Please note, this is a first edition book of poetry.
Contact the poet directly for an autographed and numbered copy: fammeree@att.net.
A recording of the book will soon be available on CD Baby, iTunes and 37 other digital distribution networks.
* * * * * * * * *
LESSONS OF WATER & THIRST
www.cdbaby.com/fammeree2
“A recipe for earthly delights,” (Bob Holman, director of The United States of Poetry), this vulnerable, metaphysical chronicle of an errant poet was recently included in The Poetry Library at The Royal Festival Hall, London. Manfred Gordon (Cambridge University) describes Lessons of Water & Thirst as “sensual and psychological, lush in the tradition of French Symbolism.”
Contact the poet directly for an autographed and numbered copy: fammeree@att.net.
* * * * * * * * *
LESSONS OF WATER & THIRST
a collection of poems by Richard Fammerée
Collage Press
ISBN 0-9615879-5-4
For my family in every incarnation
Each of us awakes form the truth of dreams to the lives of our own making.
-Khora Sfakia
EPHEMERAE [page 11]
I could not sleep while you slept.
Any little animal might have sheltered
in your body; and I kept
leaves from your eyes and things from your hair
until your lips revived, bending
back my fingers to the lessons
of water and thirst. Fires that night
digested the wet, and when their long viridian
became your arms and a delirium
became our legs, threads
relinquished us, and we were not puppeted
by earth, and we were not puppeted
by heaven. We became
larger than form and texture and scent--
something like clouds--and fear was driven
from the manger of our bellies, and anger's thin
lips could not diminish us. We ate everything
that was red,
and everything red
was delicious. My sap was greening
your milky body, then your legs slapped.
They slapped into fins and you arced
and my chin and
ear separated, and silver and more silver and silver
again, I quivered behind you.
c Fammerée 2008
* * * * *
Ephémères (French translation)
Je ne pouvais pas dormir pendant que tu dormais.
N'importe quel petit animal avait pu se réfugier
dans ton corps; et j'enlevais
des feuilles de tes yeux et des petites choses
de tes cheveux
quand tes lèvres se ranimèrent et revinrent
à mes doigts aux leçons
de l'eau et de la soif. Les feux cette nuit-là
digérèrent l'humidité et quand leurs longs viridiens
devinrent tes bras et le délire
nos jambes, les fils
nous lâchèrent et nous n'étions plus pantinisés
par la terre et nous n'étions plus pantinisés
par le ciel. Nous devînmes
plus grands que la forme, la texture et l'odeur--
quelquechose comme des nuages--et la peur était chassée
de la crêche de notre ventre, et les lèvres pincées
de la colère ne pouvait nous entamer.
Nous avons mangé tout
ce qui était rouge,
et tout ce qui était rouge
était délicieux. Ma sève verdissait
ton corps laiteux, puis tes jambes claquèrent.
Elles claquèrent en nageoires. Tu te cambras,
mon menton et
mon oreille se détachaient, et le vermeil et plus
de vermeil et le vermeil encore, je tremblais
derrière toi.
c Fammerée 2008
* * * * *
Khora Sfakia [page 21]
I walk among the whores of Sfakia, the once
beautiful sons and daughters hoarding fragments, lording and ladying and burning from the altars
of their lips all instinct still migratory.
For them the paths of scree to the promontory
decay at the turning of the sky.
They hobble to the one tree where an attendant
is also a boatman and negotiate a passage back.
I am pressed to vertical
earth, hatless, mapless and without
sunglasses. Golden bellied birds flash
in a swift geometry upon lapis
lazuli, and I tremble with the thrill
of superstition: What spirits are these? Whose soul
cries from the mouth of the ass?
Now, the water is a Leviathan and ready
to swallow. It thrashes about, not content
with its containment,
neither convinced nor concerned that lungs
need land.
The whores of Sfakia wheeze and sleep
with mouths open and lamps glaring
and garments pressed to their eyes.
If their messiah were to come in the night,
I could not follow, for this is not a Diaspora,
and the Son and the Father are only one
half of one God.
