Dottie Grossman / Michael Vlatkovich: Call and Response (PFMCD021)

Jeff Kaiser 1 Comment

[playlist ids="402,399,401"]
Call and Response
Poems written and read by Dottie Grossman
Trombone improvisations by Michael Vlatkovich

1. If we lived on a mountaintop :44
2. The lady from Calcutta 1:05
3. What if another caveman 1:12
4. This poem is part cartoon :44
5. I’m grown up now :55
6. The hum of a place :58
7. In a sleep
In the dream
In recurring Cary Grant 1:34
8. Today I bought 1:04
9. In the canyons below 1:27
10. In the evening 1:33
11. There has been :44
12. Three Henny Youngman Poems 1:12
13. Dear Terre Haute 1:05
14. We waited the storm out 1:23
15. On a navy-blue night 1:29
16. Two about movie stars 1:34
17. The man who is more like
The murderer on his way 1:40
18. Ten P.M. 2:12
19. Six Short Cat Poems 2:04
20. The Man Who Loves His Job Makes A Poem 1:09
21. You make me laugh easily 1:27
22. Three Henny Youngman poems :58
23. Two appropriations 2:26
24. My hairdresser tells me 1:52
25. Daughter 2:52
26. In my pre-adolescent :46
27. Once upon a time 1:32
28. Two short ones 2:00
29. Three short ones 2:09
30. The weekend begins 1:35
31. Two in a row 2:46
32. Two about geography 2:02
33. Two more in a row 2:40
34. Two that seem to go together 1:19
35. …And three more Henny Youngman Poems 2:08

(c) 2004 Dottie Grossman and Michael Vlatkovich • Executive Producer: Jeff Gauthier
Art: Billy Mintz • Design and Layout: Jeff Kaiser and Dottie Grossman
Engineers: Garth Powell and Scott Looney • Best Boys: Garth Powell and Jeff Gauthier
Recorded: 6 March 2004, 1510 Studios, Oakland, CA
Recorded in real time with no overdubs or edits

A sampling of the poetry…

1.
If we lived on a mountaintop,
the fog would rise up every night,
so thick you could run a comb through it.
Every morning would look like a barbershop,
with wet floors full of leftover curls.

2.
The lady from Calcutta
is taking a breather
in the California sun.
She sits by the freeway
eating ice cream
and thinks that the freeway
is a kind of Ganges,
all foamy and shining with light.
Oh, lady from Calcutta,
you never had it so good.

3.
What if another caveman
had my hands,
after they saw me
through my teens
and spent the sixties
with me?
Could somebody else
respect that?
And would the tracery
of my lifeline
meander differently
on, say, you?

4.
This poem is part cartoon
and part injection.
I hope it has the clarity of wind chimes
or the bloody sparkle of broken glass.

5.
I’m grown up, now,
but I still find
human babies
menacing:
especially
the way they bob
their smiling,
ornamental heads.
I don’t trust them
when the filtered light
of winter
cleans the empty beach
between storms
and exposes
the desert hideouts
of dead Indians
and their toys.

6.
The hum of a place
tells me everything’s working.
I love the electrical breaths
of us and our gear,
doing pushups.

7. Three Poems…

1.
In a sleep
ruffled by guilt,
I dream of my family,
praying together,
childishly.
They are so small
that I suddenly understand
their common nightmare,
and why they call themselves
by one name.

2.
In the dream
of skyscrapers
as paper dolls,
each has its wardrobe
of tenants
that can be moved
around forever.

3.
In recurring Cary Grant
Dream Number One,
he appears on Christmas Eve
to bless the animals.

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