My Debut Chapbook: Moons, Roads, and Rivers

Updated Cover: Image by Michael B. McFarland

Moons, Roads, and Rivers, my first chapbook, is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. Click here to reserve your copy!

Why Pre-order?  Because the size of the press run is determined by the number of advance sales, so the more pre-orders, the more books they will print.

The official release date is November 17th, so if all goes as planned, you’ll have your copy of Moons, Roads, and Rivers in time for the holidays. Just be aware that these things sometimes take longer than anticipated. I’m looking now to schedule readings for the new year.

Keep in mind, the pre-order opportunity only lasts until September 22nd, so please order by then if you can.

Of course, you could also send a check if you prefer; just scroll down to find out how.

What’s this Chapbook About?

Moons, Roads, and Rivers is a small collection of poems set along highways and side roads from Pennsylvania to Indiana, from backyards and bar stools to graveyards and broken-down cars. You’ll meet a boy who hasn’t learned how to swim and a little girl “who cried / when the moon fell in the river.”

Find out what my dad has in common with Hoover Dam. Discover my favorite graffiti and why my neighbors shake their heads. Some poems were previously published in places like San Pedro River Review, The Blue Hour Magazine, and Contemporary American Voices.

What some good people have said:

With images wrought in highly perceptive verse, David J. Bauman’s poems speak eloquently of what we love, and what prevails over the artificial and transient . . . Such poignant natural details, personal and reflective, “slowly / raise the relics to light,” recalling the land and riverscapes of James Wright. The poems of Moons, Roads, and Rivers embrace and take solace in what blesses our lives, generously offering a luminous, enduring work.
Jeffrey Alfier, editor of Blue Horse Press and San Pedro River Review

David J. Bauman threads dynamic energy throughout Moons, Roads and Rivers, which leads the reader to palpable angst and longing . . . movement between floating and sinking as you travel the circuitous curves of his journey . . .
Dawn Leas, author of I Know When to Keep Quiet and Take Something When You Go

David J. Bauman‘s debut chapbook, Moon, Roads, and Rivers, is a celebration of  everyday elements that we often take for granted . . . Bauman’s lines and rhythms are precise and fine-tuned . . . At the heart of the book, the poet celebrates humanity, despite our flaws, and acknowledges that we are at our best when we are attuned and respectful to the greater world around us.
Brian Fanelli, author of Waiting for the Dead to Speak (NYQ Books)

Read the complete book jacket blurbs at Finishing Line Press when you pre-order Moons, Roads, and Rivers by clicking right here.

An excerpt:

Age 13

I stood on the bank, under the old
Black Bridge, my toes secretly
digging pebbled sandstone.
My friends had just transformed into fish.

We’d been splashing in the shallows.
Now their feet kicked spray.
Arms over arms, faces turning
to breath with each stroke, they swam
through the deep water, all the way out

to the first pier. Knee-deep on its
concrete ledge they were calling to me.
I’d never told them that I hadn’t learned how.

—from “Swim”

Pre-order :

Remember, if you order early it helps increase the final print run. If you can help me reach my pre-sale goals, I’ll be ridiculously grateful.

Reserve your copy of Moons, Roads, and Rivers from Finishing Line Press (You guessed it, by clicking right here).

To order the old-fashioned way (by check or money order) print or hand copy the following and send it off to Finishing Line Press at the address below:


Please, send me ______ copy(ies) of Moons, Roads, and Rivers by David J. Bauman
at $14.99 per copy plus $2.99 shipping.

Enclosed is my check (payable to Finishing Line Press) for $__________

Name:

Address:

City/State/Zip:

Please send check or money order to:

Finishing Line Press
Post Office Box 1626
Georgetown, KY 40324

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The Poem Fixed My Ending

Frequently I’ve gotta do all of this work first, and then just wait and listen.

Yeah, don’t even bother.

I’ve been working on a poem since last Easter. Not unusual. Most of them don’t come quickly. It was almost all there, but it had some issues. And the ending, well, the ending was more like just a stopping. It was true. It was what happened, but it wasn’t right.

