THE LANGUAGE OF CROWS

by Steven Schutzman

Sons of Fathers
Fathers of sons
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Passed like secret looks
among the astronomers of dust
Debris of a nation of destiny
dumped from buckets out back
Whimsically checked off lists
A frown a smile
A smile a frown
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Sons of fathers
Fathers of sons
Who had their shoes cut open for feet
Their food examined for thoughts
Their blood checked for poems
Their children stripped of stories at the door
Crows watched from a fence
and remembered their names
as they ate
But where are those crows
and who can speak their language now?
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Sons of fathers
Fathers of sons
Of a man who walked by a river
A visionary
Who saw where roads would be built
Where he could make it rich in hotels
Where he could go mad in his own hotel
And tell the story again and again
In all the rooms
Whirlings of the interior
Skull cap for an inner sun
Birthmark you never escape
Poverty
Remind me of the name of the continent from which I fled
Remind me of the name of the continent to which I fled
Remind me of the name of the one God
Here at least that God grows weaker
like the muscles of a drowning man
This is the story
of a family that won't be told
Europe a fat cigar
Five brothers smoked
Who are the ancestors of smoke?
Shadows
Who are the ancestors of shadows?
Smoke
No wonder
Lighting up prosperous after meals
We hear no singing
Only the fire sings
For the dance of smoke
And for the shadows
climbing walls to get out
________________________________________
Steve Schutzman is a survivor of San Francisco in the 60s and 70s where we met through our mutual friend, Gene Berson. He was working on a novel at the time, and published at least two poetry titles, “The History of Sleep” (1976) and “Smoke The Burning Body Makes” (1978). We experienced those socially tumultuous times meeting occasionally to share work, roam the rivers of the Sierra Nevada Foothills, or watch a 49er game. I knew him in those days as a poet, but he says he seldom writes poetry now, focusing on plays and stories. “The Language Of Crows” is a pleasant exception which we are honored to be able to post here.

One of his early plays, “The Beauty And Terror Of Being A Dog”, was performed in a small theater in North Beach, San Francisco, sometime in the 70s for which I did some sound design. I watched as a student while he worked with the actors and crew, gradually bringing together his visions and ideas, until the play literally danced under the lights. I lost contact with Steve shortly after this until a few months ago when we hooked up via email, thanks once again to Gene Berson. He is a delightful human being, witty and smart, who roams freely through the realm of his imagination, presenting his subjects from all angles at the same time so that his readers absorb his insights more through the pores than the intellect, receiving instinctively the common wonder of life that his works share.


“The Language Of Crows” was recently published in “In Posse Review” http://www.inpossereview.com/index.htm


For information about Steven Schutzman and his plays, stories, novels, and poetry you can visit his web site http://mysite.verizon.net/stevenschutzman/ . While there you should read “Tree Man”, a play in one act, and “The Bank Robbery”, a prize winning short story that will resonate in your mind for months, like the whisper of a Chinese gong.


The following paragraph was posted at: Pioneer Drama Service, Inc. http://www.pioneerdrama.com/authordetail.asp?ac=SCHUTZMANS


Steven Schutzman is a playwright and fiction writer, the author of seven published books and of numerous plays and stories in literary journals including The Pushcart Prize, TriQuarterly, Alaska Quarterly Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Third Coast, Scene 4 and the anthology "The Art of the One Act". More than thirty different plays of his have been produced at such theatres as New Jersey Repertory, Cleveland Public, Baltimore Theatre Project and Revolution Theatre in Chicago among many others. He is also a five-time recipient of Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Grant Awards and a three time top tier finalist for the Eugene O'Neill Center National Playwrights Conference. His one-act "Tree Man" won first prize in the First Stage L.A. One-Act Contest/2004. You can read more about Mr. Schutzman and his work by going to his website.


Some links of interest:
http://mysite.verizon.net/stevenschutzman/ - Steve’s web site.
http://www.eclectica.org/v12n2/feature.html - 3 short plays.
http://www.uaa.alaska.edu/aqr/
http://www.thirdcoastmagazine.com/ - FALL 2007
http://www.postroadmag.com/
http://home.sprynet.com/~awhit/index.htm - Issues 15, 17, 20
http://www.triquarterly.org/
http://www.webdelsol.com/pbq/issue76/?home=1&frmLeft=frontpage.htm&frmRight=rightnav.htm
http://www.nighttrainmagazine.com/contents/schutzman_8_1.php - “Tonight, You’re Mine”
http://pipl.com/search/?FirstName=Steven&LastName=Schutzman&City=&State=&Country=&CategoryID=2&Interface=40 - Lots of information on this page.
http://www.abalonemoon.com/schutzman.html - Poem: “Thirty And Deep In My Shoes”

YOU ARE NOT DEPRESSED. YOU ARE DISTRACTED.

I ran across this posting today on a blog that I have been following for a few months. Check it out. It will make you feel good. I promise!

http://gravitando.wordpress.com/2009/03/24/you-are-not-depressed-you-are-distracted/

The blog is written by a young jewelry designer who lives in Costa Rica. I found her when I did a Google search for the writer Anais Nin and followed this link:

http://gravitando.wordpress.com/2008/03/10/winter-1931-1932-from-the-diary-of-anais-nin/

To see the whole blog, click on the blog title, AL GRAVITAR RODANDO, at the top of her page.

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GOD BLESS THE CHILD

Scene from my morning walk:

As I approached Bird Park, a small neighborhood park near my house, a small white Chevy pulled up to the curb and a full-sized lady of about 50 emerged after cranking the radio up full blast, rocking the quiet morning with some grooving R & B. She was wearing a bright orange pant suit, her hair up in style with flowers, as if she was on the way to church. There was a plot of blooming iris's of orange color with red and black spots planted along the sidewalk, really quite lovely. The lady broke into a boogaloo to the music, dancing before the flowers, arms in the air and then reaching for the flowers, large body shaking, huge smile on her quite lovely face. In her dance she was bowing to the flowers and as I approached her I could see that she was kissing them, straightening up, arms in the air again, bowing and kissing the iris's. As I got near I smiled and said Good morning. She looked at me beaming with joy and said, "You gotta be happy some time!" "I heard that!" I said. "I just had to stop and thank the flowers for being so beautiful!" I gave her a slight bow and a hands together "I honor your spirit." She said "Thank you!" and continued her dance. I moved on, beaming with joy in my soul. When I returned about ten minutes later I was hoping she was still there, but no, she had driven off. But I smiled anyway as I passed the iris's, for in my heart she was still there, still dancing, still filling the morning with joy. "God bless the child that's got her own."

Have a beautiful day!

Buff


GOD BLESS THE CHILD

Them thats got shall get
Them thats not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own

Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets dont ever make the grade
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own

Money, youve got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When youre gone, spending ends
They dont come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But dont take too much
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own

Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own
He just worry bout nothin
Cause hes got his own

Billie Holiday

You can hear her sing it here:
http://www.last.fm/music/Billie+Holiday/_/God+Bless+the+Child

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