Jack Foley – Clara Hsu

The First to Escape

I am happy to announce the publication of my new book of poems, The First to Escape. It has been seven years since Mystique, my first book. However, changes in my writing occurred only when I began studying poetry with Jack Foley in 2011. Those of you who witness the change have found it “remarkable.” Those of you who think you know me (and my writing) might scratch your head when you read this one! The poems in The First to Escape actively explore new territories in language and expression. I invite you to partake the excitement with me.

Poet and musician Jake Berry made the following comment:

“The First to Escape is that rare volume of contemporary poetry that carries the weight of its ancient and modernist predecessors while remaining passionately engaged with its own time. Multicultural, multiethnic, yes, but intimate, not exotic, with openings into surprising and mysterious familiarity. “Brilliant darkness.” What Clara Hsu renders here is a deeply moving and masterfully articulated musical language – a poetry that draws us into a conversation beyond ourselves, beyond any closed idea of self. This is vital work by a fully realized poet.”

From Zhang Ziqing, Nanjing University, China:

As a Chinese, I’m certainly familiar with the lines taken from the classic Chinese poems, but I hadn’t expected her to mix them with her own lines, as in “Moving with Li Po.” It is a creative experiment.

The First to Escape is available on line at Amazon.com and at readings.

Book Readings:

Wednesday July 16 at 7pm

Sacred Grounds Cafe
Hayes Street (and Cole), San Francisco
I have invited Jack Foley, my mentor and co-publisher of Poetry Hotel Press to read with me. Reading begins at 7pm. Open mike before and after the feature.
Hosted by Dan Brady.

Sunday July 20, 5 to 7pm

Cafe Leila
1724 San Pablo Ave, Berkeley
The Music of the Word, La Palabra Musical is hosted by Avotcja. Featured readers are: Clara Hsu, Jack and Adelle Foley, and Michael Goldstein.

South Cal Debut:

San Francisco’s Wild History Groove & Reading
Friday August 15, 7:30 – 10pm
Beyond Baroque
681 Venice Blvd, Venice, CA
San Francisco’s Wild History Groove is the companion film to Mary Kerr’s Venice West & the LA Scene, screened earlier at Beyond Baroque. Refreshments at 7:30; program at 8. Poets Jack & Adelle Foley (participants in the documentary) and Clara Hsu will appear to introduce work from their exciting new press, Poetry Hotel Press.

Hail Mary

About a year ago Mary Rudge was scheduled to go into the hospital for a heart operation. Just a few days before her appointment I was asked to do a mini feature at the Sacred Grounds Cafe. Mary wanted to come.

“Don’t bother,” I told her, “It’s only 8 minutes long. Come when I do a longer feature.”

But she came anyway, because she thought there might be a chance that she would not survive the operation. I read my multi-voice poems with Jack Foley. Mary was delighted. Sacred Grounds was especially full that night and I don’t think Mary even got a chance to read her own poems, but that was not why she came.

Mary passed away in her sleep on January 19. The night before she received a lifetime achievement award from Artists Embassy International. She was with poetry to the end, and I am forever honored by her love and support.

Mary-Rudge200-July-4-2013 — photo by Dave Holt

Mistress Mary
child of verse
how did the curtain fall?
With laurel crown
on haloed hair
and loving faces gathered around.

Gentle Mary
long endured
brittle bones and heart.
Mother Hubbard
with a problem shoe
fed her kids and filled the cupboard.

Hail Mary
full of grace
the Lord is with thee.
A lullaby
from earth to heaven
for the wee lamb blithe and spry.

Poetry Hotel/ Birthday Poem

WHY I’M GLAD YOU CAME INTO THE WORLD, WHY I WISH YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY NOW (2013), AND MANY MORE

—Jack Foley

Listen to the poem!

The Poetry Hotel
Imagine paying for a night at the hotel with a poem…
—Clara Hsu

(Clara) At the Civic Center Bart Station
Carlos, Dan and I had a vision
to take possession of the Mission Street Marriott
after we win the lottery.

(Jack) When I heard this poem,

We will renovate the building
knock everything down to its bones.
With imagination, joy, and persistence
we give birth to the Poetry Hotel.

I wanted to join up.

When you enter the Poetry Hotel,
observe the grand reception hall.
Poets check in with a poem
check out with a new chapbook.

I’ve got poems, I’ve even got

The ground floor is reserved for first drafts
the second floor is for revision.
From the third to the twentieth floor
there are chutes and ladders built especially
for the out of bounds writers.

a rhyming dictionary,

All the rooms have the essential
desk, chair and bed,
an unlimited supply of paper, and
ink gel pens to write.

though I don’t use it.

There are numerous libraries
each named after a poet.
Collections of works are readily available
for reference, research and reading.

