turned out to be Alan who triumphed in the face of opposition from Cathy and myself. Who knows where the Sandwich Islands are? He did and I'm not saying more except that I was wrong. If you don't know the answer and you care, you can look it up, which Mark did on his iPad to settle the argument.
Yes, we had a cameo appearance by Cathy Anderson, who has been among the missing for a while. She had a lovely poem about sleeping memories (see the epigraph to the right) which I found very sad. It was actually very similar to the brief poem I brought, written at the last minute for the occasion because I was feeling guilty for not writing lately. Anyway, my poem, called Eavesdropping, reflected my feeling of isolation when I become aware of the life that is going on around and without me. Pretty much of a bummer.
Larry's work was a bit of a conundrum to me this week. I couldn't get a clear picture of what he was trying to convey. Some great lines, but not a lot of comment. BTW, "smithereens" according to the dictionary can only be used as a plural noun meaning bits or fragments. There is no smithereen.
Perhaps I was particularly obtuse last night, but I also had trouble with Alan's Echoes Going By, which the author said he wrote in a parking lot by a railroad track in Maine while waiting for his shopping wife. It was one of his hexagrams (#12) relating to the I Ching, which I don't know much about. I don't seem to know much of anything today, do I? I do know "The little gate opens from the dragon garden".
Markle had a good one in How the sky was emptied, complete with beautiful photo. In an interesting experiement we re-read the poem a total of 5 times, experimenting with lines and breathing and pace. It was a poem expressing excitement - the anticipation of capturing the sun in hand, which exuded a feeling of calm. Strange.
Paul's poem North Star was the impetus for the island argument, mentioning the Solomon Islands as a port of call for his uncle Ezekiel who spent his life roaming the seas. One island led to another somehow. Anyway, it was a beautifully framed poem which the group had a lot of suggestions for, taking out unessential words or lines, perhaps changing title.
Lastly, we were practically stunned by the bearded visage of (the ghost of?) Tom Corrado. Then, he blew us all away with a rendition of his new chapbook "A History of the World in Four-Line Feeds: Part 18". Excellent, excellent.
Reminder of: COLDFEST at Alan's February 5 at 3 p.m. and Discussion night here on February 3 at 7.
According to an email from Beach Boy Burke, the anthology of Smith's Tavern poems is almost ready for distribution. Next Poet Laureate contest date was changed to April 17.
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 28, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
1st Night January
Catherine Connelly is a great contributor to group discussions and it was good to see her at 1st Night. We started off picking some of the lines that Larry had emailed us and followed the discussion where it led. A good bit of the talking was about visual art (our guest Steve was doodling while we spoke). I said that I was unable to function simultaneously in writing and art modes, so Larry suggested that I bring a visual piece as my next poem. Worth contemplating. Also talked about the difficulties surrounding critiques, those who want or don't want it, how to do it w/o hurting feelings, how much your own work affects your critical thinking. I would like to continue that conversation. Five of us attended and we ended in time for me to rush home to see Grey's Anatomy.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
A little late
Seeing that I left on holiday vacation immediately following the last meeting, without a chance to blog it, I won't. It was a quiet vacation for me, reading, doing a little artwork, and watching game shows (confessing I love game shows) on TV.
Reminders: Edie will be reading on January 20 at UPJ (Dan Wilcox) and we are planning dinner at La Salsa Latina at 5 p.m. prior. Let Dennis know if you will be attending and he will make a reservation for us. Alan and Jennifer's annual Cold Fest will be at their house on February 5. Alan has thoughtfully made the start time 3 p.m. for those of us who no longer like to be out after dark, although you are invited to stay late if you are so inclined. Always a good time, although I will personally miss Professor Willis and Judy this year.
Misc: Tom stopped at the lib this week and is not snowbound in Huntersland. Larry and I had a great visit at Tim's new apartment; it is lovely and was beautifully decorated for Christmas. Weather permitting, I will be having lunch with Catherine Ally Cat Anderson this week and will encourage her to rejoin us soon. I understand from his daughter that Professor Sullivan has been having some tooth problems. Jim Williams is a little under the weather, too. I missed Dan W.'s open house on New Year's day. Did anyone go?
