Wednesday, March 07, 2012

WHITE PAPERS by Martha Collins

WHITE PAPERS
Martha Collins
University of Pittsburgh Press
ISBN 13: 978-0-8229-6184-0
2012 $15.95





Martha Collin's poetry mixes metaphor with concrete
images. Sometimes the breakdown and repetitiveness
of phrases and words, helps the reader to ascertain
their own reality, identity, their own rag tag submission
to our own skin, thin enough to see through:

“black keys letters learn
to play read write dress
shoes purse suit grown
up clothes hat tie night
out morning coffee not
yet sin will find you out
dirt sheep eye and blue
mark so it seemed wrong
that in the meant good
book word confused with
Middle English blac pale
(see bleach) oh no never”

When the reader reads the poems aloud, one can hear
the word clicking rhythm that could be, if we
continue to recite with an accent on what is being written,
an accent that is familiar and then clicks into another
pentameter, like jazz bends a note:

“...a dark sky the coming
in of the kept out
in the wind waves
of whites only within

city limits after dark
whites only under
the stones no skin
covering”

And there is history, and color clarification, and experi-
mental writing. And there is the History in the text books
or not, ethics or not, this is a principled reality and not
the History taught. Collin's music is in the revolutionary
in the same way hip hop and rap lyric the 'revolution.'
Each verse, each awareness addresses the reader. The
song so long ignored by some, we are naked in front
of this verse:::

“could get a credit card loan car

come and go without a never had

to think about a school work job

to open doors to buy a rent a nice

place yard park beside a walk

in any store without a never had

to dress to buy a dress shoes under-

wear to understate or -play myself

to make myself heard to get across...”

 Collins plunges into herself, her image and all the foibles
we all believe, but are afraid to reveal and research, and with
book in hand, fingers ink stained, “playing in the dark.” we
are participants:

“although my father although
my mother although we rarely
although we whispered

although the silence although
the absence although even now
some TV books not to mention

radio websites new militias hate
groups raging against our socialist-
communist-fascist although but still...”

This book brings me to the great poet Susan Howe and her intense
study of her subjects in the same way Martha Collins has studied
her subject, even on the personal level. I also think of Cornell West,
his book, “Race Matters” in the same way Collins denotes colors.
Color matters in this book of white papers with black ink. I counted
color words because color matters and because I enjoy what color
represents and their many representations. There are variations on
color so my count is approximate. These are the colors in this book:

white 101, black 43, green 3, pink 5, browns 13, red 8, blue 1, gold 3,
yellow 7, gray 1:

“...and although I've gone back
and filled in some blanks
I'm still learning this un-

learning untying
the knot of Yes but re-
writing this  Yes  Yes”

The poems are masterfully rendered, using space and time
in newer forms and classical form. This is another must read,
another thoughtful book by Martha Collins

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

Tuesday, March 06, 2012

January O’Neil and Jennifer Jean: Friends, Poets, and The Massachusetts Poetry Festival




January O’Neil and Jennifer Jean: Friends, Poets, and The Massachusetts Poetry Festival

By Doug Holder


I have known these two dynamic poets for a number of years now and have seen them branch out into the poetry community—starting their own series, releasing new books, winning awards—and now these talented women are instrumental players for the Mass. Poetry Festival to be held April 20 to 22 in Salem, Mass. Jennifer Jean has been on the English faculty at Salem State University for awhile now and O’Neil left a plum post at Babson College to join the faculty as an Assistant Professor of English at Salem, in addition to being appointed the Executive Director of the Festival. Jennifer Jean has recently released her third collection of the “Archivist,” and O’Neil will be releasing a new collection of poetry “Misery Island” (Kavan Kerry Press) in the coming months. I talked with them on Poet to Poet: Writer to Writer on Somerville Community Access TV.


Doug Holder: So what’s happening this year at the Mass. Poetry Festival?


January O’Neil: The question is what’s not happening. We are going to three days instead of two—Friday, Saturday, Sunday-- April 20 to 22. Salem is a great city and they are experienced hosts—they have been a tourist attraction for many years, and can handle this event easily. We will also have events Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights—as well as the day—of course. We will probably do a kickoff event at Salem State University, and the Peabody Essex Museum is even getting more involved this year. We will have quite a few events and exhibits happening there and we are glad they are letting us use their space. They have a really wonderful Native American art exhibit and we have a Native American poet feature: Joy Harjo I expect we will have 1500 people attend the festival over the three days.



Some of the featured poets we will have include Major Jackson, and Robert Pinsky—former U.S. Poet Laureate. We are going to have 20 events, including a “Favorite Poem Project.” This will be tailored to poetry lovers to celebrate their favorite poem. Also: as part of the tie in the National Poetry Month we are creating a collection of poems that will be distributed to book clubs and libraries that we call “Common Threads.” It will be an anthology of nine poems: by poets who are alive and poets who have passed. Included will be very the very much alive: Sam Cornish, David Ferry, and Frank Bidart--to name a few.



Jennifer Jean: We are going to have a lot of music and poetry mixtures going throughout the day. We will have panels on "songology." We are going to have Slam poets as well and a lot of poetry paired with music.



Doug Holder: Can you talk about the Small Press Book Fair?


January O'Neil: I think at this point we have 35 to 40 presses participating. It is a terrific way for local presses to get the word out to an audience. The Loom Press, Ibbetson Street, Salamander Magazine, Tuesday: An Art Project, and Zephyr Press are just a few of the presses that are participating.



Doug Holder: Jan, you are now an Asst. Professor of English at Salem State University. It is one thing to write poetry--it is another thing to teach it--right?



January O'Neil: You are absolutely right. It is a learning process. I have a lot of friends at Salem State. Jennifer included. I find that students are eager to learn. Like all writers students they have trouble starting a poem and trouble ending one. I teach Creative Writing which is really in my comfort zone. I am learning to get them to talk about poetry, and helping them get inspired. I am also teaching them to give constructive feedback.



Doug Holder: Both of you seem to be all about community--and this of course is strongly expressed in the Mass. Poetry Festival.



Jennifer Jean: I love what other organizations and the Mass. Poetry Festival are doing in helping create community. I feel connected to this greater thing...we share our poetry--our hearts.







