I think the following is a wee solicitation for the lifting of a congratulatory pint or two. We should probably indulge him! bv
Dear Vink,
just a note for the blog in case the occasion arises and you think the event deserves blog coverage.
last week i received notice that i am now an irish citizen as of july 22; i am in the process of getting passport which takes about 4 weeks.
i am already using phrases such as a wee bit of this and a wee bit of that and a wee bit of wee wee.
Sullivan
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
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Where Have All the Poets Gone?
Someplace. obviously, because the turnout last night was sad. Unfortunately, we had a guest - Anne - a library student interning here for the summer, who heard some very limited samples of our poetry and not much gaveling. Anne took a turn reading and has a lovely, poetic voice.
BTW...The library is planning a Sunday trip on Sept. 28 to the Bethel Woods Center, aka the brand new Woodstock Museum, celebrating the festival that rocked the world, right on the site. I think it sounds like "a blast" and am signing up to go. I would like to re-live it with my kids and grandkids who of course have no idea what life was like then. It is a short drive and will cost approx $35, which includes your admission. In addition to the museum there is a concert venue with entertainment, shops and crafts and a couple of restaurants. Please join me - invite friends! You may investigate the site at www.bethelwoodscenter.com.
As you probably know, I was nowhere over the weekend, gasping for breath in my air conditioning while every one else was busy attending Alan's party or hearing Mimi in Washington Park. Sorry I missed everything. Charlie Rossiter was here visiting and Mark and Alan were hiking. I am thoroughly enjoying Markle's new blog about his Helderberg adventures with bIRD. He is doing a beautiful job, great photos, interesting text and a good old geezer (I don't mean Alan).
Our Mr. Amidon was quite wound up last night, expressing his opinions forcefully and sharpening his wit on all of us. He had a poem about the end of the Catskill Game, which I felt was all his fault. If he had started attending sooner than the last week, they probably would not have had to close.
Cathy had a throat-tightener called "Daddies Coming Home" about flag-draped boxes. Good one.
Edie's title was also a great line "I am the Center of the Ripples in the Pond". We had a small discussion about the word simpering which, according to my dictionary, means to say or smile in a silly manner.
Mr. Amidon bluntly told Mr. Lawlor that Mr. Lawlor's poem sounded like an instruction manual. The subject matter was "Knowledge and Wisdom" and I am afraid we agreed that it was more informational than poetic. Dan took it good-naturedly.
I had no poem and no idea where all the poets were. Poor Anne did not get to see us at our finest.
BTW, due to the small turnout, I determined that there would be no 5th Thursday this month.
BTW...The library is planning a Sunday trip on Sept. 28 to the Bethel Woods Center, aka the brand new Woodstock Museum, celebrating the festival that rocked the world, right on the site. I think it sounds like "a blast" and am signing up to go. I would like to re-live it with my kids and grandkids who of course have no idea what life was like then. It is a short drive and will cost approx $35, which includes your admission. In addition to the museum there is a concert venue with entertainment, shops and crafts and a couple of restaurants. Please join me - invite friends! You may investigate the site at www.bethelwoodscenter.com.
As you probably know, I was nowhere over the weekend, gasping for breath in my air conditioning while every one else was busy attending Alan's party or hearing Mimi in Washington Park. Sorry I missed everything. Charlie Rossiter was here visiting and Mark and Alan were hiking. I am thoroughly enjoying Markle's new blog about his Helderberg adventures with bIRD. He is doing a beautiful job, great photos, interesting text and a good old geezer (I don't mean Alan).
Our Mr. Amidon was quite wound up last night, expressing his opinions forcefully and sharpening his wit on all of us. He had a poem about the end of the Catskill Game, which I felt was all his fault. If he had started attending sooner than the last week, they probably would not have had to close.
Cathy had a throat-tightener called "Daddies Coming Home" about flag-draped boxes. Good one.
Edie's title was also a great line "I am the Center of the Ripples in the Pond". We had a small discussion about the word simpering which, according to my dictionary, means to say or smile in a silly manner.
