The late playwright August Wilson. "He Really Wanted to be a Poet

August Wilson

The late playwright August Wilson. "He Really Wanted to be a Poet"


The following is an article by my friend poet Afaa Michael Weaver concerning his experience on a train with the late, great, Afro-American playwright August Wilson. I have seen many of Wilson's plays at the Huntington Theatre in Boston. My brother Donald Holder, is a Broadway lighting designer, and he has worked on many of Wilson's productions, including the seminal "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom," when he was a graduate student at Yale Drama. So I have heard a lot about Wilson, and after badgering Afaa for awhile for this article he came through, despite an extremely demanding schedule. Best--Doug Holder



Fastball on the Outside Corner
in memory of August Wilson
by Afaa Michael Weaver


There are magic moments in theater, glimpses of the stage world that never leave you if you truly love theater. Sitting in the audience watching James Earl Jones and Mary Alice play the leads in August Wilson’s Fences was one such moment for me, Jones filling the stage with his largeness, his voice so much his father, Robert Earl Jones, who played Creon in Lee Breur’s Gospel at Colonnus, an adaptation of Sophocles in the setting of a black church. Father and son, the two Jones resemble twins, and that twinning is something akin to the creation playwrights make of characters that most resemble themselves, and so it was the only time I was ever in the presence of Wilson the man, on an Amtrak headed up the northeast corridor as he was making his way to New Haven to the Yale Repertory Theater, where his working relationship with Lloyd Richards, artistic director for the theater, was itself historic.

The Piano Lesson was in production, and he was working on Two Trains Running, but it was Fences that held me spellbound. The long poetic monologues of Troy Maxon are mythic. Wilson’s plays were driven by language, and he was driven by a need to give a mythic portrait of his culture as he knew it, sometimes observing life while sitting in restaurants writing on a pad, a simple presence.

The Amtrak car was nearly empty. It was the middle of the week, and I boarded at Newark, New Jersey, taking the bus there from where we lived in East Orange. Gian Lombardo had invited me to Watertown to give a reading, only my second time in the Boston area. My teaching schedule was flexible enough to allow two days away from adjunct life in New York and New Jersey, along with every other small and part time job I could assemble in graduate school afterlife. I took a window seat in the middle of the car, watching the metal grid of northern Jersey as it melted into Manhattan. After we got out of New York, I got up to go to the café car for a coke to go with my brown bag lunch, and as I went down the aisle I noticed what I thought was a familiar face. It was Wilson, and he seemed to be enjoying his privacy, so I kept going to the car. But when I got back to my seat I felt I had to say something. In my bag I had copies of Water Song, my first book, and I took out a copy to give to him as pretense for saying "Hello."
"Excuse me, but you are August Wilson?"

"Yes," he said quietly, nodding.

"Well, I just finished teaching your play Fences, and want you to know it is one of my favorites. I would like you to have this copy of my first book of poetry, something called Water Song."
He took it smiling, and I took my leave, going back to my seat to chomp on my tuna fish sandwich. In a few minutes, I noticed someone standing next to me. It was Wilson. He was holding all his bags.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

I was starstruck. Not that I had not had my own fifteen minutes, or a few of them by this time. In Baltimore I was the working class hero poet, a published poet and writer with a byline in the Baltimore Sunpapers. Water Song was submitted for the Pulitzer prize, even with its typesetter errors, and there were other laurels, all of which were leveled once I got to Brown with the children of privilege. It was there that I studied playwriting and theater for two years under the tutelage of Paula H. Vogel and the late George H. Bass, but here was Wilson, who was on my graduate school reading list. Here was the man asking to sit with me. I mumbled, "Sure."
There we were, on the tracks under northern stars. For a little less than two hours I had August Wilson all to myself, and he was generous. He told jokes and made me laugh, much of my laughter the joy also of feeling included in this thing called American theater that I so much wanted to move into as a playwright. He spoke, and I knew he was Troy Maxon, the man who tried to explain his adulterous behavior to his wife in the metaphor of baseball, saying he had stood on first base for eighteen years and just could not resist stealing second, the man who responded to his son’s query about whether he loved him by saying he put that "beating heart" in the boy’s chest and that was all he needed to know, the man who told his best friend of how he sometimes felt haunted by the wrongdoings of his father and that his greatest nightmare was that he might become a man just like his father, that most painful anxiety of influence.

Wilson explained to me that he had always wanted to be a poet and that he once took a workshop with Jerry Barrax. As he explained this, he pointed to Jerry’s name on the back of my book where it appeared in the list of poets who had been published in this series, the Callaloo series. He said he revised his poems using an index card to go through the poem a line at a time. He was meticulous in the way self-made men are meticulous, all bets on the long shot, the artistic representation coming from places that have been deemed incapable of art.
A few years later in a conversation with Jerry Barrax, I asked if he remembered August Wilson as a poetry workshop student, and he said he indeed remembered. Barrax went on to explain how Wilson wore a tweed jacket to class.

"He really wanted to be a poet."

In Fences, Troy Maxon explains how he wrestled with Death.
The middle of July, 1941. It got real cold just like it be winter. It seemed like Death himself reached out and touched me on the shoulder. He touch me just like I touch you. I got cold as ice and Death standing there grinning at me…I wrestled with Death for three days and three nights and I’m standing here to tell you about it.

Art speaks of how it defies death and claims a longer life. I sat watching James Earl Jones perform as Troy Maxon while remembering Jones’ father was in Langston Hughes’ play Don’t You Want to Be Free? , a Depression era piece staged by Hughes’ Harlem Suitcase Theater, so named because all they owned fit into a suitcase, again making art from unexpected places, and that is so much the heritage of this thing called Black American Theater, which Wilson celebrated publicly and was so proud to be a member of, a tradition going back to Anita Bush, founder of the Lafayette Players, a woman who was known in her lifetime as the Little Mother of Negro Theater, a tradition that has its origin in a man we know little of except that he founded the African Grove Theater in what is now the Washington Square neighborhood of New York University, in a building that once stood near the corner of Bleeker and Grove Streets. That man was the mysterious Mr. Brown.

My lunch was not so important to me at this point. Wilson talked more about the city he loved, Pittsburgh, of people he had known, and I could sense when he was extending biographies in the way mythmakers do, constructing lives so that they rise up from the factual patterns of their actual lives, as subjective as facts come to be. His gestures were embellished by his working class argot, and I could see the figure of one of his mentors, another African-American playwright by the name of Robb Penny, whom I got to know in the ten years I worked with him as a member of a Chicago-based think tank on black theater known as PDI, the brainchild of Abena Joan Brown, founder and director of ETA theater, an institution that has become an icon as one of the remnants of black theater. In its thirty years of operation, ETA has been a working base for many of the great achievers in black theater, including Ron Milner, Woodie King, Vantile Whitfield, Eleanor Traylor, Don Evans, Jaye T. Stewart, and many more, several of whom have lost the wrestling match with Death.

We met two or three times a year in Chicago to see plays in production at ETA and to spend the weekend dissecting the script and all aspects of production, all the way to excruciating details and heated discussions of what works and does not work for black theater and black culture. It was this belief in the necessity of a vital theater for a vital culture and the need of black Americans for a special vitality that Wilson embodied, as is evidenced by his oeuvre, his completion of his cycle of plays, full as they are with characters of mythic proportions.

Rob Milner passed several months before Wilson, and Robb Penny passed away three years ago, in springtime, just four days before my own father gave Death a left hook that failed to push the giant specter of endings away. Penny, a man who had been a surrogate father to Wilson, toward the end would walk out at night under the Pittsburgh sky and gaze on the stars, at the end of a lifetime given to serving the tradition of African-American artists, of honoring what he saw as a need for continuity. He and his wife Betty spoke fondly of Wilson. Once when we were discussing a play of Wilson’s that was not a favorite of Betty’s, she spoke out of the linguistic quilt that so much made the language of the Wilson’s plays.

"I can say anything I want about that boy’s plays because I fed him spaghetti in my kitchen."
By the time we got to New Haven I had forgotten about my tuna. It was the only
time we ever met or talked, although he did tell Robb once that he did remember me and that ride. He was a writer of memories and assembling. He was the poet he wanted to be.
Death ain’t nothing to play with. And I know he’s gonna get me. I know I got to join his army…his camp followers. But as long as I keep up my strength and see him coming…as long as I keep up my vigilance…he’s gonna have to fight mto get me. I ain’t going easy.
Every goodbye ain’t gone. Every shut eye ain’t sleep.
___
Afaa Michael Weaver’s Multittudes is one of his recent books of poetry. Rollback is his new play. He teaches at Simmons College.

Below is an article in the Living/Arts Section of the Globe about the Lizard Lounge and Slam Poetry. Also is Susie Davidson's response in a letter to the Globe, and an interesting discussion with Poet Charles Coe concerning their differing views of Slam vs. Conventional venues.

