Friday, February 27, 2009

Streets. Poem Book by Mel King.



Streets. Poem Book by Mel King. ( Sensations Publishing A Division of Sweetie’s Books Silver Spring, Maryland http://sweetiesbooks.com/sensations.aspx

Mel King has been a presence on the Boston political scene for more years than most of us have been alive. I remember his unsuccessful run for mayor—this tall, dignified Blackman, sporting a dashiki, amidst a sea of Brooks Brothers suits. King was born in Boston in 1928, and grew up in the “New York Streets” neighborhood of Boston, named after the towns served by the New York Central Railroad. For years he pounded the pavement, or the streets as a political activist, a gadfly in the status quo’s eye. When I lived in the North End of Boston in the 1980’s I used to see King walking down the winding, fragrant streets, sampling the colorful array of produce that decked the bins in the markets. Like the title of Alfred Kazin’s famous memoir, King is a “Walker in the City.”

King realizes the value of the “street”, thus this poetry collection’s titled “Streets.” With wonderful illustrations by Allan Crite, B.Z. Nunez, and other local artists, King tells the reader that streets have long been symbols of political action:” take it to the streets,” or “take the high road,” for instance, are common enough call to action phrases. King reflects:

“Streets are a major player in all aspects of our lives. Just look at the many ways they shape our songs, poems and stories. There are over 50 songs and thousands of stories and poems inspired by roads and streets. Streets are part of our social rhetoric, as in “street smart” or “hit the road, Jack.”

The poems here fit beautifully with Allan Crite’s paintings. Crite was noted for his painting of street scenes in Boston in the 1930’s and beyond. He portrayed a plethora of street activity, and included in this book is a picture of a parade on Hammond St. in the South End by the artist. King dedicates this book to Crite, who King describes as a “chronicler of life on the streets of Lower Roxbury.’”

And of course being a lover of everything that has to do with food, I loved King’s description of the fare of the thoroughfare. Here are some mouthwatering descriptions:

“streets are a venue for prostitutes and hustlers/ hawkers and peddlers for rags and bottles/ fresh fish get your Porgies today/matzos and ‘ranges as the words faded away/some came with goodies like roasted chestnuts/and popcorn waffles melted butter lemon slush/ and snow cones…. matzos kielbasa feta cheese rolled apricot sheets/delis with pickles and pastrami/pistachio and frozen pudding ice cream…/eel for the holiday wine whiskey beer…”

My word—what a tasteful riff!

There are many stories of the street in this book. On Seneca Street King gets a lesson from a homeless man about life, he remembers organ grinders with their monkeys (I remember a guy on the Commons in the 70’s, the monkey tipped his hat and you put change in it—now that’s what I call monkey business), the bastions of break dancers on the hot, cracked pavement and much more…

King has had a long, and varied life. He was a State Rep in Mass. for a number of years, taught at MIT, and to cap his career, what better way than a book of verse, a love letter to the streets of Boston, his home, the beginning and end of his journey.

Doug Holder/ Ibbetson Update

Behind Our Memories by Michael Hettich



Behind Our Memories
By Michael Hettich
ISBN 0-938566-93-8
Adastra Press
16 Reservation Road
Easthampton MA 01027

Review by Steve Glines

It’s the Strathmore laid paper, 80 lbs. at least that catches your eye. The paper is hand folded into a single hand sewn signature binding a beautiful little volume of Garamond letterpress type titled “Behind Our Memories,” by Michael Hettich. It catches your eye. The cover is also done in letterpress but in 5, yes, 5 subtle colors. The book, the binding, and the colophon all say old time, even Victorian quality and it is.

The book carries a simple dedication, “for Colleen” and after reading the first, second, … poem you know Colleen must be his wife. This simple volume is a love story, not sappy, not sentimental but almost mater of fact images we can feel of two young lovers being in love. We see this from the perspective of newlyweds, as well as a father of a young butterfly-chasing daughter. It’s refreshing and not in the least bit cynical but rather fits the almost classical image promised by the letterpress cover. It’s old-fashioned love and it’s pleasing without being “pretty,” its worm without being hot and it’s loving without being “feminine.” Yet in spite of its Victorian promise it’s very much 21st century.

Christmas in the Woods

Our twelve year old daughter walks around the cabin
wearing a red velvet sweater with fake zebra
collar and silky underpants, singing.
Her toenails are bright red. Outside small birds
flit through the trees in the gray light, and beyond
down the bluff, the river pulls.

The radio in the bedroom is tuned to a discussion
of refugee repatriation in various
unfamiliar countries. In the kitchen my wife washes
dishes and sings Christmas carols with out daughter.
I pour us more coffee. Yesterday, a friend explained
the coming extinction. He shared all the details:

Squirrels and weeds, he said, and pigeons
will be our wildlife. Since then I’ve been making
lists of what I need to see. My son has started videotaping
everything we do and say, as though he might save us that way.

And so I’ll sing with my wife and daughter –
smiling at the camera, in this cabin in the woods –
to celebrate the season, and to remind us
someday, how happy we were.

This is the kind of book anyone will enjoy reading and when you’re done give it to someone you love … it’s worth at least 20 points … but who’s counting.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Self-Portrait with Severed Head by CD COLLINS




Self-Portrait with Severed Head.
By C.D. Collins
2009; 56pp; Pa; Ibbetson Street
Press, 25 School St., Somerville,
MA 02143. $15.00.

To order: http://lulu.com/ibbetsonpress

REVIEW BY HUGH FOX

There’s a tremendously strong, aesthetically erotic and impressionistic sense of the Here and Now here, but always contextualized by time and death so you feel you’re walking through a kind of ephemeral Louvre that is vanishing as you walk through it: “Beyond the jobs,/the traffic, the wind,/beyond aqua stars/I’ll let you spin/Like a cosmonaut into ether,/released without a sound...// When I finish you,/asking nothing of you. When I finish you,/at last loving you.// Beyond the jobs,/the traffic, the wind,/beyond aqua stars/I’ll let you spin/like falling/like falling.” (“Blood Orange,” pp.33-34).

The poetry here is powerfully evocative and Collins turns the page into a reality that never really leaves you: “Along the Champs-Elysées,/the homeless men lie in the middle of the sidewalk.../They lie on their sides or they crouch on their knees./Each has drawn a chalk balloon above his head./Inside is written his story.../I am without a home in Paris./I have no job./I am a poor Frenchman./I am Jamaican./ They all end, Merci.” (“Champs-Elysés,” p.49).