January O'Neil: Yes. We go into the schools and talk to students who need help. We help them with their literary skills, and at the same time we broaden our connection to the literary community.



Doug Holder: I have seen both of you grow as poets over the years. I am impressed with your friendship and how you compliment each other.



Jennifer Jean: Jan is very helpful with all kinds of community organizing--nurturing. She has a natural ability, and a good and gracious heart.



January O'Neil: Jean is a talented poet. She is a good friend to have when you get your seventh rejection in one week. A high tide rises all boats. We are there for each other.







Doug Holder: Jan, you have a new poetry collection coming out " Misery Island." Can you talk about it.







January O'Neil. The title is named after an island in Salem Harbor. The poems deal with my divorce--two people clashing, and other themes.



*** For more information about the Mass. Poetry Festival go to http://masspoetryfestival.org

MASS LEAP COLLECTIVE PRESENTS: LOUDER THAN A BOMB





Contact: Meaghan Ford, Press Coordinator



Tel. 908-472-2236


Email: fordmeaghan@gmail.com

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

MASS LEAP COLLECTIVE PRESENTS: LOUDER THAN A BOMB

Youth Poetry Takes Center Stage

BOSTON, Mass January 5, 2012--This spring, Mass LEAP celebrates the very first Louder Than A Bomb festival in

Massachusetts. Louder Than A Bomb was started in Chicago in 2001 by poets Anna West and Kevin Coval. It’s since

grown to be the largest teen poetry festival in the world, and even inspired a full-length feature film

(www.louderthanabombfilm.com). Teaming with Mass Poetry, Mass LEAP will be hosting the event on the MIT

campus in Kresge Hall and will also be hosting the “Student Day of Poetry” in which all youth, competing in the

LTAB festival or otherwise, are welcome. There will be workshops, preliminary bouts, special events, and an

amazing time had by all.

“Aiming to bring teens together across racial, gang, and socio-economic lines, LTAB is a friendly competition that

emphasizes self-expression and community via poetry, oral story-telling, and hip-hop spoken word.” In this inaugural year

Mass LEAP hopes to garner enough enthusiasm for the festival to be able to continue it yearly with as much success at

Chicago and other cities. Any Massachusetts high school, club, organization, teacher, or individual can register a team to

compete at LTAB: Massachusetts.

Preliminary bouts between the registered teams will take place March 30th to April 1st with finals being held on April 13th

at a venue to be announced shortly.

For more information please visit massleapcollective.org

LTAB: Massachusetts: A Mass LEAP and Mass Poetry Event
www.massleapcollective.org

Louder

thaN BOMBmassachusetts---------------*a

About Louder Than a Bomb

“For three minutes at a time the students speak about their lives. For the other eighty-seven minutes, they are listening to

the lives and stories and dreams of others. Kids that don’t look like them and come from a different neighborhood. In listening, the city shrinks.” - K. Coval, LTAB co-founder

Founded in 2001 the largest youth poetry slam in a world strives to bring together teens, ages 13-19, for a friendly

competition. The goal is to bring together the youth poetry communities and organizations across the area. Begun in Chicago by poets Anna West and Kevin Coval, Louder Than a Bomb has spread across the nation inspiring teens in poetry communities to become leaders. Now, it’s Massachusetts’ turn. Hosting their very first Louder than a Bomb festival, the established and

budding youth communities will get to come together and compete. Louder Than a Bomb sprung out of Poetry Slam, the “competitive art of performance poetry” also birthed in Chicago by Matt Smith. A new form of poetry and oral tradition, slam poetry fuses together poetics, stand-up comedy, lyricism, and storytelling to bring the artists words to a new audience.

About Mass LEAP

Mass LEAP is a network of artists, educators, and students working together to create a vibrant youth poetry community

in Greater Boston. We work together to connect teaching artists with schools and other organizations in order to create

opportunities for the youth of the Commonwealth to experience, create, and performance poetry. Our goals are to empower the voices of young people, foster creativity, promote literacy, and build community.

We offer:

+ Writing workshops

+ Open mics

+ Poetry slams

+ Adult development training for educators who want to incorporate spoken word into their curricula

About Mass Poetry

MassPoetry.org is a new program to connect poets and poetry with larger audiences. The project grew out of roundtables with poets in every part of the state to explore that condition of poetry in Massachusetts. Those roundtables were a

collaborative effort between MassPoetry.org, the Mass Cultural Council and MassHumanities.

The purpose of MassPoetry.org is to create resources to aid and support the Massachusetts poetry community, to reconnect poetry to more mainstream culture, to create new audiences for poetry and to organize the poetry community throughout

the state.

about

LTAB: Massachusetts: A Mass LEAP and Mass Poetry Event
www.massleapcollective.org

LTAB: Massachusetts: A Mass LEAP and Mass Poetry Event
www.massleapcollective.org

MassPoetry and Mass L.E.A.P. are partnering to create the first ever state-wide youth poetry slam festival and tournament, modeled after the wildly popular Young Chicago Authors Program. Over 20 teams from across the Commonwealth will

connect, compete and share their work over the weekend of March 30th to April 1st, 2012. All three day’s events are taking place at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in Cambridge.

LTAB Venues & Dates

Friday, March 30th: Student Day of Poetry & Crossing The Street

@ MIT’s Kresge Hall & campus (8-3pm)

Saturday, March 31st: LTAB Preliminaries

@ MIT Student Center (9-6pm)

Sunday, April 1st: LTAB Semi-Finals

@ MIT Kresge Little Theater (10-5pm)

Friday, April 13th: LTAB FINALS

@ Venue

Sunday, March 04, 2012

The Resisting II: Selected Vignettes The Resisting III: Selected Poetry By Meg Founds

The Resisting II: Selected Vignettes
The Resisting III: Selected Poetry
By Meg Founds
Illustrations by Michael Shores
Hawkpond Press
Printed by Red Sun Press
Boston MA
Unpaged
No price

Review by Dennis Daly

Both of these chapbooks ooze production value. The poems and vignettes were all set up as poems and seem interchangeable, so I read them and treat them for the purposes of this review as all poems. The illustrations alone are worth the price of each chapbook (whatever those prices are). The illustrations are illogical and dream-like, more surreal than romantic, more dada than fantasy. That said, many of the poems connect wonderfully with their allotted illustration. In the poem The Migraine the poet details a delightful side effect of her migraine, one that overshadows the debilitating headache. Not easy to do. This side effect is called synesthesia, or transferred sensation. Here are the key lines,

Simultaneous perception
I saw little white butterflies or moths flutter
From the tip of our Christmas tree
And at the very same time I smelled cinnamon
Wafting into the room from the kitchen
Where there was no one baking.

