Category Archives: Poetry

Peter Everwine and the use of imagery

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I am the one responsible for the program for our next Poets’ Forum meeting, which is on the calendar for this Saturday, Nov. 19, 11 a.m., at the Beverly Public Library. So, I have decided to emphasize imagery, and to do so by using a favorite poet of mine, Peter Everwine.

I have shared his “Aubade in Autumn” in a prior post. Few of us are familiar with him, I think. He actually taught with Philip Levine at Fresno State and has won many poetry awards, including a Pushcart Prize, a Lamont Poetry prize, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and more. Jeanette had given a wonderful program on Levine at our last meeting, so it seems appropriate to talk about his contemporary, another under-appreciated but very gifted poet.

I hope you can join us!

In closing, I will leave you with another of Everwine’s poems:

Rain

Toward evening, as the light failed

and the pear tree at my window darkened,

I put down my book and stood at the open door,

the first raindrops gusting in the eaves,

a smell of wet clay in the wind.

Sixty years ago, lying beside my father,

half asleep, on a bed of pine boughs as rain

drummed against our tent, I heard

for the first time a loon’s sudden wail

drifting across that remote lake—

a loneliness like no other,

though what I heard as inconsolable

may have been only the sound of something

untamed and nameless

singing itself to the wilderness around it

and to us until we slept. And thinking of my father

and of good companions gone

into oblivion, I heard the steady sound of rain

and the soft lapping of water, and did not know

whether it was grief or joy or something other

that surged against my heart

and held me listening there so long and late.

The October meeting

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I have to confess I was a bit of a ditz this month: I forgot to reserve the room for our meeting. My only excuse is that is was a date change from the third week to the fourth, and there are five weeks, and I simply got busy.

As a result, we had to wrap up our goodies, hope the coffee would keep, and move on down the hall to a smaller room where no food or drinks were allowed, following the orders of a very stern, rule-ridden librarian. There were almost fisti-cuffs there for a moment, but the poetic ethos prevailed.

The meeting then proceeded with the usual poetic enthusiasms, exhortations,and musings. Jeanette Maes presented a very interesting program on Philip Levine, who had been born in Detroit and devoted a good deal of his creative life to the ambiance, fervor, tenor, triumphs and tribulations of working people. She indicated that he was not a fellow who was very good at publicizing himself, and yet he had won a slew of awards, including a Pulitzer. Basically, she asked, who knew? And yet, it is our loss that we didn’t. He is an extremely talented and accessible poet worth knowing.

A number of Massachusetts State Poetry Society members won awards in the annual contest, including our dear Roberta Hung. See the MSPS site.

Happy Fall. It is past peak, but I think it is even more lovely, as the leaves try to linger, fading as they cling, and then fall. See you all at our next meeting, Saturday, Nov. 19. I am the one who is supposed to present a workshop. Oh my!

Meeting news

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Our Sept. 17 meeting was terrific — well attended, with a number of new people and old friends; a terrific African poet whose charm and talent impressed us all; his very kind son, who lives on the South Shore and hopes to fan the fame of his 92-year-old father; and terrific poems by fellow members.

Our guest was Gabriel Okara, 92, a vibrant poet with great imagery that speaks to all people. I didn’t take extensive notes, but one line I happened to write down from his poem “Snow Flakes Sail Gently Down,” is “like white-robed Muslims,” about the trees, and another, perhaps less exactly, “limbs weighed down by the weightless flakes.” (See prior entry for some full-length poems by this very wonderful Nigerian poet.)

Hi son, Ebbie, remembers waking in the night to find his father writing his poems, because, of course, his father had to make a living during the day.  Ebbie lives on the South Shore. He, too, writes poetry, but he’s more interested in introducing his father’s poetry to as many people as possible — surely, a good son and a good man.

Among our friends who have been unable to come to the meetings lately is Diane Giardi, a fine artist and a terrific poet. Her teaching schedule has kept her away in recent months.