> The scene is slamming Performance poetry is no longer just an underground art form> > By Ethan Gilsdorf, Globe Correspondent January 4, 2006>

CAMBRIDGE -- Under the Lizard Lounge's amber lights, local poet Eric Darby mixes a verbal cocktail, one part politics, one part personal> experience.> ''What would Jesus drive?" Darby recites from memory as his> three-minute explosive rant about SUVs and religion spills over the> standing-room-only house.> Darby is one of two finalists at this night's poetry slam. He's> competing against Erich Hagan, another talented poet, whose wordplay takes> a different tack.> ''Just hoping to feel necessary," Hagan implores in his tender yet> violent love poem. Both poets receive roars from the mixed-race, multi-age> crowd. After the judges' scores are tallied, Darby wins the night. Which> makes sense, considering he happens to be ranked seventh out of some 500> slam poets nationwide.> The Lizard Lounge may be below street level, but battling> head-to-head with words isn't an underground movement anymore. Whether you> call it performance poetry, slam or spoken word, this literary art is> definitely necessary.> After sharpening its cutting edge on a generation of young poets in> the late '80s and early '90s, spoken word is big again. In Boston, slam> just spawned a new record label and a poetry school. Throughout New> England, spoken word has made significant inroads among academia and into> the suburbs. Slam celebrates its 20th anniversary this year, fully matured> and exerting a stronger influence on the area's cultural scene than ever> before.> ''It's not a novelty anymore," says Jeff Robinson, bandleader and> founder of the Lizard Lounge Poetry Jam, a weekly open-mike slam. In> February, Robinson, his co-host Joyce Cunha, and his jazz trio will mark> nine years of Sunday nights backing up poets in the basement of the> Cambridge nightclub. ''It's here to stay."> Robinson, who also hosts the biweekly radio show ''Poetry Jam" on> WMBR-FM (88.1), launched two important ventures this winter that should> help keep Boston at the hub of the poetry map: a spoken-word label, Poetry> Jam Records, and a teaching venture called the Online School of Poetry,> which begins classes tomorrow.> ''By no means is this a 'slam institution.' Quite the contrary,"> says Robinson, who is 40. His school's teachers may have cut their teeth> in seedy bars, not the halls of academia, but courses like ''Music,> Mythography and Words," with the likes of Patricia Smith and Regie Gibson,> will emphasize more than just high-scoring slam technique. ''Both are very> good page poets who happen to perform well, but they will touch on> performance when the time is right."> Until recently, Robinson would have had to convince more doubters> that writing a good ''slam poem" isn't easy. Spoken-word artists have been> less respected than traditional poets. But the second-class status of slam> is changing.> ''It's different now," says Michael Brown, 65, a Mount Ida College> professor of communication widely credited with bringing slam from Chicago> to Boston 15 years ago with Smith (who is a former Globe columnist). He> was ''slammaster" at Cambridge's other well-regarded spoken-word venue,> the Cantab Lounge, from 1992 to 2004. His ''Dr. Brown's Traveling Poetry> Show" now runs Tuesdays at the Zeitgeist Gallery in Inman Square.> ''It used to be hot in here, the atmosphere," Brown says, hanging> out at the Cantab one Wednesday night. ''Now the atmosphere is less hot> but the poetry is better." Unlike a decade ago, he says, younger writers> today have more interesting things to say. Poets are more skilled, their> writing more biting, and their audiences more discerning.> For its part, the Cantab keeps nurturing newcomers. The night Brown> visits his old haunts, a woman named Gina, dressed in tight black clothes> and a sparkling sash, takes the stage.> ''If you can believe it," Gina tells the audience in the malodorous> basement, ''I have worked as a stripper. I can dance around naked. But I'm> terrified to read my poems." The crowd goes easy on her.> The reason a former stripper might risk literary humiliation is> simple: Spoken word is less risque than before. Slams are now found in> elementary schools, teen writing programs, and working-class areas like> Brockton and South Boston. It has infiltrated all walks of life, spreading> from urban centers to places like Providence, Lowell, New Haven,> Burlington, Vt., and even Nantucket.> ''There's been a resurgence lately," says Simone Beaubien, host of> the Cantab's series, which attracts between 50 and 100 spectators each> week. ''I don't know why but I'm not complaining." One explanation is> increased activity: Beaubien organizes a regional slam ''league" among> teams from Boston, Portland, Worcester, and Providence that she's> continuing this winter and expanding to six teams. Adding to the Cantab's> luster is local star Darby, who on Dec. 14 won the right to represent the> Cantab at the Individual World Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., this> February. ''This year is the best we've done since 2000," says Beaubien.> ''It's exciting."> Another ''why" is visibility. Boston slammers reach beyond New> England and have competed in the National Poetry Slam and Individual World> Poetry Slam every year since 1992. Last summer, at the nationals,> Robinson's Lizard Lounge squad came in 16th out of 70 teams. This month,> the Lizard Lounge begins slamming to build its team of poets for 2006> nationals. Anyone can compete. The infrastructure is in place for spoken> word to keep speaking to a new generation.> ''This particular medium seems to be an extremely long-lasting one,"> says Jonathan Wolf, 24, who is the ''slammaster" for Worcester's Poetry> Asylum, a 15-year-old organization. ''With a rich history and grass-roots> involvement, I can't imagine the idea ever being unviable."> That people now expect more than 20-something angst or political> screed from slam has been part of spoken word's maturation as a real art> form. The final hurdle was to convince academia.> Once, a rift existed between two camps -- poet-professors and their> students on one side, and those who ''yell and wave, the wildly> gesticulating types" on the other, as Cantab veteran Adam Stone, 28, of> Somerville puts it. Today there is a two-way bridge, especially in Boston.> Not only have slam poets benefited from more professional training, but> university literature students now read slam-type poems in anthologies.> Meanwhile, their prize-winning poet teachers have jazzed up their> performances with more rhythmic language and lively deliveries.> ''I think the twain are meeting more and more on campus, both> outside the classroom and in the classroom," says Sue Standing, a Wheaton> College English professor and poet. ''The academics have taken on some of> slam's groove and attitude." Standing uses poetry textbooks like ''From> Totems to Hip-Hop" and says students at her suburban campus have organized> their own slams.> Robinson's Online School of Poetry further blurs the academic/slam> divide. For his faculty, Robinson snagged former poet laureate of> California and American Book Award winner Quincy Troupe, a dread-locked> poet known for his powerful, melodic delivery. In September, Troupe> visited Cambridge's Hi-N-Dry Studio, the legendary home base for the band> Morphine, where he spent a highly charged evening recording live with> Robinson's trio and several other spoken word poets -- Askia Toure,> Richard Cambridge, Iyeoka Okoawo, and Patricia Smith. The session will be> the debut release on Robinson's Poetry Jam Records.> During a break between sets, Troupe muses how slam, rap, and hip-hop> have kept the craft vibrant. ''There are some intriguing rhythms that you> can bring into poetry," says Troupe, who is 65 but seems younger. ''You> gotta be a big sponge." All poetry has to be written well, he says, but> working with a live band adds a final, improvisational layer that lets him> weave his ''linguistic gymnastics" around the music.> Then Troupe sits back to hear Okoawo, who is representing the Lizard> Lounge at the Individual World Poetry Slam in February.> ''I want to believe that everything happens for a reason," Okoawo> pleads in a raw poem -- part speech, part song, part sermon. Her body> shimmies as each line rises to the surface. ''What reason comes from Ritas> and Katrinas? All of what we think we know can all end abruptly.">

<susie_d@yahoo.com> > > There is a "slam rift" between local poets, too> > There exists another, longstanding divergence of opinion besides the> one between poet-professors and slam poets ("The scene is slamming," Jan.> 4, F1). In 1992, when Brown and Smith brought the slam to the venerable> Stone Soup Poetry forum at T.T. the Bear's Place in Cambridge, both the> host, Jack Powers, and a large camp of local poets, who included myself,> just did not feel right about the phenomenon. We have continued to shun> competitive poetry ever since. Now, as then, we feel that the competitive> format can both discourage quality work and detrimentally affect the> fragile artistic egos that are part and parcel of writers. The fact that a> randomly-chosen team of "judges" (who are often spectators with no poetry> background) has the power to inflict these possible repercussions adds to> the unreality of the situation. Back then, we referred to ourselves as> "PUNS - Poets United, Not Slammed."> Jack Powers didn't like what he saw in this scene and what it did to> his poets, who were by nature more supportive than competitive, and what> it did to the poetry he saw performed. He asked them to leave the venue,> and they relocated to Booksellers' in Porter Square and ultimately to the> Cantab, where the rodeo-type atmosphere was more conducive to what they> do. Stone Soup remains a noncompetitive venue which meets every Monday> evening at Out of the Blue Gallery in Central Square, Cambridge.> I say, here's to the Word in its purest form - not its contrived,> theatrical, cutthroat variant.> SUSIE DAVIDSON> Brookline> > Susie Davidson> 19 Winchester St. #806> Brookline, MA 02446> 617-566-7557

> Susie,> > I'm glad you sent that letter to the Globe. You make some important> points. > > I wasn't at any of the Stone Soup events the slam poets started attending,> but I think Jack was 100 percent right in asking that they find another> venue. I really do feel that slam and the more conventional approach to> speaking/reading poetry are ultimately incompatible. I attended a few> slams some years back and quickly realized that it wasn't for me. > > However, I took take issue with some of your letter. Specifically, I think> it's unfortunate that you describe slam as "contrived, theatrical, and> cutthroat." There are a lot of decent, well-meaning, generous people who> participate in that culture, and I don't think you're being fair to them.> Too often, people who feel passionately about their art (as you clearly> do) approach it almost like religious fundamentalists who claim to have> the "truth" and decry others as infidels. > > I personally made peace with the slam culture; by that I mean that yes, I> have a visceral, negative reaction to it. But I realize that reaction> reflects my personal esthetic--it doesn't represent some esthetic Law of> the Universe proving that my position's the "right" one. > > Let the slammers go their way, and folks like us go ours. After all, other> art forms a tremendous range of tastes and styles--everything from> Beethoven to Black-Eyed Peas--can peacefully co-exist. Why should poetry> be any different?>

> Respectfully,> Charles Coe>






Charles:You're right, I don't mean to condemn, and of course, I don't go to them. But I've never been much of a passive objector, and I especially feel that it's important in a huge public forum like the Globe to state the other side, lest everyone reading think that slams are accepted by basically all poets. The competitition aspect is important enough to me that I do speak out against it. As Billy Bragg says, wherever you see injustice, you have to speak out. OK, the slam is not racism or bigotry or exploitation (well, maybe a little), but competition isn't cool, and who knows what receiving a "2" might do to an emerging and sensitive would-be poet (I saw more than a few cases of very crushed egos where I had to reassure poet friends that their work was worthy, back then).Thanks again for your reasoned discussion - I think if it continues tho we should take it off-list so as not to bombard these other folks here - unless any of them contribute.Thanks again!SusieSubject: RE: my letter sent to Globe this a.m.Susie,I hear what you're saying. And my experience with/opinion of slams is prettymuch the same as yours.But again I gotta say, "If you don't like slams, DON'T GO TO THEM." I don'tknow what purpose is served by publicly, and categorically, condemning otherartists...Charles> > > Thanks Charles. I hear you, and I'm sure there are plenty of nice, quiet,> nonjudgmental folks who attend and participate in slams. However, my own> experiences have just been too revealingly similar for me to not maintain> my overall anti-slam position. If it isn't the judging of art, then it's> the contrived performing and content, and then it's the roar of the> cheering and heckling, which is just deafening, if not high-school> cheerleaderish. The whole thing just ain't poetry to me, but more of a> Colloseum-type event.> Sorry to rush, but off to Florida for the weekend (SORRY!).>

Susie

Poetry Workshop With Doug Holder




Doug Holder, the founder of Somerville's "Ibbetson Street Press,"
Arts/Editor for "The Somerville News," and director of the "Newton Free Library Poetry Series," will be conducting individual poetry workshops for novice poets. I will workshop your poems , with attention to language, metaphor, and imagery. I will aslo provide tips for publication, and an introduction to the world of small press literary magazines, publishers and editors. This course is perfect for the poet who wants to get his "feet wet,"
as he or she first ventures into the choppy waters of the poetry world. Many of my former students have gone on to publish for the first time, participated in reading series, started their own magazines, entered graduate school, etc... Rates are reasonable.