The picture on the opposite page strikes all the right chords as you read the poem including minimizing the suffering from the migraine.
The poem Gone Fishin’ At Old St. Paul’s juxtaposes a bucolic day of lake fishing with grave stones and cemetery mourners.  The mourners are laying flowers down for their loved ones and at the same time showing curiosity about the day's catch. Resolution comes from an unexpected source,

Organ music wafted from the church
Someone had forgotten to lock the instrument
But the music sounded appropriate and proper
A medley, a backdrop for mourners
And fishermen alike.

Paired with this poem is the picture of a romanticized angel playing a mandolin at the intersection of a coast scene and a country scene with geometric lines to stress the imposition of the figure on another context and its artificiality.  It works!
A poem entitled Chicken Heaven, on the face of it, is a funny recitation of parental love and the security children usually find in repetition. The child would be asked where her pet chicken was each time she was driven past the hen house. “There’s Henrietta,” she would say. This poem gives more credit to the child than is normally given. The poem concludes this way,

Then one day as we were returning
From Ann Arbor
The Chicken was gone
We asked Molly, “Where’s Henrietta?”
And Molly answered, “Gone to Chicken Heaven!”

The oddball picture on the opposite page shows the ladder to a chicken coop going up through clouds. Angel wings also proliferate. Two parental birds stand at attention nearby.  I left these pages feeling uneasy.
The Giant, a poem which depicts a dead giant ray of some sort that has been washed in with the tide, opens for inspection its real subject: the minds of the onlookers. Imaginations are mirrored on the opposite page by a fantastical monster with bird eyes and exposed lungs and fish-like head. The poet comes to his point with these lines,

Engendering more than fascination
From the human onlookers
This dead, smelly giant rolls to a stop
On the sand
And is moved
By each concurrent wave.

Many of these poems are intrinsically tied to their illustrations (keep in mind that not all of them are illustrated). One such poem is The Mildew Man.  The poem is almost a refrain cosmically afloat. It starts,

what a nice guy
he’s the mildew man
the mildew man
what a bright sky
he’s the stars
he’s the star man.

There is a curious poem at the end of Resisting III called Nutrition From the Womb. This poem on the surface discusses cravings and calcium. I think it really is pointing out the constant remake of the human soul and the need for lifelong replenishment of sensory and possibly spiritual data. Or perhaps the human skull across from the poem has just woken up new fears of mortality in me. The poet says,

Does this mean I must choke down
Six calcium tablets a day
Because I am large boned?

Does it make sense I must replenish
What I already have?

I think it does. Nice metaphor!

Saturday, March 03, 2012

What the Quiet Accomplishes By Marshall D. Dury


By Marshall D. Dury

Marsh.dury@gmail.com

20 Pages

                                                          ( Marshall D. Dury)



Reviewed by Dennis Daly



This modest chapbook by Marshall Dury chronicles breaths, and whispers, and wordlessness. These are quiet poems, and at their best—haunting. There is a lot of soul-searching going on here in a very literal sense. In Cicatrix (Prelude) the poet considers the nature of memories,



tender the memories,

tender the changes.



a new softness rising in you,

the suppleness of skin, gone.



The body of his lover loses its suppleness as our memories of the past soften and lose their essential tension. As the strength of a mountain can erode, so can our past, which in this poet’s words is a “delicate vessel.” As the poet seems to imply, the past changes with time, becomes set as a story or series of stories, and then changes yet again. Then with time the past collapses into itself losing substance and eventually vanishing.

The poem Being Gift Enough celebrates the sweet breath of life. It seems to argue that life alone is blessing enough and that all of us should stop and take it in. This pantheistic vision is exhilarating with the breath of life literally dancing in one’s heart,



if you breathe it truly.

let it dance in the beautiful mess

of veins and heart





that the night is quiet, is still:

your dog’s soft chirps of dreaming,

your wife’s skin soft love, warm breath of joy,

that these, most any night,

be gift enough to truly know

what a blessing is.



By the way, dogs do really chirp in their sleep, while dreaming. At least my dog does. Good observation.

In Reverie, not only do we dream our life in nearby houses, but as we listen carefully the two realities merge, and the poet and his lover merge,



Where dreams show us what beauty our lives are now,

If we be willing to listen

If we be willing to live the reverie of this life together

Until there is no difference.



Sharing dreams do cement lovers together (even in other people’s houses) like nothing else.

In an unusual poem, entitled For Sylvia Plath’s Audience—The Ones Who Repeatedly Tried To Carve Out The Last Name ‘Hughes’ From Her Headstone, Dury attempts to explain the unexplainable with, I believe, mixed results. The poem is clearly aimed at Plath’s infamous husband, the well- known and accomplished poet, Ted Hughes. Dury mulls the complicated human desire for correcting great mistakes and wonders what a life would be if, by some magic, a destructive flaw could be chiseled out of the story of one’s life, in this case, Plath’s unhappy marriage. These lines show insight and are memorable,



Peeling away cold days

Like we can forget them

By choice. The motionless

Fissure where your chisel

May strip from stone

All that misunderstanding…



The poem entitled Plain upon Plain meditates on the mystery and artistry of writing. An internal geography emerges from the tip of the poet's ball point pen,



… words falling through the funnel of your pen—this ballpoint,

received as a wedding gift. You see:



dewed, silent hills. tall grass,

small twists of morning light..



And,



life held up, hoisted over your heart.

the inner country of your soul unfolds,

plain upon plain…



I think the best poem in the book is the last: On the Failing of Words. A fourteen year old boy seeks communication with his very sick brother. The poet details the limits of art. Sometimes words fall short. It’s one of the flaws in humanity,



because sometimes,

that is all you want.

for your words

simply to be

enough.