Clara came to me

As for dining, the Poetry Café
serves daily a scrumptious buffet.
Muffins, puddings and all sorts of pies,
thick soups, black coffee, exotic teas
to nurture the poetic belly.

and asked whether I could bring her to a “break-through.”

Every evening there is a gathering
new and old poems are read.
Cakes and champagne are served afterwards
to celebrate the creation of words.

I notice now

This enterprise is run so successfully
it is franchised throughout the world.
All the poets in this planet
come home to the Poetry Hotel.

that she brings me to “break-throughs.”

Carlos, Dan and I blinked
as we stepped into the train.
It was filled with sleepy people
who wanted to get home quick.

When I’m weary, at night, it’s late, near bed time, my mind a blur,

Days of work and nights of toil
weaken our eyes and hearts
But tonight we lay the cornerstone
for the Poetry Hotel.

she sends me poems from her own “poetry hotel,”

that boiling consciousness,

and suddenly:

(Both) I waken.

Photo by Dore Steinberg.

Birthday Dialogue

Good morning sun. Goodbye rain and wind that came before the sun. The sense of renewal is ever present on such a day, no matter what age you are celebrating.

There is a big field to play in. Perhaps we begin with facing each other. Here is my birthday poem, with a response from Jack Foley.

Birthday

fifty-seven knots
back to the threshold
of unknowing
zest
with style
ecstasy
with flair
one eye toward the gyre
whole body traverses
this universe
as big and as tiny
as all other universes
pushes pulls
into out of
forms and proportions
distance is memory
the fire
fueling
the present.

Birthday
Clara Hsu/ Jack Foley

fifty-seven knots

Oh, I remember
back to the threshold

fifty-seven
of unknowing

and unknowing
zest

the “cloud”—
with style

What’s strange is
ecstasy

you feel it
with flair

only sometimes

one eye toward the gyre

Mostly,
whole body traverses

you’re whatever age you’ve set your bodymind clock for
this universe

Desire

as big and as tiny

remains
as all other universes

and intellect
pushes pulls

in the vastness
into out of

of all you’ve done
forms and proportions

in more than 70 years
distance is memory

Distance is memory
the fire

Fire
fueling

(that deep friend)
the present.

blazes

image by Doc Ross.

New Year

At the stroke of midnight

We are the Magi

we cross over into a vast space

arriving with gifts

with objects unformed

for that which we do not

and names unknown.

understand.

Only desire is made stronger

Desire

by the presence of a star

leads us

the same star

and ignorant Love.

that has been guiding us

We are the unknowing

since all the forgotten years.

monarchs of nothing

It is bright in the new night

arriving in the morning

ever enchanting.

of the New.

We have far to go

We have far to go,

and much to do.

Magic drives us.

Clara Hsu/Jack Foley

Image taken from: thechristianclipart.com

Poem “New Year” first published in Tower Journal, Volume 4, no. 2

On Radio

One of the most memorable childhood pastime is listening to the radio. Summer days were spent lying on my father’s big bed. After the news at noon the radio played theme songs of the latest movies, followed by story-telling and Chinese opera excerpts.

At seven-thirty at night our maid would set up the ironing board in the kitchen. I sat on the low stool while she ironed, and together we listened to our favorite radio show, Diary of a Stout-hearted Husband, a comic parody on family life.

My connection with the radio remains, with live-in partner Dore Stein (Tangents Music Radio, KALW), friends Avotcja and Stephen Kent, hosting shows on KPOO and KPFA. Tomorrow my voice will come out of the radio during Jack Foley’s Cover to Cover show (KPFA, 3pm). I had often wondered what was on the other side of that box that I spent so much time with. Now I know, and it still amazes me.

Jack University

(The essay below is written for Jack Foley’s Festschrift, to be published in The Tower Journal‘s September issue.)

Jack University

I have a mentor. His name is Jack Foley. He has an exceptionally large brain with all sorts of stuff in it. I listen and try to stuff everything he says into my little brain. Jack recites verses in English and French and German and Middle English and sings songs by George M Cohan, Irving Berlin and Kurt Weill. He also tap dances. Sometimes I get a headache when he sends me a poem and asks me to answer or comment on it. Jack gives me books to read, CDs to listen to and videos to watch. I can’t read and listen and watch fast enough. He asks me to listen to the voices that have been talking in my head since the day I was born. He asks me to listen to other people’s voices, the ones that are in other people’s heads that they have not bothered to listen to. When I’m confused Jack feeds me ice cream from Tucker’s in Alameda.

Jack will not spare anyone in conversation nor in his writing. He has a weakness for sweets but you can’t bribe him with it. Sometimes I’m mad at him. But for every criticism he has his reasons, and sooner or later he is proven right.

