Just to let you know, I have no valentine

Tim's dad died today, on the 3 mos. anniversary of his mom's death, and we are all surprised and sad for him. He managed to write out a coherent, although title-less, poem that was very descriptive of his father. We agreed it was excellent and "ginsbergian".

Welcome home, Susan. Our missing Ms. Riback joined us after a lengthy absence, with a strong poem called The Last Anniversary that triggered an "emotional reaction" in Tim, and, I think, others. Susan's voice is distinctive and I've missed her.

Mark's "I sleep with a pile of books now" struck a chord. I (and I hear of others who) sleep the same, turning over in the night to awake to the thump of volumes hitting the floor. I love it. It was also a fun poem, amusing and accurate. Susan read Afraid of my Larrys and liked the feel of Larry's words in her mouth when she read them, and the alliteration. Tom thought it a great performance piece. I just enjoyed the camouflage Larry, contrary Larries, the little Larry who wants to be loved, the fallings apart Larry and the creepy little so and sos. More fun.

Tom and Kafka. What a marriage. The woman. The letters. The dialogue. The black bathing suit. The dog. The email. Dennis and Wallace Stevens, general thought that Midwinter was reminiscent of WS after a distinct change of voice in the middle. It was "chock full of images".

I felt there was a different degree of personalness in Paul's Penny Arcade that is missing in much of his work, although always nostalgic and full of images. It was a poignant commentary on his father. Tom and Alan both commented and Paul may consider the suggestions.

So, ten guys, me and Susan. The End.

BTW, the final word is: Do not ever buy from the food co-op. That's my advice after hearing Alan's Wildlife at the Food Co-op. Unless you don't find worms and bird poop offensive.

The Math Guy and The Chocolate Oranges

I wonder if EOTNP is unique with respect to the ratio of men to women in the group. Our last meeting started out with ten guys and me until Philomena arrived at the last minute. This is a good group, with a diversity of styles and approaches to poetry and, obviously, heavily weighted toward a masculine point of view, if you you believe in such things, as I do.

My poem of the night award goes to Obee, whose word picture of his brother was colorful and moving. BTW, Mark was also impressive at Sunday Four with a wonderful digital photo presentation along with his poems.

Tim was very clever with his "you know - that she knows - that you know - she just did" phrasing when writing about reaching out unsuccessfully for a hero. We also noted it to be a more universal poem than we usually hear from Tim. Tom disappointed us by having Catherine Deneuve's sweater buttoned almost to her neck, but we chuckled at the green Ford Pacer with the SAME2U license.

Mark opined that Larry's Day at the Lake was successfully done. Dennis said he was reminded of French films. Was it the skimpy bathing suits? BBBurke's poem reminded us of the brevity and unexpectedness of life very effectively in his dependable abrupt-ending style. The Beach Boy is now off on an extended Mexican sojourn. Mr. Willis and Ms. Schreiber are also out of town, I hear. I am out of town in my head, listening to the call of the warm wind and the waves and the sand. That may be where I was during the discussion of Becoming a Poet because I missed most of the conversation and have nothing to write. Sorry, Dennis.

Paul's returning-from-war work was labeled "marvelous", "wonderful" "this will stay with me" "a great indictment" (of war). Perious Frink and the Witch of Limestone Gulley made an appearance accompanied by Alan's drum. Hey-Na, Hey-Na, Hey-Na Ho. One falls over laughing from Philomena was presented with a lovely illustration (in color, too). I like poems with pictures, and poems about teddy bears.

I think I speak for us all when I say that The Math Guy has been a great addition to our family. Hearing Jim's music and poems inspires me to set the bar higher in my own life. With his guitar, he delivered another good one, appropriately called Math Kind of Guy, and made us all smile. Thanks, Jim.

Nothing much on the calendar now that Alan's ColdFest is over. If you weren't there, you missed an abundance of turkey and wine, a round robin of poems, a visit from Stacie, and a platter of out-of-this-world oranges dipped in chocolate. (see photo) Charlie co-hosted in fine form and graciously endured Edie's attentions. Several patient spouses were in attendance and I managed to drive myself without getting lost or spilling the sausage cheese dip. So - all was well.

All good poems

At last, the women outnumbered the men at last night's session. Of course, there were only five of us, but I was happy to see Joyce and Philomena, as well as Paul and Mark. Joyce brought a copy of the Pyramid Lake poetry collection that she and Steve had edited. It was spiral bound and included colored photos.