I wonder why the earth supports us. We expect
so much and renew so little.
It's Hero and husband, back and forth and up
and down, scattering bones of aborted destinies.
He first slurred the ancient name
of this place, Khóra Sfakia--The whores of Sfakia,
he announced and everyone laughed, then laughed
again and laughed all the next day.
Now, she and he and I are pinks upon the sand.
We offer our knees to the waves, and Hero calls,
and her call takes the body of a gull.
Each of us awakes from the truth of dreams
to the lives of our own making.
The sea moves her skin and enters me.
I do not fear translucence. I do not fear this
pregnancy, for I am with me.
c Fammerée 2008
www.myspace.com/fammereepoet
and listen to selection #4 (upper right corner)
* * * * *
Khóra Sfakia (French translation)
Je marche parmi les Whores of Sfakia, la beauté d'autrefois
de ces fils et de ces filles ammassant des fragments, à la pose princière et brûlant de l'autel de leurs lèvres tout reste d'instinct migratoire.
Pour eux les chemins de débris vers le promontoire
disparaissent au tournant du ciel. ils clopinent vers un arbre où un gardien est aussi passeur et négocient leur retour.
Je suis retenu à la terre verticale, sans chapeau, sans carte et sans lunettes de soleil.
Des oiseaux au ventre doré étincellent en une brève géométrie sur le lapis lazuli, et je tremble d'un frisson de superstition : Que sont ces esprits ? Quelle âme hurle de la gueule de l'âne ?
A présent, l'eau est un Leviathan
prêt a tout avaler.
Il se bat, non content de ce qu'il renferme,
ni convaincu ni soucieux de savoir que les poumons
ont besoin d'une terre.
Les whores of Sfakia sifflent et dorment la bouche ouverte
sous la lumière éblouissante, un tissu posé sur les yeux.
Si leur messie devait venir dans la nuit,
je ne pourrais pas le suivre, car ceci n'est pas une Diaspora, et le Fils et le Père ne sont que la moitié d'un Dieu.
Je me demande pourquoi la terre nous supporte.
Nous attendons tant d'elle et lui offrons si peu.
C'est Héro et le mari qui sautillent d'avant en arrière, de haut en bas dispersant les ossements des destins avortés.
Il fut le premier à souiller l'ancien nom de cet endroit : KHORA SFAKIA, les Whores of Sfakia proclama t-il. Tout le monde rit puis rit encore et rit le lendemain.
A présent elle lui et moi sommes de petites choses roses
sur le sable.
Nous offrons nos genoux aux vagues et Hero appelle et son appel prend la forme d'une mouette.
Mais leurs vacances s'achèvent et ils n'ont plus le temps de nager.
Chacun de nous s'éveille de la vérité des rêves à la vie que nous bâtissons.
Le mer fait onduler son corps et me pénètre.
Je ne redoute pas la transparence.
Je ne redoute pas cette grossesse car
je suis avec moi.
* * * * *
EVORA [page 40]
In Evora there is a church
and the church was once a mosque
and the mosque was once a church
and the church was once a temple
in the time of the Romans
Behind the altar there is a false tomb
and beneath a Christian name
there are thousands of years of roots writhing through stone
and water echoes up vertebrae
which must have been steps
and its light is the juice of emeralds
Now, consider the well that is my throat
and the pool that is my chest
What does one do when a well has been capped for so many generations?
Is water safe in the stomach?
How did I become addicted to a self-imposed periphery, its tithes, its prick and its poison?
Can all of this be unlearned in one generation, one season, one summer?
My grandfathers and grandmothers
and their grandparents meet
for the first time in me
I carry them to familiar places
I am their hands, their thighs, their nose,
their eyes, their lips, their teeth,
their tongue
How did I become addicted to a self-imposed periphery, its tithes, its prick and its poison?
Can all of this be unlearned in one generation, one season, one summer?
