What did I want? Poem by Jean Jones">What did I want? Poem by Jean Jones
Published March 6, 2011 | 
">Bruce WhealtonHere is a reflective poem by Jean Jones. For me, I seem to still explore those existential questions… what do I want? Who am I? How do I want to be remembered? One thing that occurred to me, as an insight, is what really matters. It’s love. Maybe that is unoriginal and not the most creative thing to say… but it is what I have come to realize and it is the primary focus right now in life. Being a good person… a good husband… a good friend.
So, here is Jean’s poem.
What did I want?
By Jean Jones
Sometimes it takes a dream to remind me
to remind me what I wanted my whole life.
Some people dream of being famous, some people dream of being rich.
I dreamt of being a writer, and even more so, a good one at that.
I dreamt of a writer whol lived perhaps, in New York,
perhaps a Beat Writer, like Burroughs, except he lived in Wilmington,
like I lived, and he knew the writers I knew, like Ron Bayes,
and Howard McCord,
and there he was on the radio, talking about another writer he knew,
a contemporary who went to school when I when to school,
who got a degree like I got a degree, and he was honoring her,
like I would like to be honored,
and it all came back to haunt me when I woke up:
In the end, I wanted to be a writer and famous,
not famous like American Idol,
but famous like William Burroughs,
so punk rocksters like Ian Curtis who I worshipped,
would pay homage to me like I wanted.
I thought of something I had read before
I went to bed:
from the Bible, of all things, and it opened a window to my heart: It said,
“Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart,”
and He did,
in a dream, in a reminder of what I always wanted: Not fame, not money,
but respect
as a writer, a desire many others I have known,
and some of them that I met also
got famous,
and made a career as a writer,
while others, like me, simply watched them as we
went on with our lives. . .
Another Angel of Death Poem by Jean Arthur Jones">Another Angel of Death Poem by Jean Arthur Jones
Published January 31, 2011 | ">Bruce WhealtonJean wrote this recently and I’ve been meaning to post it here. I’ve been posting some of his poems elsewhere, as well, as part of a project. It will be a book of The Best Poetry Of Jean Jones, in my assessment. For a preview, go here.
The latest addition to the collection “The Angel of Death” by Jean Jones, is reproduced below. I enjoyed this, I hope you will as well. Jean offers this introduction, with his poem below.
The youngest son of the late shah of Iran was found dead Tuesday of an apparent suicide at his home in Boston, after he had “struggled for years to overcome his sorrow,” his brother said.
Pahlavi, 44, died from a gunshot wound that apparently was self-inflicted, said Jake Wark, a spokesman for the Suffolk district attorney’s office.
Boston police said officers responding to a 911 call found the man dead in his home in the city’s South End neighborhood shortly after 2 a.m. Tuesday. A police spokesman did not know who made the call or whether it came from the home.
Fardia Pars, who is close to Reza Pahlavi, said by phone from Paris that Alireza Pahlavi went into a deep depression following the 2001 death of his sister Leila Pahlavi, who was found in a London hotel room at age 31 after overdosing on barbiturates.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/04/alireza-pahlavi-suicide-i_n_804347.html
THE ANGEL OF DEATH MAKES A VISIT BY JEAN JONES
“So, you’ve come by at last.”
“Were you expecting me?”
“Ever since her death, I’ve been waiting.”
“Did you think you’d escape?”
“No. I knew you’d come.”
“Well, unlike the Romanovs, you escaped.”
“No one escapes you. I know that. My father didn’t escape you.”
“No, he did not. He escaped being sent back to Iran in exchange for the hostages, but I claimed him at the end. Do you know what his final words were?”
“I’ve read them many times: “I wait upon Fate, never ceasing to pray for Iran, and for my people. I think only of their suffering.”
“And now it’s your turn.”
“How do you want it to end?”
“There’s a gun there by the desk. You know what to do.”
“Were you there when the Romanovs were killed?”
“I watched how the princesses had to be finished off with bayonets as they had stuffed jewels in their blouses which had deflected the bullets.”
“You make sure it all works out in the end, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“And what happens to Iran?”
“Many believe that Iran’s fate is being left to the hands of six world powers.”
“And what do you think?”
“After this I saw another angel with great authority coming down from heaven, and the earth was illuminated by his splendor. He cried in a mighty voice:
It has fallen, Babylon the Great has fallen!
She has become a dwelling for demons,
a haunt for every unclean spirit,
a haunt for every unclean bird,
and a haunt for every unclean and despicable beast.