And sometimes they just aren’t. Dury nails this poem and a good many others in this surprising chapbook.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Strong as Silk The story of the Gold Hill Wakamatsu Tea & Silk Colony by Brigit Truex


Strong as Silk
The story of the Gold Hill
Wakamatsu Tea & Silk Colony
Prose & Poems
Brigit Truex
ISBN978-1-929878-83-3
Lummox Press 2012
$15.00


Review by Irene Koronas
 
Truex juxtaposes her small poems next to journal entries by Lady Jou, 1869-71:

"One last leaf remains,
turning, spinning east, then west.
Wind carries it off"

And from the journals of two other residents of the colony. Truex weaves, steeps the leaves then presses the stories between the pages. The settlers form a tea colony in California after coming from Japan. The history of the colony is in the back of the book and is as interesting as the prose and poetry. The people within the book migrate to California to make a profit from silk and tea trade. The book poetically informs all our senses; each journal page reveals the expectations and the loss felt by the settlers:

"...Last night, as we settled into our rooms, I found a book. Whoever
lived here before - the Graners, perhaps - must have dropped it.
Inside, a tiny lotus - until it fluttered away! The petals were splayed
wings of a small green moth. Surely it whispered blessings as it
circled overhead. I send prayers for us and our venture in this new place."

It is the story of beginnings and separations. It is how the poet relates to the journal entries:

"Hanging upside - down,
small bird robed in black scholar's cap -
our worlds are reversed"

The writing is magnificent, a blend of the past and present. We readers are able to discern
the subtle differences between the then and the now, the land and purpose of being, all
from the journal, 1874 and the recent poems:

"The moon was so full of itself, it echoed like
a bronze cymbal. It drowned out all other sounds.
Even the owl was silenced, still as the mouse
he pursues. He too was in awe of the night.

Far away, I heard the miners' music. It is difficult
to enjoy. I do not understand it. There are too many
sounds at once.

The light drew two moths as well. They danced in the darkness,
performing for the empress-moon. Mirroring each other, spiraling,
separating, only to return again. I am reminded of cherry
blossoms, released from the branch, drifting down when
no one is there to watch them fall."

The above journal entry takes my breath away and I can feel the longing for and the love of being where she is. She is nineteen years old and does not live much longer. Truex writes her poem next to the entry:

"Etched on still-black lake of sky,
porcelain petals
flutter to the moon."

Wow. Don't miss this book. Buy it and keep it and pass it to your children.
-- 
Irene Koronas
Poetry Editor:
Wilderness House Literary Review
www.whlreview.com 
Reviewer:
Ibbetson Street Press

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Review of The Georgia Review


Review of The Georgia Review:

“We Are All of Us Passing Through”

Review by Ralph Pennel

In his introduction to volume 65, issue 4 of The Georgia Review, editor Stephen Corey, seemingly offhandedly, draws the reader through a brief history of time as illimitable as our collective imagination and as succinct as the word “time” is in instructing our understanding of the concept of time. Corey, when he asks, “Whether the words old and new having the same number of letters could be a sign of similar meanings” (667), reminds us, by demanding we consider their relativity and flexibility, and the expansion and contraction of language itself, that words—and all narratives given breath by them—can be simultaneously culled from their etymologies into new histories and back again in a single postulation. Before we even begin to read this collection of writings, the boundaries of time have collapsed. And, with each new piece, both individually and collectively, these boundaries are refashioned into the spaces between the boundaries, linking us all to the dark matter between all points of light, the very spaces where we construct the meaning of our lives, the spaces where, “We Are All of Us Passing Through.”

Each piece housed in this issue of The Georgia Review is a reminiscence—ruminative in content and context from each piece’s own beginning and end, through the entire collection’s beginning and end, and ruminative in the way that most purposeful, personal resolve is emotional acceptance of the unresolved flesh.

Fittingly, the opening essay, titled “In the Flesh,” by Martha G. Wiseman, begins here, with acceptance of all she has gained from all she has lost. Wiseman finds herself, at the onset, “back among the dancers” (669), a lifestyle she inherited from her namesake and godmother, Martha Graham, and a lifestyle she extracted herself from years later before she caved entirely into herself. In reflection, she recalls her “futile striving for a perfect dancer’s body” (676) though what she was actually striving for was, “a clear attempt to defeat [her] shame” (676).  She is at no time kind or forgiving, recalling each failed attempt to reconcile with her own body that resulted in a loss of her own sense of self, until the recalling is a kind of a mantra. A prayer of sorts.

This idea of paying homage to the letting down of our wills, of honoring the dark matter, is carried throughout the review, and pulls the works together the way time pulls together the dissonant trajectories of our lives into a cohesive narrative. This homage, this accounting for our failings as evidence of grace, is further explored in Carol Edelstein’s poem, “Close as I Can Get to Prayer.” Edelstein’s poem, with all its elegiac weight, like Wiseman’s essay, begins at the end:

Slowly the amaryllis unpacks its massive blooms.
At the end you were a fighting bird, all sinew and
will.  (689)

However, it is an end both seasoned with stoic resolve and almost unpalatable longing:

            But I’ll take anything—world in a stupor
            after the night shift, emptying its pockets
            of coins, bills, whatever can be cast down
onto the square of light. Anything—any creature
peeking forth, root or leaf, smudge, crease—
I’ll take. (689)

We can’t help but feel from Edelstien’s poem that the size and shape of personal accountability, or remorse and repentance, is contingent upon our sense of relatedness to the world around us, to the interior landscapes of our lives, and to the land itself.

Eugenie Torgerson’s works carry with them the same sense of longing. Charting and plotting the earth’s surface in her work, she reveals the intimacies of the lives of the land she photographs, as if time itself were capable of longing. Torgerson’s works inhabit the page, render the page as history, trajectory, stasis, and breadth.  They are at once cartography and the land they map. Each landscape has two histories. Histories with us. Histories without us.  Contiguous. Confluent.

Torgerson says of her own work that, “My own images are not of a specific site but are generalized and universal representations of the weight of the land and the energy and allure of the horizon . . . of what makes people decide to leave, what causes them to stay, how they endure with grace” (712). It is hard not to assume that in each of her images, when Torgerson says people, she is speaking of the land instead, the land a dancer, too, a body from which those who inhabited it have attempted to render perfection.

