Update 12-26-06

Hey,

Early edition, because I'm going away.  And the first newsletter in January will be slightly late.
   
    Also, if the New Yorker can run an Winter Fiction Issue this week, there's no reason we can't run an all-poetry newsletter.  Both of these are by Ryki Zuckerman '66.
   
   
    the birthday party
    (from "the dropped-name series of true stories"/ adventures in NY chapter)
   
    one of those indian summer thanksgivings,
    unseasonably hot and humid;
    a private party in a n.y. bar;
   
    the birthday boy was jimi;
    various music luminaries attended;
    some of the "big brother & the holding company" band,
    big record label reps, assorted celebrities,
    and then, me, a sophomore at buff. state.
   
    a huge table was spread with buffet food;
    another, perpendicular to that,
    was laden with liquor;
   
    the celebrant sat nearby on a bench,
    flanked by a set of languid living bookends:
    a beautiful white woman draped on one arm,
    and a beautiful black man perched on the other side,
   
    but no one spoke to jimi.
   
    i decided to wish him felicitations,
    but a gaggle of rambunctious
    party-goers interrupted me
    as they noisily lurched towards the drinks' table.
   
    i turned away,
    but jimi reached out,
    gently grabbed my wrist,
    and said "what were you saying, dear?"
   
    "happy birthday!"
    i kissed his cheek;
    in reply he squeezed my hand
    and said "thank you."
   
    his kindness deserved
    a long lifetime of friends and laughter;
    instead, he left too early.
   
    i bet he sits now
    on a marble bench
    every november,
    receiving birthday kisses
    from other dead rock stars
    and adoration from angels.
    ---Ryki Zuckerman, © 2006
   
   
    music in the year one
    (from the "dropped-name series of true stories"/ adventures in n.y. chapter)
   
    back in the 20th century,
    when i was in college in buffalo,
    i'd go home to long island to see my folks
    and flee from there to new york
    to hear the icons of folk music in concert halls
    and attend the deities of fine art in museums;
   
    one year, before flying out of buffalo,
    i caught a new film:
    antonioni's "blowup";
    david hemmings played a photographer
    trying to figure out if he has witnessed a murder;
    he stops to watch a band play,
    who end their show
    by smashing up their guitars;
   
    after i got to the city,
    i was dumbfounded when
    one band smashed up their guitars,
    right in front of me:
    at a "murray the k" show:
    a new band: "the who"
    movies crossing over into real life!
    unsettling.
   
    normally, a twist in the time-space fabric
    didn't unglue me;
    i'd suffered from a serious addiction
    to science fiction since childhood;
   
    in the 21st century,
    afforded fixes by the sci-fi channel,
    i watched a rerun of "stargate sg-1"
    guest starring an actor i'd first seen
    in the movie "deliverance."
   
    the next week at
    a folk alliance conference in montreal;
    i had to rub my eyes and pinch myself
    when sg-1's same ronnie cox
    strode out onto the stage
    and sang with his band.
    for a moment the mesh
    of samsara shimmered,
    then a gate closed again;
   
    "at least ", i thought,
    "they didn't smash up their guitars!"
    ---Ryki Zuckerman, © 2006
   
   
    Merry Christmas.  Happy New Year.  Eat carefully, we're getting older.