This line from Tom's poem has been running through my head all night - he looked it up for me. It came from the musical (Broadway and MGM film in the 40s) On the Town. Uncle Miltie, now there was a comedian, comic, comedian, comic! Great lines throughout, beginning with the title: Trying to Find My Own Easter Eggs.
Dennis visited his parents' graves, picked out a final spot for himself and realized the value of not being nameless. One of my favorites from the evening.
Tim's poem split the group into those who liked and didn't like the last half, each side equally vehement. I was with the second group, loved the description of the sea, sandpipers, the playing with thoughts of death, but not the little kid out swimming After Midnight.
No criticism for Philomena, with her St. Anthony theory (he was the patron saint of lost things).
I had radical suggestions for Beverly about rearranging her stanzas and tightening up her fear-of -driving-in-winter work. Lots of good material there, but a little prose-y, I thought.
Paul, Paul, we all loved Paul, revving his motorcycle through the halls of his high school. No one believes it was some other guy.
Alan produced another sea winner, Morning on York Harbor Shore (including photos). There was some debate about the inclusion of other writer's quotes within the body of your own work.
Appropos of what I can't remember, but Alan spilled out a quotable line: "The mark of a true civilization is to have a few bad habits and to cultivate them. " I hope I got that right.
I must confess, Mr. Willis' poem totally baffled me because I had no clue who Giambattista Vico was. Art informed me that "all of social science was founded by" this Italian Rennaissance guy. I know nothing.
Personally, I am worried about Mr. Burke who seems to be overly absorbed with the techniques of pouring Guiness Draft, altho the resultant work was pretty funny.
Mark called his work a transcription of the Galway Kinnell's video Tom had sent us all and had some fun with language. "Those who want to read, read" and "Those who want to write, write". Hit home here. I am reading.
We welcomed back Catherine Norr who has been on hiatus from us and came in with a poem that was clear, concise and well liked. BTW, we may have a couple of new people at the next meeting (I received emails from interested people) so we might have to rethink our time considerations again. Of course, if I don't write anymore, that saves us a little time.
A couple of people had singing lines in their poems. Perhaps we should work on a musical.
See you all at Alan's on the 19th. I will try to post some photos later today.
bv
I am closing with Edie's poem from last night.
David, on Micki's Death
God expelled some arctic air
and extinguished a sparkle
Steeled in his cadet-gray
he stood rigid as a general
only his earmuffs betrayed him
Faltering, she strew some soil
on her daughter's coffin
muffled sobs sprinkled the crowd
David braced her feeble arm
withdrew to his rooted spot
arms strained by his side
Funny, at that moment I noticed
how handsome David is.
Edie Abrams
December 19, 2007
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
Friday, January 11, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
From Tim
THE FOLLOWING IS A GUEST POST from Tim which he left in the comments box and I thought should be posted instead: (I don't agree with the first one, but hey...)
I love this book I’m reading about writing. I’m quoting some statements from Pat Walsh that I think would be helpful to all writers.
“You Don’t Trust Your Audience – If you write something you would not need to be told yourself or have explained to you, take it out.”
“You Do Not Know Your Audience – Gertrude Stein got it right, when she said she wrote for herself and strangers…Never have your friends and family in mind or you will be hobbled by worry about what they think…It is difficult to maintain a high degree of honesty if you are concerned about misperceptions from loved ones.” This one was great for me.
“The spoken word and the written word are cousins, not identical twins, Each has its place and needs to be respected, but a writer’s focus should be on the page and he should not let a vocal bias mask his weaknesses.”
This part was awesome for me writing too much gay stuff:“You Do Not Realize that Nobody Cares – Somewhere along the line. however, many writers lose the ability to discern between what is interesting to a reader and what is interesting to them….Use your inside knowledge to add authenticity and intricacy, but do not cut yourself a slice of life that makes other people want to end theirs…. When something is very important to you, it may be hard to see that it is very unimportant to everybody else. If you feel a personal catharsis when writing or reading…that might be a bad sign…. Readers are not going to care about you simply because you care about you…”
“You Preach – do not blatantly tell readers what is right and what is wrong…People can barely take it when they think it is coming from a priest, a prophet, or even God, why would they take it from you?”
“You think Too Highly of Yourself – I have met several writers over the years who are very intelligent, so much so that they are hamstrung by intellect…My book isn’t bad, you are just too stupid to understand it…”
I love this book I’m reading about writing. I’m quoting some statements from Pat Walsh that I think would be helpful to all writers.
“You Don’t Trust Your Audience – If you write something you would not need to be told yourself or have explained to you, take it out.”
“You Do Not Know Your Audience – Gertrude Stein got it right, when she said she wrote for herself and strangers…Never have your friends and family in mind or you will be hobbled by worry about what they think…It is difficult to maintain a high degree of honesty if you are concerned about misperceptions from loved ones.” This one was great for me.
“The spoken word and the written word are cousins, not identical twins, Each has its place and needs to be respected, but a writer’s focus should be on the page and he should not let a vocal bias mask his weaknesses.”
