Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Review of OUR SACRED JOURNEYS, by Linda M. Duncum







Review of OUR SACRED JOURNEYS, by Linda M. Duncum, illustrated by Susan (Mojo) Dixon, Author House, 1663 Liberty Drive, Bloomington, IN 47403, www.authorhouse.com, 2010, $10.50, 50 pages

Review by Barbara Bialick


From a spiritual point of view, OUR SACRED JOURNEYS is almost a religious tract, but more than that it gives some of the ancient philosophy of the Metis aboriginal people who come from Canada and trace their descent back to mixed European and First Nation parentage, according to Wikipedia. Their homeland is Canada and parts of the northern United States (Montana, North Dakota, and northwest Minnesota).

The fact that I had to look this up on my own, is frustrating, though one could read her spiritual journey poems just on face value as a metaphorical travel experience through Nature. The path she was apparently on she called “the Red Road”—which means, again according to Wikipedia, a “pan-Indian and new age concept of the right path of life, as inspired by the beliefs found in a variety of Native American religions.”

It would be futile to try to explain her religious poetry as religion without more information, but poetically speaking some good lines include:

“What the world would look like”: …”If we actually treated our Mother Earth/as a loving gift, as well as a sacred home/…And if we all saw each other as equal and in the/same light, would we finally have a world/of peace, with no actual reason left to fight?”

“When the world is silent”…”What do I hear when the world is silent,/when all man made sounds do not exist?/I hear the cry of an eagle calling me to a secret place/high in the mountains/…where the sounds of silence are deafening to untrained ears/…to man,/silence is the absence of sound./To the eagle silence is the absence of man…”

“Dreams”: “A young boy quietly leaves the comfort/and safety of his home to climb a lone/pecan tree…/When he finally reaches the top…/it is here, he is cradled in the arms of God…”

Finally, “God’s Mirror”: “Water is the purest reflection of God’s work/a true mirror of how the Creator views his world./…From the water’s stillness lies the true meaning/of serenity…/As with the spirit of God, the waters bring us life;/for it continuously cleanses and heals, all that it touches.”

Linda M. Duncum grew up in New England where she “developed a strong relationship with Mother Earth and the outdoors,” her news release says. Retired from the military,
she has worked as a registered nurse in Alpine, Texas, where she lives in a mountain home.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Somerville Artist Resa Blatman: Where Beauty and Ugly Meet














(Scintillating Swamp, 2011
oil, glitter, beads, graphite, and acrylic on cut-edge panel
39½h x 59w inches)





Somerville Artist Resa Blatman: Where Beauty and Ugly Meet



By Doug Holder



This year I taught the once controversial book "Black Spring" by Henry Miller in my college writing courses. This work deals with the mean streets of Miller's Brooklyn youth: the sweaty press of the flesh, the cast of ner-do-wells, the street urchins, the duplicity of the swells and the hucksters and all that ugliness that Miller found beauty in. This is similar to the work of Somerville artist Resa Blatman. She sees beauty and ugliness and they live next door to each other. In fact much of her work is informed with the duality of the world.



On her website Blatman states: “ Through my work, I attempt to show nature at odds with itself by playing with the contradictions of lush versus barren and rapture vesus displeasure. My compositions are inspired by the Renaissance, Baroque, Victorian, decorative art and botanical imagery to create a visual feast of fruit, wildlife and pattern." This artist takes these out of their natural context and conjures up a surrealistic landscape that gives the reader a take on an enigmatic life cycle. Animals and insects are in this fecund mix and some pretty threatening pieces of fruit which according to Blatman creates: "Undertones of want and dismay."



Blatman happens to have a space at the Vernon Street Studios in Somerville, and lives with her husband in the Magoun Square section of our town. She was born in Long Beach, N.Y., lived in New York City, Italy, and has lived in Somerville for a long while. She loves the Somervillian environs and runs into many artists who are just dying to get a piece of the action and a plot of land here.





Blatman likes to push boundaries: she paints raging tornadoes as well as dead birds. ( Maybe they are related!) She said: " My goal is to make paintings that are sometimes over-the-top." She feels good about pushing things too much, after all too much beauty can be repulsive--the very dichotomy that the painter dwells in.



You might say Blatman's paintings are cutting edge-literally--because she uses cut-edge surfaces. She explains on her website:



"The digitally designed, intricately cut-edge surfaces are new since 2008. The various edges, which may include animals, insects, and flourishes, are an extension of the patterns within the paintings. These cut forms, along with the shadows made by the cuts, encourage a three-dimensionality to the work, and by doing so, the paintings become more experiential and boundless."


Blatman made sure to remind me that she has a solo exhibition at the Ellen Miller Gallery Sept. 9-Oct. 18 36 Newbury St. in Boston. It will be beautiful./It will be ugly./ You will be repulsed/You will love it.


http://resablatman.com

Making A Life by Charles H. Harper

Making A Life
Charles H. Harper
Powder Horn Press, Inc.
Soft cover: $12.00
Hard cover: $22.00


Charles Harper’s second full-length book of poetry weaves the interconnectedness of Being throughout the work – the words as weft and the intention behind the use of the Chinese symbol pronounced “tee-an” as warp. While the symbol cannot be exactly translated into English, it is known to represent a “totality of reality” – all aspects of being: manifest, intuition, and that which goes beyond human intuition.

The use of the symbol intrigued me and each time it appeared in the book along with a short poem, I was offered a moment to meditate on the group of poems that preceded each printing of the symbol. In keeping with the possibilities inherent within interconnectedness, Harper has penned a poem entitled, “Is.” The epigraph is a phrase from Czeslaw Milosz – “they walk contemplating the holy word: Is.” Harper begins by saying:

I’m dancing on the rim of IS: Blue sky
above backdrops the sheen of sun that holds
our planet in its thrall –

In “Disquietude,” Harper looks at the suffering of our interconnectedness, the helplessness that may set in when we perceive there is nothing that we can do to lessen others’ pain:

What good is my bitter lament
for ragged refugee lines
staggering across endless
wastelands of our world?

Indeed.

For Harper interconnectedness does not end with the Oneness of humanity. No, he also addresses our connection to nature – to earth herself.

Gaia trembles beneath our piles
of gadgets, greed, and war.
She weeps a mother’s darkest grief. . .

In a nod to the poetic life the work “Three or Four” brought me a smile:

A Poet
may have three
or four things to say,
hardly ever more


It can take many years,
hundreds of yards of pencil,
paper and eraser,
as well as millions
of wadded up words
tossed in the wastebasket
before you finally figure out
what these three
or four things are

Jean Mellichamp Milliken, editor of “The Lyric,” says “This poetry pulls us away from our duty-filled days and reminds us of the miracles of our presence here on this spinning ball as we whirl through the universe.

Bill Moyers of PBS writes, “These poems cut deep, but not like a knife. They are the slow coming of dawn, until we see all at once what had been there in the dark.

Harper’s book is like wading into a clear tidepool and finding spirituality, nature, the human condition, love, despair, wonder, struggle, hope and, above all, gratitude cohabitating within the eco-system, each embracing and understanding the other.

And isn’t that the way the world should be?