The French touch helps, the low-key eroticism, the socio-economic/historial overview, all very impressionistic and almost fin de siecle, very much in the twenty-first century but with strong immersions in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century capture-all-you-can mystique, giving her work a remarkable overviewing sense of running-down (and-out) time. Listening to her read with the Rockabetty band in the background on her CD Carousel Lounge you see just what a major word-/world-view magician we have here.

* Hugh Fox is a founding editor of the Pushcart Prize and the author of "Way, Way Off the Road: Memoirs of the Invisible Man" ( Ibbetson Street Press)

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Zebra Poems by Nadine S. St. Louis




Zebra

Poems by

Nadine S. St. Louis

Marsh River Editions

Marshfield WI

Copyright © 2008 by Nadine S. St. Louis


Review by Zvi A. Sesling


When Israeli poet Abba Kovner was dying of cancer he wrote a book of poems entitled Sloan-Kettering named after the hospital in New York where he was being treated. Kovner was a resistance fighter in the Vilna Ghetto in World War II. In Israel he had to live through a series of wars.


His last battle was the one he couldn’t win. Yet he left a memorable book of poems with section titles such as “The Corridor,” “Rooms, Half-Drugged,” “Honored Visitors,” etc. and a final poem “An ending unfinished.”


In a book of poems entitled Zebra, Nadine St. Louis, who is a cancer survivor, writes to tell about her emotions, her treatment and her reactions. Her poem titles also reveal much about her experiences with names such as “Diagnostic,” “Magnetic Resonance,” “On Cutting Ladies in Two,” “Post-Op” and others.


However, it is “Scar” that sums up her book because it is not only about the physical scar,

it is about the mental anguish of having to look at the result of the operation, having others see it and dealing internally with the knowledge of being a survivor – for how long? Take the opening paragraph:


“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo.

The nearly half-yard sine wave

across my waistline fairly cries out

for adornment.”


Or let the final stanza sink in:


“Let these sharp lines sign a return

to innocence, fruit of a new earth, color

of sky, the undreamed place we come

when we have confronted the beast in the field,

surviving.”


In the final and title poem, “Zebra” St. Louis provides the attributes of zebras to life. It may take more than one reading of this poem to associate zebras with surviving cancer

which is unlike the rest of poems which are clear and to the point.


Reading this volume, one is happy Nadine St. Louis has survived and grateful she has been able to put her thoughts into this chapbook.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

All My Eggs Are Broken by Mike Basinski


All My Eggs Are Broken
Michael Basinski
Blaze Vox [Books]
Buffalo New York
2007 ISBN: 1-934289-31-0


REVIEW BY IRENE KORONAS

“The poem and poems arise from my reading of the Medical Museum’s section on: thee Heart and Stomach. Once upon a time, Medical Doctors discovered what they thought were stones in the hearts of the deceased. They did not know what they were. A heart full of stones seemed like a grand place for poetry….” Michael Basinski

The first rush of pages, the display of dots and self indulgent glyphs; one might wonder who wants or cares to read this solid book of poems…

“u,o,i,e,a.

O
attemplatapus seaDuction
geese goose chicken of Fall
supreme as whim she eaters tuna salad
tuna ye olde refrigeratur mermaid
rattle Rubbermaid Rimbaud
cutting cottage cheese dress…”

it is I, the reviewer who deems, possibility, the experimental poetry with all references, external intellectuality, and therein the problem of critique, review, and summation of what may at first appear unapproachable. “I suggest you are no longer here inspiring beginning sing wem wen Wed Wenday and neither of 1.” for this audacious reviewer it is a joy to skim the cream off the top, to find playful glee between the pages, the shiny covers. I slip seduced by all the word games and I get off on dots and a sense of scribbling an inner consciousness, an inner incision of discovery.

“ow ho 59
o
io ools ov
io oun
dow or ho so
io eelicit
ro rue oto io
yo to ato ato lor
of vous no of
insect oo
no ow of insect
onl insect
to co ou
gno 96

ooo if only I could explain the zero the circle the Oooo made in u s, a, anthology of drawing the reader in and an understanding of being an egg…already cracked open; what is being said is not as unusual as one might expect and academia has surrounded itself with the explainable, reasoning references. at last writing breaks barriers; abstracts, minimalizes, non-objectionalizes, catches up with other art forms.

“splendooruende
spyder hangs on spyder’s silk
milkin puppet memory
closing an empty door
absent saucer and cup
of coffee
I am not here
out of his finger
and spoon
ridiculous
he hears her
getting into the bathtub
breathing the engine
driving away.”

Basinski, I am a member of your fan club, your motto, “practice the aside of poetry,” your book inspires, multiplies and ascribes

“au…..bu…..fr…..in
ba…..bit…..not…..asal
fra…..or…..ula…..ipi
lar…..cc…..tal…..pit
bal…..menta…..cal…..al
ro…..on…..tal…..ora
tal…..nasa…..orb…..ital…”

I recommend this book to all poets and recommend the reader who is interested in serious operations of this sort to view www.ubu.com. you will find historic renditions, creative writing and contemporary papers on what one might term, 'experimental' poetry. you will also be able to access more of Michael Basinski’s creative work. there are scholarly papers to help the reader understand the understandable questions one might ask, that I am incapable of answering.


Irene Koronas is the poetry editor of the Ibbetson Street Press.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Nothing Unrequited Here by Heather Bell




Nothing Unrequited Here by Heather Bell (verve bath press), 2-29-09

*Review by Barbara Bialick, author of Time Leaves (Ibbetson Street Press

) In her doily-covered brown-paper chapbook, Heather Bell takes us through her experiences in building a strong relationship with a man she does not name.From what I gathered, she is a relatively young woman, both in poetry and love—but she has a strong, striking collection full of unusual imagery, which I hope will grow to be more deep in future offerings.

