__________________________________________

‘Where summer goes,
summer only knows.
In her aching throes
thrills throw a rose.’
— Al Young

Photo: Adele Goldberg

Outside THE CLUBHOUSE, an upbeat South of Market meeting-place that helps San Francisco youth make the transition from juvenile detention to everyday life sobering and purposeful. Kids who take part love it, and so do their teachers and leaders, all ex-offenders. | Saturday, June 20, 2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo: Al Young

__________________________________________

_________________________________________

Santa Barbara, CA
May 2015

Photo © Associated Press

Devastating Photos Show How An Oil Spill Consumed Santa Barbara’s Coastline

The oil spill and the food web

By Dan Brennan
30 June 2010
© World Socialist Web Site

The ecological destruction of the oil disaster in the Gulf is perhaps most aptly embodied in the pictures of brown pelicans made lifeless by a thick coating of toxic sludge. However, the true toll may spread far beyond these dreadful images. Scientists warn that the gravest threat, including possible ecosystem collapse, is posed by the poisoning of organisms at the base of the food chain.
Read the rest

__________________________________________

Lessons learned from the Santa Barbara Oil Spill of January 1969

Listen

__________________________________________

Ripples of the Santa Barbara Oil Spill

L.A. Times | September 7, 2008

© L.A. Times

__________________________________________

© 1969 Associated Press

The Great Santa Barbara Oil Disaster, Or: A Diary

a poem by Conyus

 

Day one

We ride down the coast hwy

through the heavy rain

to a beach that sits in a rocky cove

hidden from the eye.

I sit in the rear of the bus

where the shadows pass

over cold metal walls

& window screens,

looking through dirty glass

at the somber scenery.

A young Mexican girl stands in the muddy debris

of her home, rummaging through the mud.

The river flooded suddenly two days ago

after a torrential rain & shifted the terrain.

Overhead the clouds mount menacingly

in small squalls, prostituting themselves again

against the sky, & we turn left off the freeway

into the spent community of Carpinteria

like a funeral procession on a grey Saturday,

heading to the bone yard in tandem.

Beyond the border of thin sidewalks,

sit bleached out houses on paper stilts

with tattered venetian blinds & curtains

barely moving on the stiff ocean breeze.

We walk beneath the bleeding sky

single file to the oily beach in perfect silence;

everything around us is a chemical foundry.

Day two

The 1st. night

we arrived,

the college girls

in the dormitory

across from us

paraded before

their window in

bras & panties,

being friendly.

The people

came to watch us work,

in hip boots & work gloves,

cleaning oil & shoveling straw.

Some said, “my! don’t they look almost human?”

Others said, “a convict is a crime. don’t forget that!”

Sometimes the children’s ball

bounded in our area,

& the Spanish inmates

soccer kicked it back lightly.

We all laughed

& smiled a lot

the first day.

The sunset & the night

came on slowly.

From out of the night

came gargoyles

with church fathers

& concerned parents

to tell the children

not to play

within the border of red flags

& the fence of thick cane around us.

Because,

the sky would fall

& hell would follow,

if they instilled

licentious ambitions

in our minds.

& so

we didn’t laugh

anymore, or smile

at all the second day.

From that day forward,

we just worked,

hard & steady,

with our heads

low & our eyes

to the ground,

so the sky

wouldn’t fall,

& the people

wouldn’t know,

& the world

wouldn’t burn.

Day three

All day we work behind the sea breaker

in the black sand, shoveling straw

& thick lumps of oil

into the mouth of the skip loader,

while the cat skinner rides high

in the driver’s seat with a hole for his eye.

On the beach,

in the window

of the Santa Barbara Yacht Club,

Black servants watch us

swing picks & shovels

in the wet sand

like machetes

clearing a cane field

on their small island

in the Caribbean.

On a concrete wall

below this Diaspora

i sit & swing my legs over the ice plants

& puddles of oil where sand crabs,

& small fish lie dead

& stinking in the sun.

Beneath my work jacket

i touch the crushed sandwich

of white bread & yellow cheese

& think of the young Chinese girl

in the pink hairnet with braces.

After lunch we return with rakes & hip booths,

wading through the constant tide

of thick oil & grey foam,

to gather balls of sticky oil

stuck between rocks,

& place them in yellow plastic bags.

Along the beach

the tide falls back out to sea,

taking with it the trail of our feet

that follows us like a shadow.

I turn my back to the Santa Barbara Sound

& pull the weather jacket tight

to shield against the cold & damp air.

Over my shoulder,

past the far islands near the horizon,

someone is singing a song,

that i can barely hear,

in a voice

that i cannot recognize.

(more…)

___________________________________________

 DMQ Review
disquieting muses quarterly
Spring 2015

Sally Ashton, editor-in-chief

Cover: Steven Daluz

Table of Contents

Poetry

We Pass Like Thieves   Carol Westberg
a series from The Hard Problem   Brian Clements
Hawk Like a Steeple  Alicia Mountain
Diverting Flight   Carol Berg
Two Poems   Sarah J. Sloat
Dipper    James Mc Elroy
Three Poems  Rebecca Foust
Far into the Forest    Marge Piercy
Two Poems  Annie Kim
Two Poems  Betsy Johnson-Miller
Three Poems  Amy Gerstler
Three Poems  David Lehman
Goodnight, Goodbye   Derek JG Williams

Features

From the Ether    Sally Ashton, Editor-In-Chief

From the Archives    Patrick Carrington, Spring 2009 Issue

Visuals by
Steven DaLuz

Guidelines          Staff          Archives          Cover

___________________________________________

D

Review / Spring2015
disquieting muses quarterly

MQ Review / Spring 2015
disquieting muses quarterly

_________________________________________

Because I’m eyeing fresh web design possibilities and rethinking the purpose and mission of AlYoung.org, I’ve lagged in paying personal tribute to some beloved friends, acquaintances and culture-heroes whose lives link closely and meaningfully to mine. Reflections will follow.
— A.Y.

Carl Djerassi (October 29, 1923 – January 30, 2015), biochemist/fiction writer

Philip Levine (January 10, 1928 – February 14, 2015), poet

Orrin Keepnews (March 2, 1923 – March 1, 2015), jazz writer & record producer

Günter Grass (October 16, 1927 – April 13, 2015), novelist

and others

AlYoung.org
Check back often 

 

 

 

 

 

_________________________________________

______________________________________

Issue Number 28, Spring 2015

• Elegy for the Giant Tortoises by Margaret Atwood
• After Watching Farlan’s Cows by Dianne Oberhansly
• A Cry Breaks the Silence by CB Follett
• Arrowhead Catechism by Gail Thomas
• Fledgling by Susan Lanier
• Game Day by Barbara Crooker
• Heard Among the Windbreak by Cal Freeman
• Laguna Grande by Janet St. John
• Letters from the Hinterland #11, Springtime Wonders by Raymond Greiner
• An Awakening by Lowell Jaeger
• Migration by Judy Brackett
• Near Walden by Richard Jordan
• Pacific Garbage Patch by Meredith Ferrill
• Portfolio by Christopher Woods
• Spider Bones by Dan Jacoby
• The Gaia Theory by Gail Rudd Entrekin
• The Rabbit by Karen Sharpe
• Watching a Sloth by David Chorlton
• Tremolo by Marjorie Stelmach

Archives: by Issue | by Author Name

© 2015 Hip Pocket Press

______________________________________