This part was awesome for me writing too much gay stuff:“You Do Not Realize that Nobody Cares – Somewhere along the line. however, many writers lose the ability to discern between what is interesting to a reader and what is interesting to them….Use your inside knowledge to add authenticity and intricacy, but do not cut yourself a slice of life that makes other people want to end theirs…. When something is very important to you, it may be hard to see that it is very unimportant to everybody else. If you feel a personal catharsis when writing or reading…that might be a bad sign…. Readers are not going to care about you simply because you care about you…”
“You Preach – do not blatantly tell readers what is right and what is wrong…People can barely take it when they think it is coming from a priest, a prophet, or even God, why would they take it from you?”
“You think Too Highly of Yourself – I have met several writers over the years who are very intelligent, so much so that they are hamstrung by intellect…My book isn’t bad, you are just too stupid to understand it…”
Thursday, January 3, 2008
EOTNP TOGETHER AGAIN
Saturday, January 19 at 4 p.m.
at the aerie of Bird Casline and Lady Bird Pearce
119 Dumbarton Drive, Delmar
Bring:
appetizer, main course or dessert (or all three)
spouse, sig other, best bud (or no one)
Poems? Libations? Musical instruments?
The Bird is roasting a bird. (Sounds a little weird to me.)
Respond via email acasline@aol.com or call 475-7781
at the aerie of Bird Casline and Lady Bird Pearce
119 Dumbarton Drive, Delmar
Bring:
appetizer, main course or dessert (or all three)
spouse, sig other, best bud (or no one)
Poems? Libations? Musical instruments?
The Bird is roasting a bird. (Sounds a little weird to me.)
Respond via email acasline@aol.com or call 475-7781
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Aah...
It has been awhile since I blogged. I go into semi-hibernation at this time of year, so I am not feeling very communicative. Our first December meeting got snowed out so I had little but gossip to report. Snow seems to have effectively deterred us from Dan's New Year party in spite of our intentions. Don't know anyone who went. Tim aborted and went to the bookstore to run up his credit card instead.
I did forget one announcement on the 27th. For those of you who remember her, Mildred, the Queen Mother of EOTNP, sent a Christmas card - one of her pencil sketches drawn of the scene outside the window of her apartment in Beverwyck - with a poem:
OVER THE YEARS by Mildred Baur Kerr
Box up memories...the good ones.
Pack close
precious time and
tender feelings.
Squeeze in
thoughts of
many dear friends.
Tuck corners with
beauty of places visited.
Stuff vacant spots
with recollections of
laughing grandchildren.
Tie tight each knot.
Let nothing be lost
before marking fragile.
Mildred is very close to ninety, if she is not already, and this is her first Christmas without Donald.
At the meeting, Philomena announced the start-up of a poetry-coffeehouse at the Unitarian Church in Albany next May.
Alan passed out the Annals of Perious Frink and announced a book warming at Perfect Blend Coffee House in Delmar on Sunday, January 27, from 3 - 5 p.m. He also made a beautiful broadside of Mike's Tattoo poem. You can support Alan's publishing with a membership in Rootdrinker Institute.
Alan offered us a choice of three versions of the same basic poem - one-word difference in each. It was a terrific poem with a great title - Sea Bird, Another - and the spacing on the page contributed greatly to the effect. Having to choose between love and wind, I choose wind. Dog lover that I am, I also enjoyed Feeding Charlie Cheerios in the "freebies" Alan passed out.
Dennis, who was coming off his annual stint as the jolly red Christmas guy, also brought his usual packet of produce. His first offering was written for Noam Chomsky and and led to some discussion of a "box of moonlight". Great line: "the fulgent star-light white of a glass of milk."
I wish I was as prolific as Santa, arriving with no poem, but discovering one in my folder which I had not presented before. It was written just days before my father died and pointed to his economies with toothpaste and the subsequent loss of his teeth. Suggestion: change the order of the verses.
Ally-Cathy talked about tears, the lack of them and the comfort of them. Suggestion: change Mark to a generic person.
Philomena wrote a theological update on the childhood Act of Contrition. It was personal, yet it remained very universal. Suggestion: that the repetition be eliminated.
Paul walked with the Druids in the twilight woods. Strong voice, good atmosphere.
Mimi's Quilting talked about a friend's effort to control the uncontrollable world through fabric.
Mike's Xmas poem left me a little confused about why the guy went up the stairs. Included a great description of a lonely man's house. I still say the wife died, not divorced him.
A couple of us thought Tom's Our Voyages Endlessly Maiden (good title) should have been two poems, as it broke into something else in the middle - life out of balance. Tom stuck up for his deliberate cliches.
Tim introduced a good light-hearted moment with his Advice Godiss (reminiscent of Metroland): a series of three-line letters to a columnist who tries to solve people's problems. No answers were forthcoming, but we enjoyed the questions.