Mr. Amidon bluntly told Mr. Lawlor that Mr. Lawlor's poem sounded like an instruction manual. The subject matter was "Knowledge and Wisdom" and I am afraid we agreed that it was more informational than poetic. Dan took it good-naturedly.
I had no poem and no idea where all the poets were. Poor Anne did not get to see us at our finest.
BTW, due to the small turnout, I determined that there would be no 5th Thursday this month.
Friday, July 11, 2008
More news than poets
More news than poets at the meeting last night. Only seven of us (none of them named Tom), which gave us relaxed talking time so we didn't adhere too strictly to the rules.
My news is first, of course - new grandson born Wednesday to my Josh and Amy in the Bronx, 6th boy out of seven, 8 lbs and nameless.
Alan was "soliciting" for Rootdrinker memberships, bribing potential candidates with an invitation to dinner on the 19th at his house. Get the details from Alan. That is also the day that Charlie Rossiter, Mimi and Frank (her brother) will be reading in Washington Park at the Robert Burns statue, but you can squeeze it all in if you plan it right. It looks like I may be in NYC visiting the nameless baby and will miss it all.
Our own "Rabbie Berns" will be making a guest appearance at the statue this Saturday. Mark will be in persona and lurking in the bushes to recite in his incomprehensible dialect the poem he tried out on us last night. Fortunately, he brought a translation so Dan Lawlor got to do the second reading in real English. Mark does a remarkable job with this and I am not making light of it - I just wish I understood it better. I believe you can catch his performance around 7 p.m. on the 12th.
Alan made us hoot by bringing a page and a half "briefing" to go along with his very short poem about dew on the grass, which was very delicate.
Dan had something very different - incorporating a dream about lions into a musing about the end of life. We suggested that the second half of the poem was not as mysterious and full of imagery as the first, which was quite good.
I had a similar complaint about Paul's County Fair poem which ended with an obviously heartfelt stanza about a young girl and the calf judging, but lacked the same emotion in the first stanza. It needed sounds and smells.
Stacie's work began "the gray stone of my mother's disappointment is crushing me" and continued in that vein to the end. It was touching.
Philomena startled us (at least some of us) with what appeared to be a poem with racially charged overtones. She, however, was completely guileless and it had not occurred to her that it might be interpreted that way. I think we straightened that out.
Tim was reading in Kingston, Dennis out of town, Mike at the lake, etc. etc. I had no poem but I acquired a lilac bush courtesy of the Abrams, thank you very much, Edie and Saul.
By the way, the night before our next meeting (July 23), The Lustre Kings will headline our concert on the lawn. These guys are great if you like old r'n'r and boogie. I am the hostess...!
This is a five week month, so be prepared for Paul to want an extra meeting.
My news is first, of course - new grandson born Wednesday to my Josh and Amy in the Bronx, 6th boy out of seven, 8 lbs and nameless.
Alan was "soliciting" for Rootdrinker memberships, bribing potential candidates with an invitation to dinner on the 19th at his house. Get the details from Alan. That is also the day that Charlie Rossiter, Mimi and Frank (her brother) will be reading in Washington Park at the Robert Burns statue, but you can squeeze it all in if you plan it right. It looks like I may be in NYC visiting the nameless baby and will miss it all.
Our own "Rabbie Berns" will be making a guest appearance at the statue this Saturday. Mark will be in persona and lurking in the bushes to recite in his incomprehensible dialect the poem he tried out on us last night. Fortunately, he brought a translation so Dan Lawlor got to do the second reading in real English. Mark does a remarkable job with this and I am not making light of it - I just wish I understood it better. I believe you can catch his performance around 7 p.m. on the 12th.
Alan made us hoot by bringing a page and a half "briefing" to go along with his very short poem about dew on the grass, which was very delicate.
Dan had something very different - incorporating a dream about lions into a musing about the end of life. We suggested that the second half of the poem was not as mysterious and full of imagery as the first, which was quite good.