Chris Coleman, too, isn’t always able to make it, so it was a pleasure, as usual, to have him with us.

New faces include Jane Montecacuo, Maryanne Anderson and Tony Toledo.  All in all, it was a wonderful welcoming and reunion, with great poetry and happy feelings all around.

During the meeting we also refined our schedule for the upcoming year. Please see under the MEETINGS tab.

I will leave you with a little poem, by Wordsworth, which is about the sudeness of joy and then the guilt of it because of the death of someone he loved –his daughter.

William Wordsworth : Surprised by Joy

 
Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb1,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
 
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)	1812

Two visitors for our Sept. 17 meeting

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Surprise! We will have a wonderful, award-winning and much acclaimed, 90-odd-year-old poet from Nigeria to read for about 20 minutes at our Sept. 17 meeting. Mary Ellen Letarte, an MSPS member, met him at a reading in north central Massachusetts, loved him, and arranged this great treat for us.

Also on Sept. 17 we will be joined by a poet from England, Bill Grimke-Drayton, who has interesting roots that spread to either side of the Atlantic and across the Mason-Dixon line. He happened to see this blog and started to comment and write. See more about him at grimke.wordpress.com. He is staying in Andover and wants to know if there are any open mic readings in the area. Does anyone know of any? Please send them along.

Here is info sent by Mary Ellen about Gabriel Imomotimi Gbaingbain Okara, who is staying in the U.S. for a little while with his son on the South Shore. The bio is followed by three of his poems.
Okara (b.1921) has made a mark on the African literary scene as one of the major pioneer African writers. In his tenth decade of life, he is still writing. Born in Bomoundi, Bayelsa State, Nigeria, Okara is the first renowned English-language black African poet and the first African modernist writer. The Nigerian Negritudist, as he is fondly called, began his writing career in 1940 at Government College, Umuahia. By 1960 he had made a name as the first Nigerian writer to publish in the influential literary journal, Black Orpheus and to join its editorial staff. Subsequently his The Call of the River Nun won the best award for literature in the Nigeria Festival of Arts in 1953. In 1979 his Fisherman’s Invocation won the Commonwealth Poetry Prize. And in 2005 he bagged the highest literary prize in Nigeria, NLNG Prize, instituted by the Nigeria Liquefied Natural Gas.

ONCE UPON A TIME

by Gabriel Okara, a Nigerian Poet

Once upon a time, son,

they used to laugh with their hearts

and with their eyes:

but now they only laugh with their teeth,

while their ice-block-cold eyes

search behind my shadow.

….

There was a time indeed

they used to shake hands with their hearts:

but that’s gone son.

Now they shake hands without hearts:

while their left hands search

my empty pockets

….

‘Feel at home’! ‘Come again’:

they say, and when I come

again and feel

at home, once, twice,

there will be no thrice ­–

for then I find doors shut on me.

….

So I have learned many things, son.

I have learned to wear many faces

like dresses — homeface,

officeface, streetface,  hostface,

cocktailface, with all their conforming smiles

like a fixed portrait smile.

And I have learned too

to laugh with only my teeth

and shake hands without my heart.

I have also learned to say ‘Goodbye’,

when I mean ‘Good – riddance’;

to say ’Glad to meet you’,

without being glad; and to say ‘It’s been

nice talking to you’, after being bored.

….

But believe me, son.

I want to be what I used to be

when I was like you. I want

to unlearn all these muting things.

Most of all, I want to relearn

how to laugh, for my laugh in the mirror

shows only my teeth like a snake’s bare fangs!

….

So show me, son

how to laugh; show me how

I used to laugh and smile

once upon a time when I was like you.

You Laughed And Laughed And Laughed

by Gabriel Okara

In your ears my song

is motor car misfiring

stopping with a choking cough;

and you laughed and laughed and laughed.

…

In your eyes my ante-

natal walk was inhuman, passing

your ‘omnivorous understanding’

and you laughed and laughed and laughed

….