I haven't been writing lately. Whether it is because of Kenya or Pakistan or the Sudan or just Mike Huckabee, I am not very into the beginning of another year. Keep the Exedrin coming.
See you on the 10th.
I did forget one announcement on the 27th. For those of you who remember her, Mildred, the Queen Mother of EOTNP, sent a Christmas card - one of her pencil sketches drawn of the scene outside the window of her apartment in Beverwyck - with a poem:
OVER THE YEARS by Mildred Baur Kerr
Box up memories...the good ones.
Pack close
precious time and
tender feelings.
Squeeze in
thoughts of
many dear friends.
Tuck corners with
beauty of places visited.
Stuff vacant spots
with recollections of
laughing grandchildren.
Tie tight each knot.
Let nothing be lost
before marking fragile.
Mildred is very close to ninety, if she is not already, and this is her first Christmas without Donald.
At the meeting, Philomena announced the start-up of a poetry-coffeehouse at the Unitarian Church in Albany next May.
Alan passed out the Annals of Perious Frink and announced a book warming at Perfect Blend Coffee House in Delmar on Sunday, January 27, from 3 - 5 p.m. He also made a beautiful broadside of Mike's Tattoo poem. You can support Alan's publishing with a membership in Rootdrinker Institute.
Alan offered us a choice of three versions of the same basic poem - one-word difference in each. It was a terrific poem with a great title - Sea Bird, Another - and the spacing on the page contributed greatly to the effect. Having to choose between love and wind, I choose wind. Dog lover that I am, I also enjoyed Feeding Charlie Cheerios in the "freebies" Alan passed out.
Dennis, who was coming off his annual stint as the jolly red Christmas guy, also brought his usual packet of produce. His first offering was written for Noam Chomsky and and led to some discussion of a "box of moonlight". Great line: "the fulgent star-light white of a glass of milk."
I wish I was as prolific as Santa, arriving with no poem, but discovering one in my folder which I had not presented before. It was written just days before my father died and pointed to his economies with toothpaste and the subsequent loss of his teeth. Suggestion: change the order of the verses.
Ally-Cathy talked about tears, the lack of them and the comfort of them. Suggestion: change Mark to a generic person.
Philomena wrote a theological update on the childhood Act of Contrition. It was personal, yet it remained very universal. Suggestion: that the repetition be eliminated.
Paul walked with the Druids in the twilight woods. Strong voice, good atmosphere.
Mimi's Quilting talked about a friend's effort to control the uncontrollable world through fabric.
Mike's Xmas poem left me a little confused about why the guy went up the stairs. Included a great description of a lonely man's house. I still say the wife died, not divorced him.
A couple of us thought Tom's Our Voyages Endlessly Maiden (good title) should have been two poems, as it broke into something else in the middle - life out of balance. Tom stuck up for his deliberate cliches.
Tim introduced a good light-hearted moment with his Advice Godiss (reminiscent of Metroland): a series of three-line letters to a columnist who tries to solve people's problems. No answers were forthcoming, but we enjoyed the questions.
I haven't been writing lately. Whether it is because of Kenya or Pakistan or the Sudan or just Mike Huckabee, I am not very into the beginning of another year. Keep the Exedrin coming.
See you on the 10th.
Monday, December 3, 2007
The Intrepid Travelers
Despite threats of an impending snowstorm, 12 poets and Georgia trekked to Quaker Street to the Willis' wonderful old farmhouse for an afternoon of food (!) and poetry discussion. The house is enormous (two kitchens, at least two woodstoves, and lots I didn't see) and crammed with interesting artifacts from Art and Judy's lives. I speak for all when I say thanks for having us. It was a great spot to be on a winter afternoon. Judy presided over homemade soup and Art was pushing his Irish tea in a pot that Linda Wolkenbreit had given him. We all ate ourselves full and I have some spinach artichoke dip that I am going to have for dinner tonight.
On the way out in Tom's car with Mike Burke, I pointed out local historical spots - a burned out nightspot from my youth(anybody remember The Swiss Inn?), a great diner called Gibby's you should all try - and exclaimed over the missing chicken. Did anyone else notice it was gone?
While Georgia and Judy had their own tete-a-tete, the rest of us gathered to share our favorite poets and talk about why we write. My impression (and strictly my own) is that some people missed the mark on what we planned to talk about and, as no one appeared to be in charge, it dragged. I should have brought the gavel. On the plus side, other people hit the nail and revealed themselves in good ways and I learned things about them.
In the midst of all, Gary and Mark broke the antique sofa.
We all left around 6 p.m. and, to the best of my knowledge, Tim made it safely home without hitting a deer and landing up in a field in a blizzard with no cell phone service.
Please comment on this blog! I would like to know your impressions of our Sunday.
On the way out in Tom's car with Mike Burke, I pointed out local historical spots - a burned out nightspot from my youth(anybody remember The Swiss Inn?), a great diner called Gibby's you should all try - and exclaimed over the missing chicken. Did anyone else notice it was gone?