I had a similar complaint about Paul's County Fair poem which ended with an obviously heartfelt stanza about a young girl and the calf judging, but lacked the same emotion in the first stanza. It needed sounds and smells.
Stacie's work began "the gray stone of my mother's disappointment is crushing me" and continued in that vein to the end. It was touching.
Philomena startled us (at least some of us) with what appeared to be a poem with racially charged overtones. She, however, was completely guileless and it had not occurred to her that it might be interpreted that way. I think we straightened that out.
Tim was reading in Kingston, Dennis out of town, Mike at the lake, etc. etc. I had no poem but I acquired a lilac bush courtesy of the Abrams, thank you very much, Edie and Saul.
By the way, the night before our next meeting (July 23), The Lustre Kings will headline our concert on the lawn. These guys are great if you like old r'n'r and boogie. I am the hostess...!
This is a five week month, so be prepared for Paul to want an extra meeting.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Okay, I'm blogging
Actually, I am having a hard time remembering what went on at the meeting last week. Short term memory is the first to go.
I do know that Dennis was this year's recipient of the Rip Van Winkle poetry prize . The ceremony, usually in April, was postponed until September because one of the organizers got run over on his bicycle (according to Dennis). Perhaps we could make a jaunt to Greenville for the readings. Dennis sent me his winning poem, which I will include here. This is a nice contest which is sponsored every March by All Arts Matter in Greenville. Mike and Ally have also won and there are cash prizes.
We had twelve at the meeting, all good poems, some outstanding. Mimi got nominated (by Tom, I think) for the Refrigerator Prize - the poem you take home and magnetize to your refrigerator; this one about a girl struggling with the frustrations of her eleven-year old life and future.
Dan has been making good progress with his evolution into a non-rhyming poet; this was his portrayal of genius. Someone said the form worked well and suggested dividing it into two sections.
Someone commented on Stacey's "great voice" in the 1st and 2nd in a series of Poems Verite, which everyone seemed to like. How could we not; it was about a library. Bo wrote about experiencing (or not) another person's grief. Edie proclaimed herself "a very bad girl" with a childhood anecdote.
Alan remarked that Ally "put the reader into the poem" which she did indeed, with a diatribe about the heat and humidity. Paul wrote an Epilogue with a knockout punch for the end line..."where a chapter of a good story ended."
Alan gave us a rewrite of the story about Li with The Iron Crutch (printed on lovely paper). He also put out a broadside by our old friend William Robert Foltin, adorned with one of Alan's own graphics.
Tim's unusually formatted work, an experiment with space on the page, inspired conversation. It was a bloody visit to the site of a motorcycle accident and was very strong, like "a kinescope of images flashed on a screen". Good one. Don't forget, Tim, you meant "mourning" not "morning."
Dennis wrote a hymn of sorts about choices, with some great repetition. I found it thought-provoking and especially liked "Pick a mind, any mind, I wore it like a woolen coat".
I was also enthused, as were we all, I think, about Tom eating "Big Macs at Mickey D's" and all the stuff he did "After", and after, and after. Well worth a re-read.
I got nostalgic chuckles with my "Ketchup, Catsup..." etc., a childhood memory of sneaking downstairs to watch Saturday TV while I was supposed to be taking a nap.
I wrote myself some notes during the meeting which include "theological whatever", "escape from desire", Darfur and The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wau. I have no idea what I meant.
Here is DS's winning poem:
I do know that Dennis was this year's recipient of the Rip Van Winkle poetry prize . The ceremony, usually in April, was postponed until September because one of the organizers got run over on his bicycle (according to Dennis). Perhaps we could make a jaunt to Greenville for the readings. Dennis sent me his winning poem, which I will include here. This is a nice contest which is sponsored every March by All Arts Matter in Greenville. Mike and Ally have also won and there are cash prizes.
We had twelve at the meeting, all good poems, some outstanding. Mimi got nominated (by Tom, I think) for the Refrigerator Prize - the poem you take home and magnetize to your refrigerator; this one about a girl struggling with the frustrations of her eleven-year old life and future.