So I was working on other poems this evening and decided to pull the Easter one up again to see if it wanted to play. Oh lord, the first line was a stumble, not just the ending, but the very first line. I made a note beside it saying, “This meter is all wrong,” with a little illustration showing that it was neither iambic, anapestic or any other ‘ic.’ It was just ick.

I had built this edifice of a poem and I didn’t want to Jenga it to pieces. Nudge, nudge, gentle tug, and wouldn’t you know it, the words just rearranged themselves. Two of them dropped into the next line. Well, that changed the whole stanza, which changed the next. This line could go. This word had to go.  A new verb stepped in like it had just been out for a smoke, but knew right where its spot was, an X taped there on the poem’s stage. It was all prepared without me. Well, not really.  More about that in a moment. I shrugged. I was happy.

But there was that ending again. It was poignant—sad, sweet, and true. But it was a dull ending, just rolling into the final margin with a clunk. And then, it hit me. The event happened, sure. I was telling it all mostly true, but I wasn’t capturing the feeling it gave me. Then I remembered what I always tell myself—I’m not a historian.

And the poem said, “Hey, David. You know what I really want? I want the narrative to end like this . . . ” And what it whispered in my ear stunned me. Totally unexpected, but perfect. It was simple, natural, and magical. And not at all from my own head, or so it seemed. Okay, Easter-ish poem. Do what you want. I like it. Just let me go to bed now, okay?

So what’s the lesson here? You don’t have to work, just let it flow out however it wants and it’s sacred? Oh, hell no! Quite the opposite. You listen, and then you work. You pause again to listen as you continue. You get down what you can. You write every detail. You do it. You have to do it (even just by practicing in your head sometimes for those ones that seem to come on their own) before it will do itself.

You have to arrange the worlds before your instinct knows how to rearrange them. You cut out a lot later. A lot. And once you’ve done all the work, and the poem decides you’re really serious about this, maybe it’ll stop being so distant and let you in on what it wants to do. It’s a paradox; you have to work in order to let it work itself out. It’s just your brain unfreezing anyway. Instinct and training like an archer’s hand on the bow. It’s not flow or inspiration, or magic.

Well, it might be magic. But the spell will cast itself only after you’ve done all the preparation, the study, the sweat. Sweet dreams, friends. And keep writing.

The Blue Fish That Requires An Aquarium of Milk by Roger Fanning

The young man has been doing a lot of new recordings lately. Make sure you check out his other stuff including some Edgar Lee Masters Spoon River poems. Today’s was delightful and new to me.

The Monkey Prodigy

Today I worked on a recording by a poet of whom you may not be aware, Roger Fanning. Enjoy!

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Happy Birthday to Mary Oliver

Back in the studio on our birthday.

Oh, yeah, and to me! There’s a poet whose loss I was planning to write about, but then I remembered that I share a birthday with Mary Oliver today. And so instead of thinking about aging and death, I decided that first, it would be a good idea to spend a little time in the studio with some of Mary’s poems today.

Yesterday on Twitter, poet Chen Chen, author of When I Grow Up I Want To Be a List of Further Possibilities, tweeted that he enjoyed actually writing out or typing other people’s poems. What a cool idea! And so I tweeted back, well, this:

And while I think writing the poems of others would be an equally interesting and enlightening exercise, it’s probably not that much fun for you to watch or listen to me doing it. So for now, I’ve resorted to my old practice of recording poems that I love, partly just because I love them and partly as a way to more fully live within,  and come to know them. As Chen Chen says, “rhythmic inhabiting”

For this September 10th, on which both Mary Oliver and I were born (Honestly, it really was my idea, and she didn’t seem to mind), I pulled her collection Evidence off my shelf and went into my studio; some might call it a bedroom. And here are a few poems of hers that I enjoyed vocalizing. I hope you enjoy them.

And here are a few poems of hers that I enjoyed vocalizing. I hope you enjoy them.

