tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7657200948597220552024-03-17T20:11:22.466-05:00DWxPoems -- & musings on the Albany (NY) poetry scene.<br>"It's not the Truth, but it's pretty darn close."DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.comBlogger1844125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-32729913116944915992024-03-17T19:47:00.001-05:002024-03-17T20:00:23.460-05:00Saratoga Senior Center Poetry/Storytelling Open Mic, March 8<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I</b> was pleased to be the featured poet at this new series, filling in for <b>Judith Prest</b> (who is much prettier) who will re re-scheduled. The host & coordinator is Saratoga poet <b>Rachel R. Baum </b>(who is also more pretty than I am). She opened the event by reading her poem to an ex, inspired by Taylor Swift “Roping the Scapegoat” (but in my notes the title could be “Raping the Scapegoat” which I think it is not).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I</b> read for about 15 minutes, followed by an open mic. I began with a Haibun by the recently gone poet <b>Stuart Bartow</b> from his book of Haiku, <i>one branch</i> (Red Moon Press, 2019), a piece that I had read to the ocean at Good Harbor Beach, Gloucester, MA after Stu’s death, then a poem by Judith Prest from <i>Geography of Loss</i> (Finishing Line Press, 2021) “Prayer for a Broken Land” a golden shovel eco-poem. Of my own work I read “Joe the Bartender,”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>2 base all poems “Vamos Gatos” & “Waiting for Jacqueline Robinson” (both from <i>Baseball Poems</i>, A.P.D., 2019), then from my “poem cards” the imitation “Challenging Richard Brautigan,” a nod to Rachel’s recent chapbook from bottle cap press, <i>Richard Brautigan’s Concussion</i>.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYjVnjYthM-XhPS8X5cdNyEGXvPM2fKoEJVLT9hhPe_a6kyizEpppBxcWP4uNTTovAsNaHPH9vu9YCCtTq-KTD1qcF4MvArPws4BBLQRAosdS5KxQStbn-4JqJNV9hyphenhyphene83BETPcelWuZqvJ2o0MoXCpEZYk4aFr0n7y6yOazWx2omaEuANDANdG3OD5g/s4272/IMG_2613.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXYjVnjYthM-XhPS8X5cdNyEGXvPM2fKoEJVLT9hhPe_a6kyizEpppBxcWP4uNTTovAsNaHPH9vu9YCCtTq-KTD1qcF4MvArPws4BBLQRAosdS5KxQStbn-4JqJNV9hyphenhyphene83BETPcelWuZqvJ2o0MoXCpEZYk4aFr0n7y6yOazWx2omaEuANDANdG3OD5g/s320/IMG_2613.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was happy to see poet <b>Catherine Clark</b> here, whom I first met many years ago at a <i>NYS</i> <i>Writers Institute</i> sponsored workshop with the late, great Irish poet <b>John Montague</b>. She read a couple poems from a poetry collection <i>Oh Shining Moon</i>, including the title poem, & the rural “King Road Spring Song.”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>David Gonsalves</b>, whom I see frequently down in Albany at other open mics, was up next; his first poem, titled “Honey & Thyme,” was an anaphoric repetition at the start of each line of the phrase “Consider the one…” then he also had a “Spring Song.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jay Rogoff</b>, who had been the featured poet here <span class="s1" style="text-decoration-line: underline;">last</span> month, read an ekphrastic piece titled “Three Women” describing a painting by John Currin (from <i>The Long Fault</i>, Louisiana State University Press, 2008).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>David Graham</b>, who not only has been a featured poet at North Country poetry venues, including here, also shows up at open mics, in-person & online, said he stumbled on an old poem he barely remembered writing that fell into his series of graveyard poems, “Sounds Like Singing.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Kathy Pelky</b> (not sure of correct spelling) wanted to read a poem written by someone else, & she didn’t know their name, but it was a short poem the she carries around with her, containing the line, “one day I wrote a poem that was better than its author” — feel like that often myself.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Carol Shup Star</b>, whom I remember seeing at the great <i>Caffè Lena</i> poetry open mic, read two visually bright poems, the first about morning glories, “Heavenly Blue,” the other titled “Moonlight Ashes.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rhonda Rosenheck</b>, who also is out-&-about poet, began with a poem about craving peace “My Heart is in the East,” then a memoir piece, a combination of Haiku & tankas, “Massachusetts Past Life.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Julie Lomoe</b> read a poem about her past life in NYC’s SoHo district, a piece for International Women’s Day, “Bela & the Rats.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you are available in the middle of the day this monthly open mic (with a featured reader) takes place on the <u>2nd Friday</u> of the month (usually) at the Saratoga Senior Center, 290 West Ave,. Saratoga Springs, NY, at 1:00PM — check the events calendar on the website of the Hudson Valley Writers Guild for any changes. </span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-39948720345652331232024-03-11T20:23:00.000-05:002024-03-11T20:23:06.796-05:00Invocation, March 4<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As noted in the Blog on last month’s <i>Invocation</i> open mic, <i>The Eleven</i>, the bar/coffee house where this event is held, is now closed on Monday’s — unless on the <u>1st Monday</u> when the open mic happens. The host, <b>R.M. Engelhardt</b>, announced at the start of the evening that they are looking to perhaps move to another night of the month. Although on <u>this</u> night not only were there a 9 poets signed up for the open mic, there were a few additional patrons at the bar drawn by the lights on & clearly something happening.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rob started off the night with readings of pieces from 2 writers, the first was from the recently published <i>Nothing Ever Changes: Meditations</i> by <b>Ralph Lumpkin</b>, from Dead Man’s Press Ink (the editors are R.M. Engelhardt & Samuel Maurice); Lumpkin styles himself as an “amateur philosopher”. The 2nd reading was a piece titled “Axiomatic” by British poet <b>Peter Reading</b> (1946 - 2011), whose work was described in his obituary on <i>Guardian US</i> as “slag-heap epitaphs lit by anger & wine.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I</b>’d signed up in the #2 slot but since no one signed up in the #1 slot, I was #1 (see how easy it is to be #1?), & read “Spathe is the Plathe” about the “Great American Eclipse” in August, 2017, & a poem titled “Missing Pieces” based on a painting by of Sun Ra by the late great painter of jazz scenes <b>Wren Panzella</b>.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64ngK6H4fcUV4odp-dTtALNEnC1bCBCHfW55lgCttxkuULhH6TmjLWgJwWroQtCVgdVN6SMaqrF966DGyoPf7XCMLDD6w1Z0Lvw4h0zDNsmN0I_6c1xxjOKUrhbjy7d7Xnpw1LATunv6U1iR_KhSPzjj8chtB4rvY8ndJUHy_X01CHzhlJXpnBnplZNU/s4272/IMG_2601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64ngK6H4fcUV4odp-dTtALNEnC1bCBCHfW55lgCttxkuULhH6TmjLWgJwWroQtCVgdVN6SMaqrF966DGyoPf7XCMLDD6w1Z0Lvw4h0zDNsmN0I_6c1xxjOKUrhbjy7d7Xnpw1LATunv6U1iR_KhSPzjj8chtB4rvY8ndJUHy_X01CHzhlJXpnBnplZNU/s320/IMG_2601.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Pat Williams</b> has been a frequent reader her at Invocation (& its previous iteration), with 2 poems, a “before & after” therapy sessions as he explained, “Have You Seen My Joy?” & an untitled dialogue beginning “Hey boy, how you been? …”</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Pete Randazzo</b> apparently was here at the urging of Pat Williams, & he confessed to being a poetry virgin, reading his work out for the 1st time; his first piece was a seasonal poem titled “Junco,” then a descriptive piece of Senior Night at the high school where he coaches wrestling & teaches Social Studies.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Austin Houston</b> read a tender diptych of poems about his father who had been a coma (now recovered); the 1st titled “Your Time is Yet to Come” in which the poet imagines what his father is experiencing, the 2nd was in the voice of his father recounting what the coma was like, “My Meeting with Death.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Samuel Maurice</b>, Rob’s co-host, recited poems from memory, the first a play on wine & words, the 2nd one he has done previously, the urban tale of a car accident on his block titled “Zodiatical Hydrant.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAky_GT4m31SGigrGODQlpTaVT21HCJX4ppFqUD21T6wv1BXMcBJgitfrpBqNUA87jxBRXn399luj-b2osXnl34kmxd87Cqc4KJ822VVi91GDpQOrcAJ12KuScdx6rVaVVRSxl6F56HDOvNQp6XfMNR1iKoIQ4WXGCyiSBRdWOYwDdbWeY-E3CiqzKtEA/s4272/IMG_2607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAky_GT4m31SGigrGODQlpTaVT21HCJX4ppFqUD21T6wv1BXMcBJgitfrpBqNUA87jxBRXn399luj-b2osXnl34kmxd87Cqc4KJ822VVi91GDpQOrcAJ12KuScdx6rVaVVRSxl6F56HDOvNQp6XfMNR1iKoIQ4WXGCyiSBRdWOYwDdbWeY-E3CiqzKtEA/s320/IMG_2607.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Maria Sohn, foreground; Charlene Shortslive sketching</span> <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Maria Sohn</b> seems to have been lurking on the fringes of the open mic scene & tonight bravely stepped to the forefront to read 3 very short pieces, “Slap” her most recent poem, “Some Days” about worrying about her daughter’s flight to Las Vegas, & “Worst Pain” about comforting a friend at the wake for the friend’s son.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our host <b>R.M. Engelhardt </b>read what he described as a “kind of an ode” titled “Doomsday Song,” then “Goals” which was a sort of list poem of things to do, with references to dead poets such as Ambrose Bierce & the more recently dead Jim Harrison — seems to me one of the things that needed to be on the list would be “quit smoking” to be able to live longer than Harrison did.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>John Allen</b> seem to like this venue & returned again to read from his 2nd book <i>Lumiere</i>, a series of vignettes about the poet <b>Paul Celan</b>, then a couple of surrealist poems by the “San Francisco Renaissance” poet <b>Laurence Weisberg</b> (1953 - 2003) from the chapbook <i>Phantomatic</i>, “She Wears the Face of the Hour” & “Grail.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The final poet of the night was the night’s <u>2nd</u> virgin, <b>Will Grady</b> with a descriptive piece about being on a hike in the wilderness, inspired by the platitude “all who wander are not lost” (or, perhaps, "all who are lost are not wandering").<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, you will have to stay in touch with social media, or the listings on the website of the <a href="http://www.hvwg.org">Hudson Valley Writers Guild</a> to find out if this venue moves to another day of the month (now currently on the 1st Monday).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-10280463618628308332024-03-01T17:24:00.003-05:002024-03-01T19:56:20.870-05:00Third Thursday Poetry Night, February 15<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On a post-Valentines night there was a small, but intense group of poets gathered for the open mic & to listen to our featured poet <b>Kathleen Ann Smith</b>. But 1st I invoked the Muse for the night, sadly the recently gone North Country poet <b>Stuart Bartow</b>. Stu had been a featured poet here in <a href="https://dwlcx.blogspot.com/2017/10/third-thursday-poetry-night-october-19.html">October, 201</a>7 & has published a number of poetry collections including <i>Reasons to Hate the Sky</i> (Word Tech Editions, 2008), & <i>Green Midnight</i> (Dos Madres Press, 2018) among others. I read from his Haiku collection <i>one branch</i> (Red Moon Press, 2019) the Haibun “Fable” that I had read recently to the ocean at Good Harbor Beach, Gloucester, MA, to mark his passing, to which I had appended my Haiku (to Stu):</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">does it matter to</span></p></blockquote><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">read poems of a dead poet in</span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">bed or at the beach?</span></p></blockquote><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then on to the open mic, with <b>Philomena Moriarty</b> up first, with poems relating to her practice as a therapist, “Baggage” about the stuff from the past, quoting James Baldwin, then her newest poem “My Mind is Looking for a Problem.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>David Gonsalves</b> confessed that “I don’t know what it is yet” to describe his humorous piece about trying to write what he thought might be a sonnet but ended up too long.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Elaine Kenyon</b> was back this month to read the 2 poems she should have read last month, Stu Bartow’s poem “Lust” from his collection <i>Green Midnight</i>, then her piece “Inspired by 'Lust',” her poem imagining visiting him, but now he is gone, a tender poem of appreciation.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In honor of Valentines Day,<b> I</b> read a couple old love/lust poems, “On a Poem by e.e. cummings” (with a dash of Robert Desnos), then a shorter piece “Gods.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7M2lkDC12WT_27jQxjS8KmWjVsUsKRaWYuVd22AexgKbbwaFE7zP_w6w26C_jrUKnnM8fiZqu1vyn4DxeFkQqEr4ZAimxFWUeUTackTyB5DKjK9t7BA86MYeCHBxfvM-4tqX5Ea9BU_RFvCwrvOniCxPS46tjZp_qyUYVLksmh2tZuIMVtnhnkVN8TM/s4272/IMG_2598.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7M2lkDC12WT_27jQxjS8KmWjVsUsKRaWYuVd22AexgKbbwaFE7zP_w6w26C_jrUKnnM8fiZqu1vyn4DxeFkQqEr4ZAimxFWUeUTackTyB5DKjK9t7BA86MYeCHBxfvM-4tqX5Ea9BU_RFvCwrvOniCxPS46tjZp_qyUYVLksmh2tZuIMVtnhnkVN8TM/s320/IMG_2598.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The night’s featured poet <b>Kathleen Anne Smith</b> read from her book <i>Let the Stones Grow Soft</i> (The Troy Book Makers, 2023). Many of her poems were looks back to earlier time, not so much as nostalgia but to contemplate the images & lessons of the past. She began with a poem titled “What the Old Lady found in the Shoebox,” the a poem where her cat interrupts her painting, & she remembers an old lover (“Green Tee”), & the sad love poem “Sargasso Sea, Sunset.” Then a series of melancholy poems on lost loves, “Among the Leftover Women,” “After our divorce, at our nephew’s wedding, I’ve lost the notebook …” the title serving as first line of the poem, “To Heathcliff, on Finding your Photograph, after Half a Century,” “Before and After the End,” & the vividly descriptive “I Revisit My Childhood Home with an Imagined Grandchild.” She ended with a couple of poems with a more recent focus, “Midnight, after the October Hurricane,” & “2021, Remembered in December” taking stock of the year. There are plenty more of her poems in </span><i>Let the Stones Grow Soft</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> to savor over time.</span><div><br /><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This reading series that always includes an open mic, as well as a local or regional featured poet, takes place each <u>third</u> Thursday of the month at the <i>Social Justice Center</i>, 33 Central Ave., Albany, NY, starting at 7:30PM. Your donation helps support poetry programming in Albany & the work of the <i>Social Justice Center</i>.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p></div>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-39051917009317558892024-02-19T21:12:00.001-05:002024-02-19T21:15:44.591-05:00All Genre Open Mic out of Bennington, February 13<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Charlie Rossiter</b>, our host & <i>Zoom</i> master, started us off with his traditional “Welcome Rant,” that he has used at a variety of open mics over the years — & “<i>the mic is now Open!</i>” Charlie likes doing 2 rounds of supposedly 1 poem each so that's what we did.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Surprise, <b>I </b>was first up on the sign-up sheet; in the 1st round I read my celebration of sitting in bars for the last 60 years, “Birthday Poem 2024.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Later, in the 2nd round, in a nod to the pending Valentines Day I read an old love poem, “Morning Key.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mark O’Brien</b> dialed in from his attic, & in the 1st round showed an old photo of himself in the window an Amtrak train, his memoir poem responding to a prompt.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In his 2nd round piece Elvis appeared as a “psychopomp” (a spirit guide to the place of the dead), in a poem like a prayer. </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj943Ai-7RCy51b8ukM9v81jBSr1VgG0uVIynCd6OrQvAai0iOFpCH7O7oXl6UjOAapPu7Id6AgdAdb5ghtHEy68fo28ttOLPCdgwtneXA3wzkk-RTjNJl4Il8y0KyPXBdDW-u-H1y7JZPz0A3j_glS7e4tHvwWFcQg_bz5fQUCvy_e0rsHi_5EDTtamX4/s1920/Screen%20Shot%202024-02-13%20at%207.11.01%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj943Ai-7RCy51b8ukM9v81jBSr1VgG0uVIynCd6OrQvAai0iOFpCH7O7oXl6UjOAapPu7Id6AgdAdb5ghtHEy68fo28ttOLPCdgwtneXA3wzkk-RTjNJl4Il8y0KyPXBdDW-u-H1y7JZPz0A3j_glS7e4tHvwWFcQg_bz5fQUCvy_e0rsHi_5EDTtamX4/w430-h242/Screen%20Shot%202024-02-13%20at%207.11.01%20PM.png" width="430" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Bill Thwing</b> began with a poem from the Japanese Haiku master Basho, then read the Japanese commentary & one of his own, & some translations from others. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">He brought out his guitar for the 2nd round, said he written song </span><u style="font-family: inherit;">25</u><span style="font-family: inherit;"> songs written this month (!) & sang his new song, a dance piece “Mix it Up.”