While Georgia and Judy had their own tete-a-tete, the rest of us gathered to share our favorite poets and talk about why we write. My impression (and strictly my own) is that some people missed the mark on what we planned to talk about and, as no one appeared to be in charge, it dragged. I should have brought the gavel. On the plus side, other people hit the nail and revealed themselves in good ways and I learned things about them.
In the midst of all, Gary and Mark broke the antique sofa.
We all left around 6 p.m. and, to the best of my knowledge, Tim made it safely home without hitting a deer and landing up in a field in a blizzard with no cell phone service.
Please comment on this blog! I would like to know your impressions of our Sunday.
Friday, November 30, 2007
"Poets are terrible thieves"
(offhand remark from Mr. Willis)
Anyone wanting to car pool or parade to Quaker Street on Sunday should meet in the library parking lot and wait for others at approx. 1:15 p.m. If you need to be picked up at home, let me know. If the weather is totally awful, cancellation is possible and someone will call you. Yes, we are supposed to bring something to eat or drink. I am thinking, snacks, desserts, wine, beer, not dinner food. Art passed out maps at the meeting. It is very easy, altho a bit of a drive. Art, btw, had a successful book signing at the The Book House last weekend.
Entries are still be taken in the Perious Frink contest. Contact Alan. Alan was the recepient of a well-deserved $200 Poetry Prize given at the Colonie Library by the WmRobt Foltin group. He will use his earnings to continue to promote the publication of poetry. Alan truly performed for us last night by singing (!) his poem "The Ballad of Perious Frink and the Barrel Contest" to mixed reviews. I observed that it was hard to listen to the verse because of his singing. The tune sounded vaguely like "Sweet Betsy from Pike".
Okay, briefly now - Philomena got us talking about the old feminist quote about fish and bicycles. If you don't remember it, where were you in the sixties? Good poem about self image inspired by Cosmo.
Paul posted his "irrefutable logic", timely and universal poem about buying holiday gifts. Humbug. Dan, who is leaving for winter in Florida this weekend, shared his Singer's Prayer. It truly reflected his life.
We revisited Cathy's sad romance story about "The Last Good Day". Great atmosphere.
Beverly was also reflective upon finding an old photo of her mother and seeing her in a new light. She remarked that she had been learning from the group, which was nice to hear from a relative newcomer.
Art was particularly moved by Tim's portrait of his Aunt Florence who met an untimely demise at the age of 15. Some didn't quite get the mystery involved, but overall good review. Dennis did a good job of pointing out specific words to edit. Art said it gave him a whole different view of Tim as an artist.
We also effused over Art's "Fuddy Duddy," which I pointed out was in an enhancing type font. Page setup became part of the energy. Dennis called him the Zen Master. And, at last, a Sullivan poem that was enthused at by all, I think. I loved his opening of "the moon, a tiny sliver of a thing, a lemon twist in a ceiling of gin". Nothing better than that.
Obieduid read his homage de t.c. reluctantly because t.c. was not there to hear it. I won't spoil a future presentation except to say that it inspired a lot of comments, a little controversy and was well-liked.
Lots of good stuff tonight, my favorite again being from our Irish Traveler (Mike B.), who absolutely cracked us all up with "Piano Player". Tim was practically convulsive. I needed a good laugh, and it was a good one, before bringing us all down with "My Mother's Grief", extrapolating about my mother's absence of grief over my father's recent death. Mr. Willis cleverly identified the filaments of Alzheimer's gunk attacking her brain.
We had to cut short a promising conversation about the necessity of explaining or letting poems stand on their own. To be continued, I imagine. See you Sunday. Almost forgetting, I announced my impending 7th grandmotherhood. Great joy in Mudville.
Anyone wanting to car pool or parade to Quaker Street on Sunday should meet in the library parking lot and wait for others at approx. 1:15 p.m. If you need to be picked up at home, let me know. If the weather is totally awful, cancellation is possible and someone will call you. Yes, we are supposed to bring something to eat or drink. I am thinking, snacks, desserts, wine, beer, not dinner food. Art passed out maps at the meeting. It is very easy, altho a bit of a drive. Art, btw, had a successful book signing at the The Book House last weekend.
Entries are still be taken in the Perious Frink contest. Contact Alan. Alan was the recepient of a well-deserved $200 Poetry Prize given at the Colonie Library by the WmRobt Foltin group. He will use his earnings to continue to promote the publication of poetry. Alan truly performed for us last night by singing (!) his poem "The Ballad of Perious Frink and the Barrel Contest" to mixed reviews. I observed that it was hard to listen to the verse because of his singing. The tune sounded vaguely like "Sweet Betsy from Pike".
Okay, briefly now - Philomena got us talking about the old feminist quote about fish and bicycles. If you don't remember it, where were you in the sixties? Good poem about self image inspired by Cosmo.
Paul posted his "irrefutable logic", timely and universal poem about buying holiday gifts. Humbug. Dan, who is leaving for winter in Florida this weekend, shared his Singer's Prayer. It truly reflected his life.
