Red Letter Poem #219

 The Red Letters

 

 

In ancient Rome, feast days were indicated on the calendar by red letters.

To my mind, all poetry and art serves as a reminder that every day we wake together beneath the sun is a red-letter day.

 

––Steven Ratiner

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red Letter Poem #219

 

 

 

Whirlpool

On sale at Sozio’s, just off Revere

Beach. And with it came the bottomless foam

It seems to have channeled. All that high-speed chugging



And churning that shook the ceiling until it was clear,

At least to us downstairs, our uncle should heed

My father’s anxious warning about a flood



And put the thing in the basement—where it belonged.

He said it in Greek, and he was adamant.

But there were too many steps for my aunt to be lugging



Laundry up and down our double decker…

That brand-new Whirlpool. And all that old-world doom

And immigrant gloom I heard when he vent the pent:



“The hose will let go! These ceilings are only plaster!”

Not exactly Cassandra, foreseeing the palace walls

Awash with royal blood. But maybe my father



Was on to something… Just saying Sozio,

The Sixties are underway. And there they go,

Shades of my aunt and my mother, rushing for towels.


--- ––George Kalogeris



Considering that America is, for the most part, a nation of immigrants, it astonishes me how easily and adamantly certain citizens want to demonize the very notion of ‘strangers making their way to our shores,’ dismissing out of hand any of the forces that might be propelling them. Sometimes, these migrants are steering toward a better life for their families; other times, they’re desperately veering away from an old life that has become wholly untenable. It strikes me as an irrational impulse (a vestige of our long tribal past) to furiously deny the very welcome to newcomers that we, or our forebears, hungered for so mightily at the time of our arrival. Along with many other nationalities, there was a large influx of Greeks to the U.S. after the brutality of Nazi occupation during the Second World War. That’s when George Kalogeris’s father and his brothers came to coastal Winthrop, north of Massachusetts. As a poet, George has celebrated that Greek community (and the idea of communality itself) in four dynamic poetry collections, the most recent being Winthropos, (Louisiana State University)––the title being a Hellenized name for his hometown. George is the quintessential humanist––poet, scholar, educator, and translator––and when he last appeared in the Letters he was an Associate Professor at Suffolk University and Director of their Poetry Center. But he has recently retired, which is certainly a loss for the university but a blessing, I’m sure, for those of us who take sustenance from his poetry. As we anxiously await his next collection, I am happy I can bring new work to Red Letter readers.



Among many strong poetic qualities, I think George’s strongest is his ear. That term usually refers to a poet’s sense of diction and musicality––and, indeed, it’s a nuanced skill evidenced throughout his work. (You probably felt the internal rhyme and the quiet pulsing of his iambic cadences operating within this poem, bolstering the colloquial.) But I find other dimensions at work in George’s writing: the uncanny way he hears echoes of historical narratives and the most ancient of Greek mythologies at play in the simple features of his family’s daily life. When his uncle seizes upon one modest element of the American dream––in this case, a Whirlpool clothes washer to ease his wife’s labors (a bargain, no less, at the local discount store)––comic possibilities quickly emerge. But George’s antenna sensed that there was more at stake here, and deeper meanings folded into that brand name. Yes, his father is worrying about a leak bringing down their brittle plaster ceiling; but this family has already witnessed first-hand the tumultuous whirlpool of history, capable of carrying its political brutality even high into the small villages of the Peloponnese. Having come to the United States to be free of such turbulence, they now find the Sixties beginning to erupt around them––the horrors of political assassination, and a divisive war threatening to snatch up the young men in its net (with George himself as a possible victim.) The simple mention of Cassandra reminds us of the suffering brought on by myopic kings and petulant gods. Will those towels the women rush for soon be drenched with soapy water or something far worse?



Ultimately, we are all engaged in a continuous exploration––beginning immediately with our bawling arrival into this existence––to discover a sense of home, to find the place (or places) where our hearts feel inclined to take root. In his poem “Ithaka.” C. P. Cavafy––often called the greatest Greek poet of the 20th century––points to the distinction between home and the journey to get there.



“Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you’re destined for.

