For Tiffany Burba
Christopher Luna by Alisha Jucevic for the Columbian
Christopher Luna by Alisha Jucevic for the Columbian
Wednesday, December 30, 2020
Monday, November 9, 2020
Collages by Christopher Luna November 2020
I'm so tired of social distancing
For Kelly Schrock
November 8, 2020
Saturday, November 7, 2020
Poetry and Art in Loving Memory of Diane di Prima
Revolutionary poet Diane di Prima is gone, but her work and the positive energy she created and nurtured will live on. I count myself among the poets who consider her a heroic model for how to be a dissident artist and decent, loving human being.
Diane di Prima and Anne Waldman at the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics
Summer Writing Program, July 1997 (photo by Christopher Luna)
Ten years after I met Diane di Prima at the Naropa Institute, I was thrilled to find her name on my list for the August Postcard Poetry Fest. Here is the postcard and poem I received from her:
It made me very nervous to write a spontaneous poem to one of my poetic elders. Here is the poem I wrote for her (and the collage postcard I created):
“Dustbowl Dirge” postcard sent to Diane di Prima,
EYE CATALYST for Diane di Prima
we are charged with a responsibility
whether we take on the role
of observer, critic,
priestess, or shaman
my painter friend is a former
and the reincarnation of
ninth-Century warrior
who smokes to quiet the
voices in his head
and
understands that to name
may
also be to destroy
he brings me finished
canvasses
which I am invited to amend
according to my liking
and I get nervous, my
Sharpie-holding hand trembling
with a sense of obligation
whatever I choose to add
must be right, it must be
worthy
must move
must add
rather than take away
we get trashed, laugh
and rub our beards
(mark of our status, for
some,
as revolutionary perverts)
we are dangerous
create word bombs
to dismantle capitalism
and undo the hatred in the
human heart
while plotting our respective strategies
in the ongoing war against the imagination
A few years later, Erin Dengerink and I collaborated on an artwork based on this poem. She drew the figures in the foreground and cut the holes representing thought bubbles that I filled with collage. I also contributed the lettering featuring a few lines from EYE CATALYST:
EYE CATALYST for Diane di Prima
by Erin Dengerink and Christopher Luna
DETAIL
EYE CATALYST for Diane di Prima
by Erin Dengerink and Christopher Luna
Here is the postcard and poem I received from Diane di Prima in 2008:
“Poetics
of memory” postcard and poem ("Saving Janis") by Christopher Luna sent to Raul Sanchez,
SAVING JANIS
In the photograph
Janis
looks like a hippie goddess
open, vulnerable
hair and beads
cascading over her nipples
hands crossed
in front of the flower
of her sex
Frame
the fallen queen
and
place her portrait
on
your bathroom wall.
Rendering
each morning
a
portal to another time.
If
you could you’d wrap your arms around her
whisper
sweet words of praise in her ear
and
when she closes her eyes to kiss you
hide
the half-finished bottle of Southern Comfort
Posted by Christopher Luna with love and respect for Diane di Prima
November 7, 2020
Saturday, October 31, 2020
Collages by Christopher Luna October 2020
He's Building His Own Myth Out of the Clamor: PRETTY DEEP SHIT by Christopher Luna
A WHIRLWIND OF UNCERTAINTY by Christopher Luna
Rhapsody in Blue Balls (For Erin Dengerink) by Christopher Luna
Revolution is love SAY YES by Christopher Luna
 |
| A taste for fast food by Kelly Schrock and Christopher Luna |
Thursday, September 24, 2020
Our visit to Saint John Coltrane Church, August 2015
John Coltrane by Neil Jacobs
Toni Lumbrazo Luna and I were married in 2015, and we decided that our honeymoon would be a California reading tour. We read our poetry in Berkeley, San Francisco, Eureka, and and Monterey. One of the highlights was a featured reading with Julie Rogers, David Meltzer, and saxophonist Zan Stewart at Bird & Beckett Books.
In the following excerpt from the travel poem we wrote during the trip, we visit the Saint John Coltrane Church in San Francisco. I was reminded of our visit when I read the following article on the NPR website:Five Decades On, An Eclectic Church Preaches The Message Of John Coltrane.
I am very pleased to learn that the church is soldiering on.
Happy 94th Birthday, John Coltrane.
