Tag Archives: North Shore

It must be Spring!

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The weather is beyond belief, and Spring is in the air. We can now look forward to the pot of gold that the Leprachauns are hiding, as well as spring flowers and showers and blooming good days ahead.

Thanks to everyone who entered the Naomi Cherkofsky contest. As it turned out, and despite my worries, we have a good supply of poems. We will notify the winners by e-mail or phone or snail mail. Everyone else should look here for a listing.

Also, we hope everyone will come to the reading at the Beverly Public Library, 11 a.m., in celebration of National Poetry Month. It’s always a lovely time. I have it down in two different places — once as April 14 and another as April 21. Shall we take votes? (Crumb. I’ll check with the library. I’m thinking it should be the 14th because the Massachusetts Poetry Festival has many good offerings on the 21st.)

In the meantime, don’t forget our March meeting, on Saturday, March 17. Member Chris Coleman has promised us a program on Irish poetry.

Until then, bask in the sunshine!

Enter the Naomi Cherkofsky contest!

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I have just rewritten the following poem, a habit I have, so that I almost never think my poems are finished. But, if you have the same habit, stop it! Send in that poem — or the other, or even the other — to the annual Naomi Cherkofsky Memorial poetry contest! And, tell your friends to do so, too. (Click the poetry contest tab of this blog for the info.)

Many of you have come to the annual reading, held the third Saturday in April, and you know what a great time we have. The winners of the contest read first, followed by an open mic. Please spread the word. It’s a sad truth, but newspapers are no longer spreading the word the way they did in the good old days. Readership is way down, and they are grappling with survival.

We need you, therefore, to tell everyone about the contest.

Here’s the poem I was telling you about, which has actually been published in a Mass State Poets anthology in a slightly different rendition. I’m sure you can do better! Pull out your pens, your computers, your thinking caps, and get going!

Dusk in Winter

By Cathryn Keefe O’Hare

 

The sky – blue, white.

The ground, etched in black macadam.

The houses cramped by

the big mall and the little malls

that grew up nearby.

……..

Still, the twiggy branches of the trees

surge

and the crisp clarity

of the ebbing day

pulsates with a swirl

of black birds billowing

in a pointillist arc,

alighting on a naked

maple, swooshing

up suddenly as though

the winter god shook them

off its solemn simplicity,

tickled them into replays

of their aerial vivacity

……..

While in the west

the sun blushes madly

in a last attempt

to brighten the day

…….

and the birds flock,

and flock again

before hiding somewhere

in the star-struck night.

Snow Day!

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Well, I had thought I could trudge through the snow and show up for the scheduled meeting last Saturday, but the flakes looked so cold and sharp, and my house was so cozy …. I called the whole thing off, giving you all a Snow Day. Unfortunately, Melissa Varnvas didn’t read her e-mail, nor did new member Tom (last name could be Bennett?). They did some poetry anyway, which is very good!

The next meeting is scheduled for Feb. 18, and Mary Miceli is on the hook for a program about allegory. Remember, too, that the Naomi Cherkofsky Memorial Poetry Contest deadline is coming right up …. March 1. Did you send the info to friends and to friends of friends? Please help publicize it (see info under Contests on this blog).

I am sharing a Billy Collins poem called, not very surprisingly given the topic of this post, Snow Day.

Snow Day

          Billy Collins

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows
….
the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.
…
In a while I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch,
sending a cold shower down on us both.
…
But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news
…
that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed,
the All Aboard Children’s School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with — some will be delighted to hear —
…
the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School,
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and — clap your hands — the Peanuts Play School.
…
So this is where the children hide all day.
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.
…
And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.

………………………………………………………….

I’m also sharing a Shel Silverstein poem, since much of my rambling e-mail giving you all a Snow Day had to do with the exultant joy of children when they were given a snow day, and even though this poem, Sick, isn’t about snow, it is about the joy of play! By the way, I am also going to link to Melissa Varnavas’s wonderful blog Reflections on Mackerel Cove, which is in Beverly. I leave the rest to you.

Sick
by Shel Silverstein
“I cannot go to school today,”Said little Peggy Ann McKay.

“I have the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I’m going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox

And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,

And don’t you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut–my eyes are blue–

It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,

I’m sure that my left leg is broke–

My hip hurts when I move my chin,

My belly button’s caving in,

My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,

My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb.

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,

I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,

My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There is a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what?

What’s that? What’s that you say?

You say today is. . .Saturday?

G’bye, I’m going out to play!”

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

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.