If you liked these poems, as my friend Neil Silberblatt says, please go to your local independent bookstore and they can get you a copy of the book so you can enjoy all of them. If you don’t have a local independent bookstore, stop by your local library.

And, though I am no Mary Oliver, my first chapbook has some similar themes and settings. I suppose I was influenced by her more than I realized. It’s called Moons, Roads, and Rivers, and it is available now for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. You’ll be able to get it from your local bookseller after November 17th, but if you’d like to have a copy anyway, ordering from the publisher by September 22nd helps me out by increasing the final press run and making us best friends. Hey, maybe you could even order a copy for your local library! Just a thought. Thanks for your help, whatever you can do.

To order my chapbook (THANK YOU!)  click here. To read more about it and link to a few sample poems, go here. Thanks for making it a happy birthday. I’ll tell Mary you said hello.

Saturday Song for Walter

Hello, Friends. There’s a lot I want to catch up on as I’ve been promoting the release of my first chapbook so much lately.  But I want to pause and talk about a couple of artists we’ve lost in the past week, including poet John Ashbery (more on him in the next post) and today’s Saturday Song Featured artist, Walter Becker, half of the band known as Steely Dan.

I honestly can’t say I’ve followed Becker and the band’s co-founder Donald Fagen in recent years, but they’d still been playing up until Becker’s recent illness. But then, you don’t follow the sun, right? It’s just always there. It comes up again every day, even if it’s cloudy for a while. That’s how it is with Steely Dan; their songs are just always there, like the blue in blue jeans.

What I remember is just how intricate their music has been to the soundtrack of my childhood. Seemingly easy, but smart jazz-rock in the background or on any car radio tuned to a classic rock station. The songs that are part of me most include the earnestness of “Rikki, Don’t Lose That Number,” the one-word hook of “Peg,” the fun, but arguably inappropriate “Cousin Dupree” and “Hey, 19. ” But probably my two favorites are in the videos below.

Here’s a link to Walter Becker’s obituary in the Rolling Stone, and be sure to follow on to Fagen’s tribute to his music partner of more than 45 years.

“They got a name for the winners in the world.
I wanna name when I lose.”

While listening tonight to Steely Dan’s “Deacon Blues,” I realized we were a full minute and a half in before the chorus, and more than two minutes in before the hook. Is the bulk of modern pop just not that intelligent anymore, or have our attention spans really shrunk so much that we can’t enjoy a long, poetic build up like this on our top forty charts today? Or is my nostalgia just skewing my perception? Here’s “Deacon Blues” from their album of 40 years ago, Aja (pronounced Asia),

And now, my favorite. I recently watched a clip of Donnie and Marie Osmond totally butchering this song on their old variety show, dancing a two-step, smiling ear-to-ear as if there was no twisted-mouth, sarcastic humor in the words, totally missing the mood of the music.

“You’ve been telling me you were a genius since you were 17.
In all the time I’ve known you I still don’t know what you mean.
The weekends at the college didn’t turn out like you planned.
The things that pass for knowledge, I can’t understand.”

And maybe the fact that I am coming up on a big birthday this weekend is why I am feeling so nostalgic for this song.  From their 1972 album Can’t Buy a Thrill, Steely Dan’s “Are you Reelin’ in the Years.”

Thank you, Walter, for contributing to my world with your songs and your wicked humor, You’ll be missed.

Micah Bauman, Summer 2016

Taking a short break from self-promotion this evening to share this reading by a young poet with my last name. I’m glad he tells the story behind it too. It wasn’t the first time I was proud of him for getting in trouble at school.

The Monkey Prodigy

The following poem was first published in Word Fountain


My House
Micah Bauman

my house
is slowly leaving me
piece by piece
it departs

soon
I’ll have nowhere
to live
to sleep
my house is slowly leaving me

the wall left
It desired some time alone
the ceiling left
It reached an all-time low
the floor left
It couldn’t handle the pressure anymore
the door left
In search of greater opportunities
the roof left

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