We revisited Cathy's sad romance story about "The Last Good Day". Great atmosphere.
Beverly was also reflective upon finding an old photo of her mother and seeing her in a new light. She remarked that she had been learning from the group, which was nice to hear from a relative newcomer.
Art was particularly moved by Tim's portrait of his Aunt Florence who met an untimely demise at the age of 15. Some didn't quite get the mystery involved, but overall good review. Dennis did a good job of pointing out specific words to edit. Art said it gave him a whole different view of Tim as an artist.
We also effused over Art's "Fuddy Duddy," which I pointed out was in an enhancing type font. Page setup became part of the energy. Dennis called him the Zen Master. And, at last, a Sullivan poem that was enthused at by all, I think. I loved his opening of "the moon, a tiny sliver of a thing, a lemon twist in a ceiling of gin". Nothing better than that.
Obieduid read his homage de t.c. reluctantly because t.c. was not there to hear it. I won't spoil a future presentation except to say that it inspired a lot of comments, a little controversy and was well-liked.
Lots of good stuff tonight, my favorite again being from our Irish Traveler (Mike B.), who absolutely cracked us all up with "Piano Player". Tim was practically convulsive. I needed a good laugh, and it was a good one, before bringing us all down with "My Mother's Grief", extrapolating about my mother's absence of grief over my father's recent death. Mr. Willis cleverly identified the filaments of Alzheimer's gunk attacking her brain.
We had to cut short a promising conversation about the necessity of explaining or letting poems stand on their own. To be continued, I imagine. See you Sunday. Almost forgetting, I announced my impending 7th grandmotherhood. Great joy in Mudville.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Gary sent this...
and I am posting it for the traditionalists out there. bv
Hi everyone, I am now officially a blogger! So what has me blogging on this Sunday night when I should be praying THAT THE GIANTS WILL WIN! well you see I am not a believer in football either, yet I have recently seen the light...Alan, (AKA the Birdman) enlightened me you see. He presented me with a book last meeting (TY Alan) regarding the evolution of poetry. I have only worked my way through piecemeal. Though I am presently delighted: They are all there: Keats, Byron, Maccaulay, Browning,Shakespear, Lampman..."Lampman?" you ask. Yes Archibald Lampman's APRIL IN THE HILLS is the last poem included. He is a Canadian Naturalist Poet, the little known, virtual King of metered verse. The poem included in the book I copied below; The imagery is great!!! ENJOY! (BTW...he also wrote "THE CITY AT THE END OF THINGS" pretty wild imagery as well).
APRIL IN THE HILLS Lampman, Archibald (1861-1899)
To-day the world is wide and fair
With sunny fields of lucid air,
And waters dancing everywhere;
The snow is almost gone;
The noon is builded high with light,
And over heaven's liquid height,
In steady fleets serene and white,
The happy clouds go on.
The channels run, the bare earth steams,
And every hollow rings and gleams
With jetting falls and dashing streams;
The rivers burst and fill;
The fields are full of little lakes,
And when the romping wind awakes
The water ruffles blue and shakes,
And the pines roar on the hill.
The crows go by, a noisy throng;
About the meadows all day long
The shore-lark drops his brittle song;
And up the leafless tree
The nut-hatch runs, and nods, and clings;
The bluebird dips with flashing wings,
The robin flutes, the sparrow sings,
And the swallows float and flee.
I break the spirit's cloudy bands,
A wanderer in enchanted lands,
I feel the sun upon my hands;
And far from care and strife
The broad earth bids me forth.
I riseWith lifted brow and upward eyes.
I bathe my spirit in blue skies,
And taste the springs of life.
I feel the tumult of new birth;
I waken with the wakening earth;
I match the bluebird in her mirth;
And wild with wind and sun,
A treasurer of immortal days,
I roam the glorious world with praise,
The hillsides and the woodland ways,
Till earth and I are one.
Love and Peace...Gary Yeager
Hi everyone, I am now officially a blogger! So what has me blogging on this Sunday night when I should be praying THAT THE GIANTS WILL WIN! well you see I am not a believer in football either, yet I have recently seen the light...Alan, (AKA the Birdman) enlightened me you see. He presented me with a book last meeting (TY Alan) regarding the evolution of poetry. I have only worked my way through piecemeal. Though I am presently delighted: They are all there: Keats, Byron, Maccaulay, Browning,Shakespear, Lampman..."Lampman?" you ask. Yes Archibald Lampman's APRIL IN THE HILLS is the last poem included. He is a Canadian Naturalist Poet, the little known, virtual King of metered verse. The poem included in the book I copied below; The imagery is great!!! ENJOY! (BTW...he also wrote "THE CITY AT THE END OF THINGS" pretty wild imagery as well).
APRIL IN THE HILLS Lampman, Archibald (1861-1899)
To-day the world is wide and fair
With sunny fields of lucid air,
And waters dancing everywhere;
The snow is almost gone;
The noon is builded high with light,
And over heaven's liquid height,
In steady fleets serene and white,
The happy clouds go on.