She has a developing poetic wisdom and voice worth checking out. “What are weddings made of,” she asks: “I found my ring hidden/in a gun case/…peace is not/our eventual search anymore. Someday/we will be just like/how we are today…” A wedding, she continues in “Wedding Vows By a Woman Who Self-Destructs”, is a time about promises, but “It’s time to arrive like a mourner/It is time to arrive like a Japanese fan/…like a boat…Everyone thinks we were always like this, midair, dancing, but that would also be impossible…”/

The wedding is not, however, the center of the book. The relationship is. “He leaves kayaks in your/ living room…the way he carved your/name into his kitchen table, misses his shotgun…could be an advertisement for Rayban sunglasses…reminds you of Kafka…” And of course he is her lover…

She drew an intriguing poem title in “The Last Three Poems Left After the World Disappeared”. But she gives some undeveloped ideas that even so speak to her poetic imagination: “It must be my fault, not taking/your advice: always walk/backwards from the rattlesnakes./Bees can hear you breathe.” But she adds “You will find /your heart only because I/left hats hanging from branches…” Despite long streams of imagery in these poems, she ironically declares “etcetera is the closest you/will ever get to the meaning of your love…”

Heather Bell graduated in 2005 from Oswego State University in Oswego, New York.Keep your eyes open for her name, which I’m guessing will be heard again.


Barbara Bialick is the author of TIME LEAVES (Ibbetson Street Press).

Sunday, February 22, 2009

POIESIS NO.2




POIESIS NO.2 ( Alternating Current POBOX 398058 Cambridge, Mass. 02139 alt-current.com ) $4. http://alt-current.com

Local poet Leah Angstman is at it again. This prolific, small press holy fool ( I mean it in the best sense of the word) has released a new pocket book of poetry that she has named “Poiesis.” There is a captivating painting of a tearful, blue-eyed, blonde woman on the front, a creation of Angstman herself. Inside are some of the finest contemporary small press poets plying their trade in the little magazine scene today, including: Pamela Annas, Alan Catlin, Jeff Fleming, Tim Gager, Ed Galing, Rebecca Schumejda, Jessica Harman, Mignon Ariel King, B.Z. Niditch, Charles Ries, Joseph Verilli, Simon Perchik and others. So many poems, and too little time to mention them all. But I will let you sample a taste of the rich lyrical fare. Charles Ries, known for his reviews, fiction, as well as his poetry, has a zinger and a winner of a poem that tracks a writer’s retreat from the literary circus to well, the real one:

Why I Gave Up Writing and Joined the Circus

I left it all; the paper and pens, publishers
and agents who could not love my inner
fantasy and joined the circus.

The make-up, big nose and fancy pants
helped me overcome my feelings of
obscurity. I created an identity grander
than my literary art. I now have something
worth writing about.

I married the fat lady, she gave birth to
a midget; I learned to swallow swords,
made friends with a contortionist who
told me to turn my pens into pretzels,
and live like a real man.

The featured poet is J. J. Campbell. In his poem “damage” the poet quickly fleshes out the sudden and raw face of damage in its different forms:

a tornado ripped
through a town
in the south and
this backwards
fuck came on the
news and said it’s
kind of scary how
much damage can
be done in just a
few seconds

i started to laugh
and thought the
same can be said
when one doesn’t

pull out fast enough.


Angstman, the founder of the Propaganda Press that publishes this fine zine, has a good eye for good poetry, and has compiled an excellent collection of work.

Highly Recommended

Doug Holder/ Ibbetson Update

Thursday, February 19, 2009

“In the Spirit of Leadership” Cheryl Esposito (Review by Paul Steven Stone)




“In the Spirit of Leadership”
A Vision Into A Different Future By Cheryl Esposito
Plumb Road Publishing, price $18.95

Reviewed 2/20/09 by Paul Steven Stone

“In The Spirit of Leadership, A Vision Into A Different Future”, sounds more ponderous and self-important than this book of poems and insights actually proves to be. Designed (unconsciously, I believe) to resemble a box of luxury chocolates, this elegant book seeks to open minds to their own potential and hidden strengths, sharing through poetry and snatches of prose the author’s many insights gained over years as a leadership consultant to CEO’s, senior executives and world leaders.
The book starts off “on track”, giving you what you’ve been led to expect, poetry and insights focused on creating business leaders and fresh thinkers, teaching them “Being Leadership”—embodying leadership—rather than to wear the flimsy-but-oft-worn mantle of “Being Leaders”.
Soon, however, we wander off into realms farther afield than Applied Business School Philosophy. We are journeying with the author through poetic interludes as she takes wilderness solo journeys, overcomes fears of the unknown, recovers from being badly burned in a fire, pushes herself and her readers toward an ever-opening and never-resolved becoming. We are the chrysalis, the cocoon and the butterfly all in one.
The poems themselves use simple direct language, sentences often chopped up into fragments and stanzas.

A few examples…

There it is again.
That in between.
That place of uncertainty
That place where everything
is possible
and nothing
feels right.

The in between shows up all around me
In this writing I am in between.
The words are in between.
I am so good at seeing
what’s in between —
for others…
hearing the unspoken,
in between the words —
for others…
I listen.
I listen.
The lonely listener is
alive and well…in me.
How do I put her to work for me?
What are the words
from the place
in between
that she will hear?

Or when she is “Connecting with one’s nature.”

Open space. Big sky. Canyons that are endless. There I can breathe. I feel everything. I am alone with my fear, with my joy, with my self.
Out there I understand the insignificance of me…
And the significance of us, the humans inhabiting the earth. We are at once reckless and loving with the mother.
When I am there, I am vigilant with my care. I feel honored to be there.
There. To be there. To be.
I don’t experience “there” during day to day living.
I see and appreciate,
but the “there” feeling is quiet.
I lose the nature within me.
In solo, I connect with my true nature.

Cheryl Esposito is clearly a woman of many talents and the wisdom to pursue them with clarity and vigor. If there is a fault with “In The Spirit of Leadership” it lies in it offering too much for us to consider in a single package, too many themes heading in too many directions. But then again, once one connects with the zen of being leadership—of being our true selves—as Esposito envisions it, choosing what to read and what to leave unread probably becomes a natural act.

And there is much in this poetic enterprise worthy of reading.


Paul Steven Stone is the author of "Or So It Seems" ( Blind Elephant Press)

BREATHER by Bruce Dethlefsen



BREATHER

By Bruce Dethlefsen

83 pages / 59 poems / $15

Fire Weed Press
Send Check or Order To:

Bruce Dethlefsen

422 Lawrence Street

Westfield, WI 53964


Review by Charles P. Ries




Bruce Dethlefsen doesn't write many books of poetry. It has been six years since he came out with his second book, Something Near the Dance Floor by Marsh River Editions. And one doesn't see much of his poetry in and around the small press, but my-oh-my, when he decides to show us his good stuff, he comes out swinging. In this, his third and largest collection of poetry, Dethlefsen does most everything right. He is a master of drawing word pictures that are at once narrative stories, melodies, and free association free-for-alls.



