Monday, November 12, 2018

Rats Live On No Evil Star

If any of you are still out there coming to this site, I'm sure it would make Paula happy.  I haven't posted here for over a year..but oh, I still miss her so....the grief has maybe changed, but it will never go away.
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 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:

This is the disc....the art work on the front (and the back) is, of course Paula's...

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:
The Red Dog Blues

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
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


Roy said...

I was out taking pictures just the other day and I thought of Paula. Thank you for this post.

Beth said...

Thank you. I was so happy to read her words and see her face again; I miss her too.

Dave Bonta said...

Thank you for continuing to post here. As it happens, I was just on Paula's Twitter yesterday, browsing through the list of people she followed to find more interesting accounts to follow myself - because of course she had very good taste.

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