            It is in the writings of Henry Crews where, at nearly the center of journal, the ideas explored throughout the works of the review culminate, edify, and expand, the way light is drawn to and then bends around a celestial body. Crews is not spare in his ideas or language, stating directly what each Wiseman and Edelstein (and even Corey) have already asked us to consider in their own way. Crews, in his essay, “We Are All of Us Passing Through,” pleads with epistemological conviction, “Deliver me from men who are without doubt. Doubt makes a man decent. My most steadfast conviction is that every man ought to doubt everything he holds dearest” (723). And, once again in The Gospel Singer, that, “Suffering is God’s greatest gift to man” (739). It is through the pain that we gain greater vision, that we achieve higher levels of consciousness, where the self is born with acceptance of the body’s death, where beginnings are endings, where old and new concord.

            That this is the final issue of the 65th year is not unremarkable against the backdrop of its content. It could be no other way.  Though this issue marks the end of the season, it serves to also lead us forward into the next with unquestionable elegiac eloquence.

 ***Ralph Pennel is the Fiction Editor, and one of four founding editors, of Midway Journal, an online journal published out of St. Paul, Minnesota. He teaches Creative Writing, Composition, and literature online for Globe University in Minnesota and currently lives in Somerville, Massachusetts.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Review, Poetica Magazine, Contemporary Jewish Writing, Holocaust Edition,


Review, Poetica Magazine, Contemporary Jewish Writing, Holocaust Edition Spring 2012, PO Box 11014, Norfolk, Virginia 23517, www.poeticamagazine.com, Michal Mahgerefteh, Editor-in Chief, 64 pages.




Review by Barbara Bialick, author of TIME LEAVES



At my age, the word “holocaust” reminds me of when I read about all of the horrors, as a child in Hebrew School, of the slaughter by the Germans of 6 million Jews during World War II from 1939 to 1945. That was in the 1960s. But I never forgot… On looking at this special issue of the fine journal Poetica, my thought was Oh no, I can’t read all this again! Yet in well-written poetry by 40 fine poets, is chronicled different views of the nightmare stories of the killing, incarceration, burning and starving, as well as thoughts and memories by and about the survivors.



But I realized who this important collection is really for—the younger generation, who need to hear about it also, or everything that happened will be forgotten. Jews continue to need to be reminded how we have been hated throughout history, even as Israel is often hated today by certain Jews as well as the Palestinians, indeed the whole Middle East.



In the poem, “Holocaust Remembrance Day, 2012”, Helen Bar-Lev writes “the oven warms; a cake bakes/a siren wrenches the heart/the radio plays somber songs/and people retell of the holocaust…of the loss”.



“Why do you sleep, O Lord? Awaken, do not/reject us forever,” writes Bernard Otterman in “Psalm 44 at Auschwitz.”



Another moving poem is “Budapest Shoes” by Jena Smith: “Sixty shoes line Pest bank, cast iron shoes…/shoes of the Jews, Hungarian Jews.”



I really like the poem “I Would Have Called You ‘Oma’” by Joanne Jagoda, about the grandmother she never met: “They shipped you on the train to Auschwitz/and you walked to the showers of gas/your precious light extinguished forever/And when I hold my own sweet grandchild/I think about you…”



This book exists like a holy encyclopedia, written and ready to read, too awful to be quoted so haphazardly. Just buy it and give it to someone of the young generation and let them get sick, too, before the old generations of witnesses and their children disappear, leaving no one to remember what really happened…

Women’s History Month Event: Hilary Tann Premiere Featured at Concert Celebrating 400th Anniversary of Anne Bradstreet’s Birth


 

Women’s History Month Event:
Hilary Tann Premiere Featured at Concert Celebrating
400th Anniversary of Anne Bradstreet’s Birth 

By Beth Purcell

Cappella Clausura presents Mistress: A Celebration of the 400th Anniversary of the Birth of America’s First Poet, Mistress Anne BradstreetThe commissioned Contemplations (8, 9) by composer Hilary Tann will receive its premiere, joined on this Women’s History Month program by her Contemplations (21, 22), written earlier for the Radcliffe Choral Society.  Dorothy Crawford’s A Portrait of Anne Bradstreet, based on the poet’s letters and poems, and Naushon will also be featured.  Madrigals and motets by Barbara Strozzi and Isabella Leonarda, Bradstreet’s contemporaries, will complete the concert. 

Tenors and basses will be added to the female chorus for the Strozzi and Leonarda works, along with harpsichord, violin and recorder for some of the pieces. A festive reception with birthday cake will be held at the concert on March 17, when Hilary Tann will be in attendance for the premiere. 

Known as America's first poet, Anne Bradstreet was born in England, then moved to the greater Boston area with other Puritan emigrants in 1630.  A freethinker and intellect, she wrote poetry on religious and domestic subjects with at least one collection published in her time in both England and the New World.  Both her father and her husband served as governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony; both were also prominently involved in the founding of Harvard College (where a gate now bears an excerpt from one of Bradstreet’s works). 

In Contemplations, the poet stands in awe of God’s universe.  This long work was written for her family and published posthumously.  Tann’s musical setting of the 8th and 9th sections of the poem is adventurous and rhythmically vibrant, with hints of a Japanese aesthetic.  Clausura has sung other works of Tann’s in the past.

Tann’s music is influenced by the love of her native Wales, the natural world and traditional music of Japan. 
Ensembles that have commissioned and performed her works include the American Guild of Organists, Louisville Symphony Orchestra, European Women’s Orchestra, Tenebrae, Llangollen International Musical Eisteddfod, BBC National Orchestra of Wales, Thai Philharmonic and KBS Philharmonic in Seoul.  She lives in the Adirondacks and serves on the faculty of Union College.  For more information, visit:  www.HilaryTann.com.



Crawford’s works have been performed by many ensembles including the Longy Chamber Singers, the Unicorn Singers, which she founded with her husband, composer/pianist John Crawford, and at the Bloch Festival where she was a participating composer.  She is the recipient of a Composers’ Guild Award for Choral Composition and lives in Cambridge.