 

In honor of National Poetry Month

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There are a plethora of activities to celebrate National Poetry Month. Besides the one hosted by the Massachusetts Poetry Festival folk on April 14 (see prior post), the Tin Box Poets are also hosting an event that evening. Here’s the scoop:

Come celebrate National Poetry Month with Tin Box Poets of Swampscott’s 13TH annual open mic. The Tin Box Poets of Swampscott will host their 13th annual open mic reading on Thursday, April 14th, at 6:30pm. This annual event draws spoken word artists of all abilities and disciplines from Swampscott, Marblehead, the entire North Shore and beyond. The Tin Box Poets goal is to promote and encourage the appreciation of poetry in our lives.  
Hope to see you there!
Thursday, April 14, 2011: 6:30 pm – 8:00 pm
Open mic for poetry, and spoken word
(a song if you desire – please provide your own instrument)
Doors open at 6:00 pm for SIGN UP. Reading @ 6:30 pm
Public welcome and All AGES, free admission, refreshments, accessible
Swampscott Public Library, 61 Burrill Street, Swampscott, MA (2nd floor)
More info: swa@noblenet.org, 781-596-8867.
 
*** Due to time restrictions we do ask for a limit of 2 pages or 4 minutes for all open micers. If we have time, we always have a second round. Please be kind, let everyone have their moment in the spotlight. ****
——————————————————————————————————————————————-The next week, we have this information from AGNI Magazine (agni@bu.edu)

CCAE’s Writer’s Life Series

 

Our popular series for writers and readers continues. Join us for three Wednesday evenings of informal discussions with local writers, focusing on a) anthologies and group publishing;  b) writing about one’s own family; and c) narrative journalism.
A) When:    Wednesday, April 13th, 2011 at 8:00pm

Who:     Doug Holder, Dan Mazur, and Barbara Ross

What:    Anthologies and Group Publishing: Learn about what’s behind group publishing from three writers who

        have both edited and contributed to anthologies of poetry, comics, and  crime stories.

Where:   56 Brattle Street, Harvard Square , Cambridge , MA , 02238 -9113

Price:   $6

Phone:  617-547-6789 x1

Web:    http://www.ccae.org

 

B) When:    Wednesday, April 20th, 2011 at 8:00pm

Who:     John Freeman, Katrina Kenison, and Marianne Leone

What:   Writing About Your Family: Respecting Boundaries, Taking Risks – An intimate discussion of the choices, challenges,                              and rewards these authors faced when writing about their loved ones.

Where:  56 Brattle Street , Harvard Square , Cambridge , MA , 02238 -9113

Price: $6

Phone:  617-547-6789 x1

Web:    http://www.ccae.org

C) When:    Wednesday, April 27th, 2011 at 8:00pm

Who:     Ethan Gilsdorf, David Valdes Greenwood, and Paige Williams

What:   Narrative Journalism: Not Just The Facts, Story Too – Whether it be immersion journalism or creative non-fiction, this deeply personal genre transforms everyday reporting into a captivating novel. Discover the worlds inhabited and paths traveled by these writers.

Where:   56 Brattle Street, Cambridge , MA , 02238-9113

Price:   $6

Phone:  617-547-6789 x1

Web:    http://www.ccae.org

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————– And, most importantly, from the standpoint of the North Shore Poets’ Forum, is our own event, on Saturday, April 16, 11 a.m. to 1 or 2 p.m., at the Beverly Public Library. Hope to see you there.

 

 

A festival invite

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 Claire Keyes, who is well known on the North Shore for her own poetry and for her years as a professor at Salem State, sends along this invitation:

You are cordially invited to a poetry reading and fundraiser for the Massachusetts Poetry Festival on Thursday, April 14th at 7:30 p.m. at the Paul M. Scott Library in the main building of Montserrat College of Art,
23 Essex St. Beverly.  Fred Marchant of Boston and Carla Panciera of Rowley will be the featured readers.   Donation: $20 or $10 for students.
   You can read more about Fred and Carla on the Masspoetry.org website. Here is the link:

http://masspoetry.org/2011/03/13/a-pre-festival-celebratory-reading-and-fund-raiser-on-april-14/

We will also have some scintillating raffle items for the poetry-obsessed, so please bring your wallets!

Claire Keyes
cjkeyes@verizon.net

National Poetry Month

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 April is National Poetry Month, and the North Shore Poets’ Forum is celebrating on Saturday, April 16, with readings by the winners of our Naomi Cherkofsky contest followed by an open mic. We have been doing this for probably six or seven or eight (how many?) years, and it has always been a wonderful time. We hope you will join us at the Beverly Public Library, from 11 a.m. to about 2 p.m. Light refreshments will be served. And, if you write poetry, please bring up to three to share.

In the meantime, you can discover new poets and enjoy a poem a day in celebration of National Poetry Month by clicking on this website, provided by Knopf Poetry, a division of Random House:

http://poem-a-day.knopfdoubleday.com/2011/04/01/welcome-to-poetry-month/?ref=poemaday_email

Enjoy!