A.D. Winans: release of Dead Lions

Hi,
Punk Hostage Press has just released my new book Dead Lions ,  a literary memoir on my friendship with literary legends Alvah Bessie (one of the original Hollywood Ten), Charles Bukowski, Bob Kaufman, and Jack Micheline.
FROM THE PUBLISHER:
“Dead Lions is a must read for young poets and writers and those who may be unfamiliar with four literary icons of our time. The author gives the reader an intimate look into the lives of Charles Bukowski, Bob Kaufman, Jack Micheline, and Alvah Bessie, one of the Hollywood Ten who went to prison for defying the House on Un American Activities Committee.
 
Take a trip down memory lane as Winans recalls his friendship and personal experiences with these poets and writers who influenced Winan’s own considerable body of work.”
 
ORDER information can be found on Amazon Com, as well as information on my PEN Josephine Miles award winning book (This Land Is Not My Land) and other books.
 

A.D. Winans on Amazon

A.D. Winans Biography:

A. D. Winans is a native San Francisco award winning poet and writer.
He is the author of sixty books and chapbooks of poetry and prose, including North Beach Poems, North Beach Revisited, Drowning Like Li Po in a River of Red Wine, In The Dead Hours of Dawn, San Francisco Poems, and Dead Lions. He is a graduate of San Francisco State College (now University).

In 2014 he won a Kathy Acker Poetry and Publishing Award. In 2006 He won a PEN Josephine Miles Award for Excellence in Literature. In 2009 PEN Oakland awarded him a lifetime achievement award.

From 1972 to 1989 Winans edited and published Second Coming Press, which produced a large number of books and anthologies, among them the highly acclaimed California Bicentennial Poet’s Anthology, which included poets like David Meltzer, Jack Micheline, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Ishmael Reed, Josephine Miles, Bob Kaufman, and William Everson.

He worked as an editor and writer for the San Francisco Art Commission, from 1975 to 1980, during which time he produced the Second Coming 1980 Poets and Music Festival, honoring the late Josephine Miles and John Lee Hooker.

He has read his poetry with many acclaimed poets, including Diane DiPrima, Bob Kaufman, Jack Micheline, Harold Norse, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and all of the past and current San Francisco Poet Laureates.

His work has appeared in over 1500 literary magazines and anthologies, including City Lights Journal, Exquisite Corpse, Poetry Australia, Confrontation, The New York Quarterly, The Patterson Literary Review, The San Francisco Chronicle, and The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry.

In April 2002 a poem of his was set to music By William Bolcom, a Pulitzer Prize winning composer, and performed at New York’s Alice Tully Hall. In January 2009 Sound Street Tracks released a mastered CD of Winans reading from his book, The Reagan Psalms.

In 2012 The Louisiana University at Lafayette recorded a CD of Song Cycles by American Composers, and included in the CD is the song cycle of nationally acclaimed William Bolcom. Old Addresses, with song poems by Winans, Oscar Wilde, Ezra Pound, Langston Huges, C.P. Cavafy, Kenneth Koch and others.

Writers like Colin Wilson, Studs Terkel, James Purdy, Peter Coyote, Herbert Gold, and the late Jack Micheline and Charles Bukowski have praised his work.

He has worked at a variety of jobs, most recently with the U.S. Dept. of Education as an Equal Opportunity Specialist, investigating claims of discrimination against minorities, women and the disabled.

Winans is a member of PEN, and has served on the Board of Directors of various art organizations, including the now defunct Committee of Small Magazine Editors and Publishers (COSMEP). He is currently on the advisory board of the San Francisco International Poetry Library.

He is listed in Who’s Who International Poetry Directory, Who’s Who in America, the Gale Research Contemporary American Authors series, and the Gale Research Contemporary authors autobiography series.

Most recently he served on the host committee for the 2012 San Francisco International Poetry Festival.

His essay on the late Bob Kaufman was published in the American Poetry Review and was republished in 2007 by The Writer’s Research Group. In September 2009 the article was again re-published along with a poem of his for Bob Kaufman, as part of a booklet produced by the Los Angeles Afro American Museum.

Books by A.D. Winans:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=la_B00J7RSGKS_af?rh=n:283155,p_82:B00J7RSGKS

Kindle edition:

This Land Is Not My Land by A.D. Winans (Sep 4, 2014) – $ 3,92

Visit Amazon’s A.D. Winans Page

A.D. Winans: Pre Labor Day Poem

like pulling a wisdom tooth
like an attack of sciatica
I sit here lost
in the attic of my mind

the fog rolling in
slips through the crack
in my living room window

born at home premature
under the light of a full moon
I walked the jungles of Panama
Fed off Beat Mania in North Beach