Concert Dates/Locations:
Saturday, March 17, 8PM,  Parish of the Messiah, 1900 Commonwealth Av., Newton
Saturday, March 24, at 8PM,  University Lutheran, 66 Winthrop St., Cambridge
Sunday, March 25, 4PM,  First Church in Jamaica Plain, 6 Eliot St., Jamaica Plain
(MORE)


Contact:          Director Amelia LeClair  617-964-6609  or manager@clausura.org
Tickets:           $15 - $25.  Purchase online  at  www.clausura.org  or at the door


Cappella Clausura brings to light works written by women from the 8th century to the present day:  twelve  centuries of “new” music.   While this ensemble of sopranos, altos, and period instruments performs music solely by  women composers, and champions living composers, it concentrates on repertoire by women in the
cloister – clausura – during the Italian baroque period.  During this extraordinary time, women were allowed to
express themselves spiritually and artistically, and to publish their own music.  Clausura’s intention is to dispel the notion that there are not now nor have there ever been gifted women composers.  History has been blind and deaf to these remarkable works; Cappella Clausura  brings vision and voice to them.

About Amelia LeClair and the context of Cappella Clausura:
LeClair received her Bachelor's in Music Theory and Composition from UMass Boston in 1975.  Having noticed throughout her education the dearth of female composers in the historical canon, she lost faith in her own ability to compose and moved on to raising a family and owning a business.  
Musical scholars in the 70's unearthed the works of female composers which had for too long moldered in libraries:  scholars such as Robert Kendrick, Craig Monson, Candace Smith, Judith Tick, Jane Bernstein, and many more.  Then the Norton Grove Dictionary of Women Composers appeared on university shelves.  The work of these scholars became the impetus for Cappella Clausura.  In 2001 LeClair entered the masters program at New England Conservatory, studying with Simon Carrington in choral conducting. She made her conducting debut in Jordan Hall in March of 2002.
Shortly after gaining her masters, she founded Cappella Clausura, an ensemble of voices and period instruments specializing in music written by women from the 8th century to the present day.   She has presented and premiered the music of Hilary Tann, Patricia Van Ness, Abbie Betinis, Emma Lou Diemer, and many more. Now in its seventh year, Cappella Clausura has to date received annual local cultural council grants from the city of Newton, three grants from Choral Arts New England, and a grant from the PatsyLu fund of Open Meadows Foundation.
LeClair greatly enjoys the discovery and presentation of music not in the standard repertoire, such as women's early music and works that expand on Euro-centric strictures.  She is director of choirs at the Church of St Andrew in Marblehead and Director of Schola Nocturna, a compline choir at the Episcopal Parish of the Messiah in Newton.  She directed Coro Stella Maris, a renaissance a cappella choir in Gloucester, for five years. She has directed children's choirs for First Unitarian Society in Newton, and Revels. She lives in Newton with her husband.

What the press is saying

"...eavesdrop on paradise... personal and inviting, extravagant and intimate."
- Matthew Guerreri, BOSTON GLOBE
  
"...riveting...pure, rich.." - The Boston Phoenix
  
"...the cadences of each phrase and each piece were nothing short of exquisite. There were many divine moments of perfect sonority..."   - Boston Musical Intelligencer     

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*Photos and full artist bios are available at http://www.clausura.org/  

Friday, February 24, 2012

Photos from the Ibbetson Street Press/Endicott College Visiting Author Series

Photos from the Ibbetson Street Press/Endicott College Visiting Author Series





*** Mack performed excerpts from " Conversation with my Molester." It had been premiered at the Boston Playwright Theatre at Boston University.







                  Left Poet/Performer Michael Mack, Right Series Director Doug Holder 





( Click on pic to enlarge)



( click on pic to enlarge)

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Train Wreckard 1-14 By Dennis Sheehan


A BagelBards Second Look Book Review



“Track Wreckard 1-14”



By Denis Sheehan



Bone Print Press, No price listed







Reviewed 2/13/12, Re-reviewed 2/20/12 by Paul Steven Stone







If it wasn’t a pun, I’d say here’s one for the books! How often does one write a book review one week, then come back the next week with an entirely different interpretation of what he read, and what the author achieved?



For me, this is the first time.



I felt pretty confident when I wrote my original review that the author had taken the easy way out in writing his book (novel, memoir?) by merely writing up 14 consecutive evenings spent in a local Rockland bar. His refusal to edit his writings, or even correct misspellings, made it seem like a labor of lassitude and, here’s the trap, a reflection of blue collar antipathy to the requirements of white collar literature. I’m afraid I wrote my review accordingly.



After all, if Denis Sheehan was going to force me to read about him sitting at a local bar night after night and get stinking drunk half the time, without even crafting his presentation, then I was going to call him out (always politely, of course) for his laziness, his lack of literary focus and, of course, for his obvious inattention to MY needs as an experienced reader with high literary standards.



It was only the next day after I submitted my review, when I was working on a new novel in which I play serious games with the reader’s status as a fly on the wall, that I realized what games Denis Sheehan had been attempting with his book, and that I had fallen into his trap.



If I can steal from my earlier review of Track Wreckard, I wrote…“Aside from developing a drinking problem, or feeling like I did, reading the book did an excellent job of replicating the boredom and pointlessness of a life spent without challenges or significant interests.”



I had hit a bullseye and didn’t even know it. For now I see that Track Wreckard is totally about conveying the blue collar grind of nightly visits to the Pub and daily penance paid at whatever form of grueling employment fueled the author’s need for nightly oblivion. Far from creating a novel that focused on sharing those short ups and deep downs in any literary sense, Denis Sheehan chose to dunk the reader almost bodily in the boredom, repetition, small glories and minor triumphs of his life. Unedited, uninterrupted by literary pretension or Spellcheck, unapologetically served out across 14 evenings of his life!



I apologize to Denis Sheehan for first reviewing his book from my point of view, which caused me to miss how well he had hit the mark from his point of view. By taking exception to the fact that most of the writing was done when the author was half- or wholly-in-the-bag, and not prettied up afterwards, I missed or misinterpreted the author’s ingenuousness in sharing himself and his world when they were at their most vulnerable and unattractive. Rather than accept my immersion in his world, I complained and wished for a world and a protagonist more attune to my tastes.



Whether you’re looking for a non-violent drinking companion or some insight into a world strangely close but ineffably distant, “Train Wreckard 1-14” might be just the cocktail for you.