“Making a Life” can be purchased through Charles Harper by contacting him via email at: chatharper@comcast.net.

Rene Schwiesow is a co-host for the popular South Shore venue: The Art of Words. She can be contacted at duetsdove@yahoo.com

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Bagel Bards Appear at Stone Soup Poets: July 25, 2011 8PM




July 25th (2011): The Bagel Bards Invade Stone Soup Poets--- Out of the Blue Gallery-- 106 Prospect St. Cambridge, Mass. 8PM



Stone Soup Poetry meets from 8-10 p.m. every Monday at the Out of The Blue Art Gallery at 106 Prospect Street with an open mike sign-up at 7:30 p.m. On July 25th, we welcome the local writers group The Bagel Bards as they celebrate the 6th volume of their annual anthology.

Infamous Somerville Bagel Bards to invade Stone Soup!

Article by Chad Parenteau


A host of well-known, well-published Boston area writers will be reading from the recently published Bagel Bards #6. The Bagel Bards, founded in 2004 in the basement of the Finagle-A- Bagel in Harvard Square by Doug Holder and Harris Gardner, who meet every Saturday morning at the Au Bon Pain in Davis Square, are a group of writers and poets and other folks of that ilk. Award-winning poet, Lawrence Kessenich was this year’s editor. The introduction to the phenomenal work was written by Kathleen Spivack, also an award winning poet! The Bagel Bards are a group of wonderful, eclectic poets that you will not want to miss!

Kitty Beer
Molly Bennett
Barbara Bialick
Heather Campbell
Louisa Clerici
Adrienne Drobnes
Timothy Gager
Harris Gardner
Elizabeth Hanson
Doug Holder
Abbott Ikeler
Anne Ipsen
Irene Koronas
Linda Larson
Limin Mo
Luke Salisbury
Jack Scully
Zvi Sesling
Manson Solomon
Bert Stern
Paul Stone
Barbara Thomas
Amy Tighe
Chris Warner
Dan Lynn Watt
Molly Lynn Watt
and others...

http://bagelbards.com

Purchase a copy before the reading.

Saturday, July 09, 2011

Counting Blessing by Morris Berman



Counting Blessings
Morris Berman
Cervena Barva Press
$16.00

Review by Rene Schwiesow
As a general rule I am a believer in things happening for a reason. On the day I received “Counting Blessings” for review there were two books on the table. Doug Holder handed me “Counting Blessings.” Considering the way in which the work spoke to me, I know I was given the right book. The cover of “Counting Blessings,” is a peaceful courtyard that invites the reader to sit for a while and to become immersed in the poetry. But the real meat begins when you start to read the in-depth and informative forward by Paul Christiensen. I was hooked in the first paragraph and knew I would not put the book down until I was finished. And I didn’t.

Christensen talks about how Berman’s work “The Reenchantment of the World” became a guide in his classroom. After reading two more intriguing paragraphs that included such things as “Einstein’s relativity and the mysterious interactions with quantum physics” and a nod to James Hillman’s work, “Healing Fiction,” I was ready to dig into the poetry. Then just when I didn’t think Christensen could say anything to inspire me further to begin the book, I read this quote by Bob Herbert: “. . .A country that refuses to properly educate its young or to maintain its physical plant is one that has clearly lost its way.” “Berman,” Christensen says, “had already been there, said that.”

Morris Berman is an essayist, novelist, social critic, and cultural historian. He writes a fine blog, entitled “Dark Ages America,” which you can find at: www.morrisberman.blogspot.com/. In “Counting Blessings” he has penned his gratitude for a “life lived away from the maddening crowd.” Berman now resides in Mexico. It was in Mexico that he found the stillness necessary to rejuvenate his creative spirit.

They told me to stop and smell the roses. . .

A complicated, delicate insect
crawling along the edge of a pot in my garden
delicate feelers, large green eyes
absorbed in what it was doing.
I can do that, once in a while:
three seconds every month, perhaps.

It is clear that Berman has taken more than three seconds a month, however, to become absorbed in the observation of the world around him. In “Light,” Berman makes note of observations over a lifetime, including a “cosmic” moment at the age of seven:

and the light was all around me
as though I were in heaven

“Light” ends with these powerhouse lines:

Exodus says it guided the Jews through the desert,
but I’m not looking for the Promised Land,
Oh no –
wandering in the desert is the Promised Land.

I could quote more stop-and-ponder lines from wonderful poems like “The Dodo Bird,” “Ahora,” “Lalo,” and “Doctora Susana,” but I will leave the discovery to you. “Counting Blessings” is a book well worth your reading. Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy today!

Rene Schwiesow is co-host of the popular South Shore poetry venue, The Art of Words, held in Plymouth the second Sunday of the month, October through June

Friday, July 08, 2011

SOMERVILLE ARTIST BARBARA CONE ‘WAXES “ POETIC ABOUT HER ART





SOMERVILLE ARTIST BARBARA CONE ‘WAXES “ POETIC ABOUT HER ART

BY DOUG HOLDER

Somerville artist Barbara Cone met me one recent morning at the Bloc 11 Café in Union Square to wax poetic about her work as an Encaustic artist. I say poetic because the woman apologized more than once about being too enthusiastic about her art, and it was evident she was brimming with passion; something you have to bring into play in writing a good poem, or working with wax as she does.

Cone has a studio in the Davis Square section of the city and recently moved to the Republic of Cambridge—but I won’t hold that against her! Encaustic Art is one of the oldest art forms, dating back to the ancient Greeks, and was often used by contemporary artists like Jasper Johns. Cone told me artists of this ilk use beeswax infused with pigment, resin and other substances.

Cone said her process involves procuring melted beeswax which comes pigmented in a vial. Melted wax has to be spread on something that is strong enough to hold its weight like a wood panel. Cone said she use metal and natural bristle brushes to apply the wax and uses a heat gun to fuse the wax into layers. She often creates many layers of wax that become semi-translucent.

Cone, who trained at the Museum School in Boston has been inspied by her studies of molten lava and water as represented in her Aqueous Series. She is also an accomplished printmaker, and co-leads the professional association Mass Wax-a home for encaustic artists of all stripes.

Cone’s work has been widely exhibited and critically acclaimed. Most recently her work has appeared at the Fort Point Art Association Gallery in Boston, the IEA National exhibition Art Center Morro, Bay, Ca., Fairfield Arts Council in Fairfield Connecticut, and elsewhere. Her work is also well-represented in private collections.

Cone said Somerville reminds her of her old haunt Berkeley, California. She reflected: “I think Somerville is like Berkeley in that it is open to artistic experimentation, and it is a vibrant arts center in general with movies, open studios, and festivals held on a regular basis.” Cone concluded by saying that she wants her work to touch people deeply and to be technically challenging. After petting a friendly canine, Cone left Bloc 11 and disappeared down the long winding streets of the Paris of New England: Somerville, Mass.