For all the nations have drunk
the wine of her sexual immorality, which brings wrath.”
“Operator, I want to report a death at the South End. . .”
Thinking about a lost friend and fellow poet – Thomas Childs">Thinking about a lost friend and fellow poet – Thomas Childs
Published December 10, 2010 | ">Bruce WhealtonMy last post here was the poem, “I Don’t Understand” by Jean Jones, who writes his thoughts about the death of Thomas Childs. I kept meaning to say my own words about Thomas. I’ve had words going through my mind many times… words I wanted to share. Maybe I didn’t want to say the words, as if it would make it more real. On his facebook page he writes: “There’s no reason to cry over the past when your better future awaits! MINE is on its way.” I think of one of the things that occurred to me was that it seemed that he wasn’t finished, if that makes any sense. As his friend, I wanted good things for him, obviously, and for me, maybe a part of me thought that ought to mean a legacy… meaning a way for has name to be remembered – for his accomplishments and the things that were good about him.
I met Thomas through the poetry readings in Wilmington, NC, soon after I moved there in 1992, over 18 years ago – nearly half a lifetime ago. I had just come to a new city and knew no one. I was becoming a poet, as it were. So, I found out about a weekly poetry readings, an open-mike, at the Coastline Convention Center, overlooking the Cape Fear River in downtown Wilmington. It was a great atmosphere. Very nurturing. I don’t mean just the location and the scenery, though that was nice. I mean the people, the MC – her name was Dusty. A circle of friends developed. A group of regulars. Thomas was among those. There was also Jean Jones, my co-editor with Word Salad Poetry Magazine… David Capps… Just Jeff Wyatt… and others. We would all share our poetry and our lives.
It was in that context that we became met and became friends.
Some many years later, I moved away from Wilmington, to the triangle area of NC – Chapel Hill area. For a while there, Thomas and I lost touch with each other… until last year, in 2009. What struck me was how easily we were able to reconnect and resume our friendship. I don’t know why 9 years went by without us staying in touch but that didn’t matter any longer.
Unfortunately, Thomas said his poetry from the 90s and before then was lost. That is indeed unfortunate. So, I would ask him about what new poems he had written. For a while, he wasn’t finding the time to write. He had lost his wife, tragically, to suicide. He said he had a haiku poem about that and in her memory. Wow! To sum up anything at all relating to such, with a haiku! Anyway, then he did start writing again. You can find a poem by Thomas Childs in the Fall 2010 edition of Word Salad.
I guess it goes without saying, that I wish he had more time… time to share more of his talents – his writing with others. It would have been quite a gift. One of the hardest things about writing something like this, is not feeling like one has said enough. I guess that’s ok. I titled this, “thinking about…” so, perhaps I’ve left an opening to say more later.
I Don't Understand – Poem by Jean Jones">I Don't Understand – Poem by Jean Jones
Published November 26, 2010 | ">Bruce WhealtonThis poem was written by my friend Jean Jones. I had told him about the death of our friend, Thomas Childs. I could not believe it either. I still sometimes have a hard time believing it. I am told he died of a massive heart attack. It seems to unnatural for us to lose a friend like this. I have a voice mail from his boss. Sometimes, I think of calling that number, as if the news could be different… as if I’d find out that Thomas isn’t really dead. I want to say he will be missed but that is a bit of an understatement. So, what can I say?
I Don’t Understand by Jean Jones
Whenever it happens, I don’t understand except for rare instances.
I will go backwards here and try to recollect.
When my mother died, it was a complete shock. Her last words
to me were, “Same time next week then?” after I had taken her
to the Dollar Tree that Sunday after visiting her at the nursing home.
I said, “Yes, same time next week,” and I never spoke to her again.
The following Tuesday I got a call from the emergency room physician
at New Hanover Memorial Regional in Wilmington and I was told that she
had died of a massive heart attack. My brother died in prison only several
months before he was scheduled to be released and I told him he could live
with me for several months before trying to make it on his own two feet. The
doctor at the prison said he did not want to take all of his AIDs medications.
I received a call from my father’s nursing home saying he was going to die
within 24 hours. I showed up and spend most of the night with him. When I went back
home that night, I got a call the next morning saying he was dead. And now you,
Thomas Childs, a man my exact age who I went to school with at UNC-W, I remember
when you used to be dj and you got involved with those young woman and it cost
you your job, and then you got married, and your wife died, and then you were in
jail for breaking the law, but you were out, and you were starting a new life,
and you wrote poems of starting over, and Bruce was supporting you,
taking pictures of you, publishing you,
and now he’s starting over, marrying an Iranian wife in Turkey,
and then I got an email from him
about your death, and it reminds me of the first time I heard about a friend
dying- Sam Ray, with his suicide, and I had just seen him for several weeks at my apartment
before his death, and the last time I saw you was at Bottega,
reading some of your new poems, and Bruce
had taken pictures of you and I dropped you and Bruce off at Bruce’s motel room
and you seemed hopeful about your future prospects, you were always hopeful,
and now to hear about your death, does it ever make sense?
