE CAMEL. SHE HAD THE SNAKE AROUND HER NECK.

LOVE POEM TO DISORDER

WE OPENED THE PYRAMID

THIS YEAR MY LIFE

SHE FELT HER THOUGHTS AS ROCKS

AND ALMOST FEARLESS

BEHIND THE MIRROR, REFLECTIONS

ANATHEMA

SLEEPING AT THE HEAD

OF THE STAIRS

Yours Now

WAX

OUR SISTER HAS BEEN CHOSEN

PRAYER

WORKING THROUGH SEA CHANGE

6 Oh God Your Body is so Heavy

MANTRA FOR BOARDING

THE PLANE

TO WAKE

HONG KONG STREET DANCE

THIS COUNTRY

OUR DEATH AS ART-LIFE

DANCE ON BROKEN GLASS

TRAFALGAR SQUARE

AFTER ATLANTIS

LIKE GOING TO THE BEACH WITH GRAN

A CLASSIC FOR

ALL AGES

HOW THE ORANGES HAVE FALLEN INTO NEW GRASS

AT THE SATIN MOMENT

7 The Door of The Sun

I’M GOING TO EAT THIS DAY

I’M GOING TO EAT THIS DAY

THIS TERRIBLE NEED

I’VE BEEN WRITING THIS POEM

A LONG TIME

BEGINNING OVER

PREPARING THIS BEING

SIX DAYS

OF LONG EVOLUTION

VOYAGE

FIFTEEN SECONDS

ART

THE CAUGHT

LEGEND

WE HAVE A FLOW IN OUR TRAVELS

WRITTEN IN THE

NORTHWEST PRESERVE

AT THE PEACH FARM

THE BEAUTY

WATER DANCE

PARTING SEQUENCE

PROCESS

AFTER I BECAME WINGED

NOW WORDS

LOOKING AROUND

8 The Bodhisattvas Are Crowding The City

THE FIRE TWIRLERS

HAVE COME TO THE CAMPUS

THE STUDENT

CAUGHT IN THE OVERHEAD PROJECTOR

PASSING

AFTER THE AFTERNOON

POETRY READING

IN OLYMPIC VALLEY

BODHISATTVAS ON THE SILK ROAD BODHISATTVAS ARE CROWDING THE CITY

ANNAPURNA POETS

THERE/HERE

IN NEW JERSEY IS

ALLEN GINSBERG

KADDISH FOR ALLEN GINSBERG

ANOTHER BEAT HEART STOPPED

POEM ON THE DEATH CERTIFICATE OF DYLAN THOMAS

HEMINGWAY, YOUR DEATH

TO BORGES, BEFORE HIS DEATH

PLANTING A REDWOOD

FOR ROBINSON JEFFERS

GOLDEN GATE PARK

HOMELESS

SEQUENCES

I THINK OF THE FBI MEN

THE ONE DAY CAFÉ

UPON READING RESEARCH RESULTS THAT BIRDS’ BRAINS GROW NEW CELLS AS NEEDED

CONNECTIONS

THE COUPLE

GOLDEN HUBCAPS

WINDOW

9 Ascend Like Incense Rising

ASCENSION OF 7 HILLS

OF SAN FRANCISCO

SEEING SACRAMENTO

LOVING THE MOON

FOR THIS GREAT JOY

MEMORY

CHANCE TO SAY

SENSES BEYOND BLIND

AS THE CORNEA REFLECTS BLOOD IN MACULAR DEGENERATION I REFLECT ON KOSOVO

AT THE AIRPORT

REMEMBER THIS BIRTH

LOVING ITALY

THE CONNOISSEUR

AT THE ELVIS PRESLEY MUSEUM IN THE HEARTBREAK HOTEL, NEW ORLEANS

FLOWERING OF THE COLORFUL

ONLY IN BERKELEY

THE ROOM THAT GOES LIKE

A SHIP

BEYOND THE PAINTING WITHIN THE POEM

CLASSEN HIGH SCHOOL

AND THE 19th-20th

CENTURY POETS

AND SHE IS A POET, TOO

Acknowledgment

of previous publication

of poems:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

MARY RUDGE

About the author:

BOOKS BY MARY RUDGE

INTRODUCTION

To the ancient Chinese, paper with writing on it was an awe-inspiring mystery, and many would save every scrap of it, even the tiniest piece, as precious treasure, considering it the skin of God.