For more info go to http://www.coneart.com

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Emergency Room Wrestling by the dirty poet




Emergency Room Wrestling
the dirty poet
Words Like Kudzu Press
ISBN 978-0-9753862-1-7
$10.00 2011


The reality of this poetry book is…, all the phrases that come to mind
have been said so many times that they have lost their meaning…I'll say,
the poems are profound in a wrenching sort of way, 'sort of way,' is not
how these poems come across, it's more like…lifting, "400 pounds." And
I for one, have not been trained to lift 400 pounds. My superhuman
abilities are pushing too many abstract thoughts through a straw… "oh
no-the rectal trumpet popped out again, there she blows"…:

"hospitals exist; misery is real
this book is imagination
driving a lamborghini of experience"

Hell, I didn't know what was going on beyond my safe haven, behind
the door where I sit, writing on paper…after reading a few poems from,
"Emergency Room Wrestling," I'm ready to slit open a vein and bleed
on the rug where the cat took a leak. The reality in this book leads to
the 'truth' and the truth is humor helps when nothing else doses (does):

"as these things go, it's a happy ending
he tried shooting his girlfriend in the face
the gun jammed so he turned it around
aimed it under his chin and pulled the trigger
surprise -- it unjammed
the bullet tore through the mouth
and exited the left eye, missing the brain entirely
and even though he arrested thrice
before we got a breathing tube in
a week later we're shuffling him out of intensive care
"hey look, Sure Shot's leaving," I say to my partner jeff
to which he responds, "you mean Old Dead Eye:

How does the dirty poet fit into the books I live in or the life I live as
a reviewer? We already have Bukowski, Rimbaud, and now we have to
try to get through the backroom door into the alley where the dirty poet
remains faithful to his own existence. I'm operating on what is present but
I get to put my feet up, sip my latte and make choices about what to say…
and so does the poet and he does it so well it takes my breath:

"in the ICUs people are so fucked up
so gone, ventilated, sedated, deficit
that they're ghosts lying there
only afterwards, if they survive
are they reborn as people
strolling though the units
thanking medicos they don't remember"

The book would be impossible to read without the poet's sense of humor.
His humor saves the poems, lifts like a limp noodle gone stiff after days
on the floor. I say halleluiah and praise the Lord. Even though the author
might not enjoy reading that praise, I repeat, raise your glass, clink praises
for a work well done. I'm voting for the dirty poet for president or a
book award, but I don't have that kind of power:

"holy shit"
"heard about the doctor running for the hospital elevator?
the doors were closing so he stuck his head in
decapitated
which is shocking enough
but imagine the folks inside the elevator"

"an easy night"
"last night I got my ass kicked in trauma
juggling bodies, crises, bloody tracheas
wall-to-wall patients gasping for air
tonight's different: seems like a light evening
i'm rendering treatments to acceptable ill folks
go in this room here, full of family
it's a cheerful scene
the old fellow seems fine
oh shit
no toes on either foot"


Irene Koronas
Poetry Editor:
Wilderness House Literary Review
Reviewer:
Ibbetson Street Press

Tuesday, July 05, 2011

Review of CTREVIEW, Spring 2011 edition








Review of CTREVIEW, Spring 2011 edition, Vol. XXXIII No. 1; 204 pages; send submissions September 1 to May 15 to Connecticut Review, Connecticut State University System, 39 Woodland Street, Hartford, CT 06105-2337. Check their website at www.ctstateu.edu/ctreview.

By Barbara Bialick



The CTREVIEW, a perfect-bound literary journal from the four universities in the Connecticut State University System, has a board of several editors, including one editor from each university: JP Briggs (Western Connecticut State University), Mary Collins (Central Connecticut State University), Jian-Zhong Lin (Eastern Connecticut State University), and Vivian Shipley (Southern Connecticut State University). There are also several other editors and a group of eight interns who put together this twice-yearly powerhouse of sophisticated poetry, fiction, essays, translations, an interview, fine artwork, and four award-winning works.

Acknowledging their own opinion of this quality journal, the editors note on their website: “The journal publishes the best in contemporary literature and essays. The selection process focuses on bringing to general readers cutting edge work that is both thought provoking and accessible.”

The first thing that captures the reader’s attention is the colorful, surrealistic cover art, “Kwanzaa Mothers, 2010” by Jerry Butler. He is also featured with two other fine artists on the inside of the book—Peter Selgin and Tino Villanueva, who is also a noted poet from Boston University.

There are so many good poems, it’s hard to pull quotes. While reading especially the second half of the book, the poems followed strongly one after another. Here are some lines from a few of them: “Indigo”, by Will Wells, “…one evening in Santa Cruz, you/led me to a bin of Moroccan cloth/and traced my fingers over dust devils/of dye until they were smudged with musk, an aromatic print of North Africa./Wedded to desert sweat, indigo rules/the pores in ways no French soap can subdue—a nomad’s irreducible essence…”

“Frankie Minh” by Susan Kinsolving: “In the Vietnamese orphanage, her eyes became infected; without anesthesia they were gouged out…At age five, she was adopted/by an American acress and renamed to honor Sinatra./…once at a grand house party full/of adult celebrities, she wore the (glass) eyes. When one fell out/and into a bowl of caviar, kindly laughter filled her ears/…She was…a star/…After the eye was /washed off, she held it in her hand, perceiving its elusive/charm and how clearly she could be the life of the party.”

Jennifer Purrine’s “I’ve Never Swum with Dolphins”: “But once I plunged headlong into a pool/of jellyfish, ten million pulsing medusae/ushering me under the waterline,/where I buried my face in the sheer miracle,/…a living garb/that kissed my skin with its milk, with its sting.”
Instead of having a pizza for twelve dollars, you might want to buy this book. The featured award-winners include:

CSU Essay Award, “Blackberry Redux” by Jan Tomas: “The last time I ate a blackberry pie, the wild, tangy flavor transported me into a thorny bramble buried deep in a forest of Missouri scrub oak…”.

CSU Fiction Award to Nancy Antle for “Waiting”: “What a beautiful necklace,” a stranger exclaims. “Thank you. My mother made it for me,” I say. “Years ago.” I am in the airport waiting—on my way to visit my mother across the country. I always wear her gift to me when I go. The necklace is my talisman…”

Pat Mottola won the Leslie Leeds Poetry Prize for “Room in New York, 1932.” Christine Beck won the Leo Connellan Poetry Prize for “Sometimes He Comes Home Bloody.”

I think the Connecticut Review is certainly fulfilling its stated purpose: “a public service contribution to the national literary and intellectual discourse.”

Monday, July 04, 2011

Rosie’s Place founder Kip Tiernan dies at 85

Kip Tiernan Died at 85. I met her once--a thoroughly charming woman, at a 70th birthday party I helped organize for the late poet Jack Powers (Founder of Stone Soup Poets) with Sidewalk Sam and others. Here is a picture:






( CLICK ON PICTURE TO ENLARGE)





(Left to Right) Doug Holder, Deb Priestly ( Out of the Blue Art Gallery), Kip Tiernan, Rose Gardina ( Boston Girl Guide)

Excerpt from the Boston Globe:


Rosie’s Place founder Kip Tiernan dies at 85


“The lives she saved were untold,’’ Mayor Menino said of Kip Tiernan, who died Saturday. “The lives she saved were untold,’’ Mayor Menino said of Kip Tiernan, who died Saturday. (Bill Brett/ File 2005)


By Bryan Marquard
Globe Staff / July 4, 2011

Kip Tiernan, who founded Rosie’s Place, the nation’s first shelter for homeless women, and whose persistent, raspy voice echoed from the streets to the State House as she advocated for the poor, died of cancer Saturday in her South End apartment.