Tomorrow night is discussion night here at 7 p.m., regular meeting on the 13th.
Reminders: Edie will be reading on January 20 at UPJ (Dan Wilcox) and we are planning dinner at La Salsa Latina at 5 p.m. prior. Let Dennis know if you will be attending and he will make a reservation for us. Alan and Jennifer's annual Cold Fest will be at their house on February 5. Alan has thoughtfully made the start time 3 p.m. for those of us who no longer like to be out after dark, although you are invited to stay late if you are so inclined. Always a good time, although I will personally miss Professor Willis and Judy this year.
Misc: Tom stopped at the lib this week and is not snowbound in Huntersland. Larry and I had a great visit at Tim's new apartment; it is lovely and was beautifully decorated for Christmas. Weather permitting, I will be having lunch with Catherine Ally Cat Anderson this week and will encourage her to rejoin us soon. I understand from his daughter that Professor Sullivan has been having some tooth problems. Jim Williams is a little under the weather, too. I missed Dan W.'s open house on New Year's day. Did anyone go?
Tomorrow night is discussion night here at 7 p.m., regular meeting on the 13th.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Very annoying things
keep happening to me the last few days and I am fed up with electronic/computer/email problems, so if anything goes wrong while I am blogging this, I'm quitting.
We again had a testosterone-dominated group last Thursday. The balance improved to 4/7 with the last minute arrival of Philomena and Edie. Philomena brought "Audience", addressing the question we have tossed around for discussion of who we are writing for. Edie wrote a clever "Ginsberg-like" character sketch of spinster Amalia Ottemberg.
I missed most of the critique of Ann's "Eight Varieties, One Garden" because I was out of the room, but I know it was about tomatoes and it was colorful - unlike Paul's "After Hours" which painted a great picture of a quiet bar without referencing a single color by name. It mentioned the Poet's Corner, making us all believe it was Smith's Tavern. Mark's iPad reminded us of the Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey, too.
The debate over audience was revived over "Beautiful Child", Tim's twin brother. The question was how much we poets were affected by already knowing a lot about Tim's family and if something needed to be clarified in the poem for those who didn't have the background info we did. I think Tim decided to rework it a little.
Dennis proclaimed Dan's poem excellent and another good stretch for this relatively new poet. I liked "oysters of thought", did not like "salivated". Someone suggested a tense change.
There was some debate over Alan's first line(s), a small punctuating error (the old it's/its dilemma) but he received kudos for the placement on page and a popular ending. Mark brought a Freudian poem of repression (according to Dennis), which to me was merely an nice work equating broken relationships to broken dishes.
My noms for BPOE (best poem of the evening) are Trying to Sweep Away the Fire and Ode to Darkness, Larry and Dennis respectively. Larry's worked because or in spite of the cameltoe reference which we explained to the unfamiliar. Larry: " small fire, a giggling wick on a carpet". Dennis: "Like an unloved brother, you appear and tug upon my coat to draw attention...". Dennis tells us his audience is himself. I feel pretty much the same. I had no new poem, but did a quick read of my old "The Pixie Sisters, 1957" which happened to be in my folder and is one of my favorites.
Beach Boy Burke, btw, is off pursuing his destiny in enviable climes for an unacceptable length of time. We may possibly see him in time for the Poet Laureate contest. Alan re-issued his invite for the Cookie Party on Friday night at his house. Sorry to say, it seems like many of us are going to be busy or away.
Yes, poets are meeting on December 23. Philosophers on the 16th.
We again had a testosterone-dominated group last Thursday. The balance improved to 4/7 with the last minute arrival of Philomena and Edie. Philomena brought "Audience", addressing the question we have tossed around for discussion of who we are writing for. Edie wrote a clever "Ginsberg-like" character sketch of spinster Amalia Ottemberg.
I missed most of the critique of Ann's "Eight Varieties, One Garden" because I was out of the room, but I know it was about tomatoes and it was colorful - unlike Paul's "After Hours" which painted a great picture of a quiet bar without referencing a single color by name. It mentioned the Poet's Corner, making us all believe it was Smith's Tavern. Mark's iPad reminded us of the Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey, too.