Don’t be surprised if you find, as I did, that it merits a second sip.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Last Call: The Bukowski Legacy Continues






 
Last Call: The Bukowski Legacy Continues
Editor: RD Armstrong
Lummox Press
ISBN: 978-1-929878-86-4
$18.00

Review by Dennis Daly


Here you will find shit jobs, mad women in miniskirts, junkies, cigar smoke, insomniacs, booze, broads, swollen testicles, and despair.  Sound like the world of the late writer and poet Charles Bukowski. Well it’s not. But it is an anthology inspired by him and Bukowski remains the central reference point throughout.

RD Armstrong edited this ambitious book (apparently his second attempt to get it just right) hoping to lay out the legacy and influence of Bukowski for all to see.  Like their mentor’s own work many of these pieces are angry and defiant in both style and subject matter. One of their repeated targets, and deservedly so, is academia.

Michael Ford’s poem, Not Celebrity Bowling: Cerebrally Bowling, goes right to the heart of it,

spare me the hypocrisy of the gutless rituals of
anthologized poetry; English Department ivory
tower cowards publishing what they have turned
the art of poetry into: bubbles on a fat vat full of
bland oatmeal.

Mark Terrill puts it another way, but no less effective, in his poem Bukowski: 3/10/94,

..there are the
Great Living Poets
the Great Dead Poets
and then there’s me
another two-bit guttersnipe.

In an obscenity- laced poem, appropriate to the book, FN Wright’s Bukowski and Me makes the point that the underside of culture where Bukowski  found his muses is not only alive and well but still a suitable setting for intense poetry,

I attract bad women

drunks
junkies
whores…

catholic girls gone bad
& Baptist minister’s
daughters
are particularly
fond of me

unlike Bukowski
I am not
a great poet
but I’m damn good…

My Comrades, a poem by Joe Speer with a provocative title, needles the literary establishment. Speer allies the underclass, non-elite writers with luminaries such as Sir Thomas Malory, a prisoner, Cervantes, impoverished, Thomas Hardy and Emile Proust, self-publishers, William Faulkner, a rum smuggler, and others. He details his points of comparison thusly:

this one teaches
that one lives with his mother and cat
another pencraft master takes drugs, non-prescription
and cleans house as his wife earns a living.

In other words, here are poets from the real world, not that rarified artificial world of artsy-fartsy elitism.
Poets, who emerge from this seamy world of damaged creative people, have advantages. In order to measure out the truth, they lie better than most. And that is only the beginning of it. Ellaraine Lockie in her clear-eyed telling poem, Poets at Any Price, says,

They’ll exploit
confessor, friend or family …

And,

I tell you
Because I’ve been truth’s victim
Verbal accounts reiterated
verbatim in someone else’s poem
Secrets exposed as sonnets
Composites as transparent
as the silk panties I wore…

Plato was right: never trust poets.
The world of Bukowski and his acolytes is reduced to a piece of bruised fruit in an interesting piece by Doug holder entitled, It Is Late and the Fruit Is Bad. Beware there is a little bit of DH Lawrence’s poem Figs here. Holder’s persona chooses to eat in a way not acceptable in polite society. He says,

I take its flesh
deep into my mouth
digest the ferment
of its rotten skin
cut the lights

Cutting the lights seals the deal. We are among the vulgar. Not just everyman seeking satisfaction and a high, but an artist, who, even in miniature, meticulously records the truth of his appetites. If eating rotting fruit this way seems vaguely licentious, eating rotting fruit in the middle of the night in the dark seems downright obscene. 

Another all-nighter was had by G. Murray Thomas. In his poem, To the Editor Whose Name Will Appear on my Next Rejection Slip, the poet says,

I sat up all night
drinking beer
and going over my
unpublished poems
searching for one written
in the cheap…

The poet tries to match expectations of a Bukowski –like poem. He finally gives up, becomes himself again and writes this poem chronicling the process. I wonder if the rejection letter he expected was from this very anthology.


Breaking the mood, but not the context, the short story by RD Armstrong, Two Drink Minimum, grabs you with its great musically obscene refrain. The refrain breaks up the story of a construction job gone bad. Add the battle of the sexes and the result is a hilarious read.




Another one of the stories is an odd but serious piece by John Macker, called Not Too far From the Maverick Bar. The protagonist has packed his dead dog’s body in dry ice and trekked into the desert to bury him and seek redemption. The story takes a neat and satisfying turn at the end with Bukowski doing a cameo.
I found all the essays interesting, but one was especially memorable, A Buk Remembrance by Michael Meloan. Three quarters of the essay describes the legendary Bukowski alit with booze and on a rampage. The last quarter portrays a thoughtful, workaholic, with more than a touch of irony in his pronouncements.
That Charles Bukowski would really get a kick out of this book.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Review of “Are There Zombies in Heaven”






 Review of “Are There Zombies in Heaven”, poetry by Eric “The Moebius Kid” Morlin, Wilder Publications, Inc., PO Box 10641, Blacksburg, VA 24063, 149 pages, 2011




Review by Barbara Bialick



There are some 101 poems with interesting titles listed in the table of contents of this book, 102 if you count the disclaimer as a prose poem. But the title poem boasts a great line in this tome about love and life as a street poet in Little Five Points in Atlanta, who’s currently working on a bachelor’s degree in the University of Central Florida in Orlando.

Morlin, who lists scores of acknowledgments of people who have helped him, writes: “Are there zombies in heaven/are there undead angels waiting for me/when I die?”



Morlin will surely face down the zombies like he does the rest of his life.

He uses blunt, sometimes rough language in a lot of the poems, but in others, if he just edited some lines a bit differently, he can even murmur like a Shakespearian sonnet writer, as in “Anti-dotes and Sequels”: “Love doesn’t abandon when clarity/unravels, it weathers self-hate and intellect/baffles. They stymie detection, of where/the souls scarred in weals, but love is like/braille, where it touches it heals, Love/navigates us to learn to forgive, and in/learning the process, remembers to live...”



In contrast, consider the language in “Blessed Are the Weak,” where he pens, “for they shall go for the kill/every time and tell you/they love you./They shall offer soft words/And watch as you/Hemorrhage,/and they’re still too terrified/to tell you how they frakked/you over with intention…/What prize is there in/beating down someone/who loves you and/ won’t hit you back?”