Sunday, July 03, 2011

Jodi Colella: An artist who is never at a loss for new material.












Jodi Colella: An artist who is never at a loss for new material.
By Doug Holder



While I was intensely reading a book at the Sherman CafĂ© in Union Square, Somerville artist Jodi Colella startled me when she simply stated,(behind my back) “Hello.” She laughed as she brings the same intensity and focus to her own work as I did to my book. And a big part of this work according to the Somerville artist's mission statement is to transform ordinary material into “unexpected expressions.”

Colella has moved to Somerville from Wellesley, Mass with her husband. She now has a studio at the Joy St. Studios situated in Somerville as well. She has a home in the Winter Hill neighborhood; so she has established firm roots in our burg. She said she feels right at home, “The city is vibrant, diverse and full of fresh ideas.” Colella also added that she is pleased with the support she has received from the Somerville Arts Council.


The artist, who has a degree in Biology from Boston University was originally a researcher at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, but did not feel the career was the right fit for her. She got a certificate in Graphic Design in 2000, and worked in the field for a while before she gave that up to pursue her own art. Colella describes herself as an intuitive artist, and trusts that intuition implicitly.

I joked with Collela that we would have plenty of material to write about. And indeed Colella has worked with everything from plastic newspaper sleeves, fleece, an assortment of textiles, and she is even considering using sausage casings.

One project that Colella told me about was based at the Fiber Arts Network at Eastern Michigan University and the Textile Center in Minneapolis. She worked with plastic newspaper delivery sleeves. Now—I was a paper boy at one time, slinging the old Long Island Press from door to suburban door, but I never thought of them as fodder for artistic projects. But Colella pulled the sleeves apart, shredded them, and spun them into plastic yarn—“plarn.” The sleeves took on various colors and other depths when they were stretched and compressed. So beauty is evidently in the banal.

In her project ‘Undercurrent” she uses fleece in the development of a window screen—the work she said deals with: “Barriers and duplicity."

Like many artists in our creative environs she wears many hats. She teaches at the deCordova museum in Lincoln, Mass, working with students with fiber art and sculptural jewelry. She loves teaching, although it can be exhausting, she related.

Colella left Sherman’s with a brisk gait, undoubtedly anxious to get a firm grip on her next batch of material.


For more information go to: http://jodicolella.com

Thursday, June 30, 2011

A Palace of Strangers Is No City by Stephen Frech




A Palace of Strangers Is No City
Stephen Frech
Cervena Barva Press 2011
ISBN 978-0-9831041-3-1
$7.00

Review by Irene Koronas

“...In panic, we tell ourselves we're escaping,
but there is no escape. We make the world
we step into in the moment immediately prior.
Even now, for the length of time you have
watched that moving crew and the fine woods
accumulate droplets of water and for the
length of time you remember or call this to mind...”

A Palace of Strangers Is No City, rings true and awakens the readers to an extraordinaryprose poem. It is wrought throughout with fearful tender thoughts, how do we escape? Even in death, Frech presents us with, “chugging out to the vanishing point.” The poet presents a labyrinth of despair. This dream life presentation cuts deep into what some may refer to as empty conversations, a city that swallows its runaways, and makes poetry in empty rooms:

“You hover over your body. You are not dying, but you hover over
yourself nevertheless, half in half out of a basement window, two
police tugging awkwardly on your arms, grasping at your torso,
your chin, reaching for your belt, any place for a surer hold, while in
the basement the man has a hold of your legs. He's a large man and
his grunts sound like laughing, like he's enjoying a tug-of-war with
the police, a contest for which he's better suited, and he knows it
and knows the police are watching themselves slowly lose. You are
less sure than he...”

There is no stopping until we get to the last few pages and youth takes the love
notes and caresses the blades of grass, or is it just a dream, a cell, a mistake
that we need to, “pass tomorrow and the steady din of the world outside...”

This is a masterfully written book. There is no escape from page one to thirty three.
A must buy. A must read.

“Tell me this is not a dream,” you ask
“This is a dream,” she said, “and we are both here.”

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

A City of Angels By Ben Mazer




A City of Angels
By Ben Mazer
Cy Gist Press, 2011

Review by Deborah Finkelstein

Readers love orphans: Tom Sawyer. Luke Skywalker. Dorothy Gale. Annie. Oliver. Cinderella. Harry Potter. Ben Mazer adds his name to the list of authors whose leads are orphans with his first published play, A City of Angels: A Verse Play in Three Acts.

Mazer also knows that readers like when the lead goes on a quest. His orphan lead, John Crick, journeys to his hometown, simply described as a city in Europe in 1938 to seek work. He is hired by an old family friend, initially to create a new type of theater.

At first, he is not able to describe the type of theater, which he defines as:
A group of young people with the power to feel
the viscerality of common truth.
And with the sensitivity to express
lucid emotions with immediacy.
Some readers may be turned off by the vagueness of this definition, and other similar dialogue. Perhaps Mazer is intentionally vague for the purpose of encouraging readers to imagine the type of theater as they like, rather than knowing exactly what he had in his head. This came to me after reading Crick’s line:
I think imagination is a thing
which barely has been tapped, and yet which lives
within each person, yearning for release.

Another popular literary item that Mazer uses is the family feud, a topic loved by Shakespeare, Ibsen, and other playwrights. Crick learns that his family has been feuding with the Crosses, and the feud is rekindled. Other details about his past and his family’s past are also revealed. By residing in the town, he unlocks many secrets.

Crick also has a love interest, Mary Wells. When they meet, it is obvious that they will be together. Their union, while predictable, gives the play a nice sense of closure.

Mazer also has fun with readers. While Crick and most characters in the play are portrayed as intellectuals, Tom and Sam Cross, the villains, are portrayed as uneducated. This particular section, which was first published in Eyewear Magazine, shows the Crosses making fun of literary magazines. This allows readers to associate themselves with the hero and to be disgusted by the villains.

Another way that Mazer has fun with readers is that the villains’ dialogue is written with intentional misspellings, such as Tom’s line I’ll shoe you which should be I’ll show you. This type of visual humor makes readers feel like they are part of an inside joke.

The play is designed more for readers than for the stage. Inside jokes, such as the one above, connect the reader to the work, but are lost on stage. The play contains many long monologues, such as Crick’s opening 3-page monologue, which could be done on stage, but would be challenging. Much of the play is spent with Crick discovering his past, and this type of expository dialogue is also a challenge on stage. Additionally, much of the verse is vague and seems to invite the reader’s imagination, which works better on a page than with actors.