Chinese stories exist about how the creation of paper first originated in the world; an artistry, some sources attribute to Cai Lun, who presented his invention of paper which may have been processed from cloth, silk, rice, bamboo fiber, or mix of these with other earthly organic materials, to the Emperor in 105 A.D.

Archeological research gives proven evidence that paper was being used in China even more than 200 years before the time given by legend.

Other peoples, such as tribal groups in America believed marking in the sands and dust and soil of the earth was also to cut the flesh of the mother. Even now, many people thank the spirit that is in all nature for giving to human life, such as knowing trees must give their lives to become paper to hold words transcribed out of the human brain.

Human creativity may be claimed as one of the most important resources on earth, but it could not happen without connection to nature and to spirit. Words on paper are still to be considered as precious treasure; their appearance out of thin air through the mystery of the human mind and their appearance into books still as incredible as marks and tattoos on the skin of God.

1

Stamp My Passport

STAMP MY PASSPORT

My skin is tattooed with your memories,

pomegranate juice, the sting of lime,

some million mixed colors of your market

under cloth suspended under sun so the

sieved light dapples the earth,

tents, pagodas, pavilions,

your street cafes, the eyes of your people.

Your stamp extends my being.

Your stamp upon me. I am marked

with your imprint, your impress,

which overlaps the inks

of others, purples, greens, reds, blues,

of many countries.

The dye soaks through.

Layers of your history on my skin.

My skin covered with burnoose,

imbued with cloth brocade,

a dreams and desires facade.

Here is my photograph.

Who can know me now

after I have become so many countries.

After any place is home.

Now that I understand about loving everyone.

ARRIVAL

So the Muses, royally ensconced upon rocks

on the Olympus peak, these who can see with

telescopic view the ompala (naval of earth)

at Delphi and the earth-split crack releasing fumes

enveloping the Oracle for visions, and the sea

of Odyssey, knew we would come one day,

some, come again, with our poetry,

to wear laurel abundant and fragrant, wreathed

gold the Muses hold, to crown the brain where

inspiration and words create peace.

The Muses, tired of the running and tossing and

muscle-bulge of sports, Olympics now, everywhere,

wanted thought.

They were thinking of us before our arrival.

They smooth again their long tunics,

adjust girdles and sandals and plaited hair,

tell a few jokes—they are centuries-old bored.

They have waited a long time for us to come.

Arrive, poets, let us entertain them.

SO WE DECIDED TO

John Lennon and Yoko Ono

married at Gibraltar so

we decided to go just see

the rock, be

with our feet in the same place—(if you’ve

ever loved someone else’s life, you know)—

Yuck, all those people threw up on the boat

on the way, the rock had a fence around it

like a psychic moat,

there was no music outside in the field

for our dance––

so we decided to live our own lives

and went on to France.

Unlike Gertrude Stein for whom

if she didn’t see it it wasn’t there—

unlike Thomas the apostle who said

to believe he must put his fingers where . . .

And even though it was hard to journey

among people who made such a mess––

we just took love with us

and kept going on . . .

( . . . I haven’t yet written the rest . . .)

Part 2 (continuing on)

Gibraltar, we just rolled on past

the rock, place empty as the tomb.

What had been there was gone.

So we decided to

Journey on.

Part 3

"Remember the outcry

when he wrote ‘they’re gonna crucify

me’ as then we read?"

Crucify . . . a child said.

That means you’re dead?

"Someone killed him. I cried.

I’m still sad that he died . . ."

"We know the truth though––

love and music just go on,

the Power of Creativity

is great, something

can happen in this world

so wonderful

that angels sing."

And we have tickets

to go on

to—well. It might be heaven,

but so far as this poem goes,

I’ll say it’s

France—

THE WEDNESDAY AFTER TUESDAY

I became a poet because of deep and directional lines

in my palms; because of the way my fingers held a pen,

then found rhythms over computer frets, where words

came in riffs, cadence and beats. These also were the

styles of men, signs poetry would still evolve, even in

San Francisco where in the mythic past Avalon

was a ballroom, and Janis, still in Texas, confused, a

country girl, not yet come to hipdom. Women had

breasts like Mount Tamalpais, born for milk and honey.

Yet, born a poet, all I need is a room built around a

window with a bowl of gold fish. I am not going to

think of someplace to go (so I say), like Nicaragua again,

or Morocco. I am going to stay for poems.

The leaves