Dan has been making good progress with his evolution into a non-rhyming poet; this was his portrayal of genius. Someone said the form worked well and suggested dividing it into two sections.
Someone commented on Stacey's "great voice" in the 1st and 2nd in a series of Poems Verite, which everyone seemed to like. How could we not; it was about a library. Bo wrote about experiencing (or not) another person's grief. Edie proclaimed herself "a very bad girl" with a childhood anecdote.
Alan remarked that Ally "put the reader into the poem" which she did indeed, with a diatribe about the heat and humidity. Paul wrote an Epilogue with a knockout punch for the end line..."where a chapter of a good story ended."
Alan gave us a rewrite of the story about Li with The Iron Crutch (printed on lovely paper). He also put out a broadside by our old friend William Robert Foltin, adorned with one of Alan's own graphics.
Tim's unusually formatted work, an experiment with space on the page, inspired conversation. It was a bloody visit to the site of a motorcycle accident and was very strong, like "a kinescope of images flashed on a screen". Good one. Don't forget, Tim, you meant "mourning" not "morning."
Dennis wrote a hymn of sorts about choices, with some great repetition. I found it thought-provoking and especially liked "Pick a mind, any mind, I wore it like a woolen coat".
I was also enthused, as were we all, I think, about Tom eating "Big Macs at Mickey D's" and all the stuff he did "After", and after, and after. Well worth a re-read.
I got nostalgic chuckles with my "Ketchup, Catsup..." etc., a childhood memory of sneaking downstairs to watch Saturday TV while I was supposed to be taking a nap.
I wrote myself some notes during the meeting which include "theological whatever", "escape from desire", Darfur and The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wau. I have no idea what I meant.
Here is DS's winning poem:
Visitation
(For l. t. and l. m)
tonight the coldest night of winter,
i see the bearded ghost of my old teacher,
lonely old courage seer, and weep for joy.
how wonderful i think, me worthy of a visit
from the other side. did charon pole him here?
will he get back? he looks so young still.
i see some friends heading over there, ambushed
by day, without the courtesy of a fighter’s count,
black-jacked on the brain as if by a robber,
the course of nature’s clock shattered, yes, friends
passing without a strand of white, unwrinkled frame,
targeted like the wanted at the post office.
shall i repeat my ancient of days’ mantra?
all is suffering, each pain a tiny death to ease our way,
become transparent, lay down your life per diem.
small consolation i know, i’m not sailing away
safe on the shore, waving goodbye like it’s a holiday.
how do we remember anybody anyway? in details?
did they give their feet to a shoeless man?
cook spaghetti for the corps no rest in sight? sit
in jail with a stranger: what can i do for you?
memory does not carry well abstractions, more so
the wet kisses my wife threw me days ago or
the cold january wind worked up in front of the house,
friends passing by in beat-up tubs honking for peace.
the heart is a basket in which we carry all our selves
in holy images, beset with neon electric emotional sighs.
my holy guru’s come tonight with a learnèd tongue,
transmissions of compassion, sutras of long-suffering,
re-charged visions of utopia, commonweal beliefs.
i shall start a new life, you my friends will be its chairs,
you who prepare to leave us grayless. i shall be your
candle in the night, a flicker the wind will not shear.
the tribe is life, all memory resides in the tribe, the font
of commonweal, the guarantee of who remembers.
after you’re gone my heart will carry you beyond forever.
Dennis Sullivan
dsullivan6@nycap.rr.com
Besieged
January 21, 2008
2:43 am
(For l. t. and l. m)
tonight the coldest night of winter,
i see the bearded ghost of my old teacher,
lonely old courage seer, and weep for joy.
how wonderful i think, me worthy of a visit
from the other side. did charon pole him here?
will he get back? he looks so young still.
i see some friends heading over there, ambushed
by day, without the courtesy of a fighter’s count,
black-jacked on the brain as if by a robber,
the course of nature’s clock shattered, yes, friends
passing without a strand of white, unwrinkled frame,
targeted like the wanted at the post office.
shall i repeat my ancient of days’ mantra?