I will also will be trying to form a group workshop that would meet every other Sunday at 1PM. Please call 617-628-2313 for further info. or email me at dougholder@post.harvard.edu



Doug Holder's poetry and articles have appeared in "The Boston Globe," "DoubleTake," "America's Favorite Poems,"(Anthology) "Main Street Rag,"
"American Poetry Monthly," "City of Poets: 18 Boston Voices," (Anthology),
"The Harvard Mosaic," "Stuff," "Arts Around Boston," "COMPOST," "The Boston Poet," and many other publications. His taped interviews with contemporary poets are archived at Harvard and Buffalo Universities. He is the co-founder of "The Somerville News Writers Festival," and is on the board of directors of the "Wilderness House Literary Retreat." He is the former president of "Stone Soup Poets," in Boston, Mass., and holds an M.A. in Literature from Harvard University.

Marc Widershien--founder of "Poplar Editions," and author of poetry collection "Poems of Survival" http://marccreate@aol.com marccreate@aol.com


Well, guys there is a new press in town "Poplar Editions," founded by Ibbetson author Marc Widershien "The Life of All Worlds" ( Ibbetson 2001) Marc is releasing the first book from this spanking new press, his own, "Poems of Survival." Marc tells me he has plans to publishes several titles, including an anthology by senior citizen poets who attend his state-wide seminars, as well as an anthology of participants from his Emack and Bolio Series in Roslindale. To find out more about Marc go to www.marccreate.com Marc Widershien, founder of "Poplar Editions." marcreate@aol.com

The Glassblowers Tale
By Joanne McFarland
jam.art@juno.com
Review by Matt Rosenthal
rosenthal415@comcast.net

ISBN: 0-9774245-0-2
Copyright 2005 Joanne McFarland

Published by;
Gold Leaf Books
543 Union St. Studio B
Brooklyn, New York 11215
email: books@joannemcfarland.com
www.joannemcfarland.com


In the Glassblower’s Tale, Joanne McFarland paints, in vivid hues, the rainbow of emotional states between hope and despair. Her palette consists of many human body and bodily function images that tie the emotions to the earth. Many voices from 1st person to 3rd are employed to give each experience its appropriate saliency.

The main themes of the book are best illuminated through some of its greatest one-liners…
"in a legendless universe…
danger was more magnificent that art." (burial ground)
"Where hope is meaner than hate" (tides)
"The draw to ruin is strong in us.
We love parts-stories" (burial ground)
"We measure loss by what remains" (hunger)

The spaces between hope and despair in Ms. McFarland’s poems are filled with themes of loss, desire, passion, hunger, survival, abuse, and perseverance. Often several of these themes are woven into one poem, and the body images are most poignantly used to convey them. This is the case in "Somewhere Not Here".

A man hurls grains of rice,
as his wife prays the rains will come.
slowly he moves forward,
a wound in sere landscape,
right arm flinging pieces of the future.
She kneels outside their hut.
Inside, life darts without pattern –
boy, girl, bigger girl.
Last year they were lucky,
the rains came just when they should,
chapters in a lush book.



A sky saturated with clouds hangs prescient,
Cloth languishes between legs hungry
for a breeze. The man snaking
through the field, feeding it
every mouthful spared.

Lines like:
"right arm flinging pieces of the future", "legs hungry for a breeze" and "feeding it every mouthful spared"
convey the themes of perseverance, need, hope and hunger better than any of the poem’s other lines. In essence, Ms. McFarland makes the body the vessel of emotional expression.
In concert with these images she uses contrasting viewpoints to illustrate emotional counter tensions. In "The Guild", three sections, or voices, comprise the poem. They are: The Apprentice, The Journeyman and The Master. Issues are handled, once again, employing bodily function.

The Apprentice proclaims:

"Even the news of poisonings doesn’t frighten me; or word of men, marooned in space without nourishment, watching as the Earth rotates in its toxins. I am still eager to be fed".
Here the Apprentice wants to consume the world. The function of eating conveys ambition.

The Master says:
"Let me smell the last thing you ate, then taste it as my tongue penetrates where your songs begin;"
Here the image of consuming is converted to Pygmalion production, where the Masters tongue (his teaching) turns the Apprentice’s tongue to song.
Finally, the last line of "The Guild"ends on a phoenix like note of hope springing from resignation.
"…my own scent of ashes flavoring this crevice of the world where finally, finally, we have found each other".
And in the end, The Glassblower’s Tale is at its best when hope and despair have found each other.

Matt Rosenthal is a member of the "Bagel Bards" that meets each Saturday at 9 AM at Finagle-A-Bagel in Harvard Square.

Reviewer Charles P. Ries

Wrestling With My Father By: Doug Holder 25 Poems / 42 Pages / $6Yellow Pepper Press P.O. Box 27010
Pittsburg, PA 15235
ISBN: 0-9762450-1-9 Review By: Charles P. Ries

Not surprisingly the words of a seasoned poet are a mirror of his or her nature. The structure of lines, the choice and placement of words, the use of or lack of punctuation, their application of metaphor, simile and alliteration, and of course the themes of their writing are all deliberate choices intended to lead the reader, not only to an experience of the poem, but of the writer as well. In this sense, a book of poetry is a doorway to a writer’s soul.

In Wrestling With My Father, Doug Holder allows each of us to not only meet his late father, Lawrence J. Holder (to whom the book is dedicated), but to meet the author as well. Such as in this excerpt from Holder’s poem, “A Thought On Father’s Day”: “Like him /I am drawn to the sea / to the sound of breaking waves / on the shore. / To the eternal ebb and flow / to the primal smell / of death and life. / To the gulls / mounted on the weathered rocks / to the purple death of the sun / each evening, / its bright rebirth / from the portals of the sea’s horizon. / Who is this man I see / it is my father / and it is me.”

Holder’s poems are straight-forward and without adornment. I asked him about his economy of word, “Well ...I am not about adornment, I believe in an economy of words. Too many adjectives, flowery and arcane words take away from a poem's potency. I like to tell it straight, with no chaser.” Indeed, this collection, with its lean verse has the immediacy I find in many A.D.Winans and Don Winter poems. I wondered if Holder had done extensive rewriting as these poems felt so organic. Holder told me, “For the most part no. Most of the poems have been revised to some extent, but not extensively.”

Even Holder’s replies to my questions were to the point and without baggage. Here is another example of his ability to just say it. This is titled, “To Make Time Stand Still”: “Such a desperate fetishism -- / The racks that hold / a beaten band of Fedoras. / The wing-tipped shoes / weighted, in their dark, / appointed corner -- / A dust-ridden chorus line / tapping into a parade / that has long passed. / And what light dares to intrude / meanders to a predestined / dead end. // And we rush out / to be under the sun, / and clearly see the / leather of our skin, / we breathe / deeply and begin.”

I asked Holder over what period of time he had written this collection and he told me, “This collection was brought together after my dad died two years ago. The poems were written over twenty years, and for the most part when he was alive. I had the idea for the collection after his death.”

Holder has also published four other chapbooks of poetry, he is widely published in the small press and his work has appeared in several anthologies. In the immediate future his work will be included in a major anthology of avant-garde poets, "Inside the Outside"
(Presa Press) 2006. He is also the co-founder of Ibbetson Street Press. I asked him about Ibbetson Street Press and what sort of writers appeal to him, “I founded it with Dianne Robitallle (my wife) and Richard Wilhelm in 1998. I like writers like A.D. Winans, Hugh Fox, Donald Hall. Basically my approach to poets and poetry is that if I read it, and as Auden said, it makes me cut myself while I am shaving, then I am sold.”

I have had the privilege of interviewing and reviewing many excellent small press poets. I find reviewing a specific publication such as Wrestling With My Father while interviewing the writer gives me a three dimensional sense of that writer and his work. I smiled when I got such economic replies to my questions, and I smiled again when I asked Holder, what sort of poet he thought he was. His reply was true to form, “A good one I hope.”

In Wrestling With My Father Holder uses language and technique to bring the reader face to face with a theme that is ancient, glorious, and troubled. We experience with him the emotional roller coaster of familial love with words that hide nothing. His book is an excellent demonstration of how beautiful form and function can be when perfectly matched.


Note: If you would like to learn more about Doug Holder and his work, please check out the following web locations:
http://somervillenewswritersfestival.com
http://www.ibbetsonpress.com
http://dougholder.blogspot.com
http://authorsden.com/douglasholder
____________________________________________Charles P. Ries lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His narrative poems, short stories, interviews and poetry reviews have appeared in over one hundred and twenty print and electronic publications. He has received three Pushcart Prize nominations for his writing and most recently he read his poetry on National Public Radio’s Theme and Variations, a program that is broadcast over seventy NPR affiliates. Ries is also the author of five books of poetry the most recent entitled, The Last Time. He was recently appointed to the Poet Laureate Commission for the State of Wisconsin and he is the poetry editor for Word Riot (www.wordriot.org). He is also on the board of the Woodland Pattern Bookstore in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. You may find additional samples of his work by going to: http://www.literarti.net/Ries/ and you may write him at charlesr@execpc.com

Tam Lin Neville: Changing Lives Through Literature.