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sherri Bedingfield</b> read poems in both rounds from a 2016 collection of narrative poems she wrote of events in Scotland<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Isabelle & Ann Early On,” & “Isabelle Entranced,” talking to her child.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Julie Lomoe</b> read a piece written last month, responding to a prompt about roads for a </span>“Mike Jurkovic” open mic, but I think she meant<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Michael Czarnecki, her poem a visual piece “My Long & Riding Road Map” & thinking about ways to die.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In her 2nd round another responding to Czarnecki’s open mic, “Gratitude Poem the Day After Xmas,” a list poem.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Naomi Bindman</b>’s 1st round poem, “Eating Flowers on a Winter Morning,” was a sensuous piece about tasting honey on the rim of her cup. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her 2nd round poem was one I’d heard her read previously, & the kind of poem I could hear again & again, about a gift of tulips from a friend, “No Small Thing.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our host <b>Charlie Rossiter</b> in his 1st round read a poem about looking for heroes titled “Looking for Direction.”</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the 2nd round he read an old poem titled “Wrong Number” about a high school reunion & not remembering the kinds of things other folks seemed to remember.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Cheryl A. Rice</b>, one of the <u>4</u> New Yorkers dialing in, began with a piece titled “23 & Me,” not interested in ancestry genetics.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her 2nd poem was a romantic memoir, “Romeo in July,” from the time she was dating her partner Michael, commuting to be together, full of tender details.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tom Nicotera</b> ended the 1st round with an early Summer poem, “Reading <i>In the Spirit of T’ao Ch’ien</i> [FootHills Publishing, 2012, edited by Charlie Rossiter] in my Breezeway” — you may still be able to get a copy from FootHill Publishing.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">& he ended the night with a love poem, “Smack Dab in the Middle of the Suburbs,” a tender description of his lady friend’s house, flowers & trees, even the animals in the yard.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you want to join this eclectic covey of poets who meet each 2nd Tuesday on <i>Zoom</i> (originating from Bennington, VT, send an email to Charlie <span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(24, 24, 24); background-color: #ecf1f7; color: #181818; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: none; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"><a href="mailto:charliemrossiter@gmail.com">charliemrossiter@gmail.com</a> </span><span class="s2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(24, 24, 24);">& ask to be put on his list, & maybe we’ll see you next time.</span></span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-54271653943642870652024-02-18T15:56:00.000-05:002024-02-18T15:56:49.221-05:00 2nd Sunday @ 2: Poetry + Prose, February 11<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back at <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i> for the open mic, with our hosts <b>Nancy Klepsch</b> & <b>me</b>. We were joined by folks from a regular poetry workshop in East Nassau so we had a full open mic sign-up list — but always room for more.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJCeZZKUYsSLBTO1MJbnmmb1UJ3sc7MxUJ0PgsFKzej-CIgjCRUP79qsBEEQ2Ib4vrHoRI1Nbf9ial40uyp_I86JDkzSxAvSYnCe6VSIsGi9VceJZTJOqRwSB__9JCzyp545Q3DuO4ZjJKqjbAzki-tSFkVQ9JwsZJJHrXbiUA0kbDVdu_uAZ5_tmJTo0/s4272/IMG_2593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJCeZZKUYsSLBTO1MJbnmmb1UJ3sc7MxUJ0PgsFKzej-CIgjCRUP79qsBEEQ2Ib4vrHoRI1Nbf9ial40uyp_I86JDkzSxAvSYnCe6VSIsGi9VceJZTJOqRwSB__9JCzyp545Q3DuO4ZjJKqjbAzki-tSFkVQ9JwsZJJHrXbiUA0kbDVdu_uAZ5_tmJTo0/w247-h165/IMG_2593.JPG" width="247" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Appropriately enough, first on the list was <b>Avery Stempel</b>, the proprietor of <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i>, who generously opens his farm/shop here for poetry each month; he read a work in progress inspired by the struggles of his cousin, a piece in rhyme beginning, “We’re all just broken people…”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Kathy Smith</b> read some new poems (her book of poems, <i>Let the Stones Grow Soft</i>, was published in 2023 by The Troy Book Makers), the sad “In Geologic Time,” & one from a prompt from her poetry group to use the Imperative voice, “Downsize” -- the first of many poems today based on prompts.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mimi Moriarty</b>, who is in the poetry group with Kathy, read a Valentines Day poem, “I Wish For You,” then one titled “Wrong” posing the question, “what if we were wrong?” (Reminded me of a quote from Louis-Ferdinand Celine, “Learn how to be wrong, the World is filled with people who are right, that’s why it’s so disgusting.”)</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of being wrong, <b>I </b>read next, 2 thematically related poems, “Joe the Bartender” & “Birthday Poem 2024” celebrating 60 years of sitting in bars.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of poetry groups, <b>Philip Good</b> was with others from his group to read a poem about the poetry group & Super Bowl Sunday (did I say this was the Day?).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50FvCeZ7SNVmKz7_J6qZfRUze9uBO44NDUdriHEDGmXTZ4qGB9fNrhu-UZEse_fs_RsUUNsBGxHHvxKan08FZyVaC6MquIz05TbOhXk3citDdEBpLhizj6rWxD7jPw5OYO5LchOMIe5ydhaa2gWhmufILUFEINiG4yTXy3RWgbDtISaFlzk4VSuZNMGA/s4272/IMG_2589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50FvCeZ7SNVmKz7_J6qZfRUze9uBO44NDUdriHEDGmXTZ4qGB9fNrhu-UZEse_fs_RsUUNsBGxHHvxKan08FZyVaC6MquIz05TbOhXk3citDdEBpLhizj6rWxD7jPw5OYO5LchOMIe5ydhaa2gWhmufILUFEINiG4yTXy3RWgbDtISaFlzk4VSuZNMGA/w246-h164/IMG_2589.JPG" width="246" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Annabel Lee</b> is in that group & read a poem from a prompt to write about a food & eating it, I think titled “Swedish Amber Crumbles;” then read another from the group (but not from a prompt), a word stream titled “No Mercy” (& how did Barry Manilow get in there?).</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My co-host <b>Nancy Klepsch</b> read “The Invisible Lesbian” from her 2017 book <i>God Must Be A Boogie Man</i>, then a newer piece “Dear Taylor” for Taylor Swift.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rhonda Rosenheck</b> filled us in on some of the many poetry projects she is involved in, then read a love poem titled "Us" for her beloved, & one from mid-COVID based on a found-word prompt “Opulence.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Agapi</b> said she had read here previously, & began with, as so many did today, a poem from a prompt “Connecting” (inspired by working with patients who were dying); then a poem titled “Don’t Tell Me to Smile” that she wrote on New Years Day.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>John Mason</b> is also in the poetry group with Philip & Annabel, he read a string of thoughts titled “Forms” (complete with fungi), then a seasonal poem “When Does the Time Change, Fall?” which was a word play on that title.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx7VCxI_v1GqCd8ri8A-NDCeQTSWmyDbbM5JN1cfak_aNrzpA_jNIGAgAgBT7GeVd4w0H5uuAdsAePSMrQGD106FpfQKKDVylnRzriQJVez-zXtDiaoR7yh3fkNm7SmTobBaf5qKPVwPNTLQUgbwJAcrJqsPviXMeAt1pBgm7gseB-31a-_i6GQPnco2o/s4272/IMG_2592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx7VCxI_v1GqCd8ri8A-NDCeQTSWmyDbbM5JN1cfak_aNrzpA_jNIGAgAgBT7GeVd4w0H5uuAdsAePSMrQGD106FpfQKKDVylnRzriQJVez-zXtDiaoR7yh3fkNm7SmTobBaf5qKPVwPNTLQUgbwJAcrJqsPviXMeAt1pBgm7gseB-31a-_i6GQPnco2o/w233-h155/IMG_2592.JPG" width="233" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Anne Hoenstein</b> had read here last month & today she read a sexy poem “Put a Light Around Me;” then another titled “Just What Grandpa Ordered.”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>David Gonsalves</b> finished off the list of readers with a couple poems, first “Uninvited Guest” a list of people at his son’s wedding, then one with the descriptive title “A Boy Scout Puts a Few Words in his English Teacher’s Mouth.” And that was it -- home for the Super Bowl.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The name of this open mic tells almost all you need to know, <i>2nd Sunday @ 2</i> — & the place is <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i>, 333 2nd Ave., Troy, NY — poetry + prose.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-75602298995805150602024-02-16T19:53:00.000-05:002024-02-16T19:53:20.555-05:00Poetry/Storytelling Open Mic, February 9<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is a new series at the <i>Saratoga Springs Senior Center</i>, held during the day, for those of us no longer working the 9 to 5. You can easily guess that the predominant hair color was grey. The organizer & host is poet <b>Rachel Baum</b>, who got us started by reading “Rotation,” a poem by Natasha Trethewey, about her father dying.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9ejy6gTIsosXiUysJj9TnQrHlQ1VUSupIOzqItwuULL-GyP83TuUShgqLBq08Q1o7Wm1ek-KRUU6cdD8HUe0xkZnQl3n0ywzrj2X8sriPj2M44FPk9bfxBAC9fm_KtzmjOcboRieaef0P06k8c_yIzd12WQAJFYrSxphsXXQdTDGl8d_YTrfVFp_vLQ/s4272/IMG_2577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9ejy6gTIsosXiUysJj9TnQrHlQ1VUSupIOzqItwuULL-GyP83TuUShgqLBq08Q1o7Wm1ek-KRUU6cdD8HUe0xkZnQl3n0ywzrj2X8sriPj2M44FPk9bfxBAC9fm_KtzmjOcboRieaef0P06k8c_yIzd12WQAJFYrSxphsXXQdTDGl8d_YTrfVFp_vLQ/w302-h201/IMG_2577.JPG" width="302" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The reading started off with the featured poet, <b>Jay Rogoff</b>, who read mainly from his collection, <i>Loving in Truth: New and Selected Poems</i> (LSU Press, 2020). As one would expect from such a collection there was a variety of topics & moods, which makes for a reading in which the listeners are kept guessing, from science (“Sublimation” as a term in chemistry), to dance (“Latin Class”), “All the Same” from a series of loves poems for his wife, poems from a series based on the Book of Genesis (“In Hiding” & “Cain’s Gift”). There were clusters of sonnets, including a couple with the Virgin Mary in them (“The Ark” & “The Fountain”), & some new sonnets, one on the Berlin Holocaust Memorial, & one in trimeter (“Fathers Day”). His poems are built on strong, vivid images to comment on life & the world around the poet, such as his concluding poem, “Mennonites by the Sea” contrasting the fully-clothed Mennonite women with the more scantily-clad sun bathers. Jay is one of the great poetic treasures of this region.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From there, on to the open mic, with our host <b>Rachel Baum</b> starting us off with “What You Missed,” a poem about discovering a previously unknown half-brother through genetic testing.<b> David Graham</b> took us back to when he lived in Wisconsin, walking his dog in a cemetery, in his poem “To Earthward.” <b>I</b> followed with 2 recent poems, “Birthday Poem 2024” celebrating 60 years of sitting in bars, & “The Origin of Ghosts.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vhYgnpokFCQkHw6hQAAPz_tTRdRkBvgbQoD8AK4oUNdP-tls2uyK-Z3X7zQa5-WpwVU5eSnpxWJELU9DAXclB9DGfzlffghGAf-6m8bGI66Sncccrf9_auCbVSs11s-XfimBuBGSg-xraXRfcbpgODr9oCXzXGpZ408eWMoS3JC-npjJmSahPulgH6I/s4272/IMG_2580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vhYgnpokFCQkHw6hQAAPz_tTRdRkBvgbQoD8AK4oUNdP-tls2uyK-Z3X7zQa5-WpwVU5eSnpxWJELU9DAXclB9DGfzlffghGAf-6m8bGI66Sncccrf9_auCbVSs11s-XfimBuBGSg-xraXRfcbpgODr9oCXzXGpZ408eWMoS3JC-npjJmSahPulgH6I/w222-h148/IMG_2580.JPG" width="222" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rhonda Rosenheck</b>, who is busy with a number of her own poetry events, read from her phone a poem titled “My Skin Crackles” (like parchment), & a poem titled “Good at Math” from a 2018 chapbook. <b>Jackie Craven</b> read from a series of poems in which moments in Time are characters in the drama, the poems seem to be untitled, but began, “Clocks can’t be trusted in the Electric City…” & “Half-past yesterday has abandoned me…”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Poet Laureate of Saratoga Springs, <b>Joseph Bruchac</b>, began with his poem “Tutuwas” that was included in the recent anthology <i>The Wonder of Small Things: Poems of Peace and Renewal</i> (Storey Publishiing, 2023), then a piece titled “Outside” written last night, composed of 4 Haiku formed into one poem. <b>Steve</b> read a memoir titled “The Squad” about his father & other emergency responders at a car wreck.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Debbie Begosian</b> read a piece about “Needlepoint,” another titled “Trees.” <b>Barry Finley</b> gave a mini-course on the life & genius of Sir Isaac Newton. <b>Tracy</b> concluded the event with a reading of a section about the Bow & arrows from <i>The Prophet</i> by Khalil Gibran.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">This event occurs on the <u>2nd Friday</u>, of the month at 1:00PM, at the <i>Saratoga Senior Center</i> Dining Room, 290 West Ave., Suite 1, Saratoga Springs, NY — RSVP by calling (518) 584-1621. There is a featured reader, then an open mic with participant reads 2 short poems. Storytellers have 5 minutes to tell, narrate or perform their piece. </span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-54568505901661567042024-02-13T22:54:00.001-05:002024-03-01T19:52:57.013-05:00 Invocation, February 5<p><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh227hw6ZWIQJ0BhhZbivoP4yiiwSiTAIgd-nFquxZaf5g5RFMZXyPLxZb8bS6F-So34i50OS_1g-iDcMbND1cRFP4sxzHqDY0zfIjp7gkb2vGTKndGZlUcERKw3az74fgq4nP5dnRO053DIvAcOAueikY-1O_cTjv-4wXe_cE5Qy1slPhL-AucAMYWcd0/s2048/414860064_122130612158056704_7914555773678643471_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh227hw6ZWIQJ0BhhZbivoP4yiiwSiTAIgd-nFquxZaf5g5RFMZXyPLxZb8bS6F-So34i50OS_1g-iDcMbND1cRFP4sxzHqDY0zfIjp7gkb2vGTKndGZlUcERKw3az74fgq4nP5dnRO053DIvAcOAueikY-1O_cTjv-4wXe_cE5Qy1slPhL-AucAMYWcd0/w268-h201/414860064_122130612158056704_7914555773678643471_n.jpg" width="268" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Formerly <i>Invocation of the Muse</i>, I’d missed this open mic, usually held on the 1st Monday of the month, last month when it was held on the 2nd Monday, when I was snowed in. Turns out <i>The Eleven</i>, at <i>Lark Hall</i>, where this is held, is now <u>closed</u> on Mondays, but opened, so to speak, for the few poets who show showed up this night. Not quite sure what the Future will bring.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The founding host is long-time poetry impresario <b>R.M. Engelhardt</b>, but this night his role was played by poet <b>Samuel Maurice</b>. There were 5 of us reading & a couple of folks in for the show, including Charlene Shortsleeves who still lives on Lark St., & Jen, the owner of </span><i>The Eleven</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> who was using the slow night to rearrange the bar.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I</b> signed up #2 which was de facto #1 & read 2 poems which were separated by years but united by theme, “Joe the Bartender” & “Birthday Poem 2024” celebrating 60 years of sitting in bars.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Josh the Poet</b>, as he often does read a new, recently written poem, this one titled “Wasteful Energy.” Earlier, we had some time to talk about some of the recent poetry zines he had been reading.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>John Allen</b> made a rare open mic appearance to read poems from his chapbook from <i>SurVision Books</i> that had won their 2020 James Tate Poetry Prize, <i>Rolling in the Third Eye</i> (SurVision Books, 2010) including an Emily Dickinson word mish-mash “Purity,” & fragments of dream-like prose poems, with surreal clashes of images.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sam Maurice</b> called for a somewhat unnecessary break, time to refresh my drink, then when we returned Sam read from Bob Kaufman’s <i>Solitudes Crowded with Loneliness</i> (New Directions, 1965), the poem for his son, “Walking Parker Home” & “Benediction.” That inspired me to recite my favorite Bob Kaufman poem, “Believe, Believe.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By this time Josh had caught his ride home, so John finished off the night with a couple<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>more poems from his book, one to a woman, "Marlene," the other titled “Lunaire's Village.” In any event it inspired me to track down <i>SurVision</i> & order a copy of <i>Rolling in the Third Eye.</i></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYZTvzdxCuGdSiXs6p03xPPZxGWzDhczjx0uIPJKll2Vu9YkEVkas9TCs6lfFCJu5WBgT2R8r_h6j0OxnvEac0E8h1eLa4mNRXRFdoYlx2c_BirxzMWcgDE7KyqIY6kabLCRgd8GpJec7G8sggML9xJvz0IJGv0TW5a0Xbt4ZUe_CBaTighIvMS5QzZ8/s2048/410038063_122128715408056704_4214128762447505332_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYZTvzdxCuGdSiXs6p03xPPZxGWzDhczjx0uIPJKll2Vu9YkEVkas9TCs6lfFCJu5WBgT2R8r_h6j0OxnvEac0E8h1eLa4mNRXRFdoYlx2c_BirxzMWcgDE7KyqIY6kabLCRgd8GpJec7G8sggML9xJvz0IJGv0TW5a0Xbt4ZUe_CBaTighIvMS5QzZ8/w149-h198/410038063_122128715408056704_4214128762447505332_n.jpg" width="149" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For now, & until I hear different, this open mic takes place on the <u>1st Monday</u> of the month at <i>The Eleven</i> at <i>Lark Hall</i> on the corner of Lark St. & Hudson Ave., Albany — but most other Mondays <i>The Eleven</i> is closed.