You laughed at my song,

you laughed at my walk.

Then I danced my magic dance

to the rhythm of talking drums pleading, but

you shut your eyes and laughed and

laughed and laughed.

….

And then I opened my mystic

inside wide like the sky,

instead you entered your

car and laughed and laughed and laughed.

….

You laughed at my dance,

you laughed at my inside,

You laughed and laughed and laughed

….

But your laughter was ice-block

laughter and it froze your inside froze

your voice froze your ears

froze your eyes and froze your tongue.

….

And now it’s my turn to laugh;

but my laughter is not

ice-block laughter. For I

know not cars, know not ice-block.

My laughter is the fire

of the eye of the sky, the fire

of the earth, the fire of the air,

the fire of the seas and the

rivers fishes animals trees

and it thawed your inside,

thawed your voice, thawed your

ears, thawed your eyes and

thawed your tongue.

…

So a meek wonder held

your shadow and you whispered;

‘Why so?’

And I answered:

‘Because my father and I

are owned by the living

warmth of the earth

through our naked feet.’

PIANO AND DRUMS

by Gabriel Okara

When at break of day at a riverside

I hear the jungle drums telegraphing

the mystic rhythm, urgent, raw

like bleeding flesh, speaking of

primal youth and the beginning

I see the panther ready to pounce

the leopard snarling about to leap

and the hunters crouch with spears poised;

….

And my blood ripples, turns torrent,

topples the years and at once I’m

in my mother’s lap a sucking;

at once I’m walking simple

paths with no innovations,

rugged, fashioned with the naked

warmth of hurrying feet and groping hearts

in green leaves and wild flowers pulsing.

….

Then I hear a wailing piano

solo speaking of complex ways in

tear-furrowed concerto;

of far away lands

and new horizons with

coaxing diminuendo, counterpoint,

crescendo. But lost in the labyrinth

of its complexities, it ends in the middle

of a phrase at a daggerpoint.

…

And I lost in the morning mist

of an age at a riverside keep

wandering in the mystic rhythm

of jungle drums and the concerto

Thank you, Jeanette

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Jeanette Maes has offered to do a program on Philip Levine, new Poet Laureate, for our Sept. 17 meeting. Thanks so much, Jeanette!

I will send out a reminder before the meeting. Come with your own poem(s) for gentle critique, a little food to share, and the willingness to offer your services, as Jeanette did, so that we can all learn a little more about the craft and art of poetry.

Apologies and updates

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Apparently, some of you relied upon the information in this blog’s Contests page to send poems to the Mass State Poetry Society’s most recent contest. I am sorry. I have been blatantly absent for some time from the blog, but I just updated the information. Gertrude Callis, former contest chair for the MSPS, died this year. She is missed for her enthusiasm for poetry, for her quiet determination, for her sense of humor, for her generosity, and for her hard work on our behalf. In her place as contest chair for the MSPS is Roberta Hung, another wonderfully kind, gracious and hard-working poet. Those of us who are also members of MSPS are lucky to have her.

I have also updated the meetings schedule for the Forum….with almost no information! We neglected to set a program for this coming year. So, please join us on Saturday, Sept. 17, at the Beverly Public Library, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. ish, with some poems from a favorite or new or interesting poet we may not be familiar with so that we, too, can learn and enjoy. Please also bring a poem or two of your own, with copies, for gentle critique. And, be prepared to volunteer to give a program over the course of our next year at the Forum.

Some of you know that my husband died in April. This is one of the first times I’ve actually said that, and I don’t think I will ever get used to it….the saying it…the absence it only declares. In any case, although I may have shared this poem by Jane Kenyon before, it is the one I chose for my husband’s service.