The debate over audience was revived over "Beautiful Child", Tim's twin brother. The question was how much we poets were affected by already knowing a lot about Tim's family and if something needed to be clarified in the poem for those who didn't have the background info we did. I think Tim decided to rework it a little.
Dennis proclaimed Dan's poem excellent and another good stretch for this relatively new poet. I liked "oysters of thought", did not like "salivated". Someone suggested a tense change.
There was some debate over Alan's first line(s), a small punctuating error (the old it's/its dilemma) but he received kudos for the placement on page and a popular ending. Mark brought a Freudian poem of repression (according to Dennis), which to me was merely an nice work equating broken relationships to broken dishes.
My noms for BPOE (best poem of the evening) are Trying to Sweep Away the Fire and Ode to Darkness, Larry and Dennis respectively. Larry's worked because or in spite of the cameltoe reference which we explained to the unfamiliar. Larry: " small fire, a giggling wick on a carpet". Dennis: "Like an unloved brother, you appear and tug upon my coat to draw attention...". Dennis tells us his audience is himself. I feel pretty much the same. I had no new poem, but did a quick read of my old "The Pixie Sisters, 1957" which happened to be in my folder and is one of my favorites.
Beach Boy Burke, btw, is off pursuing his destiny in enviable climes for an unacceptable length of time. We may possibly see him in time for the Poet Laureate contest. Alan re-issued his invite for the Cookie Party on Friday night at his house. Sorry to say, it seems like many of us are going to be busy or away.
Yes, poets are meeting on December 23. Philosophers on the 16th.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Loggerhead Rises from a Swamp
Aptly titled and accompanied by an amusing picture on Mark's iPad, Alan's poem was a more "poetic" effort than the one I so harshly commented on last time. Tim remarked cutely that it lacked scientific references to the flora and fauna. Alan and Mark had trekked up Bennet's Hill in Clarksville, the inspiration for both guys' poems. Mark had written Hilltop Visionation (he made that word up, I asked), a letter to America in a great font, which we all liked. It was adorned with colorful vistas from his camera.
The photos led to a short discussion of the efficacy and purpose of photos and artwork accompanying poems, a topic which was tabled for a discussion night.
Jim tried to tangle Paul's tongue with Carmen Maccaronicum (Macaroni Song), a real twister with a hodgepodge of foreign words that Jim presented in his own inimitable style and accents which Paul had to attempt to duplicate. Jim called it an aural toast, definite open mic material.
I thought Osterman and Whiteman was an hysterical portrayal of a prestigious law firm run by a short guy with small genitalia. Few criticisms of this one.
Wildly successful is my thought on Philomena's Corduroy Pants, I think my alltime favorite of her poems. It was a commentary on sweatshops, invoking a comparison betweens worlds and cultures that was well written and intense. "...to be connected by the clothes on your back to that person sitting and eating rice noodles...yet to be on guilt's edge with the rightness and wrongness of world equations." Great stuff.
As I write this I'm realizing what a good night it was. Ann unveiled a heretofore hidden aspect of her life with a picture of her ex as The Wolf. When she left the cottage, she left forever, no woodsmen to rescue her. (As an aside, Ann's face looked like someone had beaten her, but she hastened to tell us it was from dental work. Don't go to her dentist.)
Beach Boy Burke took some unusual criticism last night with Lakeside Rocks at Lookout Point. Everyone was waiting for Mike's traditional surprise ending which did not occur. Paul (I think) said it was too formal for Mike's voice. We suggested rearranging the verses, taking out some unnecessary words and reworking the final six lines. Don't laugh, we did like the poem in spite of all the disagreement.
Dan did another good job with Skipping Stones. I noted that Dan seems to have made a great leap (sorry, pun) in his work recently. That means that now we can get down to the business of finetuning our critiques. One point made was that taking out the qualifiers (some, someday, always, much) would make the work stronger, e.g. "False opinions are like sins" instead of "some false opinions are much like sins". Dan assured us that he is an eager learner.
I chuckled over Paul's response to my desire to have more color in last week's Carousel Horses. Instead of inserting more actual colors, he added the word color in two places. It was funny, but it still didn't work for me. Paul made changes to the whole poem. We still wanted him to lop off the final two lines. Tim told us Paul never stops revising, which is good.