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-40192529094762879492024-02-11T19:44:00.001-05:002024-02-11T19:44:53.548-05:00 Cafe Euphoria Open Mic & Slam, February 2<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRut0hU6fH0mxgDd7Tsw_XYcEw5wKvkSDV0B5VcPF3HIXycE8-GatFtf2O4phuVJtG3MVbXJHYhG0UTdPjOLulxNZHbKUXVleFMWohkpl7bMNbrZ7Xd7otpRyJRjAQVvq4koHVjcC2vs3ahgtk7oknM0fG_F5eq7OuYj1KXdymzjsMC1FCfpIus6s-YQ/s4272/IMG_2571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRut0hU6fH0mxgDd7Tsw_XYcEw5wKvkSDV0B5VcPF3HIXycE8-GatFtf2O4phuVJtG3MVbXJHYhG0UTdPjOLulxNZHbKUXVleFMWohkpl7bMNbrZ7Xd7otpRyJRjAQVvq4koHVjcC2vs3ahgtk7oknM0fG_F5eq7OuYj1KXdymzjsMC1FCfpIus6s-YQ/w265-h176/IMG_2571.JPG" width="265" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I finally made it over to Troy for this <u>twice</u> monthly (1st & 3rd Fridays) event. The listing had said sign-up was at 6:30PM with a 7:30 start, but the house was basically filled by 6:00 when I got there, found a table, chair, ordered some food, & then by 7:10 the host <b>El</b> was on stage to start the open mic. I had seen El as a featured reader at <i>Poetic Vibe</i> at the Fish Market last year, where she apparently learned her hosting style, a standard at Slam venues — to ask everyone to start clapping to welcome the next poet up then tries to shout the name of the poet unintelligibly over the roar of the crowd — it doesn’t work — <i>who? what’s their name?</i> Instead of honoring the poet, it shows a disrespect for their identity, their name. As a result, this report is, to my standards, incomplete & does not document the event to the degree that I try to achieve.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cAhpxTtu_8r6Fj3zrkTCSb_T0zFWp_ZnL5PF_9xZYK8dL8DgcZFZjpHuOmaTkfxrAu8gGFo4TvzRoc0L3HcGCpFdrqKFNhU5T6pakcPQ6T1ajWMu9Kp_FinvrKfVOTkQ4CzccQ-y9-MS-h8mq6FwJa6PqQibqyw1GZ5my13IoPZUi9ir_jtJQpyVTNI/s4272/IMG_2567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cAhpxTtu_8r6Fj3zrkTCSb_T0zFWp_ZnL5PF_9xZYK8dL8DgcZFZjpHuOmaTkfxrAu8gGFo4TvzRoc0L3HcGCpFdrqKFNhU5T6pakcPQ6T1ajWMu9Kp_FinvrKfVOTkQ4CzccQ-y9-MS-h8mq6FwJa6PqQibqyw1GZ5my13IoPZUi9ir_jtJQpyVTNI/w254-h169/IMG_2567.JPG" width="254" /></a><b><i>The Open Mic</i></b></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>El</b> started off with a tale of having to break into her new apartment. The next poet was named, perhaps, <b>Angie</b>, followed by <b>Elaina</b> (?) with a couple songs on guitar & harmonica, “I’m a Rock’n’Roll Cowgirl Tonight Singing the Blues,” & “Don’t Give Me Your Alibis Again.” Then ? with a love poem from their notebook. The next poet was <b>Alex</b> (per <b>Mary Panza</b> who had seen them here previously) with “Ode to the Stuffed Animals.”</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I know the next poet’s name, <b>Cassidy</b> (spelling?), from the subsequent Slam, who mumbled through a song on the ukulele. <b>Don</b> did a long story from memory (or improvised) set in Japan. <b>Barry Goldman</b> I recognized from a recent <i>Invocation of the Muse</i> open mic in Albany (& from open mics in years past); he read an evocative piece titled “Ancestors of the Summer Meadow” about finding the teeth of a long-dead possum, what he described as a writing exercise based on a poem by Richard Eberhard.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The next reader gave a “comfort warning” to their poem, perhaps the most bizarre I’ve heard, because of a reference to <u>flies</u>! <b>Shelby</b> (again, I subsequently learned their name from the open mic) read from their chapbook. The next poet I definitely knew his name — it was <b>me</b>! — I read my poem card “Content Advisory,” then “The Witches’ Necklace.” <b>Lee</b>, another whom I’d seen read at a recent </span><i>Invocation of the Muse</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> open mic, read a rhyming piece “The Kiss of Death,” then “A Toast” to his friends.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieXlCTKhyphenhyphenVqC1RXsSGsQzoh1XC7ENhbmOwwswCzvc3c13xbeRJZd1OmjFSQ63cvyNOpJSiLtB0qvpXh-nU_FYWXAhk7n2pKdm7iBqbcpQvfKHcp_VST-obJpXnHzj1OWNJRKTlnP58c-6yqZGZpwHNbsaC7BdwfbgWHTqMYOFurMqHyIFODgMYFQaf8N8/s4272/IMG_2574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieXlCTKhyphenhyphenVqC1RXsSGsQzoh1XC7ENhbmOwwswCzvc3c13xbeRJZd1OmjFSQ63cvyNOpJSiLtB0qvpXh-nU_FYWXAhk7n2pKdm7iBqbcpQvfKHcp_VST-obJpXnHzj1OWNJRKTlnP58c-6yqZGZpwHNbsaC7BdwfbgWHTqMYOFurMqHyIFODgMYFQaf8N8/w241-h160/IMG_2574.JPG" width="241" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the staff of <i>Cafe Euphoria</i> read an eco-poem about the flooding of the Earth. The final open mic poet was also not clearly named, but did say they were performing for the first time, a song with a backing track from their phone.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>The Slam</i></b></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After a break it was on to the Slam, which there hasn’t been much of in recent years in this area due to a combination of factors, including burn-out & the COVID pandemic. But Slam is back at <i>Cafe Euphoria</i>. The host for this night’s Slam was veteran Albany poet & vice- president of the <i><a href="http://www.hvwg.org">Hudson Valley Writers Guild</a></i>, <b>Mary Panza</b>, who has many years of experience hosting open mics in Albany, so I had no problems in catching some reasonable facsimiles of the participants' names.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There were 7 contestants, in 2 rounds, with 5 judges chosen from those in the audience who had never been to a Slam before (one of the traditions at some Slam venues nationally). Slam is known for it’s rule-based structure, but here there were “no rules,” so they said, including the “3-minute rule,” which, while intended to put a <u>limit</u> on a performer’s time (with penalties in point reduction for going over), was often used as a <u>target</u>, making a good 2-minute poem warp into a repetitive 3-minutes of tedium. Most of tonight’s performers seemed to be novices at Slam & read pieces that were decent poems rather than the usual Slam hyper-performance of mediocre writing.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>El</b> was perhaps the sole performer with experience at other Slams, & has obviously been coached. In fact she sounded so much like another local well-known Slam performer — her cadence, even her accent — that with my eyes closed I could clearly visualize her coach (a much better poet). She, of course, scored very well.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Shelby</b>, who had read in the open mic, read an OCD poem from her book.<b> Lee </b>performed a piece in rhyme titled “United States of Emergency;” he had also read in the open mic. <b>Cassidy</b> had performed with a ukulele in the open mic & the piece they performed in the Slam was political word-play in a musical rhythm.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Alex</b>’s piece was titled “Everything Must Go.” <b>Rose</b> read a seasonal, post-holiday poem of depression, & scored well. <b>Lizzie</b>’s poem titled “Light & Peace” was about fighting the demons.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In this setting there were no elimination rounds, & the 2 best scoring performers went straight to the head-to-head <i>Final Round</i>. That was <b>Rose</b> with a crafted poem about a break-up picnic for 2 with allusions to the Last Supper. <b>El</b>’s winning piece was an imagining of “when the Zombie Apocalypse comes…” & she went home with the money.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This open mic with a Slam takes place on the <u>1st & 3rd Fridays</u> of the month at <i><a href="https://www.cafeeuphoria.org/">Cafe Euphoria</a></i>, 225 River St., Troy, NY, 6:30PM to 9:00PM.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Check out the website & their Facebook page.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-62763890624625990832024-02-04T17:02:00.000-05:002024-02-04T17:02:20.552-05:00 Third Thursday Poetry Night, January 18<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGguWtQQQwWpgyyMndWsqwr2Dn4oWGmeJ1MEhMG8AHTvbgOBMgtBKLOdtOqtTBqzc6VWpWRKzUmgYcjyOijcUBR_2YfD00uSBol27rwgzT_pOYKs_JepmcxCZSwM6LfioASIVPE5Hkh3wzdvb_nyk53JtnwgXpcmQkQY1-JUcscyHJBuItp251UWazxWw/s1751/Avery%204-2000%20001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="1751" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGguWtQQQwWpgyyMndWsqwr2Dn4oWGmeJ1MEhMG8AHTvbgOBMgtBKLOdtOqtTBqzc6VWpWRKzUmgYcjyOijcUBR_2YfD00uSBol27rwgzT_pOYKs_JepmcxCZSwM6LfioASIVPE5Hkh3wzdvb_nyk53JtnwgXpcmQkQY1-JUcscyHJBuItp251UWazxWw/w274-h176/Avery%204-2000%20001.jpg" width="274" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avery Stempel at Cafe Web, April, 2000</td></tr></tbody></table>The first one of the New Year, with <b>Avery Stempel</b> as the featured reader, as well as a full sign-up sheet. But first, we invoked the Muse, the spirit of the gone poet <b>Michael McClure</b> (1932 - 2020) whom I first discovered many years ago from his <i>The New Book/A Book of Torture</i> (Grove Press, 1961); tonight I read his poem “Mad Sonnet,” which was the first of a long series of “Mad Sonnets” over the years. I did eventually get to see him in person in October 2015 when he delivered the annual <i>Olson Lecture</i> in Gloucester, MA, & he signed my battered copy of <i>The New Book/A Book of Torture</i>.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first open mic poet, <b>Elaine Kenyon</b>, was waiting at the door when I arrived at the SJC to open up; she had planned to read a poem by <b>Stu Bartow</b>, with her response to his poem, but I was distracted & misunderstood what she said & unfortunately I enforced the “one poem” rule. What she read was Stu’s poem “Vampires in the Atomic Age” from <i>The Green Midnight</i> (Dos Madres Press, 2018), from which Elaine has found inspiration from which to write her own poems. I owe her another shot at this.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sally Rhoades</b> read a piece titled “What Would I be as a High School Poet?” written on napkins at <i>Caffè Lena</i> listening to high school poets read, a memoir of her own growing up. <b>Tim Verhaegen</b> was up next with a piece, that he said he usually reads to a rhythmic background, about waking to the the sound of geese, bringing memories of his youth. <b>Tom Bonville</b> also read a memoir piece, “Her Name was Miss Hall,” about a Christmas concert.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3PxEylPWPr_072Olamj4mh6mx9sE_kbgfwx8-fbkSYhgZ1mASMnogIVwxk3K1Q976ywpKXVanp_jRD6GQ-ic8wEsW4g_SmQr_tpWnvYH2gFh78PHkyU0zF6KJq67JLNfdgdSUZBIKxRfwnAV1aLr6NDBY0hjWsUxFGQlpyZzF2LrbddcN995HdW22LQ/s4272/IMG_2564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3PxEylPWPr_072Olamj4mh6mx9sE_kbgfwx8-fbkSYhgZ1mASMnogIVwxk3K1Q976ywpKXVanp_jRD6GQ-ic8wEsW4g_SmQr_tpWnvYH2gFh78PHkyU0zF6KJq67JLNfdgdSUZBIKxRfwnAV1aLr6NDBY0hjWsUxFGQlpyZzF2LrbddcN995HdW22LQ/w274-h183/IMG_2564.JPG" width="274" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I first saw <b>Avery Stempel</b> perform his work at the <i>Cafe Web</i>, where this series on the third Thursday of the month began. He has continued to write & perform his poems, & now as well grows & markets mushrooms at his farm/shop/art gallery/performance space <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i> in Troy. For his reading tonight Avery said he dug deeply into his notebooks, even typing up some that had been languishing hand-written, never previously typed. He began, appropriately enough with one titled “We Are the Poem,” & was able to squeeze in 17 or 18 poems into his allotted time, in part due to mostly moving on from one poem to the next with little or no introductions, & while his delivery was often fast, he does articulate well & energetically. There were quite a few poems about food, such as “Just a Taste,” the nearly orgasmic “Sweet Potato Waffle,” “A Wednesday’s Over-Indulgence,” often combining food & romance/love as in “Her Own Fork & Knife.” The poems often contained a seasoning of humor, & were often piles of graphic images. While he could be preachy at times, he avoided abstractions, following Dr. Williams’ axiom, “<i>no idea but in things</i>.” & there was often music, as in a poem about dancing at a concert (“In the Groove”) & his concluding poem/rock music epiphany “Time to Flip the Record.” Phew — it was quite a ride, & a lot of fun.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After a brief break, we returned to the open mic. With my birthday coming up in a week, <b>I</b> read a birthday poem written in 1991, “To My Penis on our 45th Birthday.” <b>David Gonsalves</b> had to follow that, but did fine with “Riverside” a mash up of songs including “Down by the Riverside.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Josh the Poet</b> read a “new poem,” as he frequently does here, trying out his latest, this one titled “Midnight Thoughts,” written in the middle of the night, then slipped in another short one on letting life run its course. <b>Carrie Coada</b> was here for first time, although I had heard her read at <i>Collar City Mushrooms </i>in the past, with a love poem for a cat.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Elizag</b> returned after a long hiatus, that she blamed on her infatuation with painting, but said she was inspired by what she was hearing here, & read a just-written piece titled “Safe Space,” & <u>she</u> is a Safe Person. <b>Julie Lomoe</b> was the final open mic poet of the night read a list poem written for Michael Czarnecki’s <i>Zoom</i> open mic she titled “Gratitude Poem the Day After Christmas.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The Third Thursday Poetry Night</i> takes place once a month at the <i>Social Justice Center</i>, 33 Central Ave., Albany, NY at 7:30PM (signup starts about 7:00PM), with a featured poet & an open mic for the rest of us. Your donation ($5.00 suggested) supports poetry events in Albany & the work of the <i>Social Justice Center</i>. Join us, & bring a poem to read.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-87541269675697602062024-01-23T20:12:00.004-05:002024-01-23T20:12:47.973-05:002nd Sunday @ 2: Poetry + Prose, January 14<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJOqzQUqvcDGrLjs9-n1M8HSwNzYiqREqv5yybeERrelvjVbp1xLRk6gw8cJiKHvoP7t-qkIKudURHZAWEgP-EbY0PBTF4O8MtHyMwha8_HIvhNAeGDrbLv-twg4jnUoizW7_ceWO18C4BqP6CqHfLYiKzjNToYq7fH6NAQvLSdRLPYDPv9Xvx4DQRRE/s1800/419557702_860899272704411_3033349667064360965_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJOqzQUqvcDGrLjs9-n1M8HSwNzYiqREqv5yybeERrelvjVbp1xLRk6gw8cJiKHvoP7t-qkIKudURHZAWEgP-EbY0PBTF4O8MtHyMwha8_HIvhNAeGDrbLv-twg4jnUoizW7_ceWO18C4BqP6CqHfLYiKzjNToYq7fH6NAQvLSdRLPYDPv9Xvx4DQRRE/w196-h245/419557702_860899272704411_3033349667064360965_n.jpg" width="196" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Snow squalls probably delayed some folks from getting here, others perhaps stayed home, but by the time we were done with poetry the squalls had passed & the weather cleared. But <b>I</b> had made it from Albany, as did my co-host <b>Nancy</b> made it from further downtown Troy.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And <b>Rachel R. Baum</b> made it from Saratoga Springs. She began with the title poem of her recently-published chapbook from Bottlecap Press, <i>Richard Brautigan’s Concussion</i>, then a poem titled “I See Your Ghost” from her forthcoming poetry collection <i>How to Rob a Convenience Store </i>(Cowboy Jamboree Press).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>David Gonsalves</b> read a poem titled “Last Thursday,” although I’m not sure if that was when it was written, a funny list of notes taken at a conference of the things happening (or not); his 2nd poem was a very brief “Upright.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was up next & read 2 very recent poems that had not at that point been typed up, from my current “poetry workbook,” “Kesha-Undaha” inspired by reading the <i>Lankavatara Sutra</i>, another titled “The Origin of Ghosts,” but I’m not sure that’s what it was about.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The proprietor of <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i>, <b>Avery Stempel</b>, who graciously makes his fungal space available for this open mic each month, read 2 pieces from his anthology of mushroom poems that he published a while back, “A Mushroom in the Snow” & “The Mushrooms Are Here.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGq2Ux_3DaOhDfltqOBZlpXDLqnvXq4czSnib5tktU1Tk19BuPuCSXN7zJvhY474oOz0wg23GMcCDgGhB3KLSSyP7Fdu57MTMJOexoYox4OfAnBXK7D3lfoe4RnBdezlhNz_L16nKYvUI7YDN6LX1Sn4ok6d6fH_esBsYpwF9NL7f5-92zx6RE6s5B1Y/s1800/419370022_860899396037732_4088750579180207891_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGq2Ux_3DaOhDfltqOBZlpXDLqnvXq4czSnib5tktU1Tk19BuPuCSXN7zJvhY474oOz0wg23GMcCDgGhB3KLSSyP7Fdu57MTMJOexoYox4OfAnBXK7D3lfoe4RnBdezlhNz_L16nKYvUI7YDN6LX1Sn4ok6d6fH_esBsYpwF9NL7f5-92zx6RE6s5B1Y/w193-h241/419370022_860899396037732_4088750579180207891_n.jpg" width="193" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Co-host <b>Nancy Klepsch</b> read just one poem, one that I’ve enjoyed hearing previously, & is now available online in <a href="https://trailerparkquarterly.com/volume-14/nancy-klepsch/">Trailer Park Quarterly #14</a>, “Mama I See Your Daughter.” </span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rhonda Rosenheck</b> began with “Wedge” a poem playing on that word, its meanings, & on memory; her 2nd poem was “Asymmetry” from a year ago, about the results of a breast exam.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Anne Hoenstein</b> slipped in towards the end, not someone who reads out often, read some good pieces, “My Daughter’s Walls,” then another piece in multiple parts, a memory, as a letter, to a former/gone lover.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This open mic — no featured poet — takes place on, as its name says, the <i>2nd Sunday @ 2</i>, at <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i>, 333 2nd Ave, Troy, NY — bring some poems or short prose. & maybe take home some mushrooms for dinner.