beautifully alien refraction by Miriam E. Walsh

Review by Reza Tokaloo
7/11/11
Poetry Book Review

Book 1: Random Series

By Miriam E. Walsh

Ardornata Publishing (2011)



Miriam Walsh’s first book (*in a series of 4 books of her poetry) in her Random Book series titled: “beautifully alien refraction,” is a smattering of various poetic forms that are both visual and audible. The title of the book is taken from her poem “dispel 96” (p.14) and displays many of the themes that occur throughout this lengthy volume (140 pages).

In the first 15-20 pages of her work, Ms. Walsh hangs her poems like paintings, as they take on familiar patterns found in much modern poetry: spirals, donuts, steps, diamonds, words descending, and words ascending, etc... Much of this geometric visual art evaporates in favor of long prose in multiple stanza forms with stanzas between 3 and 7 lines long.

Thematically, Ms. Walsh sets her sights on much religious and philosophical metaphors in poems such as: “Of Gods 02,” “Mayan Amidst 00,” “Spirit Walk,” and “Leaving Eden 99.” The pervading imagery derives itself from a Catholic background that might be explained by Ms. Walsh’s residency in the southern Massachusetts town of Bridgewater.

Much of this work feels derivative as certain phrases and words appear consistently in many of her pieces such as: “I am,” “halos,””soul,” and celestial bodies appear play a heavy role in a quasi-mystic imagery: the sun, stars, universe, etc..

Overall, this volume of poetry display most of the common forms and musicality found in the greater body of work coming out of southern Massachusetts over the last 12-15 years. What I found to be frustrating at times (as a reader) was that Ms. Walsh was not ending her work properly. Her pen seemed to want to keep going, looking for that special phrase to captivate and enlighten when her poems had already made their justice fruitful enough. A good example is the last 3 lines of her poem “the quietening 97” (yes that is the title of this piece): “it is the quietening/ and it is anything/but quiet.”

Ms. Walsh has obviously amassed a large body of poetic work over the course of her life. Publishing 4 books of poetry attests to a high level of dedication to writing while working in industries ranging from the arts and health care. And it is not surprising the influence and exposure to these parts of her life have nurtured the stories and poems she has compiled into this collection. To me, it is not whether a poem is simply good or bad, it is what the poet leaves the reader (and the listener) with afterward that has relevance.

The Broadsider

The Broadsider
A Subsidiary of Yossarian Universal News Service
http://yunews.com/broadsider.html
Limited Edition Issue (numbered and signed) $50.00
Regular Issue (unsigned) $20.00
Individual Broadside signed: $5.00
Individual Broadside unsigned: $3.00

Review by Rene Schwiesow

“The Broadsider” only prints previously published work. Yes, you heard me correctly. Everything that “The Broadsider” publishes has already been found in print or online publications. The concept allows more exposure for a poet’s work and in a unique way. Each work solicited by “The Broadsider” is paired with a graphic and produced as a broadside on 65# paper. The collection of broadsides is unbound.

Broadsides come with their distinct advantages. Incorporating poetics into a poster-style piece of art often creates a wonderful presentation. However, the nature of combing print with a graphic can be a tricky situation for readability. While I found some of the broadsides to be very easy to read, many of them contained sections where letters and words blended into the graphic behind them. Thus, those sections of the poem were more difficult to decipher.

The edition I read re-published notable authors such as Hugh Fox with a work entitled “Dad at 73.” The broadside features a photo of a service man as the graphic, the stock is light blue and, for this particular work, black ink was chosen. The design allows the work to be read easily and Fox finishes up the poetics with wonderful phrases like “crickets like crazy, moon out.”

A piece entitled “teddy,” by leah angstman (No, that is not a typo. I am told she does not capitalize her name), is printed in green ink on a beige-toned paper. The shadowing of the graphic photo behind the poem means that one must expend a little more effort to read sections of the work if the lighting is not “just right.” The poem, however, is fabulous:

maybe now the windmills of
Nantucket can be spinning
on the hills of the sound
where the richies can see

blowin out there with
your legacy your depth
your final great roar as
the last congressional lion

Another notable, poet laureate of West Virginia Irene McKinney, gets my vote for her work entitled “Homage to Roy Orbison.” The piece is printed in black ink over a graphic of the legendary Orbison and, despite the shadowing of his sunglasses in the graphic, the work is very readable.