We spent a long time on Eddie's (Edie) Visit to New York, with a variety of opinions on the length (her longest ever) and the topics included. I thought it tried to cover too much and would have been stonger as three separate poems. Not everyone, including the writer, agreed. We all liked the first section best, re the bus stop encounter.
To sum up, the twelve of us were an energized group with lots of interaction and some really good critiques. Larry and I graciously :)) gave up our spots in the interest of time.
We will not meet again until after Thanksgiving, so blessings on you, raconteurs.
There follows an email I just rec'd from Dennis and his poem (which I enjoyed).
Dear Poe-ettes,
Sorry I could not make the gathering last nite but I have had a wee bit of work
done on my plumbing. Am ok.
I did have a poem to share which I send below. It is dedicated to Helen Vendler
that great spelunker of poesy caverns, holding high her torch so all can see her steps and perhaps wish, dare to tread there as well.
I was thinking what a great gift to poetry she is and thus this poem below.
Dennis
AN EARLY MORNING MIDNIGHT RUN
(For Helen V.)
When the sounds of day
Are neatly packed away
In their proper drawers
And darkness rings
Like a visitor from outer space,
Rings the bell of consciousness,
I sit and ponder my remains
Strewn like carrion across
A solitary country road,
Which even crows deny
A place at table, remains
More alone than nothing.
But who’s to weight
The weight of life more
Than endless death?
The mind could care less,
Calculator running up the score,
But the heart, the heart cares
Runs about like a crazy neighbor
Organizing the neighborhood into
Edens of collective joy
Poor heart, the heart, driven
Like a horse without a cart
Blind at a blind man’s game.
Again, it matters not, it only
Matters how to settle in
To common consciousness
Where life and death night and day
Are so one that their twin selves
Have no past or future,
Suspending all that’s real
Into nothingness, an absence,
That gives pleasure beyond bounds.
Who has not stood at that wharf
And seen the boat of life sail off
Far into the thinness of the sea?
The sea is full of such,
Rudderless hulks without place
Or destination to go to.
Again it matters not, it only
Matters how to settle down
Into wordless silence
The place that is no place
A mind without thought or reason
A body wrinkled like a peach.
A drowsy numbness? No. Nirvana
Is no place or acheless state
Nirvana is the beginning
Before all beginnings were,
Before there was an is,
Before is-not was, before
Before before, before before
Was, when the sounds of day
Are neatly packed away
In their proper drawers
And darkness rings
Like a visitor from outer space.
Dennis Sullivan
dsullivan6@nycap.rr.com
October 29, 2010
2:11 am
The Ville
The photos led to a short discussion of the efficacy and purpose of photos and artwork accompanying poems, a topic which was tabled for a discussion night.
Jim tried to tangle Paul's tongue with Carmen Maccaronicum (Macaroni Song), a real twister with a hodgepodge of foreign words that Jim presented in his own inimitable style and accents which Paul had to attempt to duplicate. Jim called it an aural toast, definite open mic material.
I thought Osterman and Whiteman was an hysterical portrayal of a prestigious law firm run by a short guy with small genitalia. Few criticisms of this one.
Wildly successful is my thought on Philomena's Corduroy Pants, I think my alltime favorite of her poems. It was a commentary on sweatshops, invoking a comparison betweens worlds and cultures that was well written and intense. "...to be connected by the clothes on your back to that person sitting and eating rice noodles...yet to be on guilt's edge with the rightness and wrongness of world equations." Great stuff.
As I write this I'm realizing what a good night it was. Ann unveiled a heretofore hidden aspect of her life with a picture of her ex as The Wolf. When she left the cottage, she left forever, no woodsmen to rescue her. (As an aside, Ann's face looked like someone had beaten her, but she hastened to tell us it was from dental work. Don't go to her dentist.)
Beach Boy Burke took some unusual criticism last night with Lakeside Rocks at Lookout Point. Everyone was waiting for Mike's traditional surprise ending which did not occur. Paul (I think) said it was too formal for Mike's voice. We suggested rearranging the verses, taking out some unnecessary words and reworking the final six lines. Don't laugh, we did like the poem in spite of all the disagreement.