The book is broken into five sections that broadly define the thematic mood of his mind: migrant, knots, poet warrior, secrets, and autopsy. There is great kindness here, and a mind with a very wide reach.



Here are two poems from Breather. Playing the Field: you hover / you say I'm not your first flower / your first lover // you lower yourself / how hoverly / how loverly / then leave // oh bee / my honey boy / oh baby mine / come back to me. And When Somebody Calls after Ten P.M.: /when somebody calls after ten p.m. / and you live in wisconsin / and you're snug in your bed // then all I can tell you / somebody better be missing / somebody better had a baby / or somebody better be dead.



In Breather, Dethlefsen flows from the concrete to ethereal. He orbits around the collective unconscious like a Jungian astronaut - his interior radar big enough to find meaning in both the great moments and the small nuances of life. This is the blessing of the mature poet, one who has lived hundreds of lives and can bring this diversity of experience to us as a numinous pool of images to soak in. Breather is an exceptional collection of poetry.


Charles Ries

Suffering Bastards by Alan Catlin




Suffering Bastards

by Alan Catlin

Platonic 3 Way Press

Warsaw IN

Copyright © 2009 by Alan Catlin



Review by Zvi A. Sesling ( founder of the Muddy River Poetry Review)





I read Suffering Bastards not long after seeing the movie The Wrestler and the movie missed an opportunity to use some of Alan Catlin’s characters – they are suffering and they exist in the rundown, bar infested sections of cities. Some of the characters are of a higher order – or are they?



Catlin’s bio says he is a retired barman and it is obvious he spent his time doing more than mixing drinks or serving beer. His observations of his customers are dead on descriptions written in verse. The poems made me glad I don’t spend time in bars.



What else is interesting to read are his embedded opinions of the people he chooses to write about. No names, but you have probably run into them at various points of your life. Or, perhaps, read them in Raymond Chandler novels or seen them in noir films. In addition to the title poem there are poems with titles like “The Bar with No Name Revisited,” “The Afterburner,” “The Bruiser,” “Double Rapid Eye Movement,” etc. You get the point. And if you frequented bars – the old fashioned kind – not the ones that serve sushi or lamb chops with potato au gratin or fancy named drinks, but the ones with small, dark porthole windows, smoke curling upward toward dim lights and no big screen TVs either, then you get the atmosphere of a Catlin poem.



In “Suffering Bastard,” the title poem, Catlin’s description is right out of a hardboiled detective novel:



Someone had punched

his clock with a jack

hammer, a shot right above

the eyes that left them

unfocused and as hard as

fired clay in a closed kiln....





There is also this excerpt from “Twenty years of hard drink,”



a stretch in county,

two or three times in the tank

and locked down in a ward

with all the full time lunatics

and all he had to show for it

was two knife scars on his chest.....



Having read Chandler, Hammett, MacDonald and seen (never enough) noir film, I found Catlin’s poems of real life people who many people never get to see worthy of a larger volume of poetic sketches than this small chapbook.



---Zvi Sesling.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Allen Ginsberg comes to Pittsburgh by Dave Newman



Allen Ginsberg comes to Pittsburgh

by Dave Newman

Platonic 3 Way Press

Warsaw Indiana

Copyright © by Dave Newman



Review by Zvi A. Sesling



Allen Ginsberg comes to Pittsburgh is a fun book of poetry if you don’t mind gratuitous foul mouthed use of language. And while I support First Amendment rights, it doesn’t mean I have to enjoy that freedom. Nor does mean I am prudish because I dislike Dave Newman’s choice of words.



Newman, who forthrightly claims to be influenced by both Ginsberg and Charles Bukowski, does his best to write in the barfly’s style, but Bukowski was Bukowski and Ginsberg was Ginsberg. There was only one of each. So to paraphrase Lloyd Bentsen:

I’ve Bukowski and Ginsberg and Newman isn’t either.



Having said all that, Newman is still a fun poet and his stories – true or not – keep the reader interested, often smiling and without the overtones of sadness that permeate Bukowski.



For those who feel inadequate in so many ways: psychologically, sexually, alcoholically, socially, to name a few, this chapbook will strike a familiar chord. For those feeling above failure or inadequacy, enjoy looking down on Newman and his neuroses.



Anyway, once I got past that Bukowski-Ginsberg jig – and the language – Newman’s poetry has a certain appeal despite the flaws and I have the feeling that on his own Newman could be a humorous but more serious poet.



The funniest poem in the chapbook is one entitled “Rick Santorum, For US Senator, Reviews A Reissue of Leaves Of Grass by Walt Whitman which begins



First, I didn’t understand it. But one

of my kids, who made the mistake

of going to one of these fancy liberal

colleges, said there’s gay stuff in

here, and I believe him and that’s

just wrong. The gay stuff, I mean.



I suppose you can really hear Santorum utter these words and it make you wonder what people elect to office from any end of the political spectrum.



Then there’s the title poem, which opens:



Allen Ginsberg came to Pittsburgh and tickets

were ten dollars at the door, and I figured

if I showed up a couple hours before the reading,

someone, one of my friends, would take pity, ....



And pity is something Newman seems to seek as he takes the persona of a Woody Allen schlemiel, a Bukowski barfly, failure at satisfying sex and whatever else he conjures up. But as I said, his poetry is fun.

Poet Molly Lynn Watt: A Poet Who Embraces the Political




Poet Molly Lynn Watt: A Poet Who Embraces the Political

By Doug Holder

Molly Lynn Watt is a dyed-in-the-wool Cambridge, Mass. poet and writer. She is a founding member of Cambridge Co-Housing, a progressive educator for peace and justice, as well as the curator for the monthly Fireside Poetry Reading Series. She is the editor of the annual “Bagel Bard Anthology,” a yearly collection put out by a Somerville-based literary group “The Bagel Bards,” and she published a collection of poetry “Shadow People,” (Ibbetson Street) in 2007. Watt, and her husband Daniel Lynn Watt turned excerpts from Daniel’s parents’ letters to each other during the Spanish Civil War into a musical CD and performance piece. I talked with Watt on my Somerville Community Access TV show: “Poet to Poet Writer to Writer.”


Doug Holder: The reviewer Hugh Fox noticed in your poetry that you are lamenting the shortness of life. He feels you are constantly grasping at the “Here and Now.” So are you an advocate of Carpe Diem?