I am the voice and the body now
and all that is closed will be opened
and all that hurts will be repaired
and all that sleeps without dreaming
will be green again
In Evora there is a church
Inside the church there is a tomb
and inside the tomb there is a cistern
Inside the cistern there is water
and it’s light is the juice of emeralds
c Fammerée 2008
www.myspace.com/richardfammeree
and listen to selection #1 (upper right corner)
* * * * *
EVORA (French translation)
A Evora il y a une église
et avant l'église il y avait une mosquée
et avant la mosquée une église
et bien avant encore un temple romain
Derrière l'autel il y a un faux tombeau
et sous un nom chrétien des centaines d'années
de racines s'enchevêtrent à travers la pierre
et l'eau résonne dans ces vertèbres qui devaient être des marches
et sa lumière est la sève des émeraudes.
A présent, imagine que le puits est ma gorge
et l'étang ma poitrine
Que fait-on quand la source est enfouie
sous tant de générations?
L'eau est-elle toujours intacte en son ventre ?
Comment me suis-je laissé aliéner par cette périphérie imposée,
ses dîmes, ses piqûres, ses poisons?
Tout cela peut-il être désappris en une génération,
une saison, un été?
Mes grands-pères et mes grands-mères
et leurs grands-parents se rencontrent en moi pour la première fois
Je les conduit[s] dans des endroits qui leur sont familiers
Je suis leurs mains, leurs orteils, leur nez,
leurs yeux, leurs lèvres, leurs dents, leur langue
Comment me suis-je laissé aliéner par cette périphérie imposée,
ses dîmes, ses piqûres, ses poisons?
Tout cela peut-il être désappris en une génération,
une saison, un été?
Je suis la voix et le corps maintenant
et tout ce qui est fermé s'ouvrira
et toutes les blessures seront réparées
et tous ces sommeils reverdiront
A Evora il y a une église
et dans l'église il y a un tombeau
et dans le tombeau il y a une citerne
et dans la citerne il y a l'eau
et sa lumière est la sève des émeraudes
c Fammerée 2008
* * * * *
EVORA (the story behind the poem)
For once I should have listened to Zarathustra, Johnny (Jean-Claude from Suresnes), Oceana or at least Slippers, fellow street musicians outside of Shakespeare & Co. in Paris. Even the Irish singer with the pregnant Dutch girlfriend--who collected for all of us on a good day--knew better. But I was barely twenty years old. Instead of searching for a discounted flight, I rode trains and buses south and soon realized that (1) Marrakech would be much farther than my hand-drawn map suggested and (2) winter was not a cooperative season in the Basque region or Spain. Portugal lay anesthetized at the edge of the world, only the wind recalling the resurrection of green in April and braying, praying for its return.
Evora is a relatively small town which grew around a very prominent cathedral. I surveyed pillars which appeared to be Roman; they were smooth and cold to the touch and colder by the moment. The desire for warmth awakened me from the spell of history as the tepid, watery light continued to diminish. Fortunately, a guitar is a passport, and I was welcomed into a family restaurant and their evening sessions of songs and tales.
Five or six days later, an overnight bus was finally announced for the Spanish border. The granddaughter who lived on the top story of the moldy stone house informed me, then invited me to follow her to the cathedral. I was led to the altar where her grandfather was kneeling. Through her translation and angular movements he requested that I help him remove a brass plate set into the marble floor.
I knelt and examined the polished, reflecting testament. A long name, a long cross, a dash separating two years--the most succinct, evocative poem in any language.
Not sharing the Portuguese and Spanish enthusiasm for skeletal remains of saints, I hesitated. My companions struggled. I closed my eyes and prodded and pushed with my fingertips.
Gradually, eyes still closed, I felt a moistness, a freshness, a presence. My fingers were bathed in a green light rising as a mist from the sepulchre which held the remains or fragments of no perceptible body other than the womb of earth.