Dan did another good job with Skipping Stones. I noted that Dan seems to have made a great leap (sorry, pun) in his work recently. That means that now we can get down to the business of finetuning our critiques. One point made was that taking out the qualifiers (some, someday, always, much) would make the work stronger, e.g. "False opinions are like sins" instead of "some false opinions are much like sins". Dan assured us that he is an eager learner.
I chuckled over Paul's response to my desire to have more color in last week's Carousel Horses. Instead of inserting more actual colors, he added the word color in two places. It was funny, but it still didn't work for me. Paul made changes to the whole poem. We still wanted him to lop off the final two lines. Tim told us Paul never stops revising, which is good.
We spent a long time on Eddie's (Edie) Visit to New York, with a variety of opinions on the length (her longest ever) and the topics included. I thought it tried to cover too much and would have been stonger as three separate poems. Not everyone, including the writer, agreed. We all liked the first section best, re the bus stop encounter.
To sum up, the twelve of us were an energized group with lots of interaction and some really good critiques. Larry and I graciously :)) gave up our spots in the interest of time.
We will not meet again until after Thanksgiving, so blessings on you, raconteurs.
There follows an email I just rec'd from Dennis and his poem (which I enjoyed).
Dear Poe-ettes,
Sorry I could not make the gathering last nite but I have had a wee bit of work
done on my plumbing. Am ok.
I did have a poem to share which I send below. It is dedicated to Helen Vendler
that great spelunker of poesy caverns, holding high her torch so all can see her steps and perhaps wish, dare to tread there as well.
I was thinking what a great gift to poetry she is and thus this poem below.
Dennis
AN EARLY MORNING MIDNIGHT RUN
(For Helen V.)
When the sounds of day
Are neatly packed away
In their proper drawers
And darkness rings
Like a visitor from outer space,
Rings the bell of consciousness,
I sit and ponder my remains
Strewn like carrion across
A solitary country road,
Which even crows deny
A place at table, remains
More alone than nothing.
But who’s to weight
The weight of life more
Than endless death?
The mind could care less,
Calculator running up the score,
But the heart, the heart cares
Runs about like a crazy neighbor
Organizing the neighborhood into
Edens of collective joy
Poor heart, the heart, driven
Like a horse without a cart
Blind at a blind man’s game.
Again, it matters not, it only
Matters how to settle in
To common consciousness
Where life and death night and day
Are so one that their twin selves
Have no past or future,
Suspending all that’s real
Into nothingness, an absence,
That gives pleasure beyond bounds.
Who has not stood at that wharf
And seen the boat of life sail off
Far into the thinness of the sea?
The sea is full of such,
Rudderless hulks without place
Or destination to go to.
Again it matters not, it only
Matters how to settle down
Into wordless silence
The place that is no place
A mind without thought or reason
A body wrinkled like a peach.
A drowsy numbness? No. Nirvana
Is no place or acheless state
Nirvana is the beginning
Before all beginnings were,
Before there was an is,
Before is-not was, before
Before before, before before
Was, when the sounds of day
Are neatly packed away
In their proper drawers
And darkness rings
Like a visitor from outer space.
Dennis Sullivan
dsullivan6@nycap.rr.com
October 29, 2010
2:11 am
The Ville
Friday, November 5, 2010
1st Night November
The question was why we share our poetry - go to open mics, support groups, etc. - and, of course, we were off and running in a multitudes of directions. Larry talked about his Walt Whitman/grandfather association and Tim had us practically on the floor with his description of hanging his friend (apropos of what I can't remember). Edie and Philomena rounded out the group and we had a good time despite the cold and rainy weather which made me want to stay home.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Comment on Comment
Just a quick comment on Dan's comment:
Paul's poem did not "fall on deaf ears". No one denied the poignancy of his thought, just that it was not as successful as it might have been. We were criticizing the mechanics of the poem and changes that we felt would make it even more effective to the reader, which, hopefully is what we try to do in all our critiques.
Paul's poem did not "fall on deaf ears". No one denied the poignancy of his thought, just that it was not as successful as it might have been. We were criticizing the mechanics of the poem and changes that we felt would make it even more effective to the reader, which, hopefully is what we try to do in all our critiques.