But don’t hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so you’re old by the time you reach the island…”



All this leaves me thinking: doesn’t every individual born on this planet deserve at least this––not simply a roof above their heads, but the requisite freedom to keep mind and spirit venturing toward that dream of a homeland? Especially here in America, where there is such abundance, is it really so radical an idea that we can afford to care for more than our own––perhaps to continue making them our own, as has been our tradition? No matter which side of the ocean that Ithaka is found, whether in the Old World or the New, can’t a welcome be extended and a chance to live at peace? Traveling such a path, Cavafy reminds us, “then you will have learned what [all those] Ithakas mean.”

 

 

 

 

Red Letters 3.0

 

* If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to:

steven.arlingtonlaureate@gmail.com

 

 

* To learn more about the origins of the Red Letter Project, check out an essay I wrote for Arrowsmith Magazine:

https://www.arrowsmithpress.com/community-of-voices

 

and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene

http://dougholder.blogspot.com

 

* For updates and announcements about Red Letter projects and poetry readings, please follow me on Twitter          

@StevenRatiner

Sam Cornish and the New England Book Fair

 
  

Essay by Tom Lyons

I was at a reading recently at the Friends Meeting House in Cambridge, where I ran into Tom Lyons, the former owner of the iconic bookstore the: New England Book Fair. I have known Tom for years, and I remember he told me the late Boston Poet Laureate Sam Cornish used to work for him at his store. It just so happens that this Sunday August 13, 2024 at 3PM, the New England Poetry Club and the Longfellow House are presenting the Sam Cornish Award to poet Gloria Mindock--the founder of the Cervena Barva Press. The reading will be on the lawn of the Longfellow House, on Brattle St. in Cambridge, Mass. I asked Tom to write about his experiences with Cornish, and he generously penned this small essay. 

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I met Sam when I bought the New England Mobile Book Fair in 2011. He worked there a few days a week, one of only two people in the remainders area which covered a third of the store. I quickly learned that Sam seemed to know where every one of the thousands and thousands of books were.

As I got better acquainted with Sam, I found out that he was a poet. No, he was more than that, he was a ‘poets’ poet. He wrote 6 or 7 books of poetry and was Boston’s first Poet Laurate. When I started to bring in authors to the book fair, Sam brought in poets. Good Poets. As I sat and listened to the various poets he brought in to read, it got me interested in writing poetry again, as I had in my early 20’s. I started writing again, but with Sam’s guidance. He told me I was an image poet. I had no idea that there was such a thing. Sam worked with me a lot. He didn’t need to, but he felt that I had something worth developing. The more I wrote, the more he encouraged me. The day he told me that I was a good poet, I was surprised and delighted. And If never have anyone mention a good word about my poems it won’t matter. I was acknowledged by the master.

The store began to have robust readings from many authors, including a number of poets who would read and then Sam would allow open mike for anyone who wanted to read one of their own, encouraging all who took part.

Sam came into my office one January day and told me he was putting together a poetry night for Black History Month. He said “Tom, I want you to write a poem to read at the event.” I was of course taken aback. I looked at him and said something along the lines of “Sam, maybe you haven’t noticed but I’m not black, nor do I pretend to understand the underlying culture of the black community.”

He looked at me for a moment, smiled and said, “You’ll figure it out.” And with that he walked out. I probably sat there with my mouth hanging open. To say the least I was perplexed and somewhat anxious. I didn’t want to disappoint him, given all the help and praise I got from his tutelage. But I had no idea of what I could do. I was in a quandary for days. I remembered Sam telling me once to write what I know (somewhat of a cliché), but also write what I can imagine. Create, and draw from. So, I wrote the poem Generation Gap that is in my book Luna Moth. It is about the prejudices my parents went through,  My father Irish and my mother first generation Italian. I read it that night with some trepidation. I finished and there was a smattering of applause. I looked at Sam, and he smiled and gave the slighted nod. That told me that I had figured it out.

Yes. Sam Cornish was a master poet, and became a good friend. I miss him, and yet I celebrate him with every poem I write.