The channels run, the bare earth steams,
And every hollow rings and gleams
With jetting falls and dashing streams;
The rivers burst and fill;
The fields are full of little lakes,
And when the romping wind awakes
The water ruffles blue and shakes,
And the pines roar on the hill.
The crows go by, a noisy throng;
About the meadows all day long
The shore-lark drops his brittle song;
And up the leafless tree
The nut-hatch runs, and nods, and clings;
The bluebird dips with flashing wings,
The robin flutes, the sparrow sings,
And the swallows float and flee.
I break the spirit's cloudy bands,
A wanderer in enchanted lands,
I feel the sun upon my hands;
And far from care and strife
The broad earth bids me forth.
I riseWith lifted brow and upward eyes.
I bathe my spirit in blue skies,
And taste the springs of life.
I feel the tumult of new birth;
I waken with the wakening earth;
I match the bluebird in her mirth;
And wild with wind and sun,
A treasurer of immortal days,
I roam the glorious world with praise,
The hillsides and the woodland ways,
Till earth and I are one.
Love and Peace...Gary Yeager
Friday, November 9, 2007
Post Script for Art & Poetry Lovers
Okay, 2nd post of today.
I was cruising the shelves and found a stash of brand new poetry and art books. Poems by John Ashberry, Robert Pinsky, Ishmael Reed, Robt Hass, Some IntuiT House Poetry Series selections, National BookCritics Crircle award winner, and one I checked out called The Rhythm Method, Razzmatazz and Memory.
The art books are full color repros of surrealists, Renoir, Degas, Picasso, Vermeer, Frieda Kahlo, pop art, famous artists, famous paintings and more. Our buyer (Suzanne) must have been on a real rampage, all terrific choices.
I was cruising the shelves and found a stash of brand new poetry and art books. Poems by John Ashberry, Robert Pinsky, Ishmael Reed, Robt Hass, Some IntuiT House Poetry Series selections, National BookCritics Crircle award winner, and one I checked out called The Rhythm Method, Razzmatazz and Memory.
The art books are full color repros of surrealists, Renoir, Degas, Picasso, Vermeer, Frieda Kahlo, pop art, famous artists, famous paintings and more. Our buyer (Suzanne) must have been on a real rampage, all terrific choices.
Good Night
First, thanks to Obie for linking the blog to the video Georgia took at the Social Justice Center.
Art passed out cards announcing a signing at Book House of Heart of the Matter, which he co-wrote with Marcia Greenberg about teaching - November 17 at 2 p.m. Art will send us directions to his house for the Willis Syndrome party on Dec. 2.
We have a new book of Robert Haas poetry in the collection and Mimi showed us Here, Bullet, written by a soldier who is in Iraq. Alan passed out a beautiful broadside with Cathy's fireworks poem. Also worthy of mention, the late Mr. Yeager was early. Dan was back. Joyce was there but is on her way to Europe again. (Do you detect a note of jealousy there?) Mike B. will be back today. It was a full house with 15.
I am offering a strong suggestion that we stop pointing out punctuation mistakes, for a couple of reasons. Punctuation errors are not vitally important unless the poem is being submitted for publication, in which case, the writer should be checking his own work before s/he sends it out. It wastes time during the meeting.
Everything went fairly smoothly as far as the critiques and conversation went. We seemed to be trying harder to offer positive reinforcement, which is good. It helped that we had a raft of good writing last night. I was not clock-watching and will continue to allow the talk to flow to a natural conclusion if possible, which should be better if everyone polices themselves. Not everyone has to speak after every poem.
Cathy, who happily made it through the whole meeting and looked lovely in a mauve-y sweater and beads, had a terrific poem about the man who mows her field. Joyce had a "four-star" work about Pavarotti. Philomena - good imagery, great line about "what is lost and found at the surface of flesh".
Beverly brought a moving work about tears which I didn't get a chance to comment on, but it spoke to me sharply - "peeling the layers of the onion of grief" (I think that was Dennis). The consenus was that Mimi's "lever" poem needed some trimming, but we (I personally) loved the content. BTW, she also brought an announcement of Pavoldi reading at the Schenectady Library on November 18 along with Miki Conn and David Kaczynski who I also recommend.
We had some masterpieces from the guys, too. I was practically jumping out of my seat because I loved Alan's Birdland Revisited - a "triumph" about Charlie Parker, the other Birdman. Alan commented that Dennis' Winter Wind was "rare", nothing but perfect meter, and it was a great favorite with all of us. We did note the similarity between his "tat-tat" and Obie's "knick-knack".
Our former stoner, Tim also got kudos for his economical language, (Tom, "excellent"; Art, "pure Kerouac"). Dennis made an interesting remark about novice poets offering multiple choices, i.e. many adjectives, more than one verb. I liked that. Art rather baffled a lot of us with a melifluous (did I spell that right?) offering about Why We Die.