Friday, October 29, 2010
working backwards
I hope you all took the time to read Self Portrait IV which Dennis passed out at the end of the evening and we did not have time to read together. It is a wonderful work and worthy of conversation. Dennis graciously gave his time spot to Philomena who came late with paradoxical poem with a fascinating title (Schrodinger's cat?).
Obeeduid's visuals put a real kiss on Dad was right you had great gams about his mother and his daughter. "in the archway ...at the window...to a kitchen...I was never in". Good stuff.
Dennis compared my Orphan Chronicles, part 1, to a Greek chorus, a two-voice effort about, what else, the parents. Our guest Rod Cornell, who I have not yet mentioned, did a nice reading of it and I forgot to compliment him. Rod is (was?) a teacher at the high school who wants to do some writing and came at Dennis' urging.
I questioned people about any experiences with the fairly new Troy Bookmaker; contemplating self-publishing a book of my Alzheimer poems.
I am afraid I went a little off the rails over Alan's Bee Buzz Before the Winter. Sorry, Alan. The following comments are mine alone: the poem was floating along in a lovely lyrical manner - "flowers drip desire...who will drink our nectar?..." when, whammy, he dropped in a textbook excerpt on how many pesticides are found in the human body, intestinal flora, herbicides, chemicals, percentages, organisms,and more,then abruptly began to wax poetic again at the end. No, I do not consider scientific data poetic. Informative, enlightening, maybe activist, but not poetic. It gave me an abrupt, stabbing pain in my head.
Larry did not delight me either but his collection of 87 (yes, Alan counted them) one-liners did inspire quite a bit of discussion, beginning with way to pronounce the title Seraglio (meaning a harem, pretend there's no "g"). General consensus: too long, not cohesive, no taproot, possible haikus. Mark went to the bathroom and said he missed nothing.
Tim delighted all of us with Mister Figgerwigger's Sister, a poem in "constant motion" which O'B said had a rhyming Cat-in-the-Hat feel. It included a love poem to Dennis, who proclaimed it a "great step forward, a liberation poem" for Tim. I just took it for a great, amusing character sketch. The shower curtain joke is pretty funny.
This poem also led to Dennis' speculative question on whether an adjective ever takes away from the force of a noun. Good question to ponder, maybe talk about. That leads me to announce the change of 5th Night Poetry discussions to 1st Night poetry discussions, still on Thursdays, still nicely alliterative. For those interested, we meet next Thursday at 7 p.m. in the director's office to talk. Everyone is welcome, last time was fun.
Israel's musicality (how Paula Abdul of me) was evident in Coppertop (an energizing drone in the movie The Matrix )who dreams of a more utopic world as he works. With a few syllabic adjustments it would be a perfect rap.
Catherine's Wheels led to talk of similes and metaphors, with Dennis giving pertinent examples in a very effective relationship poem, tightly focused and universal.
Dan's blossoming artistry shone through in The Dead Soul, a rather dark railroad journey through dreams. "haphazard tunes on broken silk....infuse the silence of the night...dream a dream of no demand".
I am an old woman and I reached for the Websters to look up dactyl, a word that came up in our discussion of Paul's Carousel Horses. The poem received mixed reviews. Catherine pointed out that it was a little unsettling, as clowns can be, and it revived creepy, puking memories in Mark. Someone asked "what is the message?" in the poem, and I wanted some color.
The dictionary on dactyl, btw, says a prosodic foot of three syllables, one long followed by two short in quantitative meter. So, I looked up prosodic, the appropriate meaning of which seems to be the stress and intonation patterns of an utterance. Fortunately I knew what utterance is, so I went back to quantitative and got pertaining to or based on the relative duration of syllables. I am getting a little discouraged. This seems too much like work.
Dennis reiterated his invitation to a memorial poetry/food fest in honor of Arthur, to occur the day after Thanksgiving. You should all have rec'd an email. EOTNP (and s.o.s) only.
Eight of us, who seemed to be starving, went to Smit's for sustenance and were briefly joined there by Jim who had been referee-ing. Gosh, I have no clue how to spell that. And I don't intend to look it up.