Molly Lynn Watt: I think when you are in your 70’s it is a good idea to be. I am an advocate for “We are here now.” My poetry is a celebration of the here and now. But I also think I have a lament for the people who are no longer with us, the “Shadow People.” (The title of my poetry collection). These are the people who are no longer with us, but haunt us. I have a poem about hearing Billie Holiday singing “Strange Fruit”. She was a great and tragic person, and unfortunately died from drug abuse. Hearing her sing haunted me. She is a sort of “Shadow Person” in my life. She helped propel me to take some of the stands I’ve taken.

DH: You co-directed the Smoky Mountain North-South Work Camp in Blount County for Highlander Education and Research in Tennessee in 1963. Can you tell us about this, and tell us about your involvement with the Civil Rights Movement?

MW: In 1963 our ideal little family suddenly, who knows for what reason, looked at each other and said “ There must be more to life than this.” We packed everything up, gave up the apartment we were renting, and both my husband and I went off to get a Master’s degree in Community Organization. We went to the Putney Graduate School that became Antioch New England Graduate School in Vermont. Part of our work was traveling through the South, doing a sort of Sociology of the South, and studying the Tennessee Valley Authority. During that time we were in an interracial group, restaurants were closed to us, we were stoned, all kinds of stuff. At that time we saw the Birmingham demonstrations, and the children in the street who were being fire-hosed. I decided that there had to be something better. And so we took on a project of building with volunteers a facility that could be used to train voter registration workers. At that time it was illegal in Blount County for Blacks and Whites to live together, and we were living together. We were arrested, everything was burned. We were lucky to be thrown in jail instead of being lynched. Obviously, that’s what a lot of my poetry is about.

DH: Do you think poetry can have a significant role in political activism?

MW: I hope so. I am using it as my form of activism now. Songs have spurred me on. I guess “Strange Fruit” is a poem that is a song. Poems and songs travel where I can’t.

DH: Some people say political poems are just rants.

MW: One person’s rant is another’s rap. It is very subjective. I read that it is a poet’s job to “crack the truth open.” Elizabeth Alexander did that for me at the inauguration. She showed us the value in repairing a tire, a mother standing with her son waiting for a bus, the way we are in the world. It is our job to repair things including our Democracy. Alexander paid tribute to the people who have gone on before us in the Civil Rights Movement. She in essence said,” People have died for this day.”

DH: You wrote that poetry is an adventure for you—you always carry a little book around when you are on the road. You are ready for action, right?

MW: Life is an adventure. I do some of my writing on the subway. I wrote a poem on the Redline.

DH: Do you revise a lot?

MW: Sometimes things come out whole. Other times I can make 70 or 80 revisions.

DH: You have studied at the William Joiner Institute Writers Workshop at UMass Boston for years now. How has that been for you?

MW: Well, it is a community of writers. I have studied with Fred Marchant, Afaa Michael Weaver, Doug Anderson, Martha Collins and others. I’ve been going 6 or 7 years.

DH: You are very involved with music as well as poetry.

MW: I come from a family that has always been involved with song. My father was a sort of Irish tenor. My mother came from the Appalachian Mountains. In the mountains they still sing songs with Victorian words. When I was in high school I became friends with Pete Seegar. This was in New York State (Hudson Valley) during the time of Blacklisting. So Seegar had time to help kids discover song. He brought the idea to me that song can go where a person can’t. A song can travel without a passport. A song can take ideas with it. You can put a poem to music.

Seegar used to stop by our school. I went to his house once. It was a log cabin. His wife had a red refrigerator. This was in the early 50’s, and I had only seen white ones. I asked her where she got it. She said she went down to the hardware store and bought a can of paint. Both of them took control of shaping their lives. I have tremendous admiration for them. Seegar has crept into my poems. When I was arrested in the South he sent me a hundred dollars to get my car repaired to get home.

DH: You have run a very successful reading series in North Cambridge, the Fireside Reading Series. It has been around for a decade, what’s your secret?

MW: I’m lucky. It has to do with community organizing. Harris Gardner, a poet, told me that I should institute an open mic. That helped a lot. We host poets, we feed them, we treat them well, they are our friends—we are they. It’s a neighborhood. We always invite people to read who are in some way connected to the community.

Monday, February 16, 2009

THE WREN’S CRY by Dorian Brooks




THE WREN’S CRY by Dorian Brooks (Ibbetson Street Press 25 School St. Somerville, Mass. 02143) $15.


Review by Barbara Bialick


Dorian Brooks’ THE WREN’S CRY, is a great volume of poetry, which deserves to be better known, for it’s in the league of famous poets, far and wide.

She both enriches and breaks our hearts with well-edited, polished lyrics carved out of love, nature and memory. But don’t stop till you read the last poems, which will almost kill you with their powerful anti-war messages, one after another, landing as a dead monarch butterfly on Sitting Bull’s hat…

The book calmly but pointedly begins with memories of her family, first with her grandfather leaving his little girl (Brooks’ mother) his”collection of speckled eggs”
She says, “It’s from him I inherit/my sense of the natural order…” But she’s not so rational that she doesn’t see nature’s transformative power, hinting at reincarnation of the soul, even as creatures or plant life. She says her own mother may have had the “soul of a butterfly” or could be heard in “The Wren’s Cry”. She envisioned herself coming back as tumbleweed…”how often I whizzed past/the little things/…a wavering comb of moments behind me.”

Her memories and creativity help her create such vivid images, as when she imagines her father talking to Bach “On a Cold April Day.” In “The Wish” she wants to be talking with him over a beer instead of waiting as he “finished revising despair’s long manuscript.”

She moves from her parents to her sometimes traveling husband. They share the love of nature. In “The Willows”, she notes. “How beautiful (the willows) are” she writes of the trees, “in their sadness”…/Timeless, they touch the depths of loss…lithe as dancers/mourning whole kingdoms…I harbor sorrow on my own shore, /among my own kind”. Then she brings us to “Ground Zero”, where she just discovered the death of their baby boy happened at the same time as the largest ever underground nuke test in November, 1971 in the Aleutian Islands: “and I can’t help thinking, /No wonder you left.”

People are also expressed as that part of nature in which they get ill…from her breast cancer to her husband’s heart attack. She muses about a neighbor she never knew who apparently died of suicide, but having a view of the same Blue Spruce that she loved. She touches on her academic side with a tribute to a professor who died: “the dark earth yields its shimmering tassels.” She calls on the Celtic goddess of poetry but also reminds us of the death of young girls who used to paint radium on watch faces.

