Dec 9, 2010

Poem Alley Alumnus Returns For A December 7, 2010 Reading From Her Latest Novel

Marina Julia Neary has published the sequel to 2009's historical novel of Victorian intrigue and politics, Wynfield's Kingdom (see February 1, 2010 entry):

Wynfield's War (Book Two of the Wynfield series)

"From the chaos of an extensive slum known as Bermondsey, Wynfield finds himself in the Crimea where he experiences a military campaign that makes Bermondsey look orderly. The spring of 1854 was filled with violence, deceit, and bereavement, and marked the end of Wynfield's reign as the king of the Bermondsey slums. His memory shattered and his perception of reality distorted, he falls under the influence of an unlikely patron-the ruthless Lord Lucan. Known to his Irish tenants as 'the exterminator,' Lucan plans to mold his ward into a brainwashed ally for his upcoming Crimean campaign. While in the company of some frightfully incompetent and arrogant generals, Wynfield travels to the Crimea as a junior officer in the British cavalry. There he catches a glimpse of the personal war between Lords Lucan and Cardigan, which results in the blunder known as the Charge of the Light Brigade, and discovers the darker side of the saintly Florence Nightingale."

Available now from Fireship Press at: www.fireshippress.com

Nov 9, 2010

Latest Events and Resources


Curley's Poets To Read At Greenwich Library
Come usher in Autumn with members of PoemAlley as they read pieces in an open forum for the first time at Greenwich Library. The program runs on Saturday afternoon, November 13, from 3:00 to 4:30, in the Meeting Room on the second floor. The Library is located on 101 W. Putnam Road. Refreshments and videography will be provided by the Unitarian Universalist Society in Stamford through a grant from the Stamford Cultural Development Corporation. For more information, call 203-622-7900; http://www.greenwichlibrary.org/

Duotrope's Digest
Duotrope's Digest is an award-winning online writers' resource listing over 3,125 current poetry and fiction publications. Among its various free services is an online submissions tracker for registered users. Updated by its editors several times daily, DD's listings comprise the most up-to-date database humanly possible for wordsmiths of all stripes. Contact Duotrope's Digest at http://www.duotrope.com/.

Aug 31, 2010

Curley's Confab: Highfalutin' Or Curiosity's Looting?

Last Tuesday (817/10), I commented in passing about the danger inherent in the laissez-faire poetics of Curley’s—warm, feel-good feedback, always accepting poets’ offerings with universal tolerance and generous praise (a good thing?), seldom dragging over the critical coals the dross that needs to be burnt off (not such a good thing?).

(While) I was mainly talking about my own work that seems to have for some time crawled on relatively low ground... I spoke about our anti-intellectual culture, so dumbed down that dumbing down is not even recognized as such. So we manage to communicate less and less nuance, subtlety and complexity with fewer and fewer words in our active vocabulary... in a way, becoming trivial, increasingly gullible and easily taken in by the machinations of the media and our politicians.

Here’s a statement by Geoffrey Hill, the present Oxford Professor of Poetry, (a position second in status only to the Poet Laureateship in England) which seems to address and echo my anxiety:

“Accessible is a perfectly good word if applied to supermarket aisles, art galleries, polling stations and public lavatories, but it has no place in the discussion of poetry and poetics. Human beings are difficult. We’re difficult to ourselves; we’re difficult to each other and we’re mysteries to ourselves; we’re mysteries to each other. One encounters in any ordinary day far more real difficulty than one confronts in the most “intellectual” piece of work. Why is it believed that poetry, prose, painting, music should be less than we are? Why does music, why does poetry have to address us in simplified terms, when, if such simplifications were applied to our own inner selves, we would find it demeaning?”

Many of you have had an immediate reaction to my last e-mail re. Hill. Some of the responses have been so substantial that I feel it would be good to share them with the whole list in the interest of generating a more extended and meaningful conversation on a subject of relevance to us all. --Ralph Nazareth, PoemAlley Facilitator


Yeah, yeah, but I betcha he puts mustard on his hot dogs.

