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Fall is a complex time of year for me. It is a time for me to reflect on all I am thankful for: family, friends, health, life, & poetry. However, it also brings the memories of my mother's death on Halloween, a holiday which she loved and taught me to love, as well. It brings Thanksgiving which has come to be known as "my holiday" (and it is my favorite), and the death of a poetry acquaintance, Joe Salerno.
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I didn't know Joe long or well. I don't even remember when we first met, most likely, at the Barron Arts Center, for a PoetsWednesday reading then run by Edie Eustice & Joe Weil (I came along later).
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However, even in those brief few years when I ran in to Joe Salerno from time to time (mostly because I was hanging around with Joe Weil, who was Salerno's close friend), I found a person who was kind, generous, self-effacing, a close listener and a damn good poet.
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So, when Joe passed away (17 years ago this month), Joe Weil decided to dedicate a chair to him at our November reading. Many of us read his poems in the open and reminised for a moment or two. It continued for a few years, but time marched on, as it does, and it somehow just went away.
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Well, with great thanks to Dutch, we've (those at PoetsWednesday) will have a small tribute to him each November. Just a few of his poems in the open and short story about Joe. This year we'll add a poem of his to this blog. Hopefully, I'll continue this tribute in future years. I already have a poem or two of his posted on PoetsWednesday & More, so here's one more.
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Enjoying a Book of Poetry on A Spring Afternoon
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After days of rain, the weather
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has turned warm and sunny.
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To purify my cottage, I burn a little incense,
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Rolling up the bamboo to let in the light.
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When I open a favorite book of Tang poetry,
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the sun selects a poem by Wang Wei.
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When I finish chanting it, I sip new wine,
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yawn and enjoy the spring breezes,
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picking wayward petals out of my beard.
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Alone and happy, I'm reminded of myself
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watching as a young bee
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still groggy from winter seclusion
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Tries to find the opening into a peach blossom.
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--Joe Salerno,
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from Dream Paintings from the Heaven of Obscurity
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