all is suffering, each pain a tiny death to ease our way,
become transparent, lay down your life per diem.
small consolation i know, i’m not sailing away
safe on the shore, waving goodbye like it’s a holiday.
how do we remember anybody anyway? in details?
did they give their feet to a shoeless man?
cook spaghetti for the corps no rest in sight? sit
in jail with a stranger: what can i do for you?
memory does not carry well abstractions, more so
the wet kisses my wife threw me days ago or
the cold january wind worked up in front of the house,
friends passing by in beat-up tubs honking for peace.
the heart is a basket in which we carry all our selves
in holy images, beset with neon electric emotional sighs.
my holy guru’s come tonight with a learnèd tongue,
transmissions of compassion, sutras of long-suffering,
re-charged visions of utopia, commonweal beliefs.
i shall start a new life, you my friends will be its chairs,
you who prepare to leave us grayless. i shall be your
candle in the night, a flicker the wind will not shear.
the tribe is life, all memory resides in the tribe, the font
of commonweal, the guarantee of who remembers.
after you’re gone my heart will carry you beyond forever.
Dennis Sullivan
dsullivan6@nycap.rr.com
Besieged
January 21, 2008
2:43 am
Monday, June 16, 2008
Lily Alys, the Martyr
"Alas, how many have been persecuted for the wrong of having been right?" (Jean-Baptiste Say)
I am feeling vindicated for the turmoil my critical post created. Maybe I inspired you to try harder, as we had some very good poems last Thursday.
I really enjoyed Alan's Will Christman's Walk, a story poem which was a "well-wrought snapshot" of his long journey to Albany to visit his son.
Mimi was a rush with snippets of marriage conversation from Stewart's - I loved the "five peaches, each one turned sour before the year was out".
Stacey bowled me over with a reflection about her mother which reminded me of my own. It consisted of fewer than 50 words, each of them perfect.
My own poem had been written as a wrap-up for my Sunday Four Alzheimer's performance, which I didn't get to complete. It was written for two voices (Tom read the other part) about renting a locker in the bus station to store words.
Tom had a real winner with his DP poem in shades of a voice that Tom has silenced in recent years, very colorful and touching. You should all look up DP - no, it is NOT Dumb Polack.
Best title of the night went to Philomena for "the thief who could not steal the moon", which Alan claims for a Perious Frink story that he has since forwarded to us. The title made me want to write my own story. Alan was pretty talkative, making a bad joke about Paul's harness track poem, something about nags. Edie was frivilously feminine in Hot Stuff, which she printed in bold red letters.
I suggested a rather slashing revision to Joyce's "Earliest Memories", to eliminate some of the more extraneous memories and concentrate on the interacton between her and her grandmother, which was obviously (to me) the heart of the poem.
Dan brought us a long, dense poem called The Song is Me, which prompted a lot of talk which I don't have time to disect here.
The late Mr. Obeeduid brought us a little booklet, complete with a pic of Alan getting ready to jump off a cliff. It contained perhaps the best line of the night - "It was not the Earth's fault we were men."
Several of our regulars were missing. No Art, Dennis, Cathy, Tim...we may not see Mike B. until the end of summer, although he should be at Sunday Four, which is the 22nd. Mimi and her brother Frank Desiderio are reading at Poets in the Park (Washington) on July 19. The philosophy gang of thugs is meeting here with Larry on Wednesday night (the 18th) at 6:30. Everybody's welcome to try this out. We had a good time last month. Tom's paintings are hanging here in the hall gallery. Stop and see them.
I was reading Charles Simic over the weekend and found out that I like him a lot. We have some new poetry books on shelf, including his Sixty Poems.
I am feeling vindicated for the turmoil my critical post created. Maybe I inspired you to try harder, as we had some very good poems last Thursday.
I really enjoyed Alan's Will Christman's Walk, a story poem which was a "well-wrought snapshot" of his long journey to Albany to visit his son.
Mimi was a rush with snippets of marriage conversation from Stewart's - I loved the "five peaches, each one turned sour before the year was out".