The poetry occasionally sounds singsong or clichĂ© such as Crick’s line to his love:
You are a flower and a shining light
which breaks the dark, encompassing the night.
But there are also moments where his vagueness invites us to explore our imagination. Additionally, there are also times where the poetry is lovely, such as Mary’s line to her love on her town and education:
Sun opens with day, you open the dream,
the world opens, time opens and memory,
you open the light, you open the window,
the world is opened to the little room.
Outside the rocks are open to the shadow.
The cellar’s open to the cellar door.
The room is opened to the library.
The library is opened to a book.
The book is opened to the seasoned page
where the world lives without reason rage.
Those leaves, that wind, that branch, that shower
under which day locks like an encyclopedia
roaming the flowers and their shadows of whispers and lips
like pieces of paper at night too
almost as if watching from the bushes
no but out the window in the air
high up above everything where n one is watching
it watches that thing you are thinking of apart
that understands one loving the familiarity
of what are only symbols and shadows
of what was a town and what stills is.


---Deborah Finkelstein

*** Deborah Finkelstein is an accomplished playwright and poet. She is on the English Faculty of Endicott College, Mt. Ida College, Bunker Hill Community College, North Shore Community College, and others.... For more about Debbie go to: http://www.deborahfinkelstein.com

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

THE WHITE CYPRESS, by Judith Skillman




Review of THE WHITE CYPRESS, by Judith Skillman, Cervena Barva Press, PO Box 440357, W. Somerville, MA 02144-3222, book store, www.thelostbookshelf.com, 70 pages, $15, 2011

Review by Barbara Bialick

In THE WHITE CYPRESS, Judith Skillman places imagery and symbolism in dissonant layers of nature, mythology, and personal history, to create penetrating parfaits. Each poem asks the reader to interpret it with care. However, by the end of the book, there’s no one clear theme that binds them all together except the poet’s voice of experience and irony.

Consider the poem, “Parrot-Eyed.” For one thing, “parrot-eyed” sounds like the word paradise, and fits in with the idea of lost friendship. “How long have I looked for you/askance, half of me lost,/half found…/twinned—young Bluebloods…/a perfect swoon/…If heaven exists, will you be there/wearing the complexion I lost,/your finger-roots entwined in hers/…as our parents go about/the business of abandonment.”
Now that’s a lot of ideas in one small poem.

She’s well aware of nature’s cycles and textures. For example, in “August Again” she writes “And the snapdragon shrivels,/the peanut plant wears its jaunty hat…/turning the yard/into a foreign land….she wants to grow old,/to become more vacant/than the heat/and look back/on her life/as if it were/a faraway thunderhead.”
I especially like the phrase “a foreign land” wrought by the cycles of nature.

Judith Skillman, who is a writer, editor and educator from Kennydale, Washington, is the author of 13 full-length books of poetry. Her collection HEAT LIGHTENING: NEW AND SELECTED POEMS 1986-2005 was published by Silverfish Review Press. She received an award from the Academy of American Poets for STORM, Blue Begonia Press, 1998. She has an M.A. in English Literature from the University of Maryland and has done graduate work at the University of Washington. She has published in well-known journals, and has been a Writer-in-Residence at the Centrum Foundation in Port Townsend, Washington.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Ibbetson Street Press to release a collection of poetry "Dead Beats" by the first Boston Poet Laureate Sam Cornish.


(CLICK PICTURE TO ENLARGE)









Somerville, Mass.


Doug Holder, founder of the Ibbetson Street Press, is pleased to announce the upcoming July 2011 release of a new poetry collection from Sam Cornish, the first Poet Laureate of Boston titled "Dead Beats." Cornish is an influential African American Poet, and has had a long and distinguished career. Poet Maya Angelou said of Cornish:

"Sam Cornish is to poetry what Ray Charles and the song "Georgia" is to music. Both men were constructed for their art forms."


The book retails at $14 and can be pre-ordered by sending a check , or money order to Ibbetson Street Press 25 School St. Somerville, Mass. 02143 ($2 postage/handling)
Check the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene http://dougholder.blogspot.com for further updates.....


Http://ibbetsonpress.com
http://samcornish.com




Boston Poet Laureate Sam Cornish: The Interview

By Doug Holder


When I lived in Brighton ( a section of Boston) in the 1980’s I used to see poet Sam Cornish walking down Commonwealth Avenue. With his thick glasses , powerful stride, and intense stare, I thought to myself this cat means business. I never approached him, but I knew of his reputation as part of the “Boston Underground” school of poets, and knew he taught at Emerson College. It wasn’t until he was appointed to the position of Boston Poet Laureate did I actually meet him, and now our paths have crossed more than a few times. Cornish, 73, was born in Baltimore, Maryland, and for a long time commuted between his native city and Boston. He was a poor kid, raised by his mother and grandmother after his father died. He was influenced by the small press movement in poetry, as well as the Black Arts Movement, but basically he has been viewed as poet who is hard to classify. His poetry deals with slavery, civil rights, as well as pop culture: from Louie Armstrong to Frank Sinatra. His poetry is usually stripped down and potent. Cornish’s breakthrough book of poetry was “Generations” published in 1971. The book is organized into five sections: Generations, Slaves, Family, Malcolm, and others. He combined his own family with figures from African-American history. Cornish received a National Endowment for the Arts Award in 1967 and 1969, he was the literature director at the Mass. Council of the Arts, and owned a bookstore in Brookline, Mass for a number of years. He has a number of poetry collections under his belt, the most recent: “An Apron Full of Beans” (CavanKerry). I talked with Cornish on my Somerville Cable Access TV Show: “Poet to Poet: Writer to Writer”

Doug Holder: Sam, you told me that you did not consider yourself to be part of the Black Arts Movement in the 60's and 70's. Yet I have read in a few places that people consider you an "unappreciated" figure of the movement. How would you define yourself?

Sam Cornish: What might distinguish me from poets of this generation in the movement, folks like: Sonia Sanchez, Nikki Giovanni, etc... , was that I was influenced by a number of writers and sources that may not have been part of the influence and education in the Black Arts Movement. Some of the poets in the movement came from a conventional negro background. The negro middle class: doctors, lawyers, teachers. I came from a poor family, raised by my mother and grandmother. My mother was forced to go on welfare when she could no longer work. I went to a neighborhood school and frequented the public library.

I bought books and as a result became interested in poetry. The poets that moved me were T.S. Eliot, Langston Hughes, prose writers like James T. Farrell and Richard Wright. As an adolescent I loved Farrell's character , Studs Lonigan. I could identify with him and I was motivated to find other books that I could identify with. I read books by George Simeon, the great French writer of psychological murder mysteries, for instance.

DH: Who published many of the writers of the Black Arts Movement?

SC: The Broadside Press. It was a small press that was based in Chicago. It was started by a man named Dudley Randall. They were publishing young black writers who were very militant and defined themselves as being "Black" rather than "Negro." There was a very strong political stance to them.

DH: Didn't you have a strong political slant to your work?

SC: If I did it was politics that grew out of the 1930's. That was a mixture of left-leaning, the communist and the socialist.

DH: This was in contrast to the militancy of the 60's?

SC: Yes. Because a lot of that was directed at whites generally. It was confrontational or abrasive. You were now BLACK and different from previous generations. You had no patience with your forefathers, your parents, those who were living as NEGROES. It was a very angry and self-destructive ideology. People like James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, and Robert Hayden were viewed as not being pro-black.

DH: Your poetry seems to be stripped down rather than weighted with ornate flourishes.

