A
spiritual melange from the east - ranging from ecstatic Hindu revel
to the quiet austerity of a well-swept Taoist temple - awaited those
who attended an appearance by Louise Landes-Levi, Michael Rothenberg
and a coterie of fellow cognizants at New York's Lhasa Patio Garden
on Second Avenue. Landes-Levi and Rothenberg, two cornerstone figures
in the continuing world of Eastern influenced mystical thinking
in the contemporary Bohemian literary world, provided a complete
experience for those seeking the wisdom and transcendence such fare
can offer.
For
all the Eastern influence, however, the duo were well-prepared to
offer images and insight with a solid American tone to them. Not
surprising, as both are Americans, and for all their world traveling,
may reflect readily on the American experience, as in this sample,
from the poem Meditation:
I
suppose I really
should be out defending
human rights somewhere/feeding
the hungry (apart from my
street offerings to the
homeless people),
somehow
improving the
condition of the world/ but
then, it's not such a bad thing, after-
all, to take a peaceful walk down
14th Street, in NYC, listen-
ing to the way the people
talk here & looking
around,
"THIS
YEAR I'M GONNA HIT
ST. VALENTINES DAY
WITH A PASSION"
he
said on
Avenue
A
Louise
Landes Levi was born in New York City in 1944, grew up in Russell
Gardens, near Great Neck (a place she refers to as a "Golden
Ghetto"), graduated with honors from the University of California
at Berkeley, and has lived in the Netherlands, Italy, India and
the USA. Her other books include The Water Mirror, Departure,
Concerto, and The Tower. She is also the translator
of Rasa by Rene Daumal, Vers La Completude by Henri Michaux,
and Dedicato allo Scuro, Love Poetry by Mira Bhai.
Her Poems by Mira Bhai and Guru Punk are both forthcoming from Cool
Grove Press. Another book -- The House Lamps Have Been Lit -- is
forthcoming from Supernova.
Over the years, she lived in Amsterdam, "became a wanderer
(and) spent many hours on street corners & ‘piazzas’
playing my sarangi (a kind of bowed harp), traveled to India and
back to Paris, and took on a ‘Guru’ named Namkhai Norbu
Rinpoche. "My Guru intervened on many occasions," she
notes. "He resurrected me when, at a certain point, I cld.
literally do no more, than writhe on the streets of Paris When asked
if I cld. print a book called Guru Punk. He asked me what Punk was.
I said, “O you know, those songs I used to sing.” He
said, “that's fine”. I said “that's fine because
you are the Guru in question.”
What
is Guru Punk? For all her Eastern mysticism, Levi-Landes' work is
laced with a quirky humor mingled with a touch of triste and her
signature self-deprecations - distinctly New York traits, one might
argue.
In
a characteristically shorthand-laced biographical sketch, she says
she encountered this dichotomy early on. Here's a sample: Encountered
1st. ‘Guru’ in the leaves, in the attraction of the
dark. Encountered lst. Punk reaction when entire anthology of poems
was lost at age 8. Injunctions against eating bananas in the street
left me indifferent. I ate my bananas in the local neighborhood
‘Russell Gardens’ Great Neck, NY/ Golden Ghetto, USA.
I learned meditation at an early age. My parent's house was unbearable
to me. I sought ‘refuge’ in a near-by forest. I found
a bush that served as alternative housing.
In
effect, Guru Punk is a welding of voice, notes a reviewer in The
Mirror, which is a neat sort of oxymoron with Guru as "the
principle of devotion and Punk, total defiance. Together they form
a powerful link to primordial mind recording in ageless pursuit
of Truth," writes The Mirror. "At the center of each poem
is devotion to Guru principle with characteristic centrifugal impact...
lost love memories, snippets of overheard conversation, amusing
commentary... observations on the subway, at an ATM machine, from
'on the road'-- a myriad luminous details revealing themselves in
the force of her energetic field."
And
now she has returned to America, somewhat of a foreign country to
her. "I landed on the shore of my birth, in the city of my
birth. Somewhat more transparent than when I had left I (re)experienced
the dynamic of close encounter & the capitalist culture of the
late 20th century. America was as challenging to me as to the first
immigrant. Although born here, my national status was never established
through personal, economic or professional liaisons."
Landes
Levi was joined in the reading by Michael Rothenberg was born in
Miami Beach, Florida. He grew up there and attended the University
of North Carolina, Chapel Hill where he received a BA in Literature.
He studied for his Masters in Poetics at the New College of California.
Owner of a bromiliad hothouse on the foggy cliffsides overlooking
Pacifica Ca., he divides his time between Northern California, Florida
and New York and has edited numerous online and other publications
focusing on neo-beat and other authors such as Ira Cohen, Philip
Whalen and Joan Kyger.
Rothenberg
has had several books published; Bromeliads (Big Bridge Press, Jan.
1990), Bromeliaceae Andreanae (Big Bridge Press, Jan. 1983),
Dahlia (Big Bridge Press, Jan 1989), Favorite Songs (Big Bridge
Press, Jan. 1990), Nightmare of the Violins (Berkeley Two Windows
Press, 1986), and What The Fish Saw (Big Bridge Press, 1984). Another
book, Man-Woman (Big Bridge Press, Jan 1988) was written in collaboration
with Joanne Kyger. He was also the editor for Collected Poems of
Ann Fields (Big Bridge Press, Jan. 1994). His poetry books and broadsides
are archived at the University of San Francisco, and are held in
the Special Collection libraries of Brown University, Claremont
Colleges, University of Kansas, the New York Public Library, UC-Berkeley,
UC-Davis, and UC-Santa Cruz. His songs have appeared in Hollywood
Pictures' Shadowhunter and Black Day, Blue Night,
and most recently, TriStar Pictures' Outer Ozona.
Rothenberg's
poetry, similarly centrifugal in construction to Landes-Levi's,
betrays the same dyad of infiniteness and singularity of experience,
revealing that for all the multifaceted myriad quality of the voice
and aesthetic, there is room for the individual voice to come out
- such as in this passage from the long poem Cold All Day and
We Don't Know Why
The
silk hydrangea
The wild yellow-petaled bell
tilt against the peeling house
in a dash of sun through a muffle of fog cloud
I
remember what I saw before I heard it fall
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