Our American Keats Dan Lawlor did a great job with the content of A Young Boy's Literary Friends, citing many major works in kid lit. It was suggested he work on his meter. Our other rhymer, Mr. Y. contributed an excellent sonnet which included my favorite line "for she lies sleeping in my scribbled verse". Cathy compared him to Byron.
Paul's Footnotes of War inspired conversation about the subject matter (good). Suggested stanza breaks because of its density. Tom, whose toys were beckoning among the wine gnats, had a mood piece and the mood was sensuous according to Art, with sustained ambience. Mark did a good job with controlled rhyme in his poem, and had another line I loved "then stepped out of the gifting wrap you oftimes called your skin."
Mark (and I) also confessed to being Stephen King readers.
Spirited, spirited conversation flowed at Smitty's, along with supreme nachos, deluxe chicken wings, zesty fries, an extraordinary chef's salad and enough root beer, real beer and bloody Mary's to make us difficult to control. Kathy was rolling her eyes again.
We will be meeting on the 29th to make up for Thanksgiving. If I have forgotten anything, post a comment.
Art passed out cards announcing a signing at Book House of Heart of the Matter, which he co-wrote with Marcia Greenberg about teaching - November 17 at 2 p.m. Art will send us directions to his house for the Willis Syndrome party on Dec. 2.
We have a new book of Robert Haas poetry in the collection and Mimi showed us Here, Bullet, written by a soldier who is in Iraq. Alan passed out a beautiful broadside with Cathy's fireworks poem. Also worthy of mention, the late Mr. Yeager was early. Dan was back. Joyce was there but is on her way to Europe again. (Do you detect a note of jealousy there?) Mike B. will be back today. It was a full house with 15.
I am offering a strong suggestion that we stop pointing out punctuation mistakes, for a couple of reasons. Punctuation errors are not vitally important unless the poem is being submitted for publication, in which case, the writer should be checking his own work before s/he sends it out. It wastes time during the meeting.
Everything went fairly smoothly as far as the critiques and conversation went. We seemed to be trying harder to offer positive reinforcement, which is good. It helped that we had a raft of good writing last night. I was not clock-watching and will continue to allow the talk to flow to a natural conclusion if possible, which should be better if everyone polices themselves. Not everyone has to speak after every poem.
Cathy, who happily made it through the whole meeting and looked lovely in a mauve-y sweater and beads, had a terrific poem about the man who mows her field. Joyce had a "four-star" work about Pavarotti. Philomena - good imagery, great line about "what is lost and found at the surface of flesh".
Beverly brought a moving work about tears which I didn't get a chance to comment on, but it spoke to me sharply - "peeling the layers of the onion of grief" (I think that was Dennis). The consenus was that Mimi's "lever" poem needed some trimming, but we (I personally) loved the content. BTW, she also brought an announcement of Pavoldi reading at the Schenectady Library on November 18 along with Miki Conn and David Kaczynski who I also recommend.
We had some masterpieces from the guys, too. I was practically jumping out of my seat because I loved Alan's Birdland Revisited - a "triumph" about Charlie Parker, the other Birdman. Alan commented that Dennis' Winter Wind was "rare", nothing but perfect meter, and it was a great favorite with all of us. We did note the similarity between his "tat-tat" and Obie's "knick-knack".
Our former stoner, Tim also got kudos for his economical language, (Tom, "excellent"; Art, "pure Kerouac"). Dennis made an interesting remark about novice poets offering multiple choices, i.e. many adjectives, more than one verb. I liked that. Art rather baffled a lot of us with a melifluous (did I spell that right?) offering about Why We Die.
Our American Keats Dan Lawlor did a great job with the content of A Young Boy's Literary Friends, citing many major works in kid lit. It was suggested he work on his meter. Our other rhymer, Mr. Y. contributed an excellent sonnet which included my favorite line "for she lies sleeping in my scribbled verse". Cathy compared him to Byron.
Paul's Footnotes of War inspired conversation about the subject matter (good). Suggested stanza breaks because of its density. Tom, whose toys were beckoning among the wine gnats, had a mood piece and the mood was sensuous according to Art, with sustained ambience. Mark did a good job with controlled rhyme in his poem, and had another line I loved "then stepped out of the gifting wrap you oftimes called your skin."
Mark (and I) also confessed to being Stephen King readers.
Spirited, spirited conversation flowed at Smitty's, along with supreme nachos, deluxe chicken wings, zesty fries, an extraordinary chef's salad and enough root beer, real beer and bloody Mary's to make us difficult to control. Kathy was rolling her eyes again.
We will be meeting on the 29th to make up for Thanksgiving. If I have forgotten anything, post a comment.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
POETICS SEMINAR ONE
December 2, 2007
The Willis Farm
Poets of the EOTNP group bring work to the Thursday workshops for a variety of reasons and
at a variety of finished stages, some done with care, some done hurriedly—as is quite evident sometimes and as some poets indicate.