Tam Lin Neville is a Somerville, Mass.poet, who like many Somerville poets, lives a stone’s throw away from me. Born in NYC, she got her B.A. from Temple University and an MFA in Poetry from Vermont College. She spent 1985 in Beijing, China where she taught Conversation, studied Chinese, and wrote poetry. Her poems have been published in “Mademoiselle,” “APR,” “Ironwood,” “The Massachusetts Review,”, and other publications of note. She has two poetry collections: “Dreaming in Chinese,” and “Journey Cake,” and has taught creative writing at Butler University, Emerson College in Boston, as well as other institutions. Neville currently works for a project that helps clients on parole: “Changing Lives Through Literature.” I talked with her on my Somerville Community Access TV show “Poet to Poet/Writer to Writer.”

Doug Holder: Your work for a program titled: “Changing Lives through Literature.” Can you tell us a bit about the program and the unique population you deal with?

Tam Lin Neville: It was started in 1991 by a judge and a college professor. They were friends, and the judge was lamenting ‘turnstile’ justice, where you see the same people coming through the court system over and over again. They thought there must be a way to reduce the recidivism rate. They thought if they threw literature at these repeaters it just might change them. It might give them a chance to see other peoples’ lives and in doing that they could reflect on their own life. The people who are in the program are on probation. Some have been in jail and some have not.

I teach a women’s’ class in Dorchester. These programs are run through the courts. You need to get a judge who is sympathetic. Not all judges are sympathetic; some people call the program “Books for Crooks.” They feel these people shouldn’t have any perks like this. With my classes, I wouldn’t have known that my students have done anything wrong. They didn’t strike me as particularly dangerous or tough.

It’s a voluntary class. They are asked by their probation officers if they want to participate. By taking the course and completing it they get six months off their probationary period. When they first come in they say they are there to knock six months from their probation, but at the end of the class they wind up saying what a wonderful experience it was. I like teaching because you don’t have to grade. We do a lot of reading, writing, and we talk.

DH: You have taught on the college level. How does this differ?

TLN: I prefer this. There are fewer strictures, and you don’t have to give grades. It is very surprising. You get very bright students and you don’t know what they are going to say. You don’t know how they are going to respond to the literature. In the college classroom they are mostly middle class white kids. I guess I am intrigued by people who come from walks of life different from my own. They are not trained in literature, or school. Often it is a purer or more pristine response.
DH: In a brochure you gave me about the program it says you have “carefully selected” works of literature that you use as teaching fodder. Can you explain how you select appropriate material?

TLN: It’s up to the instructor to pick what they want to teach. I try to teach good literature. For instance I teach “The House on Mango Street,” and other works by folks like Zora Neale Hurston. I am always looking for good things to teach.

DH: Norman Mailer sponsored the prison writer Jack Henry Abbot with disastrous consequences. Do you find working with this population exciting? Do you find prison literature challenging?

TLN: I haven’t read that much prison literature. People who are in prison who have that frame of mind are a captive audience. They have libraries available to them and time on their hands. Someone like Etheridge Knight was a great influence on me. A lot of these prison writers come out with good stuff. They have time to focus.

DH: Perhaps we should lock up all writers?

TLN: (Laughs.) Good idea.

DH: You penned a couple of poetry collections about your time in China. Somerville poet Afaa Michael Weaver told me that he is attracted to Chinese poetry because of its humble sensibility. How about you?

TLN: That’s fair to say. It’s hard to articulate the quality. I found it in Japan as well.

DH: In a poem you wrote “Appetites,” you write of an imagined experience in Haiti where you see kids eating pies made of mud, and other unsavory ingredients, for lack of anything else. Later in the poem, back in the states, you express disgust with yourself and to a degree with our society. Explain.

TLN: I am sure you have heard a lot about the impoverished people who are forced to eat dirt, if they are really hungry. I heard this on the radio about people eating mud pies. The gap between my life and there is so huge. We really live in a decadent society in comparison.

Doug Holder

Longing Distance. Sarah Hannah. ( Tupelo Press PO BOX 539 Dorset Vermont 05251) $17. http://www.tupelopress.org/

I came with my set of prejudices when I started to read “Longing Distance,’ by Cambridge poet Sarah Hannah. From my experience reviewing a truck load of poetry books from people from the “academy,” I thought this would be another arcane, dry, and dead-on-arrival collection. I was dead wrong. Sarah Hannah has written a book of poetry that the populist poet from the small press and the mandarins from the Ivy Tower can admire. Hannah has a unique voice. Her work sucker punches you just when you think you got her down pat; and is alive with love, lust, regret, the whole ball of wax. In the poem: “Quarries, Quincy, Mass,” Hannah dives into this infamous quarry in which many a young lover has met his or her untimely end. Hannah captures the frenzied abandon of sex, and life literally on the edge. The poet describes herself and a “reckless beau,” as they grope each other on the edge of the abyss of treacherous waters in the quarry below:

And as you fumble underneath his faded baseball shirt that same
Delicious smell obliterates the outside air of stain:
His clothes, always surprisingly clean—a bright
Scent, almost orange, with a trace, just beyond
The cotton weave, of morning reefer. He springs

Your bra free, really a redundancy.
You reckon—“Gone missing,” that is, like saying
They have gone gone, unloosed, loosed, gone lost,
Tumbled down—like locals falling in, one after
Another, friends of friends, the same way, although

They knew how it could happen, and then he says
Your name, helplessly, and photograph and sign
Are jettisoned from mind, gone, gone, and he says
Your name again, relentless as the cadence sprayed in red
Across the northernmost rock face:

Fuck Beth. Jane Gives Good Head. (12)

The collection is full of wonderfully honed images and attention to detail. Here in “Manhattan, 5A.M.,” Hannah uses of all things a rooster in the maw of Manhattan that calls, much like the poet, to a wider world beyond the confines of the metropolis:

From night to day and bypassed dawn;
The neighborhood rooster calls,

Always late. Somewhere else it was decried
By birds, so loudly I couldn’t wander

Past it; windows rattled, sun razored
Through wet grass, and clover shook,

Anticipating bees. Somewhere else I had
To notice; there was fanfare and brigade, a litany

Of fowl, and not this lonely cock,
Twitching and strutting by a gated pane,

Spending himself for an alley. (32-33)

Sarah Hannah is an exciting new voice to watch on the literary landscape.

Doug Holder/Ibbetson Update/Somerville, Mass.

Presa PressPO Box 792Rockford, MI 49341presapress@aol.com
Upcoming Titles in 2006

Inside The Outside - An Anthology of Avant-Garde American PoetsThis volume brings together 13 major poets of the American small press scene, each representing an important branch of the avant-garde as it has developed over the past forty years. Each of the poets is presented in a large selection, in most cases chosen by the poets themselves. They range in age from 41 to 81, their poetics range from visual/conceptual poetry to surrealism, from personal/observation poetry to cut-up & collage poetry. Powerful, touching, innovative & humorous, these poems illuminate the underground poetry scene to give the reader a view of the real new American poetry.


Kirby Congdon, Hugh Fox, Stanley Nelson, Harry Smith, Richard Kostelanetz, A.D. Winans, Lyn Lifshin, Eric Greinke, Lynne Savitt, Doug Holder, John Keene, Mark Sonnenfeld & Richard Morris

Interview with Doug Holder

Charles Ries


The poems in Wrestling With My Father are unadorned and highly descriptive/observational. Even your line and stanza structure is without much adornment; tell me about this? Tell me about your style?

Well ...I am not about "adornment" I believe in an economy of words. Too many adjectives, flowery and arcane words take away from a poem's potency. I like to tell it straight, with no chaser.

Over what period of time did you write this collection?

This collection was brought together after my Dad died two years ago. The poems were written over twenty years, and for the most part when he was alive. I had the idea for the collection after his death.
Your poems are in the observed moment; often unadorned, you don’t often offer an ending that resolves or lets the reader know what these moments meant or how they affected the reader. Would you talk to me about this?

Do poems have to "resolve" themselves? I think not. And it is certainly not the job of the poet to tell "how they affected the reader!"





Is this your second book of poetry? Why so few? How long have you been writing poetry? Do you have formal training / education in writing?

I have an M.A. in Literature from Harvard University. I also at the William Joiners Writers workshop for two years at U/Mass/Boston.

I have had four chaps of poetry other than this. I also have been in several anthologies, and I am included in a major anthology of avant/garde poets "Inside the Outside" ( Presa Press) 2006.

What kind of poet are you?
A good one I hope.

When did you found Ibbetson Street Press? What did you hope to accomplish? What sort of writers appeal to you?

I founded it with Dianne Robitallle (my wife) and Richard Wilhelm in 1998. Writers like A.D. Winans, Hugh Fox, Donald Hall. Basically my approach to poets and poetry is that if I read it, and as Auden said it makes me cut myself while I am shaving, then I am sold.

Why Ibbetson Street?
It was the street in Somerville, Mass. where I lived at the time the press was started.

What is your greatest pet peeve about the small press? You’re greatest wonder?

Pet Peeve...well the small press has been a great thing for me, and has provided me with a venue for my work, and a place where I have met wonderful writers and fascinating people. Most people use their own money to publish these little mags, work long hours, lose money...but it is a labor love...no real pet peeves I guess.

What did you / do you do for a living?