Stunning performances by Jean Jones and David Capps">Stunning performances by Jean Jones and David Capps
Published April 12, 2010 | ">Bruce WhealtonThis past Saturday, in Carrboro, near Chapel Hill, NC, poets Jean Arthur Jones and David Capps read some of their poetry for about 30 minutes each and the performance by both was stunning! Before I review that, let me tell you about the open-mike portion of the event, which came first.
We had poetry by David Grinstead, Jane Penland Hoover, Ricky Garni and Margaret (I forget her last name). We also had the music of John Fallon. We each read twice with about 3 poems each. I read a one or two new poems and some poems that had been picked up for publication as well as poems from my collection “What Really Matters,” which is awaiting final edits and introduction by Thomas Childs. We do have some video of this section of the event as well.
We then had a great performance by David Capps. I hadn’t seen too many David Capps readings and so I was glad to be here tonight. David is a very dynamic reader when presenting his poems to a crowd. I also enjoyed the discussions that David gave behind the different poems, their meaning to him and his inspiration. It was also nice to hear some history about David Capps, as well. Very enjoyable! Look for videos of this event that I will present. I’ll keep you posted on this.
Jean Jones read a variety of poetry as well. While Jean did offer less of a discussion than David did in his portion of the reading, Jean did provide us with some interesting stories and background behind some of his poems. Jean read from a few of his collections. He read from “The Birds of Djakarta,” published by St. Andrews Press and published by Bruce Whealton on Word Salad (Word Salad Publications is here: http://wsmagazine.net/zine/word-salad-publications.html). He also read from his Angel of Death series, which has been published by Scott Urban as well as by Bruce Whealton on Word Salad Publication.. Lastly, he wrapped up with some poetry from his latest collection “Post Mortem: New and Selected Poems.” This latest collection is also featured on Word Salad Publications, with editing and an Introduction by Scott Urban.
Word Salad announces the latest edition has been released">Word Salad announces the latest edition has been released
Published March 28, 2010 | ">Bruce WhealtonWord Salad staff editors Jean Arthur Jones and Bruce Whealton are proud to announce the latest editions of Word Salad Poetry Magazine and Haiku Ramblings. These two publications are available here:
http://WordSaladPoetryMagazine.com
and here: http://WordSaladPoetryMagazine.com/Haiku/
This is Volume XVI, No. I for Word Salad Poetry Magazine – that means we are moving into our 16th year! Word Salad is made great by the contributions of the many poets and by the talents of Co-editor Jean Jones and Co-Editor and Publisher Bruce Whealton. Haiku Ramblings is a huge success and we are moving into our second year with that publication.
You will find various other publications on Word Salad beyond the quarterly magazine. Just click on Word Salad Publications from the top menu. We’d like to highlight one publication in particular and that is a new poetry collection of poems by Jean Jones. Bruce Whealton reports that this is one publication that he doesn’t take much credit for publication, unlike the rest of what you will see on the site. This manuscript, for “Post Mortem: New and Selected Poems” by Jean Jones, was created and edited by Wilmington poet and contributor to Word Salad, Scott Urban. Scott also provides a nice introduction to the publication. Scott also collaborated with Bruce Whealton in a collection of poems about vampires and vampirism, called “Puncture Wounds,” which can also be found among the Word Salad Publications.
Bruce Whealton would like to share his first edition of “What Really Matters,” one of the “Word Salad Publications,” available from the top menu. Wilmington poet and writer, Thomas Childs will be contributing to the editing of this publication as the second edition of this publication is in the works. So check back soon for updates to this.”
Word Salad also announces a slightly new look to the publication online. Bruce Whealton, writes, “I wanted to accomodate a growing amount of content on the site and make it easier to find what we have. Originally, Word Salad was just a quarterly poetry magazine, but we’ve grown from that.”
Word Salad would like to submit a request for artwork and photography that will become a part of the permanent features of Word Salad. So, if you are an artist, graphic artist, or photographer, this is your chance to showcase your work in a great publication. All contributors get full credit for their work if it is used on Word Salad.
