Thursday, March 29, 2018

Poems Found In the Database of the UC Berkeley Library By Glenn Ingersoll

Glenn Ingersoll works for the Berkeley Public Library where he hosts Clearly Meant, a reading & interview series. He has two chapbooks, City Walks (broken boulder) and Fact (Avantacular). He keeps two blogs, LoveSettlement and Dare I Read. Recent work has appeared in Futures Trading, Neologism, and Poetry East. 

The Dance

found in the UC Berkeley library database

part one: what's dancing

dancing beasts bees chimpanzee
dancing class devils diplomats
dancing druids dust on the rafters
dancing feather horses of Acoma imps of the wine
dancing kettle ledge longer stronger madly backwards  
dancing mistress mouse palm tree pieces prophets of Malawi
dancing with the family with wolves without danger without music

part two: places of dancing

dancing against the darkness at Ground Zero at Lughnasa
dancing at the edge of the world at the Rascal Fair
dancing in the Inns of Court in the moon in the sun
dancing on a volcano on coral on ice on the desk tops
dancing on knives in chains the skies

Could That Really Be Me?

found in the UC Berkeley library database

Could a monetary base rule have prevented the Great Depression?
Could Bacon have written the plays?
Could there be a medical basis for declining SAT scores?

Couldn't say, might be love . . .

Above the human landscape

found in the UC Berkeley library database

Above the battle
Above the bottom line
Above the bright blue sky
Above the dark tumult
Above the glaciers in the Canadian Rockies
Above the grave of John Odenswurge, a cosmopolite

Under a mantle of blue

found in the UC Berkeley library database

Under a blanket of blue
Under a willow tree
Under a changing moon
Under a thousand eyes
Under a colored cap
Under a soprano sky
Under a cruel star
Under a sky of incense
Under a glass bell
Under a sickle moon
Under a grudging sun
Under a monsoon cloud
Under a lilac-bleeding star
Under a mighty oak
Under a mantle of stars
Under a mantle of stars
Under a mighty oak
Under a lilac-bleeding star
Under a monsoon cloud
Under a grudging sun
Under a sickle moon
Under a glass bell
Under a sky of incense
Under a cruel star
Under a soprano sky
Under a colored cap
Under a thousand eyes
Under a changing moon
Under a willow tree
Under a blanket of blue

We are all so interdependent that every action by each one of us
affects in some way or other the welfare and destiny of the rest

found in the database of the UCBerkeley library

We are going
We are here
We are many
We are one!

We are a part of history
We are a separate people
We are accountable

We are all close
We are all guilty
We are all healers
We are all lesbians
We are all lovers
We are all part of one another
We are all poets, really
We are all POWs

We are Alaskans
We are all the Black boy
We are bosses ourselves
We are called human
We are Chicanos
We are Dow Corning
We are everywhere

We are forsaken
We are going back home

We are going to make the lousiest chop suey in town
We are having a baby

We are innocent
We are integrated and wonderfully made
We are losing our rights
We are manufacturing
We are many people living together

We are not afraid
We are not alone
We are not divided
We are not French!
We are not in this together

We are one voice
We are optimists
We are ordinary women
We are poets, too!

We are still married
We are talking about homes
We are the builders of a new world

We are the dead
We are the echoes
We are the fire
We are the future
We are the living proof
We are the makers of music
We are the original people
We are the people our mothers warned us against

We are the stories we tell
We are the wounded
We are thy children
We are utopia
We are voyagers, discoverers
We are your sisters

We are your sons

Surreal Sonnets By Hart L’Ecuyer

Hart L’Ecuyer is a surrealist poet from St. Louis. These are the pages.


Dictated by certain amazing chemicals, Otis W. Caldwell
         (as one might expect) can be measured & described
                                                  as necessarily right or wrong.
                     J. Arthur Thomson the structure of a dogfish
                in an erratic & unpredictable manner suggested.
                 To connect the lady up to any kind of apparatus
                                     would ruin the intimacy of the scene.
It is amazing (but true) that social scientists study men collectively.
                                          If indeed it can be called a science,
                    a ball released from your hand a million times
                                                    falls to the ground each time.
You still have to decide whether this is a good thing or not;
                         you might even decide that it is an evil thing.
You will get very little help from a psychologist in answering these questions.


Buddhism did not succeed in sending troops to breakfast;
                                           in fact, Elena lay flat in a bathtub.
                                           In the vanishing world of privilege,
voluptuous, fleshy women left suicide notes. Fidel is always right.
The little princess turned down Jasper’s dozen red roses
& his routine telephone calls & money & with his dying breath
                                           the emperor gently divorced her.
                                           Caroline’s disregard for propriety
                                           was wasted on confused Hugh,
                                           ailing, drinking, raving;
Hannah, the tricky problem, was a liar & repressed.
                                          All we know for certain
                                          is hefty, wooden, & bloodstained,
                                          & it still reverberates today.


        According to one person who knew them well,
      David, Francis & James resented Barcelona.
    In accordance with New York,
  a constant succession of boys cast no shadow.
Flanked by two angels (how many? two!) Igor strolled about Madrid.
The day-to-day grind of open coffins & retrograde appetites
could not have been otherwise; every night the snow-covered drawbridge
where thousands of old people frolic & masturbate to  magazines.
                                 Concerning the febrile desires of youth,
we have seen endless bombers abandon collaboration;
                                              to honor fully Pebble Beach,
                realize that cyclists in the form of a telegram
   are the maximum opponent of Russian propaganda.
   The ballet began in the dark.


Regaining pleasure, Gabrielle fancied a shoe salesman
& Lucien, on principle, sold the Irishman a turtleneck.
                                               Graceful, wouldn’t you say?
                            Sergei looked nothing like a murderer
                       & the baroness was physically persuaded.
                       The senator handed out advice:
                                            “Remove the body.”
                                  “Take up guitar playing.”
               “Talk up a storm at dinner parties.”
                Still, there was some truth in her 50 franc blouse;
             people no longer know what elegance is.
         The nylon prestige, the high-wire publicity,
    Antoinette was ready to fly off the handle.
Within days, the chauffer went on a paid vacation.


                   Claiming it was for his health in the absence of a boyfriend
                                    Ian was on the lookout for a maze of small rooms.
                     The heiress pulled off her bathrobe & floated downstream.
                                                                                      Joan had had enough;
the canoes were about 30 feet long & known for their scrambled eggs.
                   A Swiss tourist on the outskirts of town
                                   leads us to some very sad places:
                                      the floor, Paris, a separate personality.
                   Beneath the stairwell Gregory made room for the tendrils.
What’s wrong with your hands?
The judge: “I don’t associate myself with any trends, groups, or experiments.”
                                                   The Brooklyn guru often visited London;
                                                   watching the dancing boys

                                                   Ian accomplished a satisfactory clarinet.