I work at a few things. I teach poetry at an adult ed. center, I am the arts/editor for a community newspaper, and work as a counselor at a psychiatric hospital. It's actually McLean Hospital, which has quite a tradition of poets/patients like Robert Lowell, Slyvia Plath, and Anne Sexton. I used to run poetry groups for inpatients there for years

Do you think you are a better publisher/editor or writer?
Can a person excel at both?
I am not a good editor. I am a good PR man...I have a knack for promotion. I think I am a good writer, and I am constantly learning... For me wearing many hats is a necessity..everything feeds each other.

Are there any questions you’d like to ask yourself? Please do.

So many questions...too few answers.

Outside of literary pastimes – what do you for fun?
Movies, cooking... and an ongoing conversation with the world.

Charles Ries--Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His narrative poems, short stories and poetry reviews have appeared in over one hundred print and electronic publications. He has received three Pushcart Prize nominations for his writing, and most recently read his poetry on National Public Radio’s Theme and Variations, a program that is broadcast over seventy NPR affiliates. He is the author of THE FATHERS WE FIND, a novel based on memory from which excerpts have appeared in over fifteen print and electronic publications. Ries is also the author of five books of poetry, the most recent titled: The Last Time, which was published by Moon Publications in Tucson, Arizona. He is a member of the board at the Woodland Pattern Bookstore in Milwaukee, Wisconsin (http://www.woodlandpattern.org/) and poetry editor for the Word Riot (http://www.wordriot.org/).

Seeing Annie Sullivan: Poems Based On Her Early Life. (Cedar Hill Books. San Diego, Ca. 92104) http://www.cedarhillbooks.org/

Boston-area poet Denise Bergman has penned a poetry collection about the early years of Annie Sullivan, best known as the teacher of Helen Keller. This most certainly is an original idea, and I bet my bottom dollar that a poetry book like this one has never been done. Bergman writes in her preface:” In her time, and over time, Annie Sullivan has been recognized as an innovative and inspired teacher. But the immensity of her contributions to education is, like so much of her life, obscured by Helen Keller’s fame, or miniaturized into simple vignettes…”

Bergman concentrates on the deprivations of Sullivan’s early life, and in light of this, it is truly amazing that this nearly blind teacher achieved what she did. When Sullivan, as a child, was exiled to the “Tewksbury Almshouse,” in Mass., her milieu was decidedly bleak, and Bergman wonders about the stunting effect all this had on a child’s natural
imagination: “Isn’t pretending/ what a child’s suppose to do? / A box becomes a castle, / a queen’s high crown? / Here the talking animals/ have been trampled, / the fairies lost in wards packed/with one thousand inmates/where is the room for dreaming? / What can a little girl imagine/ except tomorrow?”

In the poem “Teaching the Family to Sign,” Bergman captures in charged, lyrical language Sullivan’s desire to bring metaphorical sight to a blind Keller; “ carve/ an untethered river/ into a wild girl’s mind. Open/ her tight fist/ to a feather bed of stars/ to the leer of a blue jay/ the whistling rain under the eaves/ the snap of a green bean/the clank of a metal pot…”

This is an intriguing collection by poet Denise Bergman.

Doug Holder/ Ibbetson Update/ Dec. 2005/Somerville, Mass.

Somerville Poetry Series @ Toast 12/11/05: Featuring its Founder …
By Chiemi

With all the snow to start off the weekend, it was nice to convene at 3pm for the Somerville Poetry Series at Toast Lounge, 70 Union Square this Sunday. Featured this month was Doug Holder ("Ibbetson Street Press" founder http://ibbetsonpress.com), author of "Wrestling With My Father," (Yellow Pepper Press) -chapbook described as "push[ing] all the real-world buttons ..." and Timothy Gager
(From left to right: Doug Holder/Tim Gager Photo: Dianne Robitaille)

("Heat City Review" co-founder http://heatcityreview.com), "We Need A Night Out" (Cyberwit).
Holder is also the founder of the Toast Series in 2004. Since he invited me to play some of my lyrical music as part of these events, I have been privileged to hear many themes and thoughts in this venue and also have had illuminating discussions with Holder about writing and the bardic tradition. Holder has covered this event many times for the News, graciously promoting others over himself. Thus, I feel honored to be able to write about Holder and his readings from his newly published material.
I warmed up the setting with a few tunes, and Gager introduced Holder. According to Gager, Holder’s Ibbettson Press published Gager’s "first poem ever" –a piece called "Insect." In a moving manner, Gager, described how he had stopped writing poetry for 20 years due to some callous comments of a college professor. Holder brought him back. Since then, Holder and Gager have both continued their writing and ended up co-founding the Somerville Writers’ Festival, which took place last month.
Holder describes his feelings on completing his newest chapbook as--"closure," "something for the family" and with "universal themes." In the book, he describes what he calls the "yin and yang" of his relationship with his father –"flavored with idioms," "the knowledge that we are flawed…" Holder says he counts himself "lucky" be able to know his father and have "lots to write about" and hone on the many facets of this complicated subject.
The original title of Holder’s book was "Wrestling with my father in the nude." The origin was a dream Holder had. The nudeness of the dream, as described by Holder, was supposed to refer to openness of expression—free emotion showing—not anything of a homoerotic nature. However, the publisher thought that the title might cast aspersion on the work –that the title could be twisted …Holder says that a main part of what he wrote was connected with the lack of affect that was believed appropriate by some conventions, to be shown by men and to their sons, and the journey towards bridging that gap caused by a lack of practice in showing emotion, to make a connection.

The poems in "Wrestling With My Father" span 10 years –"Wallace Ave., Bronx, 1965" is the oldest piece and "Father Knows Best, Mother Does the Rest," the newest (the latter written about a year ago). Holder has published 4 other chapbooks: "Poems of Boston and Beyond" (1998); "Dreams at the Au Bon Pain" (2001); "Waking in a Cold Sweat" (1999) and "On Either Side of the Charles" (2003).

Throughout the afternoon, Holder and Gager passed the mic off to each other while sitting cozily in their high-backed chairs. According to Gager, his latest is an "anthology that spans two years." He said he "picked 90 poems out of 500." In his book, they are divided into sections, including, "…and the living is easy," "Barstools," and "Loss". Gager relates that he does not "like to get pigeonholed...

Chiemi will be taking over the series starting in Feb. 2006. There will be a music segment as well as a poetry segment. http://www.chiemimusic.com

Richard Cambridge: Interview with a poet in the theatre of politics.


I first met Richard Cambridge when we were contributors to an anthology I co-edited with Don DiVecchio and Richard Wilhelm,
“City of Poets: 18 Boston Voices.” Richard Cambridge is the co-founder of “Singing With The Enemy,” a poetry theatre group of artists and activists that addresses controversial themes on the American political landscape. His poetry has been published in such journals as the: “Paterson Literary Review,” “Heartland Journal,” and the “Asheville Poetry Review.” He has won the “Allen Ginsberg Poetry Prize,” and he curates the “Poet’s Theatre” at Club Passim in Harvard Square. I interviewed him on my program “Poet to Poet/Writer to Writer,” on Somerville Community Access TV.

Doug Holder: You are very much a political poet. How do you respond to critics who say political poetry is often no more than polemic dressed up as poetry?

Richard Cambridge: I always come from the point of view of esthetics. It’s got to be a work of art. I use the tools of poets to fashion something that addresses something that bothers me in society. I really use poetry as a tool to serve something that’s bothering me politically. I pull poetry out of the tool box. But a lot of things pop up for me that have nothing to do with politics.

DH: Can you talk about the “Poet’s Theatre” at the “Club Passim” in Harvard Square, Cambridge, that you revived?

RC: When Club Passim went into receivership and had to be reformulated; Tim Mason, a friend and a booking agent for the Club, called and asked me if I wanted to do a ‘Poet’s Theatre” there. I had been doing poetry theatre before then on the local scene. So I jumped at the chance. I really enjoyed doing it. Back when “Passim” was “Club 47” they has a “Poets’ Theatre,” and it was very political. They were really enmeshed with the issues of the day: Civil Rights, Vietnam, etc… It faded out. I started it up again in 1995.

I always looked at poets as something other than someone doing a feature or poem. I came from the performance-poet tradition. But I wanted to move towards something larger. I tried to find people in the community who were folk singers, dancers, and comedians to help me put together poetry theatre. Our first feature was the poet Sebastian Lockwood.

DH; In a poem you wrote “The Life of a Man,” you deal with your struggle with the significance of poetry in a world that needs a litany of injustices addressed. Have you resolved this conflict?

RC: I don’t know if it is resolvable. It became a life-long struggle. Hey…you might not achieve what you want in your generation. In fact… Thomas Merton said you may make things worse by your activism, but you really have to focus on the goodness of what you are trying to do or else you will become bitter.

DH: How are you different now at age 56, then say at 30?

RC: Things still spark me. I feel I’ve done my part. If something bothers me, I will spend some time working through it. I still get angry, but I am more measured how I deal with things.

DH: How do you reconcile your left-of-center politics with your work as a real estate broker?

RC: It is a real contradiction. There is a real temptation to make all that money that there is out there to be made. But it is difficult. Something always comes up that does test who you are. I had to evict 4 or 5 people in 25 years. I try to help people to find jobs to pay their rent. I have employed people myself to help them. I have worked to keep rent control; even though other brokers thought I was crazy. My poetry is supported by my work.

Doug Holder

Well ... the Ibbetson Street 18 Reading at McIntyre and Moore Books ( 12/10/2005) in Davis Square, Somerville was packed as usual. Here is a picture of some of the folks who showed up:

Left to right:
Ibbetson Submissions Editor: Robert K. Johnson
Founder of the Ibbetson Street Press: Doug Holder
Author of "Poem for the Little Book" ( Ibbetson 2005) : Tomas O'Leary
Spare Change News poetry editor: Marc Goldfinger

"Tapestry of Voices" founder: Harris Gardner.

Interview with Poet Michael Brown: The man is about much more than the Cantab Lounge Poetry Slam.