The elder explained with foreign words and signs. The young girl translated haltingly. I began to understand that this church had been a mosque and Saracen stronghold in the time of the Crusades; a church again during the epoch of Charlemagne; a temple in the time of the Romans; and the source of pure water, the source of life, the presence of the Goddess in prehistory. The water was still pure after centuries, as it had been in the beginning.
Through Spain, bus after bus, I searched the metaphor and realized as we arrived to a trembling vista that is the sea between land, the Mediterranean, I am that church. Each of us is that church, guardian of the source for the portion of forever we call a life.
By the time I stepped into my first morning of Morocco, I had finished this poem and its accompanying music.
c Fammerée 2008
* * * * *
Richard Fammerée
www.myspace.com/richardfammeree
www.myspace.com/fammereepoet
www.myspace.com/fammereelive
[direct links to sample & download the music & poetry catalogue of Richard Fammerée from Apple iTunes & Snocap]
www.universeofpoetry.org
director@universeofpoetry.org
www.reverse1.com
www.wnur.org
* * * * * * * * *
A profile of the artist:
Richard Fammerée has appeared on National Public Radio, PBS and ARTÉ (France and Germany) and is featured in international venues, journals and publications. Who's Who in the World introduces him as a poet, composer, performing artist, a member of the advisory board of The Poetry Center of Chicago and executive director and editor of UniVerse: a United Nations of Poetry [www.universeofpoetry.org]. He is producer and host of Poetry & It’s Music International on radio station WNUR, 89.3 FM (Northwestern University).
In the tradition of troubadours, Fammerée has played the varnish off numerous guitars in numerous countries. Recent venues include Amnesty International, Chicago Symphony Hall, Shakespeare & Co. (Paris) and The World Festival of Sacred Music initiated by His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
His first album Fammerée & Eurydice [www.myspace.com/richardfammeree] marries passion and spirituality echoing his book of poems, Lessons of Water & Thirst, recently included in the Poetry Library of Royal Festival Hall, London.
Fammerée has also composed for various artists including poets Li-Young Lee and Elise Paschen and singers Ann West and Toni Childs. David Tickle has produced three projects.
Richard Fammerée is currently in preproduction for a series of CDs featuring his poetry and songs to be released in 2008 and 2009.
* * * * * * * * *
PUBLICATIONS:
LESSONS OF WATER & THIRST
www.cdbaby.com/fammeree2
“A recipe for earthly delights,” (Bob Holman, director of The United States of Poetry), this vulnerable, metaphysical chronicle of an errant poet was recently included in The Poetry Library at The Royal Festival Hall, London. Manfred Gordon (Cambridge University) describes Lessons of Water & Thirst as “sensual and psychological, lush in the tradition of French Symbolism.”
Contact the poet directly for an autographed and numbered copy: fammeree@att.net.
* * * * * * * * *
RECORDINGS:
1
FAMMEREE & EURYDICE
www.myspace.com/richardfammeree
www.myspace.com/fammereepoet
www.myspace.com/fammereelive
[direct links to iTunes where all songs can be sampled and digitally downloaded]
www.cdbaby.com/fammeree4
Pansophic and visceral in the same breath, Fammerée & Eurydice offers salvation to the intellectually insatiable who love to dance.
“A sensual banquet of poetry & music, passion & spirituality. Viva l’evolution!”
George Whitman, Shakespeare & Co., Paris
“Fammerée & Eurydice is a record of an odyssey and an idyll of quixotic, atavic love.
Poet and musician Richard Fammerée left home at eighteen with fewer dollars. Beginning before the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, he crossed Europe on foot, often inscribing impressions onto the face of his guitar, intuitively following ancient crusades and pilgrimages, culminating upon Mt. Sinai. Listen for evidence of faerie rings, trysting stones, Goddess temples, Gethsemane, marble theatres and medieval palisades in the west of Ireland, south of France, the mountains of Crete and Morocco, the plains of Turkey, deserts of Jordan and Egypt, and verdant islands of the Pacific.