SC: For me it is a choice of language. How do you describe something? How do you create a poem? How do you communicate? I would say that it is the influence of the hard world or the naturalistic writer, where you use the language that's employed in common speech. At the same time you recognize the lyric possibilities in this language.

I have had my days when I had tons of words on the page. I realized though that it was necessary to use fewer words.

DH: You told me that a poet should reveal something about himself in a poem?

SC: I'm back and forth about that. There are poems where you can't find the poet. There are novels where you can't find the writer. I just feel very strongly that it is important to present yourself as honestly as you possibly can. Hold yourself up as a mirror people can see their selves and vice a versa.

Poetry does provide an opportunity for people to hide themselves behind the language. They use the poem as a form of escape. And that's OK as a form of entertainment.

DH: You have talked about the photographer Walker Evans, who used to hide a camera under his coat, and snapped pictures of people that truly captured the moment, on the New York subway for instance. Should a poet be Walker Evans-like?

SC: For me perhaps. But maybe not for others. I like the idea of interacting with people--different kinds of people.

DH: So you must have been an admirer of the late Studs Terkel?

SC: Very much so. He transcended the genre.

DH: Your breakthrough poetry collection was "Generations" published in 1971. How was it a breakthrough?

SC: It might have been a breakthrough because the number of black writers being published at that time were few.The Beacon Press of Boston published it. As a black writer there may have been anger in the book. It was not an anger directed at White America. It attempted to describe living in an America that is black and white, and all the other things that go with it. The book is arranged like most of my books are: from past to present. It begins with a slave funeral and it ends with a sense of Apocalypse. The history comes from things I heard from home, and things I picked up from the neighborhoods, not to mention popular culture.

DH: We have discussed Alfred Kazin's memoir A Walker in the City. Kazin was inspired by pounding the pavement on the teeming streets of NYC. How about you in Boston?

SC: I used to walk with a pocket camera, and took pictures as I walked. I would also walk with a notebook. I would describe things I would see, and imagined them as little scenarios. That was an important part of my day.

DH: I get the impression that you are the consummate urban man. Could you survive in the country?

SC: If I did live in the country I would like the freedom to move back and forth. I like to be near theatres, bookstores and cinemas.

DH: You had your own small press: the Bean Bag Press. You hung with small press legends like Hugh Fox, and co- edited the anthology: "The Living Underground: An Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry" ( Ghost Dance Press: 1969) with him. What is vital about the small press in the literary milieu?

SC: Publication. The major presses publish very few books of poetry. They also have a fixed standard as to what they select. So you often get the same voices. The small press allows us to have a variety of voices. It allows us to be challenged, upset, disturbed and sometimes angered by what we read. The major press' books are pleasant and fun to read. But they are not disturbing. They are basically not truthful. The small press has novelty, surprise, can be violent, and sometimes it can be damn good poetry.

DH: What are your goals in your position of Boston Poet Laureate?

SC: Right now I am available for people through the library and also through Mayor Menino's office. If people call and request my presence at a school or senior citizen's center, or where people would like a poet, I go. I try to be the person to bring a poem to people who might not read poetry, or those who want to talk to a poet about the craft.

Doug Holder/ Nov. 2008/Somerville, Mass.

Somerville Artist Bevan Weissman: A Welder of the Arts to Science.




(Ripplerun
Stainless steel, glass
[10' x 4' x 4']--Union Square--Somerville



Somerville Artist Bevan Weissman: A Welder of the Arts to Science.

By Doug Holder

Bevan Weissman met me at my usual perch at the Sherman Cafe in Union Square, Somerville. He isa man who sports a well-trimmed beard and intense and expressive eyes. Weissman is a graduate of Brown University, and a resident of Davis Square. According to him his mission as an artist is to “Weld art and science and facilitate community and personal communication.” A daunting task to some, but it seems this young artist is up for it.

Weissman told me that he finds Somerville the perfect nesting ground. He is a former biotech engineer who decided to take the less lucrative path and follow his artistic bent. He feels the creative milieu of the ‘Ville is an ideal place to get established. He has received a lot of help in this regard from the Somerville Arts Council, and Somerville’s Artisans Asylum, an artist organization he is part of.

Weissman talked about several projects with me, one of which was funded by Brown University; when he was a student there a few years back. It is titled “Visual Magnetism." His website describes it as a showcase for “The remarkable visual and physical properties of ferrofluid, allowing the viewer to manipulate the fluid in a display tank with powerful magnets.” I viewed this project online and witnessed enigmatic porcupine-like projections spiking up creating a spectral visual experience. Weissman hopes to create “a sense of wonderment” in the viewer. Here science and art mix with winning results.

One of Weissman’s Somerville projects, partially funded by The Somerville Arts Council is titled: “ Ripplerun.” This involves an installation in Union Square. It takes the form of a stainless steel, glass tree, with canopy leaves. The leaves almost look like solar panels—both panel and leaf seek the sun for its raw energy.
Another project the young artist was involved with goes along with his theme of connection and community. This is titled: “ Autonomies of Scale.” It involves tables and chairs made of scrap, welded together with a flame in the center of the table. When one person sits at the table the flame is at a low burn, however when another person joins him or her the flame burns brighter. A perfect arrangement for you and your “old flame” for a night on the town!

Weissman is hoping to get to a point where he can make a comfortable living with his art. Toward the end of our meeting, I asked him what his definition of art is. He hesitated because of the broadness of the query, but said: “Art makes us think about the typical in an atypical manner.” Well…there is nothing typical about Somerville, or for that manner Bevan Weissman.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

States of Confusion by Paul Jury


States of Confusion
by Paul Jury ( Adams Media Corp.) $16.

Review by Alice Weiss

Exploiting the double meaning of the word, state, Paul Jury’s States of Confusion follows a mildly confused young man (he has just graduated from Northwestern) on a road trip through the lower 48. The form is an extended comic monologue which takes him from state to state until he ends up very much where he started. But that is not to spoil the book, the pleasure of it is that you know that’s where he will end up, even if he doesn’t. Other pleasures involve long nighttime rides risking not life and limb but speeding tickets, driving cars that stall in the middle of the highway, and endless attempts to find an electric socket with which to charge his cell phone at night: outside ice machines, coke machines, garages and sports stadiums (which information I must admit I filed away just in case), and places to sleep in the car when a friend’s bed in not available. The essence of that last bit, is that the car has to be stopped, brake in place and away from discovery by the police.


Encounters with the last provide us with some mild suspense but the essence of a story that depends on the form and structure of the Odyssey is that Odysseus always wriggles out of his scrapes and comes home to Ithaca . And there are always gods and mentors to lead him along the way. Jury’s mentors, however, are boys very like himself, college chums whose charm, for him, is that they have jobs and he doesn’t and they tell him exactly what he knows already. He wants to stay in the upper middle class and the question is how to do that even if he isn’t a computer whiz or the son of a wealthy industrialist. They tell him he has to do what he loves and that is what he is already doing. No not driving a car all around the country, but writing a blog every night so all his buddies, oh, and his grandmother are appraised of his adventures, and can get him out of some of the more demanding scrapes.

