So I was wandering along (f)arting on Lark (realized that I'd missed Vox at the Fuze Box last night -- I was over in Troy admiring the art entries for the Fence show at the Arts Center in Troy) when I found a stage set up at the corner of Lark St. & Spring St. & a contingent of folks from AlbanyPoets.com waiting to perform. Somehow they were short of a poetic minyan & asked me to join in.
It was quite a gathering, with el presidente Thom Francis starting us off, then each poet did a poem, round & round until it was time for the next act, 45 minute later. We were told to avoid "the f-word," but not being sure which f-word I needed to avoid, I left them all out -- it made for some strange poems.
But, as they say, "seriously", the poets were a fine sampling of the area's talent for those early attendees (& there were some) at this annual event, a sort of junior Lark Fest with this year less Art & more "stuff" than in the past.
Jill Crammond Wickham's poems channelled June Cleaver, Wonder Woman & any other of a series of suburban wives out there. She's got some featured readings coming up soon that you need to catch.
Ed Rinaldi said his poems were as short as his attention span, which makes him a perfect poet for this Twitter age. He had enough angst & Summer in tidbits for the whole festival.
Rebecca Schumejda (from Kingston, but an honorary Albany poet) read poems on her marriage & her father, her garden, & inspired poems that were read by Jill & Ed (how cool is that?).
I read about meeting Joe Krausman a block away 20 years ago, & couldn't resist reading (while on Lark St.) about the imagined bombing of Lark St. in "Baghdad/Albany."
Mojavi did an homage to R&B & Michael Jackson, took us to New Orleans, & later to his block where we met everyone that it was important to meet (or avoid), just like any other neighborhood (or not).
As usual poets went on stage first (the poor step-child position before a day of rock bands & drag queens) while few were out & about, but this was the first time poetry had been included in this annual fArt festival & we were pleased (& relieved) to pass poetic wind among the tents of the vendors.
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