Last week's discussion on all this was bothersome to me on many levels. I've often felt the same way about Curley's Tuesday nights but have never been able to reconcile my feelings about the place. So many different thoughts and memories swirl through my head when I think of Curley's and what it is and isn't. What it has always been is a place where anyone, and I do mean ANYONE, can come and read their material no matter how meager or great. A place where they won't be feel threatened (well that's nearly always true) and can offer up without fear that their inferior material will be ridiculed. It has always been more about community than artistry. If it wasn't why would we continue week after week? But that isn't to say there aren't moments of artistry...moments of genius even. I'll never forget those nights when the guys from LibHouse came and read for us. Those moments of raw energy. The hate, the hurt, the love and the reaching out to be understood--or just heard--sometimes for the first time in their lives. There are also the nights when someone will bring in something that isn't quite right. A word here, a line break there. That's all that's needed and the end result? Is it art? Maybe. Is it poetry? I don't know. Is it worth our time? You bet. It's community. It's communication.

You carry much on your shoulders. The argument of whether or not our Tuesday evenings are too trivial or not complex enough is another 50 pound sack of doubt you've hoisted up there. Whatever you do--do NOT doubt the worth of Tuesday nights. It might not be art but it is of great value. For some it might be the rarest of chances to be heard for the first, and possibly only time, in their lives. That ain't art Brother...it's a gift.

You are too hard on yourself by half. This comes from someone who knows something about being hard on oneself. If I may be so bold, but give yourself a gift take a Tuesday night off every now and then. We won't sink. Go to a movie. Go seek out lovers making nasty in a park somewhere, better yet, go make nasty with someone. You know you are loved by many, many, many people--but it matters little if you don't take a little time to love yourself.

Love,
Bill Buschel


Bravissimo, Ralph,

George Orwell examines this decerebration of the English language in his 1948 novel which I've re-read every decade or so since 1974. And I find myself constantly at odds with the insidious mind-warping influence of our politically correct non-culture which sez that I may offer my opinions on, say, social issues only so long as they are couched in the most inoffensively generic, simplistic, non-specific, non-accusatory terms imaginable.

And my own best remedy for a limited vocabulary has been reading about a book a week for nigh unto 500 fortnights now.

RM


You are exactly correct about the trivialization of our lives...


And sorry to say, I doubt you will effect any change at Curleys...though if carefully discussed, you just might.

It is especially interesting to me because last night I deliberately read the Pisan Cantos in full, and as I was reading, ignoring the Chinese, enjoying the Spanish, not recalling any of the Greek and other ancient references, not the 1920s "our gang" references, except for Wyndham Lewis and Eliot... I nevertheless enjoyed the representation of insanity and mood and caginess and weather under my belly and all the hazards of Pound's life at the time he was recollecting in poetry, and I especially liked the way he used profanity with only first initials and dots and how he would suddenly burst in with some comment a prisoner or guard might have interrupted his thought with, though my curiosity was primarily concerned with "how"... How did even our best poets recognize poetry in Pound's rantings? How did they have the courage to demand he not be kept in Italy and later that he not be kept at St. Elizabeth's? How did they defend themselves, and could they in anyone have that kind of influence in today's liar society?…

Oh, also, since Pound was the first Bolingen Award person, we can check that off at the same time. Especially, since the Yale poets were accused of giving the award to a fascist traitor. Times really haven't changed that much.

Ann Yarmal, PoemAlley Co-Founder


No one's stopping anyone from grabbing a dictionary...

Some people read poetry with unfamiliar or specialized references to history, medicine or culture, but to be able to understand it right off the bat takes the fun out of figuring out what it is about (not to mention the sometimes serendipitous differences in interpretation two people can have in the process!). And what makes poetry so powerful has as much to do with what words are used as how they're arranged. As with figuring out crossword puzzles, a lot can be inferred by how unfamiliar words are applied. And if something is too obscure, why should that be a threat? Why should we feel the need to apologize for being intellectual (as opposed to elitist). I like coming to Curley's because, despite the occasionally heated debates, I enjoy seeing where people's contributions take the conversation.