Hope to see some of you next Thursday. Larry, Tim and I are definites. I am heading to Dobb's Ferry today for Hallo with some of my kids. I'm psyched.
Obeeduid's visuals put a real kiss on Dad was right you had great gams about his mother and his daughter. "in the archway ...at the window...to a kitchen...I was never in". Good stuff.
Dennis compared my Orphan Chronicles, part 1, to a Greek chorus, a two-voice effort about, what else, the parents. Our guest Rod Cornell, who I have not yet mentioned, did a nice reading of it and I forgot to compliment him. Rod is (was?) a teacher at the high school who wants to do some writing and came at Dennis' urging.
I questioned people about any experiences with the fairly new Troy Bookmaker; contemplating self-publishing a book of my Alzheimer poems.
I am afraid I went a little off the rails over Alan's Bee Buzz Before the Winter. Sorry, Alan. The following comments are mine alone: the poem was floating along in a lovely lyrical manner - "flowers drip desire...who will drink our nectar?..." when, whammy, he dropped in a textbook excerpt on how many pesticides are found in the human body, intestinal flora, herbicides, chemicals, percentages, organisms,and more,then abruptly began to wax poetic again at the end. No, I do not consider scientific data poetic. Informative, enlightening, maybe activist, but not poetic. It gave me an abrupt, stabbing pain in my head.
Larry did not delight me either but his collection of 87 (yes, Alan counted them) one-liners did inspire quite a bit of discussion, beginning with way to pronounce the title Seraglio (meaning a harem, pretend there's no "g"). General consensus: too long, not cohesive, no taproot, possible haikus. Mark went to the bathroom and said he missed nothing.
Tim delighted all of us with Mister Figgerwigger's Sister, a poem in "constant motion" which O'B said had a rhyming Cat-in-the-Hat feel. It included a love poem to Dennis, who proclaimed it a "great step forward, a liberation poem" for Tim. I just took it for a great, amusing character sketch. The shower curtain joke is pretty funny.
This poem also led to Dennis' speculative question on whether an adjective ever takes away from the force of a noun. Good question to ponder, maybe talk about. That leads me to announce the change of 5th Night Poetry discussions to 1st Night poetry discussions, still on Thursdays, still nicely alliterative. For those interested, we meet next Thursday at 7 p.m. in the director's office to talk. Everyone is welcome, last time was fun.
Israel's musicality (how Paula Abdul of me) was evident in Coppertop (an energizing drone in the movie The Matrix )who dreams of a more utopic world as he works. With a few syllabic adjustments it would be a perfect rap.
Catherine's Wheels led to talk of similes and metaphors, with Dennis giving pertinent examples in a very effective relationship poem, tightly focused and universal.
Dan's blossoming artistry shone through in The Dead Soul, a rather dark railroad journey through dreams. "haphazard tunes on broken silk....infuse the silence of the night...dream a dream of no demand".
I am an old woman and I reached for the Websters to look up dactyl, a word that came up in our discussion of Paul's Carousel Horses. The poem received mixed reviews. Catherine pointed out that it was a little unsettling, as clowns can be, and it revived creepy, puking memories in Mark. Someone asked "what is the message?" in the poem, and I wanted some color.
The dictionary on dactyl, btw, says a prosodic foot of three syllables, one long followed by two short in quantitative meter. So, I looked up prosodic, the appropriate meaning of which seems to be the stress and intonation patterns of an utterance. Fortunately I knew what utterance is, so I went back to quantitative and got pertaining to or based on the relative duration of syllables. I am getting a little discouraged. This seems too much like work.
Dennis reiterated his invitation to a memorial poetry/food fest in honor of Arthur, to occur the day after Thanksgiving. You should all have rec'd an email. EOTNP (and s.o.s) only.
Eight of us, who seemed to be starving, went to Smit's for sustenance and were briefly joined there by Jim who had been referee-ing. Gosh, I have no clue how to spell that. And I don't intend to look it up.
Hope to see some of you next Thursday. Larry, Tim and I are definites. I am heading to Dobb's Ferry today for Hallo with some of my kids. I'm psyched.
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