The poem she read was the one included in the book and we all liked it. Good thing. Seeing that it was already published, no one wanted to criticize anyway. It was a tribute to her daughter-in-law and consisted of less than 50 words. Very simple and heartfelt.

Philomena had some fantastic lines in her poem called "How do I want to use words? " The best line for me was:

If I enter an antique store

I won't know what period the furniture

but I will know what chair I want to sit in.

In fact, I suggested that she end the poem there, but everyone else seemed to want to keep the last stanza, which did reinforce her point, but I thought weakened the structure by appearing at the end.

Paul offered one of his solid nostalgia poems about a one-room schoolhouse. It was pretty tight and full of good imagery. None of us actually attended a school where we had to carry wood to the stove, but it did revive some other old school memories.

Obeeduid had quite an usual and imaginative work which was a hit with all of us. The way the poem was laid out on the page was a huge part of its success and the presentation was clipped in an effective way. It is rather hard to describe. It is called "The Art of Giving" and he refused to explain the underlying meaning, leaving it to our vivid imaginations.

The only upcoming news is Mark's appearance at Sunday Four on the 24th. Don't forget to party at the Caslines on January 30.

Thanks from me to all of you who made the trek to Saratoga to hear me at Cafe Lena. Great dinner, great company. Great bread pudding (I wore the whiskey sauce.) Great to see Cathy/Ally Cat.

Food for thought: Instead of our annual April Poetry Brunch, which I have vowed to discontinue, or at least not hold in April, I am wondering if you would like to try a different format at one of the regular April meetings. Perhaps a reading, a performance night, a collaborative poem, obee's harp and Jim's guitar and Tom's sax, food.... ?

The diehards

Five guys, Edie and I squeezed into Gail's office on 12/29 for a meeting to make up for missing 12/25.

Everyone seemed most interested in Edie's sugar glider, for whom she wrote Goodbye, Lavinia (including photos). Thom surrendered his plates again, after doing it once last Sunday at Sunday Four (which, btw, was truly enjoyable because Mike Burke was the feature). Alan's Victoria Day started a whole conversation about footnotes. Larry's epical tuba note echoing off the porcelain set up a mythical stench. Mr. Amidon met with his muses and Mr. Williams had the best verse of the evening in his suicide poem, complete with illustration.

Nothing from me. My brain was frozen along with my body and I went straight home to my visiting children. It is my understanding that others did elsewise.

(from) The Fish
by Billy Collins

As soon as the elderly waiter
placed before me the fish I had ordered
it began to stare up at me
with its one flat, iridescent eye.

I feel sorry for you, it seemed to say,
eating alone in this awful restaurant
bathed in such unkindly light
and surrounded by these dreadful murals of Sicily

And I feel sorry for you, too-
yanked from the sea and now lying dead
next to some boiled potatoes in Pittsburgh-
I said back to the fish as I raised my fork......

This is all I have to say

Two announcements arose since we last spoke (last night:)) Larry reminded me that we are convening on Tuesday, Dec. 29 for a regular meeting here because, inconveniently, the library is closed on Christmas Eve, our next regular date. I will send a reminder email. I also received mail from Jill Crammond (one of our dropouts) announcing a reading/open mic at the Perfect Blend in Delmar on Dec. 20 at 2 p.m. Michael Burke is featured at Sunday Four on December 27, 3 p.m. I am reading at Cafe Lena in Saratoga on January 6. Some people are going and stopping at the Parting Glass prior, if anyone wants to hook up. Well, you know what I mean. Alan is planning our holiday party at his house when the holidays are over. Details to come.

Truth be told, I was a little spaced out of the discussion at this meeting. Too philosophical for me. I was a little hung up on the meaningless of it all. Why do we bother, who cares, etc. And, I wrecked my poem, attempting to change it, couldn't get it fixed, had no offering. I'll get over it.

The highlight of the night for me was JimthemathguyjustbackfromAfrica, who brought his guitar and played background music for his poem. It was all perfect. Good poem, good music.

Meeting on Tuesday

I have posted Tim's pics from Sunday Four, where Philomena did a beautiful job as the feature, and a good time was had at Smit's following. I am posting to tell you that we are meeting on Tuesday this week because of Thursday being the holiday. The room is occupied until 7, so we will gather in the director's office at 6:30 and move to the community room when it becomes available. You are an extremely dedicated group. The same situation occurs in December when we are closed for Christmas Eve and day, so we may want to talk about another date for next month.