No pics allowed at
Saint John Coltrane Church
Sunday Mass
sparsely attended, at first
the energy in the room is palpable
Procession takes place
in a room behind the stage
as we wait
“open your
hearts
as we go
into
confession”
tears
well
sit
or kneel
and
confess
“Praise
Him.
That’s
alright now.”
some join
some don’t
beautiful tapestries
with likenesses of Trane
and Lady Day
hang throughout the
Sanctuary
Miles Davis
draped across
the donation table
as the older cat
w dreads hanging below his knees
blows, my heart cracks open
shies
away a little
when
we get to
“one God one god”
same
old
push
and pull
acceptance
resistance
desire
&
suspicion
a
quiet, more
reasonable voice
from deep within
reminds me
that all humans
struggle for
meaning and
understanding
the room awash
in slightly muted
red, gold, green
the drummer
a beatific Buddha
in a blue t-shirt
however
the concepts
of
sin and evil
are
understood
we
all seek the same peace
“Thank you,
Jesus
Thank you,
Jesus”
as the ceremony continues
other musicians arrive
the door is left open
to encourage the folks
walking down Fillmore Street
to enter
a tall guy in
a blue shirt
takes his turn
blowing sax
celestial
late Trane
transcendence
and I feel my heart
fill with that light again
count at least
five sax players
like angels-in-waiting
by the time the sublime melody
to “A Love Supreme” begins
the room is full
“we’re just
trying to get a measure of what’s happening”
many passersby
stop to listen from
the doorway for
at least a few minutes
“If you love Truth, give God a hand, please. We call this
the sound exorcism. We try to keep it beautiful, but this ain’t no gin joint.
If the horn player starts speakin’ in tongues, we understand. When I went to
see John Coltrane, he was like a Pentecostal preacher to me. I know we’re gonna
have a good time, because the devil’s been busy all week. If you pat your foot,
you’re a part of the band. Don’t clear your throat in here unless you’re ready
to praise the Lord.”
deacon came up
in the African Orthodox church
part of the “no middle ground” crew
preaches on Revelations
believes we are in
The Last Days
“Saint John Coltrane was a scientist. Will indicates
someone’s intention. Will is modal…. You can’t get sidetracked when you’re
dealing with willing something into being…. I didn’t even talk about the All.
The All, that’s a lot. You have to be
surefooted. You have to move with purpose and authority.”
the
importance of sharing information
Abraham-Hicks:
The Vortex
Coltrane Speaks
Newlyweds Christopher and Toni Luna in San Clemente for their honeymoon, August 2015
Friday, September 18, 2020
Collages by Christopher Luna September 2020
a new reality
For Zoe Weimer
#artthatreconnects
Giving And Giving
For Coraline Luna
Love yourself
For Liliana
JUST BECAUSE IT FEELS GOOD
For Aimee Taylor and Kelly Schrock
BRILLIANT POET
For Leah Klass
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
"Atta," Angelo Luna's Birthday Poem for his Father
Angelo & Christopher Luna, Father's Day 2020
Atta
by Angelo Luna
Not a beat poet
but loves the beat, certainly
Smooth jazz
rapid rhythms
the claws that sink in
when an Invader
grabs you by the short and curlies
and tells you to
fucking
Dance
Not a a beat poet, no
but described by Ginsberg
decades before his existence nonetheless
First thought, best thought
Uninhibited
Uncontrolled
a radioactive substance in writing
Internal Radiation Therapy
words healing the country
from the inside out
While the world burns in
Trump’s America
Bolsonaro’s Brazil
God’s Earth
he writes his truth, and fights fire
by sucking the oxygen out of the room
A man who’s quantifiable praise for his ancestors
quiets crowds
when it’s spoken out loud
No more fire
There aren’t enough of him
Not quite zen
but buddhist in soul and practice
Does what’s being said need to be said?
Why are you saying it?
Does it help anyone?
They may be mantras to some
but it’s better thought of as a scientific method
dissect every interaction
future and past
and see which parts were necessary
Make yourself the best you can be
I write inhibited
Clinical
still coming into my own and learning from my betters
He teaches as a delimiter
not a time bomb
Not a beat poet, definitively,
but heavily influenced
and proud of it.
Surrealist
Grounded
visionary works
clutter file cabinets, real and digital.