Let Evening Come

BY JANE KENYON

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
…
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

…

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

…

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

…

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

…

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

 

Amy Dengler tribute and contest

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Here’s an update from member Roberta Hung:

Hi Poets,

I would like to share a moving experience with you, held Thursday night June 2, 2011. The North Shore Writings Group held a lovely tribute to Amy Dengler at the Sawyer Free Library, Gloucester. Several MSPS members attended: Gwen Carr, Diane Giardi, Mary Miceli, Elly Latawiec, Beverley and I. Amy’s husband and a sister were there. (It was announced that his mother was also there.) Claire Keyes, prof. emerita of English, SSU, said that Amy was an exceptional student. A volunteer videoed the event for the local cable tv station; he took my name and address to send a copy. Basically, folks talked about how Amy inspired them not only in writing but also by advocating for their jobs. Folks read Amy’s poems and/or ones they wrote about Amy. The program was led off by the librarian, who told about Amy’s role at the library. Amy was persuaded to serve as VP of the library committee, then Pres. Among other things. she was instrumental in starting a youth writing program, and advocating that a bequeathed fund to the library be spent in purchasing adjacent property for the library expansion. She then shared one of Amy’s poems. She was followed by Suellen Wedmore (poet laureate emerita of Rockport and a new member of MSPS, and member of the North Shore Writing Group) and successively by six other featured participants. Suellen then introduced Beverley Barnes and me as co-sponsors of the Amy Dengler Memorial Contest. I started off by saying how Amy was a beloved member of MSPS and how she encouraged me to keep writing poetry. Beverley talked about how Amy inspired members for many years at Wordcrafters. Beverley and I read poems written for/by Amy. I started off by thanking Suellen for inviting us to the tribute, and how we wanted to keep Amy’s memory alive through the Amy Dengler Memorial Contest. We invited folks to enter poems in the contest and left flyers. (see below) We pointed out the donation jar at the table and also said that Amy’s husband gave us permission to share Amy’s book of 53 poems, which could be procured with a donation of $25. Folks responded positively to the news of the contest. Separately, Beverley and I spoke with Amy’s husband Chris and her sister. They seemed very pleased with the evening’s event. I certainly was.

AMY DENGLER MEMORIAL POETRY CONTEST, sponsored by the Wordcrafters Poetry Group, a chapter of the Massachusetts State Poetry Society: an annual poetry contest to honor the memory of Amy L. Dengler, accomplished poet and active member of the North Shore writing community.

The contest is open to all adults. Prizes will be awarded to poems for first, second and third place winners ($50/$20/$10). Contestants may enter any number of poems at $3 per poem, but only one poem will be eligible for a prize. Entries must be the original work of the poet. Poems are limited to 40 lines total. Subject and poetry form are poet’s choice. Poems entered must be unpublished and not currently entered in any other contest. Only poems that have not won a prize may be entered. All poems must be titled. Poems must be typed on 8-1/2″ x 11″ white paper – No Illustrations. Send one original (with no name) and one copy with poet’s name and address in upper RIGHT-HAND corner (of DUPLICATE ONLY). No poems will be returned and all non-winning poems will be destroyed after the contest. The deadline for the first contest will be May 15, 2012 . Send poem and entry fee to: Roberta Hung, Contest Chair, 8 Dundee Street , Salem , MA 01970 .

Of hearth and home: NSPF workshop featuring MSPS leader Jeanette C. Maes

Poetry,
Like Dorothy says: "There's no place like home."

According to Merriam-Webster, a “habitant” is “a settler or descendant of a settler of French origin working as a farmer in Canada” but we’ve come to understand the word more akin to an inhabitant, or dweller, a residence of a given location over time. Which perhaps begs the question regarding the distinction of “location” and the difference between the nouns “house” and “home” and the emotional connection we feel (or don’t feel) when those words are used.

So this Saturday, May 21, at 11 a.m., at the Beverly Public Library Jeanette C. Maes, president of the Massachusetts State Poetry Society will offer NSPF attendees a workshop titled, “Habitation: House  or  Home.” After the program, of course, NSPF members can bring their own poems to share for gentle critique. Don’t forget to brin g a goodie or two to share as well.