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;">[<u>Note</u>: <i>photos by Avery Stempel.</i>]</p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-63129359399629154062024-01-21T14:31:00.000-05:002024-01-21T14:31:13.152-05:00 Writers Mic, January 10<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another popular <i>Zoom</i> poetry open mic with a loyal group of followers, with our host, poet <b>Jackie Craven</b>.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>David Graham</b> was the first reader with his newest poem, “Gratitude,” a meditative essay, with an epigraph from American poet Robert Hayden.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rachel R. Baum</b> dialed in from Florida with a poem titled “Tiles from Mexico,” </span>with images of flight,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> addressed to a deceased friend. </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Susan Oringel</b> announced her new book <i>Carnevale</i> (David Robert Books), with the poem “The Stairs at Marion Lodge” about Pyramid Late retreat in Upstate NY.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mimi Moriarty</b> read her poem “Mummer’s Parade, January 1, 2010” descriptive of the annual event when she visits her family in Philadelphia from her series of poems about the parade.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Catherine Norr</b> dialed in from Arizona & talked about her new chapbook from Finishing Line Press, <i>Goat Farm Road: Poems from the Adirondack Mountains</i>, then read the poem “On the Road to Mountain Cabin.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Alan Catlin</b> gave a most uncharacteristic reading (for him) with Haibuns, with hard winter rain, lightening in the forest, a creek floods, not a bar stool in sight.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXeHEwHj54yxHFVTBvDRrK_U9zEy6yQRfh9CpsWa_F5ZN4o4jqat6eYPrwCtrBrwIv9e6EnEcrvS80LM-DSgJUsFU5ABJA0HOLyjXcNRxABh2VdOUV53V0TuOtApZJQBC-DIHxvkXYZSjW9OfeBwiAE6xpm2hesopSh0hIACmPWqzUrDFMcL1Ya8vLAk/s1920/Screen%20Shot%202024-01-10%20at%207.52.07%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXeHEwHj54yxHFVTBvDRrK_U9zEy6yQRfh9CpsWa_F5ZN4o4jqat6eYPrwCtrBrwIv9e6EnEcrvS80LM-DSgJUsFU5ABJA0HOLyjXcNRxABh2VdOUV53V0TuOtApZJQBC-DIHxvkXYZSjW9OfeBwiAE6xpm2hesopSh0hIACmPWqzUrDFMcL1Ya8vLAk/w470-h264/Screen%20Shot%202024-01-10%20at%207.52.07%20PM.png" width="470" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Scot Morehouse</b>’s humorous (& oh so true) piece titled “Save the Date, or Not” was about a notice for a high-school reunion, his high-school years were endured, not enjoyed he said, pondering when the next will be, & what that would be like.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Susan Jewell</b> read a long, free-ranging poem, descriptions of sound & light, & strangely titled “We’re Sorry to hear You are Moving Away from Golina.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I</b> read a piece based on my reading of the <i>Tao</i>, in a translation by Victor H. Mair, “Bright but Not Dazzling.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Naomi Bindman</b> began her reading with a trigger warning (I think all poems have an implied trigger warning: “this is a poem, it’s about things you don’t want to hear”)a piece of flash non-fiction titled “Echo” about a current echo-cardiogram, remembering an ultra-sound of her pregnancy, remembering dreams of her daughter before she was born.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Ellen White Rook</b> read a poem of flowers & light titled “New Years Again,” then a revised version of one she read previously “Ghost Story.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Kathleen Herold</b> read an untitled piece about early morning walks at a lake, the colors, the sounds of a loon, filled with sadness.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jackie Craven</b> read what she described as “a short little bit of absurdity,” beginning, “if my dentist could probe deep enough…” an inventory under anesthesia.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With a time left on the <i>Zoom</i> clock, Jackie asked if anyone had anything else to read & there were 3 takers. First <b>Rachel Baum</b> read a love poem in metrics, “This is How You Love Me;” <b>Sue Oringel</b> read “What I Learned” about working in a restaurant; and <b>Catherine Norr </b>with a piece titled “Matter & Other Reds.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you want to join this open mic held on the 2nd Wednesday of the month, you can find the <i>Zoom</i> link on the Facebook page for the group <i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/378958103086510">Writers Mic</a></i>. </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-81601698183377651652024-01-20T17:17:00.004-05:002024-01-23T21:28:00.771-05:00 All Genre Open Mic out of Bennington, January 9<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Charlie Rossiter</b> welcomed each of us “in” (not sure where “in” was since this was a <i>Zoom</i> event), as he built the open mic list, then forgot to do his traditional rap intro, until Naomi pointed it out to him. We went around in 2 rounds of 1 poem each round.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Bridget Elder</b> ended up 1st on the list, & read in the 1st round a piece about her Mother-in-law’s celebration of life, short shades of blue in rhyme; then in her 2nd round a repeat of a piece she has read “here” previously, a word-play about her words as scarce as hen’s teeth.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In both rounds<b> I </b>read the poems recently published in <i>Dissent: an anthology to end war and capitalism</i> (Vagabond Books), in the 1st round “A Shill at the Fair,” then in the 2nd round a poem about the 1886 Haymarket riot “Crane Alley,” pleased that Naomi commented that she had taught about the Haymarket riot as a young teacher.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tim Verhaegen</b> read a piece about a brother who died at 23, “Possessing,” & their conflict with their mother, with the poignant line, “I thought we had more time.” In the 2nd round he read a recently written memoir of college in Cobleskill in 1979, walking with friends, a love poem for Jeanine & a tale of friendship.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjTOlPvQZVHdtBHNBJ34ajyw40VVKcixaPidg2jNxzm1OH-oLR0P3FaHhNSjtRpV3x6Mt2EixDDgT36coPq0w2A19MEdBt_11iZ8k6EZ4CopYL_6LbgdO5yiiWHJ_WTyh63VFo8Abm7eyUMNvzpBnF5vdtp9VJsze3mQc7GdkmJvgLMMoKuKHofRBi5Q/s1920/Screen%20Shot%202024-01-09%20at%207.11.24%20PM.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjTOlPvQZVHdtBHNBJ34ajyw40VVKcixaPidg2jNxzm1OH-oLR0P3FaHhNSjtRpV3x6Mt2EixDDgT36coPq0w2A19MEdBt_11iZ8k6EZ4CopYL_6LbgdO5yiiWHJ_WTyh63VFo8Abm7eyUMNvzpBnF5vdtp9VJsze3mQc7GdkmJvgLMMoKuKHofRBi5Q/w434-h244/Screen%20Shot%202024-01-09%20at%207.11.24%20PM.png" width="434" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Naomi Bindman</b> said that the pieces she was reading in each round were competing poems to submit with a writing sample & wanted our advice; in the 1st round a portrait titled “Crazy;” in the 2nd round “Past Lives,” wondering which was it,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>a flower, a cloud, a star.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> It seemed that most thought either was a good candidates, or maybe submit both?</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our host, <b>Charlie Rossiter</b> dusted off some old poems from his archives. In the 1st round, one he read about meeting a friend “8 Miles off the Interstate … In Panic Lake Wisconsin;” for his 2nd round a memory of a road trip north “At the Second Hand shop in<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Flim Flam Manitoba.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Cheryl Rice</b>, dialing in from Kingston, NY read in her 1st round “Sky Dive the Ranch,” then on the 2nd time around a poem inspired by a friend’s photo on Facebook of sand pipers at the beach, “Initiation.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tom Nicotera</b> announced that Charlie & Naomi would be the featured readers on February 15 in the <i>Wintonbury Poetry Series</i>, a monthly <i>Zoom</i> event from the Bloomfield, CT Public Library; one can sign up at<a href="http://www.bplct.org"> bplct.org</a>. The poem he read in the 1st round was a new piece about his brother & a gift he had made for their mother “This Cutting Board,” then in the 2nd round, a poem from his archives, from 1999, “Miracles of Turns.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Bill Thwing</b> brought out his guitar, reprised the Santa Claus song he did last month, to the tune of “16 Tones” or whatever the source of that was; for the 2nd round he did another song, “E Pluribus Unum,” full of the folkie cliches.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">& that was that — if you want to join us each month on the 2nd Wednesday, & you are not on Charlie’s list, send him an email <span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(24, 24, 24); background-color: #ecf1f7; color: #181818; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: none; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"><a href="mailto:charliemrossiter@gmail.com">charliemrossiter@gmail.com</a></span><span class="s2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(24, 24, 24);"> & he will send you the <i>Zoom</i> link.</span></span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-84651362996471268982024-01-15T13:21:00.000-05:002024-01-15T13:21:43.772-05:00 Caffè Lena Poetry Night, January 3<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">A great way to start the poetry New Year with the open mic at the historic <i>Caffè Lena</i> in Saratoga Springs, NY. The feature was the Albany activist, poet & hip-hop scholar <b>Victorio Reyes Asili</b> with the the usual open mic for community poets, under the shepherding of host <b>Carol Graser</b>.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUYtWUhHaHkqcDUaHZvMC5idQTxYXRQRlP5EGvYs3E_Ig_gpNV9-ZWOtaULTaszMjshL7H9e8FtPkkq7fW3b8kyDlOemyHnAFo2HG4VNo7pUWbCA8q2QuphUiQaufT-d0goNgpqy8y_6kBm9m6QrtMjIJ1P1wdzqzi5HGBcQJYCJNTa9CCaGwGNuQGJ0/s4272/IMG_2536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUYtWUhHaHkqcDUaHZvMC5idQTxYXRQRlP5EGvYs3E_Ig_gpNV9-ZWOtaULTaszMjshL7H9e8FtPkkq7fW3b8kyDlOemyHnAFo2HG4VNo7pUWbCA8q2QuphUiQaufT-d0goNgpqy8y_6kBm9m6QrtMjIJ1P1wdzqzi5HGBcQJYCJNTa9CCaGwGNuQGJ0/s320/IMG_2536.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br />Victorio Reyes Asili</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> was live-streamed so you can watch his energetic performance at the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/live/3D9-TrpPR-E?si=GLHC29khF2DHfhcb">Caffè Lena YouTube channel</a>. In summary, he began with selections from his verse novel <i>The Tales of Happiness Santiago</i>, an energetic performance of this visual, urban, surrealistic work — “magic is lonely without company.” Then on to an unimaginable mash-up of hip-hop & traditional white European forms (i.e., sonnets) “Crown Me: an American Mix-tape,” combining sonnets, erasures, prose poems, including the open form “1981” (after Afrika Bambaataa on Planet Rock), & ending his performance with “Sonnet #1,” a mash-up of Woo Tang Clan & Edgar Allen Poe. The Future is here.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our intrepid hose, <b>Carol Graser</b>, started off the open mic with a poem titled “Shaking Hand” by an Irish poet, & on to the rest of us.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rachel Baum</b> began with a poem about her father in a rehab center, “Christmas in Florida,” then a piece titled “No Button for That.” <b>Darcy Anne</b> read 2 rhyming odes, one about “Rome New York,” the other “An Ode to Zapata,” a poem on chaos. <b>David Graham</b> read 2 poems about the New Year, the 1st his own from a few years ago, “New Year Full Moon,” the 2nd titled “Small Lesson” by Canadian poet <b>Lorna Crozier</b>.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Next was my favorite father-daughter team of poets; <b>Lance Le Grys</b> read 1st, an eco-poem about golfers titled “Here.” <b>Alex Le Grys</b>, home on break from college in Canada, began with, as she said, “not a very nice poem” addressed to a school friend, “A Galaxy that Doesn’t Exist,” then a poem with a title that explains it all “Listening to Elliot Smith (1969 - 2003) with my Black Cat” (the album she was listening to was “Figure 8”).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A regular here in the open mic, <b>Leslie Sittner</b>, read her descriptive poem “Super Blue Moon” from August, then read a Haiku written by her 15-year old grandson. <b>I</b> read my poem “Writing Crows” that had been in the Art Society of Kingston’s <i>Poetic License</i> exhibit in 2021; then an old poem recently printed in <i>Dissent: an anthology to end war and capitalism</i> (Vagabond Press), “A Shill at the Fair.” Saratoga Spring’s Poet Laureate, <b>Joe Bruchac</b>, read a poem he wrote last night, “Velocity,” an eco-poem, looking to his end.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After a short, refreshing beak, our host <b>Carol Graser</b> returned with a tender poem about her father, “On the 6th Floor of the VA Medical Center.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilYggPS2jN7vWQ5zT5sOSKWhP7d9BQ9IXS14oXgdeVIZjTNbOe6wGws1CZflH2NKG143kAQkR4zp22dhKo6A068cBH4EpW6sgCvYYQ-2FTO4A5BZz795Aqjz5pxAGjzaLqa1-IP8WKJf9I-WUEr2gb2fWu3sH9ytR4yh6bHlwBULmujccioiJWKYPJK5I/s4272/IMG_2545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilYggPS2jN7vWQ5zT5sOSKWhP7d9BQ9IXS14oXgdeVIZjTNbOe6wGws1CZflH2NKG143kAQkR4zp22dhKo6A068cBH4EpW6sgCvYYQ-2FTO4A5BZz795Aqjz5pxAGjzaLqa1-IP8WKJf9I-WUEr2gb2fWu3sH9ytR4yh6bHlwBULmujccioiJWKYPJK5I/w278-h185/IMG_2545.JPG" width="278" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Bridgette Gallagher</b> brought some of her students of creative writing, & set a good example by reading 2 poems, the 1st about teaching creative writing, “I Am the Holder of Stories,” then one for her daughter “Painting Over Pink.” One of the students, <b>Mimi Hrbeck</b>, read next, 2 short, introspective poems.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Carol Schupy Star</b> read 2 poems about the Moon, “Moon Silhouette,” & “Moonlight.” <b>Joan Tepper-Neal</b> was here for the 1st time, read a harrowing poem in 2 parts about being in the hospital to be treated for a prolapse “The Monster.” <b>Brooke</b> a poem on a more pleasant topic, what she would like her children say about her, “Say of Her.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Elaine Kenyon</b> reads frequently here in the open mic, & tonight read her poem “I Want” responding to a poem someone read here last month, then a poem about being 19 years old — her poems introspective, celebratory. <b>Wendy Daniels</b> also reads here frequently; her poem “Too Soon” was a sad piece from her experience being a military spouse, her husband deployed; then she read a poem titled “Bus Stop” by <b>Kate Baer</b> from <i>What Kind of Woman</i> (Harper Perennial, 2020).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwy6tOyOuw4eBDOYJcW-4sQBbSultuNL34sP-iA3NtiOMKIrEd4mKjdD9quz9W32W0ZKNBULVh44Lbdvuck2k-57tLprbTs9WgkPOPz1ztfUhT2Wa1XYsnjXn_dzA2svDCN-QRR4N-Q9AhAg4UE1ImfbzLVDx35obfGKcnGJIRrja2_0uUobFddXfWR3E/s4272/IMG_2555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwy6tOyOuw4eBDOYJcW-4sQBbSultuNL34sP-iA3NtiOMKIrEd4mKjdD9quz9W32W0ZKNBULVh44Lbdvuck2k-57tLprbTs9WgkPOPz1ztfUhT2Wa1XYsnjXn_dzA2svDCN-QRR4N-Q9AhAg4UE1ImfbzLVDx35obfGKcnGJIRrja2_0uUobFddXfWR3E/w258-h172/IMG_2555.JPG" width="258" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Sam</b>, another one of Bridgette Gallagher’s students, read her poem “The Problem with Pantoums” (comparing the poem to the pain of the World), then the more mundane “Ode to My Upset Stomach” perhaps one of her writing assignments. <b>Mary Ann Rockwell</b> was the night’s last reader; she read “After the Estate Sale,” which she said she had read here previously, but this is version 2, then a poem by <b>Naomi Shihab Nye</b> “Burning the Old Year,” a good choice to end on.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As the new year continues, plan on coming to the </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Caffè Lena Poetry Night</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> on the </span><u style="font-family: inherit;">first</u><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Wednesday of the month, 47 Phila St. — 7:00PM featured poet (live-streamed), followed by an open mic for community poets — doors open 6:30PM — $5.00 (students free).</span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-81386820148121186262024-01-12T10:49:00.000-05:002024-01-12T10:49:04.651-05:00Third Thursday Poetry Night, December 21<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0r2kbWcgOFECoEnC6VNt3Ru4VyHrKbNBRh4NtHsf4gJbrQh6wmwebkraAtsDHERVSi02rVuXp4_x3SWpQIvl_f8thNonCftM-iTnZoiXmEf6B14nE_xrRjjWR0ToEvI1BoV0NB2SPeSs1tC3Xi1j9E5D8g-8VFfOwxNQT8AGBTWI9FLbFcd6S9r43bxk/s4032/IMG_7595.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0r2kbWcgOFECoEnC6VNt3Ru4VyHrKbNBRh4NtHsf4gJbrQh6wmwebkraAtsDHERVSi02rVuXp4_x3SWpQIvl_f8thNonCftM-iTnZoiXmEf6B14nE_xrRjjWR0ToEvI1BoV0NB2SPeSs1tC3Xi1j9E5D8g-8VFfOwxNQT8AGBTWI9FLbFcd6S9r43bxk/w143-h191/IMG_7595.HEIC" width="143" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was a good showing of poets, regulars & first-timers, &, of course, the annual holiday visit from <i>Sanity Clause</i> with gifts of poetry for all the readers, even our featured poet, <b>Suzanne R. Rancourt</b>. Another holiday tradition was our Muse for the night, as always in December it was <b>Enid Dame</b>, with a reading of her moving, emotional “Holiday Poem,” sent out as a holiday card in 1996 from her & her husband, <b>Donald Lev</b>.