Ginsberg watches him from another life
passing by on the street every chance he gets
without knowing it
I like to think that if reincarnation is
the way things go
that good ol’ Allen
is younger than my father
Maybe he’s a student
a fellow teacher
a preteen he makes a collage for.
Maybe he’s me, though I doubt it
I have other elders to follow
Stoic principles prepare us for loss
and I’ll spend my time in study preparing for his, most
Regardless of the sum of my works
or the product of his
I don’t know what real life will do when he’s gone.
A crack in an invisible wall
that only suffers when a truly great person leaves
There’s only so many it can take
I often wonder if his
will be the last
He betters himself
works with his son to live longer
even though it hurts
and sometimes isn’t as entertaining as others
He doesn’t want to see that wall crack either
he wants to surpass legacies
become one of those elders
No, that’s incorrect. Forgive my candidness,
but that’s what
I
Want
He would be happy leaving a mark on a closed
small circle
I want to see his name in essays
50 years from now
Either way
I’ll be proud.
He deserves it.
Allen Ginsberg and Christopher Luna in 1994
Wednesday, August 19, 2020
Thursday, August 13, 2020
Warrior-Goddess Jane Revolves Alluringly in the Cosmos of Our Dreams: For John Hall, who asked why I had put Barbarella on my book cover
Warrior-Goddess
Jane Revolves Alluringly
in the
Cosmos of Our Dreams
For John Hall, who asked why I had
put Barbarella on my book cover
she is
like he
—as it turns out—a
extraordinarily
multifaceted
both sex object
and warrior queen
goddess in the
flesh
even at 82
perhaps
especially
as a woman
of a certain age
a fire in her
that a lifetime
of dealing with
jack-offs
& sexist
underestimation
failed to quench
pure perfection
ideal of womanhood
turning over &
over
& over in the
void
arousing us
to change
stimulating us
to become
better men
Thursday, July 30, 2020
Saturday, July 25, 2020
HIS FINAL WORK AND LAST WORDS by Christopher Luna July 20, 2020
His final work and last words by Christopher Luna July 20, 2020
Sunday, July 12, 2020
Saturday, July 11, 2020
Saturday, July 4, 2020
Celebrate Like You're Running Out of Time, a Birthday Poem for Greg Luna (restored, with Angelo's photographs of the hawk that visited)
Sarah Wood with her painting of the hawk that visited us (see below)
Celebrate Like You’re Running Out of Time
A
Birthday Poem for Greg Luna
Dedicated
also to Angelo Luna,
Toni
Lumbrazo Luna,
&
Lin-Manuel Miranda
1.
separated from his love
Angelo studies
stoicism
obsesses over
stats
keeping an eye on
the latest
from the WHO &
the CDC
to tell him where
his head is at
perhaps his
studies will lead him
to develop the NYC
grit
his mother denied
him
when she tore us
from our home state
so that she could
spend her days hiding
all I know is I
admire him
I must respect his
wishes
regarding our time
outside the house
he’s keeping us
all safe
and in return I
enjoy
the gift of time
with him
it’s all we have
in the end
2.
lockdown inevitably changes one’s perspective:
I now realize that
I suffer from
self-created
ego-driven
paranoia
all of which are
illusion
and a colossal
waste of my
limited time on
this earth
or that I spend
too many moments
worrying about
bullshit
being isolated
from family &
friends
(since late 2001)
has forced me to
reconsider
my concept of both
freedom & independence
meanwhile
the world burns
and an evil thug
has his rich knee
on the neck of
our democracy
3.
on this day when
independence from monarchy
is reduced to a
mindless, heartless, nutrition-free
cartoon of
patriotism
I marvel at you
my brother
an anomaly
in our contentious
family:
a truly peaceful
person
and the only one
able to
broker peace
when shit goes
down
wish I had an
ounce of your ease
to soothe my
troubled mind
it is as if the
spirit of our grandfather
his tranquility the quiet power
of his equanimity
had leapt into you
so that you might
embody
the harmony
this energy
affords
I love you for it
4.
yesterday as we
watched Hamilton
crying &
laughing & experiencing
a resurgence in
our love for the republic
a hawk appeared
suddenly on our back fence
& everything
froze—you should have seen it
yellow & red
& ferocious majestic
& completely
indifferent to our petty worries
we caught a brief
glimpse of true freedom & realized
how
lucky we are to be alive right now
Photos by Angelo Luna
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