With Doug Holder



Michael Brown is well known as the doyen of the poetry slam, but Brown is much more than a poetry slam master. Brown is a professor of Communication at Mt. Ida College in Newton, Mass, and he holds a PhD in English from the University of Michigan where he studied with the acclaimed Afro-American poet Robert Hayden. He has several poetry collections under his literary belt, including : “Falling Wallendas,’ and “The Man Who Makes Amusement Rides.” Brown also co- founded and hosted the “Boston Poetry Slam” at the Cantab Lounge in Cambridge, Mass., has read his poetry internationally, and has produced a number of theatrical - poetical presentations including: ‘Poetry- Off-Broadway.” He has won several “Cambridge Poetry Awards,” and has been a mentor to scores of emerging poets. I talked with Brown on my Somerville Community Access TV show: “Poet to Poet: Writer to Writer.”


Doug Holder: You did your dissertation on Afro-American poets during the Harlem Renaissance. What was your interest with this period, and how is it reflected in your work?

Michael Brown: My interest didn’t start in the “period.” My interest started with Afro-American poets broadly. This was after I taught in an all- Black inner city school in Philadelphia. I owe a little bit back to the students who helped me learn. Later I went to graduate school and wrote a dissertation. I had a dual major for my PhD; English and Education. So I wrote a dissertation of Afro-American poets for teachers. The idea was to make a history of Afro-American poetry for teachers. It would make this information available to them in a way that it wasn’t. Other than Langston Hughes, many teachers had no knowledge of Harlem Renaissance poets.

Doug Holder: You were a founding member of the “Cambridge Poetry Awards,” a ceremony and festival that seems to have gone in hibernation temporarily. Can you talk about your involvement?

Michael Brown: Like with many things I got involved in poet Richard Cambridge was responsible. He’s great for knowing so many people. So Richard, Jeff Robinson, Cathy Salmons, and I formed the poet committee. James Smith of the “Cambridge Center of Adult Education,”
wanted to put up events that would raise the visibility of the Cambridge Center. The poetry awards and festival would be one of these events. We put together what I thought was a damn fine festival. We had nationally known Afro-American performance poets, and a bunch of other poets like: Ed Sanders, and Diana De-Prima. The award ceremony was hosted by Jimmy Tingle. We had a panel on community poetry with “Stone Soup Poetry” founder Jack Powers, and others. After the big “flash,” of the first festival, I got out of it. I got out because I felt there wasn’t a dedication to the program, not the award, but the program. The poets I brought in went to the workshops and panels, and participated somewhat. The poets that the committee brought in did their own thing. After that they went their own way and hung out with their friends in Cambridge. They did not enrich the festival. This seemed to be fine with everyone else. I didn’t like that. So I said to myself that I wasn’t going to do this any longer under these circumstances.

Doug Holder: You and Patricia Smith founded the poetry slam at the Cantab Lounge in Central Square, Cambridge. What is your definition of “Slam” poetry, a sub-genre in the larger “Spoken Word” scene?

Michael Brown: Slam poetry most narrowly defined is a contest where poets are judged by people selected by the audience. It is fundamentally a competition. It’s performance and poetry. Both should be equally represented. You hope with a national slam you get the best poets and the best performances.

At the Cantab we stress the poetry side. Slam is a gimmick to get people out there to hear poetry. If that gimmick falls out of style tomorrow we will still be doing poetry.

I got tired of the competition after 12 years. So I handed it over to other folks. I was never that competitive to begin with. I didn’t join in right away when the Slam started in Chicago. I am now concentrating on Poetry/Theatre because that is more collaborative rather than competitive.

Doug Holder: What do you say to critics who say Slam poetry doesn’t translate well to the page?

Michael Brown: Page poetry sometimes doesn’t translate to the voice sometimes. It works both ways. So what.

Doug Holder: You have been a teacher for 43 years. Is poetry and teaching a good fit?

Michael Brown: It’s the other way around. My teaching is me. I am so glad that I found teaching when I was young. It did great things for me. If I had to give up one thing I would give up being a poet. There are a number of things about teaching that are good for my soul. I’ve been very, very successful at it. Teaching helps my poetry in the sense I work with words and language. It helps me see more things in my own writing.

Doug Holder: Any poets in the area that excite you?

Michael Brown: Derek Walcott. In my opinion he is the greatest poet writing in English. I also like Afaa Michael Weaver, who is a great craftsman.

Doug Holder: In your collection: “The Man who Makes Amusement Rides,” you write in the poem: “In The Bag,” “Like so many of my generation/ surprised by life past fifty/ I want/whatever is left laid out/where I can see it.” How have you changed from your younger years/

Michael Brown: I don’t take chances quite the way I used to. I’ve had enough failed marriages. I have leaped first and looked later. I am much less likely to that now.

Doug Holder: You wrote a poem “Dorothy Parker,” which reads: “My lips curl at sweetness/ and seek the sour like wine. / If I could reach out, give in, I might be happy for awhile. But I am afraid of losing my edge / even if it cuts everyone I live.” Do you identify with Parker at all?

Michael Brown: There are some who say I have a caustic wit. But I would say that it is overrated. In the poem I was trying to understand what motivated Parker to be the way she was basically for her whole life: “Holding out against giving in.”

Doug Holder; Do you think you would be like a part of the Algonquin Table group of writers that Parker was a notable part of?

Michael Brown: As a young man I would have been great there. I’ve changed my life since then. I think that group of people produced an uncaring feel around that table.

I raged against the world as a young man. It was a big part of my life to be political in the 60’s. I raged against the beast… the machine. I was an “angry young man,” even when I didn’t have anything to be angry about. Now I am a sweet, mellow old man. (laughs.) I haven’t been angry with anyone… today…yet.

Doug Holder

This is Louisa Solano of the "Grolier Poetry Book Shop" receiving the "Ibbetson Street Press Lifetime Achievement Award," from Doug Holder at the "Somerville News Writers Festival," Nov. 13, 2005 at "The Somerville Theatre.

Photo Courtesy: Susie Davidson

The Rebel: Poems by Charles Baudelaire. Translated by Leslie H. Whitten Jr. ( Presa S Press Rockford, MI. 49341 PO BOX 792) presapress@aol.com http://www.presapress.com $7

Leslie H. Whitten has translated a collection of poetry by Charles Baudelaire. Baudelaire who was born in Paris in 1821; seemed to have a bone to pick with society-at-large, and most importantly with complacency.
He seemed to be deathly afraid of conformity, and had a terminal fear of “boredom.” Called by some: “a bored Satanist,” his poetry is laced with invectives against the status quo. In his poem: “To The Reader,” the most fearsome of the devil’s spawn, is quite a banal thing:

One is more ugly, cruel, the filthiest of the spawn!
He never gestures, shouts, his manner is not rash,
Yet he would make of earth a heaping bin of trash
Or gobble up the world with one enormous yawn.

His name is Boredom! In his eyes a tear or two.
He smokes a hookah, dreams of gallows tree.
You know him, reader, this effete monstrosity.
Hypocrite reader, you, my image—brother—You!


I have been introduced to Rimbaud as well as Baudelaire by Eric Greinke and the Presa Press, the publisher of this collection. I don’t pretend to be a judge of translations, but the poet laureate of France opined of Whitten’s work: “…you will find here a poet-translator who steers between the dangers of expansive ego and slavish transcription. Whitten… has found the rare and fragile metric devices to orchestrate and give nuance…”

Doug Holder/Ibbetson Update/ Nov. 2005

To order make check out to Mike James $6. Yellow Pepper Press POBOX 27010 Pittsburgh, PA 15235--

"slowdancer2006@netzero.net" A.D. Winans

Wrestling With My Father, Doug Holder. 42 pages. Yellow Pepper Press, PO Box 27010, Pittsburgh, Pa 15235. $6

Most family poetry books more often than not focus on unhappy recollections of the author’s childhood, and the authors perspective of how the parents failed to live up to the poets expectations, so it was a welcome surprise to see Doug Holder present the other side of family upbringing.
In this small chapbook of poems Holder explores the roots and bond between a father and son. From Benson’s Deli With Dad:
Dad’s loving adornment
of his hotdog
a true work of abstract art–
a colorful phallus
of juice and savory meat.
From here we move on to the son observing an aging father at three in the morning:
he walks like the lonely
sentry he was
during the "War"
between bedroom and bathroom.
I no longer hear
a youthful stream
pierce the water
all is tentative
and a struggle,
and I barely
can contain my tears
when I see
his shrunken frame
hunched over
pressing out
what is left of
him
so late
in the
night
***
There is no bitterness in these poems, no disappointment, just a quiet reflection, which leaves the reader feeling like he were sitting in an old time country store in rural America listening to a wise elder spin tales of the old days.
No fancy, dressed-up academic imagery, just laying down the words on paper with a warm heart felt feeling.
Writing in a narrative voice Holder speaks with conviction about his family experiences from his first recollections of childhood to the present day. We almost feel as if we are there with him as we take a train ride that like all train rides must ultimately come to the end of the line.
INFINITY
in its lurid light
my gestures
are warped,
Grotesque.
Each word
I write
engulfed, consumed.
The love
I feel
petty
comically ephemeral.
But still in
this frightening
endless expanse,
I dance
***
It’s a waltz, not a fast dance. Embrace it, and you’ll hear the beat of the heart,
and the rhythm of the soul.
---- A. D. Winans


A. D. Winans was born in San Francisco and graduated from San Francisco State College (now University). He is the author of over 40 books of poetry and prose including North Beach Poems and The Holy Grail: The Charles Bukowski and Second Coming Revolution. From 1972 through 1989 he edited and published Second Coming Magazine/Press. He worked for the San Francisco Art Commission (1975-80), during which time he produced the Second Coming 1980 Poets and Music Festival, honoring the late poet Josephine Miles and the late blues musician John Lee Hooker. He has received numerous editor and publishing grants from the NEA and the California Arts Council, and writer assistance grants from PEN and the Academy of American Poets. In 1983 he was awarded a San Francisco Arts and Letters Foundation cash award for his contribution to small press literature.
His poetry, prose, essays and book reviews have appeared in over a thousand literary magazines and anthologies, including City Lights Journal, Poetry Australia, The American Poetry Review (APR) and The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry (Thunder’s Mouth Press). His poetry has been translated into Spanish, French, German, Japanese. Croatian, Polish and Russian. A song poem of his was performed in April 2002 at Tully Hall in New York City. His work has been praised by such noted poets and writers as Colin Wilson, Studs Terkel, James Purdy, Peter Coyote, and the late Charles Bukowski.
He is a member of PEN and has served on the Board of Directors of many arts organizations, including the now defunct Committee of Small Press Magazine Editors and Publishers (COSMEP). He is listed in Who’s Who in America, The International Directory of Who‚s Who in Poetry, The Gale Research Contemporary American Authors and the Gale Research Contemporary Authors Autobiography Series. His archives and those of Second Coming Magazine/Press are housed at Brown University.