Also, he has a girl friend who he has to decide whether he wants to marry or to abandon. I kept rooting for her to find someone else, some one more capable of intimacy. That is the other thing about the book. Although it’s written in the first person and concerns the two most important issues in our young lives, work and love, we never get the sense that we know his heart or the shape and structure of his ambition and as we read further into the book we never really learn much about them. I suppose I am asking too much of the comic form. Those one-two punch sentences are designed to distance you from the writer and his feelings, rather than reveal. True comedy of course reveals in spite of the teller’s fears, Mr. Jury never comes close.


Possibly the most grievous flaw is that in his travels from state to state he never observes anyone different from him, or explores the landscape of lives around him. We rarely meet anyone not comfortably a part of the world he is supposedly traveling around to see. In Indiana for example, he visits a fellow grad who has become a manager in his father’s company. His evenings are spent in a bar watching his union employees cruise around the Indianapolis Civil War monument in loud cars driving around making loud noises to impress the women walking on the sidewalk. They are guys who make a “decent wage actually,” J.J. (his Indianapolis friend)said, “But I swear some of my guys immediately dump two thirds of it into new sound systems or louder engines for their cars.” J.J. admits these are “not exactly the type of people I grew up with” but offers, nonetheless to introduce the writer so he can talk to one of them. Jury says he “politely declined.” I admit to wishing he would have. It might have made the statement which ends the section a little less cringe worthy: “They’re some of the happiest people I’ve ever met.”


The book is artless in a kind of charming way and there is one encounter Jury describes toward the end of his journey which comes alive a little and provides him with a telling metaphor for the journey he has taken. Frank the wrecker driver (“a mostly defunct profession which is part tow-truck driver, part ambulance, and part hearse) rescues Jury from a car breakdown deep in rural Montana. The nearest garage is hours away so Jury gets to actually hear the stories the guy has to tell about a life very different from the one Northwestern grads expect to have. The essence of it is driving back and forth around the immense stretches of the rural west picking up stranded drivers, or parts of cars and bodies.


It’s of course the driving around part that serves as a kind of metaphor for Jury and he does seem to recognize the similarity between Frank’s life and his own Big Trip. But despite the upbeat ending (he goes to Los Angeles to become a writer.) the question remains: Will he turn around and land someplace or keep on forever touching down only to leave again, utterly unengaged.


***Alice Weiss is formerly from New Orleans, Louisiana, earned her living as a civil rights attorney for twenty one years, among other things, investigating and challenging the conditions of jails in parishes throughout the Atchafalaya Basin and the Bayous.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Somerville’s ‘The Pennies’ Will Play For the Drop of a Coin.








Somerville’s ‘The Pennies’ Will Play For the Drop of a Coin.
By Doug Holder

Pardon the pun, but “The Pennies,” a band of friends and a band of musicians are an unpretentious bunch willing to play at any number of venues for the sheer joy of it…and a little money wouldn’t hurt either.

I met with “The Pennies”, along with band member Chris Mancini’s father, at a Saturday morning meeting of the Bagel Bards at the Au Bon Pain in Davis Square.

Chris Mancini, a Somerville resident, plays the banjo in the group and is prone to write love songs for his wife. He also happens to be the newly appointed Director of “Groundworks Somerville” that provides green jobs, gardens for the community, and all that good stuff for the environment. Mancini is very upbeat about our city: its location near Boston, the relationships with other artists he has formed, and because he graduated from Tufts University he has a sentimental attachment to our town.

The group originally “The Pretty Pennies” was founded in 2006, and they play 10 instruments including: electric guitar, acoustic guitar, upright bass, drums, harmonica, accordion, ukuleles, banjo, piano, etc…

The group members describe the genre of music they play as Americana, Roots Rock and Country Music. Mancini described this music: “It’s an older style of country, including the Blues and Soul—a hodgepodge of music—a literal stew.” Mancini added: “Music should be fun—people want to be entertained—you need to play it for yourself and an audience—it is an egalitarian thing.”

The group has a new CD out “The Broken Heart is a Beautiful Thing.” The CDs the group produces are engineered by Dave Tiper, one of the Pennies and a music teacher at a private school in the area.

I was informed that all group members write songs. Tiper said he can be influenced by snippets of conversation he overhears or songs sung by other folks that inspire him to write his own version.

Mancini has written poems about his separation from his wife when he is on the road for work.

Caroline Campbell McCormick, the vocalist in the group (she also plays harmonica) is inspired by her baby yet to be birthed on this world’s stage. She said her other influences include: “The Blizzard of 1978,” books of poetry, turns of phrases, etc…” “Melody is my instrument,” she added.

The group is ubiquitous, playing at the Farmer’s Market in Union Square, The Arts Armory, Sally O’Brien’s, The Precinct and points outside of Somerville and the state. On Aug. 16, 2011 they will perform the national anthem at Fenway Park in Boston.

The group is decidedly grassroots, and nothing smacks of exclusivity or oppressive intellectualism. Be you a tot, or not—-very old or somewhere in the middle, it is well worth your while to check this group out!

Monday, June 20, 2011

Endicott College: One College: Two Literary Magazines



(Beverly, Mass.)

By Doug Holder

Endicott College in Beverly, Mass. is known for many things-- a fine Nursing School-- a spanking new and cutting-edge arts center, a much lauded internship program, a great creative writing program, a beautiful campus by the sea--to name just a few things. Well... it also has two fine literary magazines as well. The Endicott Review is an undergraduate journal that publishes established writers as well as emerging student writers. In the current Spring 2011 issue poets and writers such as Luke Salisbury " The Answer is Baseball", Gary Metras the founder of the Adastra Press, Timothy Gager, founder of the Dire Series in Cambridge, Mass., Paul Steven Stone--Creative Director of W. B. Mason and author of the novel "How to Train A Rock," as well as faculty members and many students appear on the page. The Review also offers fine artwork and photography. It is edited by professor Dan Sklar.

Also on board is the magazine " Ibbetson Street." Ibbetson Street has an office at Endicott and in this issue accomplished bards like Richard Hoffman, (Poet-in-Residence--Emerson College), Jennifer Barber ( Founder of Salamander Magazine), Celia Gilbert, Endicott faculty members Margaret Young and Dan Sklar, as well as a student book review of Pulitzer-Prize winning poet Maxine Kumin appear.


If you are interested in exploring the writing program at Endicott go to http://www.endicott.edu


Doug Holder ( office of the Ibbetson Street Press-Endicott College)





http://ibbetsonpress.com Ibbetson Street

http://issuu.com/jcommett/docs/endicottreviewspring2011 The Endicott Review

Poet Linda Lerner: “Takes Guts and Years Sometimes”




Poet Linda Lerner: “Takes Guts and Years Sometimes”

Interview by Doug Holder

Recently New York City poet Linda Lerner visited the Boston area and revisited my Somerville Community Access TV show “Poet to Poet: Writer to Writer.” Linda has taught English in the City College of New York system for many years, and has lived the life of poet. Her first priority is her writing and has lived her life to accommodate this, often at the expense of financial security. She has been published widely, and has just released an accomplished collection of poetry titled “Takes Guts and Years Sometimes.” (NYQ Books).