Fammerée is passionate as a renaissance philosopher, daring as the troubadours, profound as his faith in life. He elicits the complex purity of myth and metamorphosis. To experience the exotic--and often erotic--adventures of love and love lost, self and self found, to rekindle fantasies and faith, delight in this CD, this seminal recording, this transcendence.”
- review by A. de Stael
* * * * *
2
Keeper of the Blindly Glowing: A spontaneous record of the spiritual & temporal adventures of an azure poet
www.myspace.com/richardfammeree
www.myspace.com/fammereepoet
www.myspace.com/fammereelive
[direct links to iTunes where all songs can be sampled and digitally downloaded]
www.cdbaby.com/fammeree5
"I wrote and performed this album during recent journeys to the south of France enroute to Collioure, Paris and Longueville (the medieval village of my ancestors), the Middle East (Jerash, Petra, the Sinai, Qumran and Jerusalem) and the Pacific islands of Kauai and Maui. Listen for birds who lived in the rafters of the red barn I converted into a recording studio. Special thanks to Melissa Dittmann for her inspired vocals. I played every instrument while also engineering (when there was electricity. . . .). Production valurs are a bit rough, but so is the road and the life of a troubadour."
- Fammerée, 2007
* * * * *
3
Fammerée & cerulean: collaborations with the Goddess
www.myspace.com/richardfammeree
www.myspace.com/fammereepoet
www.myspace.com/fammereelive
[direct links to iTunes where all songs can be sampled and digitally downloaded]
www.cdbaby.com/fammeree6
In the tradition of troubadours, Richard Fammerée, contemporary poet and singer-songwriter, wandered the world of sacred sites for two decades. He collaborated with many extraordinary woman poets, singers, musicians and dancers, including Ann West, Toni Childs, Rachel Webster, Elise Paschen, Alana Greer, Melissa Dittmann, Princess She and a French actress who wishes to remain anonymous. This record is to honor them all and the voice of every woman.
* * * * *
4
ReVerse
www.reverse1.com
Richard Fammerée is a featured artist on this superlative, recorded anthology of poetry and poetry & music with Li-Young Lee, Mark Strand, Lou Reid, Elise Paschen, Alexi Murdoch, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Cin Salach, KClarke and Simone Muench.
* * * * * * * * *
UNIVERSE OF POETRY
www.universeofpoetry.org
UniVerse, a United Nations of Poetry, is an interactive forum and celebration of international poetry encouraging universal dialogue, compassion and peace.
Each nation, with or without territory, will be represented by at least one laureled poet. Poets writing in endangered languages and oral-traditionalists will also be represented.
Curricula is being developed to enable schools, colleges and universities to utilize UniVerse as a free resource.
Please visit
www.universeofpoetry.org
To help, please contact:
director@universeofpoetry.org
* * * * * * * * *
POEM
Notre Dame
[To sample this poem and song, please visit: www.myspace.com/fammeree poet]
Notre Dame
Our Mother who art in everyone, everything is thy name.
Thy garden serene, thy waters green
the earth as they blue the heavens.
Thank you for our daily bread and
the blessing that no one can be satisfied until everyone is fed.
Forgive our ignorance as we forgive
those who ignore you in each of us.
Lead us from fear and deliver us
from anger and anxieties,
for life is a ripening to return to you,
to feed you, to seed you,
to be reborn forever and ever
Again
c 2007 Richard Fammerée
* * * * * * * * *
Notre Dame
Notre Mère qui est en nous
tout est ton nom.
Que ton jardin soit serein, que tes eaux
verdissent la terre comme elles bleuissent
le ciel.
Merci pour notre pain quotidien
et le bonheur d'être certain
qu'aucun ne sera rassasié
avant que chacun mange a sa faim.
Pardonne-nous notre ignorance
comme nous pardonnons
à ceux qui t'ignore en chacun d'entre nous.
Ne nous soumets pas à la peur
mais délivre-nous de notre colère
et de nos tourments,
Car c'est a toi que revient la maturation
de la vie, pour te nourrir, t'ensemencer
et renaître pour les siècles des siècles
Encore
c 2007 Richard Fammerée
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