THE DEATH OF SARDANAPALUS & OTHER POEMS OF THE IRAQ WARS
by David Ray, 2004, Howling Dog Press

Leave aside the question of whether art can change the world. There are times when the world, being what it is, demands the artist’s attention and involvement. To not speak to certain pressing injustices raises questions about an artist’s sincerity, presence of mind, perhaps even his or her sanity.
David Ray’s DEATH OF SARDANAPULIS is a 240 page volume of well-crafted poetry. Ray’s book is also a scalpel with which to excise the bullshit and spin that permeates even the few media outlets left that still adhere to standards of journalistic objectivity.
In “The Homeric Proportions” Ray says of George W. Bush:

When he mocked another Born Again
Christian for begging for her life just

before her execution, we should
have noted what we were dealing with--

Ray’s is not a carping, negative voice. He also offers the reader moral wisdom. In “Friends” he says:

Bill Stafford called the world Friend,
and that’s the right attitude for sure.

But it is Ray’s moral outrage and refusal to look away that brings the poem to its close:

but it takes some doing on a day when

the front page is devoted to full-color,
a father holding his bleeding son in his arms

as he cries to the sky, Why? Why?
in a language no one bothers to translate.

Ray’s poetry brings us the news we won’t find on the 6 o’clock broadcasts. He tells us Colin Powell, trying to sell the Iraq invasion to the UN, had the Guernica that hung in the background draped while he was being interviewed, not wanting Picasso’s powerful depiction of the truth about war to counter the Bush Administration hype. In “A Captivity Narrative” he tells of the rescue of Pvt. Jessica Lynch and says:

Yet it was an Iraqi doctor who risked

his life and trudged across the desert
to summon her rescuers--

But when it comes to myth making
the truth must not stand in the way

even when the heroine objects.
We like to stick to the classic formulas

David Ray’s THE DEATH OF SARDANAPALUS is a beautifully bound book. It features a full color center fold-out of Delacroix’s famous painting of the same name. It is a book that belongs on the shelf of every poetry lover and every enlightened, “reality-based “ person. It is available from HOWLING DOG PRESS (www. HowlingDogPress.com).

Richard Wilhelm, Ibbetson Update, Nov. 2005

Poet Afaa Michael Weaver Visits Littleton’s “Wilderness House Literary Retreat.”



November arrived at “The Wilderness House Literary Retreat” and brought brightly colored foliage to its scenic surroundings, as well as poet and playwright Afaa Michael Weaver for an informal lunch and conversation for retreat members.

Afaa Michael Weaver is a tenured professor of English at Simmons College in Boston, and is a former NEA fellow, a Fulbright Scholar, a PEW Fellow, and the founder of the “Simmons International Chinese Poetry Conference.” He has penned 9 Collections of poetry, including: “Multitudes,” and a full length play: “Rosa,” which was produced at the Venture Theatre in Philadelphia.

Weaver, 54, hails from a working-class section of Baltimore, and worked in factories for much of his early adult years. But even during this time, he was a freelance writer for “The Baltimore Sun,” and started a small literary press: “Seven Sun Press,” that published a broadside of his, as well as work by such poets as: Lucille Clifton, Frank Marshal Davis (A Harlem Renaissance writer) and the surrealist Andre Codrescu. While at “The Baltimore Sun,” he wrote reviews of books by: James Baldwin, Allen Ginsberg’s (first poetry collection), and Alice Walker, whose book he panned.

In 1985, a lot happened for the budding poet. He released his first poetry collection “Water Song,” he got a NEA grant as a result of the book, and got accepted in Brown University’s MFA program. Leaving Baltimore and a good factory job, he was thrown into the elite world of Brown University.

Still, amidst a student body with all these privileged “children,” Weaver, a grown man in his mid-30’s, thrived. He studied with the noted playwright Paula Vogel, and actually graduated with an advanced degree in Playwriting.

Weaver, told the group at the retreat that he once met the late, celebrated Afro-American playwright August Wilson on a train to New Haven. Wilson, who wrote “Gem of the Ocean,” “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” and other works, was a role-model for Weaver. Like Weaver, Wilson started out as a poet. On that fateful train ride, Wilson asked Weaver if he could sit with him, after Weaver casually complimented him on his work. As Weaver described it they immediately hit it off and talked and laughed all the way from Newark to New Haven. He gave Wilson “Water Song,” and Wilson confided to him that he really had wanted to be a poet, if the truth be known.

Weaver has known his share of hardship. He has survived three marriages, the death of a young son, and a near fatal heart condition. After being a nomad adjunct professor in NYC, and later on the faculty of Rutgers University, he took the advice of poet Michael Brown of “Cantab Lounge Slam Poetry” fame, and approached Simmons College about a job. He secured a teaching position, and now is a tenured professor. He founded the “Simmons International Poetry Conference,” which is the largest such gathering outside of mainland China. Weaver, has had a long love affair with the Chinese language and poetry ever since he was given a book: “Dao De Jing,” translated by Laozi from a friend in the factory he worked in. Weaver, a low-key presence, finds the Chinese sensibility compatible with his own modest approach to life.

Weaver told the audience that a Harvard scholar of some note came to his Chinese conference and told him “Harvard should have done this!” But you have to move fast to keep up with Weaver. Throughout his life, this accomplished artist has worked outside the box, and decidedly ahead of the pack.

Doug Holder

The Charms of Vaudeville Meet The Charms of the Writers Festival.

The charms of an old Vaudeville-era theatre are never lost on me. There is always the haunting tapping presence of the "song and dance men," the proverbial echo of "the fat lady," who closed the show with a smile and a torch song, the well-appointed banana peel that made the most puffed-up of men fall to the ground in spastic indignity. So I felt a welcoming aura when the "Somerville News Writers Festival," commenced at the old "Somerville Theatre," on a mild night in November. And like any Vaudeville variety show we had an infinite variety of talent. Jennifer Matthews’ beautiful, lilting voice wafted to the rafters, and punctuated the particular energy of each of the readers. 80 years ago BARATUNDE, the host for the event, might have affected a straw bowler and a dandy of a cane, as he sprayed the audience with a steady stream of jokes, and comic asides. Much of the reading was laced with humor. From Steve Almond’s riff on being "ugly," to Robert Olen Butler’s strange obsession with severed heads, the audience never
had to wait long to laugh.

I was thinking at the reception in our modest editorial offices at 21A College Ave., how amazing it was to have such world-class writers like: Sue Miller, Franz Wright, Afaa Michael Weaver, Lan Samantha Chang, and all the others, milling around our story board, that housed a simple spread of cheese and crackers. And equally amazing was how willingly they accepted the offer to read at our festival, and for the most part for little or no monetary compensation.

Most importantly however, the festival met the approval of my mother’s critical eagle eye. She told me after: "Great show. Fascinating people." I think that’s the kind of seal of approval both Tim Gager and I were looking for.

--Doug Holder

Interview with Naomi Chase: A poet in search of the messiah


Naomi Feigelson Chase is a poet, journalist, fiction writer and a former resident of Somerville, who has written three books of poetry including: “The Messiah Comes to Somerville,” and most recently: “Gittel: The Would be Messiah.” She has written for the “New York Times,” the “Village Voice,” and other publications. She has penned numerous short stories and her poetry has appeared in such journals as: “Sojourner,” “Ploughshares,” and the “Cream City Review.”



Doug Holder: What was going on in your life when you penned the collection: “Waiting For The Messiah in Somerville.”

Naomi Chase: I moved to Somerville after my husband died. So I was in a very depressed state. With the poem “”Waiting For The Messiah in Somerville,” I worked on it for years until I finally got it right. I was struck by the whole feeling in Somerville. I don’t know if it is the same today. I bought a two family house in Somerville with another woman and I think everyone felt we were whores. No one had ever seen this before. Somerville, in the 70’s, had no condominiums. People were very unfriendly. If you hadn’t lived there forever then you just didn’t fit in. It was not a creative time. I could barely get out of bed. It eventually spurred me to write a lot of things about it, like this title poem. It was sort of a “coming back to life poem.”

DH: The concept of the “Messiah” comes up in your work a lot. Can you talk about your interest with this concept?

NC: I really don’t know where this interest came from. The title of my new book is “Gittel: The-Would -Be Messiah” It is about a young woman who is told by God that she is going to be the Messiah. She eventually turns him down. She feels he has caused evil in the world by giving man power over all creatures and other men. I am very taken by the idea that people are sitting around waiting for the Messiah. This seems to be a constant recurring theme not only in Judaism, but in other religions. I grew up not as a religious Jew. My grandfather was a Hebrew teacher. He was a compelling person. But I don’t think he believed in God. For me, my writing has been one way that I dealt with what all this meant to me.

DH: Do you think the Messiah will actually come?

NC: No. I don’t think so. I think he would have come already and knocked out George Bush. (laughs)

DH: You were involved with the Cambridge, Mass. small press “Garden Street.”
Can you talk about your involvement with the press and how it got its start?

