Two Upcoming Publications

 

"Rooms by the Sea" by Edward Hopper (1951)

My ekphrastic sonnet, "The Jumping-off Place" based on Edward Hopper's painting, "Rooms by the Sea" will be published in the next issue of Mezzo Cammin.

Also to appear in that same issue is my English translation of Pierre de Ronsard's poem, "Ode à Cassandre." 

Thank you to editor, Anna Evans!

JUST FOR LAUGHS !

 

 

“I Will Never Stop,” by Daniel A. Anderson

 

 

Happy to report that I'm the featured poet for Light's Summer/Fall 2021 issue! 

Thanks to Melissa Balmain, Editor, and to Alfred Nicol for his beautiful introduction to my lighter work.

To read my poems, click HERE.

News on my upcoming book!

 

 

I'm overjoyed to report that my sixth book, Annals of the Dear Unknown, an historical verse-tale set in Connecticut and Northeast Pennsylvania in the 1770s, has been accepted for publication by Kelsay Books.

Based on a true story related in The Munson Record, and the product of three years of intensive research, the book is comprised of twenty-seven chapters written in blank verse. Initial reactions include such comments as "a fascinating saga of Americana", "cinematic", and "I was sorry when the story came to an end."

Publication is slated for the summer of 2022.

 

PACK RAT, or RENASCENCE REDUX

 

Pack Rat, or Renascence Redux

 

A parody of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Renascence”

 

By

Catherine Chandler

 

 

All I could see from where I lay

Was stuff saved for a rainy day.

I turned and looked around the place

And saw what I’d kept, just in case.

So with my eyes I traced the walls,

the cupboards, closets, rooms, and halls,

Straight around, above, below,

To where I’d turned five lines ago;

And all I saw from where I lay

Was stuff saved for a rainy day.

 

Over these things I could not see

For bins and boxes bounded me.

I tried to touch them with my hands—

Those giant balls of rubber bands,

Those Wallabees I never wore,

Those doodads from the Dollar Store!

 

But sure the floor is there, I said:

Somewhere beneath the sofa-bed;

I’ll get down on my knees, and yes,

I’ll look my fill into the mess.

And so I looked, and sure enough,

Behind a pyramid of stuff,

Between the window and the door

I came across a patch of floor!

 

Hooray! I thought, in no time flat

I’m sure I'll find the welcome mat!

I’ll advertise an open house!

Then all at once I spied a mouse.

 

I screamed, and —lo!— the murine froze

Then scurried up a pile of clothes.

I tried to bash him with a book,

A homemade cosh of Life and Look.

My cats joined in the raucous blitz,

My dogs joined in but called it quits;

I stumbled over cans and crates

Of grub with old expiry dates,

Until it seemed I must behold

Agglomerate made manifold.

I set a cheddar booby-trap

And lay down for a midday nap.

I dreamed of empty Mason jars,

I saw garage sales, church bazaars;

Who should appear to plague my snooze,

But Mickey munching on my shoes!

 

I saw and heard and knew at last

I’d have to clean up good and fast;

I’d have to go through every heap,

Decide what I would cast or keep.

My Universe, cleft to the core,

Would smell of Lysol evermore!

 

I fain would toss what some call trash,

Delete my history and cache;

But never in a million years

My Philco with its rabbit ears.

I would not, —nay! ‘Twas too unfair

To throw away my teddy bear!

 

All hoards were of my hoarding, all

Redress was mine, and mine the haul

Of every ragman; mine the job

Of every slattern, every slob

Who, in their spurn of suds and soap,

Depend upon a forlorn hope.

 

I said it mattered not a jot,

But each bag held a second thought.

I was attached to all my things

With miles of multi-colored strings.

I filled a burlap gunnysack,

Then wept and took each item back.

 

A sad girl dressed in dark Capris

(Those pants that end below the knees)

Went shopping on Rodeo Drive,

Bought thirty thongs then came alive.

A man with melancholy eyes

Amassed a treasure trove of ties,

Dependent on his silk cocaine.

I knew the feeling, felt his pain.

 

No ache I did not feel, no twinge

I could not share. Each jag, each binge,

Each blowout sale, each dumpster was

An avatar of Santa Claus.

All obloquy was mine, and mine

The ordinance to toe the line.

 

Oh, awful burden! Yin and Yang,

Mr. Clean, the hazmat gang,

Descended on my stockpiled rooms

Equipped with buckets, mops and brooms;

Then came the Lifetime Channel crew,

Nosy neighbors in a queue,

A shrink to rouse me from my funk,

A blue container for my junk.

 

My lucid dream was such a load

It contravened the building code;

The floor gave way and I was thrust

Into the cellar’s dark and dust;

My dolls, unseated from their shelves,

OMG’d among themselves.

My tax returns, my water bills,

My overrated sleeping pills,

A platform shoe, a roller skate,

Some weed from nineteen sixty-eight,

Came crashing down upon my brow.

I was in deep, deep doo-doo now.

 

I tried to move, but I could not,

For every thing I’d ever bought

And stashed and never used or worn

Had come to haunt or else to mourn.

Then all at once I heard the sound

Of first responders. I’d been found!

And while I waited for release

An unexpected sense of peace

Suffused my soul from head to toe

Amid the strains of Let It Go.

Right then I knew I’d be OK,

I’d live to die another day.