Naturalism deftly falls into politics. In a powerful scene she asks us to imagine a place being named not for a famous man, but for a woman giving birth some time in history on that spot. In “Historical Marker” she writes: ‘On this site, no man/was ever bayoneted/or shot, not battle /fought for God or country./But once , long ago a woman lay here/gasping and straining/…for hours, then lifted/her baby to her breast…”





Keep reading. You will love these poems, such as “Whales”: “the heart/is an open book where/nothing is written except/whom we shall love, whom not/snow on water.”
And you must read the book through to the end where she presents a potent batch of anti-war poems good enough to finish off the book as well as the reader!

She speaks against current wars in “Friendly fire” or” How the Dead Come Back To Us”…to “Tumbleweeds” where she describes herself as an innocent cow girl with her toy guns shooting the imaginary Indians, not realizing then the tragedy of her game. Which leads to “Mariposa”, a Spanish butterfly…being the name of the “U.S. battalion/sent to fight the Indians/who lived in what became/Yosemite National Park…Mariposa. I can’t get/the sound out of my head/as I stare at the famed/black and white photo/of the park’s great Half Dome,/pale moon rising over/sheer rock, no living thing/in sight. Maybe the souls/ of the dead really do/come back as butterflies--/or else maybe as words/that,when spoken, flutter/across time, on wings/brighter than blood.”

Her words are certainly bright. As assistant editor of the literary review “Ibbetson Street”
she is a big part of the “small press” scene in Somerville, Massachusetts. But she deserves to also be a part of the “big press” which oozes out of academia, rarely noticing all the talent the small press finds. She is definitely part of that talent!


--Barbara Bialick is the Author of TIME LEAVES (Ibbetson Street Press)

Recurring Dreams by MRB CHELKO




Recurring Dreams

by MRB Chelko

sunnyoutside

Buffalo NY

Softbound, ISBN 978-1-934513-163-3
Review by Zvi A. Sesling





I have always been a sucker for short poems that

say something to the reader – sometimes on the first

read, sometimes on the second or third time around.



Chelko’s poems are very short, each three lines, influenced by

haiku or perhaps other poets. I tried reading the six poems in

this tiny chapbook as one poem and it could work – almost.



These poems have something to say. After you breeze through

the six of them quickly go back and read them again. Then

again. You will find some hidden meanings (I dislike reviewers

who find things the author never said or intended, so I’ll dispense

with that) or maybe something about yourself.



Whatever, these six three liners are quite enjoyable and I think I would

enjoy reading Chelko’s full volumes of poetry.



Here is poem No. 5:



The dog of my childhood is put to sleep

My parents do not bring her body home –

We bury sticks.



Did you ever have a dog as a child – or even as an adult? Did you have

to euthanize it? I remember several dogs that never came home when I

was a child. Different excuses, but always the same result. We didn’t

bury sticks, but when we drove by a cemetery I always thought of the

dogs. And there was the one pushed into a green garbage bag...well enough

of that.



Let’s say the other five poems brought back different memories. So bring

on more MRB Chelko. I’ll read them.


---- Zvi Sesling is the editor of the Muddy River review. http://muddyriverreview.com

Friday, February 13, 2009

Elizabeth Kirschner: Poetry Amidst the Madness.




Elizabeth Kirschner: Poetry Amidst the Madness.

With Doug Holder


Poet Elizabeth Kirschner is alive. She has survived a childhood heavily peppered with physical, verbal and sexual abuse. She has lived to write about it in her new collection of poetry “My Life As A Doll” (Autumn House Press), and a forthcoming memoir “Walking With Winter.”

Kirschner is an accomplished poet and lyricist, and has published a number of well-received poetry collections. She has collaborated with many composers both here and abroad. She set her own poetry to Robert Schumann’s “Dichterliebe.” A CD of this music featuring soprano Jean Danton and pianist Thomas Stumpf was released in the fall of 2005.

Kirschner has taught at Carnegie Mellon University, Boston University, Boston College, as well as the public schools in New Hampshire. I talked with her on my Somerville Community Access TV show “Poet to Poet: Writer to Writer.”

Doug Holder: You have collaborated with composers in your work as a poet. You most recently wrote lyrics to a Schumann composition.


Elizabeth Kirschner: The piece by Schumann is now titled “The Dichterliebe in Four Seasons.” It is a sixteen-song, cycle. It concerns a tragic love affair. I wrote poems for each season. I had a CD and a score, and I would listen to the composition over and over again to help with the process. Composer Thomas Oboe Lee helped me enormously. I also collaborated with a young, up and coming Cambridge, Mass. composer Carson Cooman.


DH: What was the germ of the idea for this project?


EK: It was the idea of the composer Thomas Oboe Lee. It never entered my mind before this. I loved the marriage between poetry and classical music. He was the one who encouraged me. It was a very difficult undertaking. He was a real taskmaster. He stayed right on me. He made sure every note was precise and sing able.

DH: Can you tell us about your new poetry collection “My Life As A Doll?”

EK: It is about my relationship with my late mother, who was very abusive. It is also about the mental illness that came out of it. Between the physical abuse of my mother and the sexual abuse of my father it is really amazing that I survived.

DH: Was the book therapeutic for you?

EK: I couldn’t express my experience If I didn’t have my art. I don’t view it as art therapy. Poetry is too complicated for that. It all came ripping out of me. I feel it can be a tool for healing for people who are reading it.


DH: What have you learned about abuse from your experiences and writing?

EK: What is interesting about abuse is when, where, and how, you retrieve a memory.
When I wrote “My Life As A Doll” I retrieved the key memory of my mother striking me with a baseball bat. That was after my hospitalization. I was in my late 40’s or early 50’s before that memory hit me. The memory came back to me when I was driving back from Cambridge to Newton, after my visit with my therapist. In my memoir I talk a lot about living in a sort of coma—a perpetual out of body experience…I just wasn’t there. I was gone. I have moved from this state thanks to all the difficult work I have done. I have learned that you don’t get the memories until you are ready to retrieve them.

DH: The reviewer Mignon Ariel King said that she felt that you fell in love with your madness. What’s your take?

EK: To me that comment was horrendous. My experience with mental illness has been so excruciating. Mental illness is traumatic. I have been curled up in a ball in my house screaming my head off—out of pain and psychosis. There is no way you can love that. It is a pain so profound that you think you can’t survive it.

