The Poets: NaPoWriMo 2011

Here’s a list of poets participating in NaPoWriMo 2011. If you’d like your blog link added to (or subtracted from) the list, just leave it in thecomment section. In an effort to save time I carried over my list from last year.  If you’d like to set up a free blog, wordpress.com is an easy option. I have a blog that I use just for writing drafts with friends, and I have it set so that it is “hidden” from the search engines. It seems like a good idea to keep my horrid first drafts to myself and my friends!

Newborn at Born Magazine

Check out the latest in poet/artist/composer collaboration at Born Magazine.  I always find something to love.

Artists in this issue:

Layne Braunstein, New York, New York
Martin Brolin, Stockholm, Sweden
Meredith Dittmar, Portland, Oregon
Dave Selden, Portland, Oregon

Writers in this issue:

Dan Albergotti, Conway, South Carolina
April Kopp, Chicago, Illinois
Zachary Schomburg, Portland, Oregon

Dusie Pussipo Stonecoast Femiganza

AWP 2010
Dusie Pussipo Stonecoast Femiganza

Wednesday, April 7th, 2010

Location: at Packing House Center for the Arts, 835 E. 50th Ave. Denver, CO 80216 map
Time: 7:00PM-10:00PM
Cost: FREE! Everybody welcome!
Website: http://controlgroupproductions.org/

Featuring: Bronwen Tate, Ann Bogle, Jennifer Karmin, Marthe Reed, Annie Finch, Amy King, Cara Benson, Mackenzie Carignan, Danielle Pafunda, Deborah Poe, Ana Božičević, Teresa Carmody, Kate Durbin, Megan Volpert, Sarah Rosenthal, Krystal Languell, K. Lorraine Graham, Carmen Gimenez Smith, Robin Reagler, Cheryl Pallant, Shanna Compton, Lara Glenum, Deb Marquart, Elizabeth Searle, and Mel Nichols.

Bleat by Barbara Guest

drawn on the burden of light
the pottery throw
in bleat turning

ballast makes fingers twitch
shutters close
“going to pour”

wet to root and pavement
tent sagging like an oyster

“the city has another soul”

gnat passes someone swallows
“another soul”

figurines

“the city also”
stole the bench and echoes

blight and shuttered bleat
soul chews a wilted corner

by Barbara Guest

from The Collected Poems of Barbara Guest (Wesleyan Poetry)

photo by artbychrysti via flickr

Orchard in Fall by Nate Pritts

slow fields blink past                    orchard in fall                    the stream moves clear
slow moves in fields                    blink past stream fall                    the clear orchard
slow fall moves fields                    blink clear past stream                    in the orchard

orchard slow fall                    past moves in blink                    clear fields the stream
fall moves clear past                    slow stream in fields                    the orchard blink
the slow blink past                    stream clear in fall                    fields orchard moves

past moves slow blink                    in fields orchard                    fall the clear stream
blink slow past moves                    fall stream clear fields                    the orchard in
orchard in stream                    clear fall blink past                    moves slow the fields

in slow past blink                    orchard fields stream                    the clear fall moves
in fall slow blink                    the past moves clear                    orchard stream fields
slow stream moves past                    fields clear in fall                    orchard the blink

blink the orchard                    fields in slow stream                    past clear fall moves
the past moves blink                    orchard slow in                    stream fields clear fall
clear moves the stream                    fall in orchard                    past blink fields slow

by Nate Pritts

published in Dear Sir

as well as in his new chapbook, Descriptive Sketches

the photo was originally uploaded to flickr by amy allcock.

The Idea of Order at Key West

She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.

The sea was not a mask.  No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard.
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.

For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this?  we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.

If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone.  But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang.  And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker.  Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.

Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.

Oh!  Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.

by Wallace Stevens

The Fringe of Symmetry

I found this videopoem through my friend Laura Mullen, who posted it on facebook. The video is inspired by the poem “Going West” by Maurice Gee. The video is sponsored by the New Zealand Book Council. Fasten your reader’s seat belt.

