I haven't done very well in my quest to get her more published, but haven't given up.
In the meantime, I put out a new album...it has settings of two of Paula's poems, those being To An Angel, and How to Clean A Sewer (in a piece called Windfall Lemons). And: Rebecca Shrimpton extracted a song from Paula's writing on these blog about the loss of a dear friend. From these House of Toast post: http://paulashouseoftoast.blogspot.com/2013/08/aftermathematician.html
This is the disc....the art work on the front (and the back) is, of course Paula's...
ttps://darrellkatzandthejcaorchestra.hearnow.com/rats-live-on-no-evil-star
This is the first song I've ever written the lyrics to, my rant about Fred Phelps, who you may have read about in Paula's post: http://paulashouseoftoast.blogspot.com/2005/08/fuck-you-fred-phelps.html
The Red Dog Blues
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ozgwdtu5hQI
How To Clean A Sewer
Paula Tatarunis
There lie the rinds of things,
there in the shadows,
the indigestibles
that shamed the tongue.
The wind that howls through
that matter horn;
the dervish fire hose;
the cold and smothering clods;
the snakeroots piercing
the clotted gourd
to god soul truth love hope heal heart--
there is no fix
but in ash-scour and the scent
of windfall lemons
from the grove of the last
dream before you wake.
To An Angel
To An Angel
Paula Tatarunis
Neither arch- or seraph-,
far too old for cherub,
more drone than anything,
you punch the guard clock
of your night watch,
pushing the allowance
of fatigue and indifference,
and haul your yellowing
half-stripped scapulae
unflappable behind you
and over me.
Red Sea
Lyrics from the writings of Paula Tatarunis (adapted by Rebecca Shrimpton)
Music by Rebecca Shrimpton and Darrell Katz
My latest gig nearly did me in
I’m squatting over the embers of myself
Ember and ashes
In the midst, the phone call comes
A stranger reporting a death
I was on a list to call in the event of
And the red, red sea parts for a moment
Then crashes down redder yet
The horse and the rider are swept into
The sea of someone else’s dream
The man I called the Reverend was a Marxist,
An angrily lapsed Catholic,
A man caught between his roots and aspirations
He was my first lover
We were misfit clinging to misfit
Clinging for years then drifting apart.
And the red, red sea parts for a moment
Then crashes down redder yet
He was a grace which like all graces
Was utterly undeserved
Years passed,
The Reverend reappeared
He’d had a hard life, brutal and cruel
But there was more
He’d had a vision of tall, white beings
Radiating love
In the anguish of Being
He’d found JOY, JOY
After he died, I had a dream:
The Rev left a message we’d meet
For a game of Twister
I looked up and there he was
Wearing Ray Bans
Walking away
My broken guardian angel
And the red, red sea parts for a moment
Then crashes down redder yet
He was a grace which like all graces
Was utterly undeserved
May the earthly wind
And the heavenly stars
Sing you to sleep
My old friend