NC: I started the press with Jean Flanagan and Marilyn Zuckerman.. I really didn’t start writing poetry until I was an adult in my 40’s. I had a book of poems, as did Jean. I met Jean at MIT, as well as Marilyn Zuckerman. The three of us decided to start a press. We thought this was the only way to get published. The press is no longer around. After we published a book by each of us, I moved to the Cape, and Marilyn moved to Seattle. It was hard to stay in touch. Running a small press is a money-loser, and requires a tremendous amount of work. After awhile I wanted to concentrate on my own work. The press produced about ten titles. Each of us had two books we published, plus about 3 or 4 other titles from other poets.

DH: In your collection “One Blue Thread,” you have a character named: “Gittel,” a Jewish girl, living in the “pale of settlement,” who has an ongoing conversation with God.
Where did you get the idea for this?

NC: I was taking a train from Boston, and passing through Connecticut, when I noticed a church spire. I thought: ‘What would happen if the Messiah landed on a church spire?” And that’s the way it started. Once this idea captured me I started writing about this young woman who was constantly asking questions of God about the meaning of life. I started reading a lot about mysticism, and I discovered that all religions have this mystic bent. So I tried to sort it out.

DH: Do you think God is a feminist?

NC: Gittel is a feminist, and she is angry with God. She tells him that the myth of “Adam and Eve,” has done terrible things to the idea of woman. So God is not a feminist. No male God is.

DH: Can you tell me about your experience writing for “The Village Voice/’

NC: I started in the 70’s. I started writing for them because I was living in a building with Jules Feiffer. I ran into him in the elevator. I had written for the “Herald Tribune,” and he said if I wrote for them I could write for the “Voice.” He had me call Dan Wilson, and soon after I was writing about politics, and also children’s issues. I was paid $25 an article, which I used to pay for 25 copies of the “Voice,” so I could see my name in print. But it was really something to write from the ‘Voice.’

DH: Can you make a living as a writer or poet?

NC: It is very hard to make a living as a writer. I always worked in PR and Journalism. You compromise your work if you depend on your writing as your living. You usually live on nothing. I didn’t want to do that.

Doug Holder. “Gittle” The Would-Be Messiah” can be purchased at the “Grolier Book Shop” in Harvard Square, or through AMAZON.COM

Saturday, November 12, 2005


"The poetic look"
by Steve Glines

When I'm in my car or other places where I can't write a thought down I get a constant stream of good ideas. Most of the ideas are only good for a paragraph or so but some of them are really food for thought and some are just fleeting fragments that only leave me the feeling that I may have had a good idea . But the idea itself is far, far gone. Some ideas start out as a germ of a thought, embed themselves under a particularly sensitive piece of very thin skin and gnaw at you.I had one of those thoughts driving home from the bagel-bards meeting last Saturday morning. Someone said to me that I didn't look like a poet. It took an hour to realize that I didn't know if I should take offence or not. The idea had embedded itself. That thought struck me as odd. What does a poet look like? I remember hanging out at the Grolier book shop when I was in my late teens and early twenties (in the early 1970's), there were lots of people who made sure they looked like poets, complete with a poetic swagger, tortured soul all.A "poet" of the middle Grolier period (1968-1975) wore black, black pants, a black turtleneck, a black beret and posed, whenever possible, in public, as if struck that very moment by the muses arrow, a black thought. Somehow poetry turned very dark in the 1970's. That was, I suppose, a natural evolution from the beat stuff I loved, which was both profound and real. The 1970's stuff was dark for the sake of being dark. I used to think the "poets" that hung around the Grolier in the 1970's confused darkness with profundity.I arrived in Cambridge Massachusetts in September 1970 with everything I owned strapped on the back of a Yamaha 250 motorcycle. I was 18 years old, an orphan, unemployed and without a home. I should have been in college but only Oberlin College way out in noplace would take me but only if I could find $3,000. I couldn't. Scholarships, if you can call them that, went to jocks. So I rode my bike to Boston where I thought there might be a literary life. I found the Grolier before I found a place to live.If you were an unknown 18 year old in a place like the Grolier Bookshop in 1970 you would have been made to feel if not completely unwelcome, then certainly way out of place. There were the real poets posing and want-to-be thought of as poets posing. Robert Bly would routinely make a grand entrance with his multi-colored poncho (and for weeks ponchos were in) then Robert Creeley would arrive with a pack of fawning grad students plucked from the sanctified halls of Harvard. The ever-present Else Dorfman would be photographing the scene. You were in if she made a point of shooting you.I was out and so would have been Gordon Carnie, except that the crusty old man owned the Grolier. Most of the fawning and posing went on about the grand old man of letters without his acknowledgement or so much as nod to anyone but his select few. I couldn't afford to buy books so I, like a lot of other people, treated the Grolier like a library. I could sit in a corner for hours, so long as there wasn't a reception or some other event that filled the place, and read to my hearts content.Every few weeks I'd buy a chapbook or some other cheap item to pacify my conscience. I honestly don't think Gordon cared one way or the other if he ever sold a book. If Gordon never noticed me sitting in the corner reading most afternoons he eventually noticed my habit of buying older poets. I think the first thing he said to me was that he liked my taste and that he didn't like any poets after e. e. cummings. A few days later we had a long chat. It turns out that he used to summer about a mile or so from my mothers house in Nova Scotia and he knew all the neighbors and characters of Poplar Hill. That started a friendship that lasted until his death a few years later.Once I counted Gordon as a friend I made it a point of saying hello when I walked in and he would grunt something back that I took for a hello. The posers didn't bother me after that. Gordon made me feel welcome even if I wasn't a "know poet." I came to realize that much of the posing was for my benefit. If I was a friend of Gordon's then I was in the inner-circle. How did that happen? How did he do that? Even Elsa Dorfman has a picture of me someplace that used to hang way up on the upper right side as you walk into the Grolier. When Louisa Solano bought the Grolier after Gordon died she took down all the photos and replaced them with even higher bookracks. I can't blame her but it's not been the same since.What happened? I'm not sure. I didn't like the academic poets, the "Yale younger poets," that hung around the Grolier and neither did Gordon. He told me to visit the Stone Soup poets run by Jack Powers. I did and have visited that venue off and on over the years. I dropped out of the Grolier scene and indeed haven't been inside the store in a decade. I dropped out of the poetry scene for almost 20 years to raise a family and earn a living.So what does a poet look like? What was meant by "not looking like a poet." The answer was something like . "well poets are . thinkers, you know deep . profound .." Apparently a poet does not look fat, middle aged, reasonably well dressed (although I'm wearing a ripped, hooded sweatshirt and sneakers today) and not subject many deep thoughts . at least not in public. I guess I'll have to stop keeping my thoughts to myself.

Steve Glines-- Steve Glines is the founder of the "Wilderness House Literary Retreat" http://wildernesshouse.org and a member of the "Breaking Bagels With The Bards" group that meets in the basement of "Finagle-A-Bagel" in Harvard Square--every Saturday at 9AM. (All Welcome!)

The front and back covers were by my long-time friend Gene Smith. Gene is a self-taught artist and has exhibited his work at the "Out of the Blue Gallery" in Cambridge. Born and raised in Somerville, Gene is also an actor who has performed at the A.R.T., Molasses Tank Productions at the Piano Factory (Boston), and regional and community theatres in the region. Gene has also has been an extra in "Spenser for Hire," and numerous independent, student, and major studio films.
Many thanks to Richard Wilhelm our art director for working with Gene to format these pictures for the magazine. Doug Holder * I am told now that the magazine will be out Friday.

To contact Gene: smithsparky6@aol.com




http://www.ibbetsonpress.com/ copies are available for $5 make checks payable to Ibbetson Street 25 School St. Somerville, Ma. 02143

Dec. 6 2005 5:30 PM to 7:45 PM

Fundraiser For "the new renaissance" literary magazine:


" the new renaissance" http://www.tnrlitmag.net/


"the new renaissance" magazine is having a fundraising reading and reception at the Pucker Gallery 171 Newbury St. Boston, Mass. Food and wine
$40 donation suggestion. Readers: Marc Widershien ( author of "The Life of All Worlds"), Doug Holder ( founder "Ibbetson Street Press")

about tnr page two page three

Kudos from the literary, library,and alternative presses...
"the new renaissance is one of the best literary magazines around. It publishes known and unknown writers from India to Indiana and has only one criterion: excellence. tnr has a unique and vital approach to literature and the arts."-Bill KatzLibrary Journal

"tnr is for a thought-provoking blend of opinions and ideas, consistently fine fiction and poetry and a staunch commitment to the visual arts."The Christian Science Monitor

"Combine the journals of Foreign Affairs, Artforum, TriQuarterly," and Poetry and what do you have? -a multifaceted publication of arts, literature and thought called the new renaissance."-
Small Press Review

"tnris always a wonderful surprise. No library interested in the range of international literature should be without it"-David LyonNew England Foundation for the Arts

"the new renaissance may be based in the Boston area but it has a mailing list with addresses from around the world. With the October 1986 issue tnr continues an 18-year old tradition - - the acceptance and nurturing of writers and artists of disparate styles in order to attain both quality and breadth of vision. The next issue of the new renaissance (#21) will contain not only the usual photographs with the non-fiction lead article (...a piece on toxic wastes in the U.S....witten by Greenpeace program director) and the featured artwork, but alos photos accompanying an essay on the history of the first racially integrated [Broadway] musical, Beggars Holiday."-Matthew F. WittenThe Tab

IBBETSON STREET 18 Reading. Dec 10, 2005 McIntyre and Moore Books. 255 Elm St. Davis Square, Somerville, Mass. 3 PM Free.
Featured Readers: Philip E. Burnham, Ann Carhart, and Doug Holder. Open mic to follow--all past and current contributors invited to read.


The Ibbetson Street Press is Somerville’s independent poetry press. Since 1998 the press has published the journal “Ibbetson Street,” and books and chapbooks from a variety of local and national poets and writers. Our books are archived at Harvard, Buffalo, and Brown University libraries, as well as other libraries around the country.
Our reading Dec. 10, will feature three Ibbetson poets with recently published books: Anne Carhart, ( Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus!) Doug Holder ( “Wrestling With My Father“), Philip Burnham Jr. ( “Housekeeping”).