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First up on the open mic list, as she prefers to be, was <b>Sylvia Barnard</b>, who said she recently attended a poetry workshop & read what she wrote, remembering a dear friend lost to COVID, & she was the first to get a holiday gift of poetry, as did each poet who followed to the mic tonight.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRK6OBEVTqFFDNlLP53e9tUzILwwZNPnLLkMLks7Xtr_2ygIUXyzWOti_i8Xb2okyoW1ZYFeChwoIpmA0oUxa4mR0V9lEDIRYWwvQMWxLb5kajw4O0NhsFBj_T_QDrPEdV0key_qBCSauaICuhof_Zd88HRsRsUMcXq12SIcJ3US1cUQ29lw_lsgKIOHk/s4032/IMG_7602.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRK6OBEVTqFFDNlLP53e9tUzILwwZNPnLLkMLks7Xtr_2ygIUXyzWOti_i8Xb2okyoW1ZYFeChwoIpmA0oUxa4mR0V9lEDIRYWwvQMWxLb5kajw4O0NhsFBj_T_QDrPEdV0key_qBCSauaICuhof_Zd88HRsRsUMcXq12SIcJ3US1cUQ29lw_lsgKIOHk/w275-h206/IMG_7602.HEIC" width="275" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Josh the Poet</b> read a new, self-inspired poem, “Unexpected Poet,” a personal essay on becoming a poet. <b>Tom Bonville</b> read the 1st of 17 poems he (he said) brought, one titled<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Christmas Morning” a description of that morning with his mother in her hospital bed downstairs, she remembering being a girl during World War II, swimming in the River.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sally Rhoades</b> followed with a poem titled “When Katie Picks Me up in Her Buick,” about a 2019 trip to Oklahoma, with a flashback to her youth & her father’s Cadillac. <b>Gail Nixon </b>was new here & also new to reading her work in public, tonight she read a poem, “Chaos,” about the pandemic, wondering about the future, & slipped in another, “The Recipe for Diversity,” like a stew.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have had the privilege in the past to read with tonight’s featured poet, <b>Suzanne R. Rancourt</b>, who had also read at the legendary <i>Readings Against the End of the World</i> here in the late 1980s. She read “a little bit from everything,” 12 poems from her 4 books, but mostly neglected to give the titles of the books from which the poems came.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQze5E2NtiJ98GGVOz9lx-LdnFtd9qnzaNKmmRvQVJcbNMzZTNFR6ACdzLMAop0tMBkj2nEmJ0rkq6K4uv7yzO87-WI8xw5x-Z3NK400FrsGdizc7JNkmF7Y2j8Qj4kKQoO3YbJ8HbX_-FHYJlAXAdaHSLdZESJKeWLV4CnXeNVFd5OS-y4GjCQZiHao/s4272/IMG_2521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQze5E2NtiJ98GGVOz9lx-LdnFtd9qnzaNKmmRvQVJcbNMzZTNFR6ACdzLMAop0tMBkj2nEmJ0rkq6K4uv7yzO87-WI8xw5x-Z3NK400FrsGdizc7JNkmF7Y2j8Qj4kKQoO3YbJ8HbX_-FHYJlAXAdaHSLdZESJKeWLV4CnXeNVFd5OS-y4GjCQZiHao/s320/IMG_2521.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">She began her reading with a poem titled “Soft,” & the chilling, descriptive<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Mediterranean Blues” reacting to seeing a news photo of a body of a Syrian baby on the beach, said “these are my happy poems." Then a poem for her mother, dying, packing things to take with her “Singing Across the River,” others, “Fabric,” “Voyage.” The rest of her reading was an array of poems from her most recent book, <i>Songs of Archilochus</i> (Unsolicited Press, 2023) asking members of the audience to call out numbers to find pages. The poems included, among others another poem for her mother, “As My Mother Died She Became a Bird,” some poems of place, & ended with “Armistice” for peace, images of leafs & wings, the wind. Her poems are vividly descriptive, read distinctly, slowly, with dramatic emphasis & righteous indignation at injustice, where needed. The audience was attentive, if was somewhat a bit rambunctious, she was not to be ignored nor slept through.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After a break, for book sales, conversations, & whatever else happens at that time, including the largess of the audience to support poetry events & the work of the <i>Social Justice Center</i>, we returned to the open mic list.<b> I </b>started off the list with my traditional Xmas piece, a love poem to my mother, “Christmas Eve, 1945.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>David Gonsalves</b>, former editor & publisher of the poetry zine <i>Tin Wreath</i> read “Broad Stripes” a brief assault on the powerful in defense of the weak. <b>Avery Stempel</b>, proprietor of <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i> in Troy & the January feature here, read “Impressions of Light,” as he said, impressions, in swirling musical words sometimes with no meaning.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Lee</b>, who hadn’t been here in a while, read “For Once,” reacting to all that is going on in the world, wanting to see the decency & kindness, “for once…” </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SF-_gkmO3u_9E6sVMeFuf4a3V9I1UJXbfiGt6omdh8VyWtYHW0ac8PaHu8tpQsVB_vbgnRYv7pMxZIl8SI0XVCdfxrWzNqpsmJJULQke0D1nvLQ3X-nCglsvqrSenela3kvMIKQqXPX88wNEksqm35hnakjygginGPxYwWyzDhMggmY_1vsRqIFCR-k/s4032/IMG_7612.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SF-_gkmO3u_9E6sVMeFuf4a3V9I1UJXbfiGt6omdh8VyWtYHW0ac8PaHu8tpQsVB_vbgnRYv7pMxZIl8SI0XVCdfxrWzNqpsmJJULQke0D1nvLQ3X-nCglsvqrSenela3kvMIKQqXPX88wNEksqm35hnakjygginGPxYwWyzDhMggmY_1vsRqIFCR-k/w173-h230/IMG_7612.HEIC" width="173" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Toyin</b> was a last-minute signup, a first timer, read a lush love poem, “Dear Valentine,” about the kind of love she wants, hmm um.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jason</b> wasn’t going to read but was having too much fun not to join in, read “One Hundred Words,” which was exactly 100 words, started with a quote from Mother Teresa. <b>Nisaa</b> was an extra add-on, 1s time reader, read a poem “The Threat of Pleasure” from one of the poetry chapbooks that <i>Sanity Clause</i> had given out earlier.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A fabulous night of surprises, old readers, new readers, & everyone having fun with words, a great way to end 2023 & sail on into whatever 2024 has in store for us. Join u at the <i>Social Justice Center</i>, 33 Central Ave., Albany, NY on the <u>third</u> Thursday of the month for a featured reader & an open mic for the rest of us — your $5.00 donation supports poetry events in Albany & environs, & the work of the <i>Social Justice Center</i>.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">[<i><u>A Note</u> on the photos in this edition of the Blog: the photo of Suzanne Rancourt is by me, the rest were taken by audience member & poet, Sally Rhoades.</i>]</span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-85481126430553805062024-01-02T21:52:00.001-05:002024-01-12T10:49:25.351-05:00 Writers Mic, December 13<p><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Poet <b>Jackie Craven</b> organizes this monthly open mic on <i>Zoom</i> & this night there were 9 writers sharing their work.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF811e7wZZxGLbLb1gykl4vyCg0Q0FMHnUCEa3F7YSOZebzUWzMxLJZuhNyRANwpjyIq_Ij7erHmWlVyT_fhMkCG5Rug0Q3yrvHS0Qzyo9PPoLN4LFNVJwagwRg0hkJyrmgoazopdgYsHJF-ErSdqKYAg1yRkWAZM_HhhLkWpS93u1G4HA6gFuPYopAtU/s1920/Screen%20Shot%202023-12-13%20at%208.03.03%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF811e7wZZxGLbLb1gykl4vyCg0Q0FMHnUCEa3F7YSOZebzUWzMxLJZuhNyRANwpjyIq_Ij7erHmWlVyT_fhMkCG5Rug0Q3yrvHS0Qzyo9PPoLN4LFNVJwagwRg0hkJyrmgoazopdgYsHJF-ErSdqKYAg1yRkWAZM_HhhLkWpS93u1G4HA6gFuPYopAtU/w496-h279/Screen%20Shot%202023-12-13%20at%208.03.03%20PM.png" width="496" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First up was <b>David Graham</b> with 2 new poems from an exercise of doing made-up responses from Neruda’s “The Book of Questions,” the 1st titled “Left Turns” wondering if all left turns will equal right ones, then responding to Neruda’s question, "How old is November anyway?" David’s answer a speculative poem, “A Charm That Might Work.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Alan Catlin</b> described his 2 poems as "dystopian landscape/nature poems," the first a response to an ekphrastic prompt in <i>Rattle magazine</i> with “Shadowlands” with film & music; then a descriptive piece “An Assassination of Crows.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rachel Baum </b>announced the recent publication of her chapbook <i>Richard Brautigan’s Concussion</i> from Bottlecap Press, poems inspired by re-reading Brautigan after she had suffered a concussion, but she didn’t read any of those poems. Instead she read “His House 1955,” about a photo of her parents house in Levitttown & a wedding; then, she too had a turn signal poem “No Turn Signal” addressing the residuals of an attack on her & her dog<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>by another dog.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rachel’s mention of Brautigan inspired <b>me </b>to read my short poem titled “Channeling Richard Brautigan” which is one of my “poem cards;” then a string of short poems from a recent family party in Philadelphia, “Thanksgiving Notes.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Scot Morehouse</b> added his usual dose of outrageous humor to the open mic with a parody of those family holiday letters this one as if written by a foreigner spammer in dialect, including the family response.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Ellen White Rook</b> read a couple of descriptive pieces about a land preserve in Western Massachusetts, the 1st untitled, the 2nd titled “The Morning After,” with the descriptive line “<i>here stones wander from their walls</i>.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Susan Jewell</b> regularly responds to & submits poems to the <i>Rattle</i> ekphrastic project, her most recent rejection titled “Friday Morning” about visiting her father in a nursing home, an image of a white owl; then “The Year of Living Dangerously” another ekphrastic poem with images of shadow puppets & references the movie of the same title.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jackie Craven</b>’s poem “Decorating for the Apocalypse” was about her ottoman & her response to the TV news.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mimi Moriarty</b> read 2 seasonal poems, “2 Wise Men & a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Buddha” about setting up the crêche with a replacement figurine for one of the Wise Men; then a list poem “Inventory for Reasons I Won’t Be Celebrating Christmas,” a memoir of past family events.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This <i>Zoom</i> open mic takes place on the <u>2nd</u> Wednesday of each month at 7:30 PM; if you want to join us you can find the link on the <i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/WritersMic">Writers Mic</a></i> Facebook page.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-31167983548555824352023-12-30T20:50:00.001-05:002024-01-12T10:49:40.828-05:00 All Genre Open Mic out of Bennington, December 12<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our host, <b>Charlie Rossiter</b>, started, as he always does, with his introductory rant/chant — “<i>the mic is open</i>” — then on to 2 rounds each, 1 poem each round.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Charlie put <b>me </b>1st on the list & in the 1st round I read a poem, titled “Writing Crows,” that had been selected for the <i>Poetic License</i> exhibit in Kingston, NY in 2021 & that inspired a painting by the artist S.L. Rika. In the 2nd round, inspired by Bill’s 1st round series of Haiku & haibun, I read a haibun titled “<a href="https://thirtysixviewsof.blogspot.com/2017/04/last-train-to-clarksville-by-dan-wilcox.html?m=0">Last Train to Clarksville</a>” mashing up the 1966 hit by <i>the Monkees</i>, & a response to a photo by Mark O’Brien on his Blog about places in Clarksville, NY, <i>36 Views of Ononta'kahrhon</i>. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Francesa Sidoti</b> read what she said was a holiday card to this group of poets a poem titled “The Snowman & the Cat;” then in her 2nd round part 2 of th holiday card to the group, memories drifting through old TV stories, memories of Marblehead.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Sheryll Bedingfield</b>, in her 1st round, read an older, unfinished piece, titled “December” about sitting on a stone outside among the birds; in her 2nd rounds she read “Winter Reflection” inspired by her grandmother telling ghost stories.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Bill Thwing</b> read a haibun “Poetry Powerhouse” written in Bennington VT, short prose sections with a series of Haiku on aging; for the 2nd round he got out his guitar to sing a song he had just written, to the tune of “16 Tons,” about a visit from Santa, & the magic of making toys.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our host, <b>Charlie Rossiter</b>, read, in a fit of nostalgia, a stark description of the ocean, “Off season;” then in round 2, a poem titled “Reflecting on Robert Bly” with quotes from Bly’s poems.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jim Madigan</b> read a piece about an anti-war vigil for bombed hospitals & the human victims “At the Plaza;” later in his 2nd round he read an old poem never finished, remembering a friend remembering an ex-lover, “All But One.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tom Nicotera</b> read a memoir from childhood, “The Legs thru the Ceiling Incident,” about playing in the attic with a friend; then in his 2nd round he read one of his hiking poems, a portrait of a deer, a moment in time in “Nathan Hale State Forest.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnM04uSy7pM50C-hmaotYAYwhNoIfflhRI2fdZWhHoJ9Y5Tp1U66Jnwon9-0jVU3VEF1SsRKSJFDmxVRlbGYom6UdhC5ffHHre8eE7Q52MbDxuRBRB7M64ZAGgKmPVZjnrwbGmZT3k-os8TpVkxNypa7l1uBA-gQ_H_k9kStE3Pwhs-DHTzbPGSRYX6o/s1920/Screen%20Shot%202023-12-12%20at%207.38.44%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnM04uSy7pM50C-hmaotYAYwhNoIfflhRI2fdZWhHoJ9Y5Tp1U66Jnwon9-0jVU3VEF1SsRKSJFDmxVRlbGYom6UdhC5ffHHre8eE7Q52MbDxuRBRB7M64ZAGgKmPVZjnrwbGmZT3k-os8TpVkxNypa7l1uBA-gQ_H_k9kStE3Pwhs-DHTzbPGSRYX6o/w523-h294/Screen%20Shot%202023-12-12%20at%207.38.44%20PM.png" width="523" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Naomi Bindman</b> announced some good news before we started, that she had her memoir about her daughter that she has often read from here & at other open mics, accepted by an agent, the very agent she hoped would take her on — <i>Congratulations!</i> She read from the new memoir about her mother, who was killed by an intruder when Naomi, a section written yesterday, “The World is a Picture,” one excerpt in each round, about the art in their NYC home with descriptions of some of the paintings, as a letter to her mother from her 7 year self.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">& so it goes, broadcast (if that is the word) over <i>Zoom</i> by Charlie from Bennington, Vermont. If you would like to join this monthly open mic on the <u>2nd Tuesday</u> of each month, email Charlie at <span class="s1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(52, 55, 54); background-color: white; color: #343736; font-kerning: none;"><a href="mailto:charliemrossiter@gmail.com">charliemrossiter@gmail.com</a></span><span class="s2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(52, 55, 54);"> & he will send you the link.</span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(52, 55, 54); font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-81267369886072394832023-12-19T09:47:00.002-05:002023-12-19T09:47:51.915-05:00 2nd Sunday @ 2: Poetry + Prose, December 10<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I was on my own this time as the Host, but it was easy to handle with just 4, including me, on the sign-up sheet. It was a casual, collegial gathering, exchanging not only poems but elephant jokes (I won’t repeat them).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlnICBx0CfZaCLeFJOnNwSdPI_FUjbteTzi5zt4FiI1yWaGQiqP0vgLzxZKYH016bXPgZ-HmotbteMohCyCY9U40DSQ8pBzju6nX-sEq53vKWkGKYTtMV0ImBfL9mgEgWHir2tHyEO3rJQ9vrD1_xFeBwTD0-T4rlsnqzg92jhAkAUirxdBaMYJfULg8/s4272/IMG_2513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlnICBx0CfZaCLeFJOnNwSdPI_FUjbteTzi5zt4FiI1yWaGQiqP0vgLzxZKYH016bXPgZ-HmotbteMohCyCY9U40DSQ8pBzju6nX-sEq53vKWkGKYTtMV0ImBfL9mgEgWHir2tHyEO3rJQ9vrD1_xFeBwTD0-T4rlsnqzg92jhAkAUirxdBaMYJfULg8/s320/IMG_2513.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b><br />Rhonda Rosenheck</b> began with a piece from a workshop on metaphor, “Morse Code,” a cup of warm tea; her second piece was a personal memoir about a deathwatch for a fiancé, “Counting Blessings on My Fingers.”</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">One has to pay close attention when <b>David Gonsalves</b> gets up to read, his poems tend to go by fast — his first piece was about the sun & word play “Candle & Calendar,” his next piece was a list poem.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>I</b> read a poem from a few years ago that was part of the <i>Poetic License</i> project at the Art Society of Kingston, “Writing Crows” that inspired a painting by S.L. Ritka, then, holiday tradition, I read <b>Enid Dame</b>’s (1943 - 2003) cross-cultural “Holiday Poem.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We are here at <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i> because <b>Avery Stempel</b> makes the space available each 2nd Sunday; his first poem began with a quote from the sci-fi writer Philip K. Dick (1928 - 1982), the poem composed of quotes from a CNN report on robots, with the refrain “they live;” then another piece composed of words from someone else’s mouth, this from the things Avery’s Dad’s cousin said, “No Peaches.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Put 4 poets in a room & it’s better than football (in my opinion).