Rolf Maurer

Jul 16, 2010

Poetry and Sculpture by Aziza Gowon

passing

sometimes in the oddest places
a poem is born

looking out an office window
staring down at the men in black
jackets and trousers
marching home

sitting in a walled cubicle
without sun or air
florescence beaming down
daring me to write
anything that denies, shakes or breaks
this mold

beyond the men
a nimble tree shakes lime tresses
in the late April sun

pearl colored petals
fallen in the melee
dervish dance at my feet

my cubicle a walled
hothouse of ideas
waiting to be born

and gulls
harbingers of everything
soar and caw
mocking, mockingly say:

who are these creatures
and why are they in my space?

even as I write these thoughts
the wind has changed
the dragon clouds have passed
the sun is going down

yet hearkening
invisible
beauty lasts, beauty lasts.



office innuendo


“she broke up with her boyfriend
no
really
i heard he’s into hedge funds
hip hop
or ihop
who told you
the mail guy
the cleaning lady
oh yeah the shish kebab man
saw them
yelling over coffee
and croissants
or was it wi fi
he was smoking outside B&N
listening to CNN
and she hit him
they called the police
and ran into pottery barn
found a florist
and feasted on mall hot dogs
no
yes
they’re getting married
and left town
to settle down
by the marsh
off the shore
in that shack
by the bay
that girl saw them in Stop and Shop
buying diapers and chicken
at the take out
WITH CASH !
i knew that wasn’t a baby doll
ouch !
its 4:45
let’s bounce”


poetry and art by Aziza Gowon
©2010

Jul 5, 2010

Selections by Agnes Roberts


The Tales Of Women

Women, for centuries, have been known as house wives.
We were always told, a woman's place is in the home.
But today, we have broken down the barriers
and created a place in history for ourselves.
No more are we only tools.

Some women still choose to run the household.
While others have chosen to be in the corporate world.
Some are Carpenters, Masons, Electricians, Teachers,
Doctors, Lawyers, Politicians and Preachers.
Still, some men try to belittle us, saying
women have no place in a man's world.

Oh yes, they are afraid of a strong woman.
Given the task of a man, we do it without fear or scorn.
And that's fact, but the pay they cut back.
We'll keep fighting until we are recognized
as a great force in all societies.
And are given the wages we rightfully deserve.

Sisters, fight on, for this battle is not just for the strong.
If we remain true, focused and faithful,
then, victory will be our song.

Copyright 2002 Agnes Roberts


Our Creator

God is the being who created us all.
He is not a plaything or a toy,
Even though his name is taken in vain
He still forgives us all the same.

God is the being who created us all,
Color of skin means nothing at all,
If man continues to divide us,
There is no maybe God will chastise us.

God becomes more angry every day
As he listens to what we day and do
To each other day after day.
When they shoot us and we die,
Peace; Peace, is the constant cry.

One creator made us all: flesh,
Blood and bones we are,
A fact no one can deny.
Vast destruction will be this country's end
If man don't try to make amends.

Copyright 1996 Agnes Roberts
photography by Anita Patterson

Feb 23, 2010

Writers Express Reading--New Date: March 13, 2010

Organized by St. Luke's LifeWorks and LibHouse, the Writers Express Reading will be held Saturday, from 3:00 PM - 5:00 PM, at the Unitarian Universalist Society in Stamford, located at 20 Forest Street (across from the Avon Theatre on Bedford Street). In addition to readings by St. Luke's and LibHouse participants, poems will also be recited by members of the Tuesdays At Curley's/PoemAlley group.

Feb 16, 2010

Recent PoemAlley Activities


(all photos courtesy Bill Buschel)

February 13, 2010: Inter-Organizational Chinese New Year's Feast
A celebration honoring the year of the Strong Tiger, with the participation of PoemAlley, Peace Action and CT Green Party members. Held at Hunan Gardens in Springdale, with thanks to PoemAlley's own Richard Duffee for all the detailed organizing!

February 9, 2010: Honoring a Muse
Curley's Diner co-owner & PoemAlley hostess Eleni Begetis Anastos receives presents from PA facilitator Ralph Nazareth (recently returned from a trip to Jerusalem) for her generous and long-standing support of the group.