Stacey bowled me over with a reflection about her mother which reminded me of my own. It consisted of fewer than 50 words, each of them perfect.
My own poem had been written as a wrap-up for my Sunday Four Alzheimer's performance, which I didn't get to complete. It was written for two voices (Tom read the other part) about renting a locker in the bus station to store words.
Tom had a real winner with his DP poem in shades of a voice that Tom has silenced in recent years, very colorful and touching. You should all look up DP - no, it is NOT Dumb Polack.
Best title of the night went to Philomena for "the thief who could not steal the moon", which Alan claims for a Perious Frink story that he has since forwarded to us. The title made me want to write my own story. Alan was pretty talkative, making a bad joke about Paul's harness track poem, something about nags. Edie was frivilously feminine in Hot Stuff, which she printed in bold red letters.
I suggested a rather slashing revision to Joyce's "Earliest Memories", to eliminate some of the more extraneous memories and concentrate on the interacton between her and her grandmother, which was obviously (to me) the heart of the poem.
Dan brought us a long, dense poem called The Song is Me, which prompted a lot of talk which I don't have time to disect here.
The late Mr. Obeeduid brought us a little booklet, complete with a pic of Alan getting ready to jump off a cliff. It contained perhaps the best line of the night - "It was not the Earth's fault we were men."
Several of our regulars were missing. No Art, Dennis, Cathy, Tim...we may not see Mike B. until the end of summer, although he should be at Sunday Four, which is the 22nd. Mimi and her brother Frank Desiderio are reading at Poets in the Park (Washington) on July 19. The philosophy gang of thugs is meeting here with Larry on Wednesday night (the 18th) at 6:30. Everybody's welcome to try this out. We had a good time last month. Tom's paintings are hanging here in the hall gallery. Stop and see them.
I was reading Charles Simic over the weekend and found out that I like him a lot. We have some new poetry books on shelf, including his Sixty Poems.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Guest Host
I am reporting second-hand information received this a.m. from guest host Drew Carey, er, sorry, Tim Verhaegen. There were 8 people in attendance at the 5th Thursday meeting - sounds like Cathy and Mimi and a bunch of the guys, including Art, who has been out of touch for a while. No one left me copies of anything so I don't have a lot to say. Tim didn't go to Smit's so no juice from there. There are pictures of Dennis and me in the Altamont Enterprise this week from the Sunday reading. See you all on the 12th. Edie, thanks again for the flowering branch. It smells wonderful.
Friday, May 23, 2008
I'm bored
I don't even feel like posting today and I'm going to have some blunt words, so get ready.
I think the quality of our work has been less than stellar, with last night being the zenith of wishy-washy. First, I don't know how much effort everyone is putting into their work, maybe you are putting your heart and soul into it and I just don't recognize it, but...your heart and soul is not showing up on paper. Second, there are some of you who don't seem to pay attention and profit from the group critiques. We are there for each other for a reason and if all you want to do is defend your own position, you shouldn't be wasting everybody's time.
The above is a general observation and, of course, there are exceptions to it, so if you get your feelings hurt easily, you can pretend that you are one of the exceptions.
TO THE POET: If poems don't just flow from your pen, and they rarely do, keep revising. Try to find an unusual combination of words or a coin a new expression. Think "outside the box". Take out all your adjectives and adverbs and write without any descriptors. Add them back gradually and stop before you get overloaded. There is a healthy balance between too spare and too saturated. Read your poem aloud to yourself, taking in and out the "and's and the's and then's and but's, etc." and see which ones feel right and contribute to or detract from the rhythm of the lines. Try writing a poem in the style of a poet whose work you enjoy. Imitate.
TO THE CRITIC: We seemed to be struggling to find good things to say to each other. Remember, the basic question to evaluate a poem: what is the message of this poem and is it conveying the message successfully? (Tom just pointed out that perhaps I oversimplified this. A more complete version is posted to the right.)
And, again, spelling and punctuation, unless integral to the format of the poem, can be corrected with a spellcheck if the poem is being submitted for publication, so don't bother me with it.