Shaman poets sang in my ears
under a bed of stars
young women with dresses
that clung to firm thighs

damp dark cavern
wet as morning dew
peach fuzz dinner
drew me in devoured me
like quicksand

the sweet fragrance of the past
swirls inside my head
mates with comrades long dead
as I walk back into my birth
work my way through
the sound of water
the wind sharp as a knife
propels me toward my destiny

my boyhood gone
like an old jalopy used-up
rusting in an auto junkyard

I head toward the comfort of the now
nailed to the cross of the past
in the language of the present
with no words to light the fire
as I carry the memories
like a mountain climber
with a heavy backpack

vague memories of my mother
singing me to sleep
and the chill of waking
the tongue of dawn
cold as dry ice

the hawk sweeps down
for the kill
a dog howls at the moon
a cat yawns in boredom
the universe draws a new boundary line
fragile as a new born child

the careful academic poet
weds the careful language poet
vie for who is published the most
in Poetry Magazine

the monkey rides the master’s back
the coo-coo bird moves backward
into the clock

fearful police lock and load their guns
black boys moving targets
in the night

voter suppression laws
to keep the voting down
southern barbecues
with rednecks hungry
for “nigger” steak

gone the passion of revolution
sell out satisfaction
to the status quo

the night hound of death
stumbles into the day
the rich roasting the poor
like a pig on a spit

labor unions turned
into mannequins
the war machine money makers
fuel the cash register
with the blood of our youth
no guilt no shame

the Roman Senate proceeds unabated
turn out gladiators
like machinery parts

endless parades marching bands
waving flags, played out
like an amusement park

slavery without chains
government without representation
this nation of criminal politicians

the ghost of Custer rises
like a creature from the lagoon
creeps through the night
like a faceless Santa Claus
with a bag of Indian scalps

Allah competes with the Pope
for the rights to the head of Jesus
beheaded by Isis barbarians
back from a night of slaughter
as the congregation stumbles
like a drunk into the future
carved out in the hands
of a gypsy fortune teller
as I wait out the night hours
in solitude
shut out the demons of insomnia
like a faulty night light switch

the holy of the unholy money exchangers
make and pass new laws
laws that feed on the bones
of the poor and blue-collar worker

a future where animals
turn into animal crackers
and birds are served live
at holiday feasts

the angels occupy the cheap seats
at Yankee Stadiums
God sends down a bolt of lightning
dismayed at the flawed diamond
he created

www.winansfansite.blogspot.com

A.D. Winans: FOR THE PEOPLE ON THE MOUNTAIN

lift your spirit as high
as the mercy airplanes
dropping food and water
to the 40,000 Iraqui
men women and children
seeking reguge from yet
another religioius sect
bent on genocide
in the name of their
invisible God
put your heart where
your words are
all this killing in the name of God
be it Christian, Muslim
or somewhere in between
Buddha’s crossed legs won’t stop it
the Pope can’t stop it
the Koran can’t stop it
the evil inside man’s heart
began with the caveman
and waits the resurrection
hidden in a secret silo
with its missiles pointed
at God

A.D. Winans: FOURTH OF JULY POEM

REVISED POEM from a broadside originally published
by Bill Robert’s BOS Press.
          FOURTH OF JULY POEM

 
          stepped on pissed on
          cheated and abused
          taken advantage of blue collar man
          caught up in the American scam
          don’t tell me anyone
          can be anything they want to be
          if they put their mind to it
 
          save your BS for right wing
          hate monger radio hosts
          it’ll never sell in the ghetto
          or to the immigrants
          you’ve turned your back on
 
          take your message to the church
          tell it to the men on death row
          tell it to the starving poor
          tell it to the sick and lame
          tell it to the rich folks
          tell it to the politicians
          tell it to the serial killers
          tell it to Wall Street
          tell it to the man on the gallows
          tell it to the chiseled faces
          on Mount Rushmore 
 
          tell it to the last wino
          on the bowery
          tell it to the banker
          tell it to the butcher
          tell it to the unemployed
          tell it to the panhandler
          tell it to the million families
          living below the poverty level
 
          tell it to the con man
          tell it to the baby found stuffed
          in a garbage can
          tell it to the displaced factory worker
          tell it to the elderly
          tell it to the re-po man
          tell it to the last space alien
          hiding out in Roswell
 
          tell it to the militia
          tell it to the FBI sharpshooters
          at Ruby Ridge         
          tell it to the arsonists
          at Waco, Texas        
          tell it to the junkie
          with dry heaves
 
          tell it to the farm worker
          tell it to the dishwasher
          tell it to the orderlies
          tell it to the flag waver
          tell it to the garment worker
          slaving away in sweat shops
          in Chinatown and the Latin Quarter
 
          tell it to big business
          tell it to corporate America
          tell it to the Supreme Court
          tell it to the blood stained
          NRA
 
          tell it to the Do Nothing Congress
          tell it to the oil barons
          tell it to the tobacco merchants
          tell it to the molested children
          of America
 
          tell it to the priests
          tell it to the Vatican
          tell it to the pharmacy industry
          profiting off the sick and lame
 
          tell it to the millions of people
          dying from air pollution
          and a poisoned food supply
 
          tell it to the man on his deathbed
          not sure why he lived
          or what he is dying for
 
          tell it to Jesus Christ
          shout it to the stars 
          line the traitors up against the wall
          rewrite the Ten Commandments
          and start all over again
         

A.D. Winans: Press Release from NYQ

NYQ Press is proud to announce the Publication of On My Way to Becoming a Man by award winning poet A. D. Winans

 
Publication Information: 5½ x 8½ in.; 116 Pages; ISBN: 978-1-935520-25-2 Library of Congress Control Number: 2014934950
 
Publication Date: May 31, 2014. Website: http://books.nyq.org/author/adwinans  
Retail: 14.95, plus postage and shipping.
 