In the Introduction by Warrine Lapine, the book’s publisher, it reads “”Moebius is a street poet. His work is uncompromising, raw, bold; it takes you to places that you’d probably rather not go. And Moebius is fine with that…truth is beauty” as Keats reminds us…



In his “Disclaimer” and/or prose poem at the end of the book, “Morlin declares “The world is an IQ test. We all fail some of the time. OBVIOUSLY, but that’s part of the point…”



Sunday, February 19, 2012

The Dream of the Black Topaze Chamber by Hugh Fox

















The Dream of the Black Topaze Chamber (Skylight Press, Great Britain, England)

www.skylightpress.co.uk

By Hugh Fox


Review by Pam Rosenblatt



In 2011, the late Hugh Bernard Fox published The Dream of the Black Topaze Chamber (Skylight Press, Great Britain). Also, in 2011 – September 4, 2011 – Fox sadly passed away. This short 110 page book reflects Fox’s writing, poetic, and anthropological finesse.

Also, in 2011, Mr. Fox published three other books: e Lord Said Unto Satan (Post Mortem Press, Cincinnati, Spring), Reunion (Luminis Books, Summer),and The Year Book (Ravenna Press, Summer).

Mr. Fox was a writer, a poet, a reviewer, an anthropologist, and, perhaps most importantly, a friend to people. He had friends all over the place. And he often wrote about his friends under different names in his books.

Along with Paul Bowles, Ralph Ellison, Anaïs Nin, Joyce Carol Oates, Mr. Fox co-founded the Pushcart Prize for literature.

He was published in the Small Press arena prolifically. Even though he had been very ill for years, Fox kept up writing reviews and books. Over the years, his book reviews could be seen in the late Len Fulton’s Small Press Review. From time to time, Mr. Fox would visit with the Bagel Bards on Saturday mornings at Au Bon Pain, Somerville.

In 2006, Fox’s Way, Way Off the Road: The Memoirs of an Invisible Man was published by Ibbetson Street Press.

I personally didn’t know Mr. Fox very well. I did often read his reviews in Small Press Review. I became indirectly acquainted with Mr. Fox after he wrote a review of my first chapbook published on The Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene. His review showed his love of word economy. And then I actually met him at the Bagel Bards one Saturday morning shortly afterwards. But I had never read any of Mr. Fox’s books. So when Doug Holder asked me to review The Dream of the Black Topaze Chamber last Saturday, February 11, I said “Okay!” I didn’t know what to expect…

What I discovered is that Mr. Fox’s The Dream of the Black Topaze Chamber is a short book about three women – Magda, Nona, and Bernadette – who are in Brazil. They are lovers. Inseparable. Sometimes intellectual. Often times sexual. Often various serious political, health, and social issues are raised and challenged. Here are a few paragraphs from the book that explains the three women’s relationship:



xv.



Sonia took the message, scrawled on a pad on Magda’s desk:



Quero falar com voce urgentamente/I urgently want to talk to you.

Bernadette



It must be Boss Bernadette (who else?) so she calls her office.

“No, I didn’t leave any message, it must be Bernadette Lundardelli, she’s doing an article for Jornal da Semana about ‘foreigners’ in Santa Catarina…”

“OK.”

So maybe I oughta call her Magda thinks, but she doesn’t, the next evening this almost-middle-aged moonface appears at the door.

“I just took a chance you might be home …”

And in she comes, the other Bernadette, and Nona is on Magda’s bed reading (English lesson) Wuthering Heights, toasty (heater) warm, all three of them in black tights and ponchos as if they were a uniform, all these black-veiled thighs.

“How do you like it down here?” Bernadette reporter asks Bernadette and Nona.

“OK, except for the bichos/bugs,” answers Nona.

“We can talk in the living room,” says Magda slightly … the word in Portuguese is ‘exltada’/hysterical-happy.”

“You three live together?”

“Bernadette, the little one, she’s not really ‘living’ with us yet full-time, but she will be … after she leaves Medicine …”

“Oh, she’s a doctor going to leave Medicine? Another American?”

“No, Brazilian …”

“But you and the …”

“We’ve been together for more than ten years now …”

“Together?” She’s shamelessly (reportorially) curious.

“Off the record,” says Magda pointing to Bernadette’s notepad/pen, “I mean really off the record. I don’t want my job jeopardized.”

“Of course, of course,” she answers, her face all solicitously contorted with ‘secrecy’, ‘discretion.’ (p. 31)



A former professor at Michigan State University, Mr. Fox has taken on the job of educating his readers about a different lesbian lifestyle amidst the social and professional conventions of Brazil and the United States.

Mr. Fox has written a book that’s not a passive read. Some people may get uncomfortable with his honesty, his off-the-cuff humor, and his direct approach to relationships that don’t conform to social norms. But the book is well-written, descriptive, and has impact. His poetic muse is often apparent. A darker side is often spoke of by the characters, and Death is often a subject of conversation by these three intelligent woman whose female personas are so realistic that it’s hard to believe that a man could create them, as seen when Magda speaks to Bernadette near the conclusion of the book:



“I don’t want to die slowly. I mean when I do die, I don’t want to face it slowly like peeling an artichoke, becoming less and less inside the awareness that I’m really becoming nothing at all. I can’t stand the idea of consciously unraveling and dissolving. Or being like Hubert Humphrey, you hang on, become transparent, all tubes and sacks, and the bichos/bugs are still inside you like termites in an old house … you know, being gay, you’re outside, crazy … and you see it more fully … visão global/global vision … I mean I never for a moment think that exercise or diet or surgery are going to make any real difference … the only reality is the diss-olving ….” (p. 101)



The Dream of the Black Topaze Chamber is an unusual book, one that has an impact on the reader – positive or negative. And, by the way, Skylight Press has informed us that more books by the late Hugh Fox will soon follow!



Bibliography:



Holder, Doug. “Hugh Fox: Way, Way Off On His Final Road”. Ibbetson Street #30, Ibbetson Street Press, June 2011. p. 22 – 23.



Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. “Hugh Fox”. http:/en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Fox