THE END: If you are not serious about improving your writing, get serious. We have a long-established reputation to uphold in the poetry world.
I think the quality of our work has been less than stellar, with last night being the zenith of wishy-washy. First, I don't know how much effort everyone is putting into their work, maybe you are putting your heart and soul into it and I just don't recognize it, but...your heart and soul is not showing up on paper. Second, there are some of you who don't seem to pay attention and profit from the group critiques. We are there for each other for a reason and if all you want to do is defend your own position, you shouldn't be wasting everybody's time.
The above is a general observation and, of course, there are exceptions to it, so if you get your feelings hurt easily, you can pretend that you are one of the exceptions.
TO THE POET: If poems don't just flow from your pen, and they rarely do, keep revising. Try to find an unusual combination of words or a coin a new expression. Think "outside the box". Take out all your adjectives and adverbs and write without any descriptors. Add them back gradually and stop before you get overloaded. There is a healthy balance between too spare and too saturated. Read your poem aloud to yourself, taking in and out the "and's and the's and then's and but's, etc." and see which ones feel right and contribute to or detract from the rhythm of the lines. Try writing a poem in the style of a poet whose work you enjoy. Imitate.
TO THE CRITIC: We seemed to be struggling to find good things to say to each other. Remember, the basic question to evaluate a poem: what is the message of this poem and is it conveying the message successfully? (Tom just pointed out that perhaps I oversimplified this. A more complete version is posted to the right.)
And, again, spelling and punctuation, unless integral to the format of the poem, can be corrected with a spellcheck if the poem is being submitted for publication, so don't bother me with it.
THE END: If you are not serious about improving your writing, get serious. We have a long-established reputation to uphold in the poetry world.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Philo 101
The first meeting of the philosophers under the direction of Professor Rapant went very well. Four people attended with a diversity of opinions, all politely expressed. The main conversation of the evening was family and friend relationships. I look forward to doing this again on June 18 (note: at 6:30 instead of 7) and encourage fence-sitters to commit. If you want details, contact Larry (see sidebar).
EOTNP meet this week.
This Sunday is open mic at Old Songs.
Larry is performing at Lark Tavern this Tuesday. Call him for details.
I guess this is togetherness week.
EOTNP meet this week.
This Sunday is open mic at Old Songs.
Larry is performing at Lark Tavern this Tuesday. Call him for details.
I guess this is togetherness week.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Guerilla Poetics Project
There was a feature in the Altamont Enterprise this week about poetry. Dan Wilcox is one of the local "operatives" of a clandestine movement to hide poetry broadsides in local public spaces. A favorite spot of his is between the pages of books (not poetry books!) in Borders to be found and hopefully appreciated by the unsuspecting consumer.
For 25 bucks the organization regularly sends a supply of broadsides to pass out, along with an operative's copy to keep. Directions on the back of each poem request the finder to go to a website and register the discovery. I think this sounds neat and if we passed the hat and joined up, we could divvy up the cards and hide them. Whaddaya think?
Visit http://www.guerillapoetics.org/
I can think of 100 other places to leave one.
For 25 bucks the organization regularly sends a supply of broadsides to pass out, along with an operative's copy to keep. Directions on the back of each poem request the finder to go to a website and register the discovery. I think this sounds neat and if we passed the hat and joined up, we could divvy up the cards and hide them. Whaddaya think?
Visit http://www.guerillapoetics.org/
I can think of 100 other places to leave one.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Post Cocktail Party
I was a little late last night, having gone to a cocktail party (!) which turned out to be dinner. Mimi orchestrated the proceedures until I got there, thank you.
After making some jokes about the "Moriarty sisters", and suggesting that if Stacie needed an alias, she could become one, we found out that Philomena's mom died last week and expressed condolences. Philomena brought the eulogy which she had read at the funeral and it gave a good snapshot of her mother and her "direct line to the Almighty".
Stacie's poem was outstanding and included my favorite lines of the night: "there would be no harvest so I planted peas instead". It was so good there were no suggestions for improvements.