Crazi(ness)

It was a rowdy night. Talk, talk, talk, giggle, giggle, whisper, uproarious laughter. Lots of gavel banging. There were ten of us, Philomena and I, eight guys, sounded like more. I wish the women would all show up at the same time.

Alan passed out flyers about the 21st Annual Day of Poet contest at the Colonie Town Library on November 28. There are cash prizes, if anyone needs money, I think one of us EOTNP-ers could swoop up the win.

Here's the rundown on the poems.

I had been anticipating Tim's poem and it did not disappoint. We all read and reacted to this powerful, dare I say strident, work about his mother before he quietly passed along the information that his mother Joan had died on Wednesday. The poem include three snapshots of this colorful woman and was begun before her death, worked on after. Several suggested that a collection of Tim's mother portraits would be good. Certainly interesting. To give a hint of Tim's feelings, I will mention the title, which was Are you crazy, or just plain mean? (There will be no local services.)

I like it when Philomena brings her poems on "recycled" paper. The back sides are almost as readable as the front sides. Her teddy bear poem brought us to a playful place with her description of the behavior of stuffed bears, and led us into a "realization of autumn and all it implies." Mentions of Indian Ladder, cider, donuts, trees putting on a show. Tim requested some stanza breaks.

BTW, I will be putting quotes around phrases that were uttered during the course of the evening, but not always attributing them to the speaker (in case I didn't write down who said what.) In any case, the quotes mean it is not original to me.

Tom was nominated for best title with Broom Clean. It appeared to be an excellent reflection of Tom's chaotic life right now, with his usual unique images. "The apostrophe of your face resurfaced on the foreign rack in Hollywood Video..." Oh, yes, I asked and learned that ostinato is a repeated figure in music.

Strangely enough, Paul induced a small controversy over the glorification vs. the reality of war. Called The Nobility of War, it was really a peace poem, which of course, I approved of. I particularly liked the line that pointed out it was a "child of many motives." How true. Paul seemed to be into the spirit of the evening, questionning what the heck Dennis was talking about, not quite politely. Art had uttered almost the same phrase regarding Alan's comments on Mark's poem earlier in the evening. Lots of babbling going on.

The converation about Art's Such a Niche did get a little beyond simple. Consciousness vs. awareness, terminal niche, origin of species, genesis poems. "With reason can you touch awareness?" Art says no. On the surface, which is where I mostly stayed, it was a refrain with the exact same number of syllables in each line and verse. Very clever. Very Loki-ish. Also brough forth mentions of Alfred North Whitehead, who is a favorite of several of the guys.

Philomena gave a noteworthy 2nd reading of Dennis' Core of the Apple. In the general silliness, Alan took issue with the overuse of -ness ( as in silliness). Art mentioned Gertrude Stein's intention to "destroy all rules". I like that. The author noted that "the origin of choice comes right behind the origin of sin." I won't even try to go there.

Larry had a hard time believing in Alan's title: Give to Vitaminangels.org. Alan insists it is a real organization, which solicits at the Honest Weight Food Co-op for quarters to save children's lives (in an already overpopulated world). The poem was "a tribute to the distance and fragmentation in the name of activism." Okay, maybe I didn't write that down correctly, because it made sense to me when Art said it, but it doesn't now.

Mark wants a t-shirt that says: I hope I have enough Satie left to get through the afterlife, which was the final line of Larry's poem A Bipedal Disorder. Poem contained a couple of words I need to look up, but I did think it was remarkable. Larry has an incredible mind. Dennis called him a "philosophical anarchist". Alas, war is me.

Mark is still in Celtic mode and gave us a "magical" work of "mood and sensibility" called The Cooper's Grave. We all learned the story of the serpent biting its tail, in an airy poem with good imagery, "the imaginary dolour of women weeping."

As usual, I was feeling inadequate in the face of so many good writers, and was reinforced by lovely comments from Mr. Willis on the quality of my writing and ease with language. Thank you, Art. My poem was, to me, a throw-away piece called Ghouls, about the spidery fingers of brown, dead leaves falling on my shoulders. Dennis noted that I shudder from the chill actually shuddered. I hate autumn for the way it presages winter. Oddly, I don't mind winter as much as I dislike the fall.

The meeting adjourned to Smitty's, which I can talk about because I was there this time. Poetry conversation continued, naturally, and lots eating; I was totally starving, pizza, fries, hamburgers, asparagas soup, yum. I told tattoo stories from my recent stint at The Tattoo Learning Center. Tim was not with us at Smit's, but he called me this morning to say what a terrific night he thought it was.

