A Visit with Allan Bazar
including his/my poetry
Hi! I'm Allan Bazar. I'm 82 years
old (born in 1934) and have been writing poetry of all
flavors and styles for 60-65 years all the while doing the
needful to support myself and those dependent upon me.
The image above represents me
through many years and changes...
It is like my poetry which has a very strong visual element,
is based on me and my experience, and has/will have many
levels of interest.
I am currently (at this very
moment, more or less) creating an image map of the above
image which when completed will enable us to click on any
part of the image and be transported to pages containing the
original photographs from which the images were extracted
and maybe a word or two of creative explanation.
(The original painting was by
Laurie Litowitz who made a double portrait entitled: "Bazar
in Oaxaca and Bazar in Oaxaca Dos." I created the collage. I
was, as one can see, a boy of 50 at the time.)
The years have been
kinder than I would have expected. I still seem to be me.
It is my intention to include on
this page various bits of biographical material, poetry,
perhaps some stories and whatever the hell else comes to
|We now suffer through
another year when our young men and women have
been sent to fight a fruitless, useless, battle
for survival because they were dispatched into an
area of frightful danger by arrogant, ignorant,
and incompetent cowardly men and women who, as
sociopaths, woefully lack any sense of compassion
and who, as narcissists, filter reality through
the distorted lens of their ideology. In
2003, as the Bush administration was preparing for
the war they thought would cover them in glory I
wrote the following and posted it in Poets
Against the War. I reproduce it here:
|Though my heart overflows
I weep for the babies
who will be wrenched out of this life they just
I weep for the old ones
whose lives will be instantly turned to dust and
I weep for the
adolescents from whom the worlds they have yet to
embrace will be destroyed
I weep for the young
ones who love has conquered but whose dreams will
vanish in the night.
I weep, as well, for
those terrified weak leaders who send others to their
doom yet who cowered in fear when their times came.
I weep for their
servants, the bureaucrats of information who bark like
dogs in the chorus of the fearful.
I weep for that sad,
lost soul who stands atop the dungheap of his own
making with characteristic smirk standing alone in
false triumph praying that he may yet be a man.
Were he not so weak, so
small, so frightened he might have been great. I weep
for that loss.
Yet my heart will not
empty of joy, but will find a place for sadness
as I weep.
say, I am even sadder today. There is so much joy
available in this world. For it to be besmirched
by those pathetic creatures who constitute the
government is sad, indeed. Fortunately,
though, when we understand the nature of
compassion, we do not need to allow our sadness to
overcome our ability to find joy, beauty, and
wonder in the world in which we are embedded. It
is to the discovery and enjoyment of that world
that the poems herein are dedicated.
As the number of poems increases, I am
finding it necessary to prepare a Table of Contents, the link to
which I shall place here when or if it is completed.
At last.. another new poem... more or less.
pleased to have finally added my most ambitious
work, The Elements, on this site.
a long poem on which I have worked for the past 15
- 20 years.
I offer it
here to you:
elemental world here
world is the world of the four elements: Fire,Water,Earth,
I have been creating, over
time, something pleasing to the eye, the mind, and the
spirit. Meanwhile I am going to start this section out with
two of my more favorite poems: two of the more sensual and
recursive ones. I hope you enjoy them. These poems reflect
the similarity between the behaviors of love and creativity.
[Insert Smiley Face here!]
Oh Gaze With
[[I must warn you that if you do
not have broadband, the backgrounds (which are worth
waiting for) on some of the following poems (Dreams, In
Another Sense, Waiting, Tunnel of Love, and Rainbow in
particular) are rather large files and, unless you have
broadband, as I do, will take a little while to load.
Please wait for them. They are an integral part of the
I suppose I will organize these
poems one day:
The following one would come under the heading of Love Poem.
It is a love poem to the universe and to someone who for
many years has held a special place in my heart:
Putting things in perspective)
This poem is inspired by and
dedicated to Catherine Vaughan (Aug. 28, 1950 to Aug. 26,
2000.) She was an artist and lived artfully. Her media were
fused glass and life. The fused glass remains with us. Her
passionate love of life lives on in my heart and mind.
The following prose
poem is in honor of Jane Porrit who was a dear, dear friend
who died in 1984, the very day her restaurant, a lifelong
dream, was to open. A memorial to Jane was written by
Marilyn Renaker with the title:
"She danced it, The only dance there is, To the full."
When you read the poem, do so with the knowledge that Jane
occasionally spun yarn with her beloved spinning wheel.
Here're some more poems......
This speaks more of an idea and use, if I may so say, of
Be warned, there is not much more here
than meets the eye....or mind.
or is there?
Again, if you do not have
broadband, the graphic backgrounds will take a few seconds
to load on some of these:
All of them do have graphic
This poem was written
originally in San Agustin, Colombia. I was struck by the
teeming life in the "jungle" in which the stelae were
situated. A fallen tree had. without hesitation it
seemed, become not so much a symbol of death but the
source of new life:
I had been hurrying
south on this little adventure but ended up staying two
weeks in the little town watching and participating in
the rhythms of life.....
Here is a story I wrote
while I was living in Trinity County, California in a
log cabin in the canyon of the South Fork of the Trinity
River 11 miles from the village of Hyampom:
These are part of a series
I worked on when I lived in Oaxaca and fine tuned
recently for inclusion here:
They might be called prose poems by those who like to
categorize, and pin anesthetized or, even,
still wriggling beauty to velvet.
And... I might ask... why not?
Why not what?
Oh shut up and read!
Night in the Bar (This
poem was inspired by many evenings and weekend
afternoons in the Cedar Street Tavern in New York City
in the '50's. I was usually introduced as a "young
Brooklyn poet" in those days though I considered myself
to be a slightly lost Arizona boy.)
(This one was inspired
by a dream during a period in which I was reading a lot
of Jungian "stuff"--Hey! I still am!!!)
This poem is
among a small group I call "tone poems." They are all
about surfaces and textures. The musical reference is not
unintentional nor is the choice of the color of this
course, all the writings that appear here are
copyrighted by me. If you are interested in using them
for any purpose, please contact me before you do so.
This work is licensed under a Creative
Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.