I think that in the voice’s rise
and wail we finally wake and hear the voice
of an angel, “Sweet dreams baby” Roy throbs.

The sheaf of broadsides makes for interesting reading and visual stimulation and if one or more really strike your fancy – put them on the refrigerator with a poetic-looking magnet, or pin it to the bulletin board above your writing desk. Check out their website at the above url link to read more of “The Broadsider” online.

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

Primitive Awe By Miriam E. Walsh

Primitive Awe
By Miriam E. Walsh
Ardornata Publishing, 2011
142 pages

Reviewed by Pam Rosenblatt

Miriam E. Walsh’s Primitive Awe published on June 4, 2011 is 142 pages of fantastical along with experimental poetry that intrigues and arouses curiosity. A former mental health worker at a detox unit, a drafter in the field of engineering, and a graphic designer, Walsh has written a series of four books released in 2011. Primitive Awe is the second book of her random series. Her cover of the book is her own design of a body, complicated yet simple at the same time.


A complex poet, Walsh rarely makes the read simple. But it is a read well the while, though straight answers may never develop, even after analysis of the poems.
In the beginning pages of Primitive Awe, Walsh uses words that may require a dictionary to decipher and often refers to Greek mythological gods. The “difficult” words slowly ease into “easier” words as the book develops. Her metaphors and use of description through economy of words are articulate and wonderful, as seen in the poem, “eros of thanatos 03”.


For better understanding of this poem, “Eros” is the Greek mythological god of sexual love and beauty as well as a god of fertility. He’s known as “Cupid” in Roman mythology. His father is “Ares”, the Greek god of war; his mother is “Aphrodite”, the Greek goddess of love and beauty.


“Thanatos” is a less recognized Greek mythological figure who “was the daemon personification of death.” Throughout ancient Greek literature, “Thanatos” was often implied to but rarely seen. He’s the son of “Nyx” (night) and “Erebos” (Darkness). His brother “Hypnos” (Sleep) is a twin to “Thanatos”.


Now, in “eros of thanatos”, Walsh combines Eros, Thanatos, Aphrodite, Ares, Nyx, and Hypnos to create a somewhat confusing and vividly descriptive work. For instance, Walsh writes:

I am picking upon
a wound again,
licking upon this cut
just to feel it,
just to taste it,
just to bleed
and make sure my heart
is still beating.
Here Walsh suggests Ares and his calling for war, while in the poem’s final stanza Walsh implies that Nyx, the god of night, Erebos, the god of darkness, and Hypnos, the god of Sleep “exist” through economy of word and precise, simple word usage:

to exist
as if it never happened
to glow
when it would be
too easy,
to grow dim,
to stop,
to disappear
to sleep.

As the poems progress in this 142 page poetry book, the poems tend to be clearer, though sometimes they center around the world of the poet herself and are still not easily understood.

this 03

a rebellion
against the hope
imposed upon us.

it is a quiet honesty
that makes a cavern
of your throat
for all it wants to say;
complete
with its quiet
worshipping,
fire-lit paintings;
its primitive awe.

it is an empty place
for that
which will never form.
a space that is
a memory
of a shape
it had imagined
and decided
remembering
will do just as well.

but it is also
acceptance.


a hollow
that breathes,
a grass
receiving snow.

and it is the
only place
where threat
has no echo.

like all things
in life,
merely a ritual
to forget dying

and daily prepare for it.

In “this 03”, Walsh uses the words “primitive awe”, two words that make up the title of her book. Perhaps this poem is filled with “awe”, a word that gently explains the whole meaning of the book. Yet, perhaps not.

small lucidities Book four: random series by Miriam Walsh

small lucidities
Book four: random series
Copyright 2011 by Miriam E. Walsh
ardornata publishing
ISBN978093659839
142 pages, softbound, no price

Review by Zvi A. Sesling

This poetry book is the fourth in a series, the other, to be reviewed by other reviewers are entitled beautifully alien refraction, primitive awe and forced continuity. If the others are anything like this book they should be quite enthralling.

small lucidities has images one may not to read, as in “to breathe 07” in which you can find the following: today was a bad day/to breathe./I should have stopped/that last breath/and the one that came after/but my lungs demanded/and I acquiesced,/from habit.