Availability: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Powell’s, Small Press Distribution (SPD). To the Trade: Ingram Distribution, SPD
 
Winans is an award-winning poet and a 2014 recipient of a Kathy Acker poetry award. He is a member of PEN and the author of over sixty books of poetry and prose. He edited and published Second Coming for seventeen years. He worked for the San Francisco Arts Commission for five years as an editor and writer. His work has been published internationally in over 1,500 literary journals and anthologies. In 2002 a poem of his was set to music and performed at Alice Tully Music Hall. The New England Conservatory of Music accepted several of his poems to be set to music and performed at a later date. In 2006 he won a PEN Josephine Miles award for excellence in literature and in 2009 PEN Oakland presented him with a Lifetime Achievement Award. He has served on the Board of Directors of several literary and art organizations, and is currently an advisory board member for the proposed San Francisco International Poetry Library.
 
 
NYQ Books™ was established in 2009 as an imprint of The New York Quarterly Foundation, Inc. Its mission is to augment the New York Quarterly poetry magazine by providing an additional venue for poets who are already published in the magazine.  
 

A.D. Winans: Poem

Back from an MRI
Brain Scan
I listen to a Miles Davis album
Black Hawk San Francisco 1962
Where a young Latina and I
Grooved on the vibes
Here at home
Jazz in my head jazz in my bed
Jazz waking up the dead
Miles, Charlie Parker, and Lester Young
Serenade an army of poets
Sitting on my bookshelf
 
T.S. Eliot playing the banker
Walt Whitman walking the battlefields
Williams Carlos Williams suturing wounds
 
Kaufman walking the streets of New York
Juggling a “Golden Sardine”
Sings a duet with Billie Holiday
Blake playing cards with God
Lorca playing Russian Roulette
Micheline dancing with Mingus
Gary Snyder building word bridges
Me doing a tango with a fallen angel
And suddenly I’m not alone anymore
The words falling like hard rain
In a winter green garden 
 

A.D. Winans: Strange Dreams & Rain Poem

D.R._&_Al (2) A.D. Winans  & D.R. Wagner
STRANGE DREAMS
 
strange people have taken over
my body, shameless homesteaders
who stake their claim
like old time California gold miners
 
the men are elderlywith grey beards
and drive horse and buggy carriages
the women wear dresses
that hug the floor
there are no children, no dogs
just one black cat with a pointed tail
 
 
the town cryer
keeps me awake all night
a court jester roams at will
through my dreams

a king dressed as a queen
winks at me
an army of red ants
crawl inside my head
a monster lies under my bed
feasts on the living dead
 
a midget woman courts my favors
offers herself in twenty-eight
exotic flavors
 
we make love in a sea of hot lava
the night collapses like
a building under the weight
of a bulldozer
 
I am summoned to appear before
a military tribunal
my good conduct medal called
into question
 
a rip tide tears at my brain cells
my landlord cancels my lease
the trial winds up in a hung jury
the baliff writes down
his phone number
tells me to give him a call
he has a hot three-some
he thinks I might be interested in
 
The son of Freankenstein
shows me the way to the roof top
where down below
a faceless mob waits
with pitchforks and fire bombs
 
a drummer boy from the civil war
works his way into my heart
Betsy Ross hands me a confederate flag
the ghost of John Wayne sounds
the bugle charge
the night an insatible nympth
feasts on a  bed of fallen stars
the storm
lets up
the birds
take flight
neighbors dog
sheds water
drops in
sprinkler rhythm
a cavalry
of children
magically appear
in rainbow splendor
sun peeks
from clouds
smell of fall
in the air
 
 

AD Winans: I was selected to be Poet of the Week at Poetry Super Highway

I was just notified that I have been selected to be a Poet of the Week at Poetry Super Highway.
My poem below will appear online  at their web site during the week of June 2-8 and then be part of the Poetry
Super Highway’s archives.
!EARLY BIRTHDAY POEM
sitting here fifteen days
before my seventy-eighth birthday
I drink my morning coffee in solitude
wear the early chill of morning
like a quilt of stitched memories
my mind a nosy intruder
plots the course of my life

the moon a graveyard
shines its eyes down on me
surely that is not me
I see in the mirror

the months the years
revolving doors
like the trick mirrors
at the Funhouse
at Playland at the Beach

friends fewer in number
wait for me in my dreams
like ducks in a blind
left with a cup of morning coffee
a spoon that stirs memories
of  young women
the pleasure of warm flesh
on fresh linen sheets
hot as an iron pressed
to a singed garment
turned to bones that rattle
in the graveyard of my dreams
the conversations that lasted
into the early morning hours
turned to idle chatter
with ghosts from the past