Feb 1, 2010

Poem Alley Alumnus Marina Neary Reads From "Wynfield's Kingdom", Her First Published Novel

Welcome to 1830s Bermondsey, London’s most notorious slum, a land of gang wars, freak shows and boxing matches. Dr. Grant, a disgraced physician, adopts Wynfield, a ten-year old thief savagely battered by the gang leader for insubordination. The boy grows up to be a slender, idealistic opium addict who worships Victor Hugo. By day he steals and resells guns from a weapons factory. By night he amuses filthy crowds with his adolescent girlfriend, a fragile witch with wolfish eyes. Their tragicomic idyll ends when Wynfield falls under the spell of an elusive benefactress and leaves his bohemian, semi-criminal circle to follow her to Westminster. There, in the company of blue-blooded outcasts, he learns the secret of his origin and the role he is destined to play in the history of England. Invoking the ghosts of English anarchists, Guy Fawkes and Oliver Cromwell, Wynfield enters the world’s biggest tavern – the Parliament, where he meets the most ruthless boy gang in the world – the British aristocracy. Using the mixture of chemicals, satire and horror, Wynfield stages an unforgettable performance and subdues the ruling class – if only for one day.

In this scene Wynfield addresses the English aristocracy:
"Let me tell you what is unnecessary - This leather-padded jewelry box! If it goes up in flames with everyone inside, it won’t be the end of England. If anything, it will be a new beginning. We’ll have a miniature America right here. There is much more to England than the vermin that congregates in the Westminster Palace. You won’t be missed one bit, I assure you. Shivering already? I haven’t reached the best part yet. You careless gluttons!” he shouted suddenly. Your own cellars are bursting with wine barrels, yet you still grasp at a chance to get drunk at another man’s expense. You didn’t even think to question what’s inside these cases. You just assumed it was wine, all for you, just like everything else in this world. I don’t expect you pity the children who lose fingers inside factory machines producing your guns. Nor do I expect you to pity the soldiers who are forced to fight with defective weapons. No, you shouldn’t be disturbed by any of this. Your duty is to suffer from migraines, melancholy and insomnia. And my duty is to end your sufferings. Now do not mistake me for a defender of the misfortunate, gentlemen. I myself am just another calloused, unapologetic exploiter. Like the rest of you, I deserve to die. But before I die, I reserve a right to have one last smoke. Start praying, my lords. One spark fallen from the tip of my cigar, and there will be nothing left of the English aristocracy except for a crushed pocket watch. Start praying. Louder! I don’t think God can hear you. . Well, I suppose I’ll have to lead you in prayer. Almighty, have mercy on these selfish cowards, for they don’t know the extent of their vice. Also, we also pray for the people of England, the dirty axel of the golden carriage. Raise them from their gutter and make them all republicans. In the spirit of Guy Fawkes, Oliver Cromwell and my own late father, I pray. Amen."

About Marina Julia Neary:
M.J. Neary is an award-winning historical essayist, multilingual arts & entertainment journalist, poet, playwright and actor. Her poetry has appeared in various literary journals such as Alimentum and The Recorder. She serves on the editorial staff of the Bewildering Stories Magazine. Her historical tragicomedy Hugo in London, featuring the adventures of the French literary genius in England during the Crimean War, was produced in Greenwich, followed by a sequel, Lady with a Lamp: An Untold Story of Florence Nightingale.

In 2007 she was commissioned to collect and publish the memoirs of residents from a retirement community in Stamford, CT. The project involved interviewing over forty senior citizens over the age of ninety. A new Connecticut-based leisure publication Norwalk Beat has recently brought her on board as a steady contributor.

In addition to her writing, Neary has had a career in the performing arts. She has starred in several independent films shot in CT and NY; and, in the 1990s, she competed in various talent pageants in New England.


Find out more at:
www.fireshippress.com

Influences:
http://musicandmeaning.com/forster/works.html

http://charlesdickenspage.com/

Related fiction:
Soulless (The Parasol Protectorate) by Gail Carriger
http://www.gailcarriger.com/

Infernal Devices by K.W. Jeter
http://www.kwjeter.com/