Ms. Walsh’s images are not pleasant ones, the poems are not happy and a reader feels the Lucidity has been wherever the voice was institutionalized, but ah, there is not indication she ever was, though her bio states she was a health worker at a detox unit and held a number of other positions thus her poems in this volume at least were composed during lunch breaks, poetry readings, train and car rides. As you read this volume, and perhaps the other ones, you will feel that she is indeed prolific, profound and maybe even possessed. Most of the pages have two columns, indicating who directions, two thoughts, too much. Who knows.

Here are samples from two of the poems:

this deep 10: this deep,/this ache/is an ocean I swim under/ warm,/close/pressing/in every inch/a swaddling/that releases/me/from my obligation/to move

no more 08: a rage/I am trying/not to have,/a pain/I am condemned to;/I will be/no more

Some might be repulsed by the concepts behind the whole poem, but they work, they are enthralling, and to be honest makes one wonder whether Ms. Walsh worked in a detox center or was a patient there. Yet having said that, small lucidities has some big lucid thoughts and taken in small doses is a fascinating book (and a reminder there are three others I have not read). Give it a shot and see what you think.

Somerville Poet Julia Story: A Writer with 'Moxie'

Somerville Poet Julia Story: A Writer with "Moxie”

By Doug Holder

Somerville poet Julia Story walked into the Sherman Café to meet with yours truly on a hot July morning. She looked like a poet. Tall and willowy, long, blondish hair with the requisite tattoo on her naked shoulder—she had all the trappings. One could imagine her burning the midnight oil in some Somerville garret, or playing the role of the hip teacher leading a seminar at some MFA program. I say Story has “Moxie” because her first collection of poetry is titled “Post Moxie,” and because she also has courage. It takes guts to live the life of a writer: all the uncertainty, the hustling for jobs, publishing or perishing, and all that sort of rot.



Story, like many Somerville artists, poets, etc… I have interviewed is a transplant. She hails from Indiana, and later got her MFA in Creative Writing at the University of New Hampshire. Her adviser was the much lauded poet Charles Simic.



Story is a friend of the former Somerville Poet Heather Madden (Who defected to Providence, RI), who I had the pleasure to interview a few years back. Story heard about the artistic vibe in Somerville from Madden as well as others. She now lives in the Winter Hill Section of the city.



Like many a poet and writer of my acquaintance she works and has worked at a number of jobs to pay the bills. She has been employed by a non-profit, taught high school, tutored, and was a reader for the prestigious Emerson College–based lit mag “Ploughshares.” She loves teaching creative writing—but most of all she likes to have time for her own work.



I asked Story about her first publication credits. She recalled being published by the “Painted Bride" lit mag in 2000, which at the time was solely online. Online was not in vogue 10 years or so ago—-so her excitement was a bit dampened by that. Story said "Today there would be no problem with an online magazine; they are well-accepted in the literary community. My first published work (In print) was in the “Iowa Review” which I was really thrilled with.”



Story’s first collection of poetry “Post Moxie” was the recipient of Sarabande Books 2009 Kathryn A. Morton Prize and the 2010 John C. Zacharis First Book Award. Her work has appeared in “Ploughshares,” “The Paris Review,” “Octopus,” “Salt Hill” and others.



Story conceives her poems within the context of a series. She never has a preconceived plan when she writes a poem—the ideas seem to come to her, and she goes with the flow. Story retains a good measure of childhood innocence in her work despite being in her late 30’s. She feels it is necessary for a poet view the world with fresh eyes.



Story told me her next collection in progress is titled “Red Town.” She is using the concept of a town as an organizing principle for her work ,and perhaps one day she will use “Our Town” (Excuse me Mr. Wilder) for new inspiration for a new book.

*************************************************************************************



Its Plastic Light"


I make the travel plans. When two ghosts
cross each other, a sky is born. Two
skies try to exist together, one in the
background while the other takes the
credit. Or one underneath the other,
coiled like the furnace in a pretend
hideout, waiting until it can be something
else. The birds honking or in silent lines.
This sound steadfast as a face.