Poet Lisa Usani Phillips: Brings the High Holy to Market Basket and Bangkok

Interview by Doug Holder/ New England Poetry Club-Board of Directors

Recently, I was out in Amesbury, Ma. for a memorial reading for the late Poet Laureate of Amesbury-- Lainie Senechal.  The reading was on the grounds of the Whittier House. There I met poet Lisa Usani Phillips-- the current Poet Laureate, and she told me she has a new book of poetry out titled,  "Guest People" (Wheeling Tern, 2022). She generously agreed to this interview.



You have quite an ethnic mix of Asian and Irish—two very different cultures. How do you feel that is reflected in your work?


In terms of ethnicity, I'm Hakka Chinese by way of Thailand on my mother's side and Irish, as well as English, German, and Dutch by way of Philadelphia on my dad's side. Growing up biracial, Asian and White, the daughter of a first generation immigrant and a psychiatrist in an upper-middle-class Connecticut household, I experienced marginalization as well as privilege. Some called me racial slurs or asked me "what" I was, while others seemed surprised that I experienced any racism or prejudice at all. I also acknowledge my own implicit biases. So I write from and about this mix and find myself drawn to hybrid forms like zuihitsu, haibun, prose poems, and even concrete poems, which seem to facilitate questions about the ways we see ourselves in the world, how the world sees us. My debut collection, Guest People (Wheeling Tern, 2022), is a hybrid of poetry, story, and photography.


We are given names at birth, and for many of us—we don't think deeply about them. You do, and you write poems exploring your name and your mother's. So, what's in a name?


That's a good question. I've always been curious about names and their meanings and power. In my family, names were a form of assimilation--my mom had a Chinese name and a Thai name growing up, and then when she came to the US she had an English name. When I was a kid, I did not use my middle name, Usani, which is my mother's Thai name, because it was easier not to. I didn't even know how to pronounce it correctly. As an adult, I grew to love my middle name as well as the Chinese name my grandfather gave me, Li Shan, because they are unique, beautiful in sound and meaning. I cherish them as a way to celebrate my heritage and my connection with my mother.


I had a strong feeling from your writing that your family had to cover up their ethnic background. Even their facial features were abhorrent to some segments of society. You seemed to fight this need to totally assimilate-- the slits of your eyes remained-- you would never be a wide-eyed white woman.


Some of the poems in this collection are a fictionalized take on what my maternal grandparents did to assimilate as Hakka/Chinese immigrants to Thailand in the 1940s, and what my mom and her relatives did when they emigrated to the United States. Other poems are rooted in my own struggles with assimilation and the quest for authenticity, as well as questions about where racism comes from and how we construct social identities. In "Slant," the speaker is a young Chinese American and White girl who wants to look like her Chinese relatives, but in doing so, offends them with a gesture that racists use to mock Asians and Asian Americans. In another poem, "Avatar," the mixed Asian American speaker encounters her friend/photographer's clueless instruction to open her eyes wider--but does not call it out. So the speaker fights, perhaps, but also succumbs to assimilation, keeping the peace.


You recently have been appointed Amesbury Poet Laureate---how did that come about? What plans do you have as the new laureate?


Last fall I heard that Ellie O'Leary was stepping down as Amesbury Poet Laureate, so I introduced myself to her, said I was interested in the position, and she encouraged me to apply. This was right before I was taking time off to have and recuperate from major surgery, so it was a pleasant if somewhat overwhelming surprise to be chosen. As laureate, my mission is to promote poetry, poets, and literary citizenship in Amesbury, mostly through continuing our monthly poetry reading and open mic series, which I organize and host with help from the Amesbury Poet Laureate Support Committee, the Amesbury Cultural Council (ACC), and the John Greenleaf Whittier Home. While some of our featured poets have an Amesbury connection, I also aim to bring the wider world of poets to our community. I was able to get a grant from the ACC to pay our featured poets an honorarium, which is a new thing that I'm particularly proud of. We have also started posting recordings of the readings on YouTube (@AmesburyMAPoetLaureate) and have also worked with Amesbury Public Library and other local libraries to promote events and activities for our National Poetry Month celebrations.


Why should we read your book?


A Several readers said that they really liked the fact that I write about Market Basket as well as Bangkok, that it's accessible, and has a generous range of topics and forms for a book of its size. In addition to Market Basket, assimilation, hybrid forms, and names, you'll find bees, bittersweet, tattoos, love, grief, mermaids, and a flying octopus.