Default

Credits: Film for NZ Book Council
Produced by Colenso BBDO and
Animated by Andersen M Studio

Leaves/Tongues by Molly Bendall & Gail Wronsky

Hanging leaves by wh whist via flickr

       


Let    me    be                      "straight"
                  with you
            where                      I'm coming        from:
  a word-            like                      Orphic          wind-egg
(to            sigh        to wink                  to        nod      to      kneel
to            shake            my              stumps      at    heaven)
                          I'm          so            sure
        it's a              Notorious              B.I.G.   deal
                          so what/bimbo
            I saw                        your&          little            mouth-thing
    now I'm                swayin
                                              Get
                a life                    a      Sybil-leaf          a        tulle-box
    by still practice          learn to
                                                      know      my
                        m(out)h                        Watch                "dawn"
  slink      down
                            this    catwalk                      wearing
                      lair du temps




Copyright © 2009 Molly Bendall & Gail Wronsky All rights reserved
from Bling & Fringe

What Books Press

Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission


DIY Dream Poem

Here's a fun sounding exercise from Read Write Poem. It's by Bruce Covey. Let us know if you give it a try!

X=13, Y=21

Where there are coins, there’s matter,
A narrow strip of over 700,000 in this province.
Today the birds are green and the roofs are woven
Of string. You pick the spot, please:
Its zoo built with moment upon moment of cola fountains
(although the one at the center sprouts ginger ale), or
The checkerboard landscape with a single checker making me sweat.
A nest of spiders spins its lines of code — where something is and isn’t —
underneath the netting, the surface para-graph,
A wooden barrel in front of every scrap.
Half kangaroo and half gorilla would be very versatile,
Especially here, where rain has turned the road to muck.
Next to the thicket and upon a rock, my translator
Teaches card tricks to all the babies, changes their diapers.
Later we played an asphalt fight until the killer bees,
Digitally enhanced, came — an extensive natural race
That brings the good in night, its tropical players.

by Bruce Covey

EOAGH 5: The Mega Mega Edition

 
Another amazing edition of EOAGH has been posted, and it's huge and, as I said, amazing!  Here's one by the poet Robyn Art. Please hustle on over and see the rest!

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[Theories of Colony Collapse Disorder]

1.Because the river is full of holes. 2. Because his hands. 3. Because those were
the pearls that were his eyes. 4. Larceny. 5. Infamy. ^. The churlish disquietude
of the Tastee-Freeze truck. 7. Because of spinning it old school. 8. The same wack
shit. 9. Because lengthening shadows, doing their crepuscular dance. 10. Because
“crepuscular.” 11. High school (bad hair, misery.) 12. The very idea of him. 13.
Recurring dream #1: the house by the water (lake? ocean?) 14. Because the death
of analog. 15. Because the death of the push-mower. 16. Because death 17. in a kinda
general, all-around way. 18. Three weeks late. 19. Rescinded handshake. 20. Fantasy
baseball. 21. Collision of cosmic spheres, a dissonant humming. 22. Blood in the
drain. 23. Recurring dream #2: the Forbidden Room (blood-red drapes, a la The Shining?)
24. Because the day job 25. can’t swing the high overhead. 26. Sleeplessness. 27.
Her bituminous eyes. 28. Because Father Time, one seriously-underhanded motherfucker.
29. Broken strap. 30. Severed toe buried in sand. 31. Because he wanted to. 32.
Because he wanted. 33. Because he. 34. Flooded engine. 35. Invention of cheese-in-a-can.
36. Because genial affection, furious loathing 37. and tenderness. 38. Exhibit A:
syringe, rubber hose, earmarked copy of “Explore St. Louis!” 39. The way you heard
it. 40. Because the tongues of a thousand bedraggled and timorous mortals. 41. Because
rain. 42. Winter: a single thread, unraveling. 43. Better get. 44. Better get yo’
hustle on.

by Robyn Art

published by EOAGH

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