Copyright © 2009 Julia Story All rights reserved
from Post Moxie
Sarabande Books

Ibbetson Street #29

Ibbetson Street #29
Publisher: Doug Holder
Managing Editor: Dorian Brooks
Poetry Editors: Mary Rice, Harris Gardner
Consulting Editors: Robert K. Johnson, Dianne Robitaille
Art Consultant: Richard Wilhelm
Design: Steve Glines
Website Managers: Linda Haviland Conte, Ray Conte
Front Cover: Dianne Robitaille
Back Cover: Dianne Robitaille

50 pages, $8, softbound
The Ibbetson Street Press is supported by and formally affiliated
With Endicott College, Beverly, MA http://www.endicott.edu



Review by Zvi A. Sesling

Somerville poet Doug Holder, the “Johnny Appleseed of Boston area poetry” has done much for the poetic community, including his Bagel Bards (co-founded with Harris Gardner) a group of poets and writers who meet weekly in Somerville, MA and his
publishing house, Ibbetson Street Press which issue poetry books from unknown writers to well known ones. In this latest offering there is a wide selection of excellent poems presented by (to name only a few) Lawrence Kessenich, Ed Galing, Adrienne Drobnies, Richard Hoffman, Dan Sklar, Barbara Helfgott Hyett, Lyn Lifshin and A.D. Winans.

Wendy Drexler’s “Voodoo Donuts” is clever both in its writing and artistic verbal layout which needs to be seen and read. Lawrence Kessenich’s “Writer In Residence” is a nostalgic explanation of a beginning and a veteran’s writer love for pen and paper. Richard Hoffman’s “Long Enough” carries a memory for years. Dan Sklar’s “Of Time And "The Beauty Contest” is a bittersweet poem of love and Alzheimer’s. All the poems in this volume have something to say, are worth a read while the selections provide a diversity of styles.

If The Potter’s Hands Shake by Renee Summers

If The Potter’s Hands Shake
Renee Summers
Converpage

Review by Rene Schwiesow

Poet Renee Summers is no stranger to publishing. Her work has appeared in “Spare Change News,” “Ibbetson Street Press,” “The Aurorean,” and “West Crooke Review,” as well as in other presses. Summers has a love for the written and spoken word and enjoys the time she spends reading poetry for the blind on The Talking Information Center, based at WATD Radio Station in Marshfield, MA. She is always looking for those who may be willing join her in the studio to donate a half hour of their time reading on her show.

“If the Potter’s Hands Shake” is Summers second collection of poetry. The work is filled with nature, family, war, and accepting the personal responsibility for “molding the clay,” rather than projecting all blame onto the Divine. If the Divine is the Potter, Summers feels that we are the hands:

He is the Potter, His craft is infinite;
we are his hands that conceive
on life’s wheel the passion,
the adjectives of countless mores
destructed from individual flaws.

She remembers the Holocaust in works such as “Butterflies of Thieresenstadt” and “To Every One There is a Name,” and speaks to terrorism in “Terror:”

Terror
came over the boundaries
snarling
with snake eyes glazed.

Though Summers addresses the difficult subject of war and the gut-wrenching losses we endure as a result of war, the book is not only a treatise for putting down arms. No, Summers blends all of life together, turning the clay of her experience with a deft hand, knowing the paradox of taking the “bad” along with the “good.” In the first section of the book entitled, “Nature,” Summers addresses nature from gardening to the cosmos:

As the year ends
the cold blue moon
wearing a halo of angelic dust,
a necklace of jewels,
rises in the darkening firmament
to sit upon the edge of the universe.

I am not a winter person, but the visuals in the above strophe from “Colors,” almost give me cause to reconsider my dislike for winter.

The book is separated into three sections. In the final section, “family and other collected poems” Summers has penned a touching, nostalgic work entitled “The Portrait.” The poem is in honor of her grandparents and reading it was a beautiful reminder of all generations that have gone before us.

The sepia photo on the wall
grows to let me step inside

For information on “If the Potter’s Hands Shake” as well as for information on the Talking Information Center, Renee Summers can be contacted at: Renee.Summers@umb.edu

Rene Schwiesow is co-host of the popular South Shore venue, The Art of Words. You can reach Rene at duetsdove@yahoo.com

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.”

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.

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 Café 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

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.”

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 cliché 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

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.