My life as a doll

was a life of waiting__hours
reeled like pinwheels, days
passed like wind blown
through black holes, weeks
hung heavy as headstones
The God took a knife
cut me into pure pain,
alive amid birds
wilding in the grapevine
while my dreams angled
into me like hooks, dragging me
away from Mother
into a world
he forget to bless.


e.kirschner1@gmail.com
http://elizabethkirscner.com

WHIMSY: A NEW POETRY, PERFOMANCE VENUE IN INMAN SQUARE CAMBRIDGE




WHIMSY: A NEW POETRY, PERFOMANCE VENUE IN INMAN SQUARE CAMBRIDGE

By Portia Brockway


Whimsy is a monthly performance venue organized and MCed by Markus Nechay (Surrealius), a local artist, at the Outpost 186, a small art gallery in Inman Square, Cambridge.

Markus recruits various types of performers, including musicians, poets, rote and improvisational actors, and dancers. He interweaves performances with his whimsical oratory.

He sometimes centers the night around a theme: such as this coming Sunday’s Valentine’s Day Special; or Edgar Allen Poe’s 200th birthday, on our January evening together.

In addition to Whimsy alternatives, OUTPOST 186 “hosts series of experimental music and performance events Wednesday through Sunday, and special art exhibits. It also serves as a node for progressive and experimental media. Open 1-4pm Tuesday-Sunday or appointment.” Contact: Rob Chalfen - robchalfen@hotmail.com
http://zeitgeist-outpost.org/

About the history of Outpost 186: Have you visited the Outpost 186 yet? You may have enjoyed its antecedent, the Zeitgeist Gallery hot node in Inman Square; preceded by their original location on Broadway, in Cambridge. Egg Al (Nidle) cultivated it to be a place where people could come, and sleep, or lie on the couch, or just gaze in to space at all the art around them, from Nick Wynekin’s comics to Mick Cusimano’s animation, and wander about the heart.



Whimsy is as Whimsy Does


Whimsy is
as whimsy does.
It’s full of imagination
and light and love.

For Poe’s 200th birthday,
in a pretty room:

We tune
at the Blue Moon.
Clara Neelands
tremolos harmonic howls.
We re-iterate: Owo-o-o-o-o- -

Josh Putnam is astute:

“I am a puzzle and a lock
and a bomb and a dangerous drug.
She is the glass key to unlock my sky.
Let her in; everything changes.

Let it out!
It never hurts
so much as when hurting has no voice.
Why does it take so long sometimes
to remember what can never be forgotten.”

On guitar Ed Ayoub
sings from his original place,
bearded with a Semitic face,
this Fertile Crescent
runneth over.

Ben Beckwith plays
with his great nose down,
grinding notes from
boogie woogie goods,
our right hand of God, Ben,
Ground, Tree, Water.

Jane Chakravarthy
offers us Neruda’s penchants,
the sought smooth skin,
forms, human fondues,
cherries, the peach.

Markus Surrealius (Nechay)
in his top hat, black, and ascot,
Poe, raps at Lenore’s door.
What did the Raven say to Lenore?
“Never more!”
Nicole Edgecomb (Lenore)
stands fraught in her hood,
silent, grave.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Circulation. Tim Horvath. (sunnyoutside. POBOX 911 Buffalo, NY 14207) http://sunnyoutside.com




Circulation. Tim Horvath. (sunnyoutside. POBOX 911 Buffalo, NY 14207) http://sunnyoutside.com


Tim Horvath, a recent graduate of the University of New Hampshire MFA program, has penned a short novel “Circulation.” It deals with a young Circulation Director at a town library, and his past relationship with his late father. His father was a dyed-in-the wool eccentric with a capital “E”, who held close to his breast a never completed opus: “The Atlas of the Voyager of Things.” It is described as an impossibly all encompassing work: “That documents the marvelous, intricate, globetrotting chain of events by which things come to be what and where they are.” The father did complete an arcane book “Spelos, An Ode to Caves” that had a small, but loyal cult following.

The father in this novel reminds me of a character in Joseph Mitchell’s nonfiction account of eccentric New Yorkers “Up at the Old Hotel,” Joe Gould. Gould went to New York City and worked as a reporter in the 1920’s for the New York Evening Mail. During his time at the newspaper, he had his epiphany for the longest book ever written. He would title this book An Oral History of Our Time. The book was supposedly based on a word for word account of people’s lives, which Gould had listened to. The book never existed, but Gould insisted, often raving in the streets of Greenwich Village, that he was feverishly working on it.

The casual reader and the bibliophile will love this book. It traces these men’s lives through their obsession with books and arcania. Here is an inspired passage that describes the son putting himself in the place or, well, the jacket of a old, underused, book:

“… likely it has sat on the shelf next to its companions, growing old, peering out at the movements of patrons, sizing them up perhaps just as readily as they are sized up. Yes, I know it sounds strange—you might conclude that I, and not my father, was the one suffering from delirum, but I have occasionally tried to take the perspective of the books on my shelves, imagining that they choose their recipients as much as they are chosen. Like animals in the wild, they can, I suppose, camoflauge themselves such that at times they blend in with their surroundings as readily as a tree frog, hugging the walls of the shelves around them, appearing less palatable than the plump bestseller they lean against… Or like abandoned puppies in a pet store… perhaps l, like these books, can only hope to make an impression—they can poke themselves out just a bit further, than the nearest competitor, jutting forth an irresistible moist black nose between pouting eyes.”

And here is a description of a library in Borge’s fiction “Library of Babel” that describes the life of the book, and thusly the life of man:

“One of the most striking stories I read when I was in college was Borge’s “Library of Babel”, and on occasion I have thought myself the proprietor of that very library. Borge’s
library is a metaphysical marvel, a library that essentially comprises the whole of the universe—the universe as library… Within the library that Borges conjures, not only is every book written shelved somewhere but every possible book is shelved…The conceit is too dizzying to think about too long, but it serves as a good antidote to certain fundamental realities: funds are limited, books go unread, tumble out of print, serve as doorstops—all too effectively I might add; the greatest libraries of civilizations burn down, suns collapse…And each life is limited…there is only so much reading that one can consume in the course of a lifetime…”

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Doug Holder/Ibbetson Update/Somerville, Mass/Feb. 2009

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

From the Paris of New England: Interviews with Poets and Writers by Doug Holder (click on to order)





From the Paris of New England: Interviews with Poets and Writers
Print: $18.50










http://lulu.com/ibbetsonpress to order



A series of interviews with poets and writers that took place in the "Paris of New England," (Somerville, Mass.) Doug Holder the founder of the small literary press "Ibbetson Street" conducted interviews on his Somerville Community Access TV Show "Poet to Poet: Writer to Writer," as well as for his literary column in The Somerville News, and at the Wilderness House Literary Retreat, founded by his friend Steve Glines. Poets and writers included in this volume are Mark Doty, Tom Perrotta, Pagan Kennedy, Claire Messud, Lan Samantha Chang, Afaa Michael Weaver, Lois Ames, Steve Almond, and many more... There is also some striking photography by Elsa Dorfman and other photographers in this collection. Included is an introduction by Michael Basinski, curator of the University of Buffalo Poetry Collection...