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><i>2nd Sunday @ 2</i> takes place at <i>Collar City Mushrooms</i>, 333 2nd Ave., Troy — an open mic for poetry + prose — & you can buy mushrooms to take home.</span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-14385903290871399792023-12-16T18:23:00.001-05:002023-12-16T18:30:18.326-05:00Caffè Lena Poetry Open Mic, December 6<p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back for the poetry at <i>Caffe Lena</i>, especially for the featured poet, <b>James Schlett</b>, but also for the wonderful experience of hearing & seeing the poets of the North Country (& beyond). Our 20-year host, <b>Carol Graser</b>, started us off with a poem by titled “Bats” by Lynn Unger, the flying kind, not baseball.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTT2xj6TusmvB2ZRj696q31GiCT-nl-Usv6TGY_l8bOIsZsmUIQcccupUvJjXum6VDy0f8ZnfSeI7E81aFir5Uwxs22KR9kAafW4o3lcdmkWOTWvpxac8AvzzNiYavIP-BVb5_r5lsqeb8uLRxRYNnxCzvKayBd4u6eOp_UoPcJ6MVM8l6Cr7tcTBnFxU/s4272/IMG_2495.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTT2xj6TusmvB2ZRj696q31GiCT-nl-Usv6TGY_l8bOIsZsmUIQcccupUvJjXum6VDy0f8ZnfSeI7E81aFir5Uwxs22KR9kAafW4o3lcdmkWOTWvpxac8AvzzNiYavIP-BVb5_r5lsqeb8uLRxRYNnxCzvKayBd4u6eOp_UoPcJ6MVM8l6Cr7tcTBnFxU/s320/IMG_2495.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then on to the featured poet <b>James Schlett</b>, whose reading was live-streamed (preserved for all-time on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/live/bIowYQtutiw?si=BRWfCpdYreBoB_xN">YouTube</a>). James is not only a veteran of the poetry open scene in Saratoga Springs & Albany, but also the historian & author of <i>A Not Too Greatly Changed Eden: The Story of the Philosophers’ Camp in the Adirondacks</i> (Cornell University Press, 2015). Tonight he read from his 1st book of poems, <i>children & bubbles: Haiku on Fatherhood</i> (Red Moon Press, 2023), & discussed his Haiku practice. You can find a video of his reading at the Caffe Lena YouTube site.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Luna Brooke</b> was here for the 1st time, read a poem titled “Dream” that she wrote at age 18, a defiant manifesto & love poem, then read her version written 10 year later, re-titled “New Dream,” a re-write using her previous lines & phrases, a stunning exercise in re-evaluation & re-writing. </span><b>David Graham</b> said he has been reading Pablo Neruda’s The Book of Questions, read his answer, “A Charm that Might Work,” to Neruda’s question about November; then read another poem “Elegy for My Father.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivn4Lwk_ar-7gRpC1iHQHyBeTn2AVLhseVbEMNcmJqwapPbTzKkNmBUDSL1SQPbyceiQ8IhKWUt2KLeKPCoUojWbEHhHHgBE8p0L4kdQR5-1a20VEWiYgWbMt5VZeJfmTRgBh11ylTG5BAdB_kBGMy0b9jrL1WEFIUaw0VRVBg4bAkjKFOEHLpvwQKW7s/s4272/IMG_2499.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivn4Lwk_ar-7gRpC1iHQHyBeTn2AVLhseVbEMNcmJqwapPbTzKkNmBUDSL1SQPbyceiQ8IhKWUt2KLeKPCoUojWbEHhHHgBE8p0L4kdQR5-1a20VEWiYgWbMt5VZeJfmTRgBh11ylTG5BAdB_kBGMy0b9jrL1WEFIUaw0VRVBg4bAkjKFOEHLpvwQKW7s/w267-h178/IMG_2499.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>Rumara Jewett</b> read her prose poem, “Christmas,” a memoir of her grandmother’s balsam fir with real candles. <b style="font-family: inherit;">Gail</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">, who had first read here for the 20th anniversary celebration, read this night a poem asking “Whom Am I?” then one about the glory & solace of music, “Unfolding My Potential.” </span><b style="font-family: inherit;">Melissa Anderson</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">’s poem titled “Four Years Later I Return to the Scene of the Crime,” about blooming as a young woman, seeing the ghost of who she once was in the Bronx, a poem on changing, from memories on memory.</span></div><p></p></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At that point <b>Carol</b> called for a break, & when we returned she read a poem of memory, “On the 6th Floor of the VA Medical Center.” <b>Leslie Sittner</b> read a poem about her dog being happy to go for walk, “The Joy Place.” Then it was my turn to read & in response to James’ reading of Haiku,<b> I </b>read my linked pieces, “Buddhist Haiku” then my commentary on the form, “The Haiku Haiku.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwjQVSqFjcAmfBUBZlD7bOJZ2rIv97oIQ2MN2A2rfOsnRS0nrs_1jTyiEoVJc5UADIdFBLCMouLld-Dg__BJgAr5nZZc2QyZLp0MQNqeLfZKa6nFJrUvn4xp2yIBaUq_BFwVY7k5KJ91vBIYV6-yjDQal5CsLXqJ5FXBIRmRxRttn4KHQRimbZQVOvx-8/s4272/IMG_2506.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwjQVSqFjcAmfBUBZlD7bOJZ2rIv97oIQ2MN2A2rfOsnRS0nrs_1jTyiEoVJc5UADIdFBLCMouLld-Dg__BJgAr5nZZc2QyZLp0MQNqeLfZKa6nFJrUvn4xp2yIBaUq_BFwVY7k5KJ91vBIYV6-yjDQal5CsLXqJ5FXBIRmRxRttn4KHQRimbZQVOvx-8/w272-h181/IMG_2506.JPG" width="272" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Elaine Kenyon</b>, who had read yesterday in Albany at the <i>Poetic License - Albany</i> exhibit, moved me by reading the opening poem, ”It’s not about us…” from the book-length poem <i>Divine Madness</i> (Marsh Hawk Press, 2012) by <b>Paul Pines</b> (1941 - 2018), who had read here at <i>Caffè Lena</i>; later Elaine explained to me that she had been a student of Paul’s in 1997 at SUNY Adirondack & he had encouraged her to write poems, to become the poet she is today.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I hadn’t seen <b>R.A.</b> (Ron) <b>Pavoldi</b> reading in some time; his poem tonight was “FR 232” (Fire Road) a descriptive piece of Maine, & of a gone lobsterman. <b>E.R. Vogel</b> read a poem “to the pretty bartender down the street” that began “I want to write poems about your tattoos…” </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3sX86ChH64nh4lsIMZ_jqNmNaLTtZRobrWnJ6vkXrcJcwAt7PD73BNtExhvh88LWhJjHlqZPO6zRK5xrWmqszOLGq-oJMyMpAdFGBOPeUMQ6Fe6JGwwzxvUobj2wpXNFz9eCle9PIRoP8hhVlHv_zRFVSVGf953w3YYoI2ZijySDyKSi4nWOEF2ikGA/s4272/IMG_2509.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3sX86ChH64nh4lsIMZ_jqNmNaLTtZRobrWnJ6vkXrcJcwAt7PD73BNtExhvh88LWhJjHlqZPO6zRK5xrWmqszOLGq-oJMyMpAdFGBOPeUMQ6Fe6JGwwzxvUobj2wpXNFz9eCle9PIRoP8hhVlHv_zRFVSVGf953w3YYoI2ZijySDyKSi4nWOEF2ikGA/w269-h179/IMG_2509.JPG" width="269" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Justin Mitchell</b> read a Haiku that led into “Crystal Castles” a poem with a Xmas witch, then a tropical description “Oh Those Flowers.”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Carol told the story of a time a number of years ago that a poet did a tedious performance piece in which he smashed a TV, which was plugged in at the time. <b>James Schlett</b> was there that night & eventually stopped the destruction by yelling out, “That’s enough — we GET IT!” — which earned James the nickname “the enforcer.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Rodney Parrott</b> began with a poem about seagulls flying into the wind in Oregon, which is also done by seagulls here on the Atlantic coast, then a long, discursive piece on what the poem <u>could</u> be. <b>Joanne Cronin</b> finished out the night with a piece titled “Lace,” then one about a tapestry at The Cloisters Museum, “The Unicorn Crossing the Stream.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This long-running open mic, always with a featured poet (or 2), continues on into its <u>2nd</u> 20 years, each 1st Wednesday of the month at the historic <i>Caffè Lena</i>, 47 Phila St., Saratoga Springs, NY starting at 7:00PM, $5.00 — <i>bring a couple poems for the open mic!</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-35239944896743395292023-12-13T11:58:00.000-05:002023-12-13T11:58:48.448-05:00 Poetic License Reading/Open Mic, December 5<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Ta3J430utaKanVZnQRphuYKP67SXHuGl20gfhRqFIvsJgKuLMPXtx0mhGoTgOW-20x81v9HgY155fo2ZsGfefgy5u6Wljhq3ELgVRGmH0yqVw3IJdIyP5JqVZVsw3KOwkMlxiBVEbHhCnKoqLkUfyJNOlqUYNAbm8jFp_srpMiUcWSm1F3cd2PyQmMI/s1000/Thomasa-Nielsen-Slipping-on-a-Note-scaled-qeqxe7zfkkayxniy77cos48ygjv7nrmznl9yukdq1c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Ta3J430utaKanVZnQRphuYKP67SXHuGl20gfhRqFIvsJgKuLMPXtx0mhGoTgOW-20x81v9HgY155fo2ZsGfefgy5u6Wljhq3ELgVRGmH0yqVw3IJdIyP5JqVZVsw3KOwkMlxiBVEbHhCnKoqLkUfyJNOlqUYNAbm8jFp_srpMiUcWSm1F3cd2PyQmMI/w281-h281/Thomasa-Nielsen-Slipping-on-a-Note-scaled-qeqxe7zfkkayxniy77cos48ygjv7nrmznl9yukdq1c.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thomasa Nielsen - "Slipping on a Note"</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The <i>Poetic License — Albany</i> exhibit has moved from its month-long exhibition at <i>The Fish Market</i> in Troy to the <i>Honest Weight Food Co-op</i> in Albany & this reading was held to bless the new location by some of the poets whose poems are exhibited with the visual art they inspired. As I do at the <i>Third Thursday Poetry Night,</i> I invoked the Muse, tonight <b>Noah Kucij</b>, with 2 poems in the exhibit; I read “Your<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Photos A Year Ago This Week” which inspired <b>Thom Francis</b>’ photo “Spinning Wheel.” Noah died suddenly in April before he knew he would be part of <i>Poetic License - Albany</i>.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Tom Bonville</b> joined as an open mic poet. While he did not have a poem in the show, he does regularly attend open mics in the area. The pieces he read were titled “Going, Going, Gone,” “Faith,” & “I Want to Be.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItzgnF0t4g3VXc-b6W6nVvM-g3nG6y69d_ypxbk_nxq7HmNGL4eV4xRnFksfcXaoH1fStVNaoeF6vipgIlkTuAuMFpWpdof_S80MLAECByToVd4iP2IoQTg4ygnON5HQNaOXFO9yrsy-DE2OA0rdWw60XSMUyjcFQNUja4Wd29gE91JHz-Xv9DTvuITE/s4272/IMG_2487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgItzgnF0t4g3VXc-b6W6nVvM-g3nG6y69d_ypxbk_nxq7HmNGL4eV4xRnFksfcXaoH1fStVNaoeF6vipgIlkTuAuMFpWpdof_S80MLAECByToVd4iP2IoQTg4ygnON5HQNaOXFO9yrsy-DE2OA0rdWw60XSMUyjcFQNUja4Wd29gE91JHz-Xv9DTvuITE/s320/IMG_2487.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Elaine Kenyon</b> had submitted to the 2022 <i>Poetic License</i> event, but this year her poem “The Peripatetic” inspired art from <b>Tess Lecuyer</b> titled “the peripatetic eye.” This night Elaine read that poem as well as “The Misophoniac,” & an ekphrastic poem “Motherhood Blood-Letting.”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Brian Liston </b>has also participated both years in <i>Poetic License - Albany</i>; this year it was his word-list poem “Struggle” that inspired <b>Sven Willets</b> to create his painting “Conquering Worm;” Brian also read a poem dedicated to Philip X. Levine of the <i>Woodstock Poetry Society</i> “The Role We Play” a tribute to those who have come before us, & one titled<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Internalization.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I</b> was one of the judges of the poetry submitted & so do not have any of my poems in the exhibit; instead I read my poem “Writing Crows” that had been in the <i>Arts Society of Kingston Poetic License</i> in 2021 & inspired the painter <b>S.L. Rika</b> to create “The Crow Flies.” I also read the short poem “My Matisse” inspired by a painting by <b>Thomasa Nielsen</b> from an exhibit at the UAG Gallery on Lark St. many years ago.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Don Maurer</b> read his poem in 3 parts, “Unnatural Acts,” that inspired the painting by <b>Phil Palmieri</b> titled “Lyme & Corona;” then read a coupe other pieces, “Bruised Fruit,” & the song lyric, “How a Robin Learns the Facts of Life.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Kathleen Anne Smith</b> read “To Create a Summer it Takes” (from her book <i>Let the Stones Grow Soft</i>, The Troy Book Makers, 2023) that inspired the painting “Beach Cottage Summer” by <b>Maureen Kelly</b>; she also read “Why I Write About My Mother” which is also in her book.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJx7TkwAi14dIy3FD2Rc6wXdh2w_zYw6V3HrLZfPGrYqa_-xH-AG7mszKYUyUeHeFZfbzTQeCAWmas_nci2a2f6-QJKgoxz7rWQcN3xawkXkZ-oHil701pJO-2u2Daziqs2DnFcfIWq-_vtYU-Bj4i8v3v1n16KExKAghmW2FYStku_idn2oWpCD2rLA/s4272/IMG_2491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJx7TkwAi14dIy3FD2Rc6wXdh2w_zYw6V3HrLZfPGrYqa_-xH-AG7mszKYUyUeHeFZfbzTQeCAWmas_nci2a2f6-QJKgoxz7rWQcN3xawkXkZ-oHil701pJO-2u2Daziqs2DnFcfIWq-_vtYU-Bj4i8v3v1n16KExKAghmW2FYStku_idn2oWpCD2rLA/s320/IMG_2491.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Tom Corrado </b>repeated his feat from last year’s <i>Poetic License - Albany</i> & has <u>2</u> poems in this year’s show, “Woman XXXIX,” that inspired a painting by <b>Ann Womack</b> titled “Let’s Ride,” & “Woman XVII,” that inspired <b>Thomasa Nielsen</b>’s “Slipping on a Note.” Tom quoted the American abstract painter, Agnes Martin (1912 - 2004), to the effect that she was happy to have her art leave her studio. Tom also read the poems “Woman XXXVII” & “Woman XL,” all the poems from his chapbook <i>50 Woman</i> (swimming in happenstance press, 2023) copies of which he gave out to the audience.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can check out the poems & visual art in Poetic License - Albany at <a href="https://www.poeticlicensealbany.com/">the website</a>. </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you are reading this Blog soon after it was posted, & it is still 2023, you can find the poems & their accompanying art work in the Gallery at <i>Honest Weight Food Co-op</i>, 100 Watervliet Ave., Albany, NY. Visit the Hudson Valley Writers Guild <a href="http://www.hvwg.org">website</a> for listings of local & regional literary events, calls for entries (including future <i>Poetic License</i> calls), & much more.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-25572729473904119672023-12-11T20:59:00.000-05:002023-12-11T20:59:17.927-05:00 Invocation —, December 4<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s back!</span></i> with a revised name. Formerly <i>Invocation of the Muse</i>, this poetry open mic was on hiatus since earlier this year as renovations were taken place at <i>Lark Hall</i>, including the opening of the new bar/cafe <i>Eleven,</i> so I guess this series got a name renovation as well. It’s a great location — right on Lark St. in Albany, on the corner of Hudson — no TVs needed, one can sit at the bar & watch the passing scene through the full-length glass windows.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOSmQLetIMuP6KhsDoQTrKkiX3Zd6qITmjPMVcyDr2tI-67i1Xrtql22ozFUlffw4pgb5iLArm0zUIdS0dbnNpoM7mzIO-mTzlKOXDuU7yVlUWAsF7bBuZ5SvmAuEqu16J0ArbVFEKixUUhsJ0AKCReloak24onlJoIWg_KkikIkLf1NN1_SNgiAU-Qo/s4272/IMG_2470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOSmQLetIMuP6KhsDoQTrKkiX3Zd6qITmjPMVcyDr2tI-67i1Xrtql22ozFUlffw4pgb5iLArm0zUIdS0dbnNpoM7mzIO-mTzlKOXDuU7yVlUWAsF7bBuZ5SvmAuEqu16J0ArbVFEKixUUhsJ0AKCReloak24onlJoIWg_KkikIkLf1NN1_SNgiAU-Qo/w270-h180/IMG_2470.JPG" width="270" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The host was the same, <b>R.M. Engelhardt</b>. The open mic was held right in the bar area, which wasn’t a bad idea since it was a Monday night & the open mic is what brought in the business. But it was decidedly low-tech — <u>no</u> sound equipment & <u>no</u> music stand. Over all the years he has run open mics in the area Rob has yet to acquire the accoutrements of a poetry open mic host.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rob started off the readings with a tongue-in-cheek poem done up as a radio or TV ad, “Is Poetry Right for You.” He then introduced the co-host in-training, <b>Sam Maurice</b>, who has been a regular here for the poetry at Lark Hall, to introduce the first reader on the list, <b>Vanessa Bilanceri</b>, who read a couple of (apparently) untitled pieces, the first an inspirational piece urging women to become a goddess, the other describing the “Autumn gold.” <b>My</b> 2 poems were about cafes, one old, “Café Tabac” (which was in NYC), the other recent & local, i.e. <i>Dunkin Donuts</i> “Café Society.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Pat Williams</b> was featured in November 2022 at <i>Invocation of the Muse</i>, he was back tonight in the open mic to read a poem about the Mohawk River, “Down by the River,” & another out in nature, “Go Take a Hike.” <b>Josh the Poet</b> said he has written a lot of love poems, tonight he read a new one, “Winter Love.” Josh has a quiet voice so tonight without an amp it was difficult to hear him over the low, & persistent, hum of a compressor.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay4dAxN5ZQWDVaZXjZ_sra-afl7vXE-19Ws0JQwqaVJNeSW1euRYfo2iNpGV3ncbuytoqptUXdoFoM7OzlQ4AgW8rSv6Mvovzujqh7yyiOIjlCZsi26-c0pP7MqFpMFRHnn3um7hyphenhyphenW2YPIdAZ52_U40_VZIBS-dXo0GI9Ya03wxdj4GPrSgN2m7wSrlg/s4272/IMG_2476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay4dAxN5ZQWDVaZXjZ_sra-afl7vXE-19Ws0JQwqaVJNeSW1euRYfo2iNpGV3ncbuytoqptUXdoFoM7OzlQ4AgW8rSv6Mvovzujqh7yyiOIjlCZsi26-c0pP7MqFpMFRHnn3um7hyphenhyphenW2YPIdAZ52_U40_VZIBS-dXo0GI9Ya03wxdj4GPrSgN2m7wSrlg/w255-h170/IMG_2476.JPG" width="255" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our co-host in-training, <b>Sam Maurice</b>, read the title poem from his recently published <i>Vibrant Sounds, Colors in Motion: Fragments, Prose, & Select Poems</i> (as S.L Maurice) from Deadman’s Press Ink (of which he is a co-editor), then another poem was a description of a car crashing into a fire hydrant & it’s subsequent plumbing problem. He was followed by the other co-host, <b>R.M. Engelhardt</b> who read 2 new poems on the exalted role of poets, his favorite topic, “A Raker of Dust A Rattler of Bones,” then another with an epigraph by poet Edmond Jabès, “200,000 Poems.”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The ever-stylish Marlon Anderson, a veteran of the early days of poetry poetry open mics at the QE2, signed up to read as “<b>King Rehd</b>” 2 short pieces, “Masterpiece” (i.e. Madonna), & an untitled poem on “the god of peace.” <b>Ruthie Martin</b> began with a brave piece, one might say a confession, on her struggle with addictions, & that she got help, & capped that off with a short inspirational rhyme.