Note: Cathy is in Texas, so I am passing along that the Lifelines group has changed meeting nights to first Mondays. Larry and the philos are still going strong on first Thursdays.

We never got around to talking about the long break ahead, with Thanksgiving falling on our next meeting date. Happy holiday. Eats lots.

from the President Pro Tem (thanks, Mr. P.)

Gathering of 10/22: Art, Philomena, Mark, Dennis, Paul, Larry, Jim and Cathy

Art’s poem Joey was much appreciated as a character study of a creative but underappreciated student. There seemed to be general agreement that the first stanza who be better placed at the end. The poem reflected the concerns and sensitivity of a master teacher.

Philomena’s poem my husband had a procedure was also very well received. It considers the question of indispensability in a humorous and thoughtful way. There was some discussion of the wording of the middle stanza, and fisticuffs were threatened over whether “I am replaced” should be “I could be replaced.” What the right answer is we may never know. (This is an aside from Larry to Philomena: What is the relationship between Rights & Responsibilities? i.e. If I am behaving irresponsibly, am I not in danger of forfeiting some or all of my rights?)

Mark’s poem Hoops was enjoyed immensely. The conceit in which barrel hoops are compared with love was sensitively portrayed. The last line of the poem was stolen from Yeats with impunity.

El Poeta’s poem REFLECTIONS ON A BODAL MOON doubles as an imaginative entering into the reality of newlyweds and a lovely rendering of a romantic reconnection of the poet with his own mate. The war between Spain and France ended with a pyrrhic victory for Dennis. We also wound up with about 5 different pronunciations of the word “mien.”

Paul’s poem ROADHOUSE OF SHADOWS was a wonderfully realized portrait of an old speakeasy and its characters, both then when they were young and in their present dotage. It was suggested that the title be changed to ROADHOUSE so as not to make its later appearance in the poem anticlimactic and some specific examples of minor paring down were suggested.

Mr. Polanski’s poem MEN ARE MORE WATERY THAN WOMEN (“Fat molecules are very hydrophobic and so fat tissue, containing fat cells full of fat molecules, have a lower water concentration than other tissues. As women in general have a higher body fat percentage (partly due to the presence of breasts) they have more tissue that has little water and the so the total body has less water per weight.”) was favorably received. The war between Pinky & The Blue Notes lyrically drags on. It was suggested that the title might not be helpful as is.

Jim’s poem(s) SEVEN KINDS OF SUICIDE was (were) mightily (and cruelly?) encouraged. It was agreed that the beginning three stanzas, aka the early years, were extraordinarily vivid and wonderful. The suicides themselves didn’t always succeed, at least to those of us who were left behind so to speak. I thought the highlight of the discussion was the comment by Dennis to change “Lenny Bruce OD’ed” to Lenny Bruce got needled. We are all happy that Jim is still writing poetry.

Cathy’s poem Arlington was a poignant reminder of the overwhelming sorrow and absurdity of war. After which there was nothing to do but slit our wrists or gather together for Bloody Marys at Smith’s Tavern.

As president pro tem, let me just say it was an honor and a privilege and I didn’t deserve it based on the little I have accomplished so far but I will fight extradition to my dying breath. Larry

BTW, Dennis hates exclamation points

Quiet night, people straggling in. Not even one gaveling.

Joyce seemed delighted with the suggestions we offered about her poem Notes (the best of which was to change the title). Omitting "pre-dawn" and "definite" made this whole simple poem more powerful.

The Health Care Debate was quite satisfying. Who could go wrong with "I want to honor the dead who have died because they had no insurance"? Although there was some ambiguity in the fourth stanza over the placement of "red as blood", Philomena took kudos for this.

Obeduid had a funny and appropriate, entertaining and usually formatted work called Bipolar Stroller. Everyone seemed happy with it.

Dennis' Early Morning Dream... and Paul's opining on hording stuff both got us into rather lengthy commentary. I felt that Paul had not put the usual care and thought into his, (me) not being able to relate to a young single man who can't throw anything away. My fault, I'm sure. Dennis had a great section about Adam & Eve barring God from Eden which everyone liked.

Timmy, Timmy is possibly the best offering of the night. Larry said that the "words are beating each other to death". I felt that I could read it over and over and keep getting new interpretations. "What if I said I don't know?...What if I said I love you?" Good stuff. Again, not great title.

Larry filled three pages with Why Men Have Sex. The apparent reason is for any and every reason. I had planned to write a response, but could think of no good reasons why women have sex. No poem from me, the coughing person.