And though determined to be free,

I ached for one last shopping spree.

I longed for Michaels’ bric-a-brac,

The tees on Walmart’s close-out rack;

The bagatelles, the bibelots,

The fripperies and furbelows;

The pennies waiting to be found,

Action Comics by the pound;

Photos, trinkets, objets d’art,

Souvenirs from near and far.

For soon I’ll be the feng shui queen,

My kitchen will be squeaky-clean;

Each item in its proper place,

A plenitude of breathing space,

The clutter gone, I’ll cease to hoard,

Sterility its own reward.

 

How can I bear it, lying here,

While overhead they joke and jeer,

Calling me batty, boffo, flake,

Chucking that piece of wedding cake

I’d saved for forty years (inside

The freezer) with its groom and bride.

O, multitude of multisets,

Belovèd Johnny Cash cassettes

That I shall never, ever see

Again! O, save just one for me!

 

O God, I cried, forgive my sin;

Don’t send me to the loony bin!

Then suddenly I overheard

A conversation, word for word:

My terrifying fall from grace

Had been declared a hopeless case.

 

I listened closely. They were gone.

My prayer was answered. Thereupon,

García Márquez’ ghost appeared;

He took control and commandeered

Each pink flamingo, garden gnome,

Each knick-knack in my Home Sweet Home;

He made them fly, he made them dance,

He put my spirit in a trance.

Was this a reverie, a spell,

Or was it rapture? Who can tell?

 

I know not how such things can be;

I only know there came to me

A redolence of stinky cheese

Disguised by droplets of Febreze;

A sound I could not quite divine—

A squeal, a scratching and a whine.

The mouse! I wasn’t dreaming, then!

 

Awakened in the world of men

And women, I was tickled pink—

It all was there: the kitchen sink,

My seventh set of Tupperware,

My dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre,

Three hundred rolls of Cottonelle,

My Granny's comb of tortoiseshell,

The Stars and Stripes, the Christmas wreath,

Two grown-up children’s baby teeth,

My mother’s brooch, my father’s hat,

Ten tokens for the Laundromat,

A yearbook, gold and navy blue

(A rose pressed to page forty-two).

My vision of the spic-and-span,

The grim and greedy garbage man,

Had served to vindicate my itch:

I was the paragon of kitsch.

 

Ah! Up then from the floor sprang I,

Exclaimed Yeehaw! and slapped my thigh;

I let my hair down, lived it up,

Swilled bourbon from a coffee cup.

I frolicked in my birthday suit

And didn’t give a damn or hoot;

I hugged the ground, the grass, the trees,

Oblivious of Lyme disease.

Oh, ultimate felicity!

Oh, Amazon! Oh, QVC!

My confidence at last restored,

I jumped for joy and praised the Lord.

Each Hallelujah!, Cohen-style,

Made recent wretchedness worthwhile;

I felt that God had made me see

The elegance of entropy,

The value of the button box,

The brass of she who understocks.

And as I said my last Amen,

And disavowed the cult of Zen,

In natural affinity

Wee beastie smiled and clicked with me.

 

Diogenes slept in a jar;

I may start sleeping in my car;

For I have crammed my living space

With foibles of the human race.

Life often splits the soul in two,

And makes off with one’s honey-dew.

It sours the milk of Paradise,

It wrecks the schemes of men —and mice.

It sets you on the Southbound lane

To Austerlitz from Rockland, Maine,

Or farther still, to Uruguay

With bag and baggage, by and by.

 

 

 

 

 

ZOOM READINGS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here are several of my recent ZOOM readings:

Light Verse in Dark Times reading June 7, 2020    

My intro/reading begins at 1:43

 

Carmine Street Metrics reading February 21, 2021 

My intro/reading begins at 41:02

 

Able Muse First Authors reading April 17, 2021 

My intro/reading begins at 4:20

 

NOTE:

I will upload two more readings -- Richard Wilbur's 100th Birthday Celebration (recorded February 20, 2021) and the Powow River Poets Anthology II book launch (recorder January 16, 2021) as they become available.

 

 

 

Two Poems from Lines of Flight to be Anthologized

 

Lines of Flight (Able Muse Press, 2011)

Happy to report that "Harrowing" has been accepted for an  upcoming anthology, tentatively titled Keystone: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania, to be published by Penn State University Press. My thanks to Marjorie Maddox and Jerry Wemple.

Another poem, also from Lines of Flight, "Henslow's Sparrow" will be included in the 2021 Animal Tales Anthology and will be featured at the Tablerock Poetry Festival, Salado, Texas, later this month. Thank you, Thom Woodruff.

Automat

 

 

I'm delighted to report that my poem,  "Edward Hopper's Automat" has been included in a tribute to that painting at the Edward Hopper House Museum & Study Center in Nyack, NY.

The poem was recited during an Instagram Live event on February 10, 2021. 

 

RECENT READINGS

 

 

Light Verse in Dark Times.  June 7, 2020. My reading begins at 1:45.

 

New York Encounter reading, held on January 13, 2021, based on the theme "When Reality Hits". My reading begins at 2:58 (approximately).

Upcoming readings: 

Launch of Powow River Poets Anthology II,  January 16, 2021 

Carmine Street Metrics, February 7, 2021 (reading poems from my five books)

 

 

Launch of Timothy Murphy's Hiking All Night, February 10, 2021