For these and other reasons, I think it is difficult to get a true assessment of who some poets
are, with respect to their work I mean, the genres she or he prefers for example. A person might call herself a “straight” poet but that does not say what the poet’s preferred genre of poetry is as, for example, elegy, ode, sonnet, couplet, free verse, the narrative poem, etc.
Moreover I can read an Allen Ginsberg poem or a Denise Levertov poem or even one by Sylia
Plath and say this is who this person is, this is what this person is about, this poem reflects that poet’s poetics of life. I don’t think too many of us could say that about too many others in our Thursday night group, or maybe we could?!?!
So I, and others I have spoken with, have asked the question periodically: what is this poet up
to? What is she trying to accomplish?
The Poetics Seminar, if I might call it that, is a Show and Tell of sorts, suggested as a way for
each poet to tell us who she or he is. And this can be done, this time anyway, by each poet bringing a poem to read which the poet says: I believe this poem reflects who I am as a poet. This is my quintessence.
And since none of us has arisen sua sponte, we all have a family tree, a poetical family tree. I
think it behooves each poet to know who the members of that tree are, to be able to say so-and-so is my grandfather, these are my sisters and brothers, these my children, if anyone can go that far—poetically speaking.
So the second part of our little seminar will involve each poet reading a relatively short piece
of work of his parent or a member of her or his genealogical tree that reflects that V’ville poet’s DNA. A poet might say: I would like to read this poem of my grandfather. It might be Whitman, it might be Wallace Stevens, it might be Marianne Moore as one’s great aunt, whoever. Before reading the poem, the poet will be asked to say a word of two of why she or he believes the “guest” poet reflects who they are.
After this reading, the group assembled is encouraged to ask the poet a few questions about
her or his interest in poetry and goals, and aims to which a poet might respond: I want to win a Pulitzer Prize! I want to get published in Poetry Don’t Pump Gas II. I want to get out of here!
I am imagining the Q and A period to be supportive of the poet, not an inquisition, a forum
to help each poet open up more like a spring flower. At this time as well the gathered poets might point to a line of a poem or to an entire poem of the poet (on stage) which they found interesting at one time, or that influenced him or her in some way.
Hopefully we can walk away from the Willis farm knowing each other’s work better, each
other’s person better, and be prepared for and interested in helping each poet grow, mature, develop better as a poet the next time we see her or him at our Thursday night sessions.
Dennis Sullivan
The Willis Farm
Poets of the EOTNP group bring work to the Thursday workshops for a variety of reasons and
at a variety of finished stages, some done with care, some done hurriedly—as is quite evident sometimes and as some poets indicate.
For these and other reasons, I think it is difficult to get a true assessment of who some poets
are, with respect to their work I mean, the genres she or he prefers for example. A person might call herself a “straight” poet but that does not say what the poet’s preferred genre of poetry is as, for example, elegy, ode, sonnet, couplet, free verse, the narrative poem, etc.
Moreover I can read an Allen Ginsberg poem or a Denise Levertov poem or even one by Sylia
Plath and say this is who this person is, this is what this person is about, this poem reflects that poet’s poetics of life. I don’t think too many of us could say that about too many others in our Thursday night group, or maybe we could?!?!
So I, and others I have spoken with, have asked the question periodically: what is this poet up
to? What is she trying to accomplish?
The Poetics Seminar, if I might call it that, is a Show and Tell of sorts, suggested as a way for
each poet to tell us who she or he is. And this can be done, this time anyway, by each poet bringing a poem to read which the poet says: I believe this poem reflects who I am as a poet. This is my quintessence.
And since none of us has arisen sua sponte, we all have a family tree, a poetical family tree. I
think it behooves each poet to know who the members of that tree are, to be able to say so-and-so is my grandfather, these are my sisters and brothers, these my children, if anyone can go that far—poetically speaking.
So the second part of our little seminar will involve each poet reading a relatively short piece
of work of his parent or a member of her or his genealogical tree that reflects that V’ville poet’s DNA. A poet might say: I would like to read this poem of my grandfather. It might be Whitman, it might be Wallace Stevens, it might be Marianne Moore as one’s great aunt, whoever. Before reading the poem, the poet will be asked to say a word of two of why she or he believes the “guest” poet reflects who they are.
After this reading, the group assembled is encouraged to ask the poet a few questions about
her or his interest in poetry and goals, and aims to which a poet might respond: I want to win a Pulitzer Prize! I want to get published in Poetry Don’t Pump Gas II. I want to get out of here!
I am imagining the Q and A period to be supportive of the poet, not an inquisition, a forum
to help each poet open up more like a spring flower. At this time as well the gathered poets might point to a line of a poem or to an entire poem of the poet (on stage) which they found interesting at one time, or that influenced him or her in some way.
Hopefully we can walk away from the Willis farm knowing each other’s work better, each
other’s person better, and be prepared for and interested in helping each poet grow, mature, develop better as a poet the next time we see her or him at our Thursday night sessions.
Dennis Sullivan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