Once a month I take Jack out to lunch. We go to Nong Thon, a Vietnamese restaurant in El Cerrito. He likes everything that is on the menu, some dishes more than others. He won’t call his favorite beef pho the “best dish”. The idea of a winner defeats all others and limits the scope of things. Jack celebrates multiplicity.

Jack encourages me to write in Chaucer’s style, Joyce’s, create visual poetry, make collages with words, and experiment with multi-voices. A friend commented upon hearing my poem that contains repeated lines: “It sounds like Jack Foley without Jack Foley.” Jack laughed when I told him. “Repeating lines is only a technique. But since nobody uses it, people interpret the technique as my style.”

Sometimes Jack and I do readings together—my Chinese/British accent against his Irish/Italian/American accent. He teaches me how to roll “r”s and correct my pronunciations but so far hasn’t put any marbles in my mouth.

Little brain or not, my universe is expanding into the realms of Artaud, the ears of Ives, the mirrors of Gertrude Stein and others yet to be revealed. When one part of my mind dances into other parts of the mind that don’t know they exist, I invariably hear a laugh–hearty and mischievous. It is Jack, playing.

The Foley’s Tale

Written in the style of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, this “tale” describes Jack Foley and his favorite restaurant, Nong Thon:

Jack & Al — Jack Foley and Al Young at Nong Thon.

The Foley’s Tale

“Yum yum,” quod Jack in his demented weye.
“Nong Thon I go!” as it wolde him purveye

a blissful meal, in cas ye care to woot,
it maketh him to daunce with merry foot.

The menu he inspecteth full greet deel,
and none escapeth his devoted zeal.

He bringeth wyf, he bringeth all his freendes
but telleth noon especially the feendes.

O Thai ice tea to sooten first the lippes.
His gat-toth wyde as with alle sippes.

Imperial rolls priketh his corage.
A bowl of beef pho is his pilgrimage.

His heer crispeth like that of squid and shrimp.
Dessert a must, or else the day lieth limp.

“Most thynges are wood and few are very holy.
But eating well is God,” seyde Mr. Foley.

and Jack answered,

The Foley’s Tale / With Clarion
(Two poete fowles makynge melodie!)

“Yum yum,” quod Jack in his demented weye.
Ah, Clara comes to the heroic coup
“Nong Thon I go!” as it wolde him purveye
Insted of balking thir, she eats it up

a blissful meal, in cas ye care to woot,
She counteth syllables and maketh rhymes
it maketh him to daunce with merry foot.
Hir inspiration’s hotte and gretly steams

The menu he inspecteth full greet deel,
She writeth Middle English with such es
and none escapeth his devoted zeal.
None wolde wiste that she was born Chinese

He bringeth wyf, he bringeth all his freendes
She also liketh to go to Nong Thon
but telleth noon especially the feendes.
She eateth all that is the menu on

O Thai ice tea to sooten first the lippes.
She drinketh tea, she slurpeth up her pho
His gat-toth wyde as with alle sippes.
(She redeth of the Wyf of Bathe also)

Imperial rolls priketh his corage.
She hath gone far—though not to Walla Walla–
A bowl of beef pho is his pilgrimage.
She liketh taking trippe and telling tale

His heer crispeth like that of squid and shrimp.
Though Hong-Kong born, she is a pilgrim certes
Dessert a must, or else the day lieth limp.
But nonethelesse enjoys hir swete dessertes

“Most thynges are wood and few are very holy.
It’s rare, she saith, that I be caught in error!
But eating well is God,” seyde Mr. Foley.
She is a verray parfit poet: Clara!

The Hero in the Couplet

Sitting in the airport waiting to board a delayed flight, time moved slowly. And because of that, it created the most favorable condition to write a poem in heroic couplets. Since reading Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales in Middle English, I was challenged by Jack Foley to write a verse imitating the style.

Four hours later than originally scheduled the plane landed in Portland. I carried the luggage and my first draft out of the airport and into the light rail. Sitting opposite from me was an elderly gentleman. He was very kind and patient with me when earlier I had difficulty getting a ticket from the machine. We acknowledged each other with a smile. He opened a pocket-size book yellowed with age. I opened Chaucer, equally yellowed; and my draft, which was fresh and new. I wanted to tell him I had written a verse in heroic couplets but was too shy. He would have understood and shared my happiness.

Babouche Revisited

It took some time, and, as Dore said, some webbarizing—meaning solving technical issues on the web without knowing what I was doing. My book of short stories, Babouche Impromptu and Other Moroccan Sketches, has been reissued with more stories and a new look, and it is available now on Amazon.

The love story of a Berber and his charge, and a message from the Sahara were added to the collection. Babouche Impromptu opens with an extensive introduction by Jack Foley that included some of my recent poems.

A kindle edition is also available.

I invite you to read the stories, and leave a comment on the “Customer Review” if they move you. Thank you.