Saturday’s poetic schedule: Help me decide what to do!

Poetry
Poetry Fest offers too much to do!

I’m sure you’ve already heard about all the interesting events taking place on Saturday, May 14, during the Massachusetts Poetry Festival in Salem. There are the poetry trains and trolleys which sound like a ton of fun to me. On the trains, poets have volunteered to help shepherd travelers from Boston’s North Station to Salem by designating a special train car for the Festival. The volunteer then essentially reads poems for the duration of the trip or offers to sort of moderate an impromptu open mic. Then the Salem Trolley pick up passengers and takes them to the various venues again with a volunteer reading poetry as the trolley travels around.

Otherwise I’m pretty torn about what events to attend and how to best schedule my time to get the most out of this very educationally packed day. So, I thought I’d share my preliminary schedule with you and hope that you’ll weigh-in to help me decide. What are you going to? It will be great to be in sessions with other NSPF friends… everything’s better when you’re doing it with friends, isn’t it?

I’ll be volunteering as a “guide” 9-11 a.m. a perfect time as far as that goes because it seems like that will be the key “arrival” period. And it doesn’t seem like I’ll miss too many of the Festival “sessions.”

At 11 a.m. there is “The Art of Critique and the Development of Craft” panel at Colonial Hall. I’m hoping this will provide some insight on different methods to help us NSPF members critique each others’ works when we meet again next time.

At 12:15 p.m., I was thinking about heading over to the Morse Auditorium at the PEM for “Speaking Pictures: Beyond Ekphrastic Workshop” led by Susan Rich. This goes until 1:45 p.m.

I wanted to also make it to the Boston Haiku Society reading 1-2:30 p.m. as preparation for the 2:30 p.m. haiku writing workshop.

At 1:45-2:45 p.m., there’s a workshop called “Becoming the Other: Writing the Dramatic Monologue” which I’d hoped might help provide a little insight on how to enhance “perspective” and “personae” in my poems. But this workshop is all the way over at the House of Seven Gables.

At 2-3:30 p.m. Kim Richey leads a workshop on songwriting that I thought would be a blast to attend with my singer/songwriter/artist/teacher hubby (if, of course, I can rope him into coming with me!).

But… I will be presenting as part of a panel of poets regarding the somewhat controversial topic of why poets should seek to obtain a master of fine arts degree at 3-4 p.m., upstairs in the Old Town Hall. I would really really really love to see some friendly faces in the audience if you don’t already have something scheduled.

Phew! At 4-5 p.m. I’m rushing over to the Salem Anthenaeum for a workshop with Patricia Smith, author of “Blood Dazzler” a collection of poems about Hurricane

Patricia Smith

Katrina that she tells from a variety of perspectives including personifying the city of New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina herself. I just started reading it and it is pretty powerful stuff.

Unfortunately I won’t be able to catch the evening headline readings which feature poets Mark Doty, Kim Richey, and Patricia Smith which starts at 7:30 p.m. at the First Universality Society of Salem. My nephews and nieces need some time with their Aunti.

You’ve probably already received this little “Top 10” list if you are the Massachusetts Poetry Festival e-mail list but I thought it was kinda cute (who doesn’t love poetry jokes?) so I’ll put it in this post:

10. Witch persecutions in Salem no longer an issue.

9. Poetry Trolleys!

8. Watch MC Christopher Lydon try to pronounce “Aimee Nezhukumatathil.”

7. Rare opportunity to hear barbaric yawps.

6. Borders is closing—buy books at the Small Press Fair and book sellers.

5. See secret “eighth gable” in basement of the House of Seven Gables.

4. No problem parking — plenty of meter.

3. Long-form birth certificates not required for entry.

2. Bad poetry—this means you!—celebrated by Steve Almond.

 1. Free Versers/Formalists food fight!

Okay then my NSPF friends… help a girl out! What sessions are you going to and where we can meet each other? Maybe next year we can have a NSPF poets reading session in some little Salem café?