Print copies of Word Salad are available for $10 each plus $1 shipping per copy. Payments can be sent via paypal to editors@wordsaladpoetrymagazine.com
or you can mail the payment, made out to Bruce Whealton and sent to
Bruce Whealton
Word Salad Poetry Magazine
112A Dillard St.
Carrboro, NC 27510
Thanks,
The Staff of Word Salad.
A Christmas Carol Observations – Includes Tent Cities by Jean Jones">A Christmas Carol Observations – Includes Tent Cities by Jean Jones
Published December 22, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonI started watching “A Christmas Carol” tonight, the version with Patrick Stewart. It is interesting what I noticed. Scrooge makes a comment, early in the movie, long before he has his change of heart as a result of the ghosts visitations. Scrooge says of his old partner, or as if speaking to his old partner “we thrived on the idleness of others.” It reminds me of that message I heard from a conservative, a story of the Ant and the Grasshopper. The grasshopper is idle and so he isn’t as shrewd as the ant. This is an Aesop’s Fable designed to teach children about the importance of diligence and hard work and other related values. I’m not against diligence and hard work but it is interesting to prosper off the so called “idleness” of others. It’s also interesting to judge others in such a non-forgiving perfectionist way. In the fable the grasshopper went about being merry thinking winter was far off and that he’d be okay. Have we never failed to foresee possible future struggles? Who is so perfect to say that they never made that mistake? In this fable the ant have zero compassion for the grasshopper because supposedly he was working to store up for the winter.
Interestingly, it was found in a survey of children under 12 (I forget the ages of the children surveyed in this study) the reactions of the children were one of hatred, anger or other negative feelings toward the ant who was seen as cruel, mean or in other similarly negative ways. I heard that story about the ant and the grasshopper from a conservative. I don’t know what the person would have thought to learn the results of this study.
It may seem unrelated but I was touched also by the story in the poem by Jean Jones, my friend and co-editor for Word Salad, called “Tent Cities.” In the poem there is such compassion for the unfortunate and empathy that is amazing. I’ll share the poem below, again, as I did recently. The poem shows his effort to connect with and understand what it might be like to be homeless, or to live in a “tent city.” Tent Cities are popping up in the news recently as examples of poverty and the face of or reaction to homelessness in our nation of late. I was moved by the second to last lines, the comment about how we accept things like this and move on.
I was thinking of another message I heard years ago related to me about a message from a rather detestable person, a Rush Limbaugh – gee, I wonder if he would ever get the message of “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens? He made a comment about a news story about a woman dying from the cold, a homeless woman. His point that he wanted to relate about the incident was that she chose to not come into a shelter, she chose to stay outside. I’m sure we didn’t hear the whole story. Even if we did, the message was clear. Don’t feel sympathy or concern if a person dies in the cold, or feel like you anything is wrong with anything. When this happens, it’s by choice. So, what can you do? It could never be that any city might not have enough shelter beds for everyone? Impossible, right? Or maybe the person felt unsafe going into that particular shelter because she was raped or otherwise violently assaulted in the shelter. Or any other possible explanations. Rush’s message was clear… don’t worry about things, or imagine what it is like to be out there, homeless, vulnerable, cold, this is their choice. And there is nothing you can do. Or at least no reason for you to wonder what it might be like, as Jean did in his poem. Here is his poem:
Tent Cities
by Jean Jones
I try to imagine living in a tent city, and I can’t.
I keep picturing the cold at night and in the morning but I can’t picture it.
I keep imagining what the sky would look like as it turned to dusk and darkness
how beautiful the sky would turn, from peach to orange to red but I can’t see it.
I keep thinking how it would be like with no toilets, no money, and trying to imagine
where to get food and where to go begging but I can’t conceive it
Every time a man says to me on the street, “Could you give money to a disabled vet,”
or a guy parks next to an intersection with a cardboard sign that says “Will work for food,”
I try to imagine where those guys go when it gets dark. I can’t.
I’ve been to the library when the janitor has had to clean up where a man has defecated on himself
at the library bathroom. I’ve looked for sleeping homeless men that I was told were sleeping drunk by the church
and were defecating on the church lawn. I was told to call the police if they didn’t leave when I asked them to.
I’ve tried to picture the lives of these men. I can’t.
This is taking place in our cities and counties every night, not in some third world country.
It is unbelievable and yet we accept it like finding dog shit on our shoes: we hate it, we wipe
it off our shoes by scraping our shoes on the sidewalk, and we move on.
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