Renowned African American poets Afaa Michael Weaver and Major Jackson to be in a filmed public discussion at Somerville Community Access TV

Major Jackson

Afaa Michael Weaver




Renowned African American poets Afaa Michael Weaver and Major Jackson to be in a filmed public discussion at Somerville Community Access TV April 2 7PM Channel 3
MODERATOR: Gloria Mindock




Renowned African American poets Afaa Michael Weaver and Major Jackson to be in a filmed public discussion at Somerville Community Access TV. It will be moderated by Gloria Mindock of the "Cervena Barva Press"

( Somerville, Mass.)

Doug Holder, founder of the independent literary press “Ibbetson Street,” and the host of the Somerville Community Access TV Show “Poet to Poet: Writer to Writer” has started the process of organizing a public discussion featuring renowned African American poets Afaa Michael Weaver (http://afaamweaver.com) and Major Jackson (http://www.majorjackson.com) on April 2, 2009 ( Poetry Month)

Somerville poet Afaa Michael Weaver has won the prestigious PUSHCART PRIZE (2008) for his poem “American Income,” published in POETRY magazine and in his collection "Plum Flower Dance" ( U/Pitt Press.)

Henry Louis Gates, historian and professor at Harvard University writes of Weaver:

"Afaa Michael Weaver is one of the most significant poets writing today. With its blend of Chinese spiritualism and American groundedness, his poetry presents the reader (and the listener, for his body of work is meant to be read aloud) with challenging questions about identity, about how physicality and spirit act together or counteract each other to shape who we are in the world. His attention to the way language works is rare, and the effects of that attention on his poetry are distinctive and expansive."




Major Jackson is the author of two collections of poetry: Hoops (Norton: 2006) and Leaving Saturn (University of Georgia: 2002), winner of the 2000 Cave Canem Poetry Prize and finalist for a National Book Critics Circle Award. Hoops was a finalist for an NAACP Image Award in the category of Outstanding Literature - Poetry. He has received critical attention in The Boston Globe, Christian Science Monitor, Parnassus, Philadelphia Inquirer, and on National Public Radio's 'All Things Considered.' His poems have appeared in the American Poetry Review, Boulevard, Callaloo, The New Yorker, Post Road, Poetry, Triquarterly, among other literary journals and anthologies. He is a recipient of a Whiting Writers' Award and has been honored by the Pew Fellowship in the Arts and the Witter Bynner Foundation in conjunction with the Library of Congress. Last year, he served as a creative arts fellow at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study at Harvard University and as the Jack Kerouac Writer-in-Residence at University of Massachusetts-Lowell. Major Jackson is an Associate Professor of English at University of Vermont and a core faculty member of the Bennington Writing Seminars. He is the current poetry editor of the Harvard Review

A description of the discussion is as follows:

“Two Generations of Black Male Poets/
Two Sets of Eyes on the Urban Landscape

Afaa Weaver & Major Jackson

In a public chat in the SCAT television studios in Somerville,
these two poets share the experience of their lives as black
men who came of age in large American cities, Baltimore
and Philadelphia. They discuss the music, visual art, and
literature that were influential in their times, from The Temptations
to Grandmaster Flash and Chuck D, from Ron Milner
to Susan Lori Parks, and more. They share intimate moments
in their lives and some of their own work as well as that
of poets they know and admire in an evening setting in the
burgeoning artistic community north of Cambridge to be
recorded in front of the live audience.



Contact: Doug Holder: dougholder@post.harvard.edu for more information.

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Reviews of two new poetry collections by Suzanne Owens



Over the Edge by Suzanne Owens
Pudding House Publications, 2007

Reviews by Barbara Thomas


Suzanne Owens first poem is a poignant reflection of her childhood and the event of her father’s betrayal greatly influences the trajectory of her life. “This is what I remember…I keep hidden, as silent as a pocket knife, trying to carve the truth”. She brings back the anguish both she and her mother feel and continues this theme in “Keeping My Mother’s Tears” using the symbol of the music box. “I don’t want my mother’s tears to reign on me…I have my own box now, a strong box, hidden away. “ Her poetry is evocative without being sentimental. She tells the truth of betrayal and tragedy as it is. Other poems document her mother’s decline and the continuing tone is a deep sadness. After her mother’s death, she writes about her son in “Mites versus Pee Wees”. In this poem about a mother’s concern, the metaphor of a hockey game adds a new vigor, “Did I forget your white horse…Have I dressed you in armor too soft for this battle?” The reader is in the game too hoping he wins. In the wonderful last poem the poet takes us to another sphere as she reflects on life and death. “But if the history of the earth is an hour, and we have existed no longer than a millisecond…I ask you why, why do we unlock our souls to write of it with music.” And in this book Suzanne does write about her deepest experiences with music that invokes us to listen.

Harvesting Ice by Suzanne Owens

Finishing Line Press, 2008
In her latest book ‘’In Harvesting Ice”, Suzanne Owens reveals at this stage of her live, she is open for love, but reluctant. “I am territorial, and I don’t find it easy to give away my heart.” In “Thirst” she faces her fear when she finds “her files trashed and her life suddenly empty. ‘’ And then takes us on a journey thru various relationships, and moves before she finds home again.
As in her first book, she writes without sentimentality ; her language precisely capturing intense emotion. She is skillful in weaving imagery and form which make the poems memorable. Many times her imagery startles as in “Gone The Cross-Country”. “ I will be grass growing, and water. Even now, a tree is pumping my blood. ‘’ “Matinee”, captures her ongoing spirit of hope in spite of adversity and this thread of optimism resonates throughout the book. “ All we can keep, small splendors sealed in our heads: a few words voiced or read: the bridge of flowers, thunder, arms thrown out in a welcome gesture. “

*Barbara Thomas is a writer residing in Cambridge,Mass. She worked for many years as an English teacher in the Boston Public Schools. She is a member of the literary organization the "Bagel Bards" that meets in Somerville, Mass.