See you soon!

Friday at the Mass Poetry Festival

Poetry
The Massachusetts Poetry Festival takes place this weekend.

As many of you already know, the Massachusetts Poetry Festival takes place this weekend, Friday, May 13 and Saturday, May 14 in Salem.  I thought I’d take a moment to let you know about a few items and tell you what I’m most excited about/signed up to attend.

During the day Friday, more than 600 high school students will descend on Salem State University to participate in writing workshops from the likes of poets X.J. Kennedy, Sarah Kay, Jericho Brown, and Brian Turner. In the middle of the day the acclaimed documentary Louder than a Bomb will be shown, with an introduction by Adam Gottlieb, one of the featured poets, and Anna West, co-founder of the Chicago slam poetry contest that is the focus of the film. Incidentally if you cannot make it to this screening of the film it will be shown on Saturday also at the Salem Cinema and in June at Boston’s Coolidge Corner Theatre starting Friday, June 3 and at the Salem Cinema starting Friday, June 17.

Workshops for the non-student population begin Friday afternoon. At 4:15 p.m., there’s a presentation on Anne Bradstreet and one on Elizabeth Bishop (some of you may have had the pleasure of listening to Lloyd Schwartz when he came to the Hamilton-Wenham Writer’s Guild back in February or when he presented at the Salem Athenaeum in March). I’m signed up for a program with Richard Hoffman and Robert Gibbons that takes place at The Gathering called “The Rhythm of Resistance and Desire” which promises to help me “find expression that creates a second life in language” by exploring examples of new writing.

At 5:30 p.m., I’ve signed up for a session hosted by Newburyport poet and Powow River Poets founder Rhina P. Espaillat regarding Federico Garcia Lorca (I love him!). During the presentation which takes place at the Peabody Essex Museum, vocalist Ann Tucker will sing five of Lorca’s poems accompanied by guitarist and composer John Tavano. The “melopoeia,” an ancient art form, is a combination of poetry and music. I’ve seen Rhina present a “melopoeia” arrangement before at the Newburyport Arts Association a few years back and it was terrific. I’m sure this event will be great too.

Then, at 7:30 p.m., at the Peabody Essex Museum, there will be readings by four featured poets including:

  • Brian Turner, author of Here, Bullet, a prize-winning book about the poet’s experience in Iraq, and most recently, Phantom Noise, which was shortlisted for the
    Brian Turner, author of the book "Here, Bullet" reads his work Friday night at the Peabody Essex Museum.

    2010 T.S. Eliot Prize.

  • Aimee Nezhukumatathil, author of three poetry collections: Lucky Fish; At the Drive-in Volcano, winner of the Balcones Prize for the best collection of poetry published in 2007; and Miracle Fruit, winner of the Tupelo Press Prize.
  • Jericho Brown, author of Please, his first book, which won the American Book Award, and recipient of the Whiting Writers Award and fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Radcliffe Institute at Harvard University, the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, and the Krakow Poetry Seminar in Poland.
  • Enzo Silon Surin is a Haitian-born poet, writer, playwright, advocate and the author of Higher Ground (Finishing Line Press, 2006), which was nominated for the Massachusetts Book Award. Surin’s poem, Blues Prelude (Chicago), is a Pushcart Cart nominee and his poem, Events on Paper Smear, won the Boston Mayor’s 2010 Poetry and Prose Competition.

If you’re not exhausted by the time the featured readings end, head over to the Gulu Gulu Café for the “intercollegiate poetry slam” that takes places from 9:30 to 10:15 p.m. I’m not sure my stamina will take it, especially as I’ll need to be awake to volunteer at 9 a.m. the next morning, but I bet it will be a blast.

There is so much going on I think I’ll end this blog post here and talk more about Saturday’s events in a different post. Are you going to the Festival? What events are you looking forward to most?