Here we are...

...a group of Baby Boomers of sundry religious,
political and cultural orientations, who have been
meeting at the Voorheesville Public Library since 1991
to read and discuss each other's poems.

We include old fathers and young grandmothers,
artists and musicians, and run-of-the-mill eccentrics.
Writers are welcome to stop in and stay if they like us.

Some of Us

Some of Us
Dennis Sullivan, Beverly Osborne, Tom Corrado, Edie Abrams, Art Willis, Alan Casline (all seated); Paul Amidon, Mike Burke, Tim Verhaegen, Mark O'Brien, Barbara Vink, Philomena Moriarty

Monday, July 30, 2007

Just too funny

Paul, you are a trip. You guys are just too funny sometimes. Keep reading and posting comments.
Lily Alys

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous7/30/2007

    What I found so pleasing about our poets get-together at Smitty’s Thursday was the wonderful buzz our conversation had.

    Everywhere I looked I saw folks engaged as if they were solving the problem of metaphor or speaking of a lover they left behind at a rest stop on the Thruway one year in their past.

    I mentioned this to Barb and then I set up a jury to hear a case she felt I had mis-judged. The verdict was 2-0 in her favor.

    Sometimes when we discuss the poems of each other, I see that we get a bit caught up—is that too itchy an adjective?—in the politics of the poem, its political or economic contents and lose focus on the poetic issues.

    One of the points of discussion among Tim, Cathy, Barb, Alan, Edie, and myself was: would you sell out eternity for a price? I had mentioned $50 million in my poem and to our surprise Tim shouted Sold!

    One of our colleagues shot back: What! Remember we are talking about eternity here? You want to poll the audience, call a friend?

    That question is so interesting especially with people new to me who maybe think I have a price. Old friends long know it’s red ants in the eye first but then again maybe I’d be over to the Xanax [sp?] tent in a few minutes for relief. Maybe better.

    What is so amazing about our little group so far—pour moi or pour me a martini—is that despite the levels of consciousness and talent, every person I can see and have met is trying to tell a true story and for me that is cooly metamorphic.

    Off to edit my first poem again, 20 times since Thursday. I wonder if there will be an end. If there is I will not rush to it.


    PS: wrote this on the 27th but it did not seem to make the issue.