The original Moriarty also had a winner with As She Leaves, an elegant, flowing poem filled with motherly ambivalence about her daughter.
Okay, on to Dan'L -a real incursion into the land of free verse which inspired a lot of conversation and suggestions, which means to me that it was a good effort and contained some really nice lines. "I can taste the color of (the) sky." Good one. Dennis mentioned a cd of Dan's singing, which Dennis had played for me recently, and I was blown away. What a gift Dan has. I was very impressed. The cd is available to borrow, if anyone wants it. I think Bo took it last night.
I am glad that Bo is hanging in with the new crazies. She mentioned the different face of the group since her last sojourn with us. Her poem The God Rock struck a chord about moving and kids and God watching "changeless and still, from the garden".
I missed Dennis' poem, but he contributed an interesting observation about adjectives as fascists particularly those ending with -ous, which I liked.
Ally's work about "the fingernail moon" was evocative and moody, remembering her childhood wish for falling stars. Lovely.
I missed Alan's poem discussion, but it read well, about a crooked house and visit of magic wee ones. He passed out some broadsides and an installment of Rootdrinker newsletter.
Mark wrapped this up by raising the bar for all of us with his presentation, cover art by Sarah and inside rant by obeeduid. Even the typos worked well and made no difference in the wonderfulness of it.
Mimi, btw, is appearing at the Gay and Lesbian center on Wednesday, May 14, also the night that Larry's philosophy club starts here. I will be philosophizing. It is not too late to join us. Philomena passed out flyers for the Oriel Coffeehouse reading on May 16, including herself and our Alan, among others.
Timmy showed up near the end of the meeting (poemless). I went immediately home, replete with fettucine alfredo and asparagus spears.
PS - Lily Alys will be the feature at the first Sunday Four.
After making some jokes about the "Moriarty sisters", and suggesting that if Stacie needed an alias, she could become one, we found out that Philomena's mom died last week and expressed condolences. Philomena brought the eulogy which she had read at the funeral and it gave a good snapshot of her mother and her "direct line to the Almighty".
Stacie's poem was outstanding and included my favorite lines of the night: "there would be no harvest so I planted peas instead". It was so good there were no suggestions for improvements.
The original Moriarty also had a winner with As She Leaves, an elegant, flowing poem filled with motherly ambivalence about her daughter.
Okay, on to Dan'L -a real incursion into the land of free verse which inspired a lot of conversation and suggestions, which means to me that it was a good effort and contained some really nice lines. "I can taste the color of (the) sky." Good one. Dennis mentioned a cd of Dan's singing, which Dennis had played for me recently, and I was blown away. What a gift Dan has. I was very impressed. The cd is available to borrow, if anyone wants it. I think Bo took it last night.
I am glad that Bo is hanging in with the new crazies. She mentioned the different face of the group since her last sojourn with us. Her poem The God Rock struck a chord about moving and kids and God watching "changeless and still, from the garden".
I missed Dennis' poem, but he contributed an interesting observation about adjectives as fascists particularly those ending with -ous, which I liked.
Ally's work about "the fingernail moon" was evocative and moody, remembering her childhood wish for falling stars. Lovely.
I missed Alan's poem discussion, but it read well, about a crooked house and visit of magic wee ones. He passed out some broadsides and an installment of Rootdrinker newsletter.
Mark wrapped this up by raising the bar for all of us with his presentation, cover art by Sarah and inside rant by obeeduid. Even the typos worked well and made no difference in the wonderfulness of it.
Mimi, btw, is appearing at the Gay and Lesbian center on Wednesday, May 14, also the night that Larry's philosophy club starts here. I will be philosophizing. It is not too late to join us. Philomena passed out flyers for the Oriel Coffeehouse reading on May 16, including herself and our Alan, among others.
Timmy showed up near the end of the meeting (poemless). I went immediately home, replete with fettucine alfredo and asparagus spears.
PS - Lily Alys will be the feature at the first Sunday Four.
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