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghp6kGyxc-LEXIqBFZ9moAQHt6T3k3tcDCjIgKIIuU74ApXfRhMcKd0eH8szs8Ab2nt7ABhMeXBB2W_bKhL9bn3duTirD-w__BY9NdGUt1SK5kmYae78QxhuCQqe94qETxZftpGBxyh-ziyXTZHg4I4T1-jfdf6_EjdhjR21cP3s3D8lu9Pb9Ivn1vmMg/s4272/IMG_2482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghp6kGyxc-LEXIqBFZ9moAQHt6T3k3tcDCjIgKIIuU74ApXfRhMcKd0eH8szs8Ab2nt7ABhMeXBB2W_bKhL9bn3duTirD-w__BY9NdGUt1SK5kmYae78QxhuCQqe94qETxZftpGBxyh-ziyXTZHg4I4T1-jfdf6_EjdhjR21cP3s3D8lu9Pb9Ivn1vmMg/w251-h167/IMG_2482.JPG" width="251" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Allie Middleton</b> read 2 poems from her 2020 book, <i>A Wayfinder’s Wanderings: A First Collection of Poems</i>, “Thresholds of Blue Timelessness” & “Love’s bold container;” she is also the co-author, with Amy Wheeler, of <i>Yoga Radicals: A Curated Set of Inspiring Stories from Pioneers in the Field</i>.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Barry Goldman</b> lost his poetry virginity back in 2008 at the <i>Third Thursday Poetry Night</i>, was out of the area for many years, but joined us tonight as a last-minute sign-up to read a haibun about seeing bras in a dryer (which women consultants tell me that is <u>not</u> the way to dry bras). <b>Shaya Bach</b> was also a late sign-up, & neither co-host apparently had apprised him of the 2-poem rule so he read 3 pieces: “Out the Window of a Midnight Train” (what it says), “Last Rites of a Wasp Squeezed Thru a Hole in the Screen,” & “TV News at the Dollar Store.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Strangely, co-host <b>Sam Maurice</b> was back to read <u>2 more</u> poems; now, as a open mic host, I insert myself wherever I feel I want into the sign-up list, but I have never taken advantage of my position & read more poems than anyone else — perhaps in his excitement as a new co-host he forgot he had already read, & I guess that can be forgiven.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This reading series is back on the first Monday of (most) months at <i><a href="https://larkhallalbany.com/">The Eleven at Lark Hall</a></i>, 351 Hudson Ave., Albany, NY, the corner of Hudson Ave. & Lark St. — 7:30PM sign-up/8:00PM start, $5.00 (note: some folks said they had paid online thru <i>Eventbrite</i>), I paid when Rob passed the customary hat.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-27489097097156578082023-12-07T22:31:00.000-05:002023-12-07T22:31:03.637-05:00 Visual Poetry: Poetry in Performance, November 28<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">This was an event planned in conjunction with an exhibit at the <i>Arts Center of the Capital Region</i> in Troy titled <i>Visual Poetry: New Vistas.</i> The exhibit is up from November 13 to December 20, curated by Willie Marlowe, <b>Joseph Mastroianni</b>, & <b>Bella Burnett</b>, with work by <b>Drea LaRose</b>, <b>Kelsey Renko</b>, <b>Kim Tateo</b>, <b>Laura Frare</b>, <b>Marisa Cavanaugh</b>, <b>Mary Kathryn Jablonski</b>, <b>Willie Marlowe</b> & <b>Yeachin Tsai.</b></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The title of this night's event was a bit of a misnomer. While the poetry was exemplary & varied in style & presentation, & some of the poets used videos as part of their readings, it lacked the kind of presentations usually associated with “performance poetry” — dramatic, even histrionic presentations, music, costumes, etc. Nevertheless, it was an entertaining, albeit long, evening of poetry & videos.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The readers were all local/regional poets. The announced headliner, the Philadelphia-based “experimental poet,” CA Conrad had transportation problems & didn’t make it to Troy.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The host was Troy poet <b>Nancy Klepsch </b>who debuted a short video of her poem “god must be a boogie man,” the title poem of her 2017 poetry chapbook.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqrzA3SrA_D_OxrfvTKumNgBZLPXCBaxLdetNr8pve3nMuH9lgJrtctSdkMVNQrU4ePj55R7wt7bHKSLyG_-ZbeDXGwRo5ZKihHVKmqVZEFk__qsj8JAR1BKpFH1dOVYg-EQQvdCeiLpGTi6R9jYEpeXIlzijHfy8JN029UNa68QGqLeQpjTp0RA5m1A/s4272/IMG_2447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqrzA3SrA_D_OxrfvTKumNgBZLPXCBaxLdetNr8pve3nMuH9lgJrtctSdkMVNQrU4ePj55R7wt7bHKSLyG_-ZbeDXGwRo5ZKihHVKmqVZEFk__qsj8JAR1BKpFH1dOVYg-EQQvdCeiLpGTi6R9jYEpeXIlzijHfy8JN029UNa68QGqLeQpjTp0RA5m1A/w245-h163/IMG_2447.JPG" width="245" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first piece was the 30-minute video/poem chapbook, <i>Compass</i>, by poet <b>Mary Kathryn Jablonski</b> & filmmaker <b>Laura Frare</b>, a compilation of 9 separate pieces, weaving together video images, music & the Jablonski’s poems. The title piece, <i>Compass</i>, won an award in the Experiment Short Film category at this year’s <i>Writers Institute Film Festival</i>.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdGVZqVmnjZahcMYIhzeUrP2zf8X3O35byx5SUQyhzFrrbCZShidA0ZhOFffgqUmu1AELe0C9lXQO2QR-Ggo7igZVs8xI3oVFB9DeN6x9GcDOopZWShr-ZuCDDJWahMtTDKrVD_SNItPLp4ZdkBBATZGiqmIC6Zl_homz9n7XUTqJLCNOLT3CMT0oBGI/s4272/IMG_2452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdGVZqVmnjZahcMYIhzeUrP2zf8X3O35byx5SUQyhzFrrbCZShidA0ZhOFffgqUmu1AELe0C9lXQO2QR-Ggo7igZVs8xI3oVFB9DeN6x9GcDOopZWShr-ZuCDDJWahMtTDKrVD_SNItPLp4ZdkBBATZGiqmIC6Zl_homz9n7XUTqJLCNOLT3CMT0oBGI/w233-h155/IMG_2452.JPG" width="233" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jill Crammond</b> is a long-time participant in the local poetry reading/open mic scene; she said that she started writing her poems as a “single-Mom,” but now that her children are grown up she doesn’t know what she is. She began with a seasonal poem from the 2022 <i>Poetic License - Albany</i> exhibit of poems & ekphrastic art, “October Sonnet,” then on to a cluster of poems from her recently published chapbook, <i>Handbook for Unwell Mothers</i> (Finishing Line Press, 2023), including a couple of my favorites, “On Forbidding Certain Words at the Dinner Table,” & “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Home” with its nod to Wallace Stevens. Then to a cluster of poems about the death of her father, ending with one titled “On Learning There is No Word Like ‘Widow’ for the Daughter of a Dead Man.”</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I noted as the readings began that there was no mic stand, that the readers had to hold the microphone while awkwardly turning the pages of their books or manuscript, or other wise scrolling on their lap-top or phone. Perhaps there is a high-roller out there who would like to purchase a mic stand for any such future events at the <i>Arts Center</i>.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyiFb0FoLDeXUNi7T4Mj095mD4UgmQl7DOb70ow4bn3ileVvS04QsYR68wXwZrmicuRv6TvQ9cWXyvrH_elNILqmKV4nM2PREZMolZ9Ckgx0Lkv1bpTli3EX22Jd_1qdjNwpk4yE_FZ1R3FSWpjSTI0blwdHCongD927B2hlh9MT8ERPxlRoyBjB9tv8/s4272/IMG_2455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyiFb0FoLDeXUNi7T4Mj095mD4UgmQl7DOb70ow4bn3ileVvS04QsYR68wXwZrmicuRv6TvQ9cWXyvrH_elNILqmKV4nM2PREZMolZ9Ckgx0Lkv1bpTli3EX22Jd_1qdjNwpk4yE_FZ1R3FSWpjSTI0blwdHCongD927B2hlh9MT8ERPxlRoyBjB9tv8/w222-h148/IMG_2455.JPG" width="222" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Shira Dentz</b> began her reading with her own version of a video poem, then read from her laptop what she called "newer poems" about the environment. Most of the poems were quite short<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>descriptive ponderings, such as a piece about trees & leaves titled “Silk Confetti,” another titled “Sparks,” & one titled “Why Part 2” a colorful description of -- what? More of what I expected from her opening descriptions was “Small Things” about micro-plastics. She also read from a collection titled <i>Sisyphusina</i> (PANK, 2020), the title a female version of the Greek figure Sisyphus; the book is described on the publisher’s page as “a cross-genre collection of prose, poetry, visual art, and improvisatory music, centered on female aging” which did not come across in the reading. She ended with a longer piece built on the common expressions she had been hearing "At the End of the Day.”</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvn9XcZONVkkoEgFpJXf20l3gVfzO33u0j8gWa-wGwRlb7ig1tGUbROt9XYqDh9uQC4pmaPOgKqeoaYkOQ1kOiXfZAH4YLKWkvlfRho0S1inK1JMKty5NiPMmh8blvmX7erkLxOF7URWXp_2RBqJaKme2m2INHFxHkkY72o3RXDvxmFUUEly2z_4QfiU/s4272/IMG_2458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvn9XcZONVkkoEgFpJXf20l3gVfzO33u0j8gWa-wGwRlb7ig1tGUbROt9XYqDh9uQC4pmaPOgKqeoaYkOQ1kOiXfZAH4YLKWkvlfRho0S1inK1JMKty5NiPMmh8blvmX7erkLxOF7URWXp_2RBqJaKme2m2INHFxHkkY72o3RXDvxmFUUEly2z_4QfiU/w224-h149/IMG_2458.JPG" width="224" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Philip Good</b> dedicated his reading to the memory of his partner, <b>Bernadette Mayer</b> (1945 - 2022), & read a couple pieces he had done in collaboration with Bernadette, “Don’t forget organic salt…” & “Carnavale” (which I think may have been in the 2022 New Directions book by Bernadette <i>Milkweed Smithereens</i>). Then on to a series of seasonal poems, starting in March, discursive, descriptive pieces, sometimes with cultural/social commentary (such as one about Maine, “Looks Just Like a Postcard”), others like automatic writing commenting on the writing itself. Then there was the funny & all-to-true “Things to Do in East Nassau,” which if you have ever been there you can guess.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBhEVw0njdvS4TqmAcCFyMNOo6LOHwdvhYMS9Sk2J6hDd8hNT3OHbnDw6vXV4Wf9bGFh2kz2xxtZshtcsErMIFlez7aQ17OZwZgKLvybjfcywXvkwfO2zq9cQ524KpT_kVB5dennMwKHxvTBgbRdzud2nVJ-q27FsYkmRjCrra4LVXp54SL7yMJVXwEQ/s4272/IMG_2459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBhEVw0njdvS4TqmAcCFyMNOo6LOHwdvhYMS9Sk2J6hDd8hNT3OHbnDw6vXV4Wf9bGFh2kz2xxtZshtcsErMIFlez7aQ17OZwZgKLvybjfcywXvkwfO2zq9cQ524KpT_kVB5dennMwKHxvTBgbRdzud2nVJ-q27FsYkmRjCrra4LVXp54SL7yMJVXwEQ/w230-h153/IMG_2459.JPG" width="230" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Matthew Klane </b>has run a variety of reading series in the Capital District over the years, most recently <i>Salon Salvage</i> in Troy in which he brings in young, experimental writers from near & far. Tonight he read from <i>HIST</i> (Calamari) described as “a graphic novel,” or a “text-image blockbuster.” He read 5 of the 10 short chapters, with images projected on the screen, being the closest to the advertised “poetry in performance.” The images, which were done by the “interdisciplinary poet” <b>James Belflower</b>, were collaged, looking quite 19th century, of shipwrecks, monsters, murders, hauntings signifying — what? The text was equally collaged in fractured phrases, while Matthew’s deep, sonorous reading voice made it all sound so serious.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0RsI5IIBQBM8Eotdj4niC1SFD0b7NgHXHytiero6oJ0xBngj_3bg1j6zK66916T6NxT_jq1be_7dyAziy6_uUVYcEZL_xRgbGic33Om2GFYW8UvemcfcQ6mssebHQYncmpvKtX0oHGOphyImmTZEeoG6edV_RPe0CyC0o8noE4V4qF661X1ZOKfHU74/s4272/IMG_2464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0RsI5IIBQBM8Eotdj4niC1SFD0b7NgHXHytiero6oJ0xBngj_3bg1j6zK66916T6NxT_jq1be_7dyAziy6_uUVYcEZL_xRgbGic33Om2GFYW8UvemcfcQ6mssebHQYncmpvKtX0oHGOphyImmTZEeoG6edV_RPe0CyC0o8noE4V4qF661X1ZOKfHU74/w221-h147/IMG_2464.JPG" width="221" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sarah Wyman</b> was the only reader I had not heard or seen previously & her work was a pleasant surprise. She read l</span>argely <span style="font-family: inherit;"> from her 2021 book from Codhill Press <i>Fried Goldfinch; </i>many were ekphrastic poems based on such visual artists as Arshile Gorky & James McNeill Whistler. She also read a clutch of what she described as “familial poems,” such as one on tobacco “American Spirit,” & the sestina “Wild Asparagus.” I always like to be surprised by good poets that I hadn’t yet heard of — more books to buy.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcS24BSceoHhd88vsUEQvE0SVB-ghozEdrICfuYcaNdH7j4jJtWpPXAD_yxZv98HXYk-oHACi8YjlL9ZujwiieZ6rkGFcPVuamxMTqh220i2TTvE8mYI-0WcHfrE6uVWDKghIt28h-LmSFUC4bLEMhgysl5qD2H_WI9iOj-suoqEulnVK8p_ejM9RRtAg/s4272/IMG_2465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcS24BSceoHhd88vsUEQvE0SVB-ghozEdrICfuYcaNdH7j4jJtWpPXAD_yxZv98HXYk-oHACi8YjlL9ZujwiieZ6rkGFcPVuamxMTqh220i2TTvE8mYI-0WcHfrE6uVWDKghIt28h-LmSFUC4bLEMhgysl5qD2H_WI9iOj-suoqEulnVK8p_ejM9RRtAg/w212-h141/IMG_2465.JPG" width="212" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The final poet of the night, <b>Ellen White Rook</b>, is one I had definitely heard previously, & indeed she was a featured poet earlier this year at the monthly event I run, the <i>Third Thursday Poetry Night</i> at the Social Justice Center in Albany, & was recently the featured poet at the <i>Caffè Lena Poetry Night</i> in Saratoga Springs. She included a quartet of poems from her attractively produced book <i>Suspended</i> (Cathexis Northwest Press, 2023) sprinkled throughout her set list. But also read other poems from a new manuscript, such as 2 companion pieces about seeing a demon in the room as a young girl & as an older woman, & the poem tilted “Drusen” on the conflation of language & a vision problem that I heard as a metaphor for poetry.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While not quite a night of “poetry in </span>performance<span style="font-family: inherit;">,” certainly an evening of quite excellent work by local writers, making one question why one would need some celebrity poet from out-of-town to make this an “event” anyways.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Support your local poets at the venues & your local artists at the galleries near you.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-48735362361016861662023-12-03T16:06:00.001-05:002023-12-04T14:02:32.169-05:00 Third Thursday Poetry Night, November 16<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYBLaCdyLXEhkJWWA9eTU7i_mY4Mz2YUsWw1d8IHMtiVzifzc1RxJfLiLz76nk5l5L7AHJspzXk_wea1iDC-1E70a4rDapxZ3hwBXjeUFrJXtywfuzrZAHybEbxs9RGjBZtDOktDuwP6igsoWxnatnaPohdmsh-4MgcmrODRNu0xGYwtr4G1ygOD5rXc/s2048/Empty%20mic%20by%20Don%20Levy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYBLaCdyLXEhkJWWA9eTU7i_mY4Mz2YUsWw1d8IHMtiVzifzc1RxJfLiLz76nk5l5L7AHJspzXk_wea1iDC-1E70a4rDapxZ3hwBXjeUFrJXtywfuzrZAHybEbxs9RGjBZtDOktDuwP6igsoWxnatnaPohdmsh-4MgcmrODRNu0xGYwtr4G1ygOD5rXc/w187-h249/Empty%20mic%20by%20Don%20Levy.jpg" width="187" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This was a night of </span><u style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">only</u><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> the open mic poets. I started off with the evening’s Muse, a poet that I had discovered in my youth whose style seems in retrospect to foreshadow hip-hop, the insistent rhyming, the word-play, political statements, the beat poet </span><b style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ted Joans</b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">, whose “Let’s Play Something” made me laugh out loud; tonight I read his poem "The Hat" from his Selected Poems It ended up being a very chatty night going to almost 9:00 even without the feature.</span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">So the 1st reader on the list was the stalwart <b>Sylvia Barnard</b>, who read a new poem inspired by a poet from England, <b>Malcolm Guite</b>, & his book of poems based on the Psalms, her descriptive poem imagining King David writing his poems that became what we know of as the Psalms, & imagining a</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>future</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> peace.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Josh the Poet</b> was also back again to read tonight “The Hate You Give,” inspired by a film of the same title, on being black & building on that as a blessing.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>David Gonsalves</b> read a meditative poem, “Honey & Time,” building to the last line which is the title of the poem.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Tom Bonville</b> read a poem titled “The Hole,” about discovering a shotgun in his wife’s closet, her father’s gun, & the troubling thoughts that it engendered, putting a “hole” in their marriage.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>I </b>read an old poem inspired by the City workers in Washington Park, “Planting Tulips.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Edie Abrams</b> has not been here in quite some time & brought a poem she wrote at the last-minute for last week’s reading at the Arboretum on the theme “War & Peace,” on how to counter war & murder, proposing adding Valium to municipal water, rather than fluoride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Anthony Bernini</b> was also back after a hiatus, read a poem, “The Pisquaon in Winter,” about a river, a description of its flow to the sea with a hope for Spring.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Joan Goodman</b> wore her father’s fedora, read from her computer a rambling, sad meditation on an Israeli soldier taken hostage in the fighting; then a shorter, lighter piece “Idaho Come Dancing.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><b>Sue Cerniglia</b> frequently shows up but doesn’t read, but tonight read about an assignment in high school to bring a poem for a discussion & she chose the lyrics for Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” which didn't sit well with the nuns.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Come back any <u>third</u> Thursday of the month to the Social Justice Center, 33 Central Ave., Albany, NY, at 7:30PM, for an open mic, with, usually, a featured poet — your donation supports poetry events in Albany & the work of the Social Justice Center.