Doug Holder: You lived near the World Trade Center when it was bombed in 2001. How did this tragic event affect your writing?

Linda Lerner: Oh, it definitely did. I had no experience of war like most people in New York. And it felt like I was in a war zone. And for the first time I had an idea what people must go through to see everything destroyed: homes destroyed—people crying in the street. I think it gave me a much broader perspective. My father was born in Russia and escaped at one point because of the Pogroms against the Jews. He often spoke of what it was like to be driven out of his home. Now I knew what it felt like.

DH: After 9/11 you were part of that tragic diaspora. You lived in the Chelsea Hotel for a while, right?

LL: Yeah. The day it happened I was teaching a class at the New York City College of Technology and in the middle of the class the sirens went off. They always go off in Manhattan—you don’t think anything of them—it is part of the norm. And then a student came in late and said a plane hit the World Trade Center. This was a student who was always late, so I figured it was a great story—excuse. But the siren didn’t stop and then someone rushed in to tell us what happened. They made us leave the building. I couldn’t go back home to Brooklyn because the bridges were closed. So a bunch of us spent the night at a colleague’s apartment—sleeping on the floor. We called hotels, but they wouldn’t take us. The Chelsea had a room, and I was there for a couple of weeks. It is a wonderful place—with such a rich literary and artistic history. I have a long poem about my experience.

DH: You have been long associated with the New York Quarterly which published your new collection “Takes Guts and Years Sometime.” The Quarterly is now run by Raymond Hammond. Can you tell us a bit about the magazine, and your history with it?

LL: Yes. NYQ started their imprint in 2009. This was the late William Packard’s idea. He was the longtime editor before Hammond but he got sick. He couldn’t put out the magazine anymore. Hammond has done a wonderful job with the Quarterly—he made it his personal project.

When I got out of college in the 70’s, my background in literature stopped around 1950. I knew I had to do something—someone suggested a poetry class with William Packard at The New School. So I took two classes with him. One was a poetry class, one was literature. I never submitted a poem before. I was new at this, but I gave him a poem. He didn’t think it was a masterpiece (Laugh). I couldn’t take criticism at the time and I never submitted another. But I stayed in the class and learned a lot about poetry. And then I started helping out with the magazine. When I started contributing a few years later he started to take my work. I interviewed Hayden Carruth for one issue. Carruth was a fascinating man. Absolutely brilliant. He smoked non-stop, popped sleeping pills, drank a lot. I was really nervous about the interview because at one point when I started it he said, “That’s a stupid question.” But as the interview went on it worked out very well.
I love the magazine especially its emphasis on craft and craft interviews.

DH: I read somewhere that you said you never compromised for a paycheck. Can you explain?

LL: I never let a job take over my entire life. I always had time to write. I wound up with a series of college teaching jobs that left me with time to write. In the end I may pay for it when I get really old. I never got involved in the politics of a job. I try to do a good job, but I always have to have time to write. It’s hard out there meeting NYC rents, etc…

DH: As a daughter of immigrants (Your father was from Russia) did this give you outsider status or a different view of contemporary American society?

LL: In all honesty it wasn’t until father died in 1985, did I start to identify more with him. As a child I was embarrassed by him, by his accent, his lack of education, by his old fashioned ways. I guess after he died I drew closer to him because he was not around to argue with. It was very hard for a bohemian artist child like me to deal with an old world father.

DH: What steered you to this sort of boho/arist/poet lifestyle?

LL; I don’t know to be quite honest. When I grew up I was the odd person—different. I was always getting in trouble—the black sheep so to speak. I really wasn’t aware of what I was until I got older. The rebelliousness was always there.


DH: Some of your works deal with gentrification in the city. Do you think Jane Jacobs’ vision of the city as urban village, with unique communities—is long past?

LL: I don’t like what has been happening to the cities. First of all the rents are so high the middle class is moving out. They aren’t able to afford it. I remember a couple of years ago I went down to Little Italy and it didn’t seem like the Little Italy I knew. Where I live in Carol Gardens in Brooklyn it still retains some of the old world charm, but it is rapidly changing. Gentrification is taking away from the charm and sense of community.

DH: It used to be easier to live the artist’s life.

LL; Back in the 70’s for an artist to live. My first apartment was in Greenwich Village. It is very hard now. The economy is bad. When I got out of college there were many jobs you could get. I took a civil service job as a social worker. Right now many of my friends are rooming together in small apartments to make a go of it. It’s not like the old days. Young people are moving home with their parents. A lot of the small bookstores have closed—we have the big chains and even they are closing.

DH: Is the poetry scene still thriving in NYC?

LL: Oh yeah. On any given night there are 7 or 8 venues. The scene changes all the time. Even more so now with all the online venues.

DH: Do you think online magazines are as good as print? Does it mean the same thing to be published in both?

LL: People say so but I prefer print. But there are some good online magazines. Everything seems to be moving to the virtual world.

DH: It’s a brave new world.

LL: Yes it is.


***** For more info go to http://www.nyqbooks.org/lindalerner

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Hanging Loose 98




Hanging Loose 98

Hanging Loose Press

ISSN 0440-2316

2011 $9.00


Hanging Loose is consistent, the writing is modern and it tastes like
a wedding cake we devour twice a year. An old tradition is to take a slice of that wedding cake and set it under your pillow for a night. Magically the person you are to marry will appear in your dreams. So I've put this issue under my pillow.I don't get it, that is I don't dream of my next husband but I do get to read many good poems in many different forms.


"So

we can still hear the wicks of candles crumbling,

the spindled folding

of an umbrella in the hall.

Our lashes slowing like dying insects,

light hardening our bodies to salt.

When you go you'll leave a scent like lavender

or fog, maybe

on my pillow.

It takes little to start a religion,

so strong is the desire for grace

a visitation of light on your shoulder,

a kiss like sleepwalking in an open field."


There are 16 pages and 8 poets of high school age that I relate to in a big way"


"When you are in love,

the devil wears sundresses.

You forget the burn"


And each poem resonates with expectation. Each poem is masterful because the poemsare present and do not try to exceed the language of another age. Each poem ismiraculous in that it encompasses a timelessness. The poets marry their wordsto their voice.


"To those who cannot find what to believe in, there are always more possibilities hanging in the air than what anyone could ever wish for. Sometimes if you pokeit hard enough it will reluctantly give birth to an elephant, one that comes inselectable colors, much like furniture and the free toothbrushes dentists push ontheir patients. Likely being the patient in any given case, you really cannot refuse the free toothbrush, however swooningly maroon or fluorescently turquoise you have

chosen it to be, and likewise, such an elephant, manifest through the powers that beand a healthy amount of faith on your part, finds itself exceedingly hard to get rid of..."


If you miss this issue you'll miss what it means to become a poet.


"A.

In preschool you told your mom that you wanted to marry me. You told her that youwere going to get down on one knee and give me everything that you had, everything you could promise to offer. You told me about it only last year during chemistry class but sometimes we still laugh about it when we see each other..."




irene koronas


poetry editor:

Wilderness House Literary Review

www.whlreview.com


Reviewer


Ibbetson Street Press