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-87940817016057275852023-11-29T21:02:00.001-05:002023-11-29T21:02:41.237-05:00 Poetic License - Albany, November 13<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8LwJE-GYL2IqLXoOONhwrHXrAsajT4HnsZLNQq689gwUMI0ijRSOcxxLwMFvHIUd8m5MwL6f9akSlKZ-JOifytmRKVGmNcEmG0tky_3W_aACD_nVs7xWl4YyP9XE8YS0-m8LZYDxBmjKeqXJGf5juTEwfVUT1LeQsTF5wqNaxJMNgNRI2jxagsJCyxw/s4032/IMG_0431.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8LwJE-GYL2IqLXoOONhwrHXrAsajT4HnsZLNQq689gwUMI0ijRSOcxxLwMFvHIUd8m5MwL6f9akSlKZ-JOifytmRKVGmNcEmG0tky_3W_aACD_nVs7xWl4YyP9XE8YS0-m8LZYDxBmjKeqXJGf5juTEwfVUT1LeQsTF5wqNaxJMNgNRI2jxagsJCyxw/w205-h273/IMG_0431.HEIC" width="205" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />A reading/open mic in conjunction with the <i>Poetic License - Albany</i> exhibit at <i>The Fish Market Gallery</i> in Troy. This is the 2nd year of a collaboration between/among the <i>Hudson Valley Writers Guild</i>, the <i>Upstate Artists Guild</i>, & the larger community of poets & visual artists to bring art & poetry together. "Ekphrastic art" is a term describing creative work in one genre responding to work in another; the most common iteration is poetry written in response to a piece of visual art, e.g., a painting, drawing, sculpture, etc. This project involves visual artists responding to poems by area poets, then both the visual art & the poem being displayed together — ekphrastic art. </span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This night we gathered in the gallery</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> for a reading of poetry, not all of which inspired a work of visual art, but we were surrounded by sparkling works of art while the poets read their scintillating words. The MC of the event was no other than <b>Mary Panza</b>, a host & participant of many poetry open mics over the years.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first reader was <b>Don Maurer</b>, who began with his poem in 3 short parts, “Unnatural Acts,” which inspired a painting by <b>Phil Palmieri</b>; he also read a poem titled “Nauset Beach, Cape Cod, 1840” & another in rhyme on season changes.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyRYJB3NW-f0FmCP4lJEdkmPHE_4WPfdH3YfaeJBx96HAN_dQQ_ZYyr-T1GcMCvWlpx4hDgeHXoGFErcsPAs5IBGVBsJ5_JcKb45Pkc5o3lzqPSk3TdRu-BAsGSBAjhdxJu97CurRWzyMzLfhVwuI-VErbnEtlsNfW8RAjVoky8B3yDMNXomtMZheK4g/s4272/IMG_2425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyRYJB3NW-f0FmCP4lJEdkmPHE_4WPfdH3YfaeJBx96HAN_dQQ_ZYyr-T1GcMCvWlpx4hDgeHXoGFErcsPAs5IBGVBsJ5_JcKb45Pkc5o3lzqPSk3TdRu-BAsGSBAjhdxJu97CurRWzyMzLfhVwuI-VErbnEtlsNfW8RAjVoky8B3yDMNXomtMZheK4g/w263-h175/IMG_2425.JPG" width="263" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Chloe Glenn</b>’s poem “The Moth” inspired paintings by <b>Rebecca Schoonmaker</b> & <b>Tina Johnston</b>; she also read an elegy, “The Last Night Walk,” & one titled “What You Left in the Forest.”</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As happens in this project a poem selected as a possible source of inspiration may not be </span>picked up by an artist, as happened to<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Alexander Perez</b>, but Perez who is a frequenter of the many open mics in the area, read a poem, “Kisses from Beethoven,” inspired by his reading the letters of the great composer.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Brian Liston</b>, who also participated in last year’s inaugural <i>Poetic License - Albany</i>, read a series of his short poems, some single words stacked up, including “Struggle” that inspired work by <b>Sven Willets</b>; he also read his poem “Autistic Superkid” that was originally published in <i>Chronogram</i> magazine.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Noah Kucij</b> was a local poet who submitted 2 poems for the event, then died suddenly in April. Tonight, his friend <b>Matt Rector</b> came to honor Noah’s memory & read his poems, “At the Missing Sock Laundromat” (that inspired a collage by <b>Tess Lecuyer</b>), & “Your Photos A Year Ago This Week” (that inspired a photograph by <b>Thom Francis</b>), as well as a poem Matt wrote years ago while hanging out with Noah, “I Got Rhythm #5 -14”.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHa5mvyy288n6UlvToUu1yMRCvXG4hn1Bl3UCeTPRbymyOjGHRrOrS941Yrr2irRiMDUFyfCwBYRB44OB1HZl89wuRd9ghrR1y3oGgf7G8TGXzeIzNM1hJdT7tUOLwqSi48jZ0WXtV4T45hv2EBz7tE6x_ePZyKyZ54a_MERDnDUrgDX5yU3R4eWvLk-g/s4272/IMG_2433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHa5mvyy288n6UlvToUu1yMRCvXG4hn1Bl3UCeTPRbymyOjGHRrOrS941Yrr2irRiMDUFyfCwBYRB44OB1HZl89wuRd9ghrR1y3oGgf7G8TGXzeIzNM1hJdT7tUOLwqSi48jZ0WXtV4T45hv2EBz7tE6x_ePZyKyZ54a_MERDnDUrgDX5yU3R4eWvLk-g/w263-h175/IMG_2433.JPG" width="263" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br />Rebecca Schumejda</b>’s poem “Unlike Geese,” from her book <i>Sentenced</i> (NYQ Books, 2023) inspired a painting by <b>Jason Martinez</b>, but instead of Rebecca reading the poem, it was read by her daughter <b>Alexis</b>.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Nick</b>, who is a regular here at the weekly open mic, <i>Poetic Vibe</i>, joined as an open mic reader, read 2 inspirational, personal pieces “Transformation,” & “Begin Again.”</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The last poet, <b>Ryan Smithson</b>, read as an open mic poet, but he had also submitted visual work, composed of butterfly wings, inspired by a poem, “Lungs of the Universe,” by <b>Margaret McDermott</b>; Ryan read her poem, then his own poems “The Serpent & the Apple,” & “An Ode to Powdered Donuts.” I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Ryan’s moving memoir of his tour of duty with the U.S. Army in Iraq, <i>Ghosts of War: the True Story of a 19-year-old GI</i> (Harper Collins, 2009).</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Check the <i>Hudson Valley Writers Guild</i> calendar on its <a href="http://www.hvwg.org">website</a> for a list of other exhibits & readings associated with the 2023 Poetic License - Albany project. </span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 17px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-32806259392783652842023-11-20T21:55:00.000-05:002023-11-20T21:55:04.778-05:00 Writers Mic, November 8<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jackie Craven</b> is the host of this monthly <i>Zoom</i> gathering, tonight there were 10 poets/writers gathered to read.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First up was <b>David Graham</b> who said that he can’t seem to get the dogs out of his poems, & started off with a new one “My Dog Waiting” about how his dog is 70 years old in dog’s years, as is David in his years; his next poem, titled “My Apple Tree,” was written when he first got his dog 10 years ago. Tonight David reminded me of Billy Collins who always seems to end up with a dog in his poem, I like David’s poems better. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Alan Catlin</b> is recently back from a sojourn on Block Island & read 2 poems written there, a descriptive piece that began “the moon is down…;” then from his ongoing series of work-anxiety poems a transcription of a dream “Dormitory Fire.”</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Scott Morehouse</b> always has a bit of outrageous story-telling, tonight he read a satiric story set in a library book mobile where a couple of religious fanatics steal books to “de-sin,” i.e. burn them.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>My</b> poems were a mix of the old, “Planting Tulips,” inspired by the park workers in Albany’s Washington Park a few years ago, & the new, “Cafe Society,” contrasting the Albany Dunkin’ Donuts with Paris cafes.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Ellen Rook</b> felt compelled to issue a “trigger warning” (hey, it’s a poem) for “Chain,” about a necklace gift from a friend, images of boys killing a swan, for grandma cook; then her own fears of “Kyphosis,” like her mother’s fear. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Naomi Bindman</b> read 3 shape poems, for which she shared screen images, “interstices” looking like a wing; “heart space” like 3 half-hearts (picked up by the online <i>Synchronicity</i>); & “Scar Tissue” a poem of her mother, & of her daughter Ellen, inspired by a poem by Richard Blanco.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Mimi Moriarty</b> read “Learning Vietnamese,” written for her niece when she was just born, in 7 parts, hearing a woman speak in Vietnamesee, music for the not yet born, parallel families at once immigrants, grandmothers, great-grandmothers. </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Susan Carroll Jewell</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> read an old ekphrastic poem (something she </span>excels at)<span style="font-family: inherit;"> titled “A Bucket in the Woods” an imagination of her mother’s ashes.</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our host, <b>Jackie Craven</b>, brought the evening to a close with a short sci-fi poem, “The Human Clock.” </span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you are interested in joining this monthly open mic on <i>Zoom</i> & sharing your work you can find the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/378958103086510">link on Facebook</a> — it takes place on the 2nd Wednesday of each month at 7:30PM. </span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><br /></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-765720094859722055.post-87668455805164580872023-11-19T13:48:00.000-05:002023-11-19T13:48:48.572-05:00 St. Rocco’s Reading Series, November 4<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s full name is </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">St. Rocco’s Reading Series for the Dispossessed</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">, which is more than appropriate since the series has been homeless from a number of venues over its years, but now seems to have found a home at the </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">College of St. Rose</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">, thru the aegis </span><b style="font-family: inherit;">Professor Daniel Nester</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">, who, once-upon-a-time was active with the Albany (community) poetry scene, but has now slid to the dark (i.e., academic) side. But here we were in a meeting room in one of the St. Rose dormitories.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKRrM9kyvgoPvk4uklzYOsU4jmkf6ac1MyWJhlJbcLctsUCtzsNnPQD8qPHB3d2rNqbf4npM-KrB9lByt9KZSclSAvTwVhwogHII7yij-xnHCYNbvuhVOd2Aa6HwGaIHiW8nNUuHSbVcXkdEO3QiBbVZSgn73eTbjU9VEg7SvOJQX_qQTuIUhidBRSWM/s4272/IMG_2404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKRrM9kyvgoPvk4uklzYOsU4jmkf6ac1MyWJhlJbcLctsUCtzsNnPQD8qPHB3d2rNqbf4npM-KrB9lByt9KZSclSAvTwVhwogHII7yij-xnHCYNbvuhVOd2Aa6HwGaIHiW8nNUuHSbVcXkdEO3QiBbVZSgn73eTbjU9VEg7SvOJQX_qQTuIUhidBRSWM/w204-h135/IMG_2404.JPG" width="204" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />There were 2 featured poets,</span><b style="font-family: inherit;"> Kenning JP Garcia</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> & </span><b style="font-family: inherit;">Nancy Klepsch</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> who were each introduced by </span><b style="font-family: inherit;">Douglas Rothschild</b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Rothschild has been living & working in Albany since about 2005, has run a couple of reading series in that time, but rarely made an appearance at any of the area open mics, unless one of his celebrity poet friends was the featured reader. So it was not surprising that he said he had only just met Nancy Klepsch, who has been an active presence here for many more years than Douglas, what was surprising is that he admitted it. One must wonder if god is punishing him, since in recent years Douglas has a good </span>reason to miss events since he<span style="font-family: inherit;"> has to now use a wheelchair & gets around only with the patient efforts of friends.</span><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsI8Sa6oMDit0ry0d3c6ScqjcSxyWyeXHbYnUTkp306PNQ5bsR9jNL5PSjB87_jzNK_UnNzKyQsHZODogEF2juP7T_7PuoM5uddHtHe6xxDMoWZK3Pqc0z-IIbTR4IE-NBlTg4BX9SOQ-Zjb5BuGcMMa71eHYH2GzqrY75uhDsAOT3YD9Yejnay2vmAY/s4272/IMG_2405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsI8Sa6oMDit0ry0d3c6ScqjcSxyWyeXHbYnUTkp306PNQ5bsR9jNL5PSjB87_jzNK_UnNzKyQsHZODogEF2juP7T_7PuoM5uddHtHe6xxDMoWZK3Pqc0z-IIbTR4IE-NBlTg4BX9SOQ-Zjb5BuGcMMa71eHYH2GzqrY75uhDsAOT3YD9Yejnay2vmAY/w243-h162/IMG_2405.JPG" width="243" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />The first featured reader was <b>Kenning JP Garcia</b>, who read from <i>Ghost Notes</i> (“everything is diary notes…” Garcia said), as well as from <i>Suffuse</i>, apppropriating old clichés, with repetitions like a bad text from Gertrude Stein. Garcia read with his head down, a baseball cap hiding eyes, with no information about the texts, reading as if Garcia was on speed, or had a bad case of ADD. It was very similar to his reading earlier this year at<a href="https://dwlcx.blogspot.com/2023/08/hudson-valley-writers-guild-presents.html"> The Linda</a>. </span><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Alexis Bhagat</b>, who with Rothschild & Garcia organizes the series, announced that St. Rocco’s is now less than dispossessed as it will be at the <i>College of St. Rose</i> 4 times a year. Given the uneven history of poetry events at the <i>College</i> we will have to see, but for now it is the marriage of<i> St. Rocco</i> with <i>St. Rose</i>. Bhagat went on to serve as moderator of the open mic; the list of readers kept growing as students wandered in (the open mic was restricted to students at the College).</span></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqjZhyphenhyphenFysXVWDrqccvIXium4zLfWbLlduozsKCfua6WEJSaM4jTR0W86fZ2LWIeYBvtQpH33ruqHt1w2Vq89LFncn8q5NYoM18XEyexqVHaFpvQ2qFDiLWlCzaJB-7Cuk7qZEplzxQB-S1EExgU_laRkIVImJDg_CQ8_EK4c3n8LSY5RYF4kK-EfhIzo/s4272/IMG_2409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGqjZhyphenhyphenFysXVWDrqccvIXium4zLfWbLlduozsKCfua6WEJSaM4jTR0W86fZ2LWIeYBvtQpH33ruqHt1w2Vq89LFncn8q5NYoM18XEyexqVHaFpvQ2qFDiLWlCzaJB-7Cuk7qZEplzxQB-S1EExgU_laRkIVImJDg_CQ8_EK4c3n8LSY5RYF4kK-EfhIzo/w228-h151/IMG_2409.JPG" width="228" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />First up was <b>Luka</b> (or Luca? I didn’t get a look at the sign-up sheet), who read a poem of hope, since, as he said, “we are all breathing the same air.” <b>Tyler</b> read a couple pieces, titled “Swimming Lessons” & “Ode to Step Dad.” Tara K.’s poem titled “Wind” was, I think, a love poem. <b>Savanna</b> read what she said was the result of an assignment to “write a rant,” but what she read was more a description of an encounter with violent person who perhaps was ranting.</span><p></p>
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<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEeYSv23OQb73D3kZsj9jKGEwkSYxVr66fdZxbypIl4esiV8rTBVf5D2yYDCmdkaeOFwIF6a26FYdoLpQwZj1Y1WuFndfWPhK9PgvSxUFIF7JIEVBDjF0rHqK5hPFgQ39hobZtGYzFrvYnzR9OYOqiNVrK3gU2HK-7rgbvv6ewuoVqy5E7PlDOMvQS8Jo/s4272/IMG_2414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEeYSv23OQb73D3kZsj9jKGEwkSYxVr66fdZxbypIl4esiV8rTBVf5D2yYDCmdkaeOFwIF6a26FYdoLpQwZj1Y1WuFndfWPhK9PgvSxUFIF7JIEVBDjF0rHqK5hPFgQ39hobZtGYzFrvYnzR9OYOqiNVrK3gU2HK-7rgbvv6ewuoVqy5E7PlDOMvQS8Jo/w263-h175/IMG_2414.JPG" width="263" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rothschild, as I said above, introduced the 2nd featured reader, <b>Nancy Klepsch. </b>He read a short poem, then into what was more an introduction to <i>the Douglas Rothschild show</i>. Klepsch began with an anti-war poem titled “Children Too” inspired by the well-known poem by Ilya Kaminsky “We Lived Happily Away from the War,” then what she described as a more gentler version, “Home from the War.” Then on to a couple of poems about her mother, “My Mother was Effortlessly Cool,” & one about her mother being from Queens, NY. She included the title poem from her 2017 <i>collection god must be a boogie man</i>, then on to a couple poems from her experience teaching high school, “Miss K Before the Bell (for Xavier)” & “Learning Targets” an ironic play on words on lockdown drills. She ended with the celebratory “Queer Magic,” & another poem of peace “We All Pray for Different Reasons.” Nancy & are co-hosts of the monthly poetry open mic at Collar City Mushrooms in Troy, NY <i>2nd Sunday @ 2</i>.</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wloBzNh5vv2A6YVnkrr8XOGv07alrHUzWtnR9CjlBsTn1pvNnH8NevoIcYntrsFoYjqDgin9xHOfTSvz89BaMjD0Ugf-hiSRjkky8q0l2Aovr0oyW-zld-DwjrncwlfXlBaCW0PBHllGUs4Rd0pTJtFPscoTOo6OTDhlbQ6hOMl5BA8pHqRXSVzrukE/s4272/IMG_2417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4272" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wloBzNh5vv2A6YVnkrr8XOGv07alrHUzWtnR9CjlBsTn1pvNnH8NevoIcYntrsFoYjqDgin9xHOfTSvz89BaMjD0Ugf-hiSRjkky8q0l2Aovr0oyW-zld-DwjrncwlfXlBaCW0PBHllGUs4Rd0pTJtFPscoTOo6OTDhlbQ6hOMl5BA8pHqRXSVzrukE/w205-h136/IMG_2417.JPG" width="205" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />At this point a couple students had meandered in & signed-up for the open mic, both with relationship poems. <b>Myasia</b> read “Turn-Off” that was an angry, then apologetic, letter to a partner. <b>Kale</b>’s pieces were titled “Something New” & “Scratch that Question Mark.”</span><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I, for one, look forward to a long, happy marriage of Rocco & Rose. Stay tuned on social media for future announcements — or join <a href="mailto:poetry-motel-foundation@googlegroups.com">my Google email list</a> to receive notices of poetry & related arts events as I receive them. </span></p>DWxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12398265012182104454noreply@blogger.com0