tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37018082011-04-21T19:58:55.120-04:00poetryweblogLiterary links linger'd over by a poet....Celianoreply@blogger.comBlogger1581100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1156116238326806302006-08-20T19:23:00.000-04:002006-08-20T19:45:06.023-04:00I think this blog is headed for the cart.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1144869153285606972006-04-12T15:11:00.000-04:002006-04-12T15:12:33.306-04:00WHO CARES ABOUT POETRY? 90 PERCENT OF AMERICAN READERS, NEW STUDY SHOWSApril 11, 2006Media Contact: Anne Halsey (312) 799.8016; ahalsey@poetryfoundation.org WHO CARES ABOUT POETRY? 90 PERCENT OF AMERICAN READERS, NEW STUDY SHOWSPoetry Foundation releases first scientific study of poetry in America,finds people who read poetry lead more satisfying social lives thanthose who don'tChicago -- InCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1138765020111027252006-01-31T22:35:00.000-05:002006-01-31T22:37:00.120-05:00Drive, he (famously, variously) sdAndrei Codrescu presently has a nice memory piece in Exquisite Corpse about Robert Creeley, and a memorable drive they took.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1138060410106821482006-01-23T18:48:00.000-05:002006-01-23T18:53:30.116-05:00Crazy LoveOne of my poetry/poetry-teaching mentors is Sherry Robbins. Tonight I came across a beautiful speech she gave for the occasion of her win of the 2005 "Distinguished Service to The Arts in Education Field Award"."I didn't blame them for being envious. I love this work. Even on my worst day—which might have been the Halloween I dressed up as a witch and tried to coax scary sounds outCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1136418575684475692006-01-04T18:43:00.000-05:002006-01-04T18:49:35.696-05:00The Truest TruthTory Dent has passed away, age 47. She had been diagnosed with AIDS at age 30, and wrote many powerful poems about that experience. Life's truest truth, it's that truth itself unravels in ways that reveal less not more sense or comfort. Consolationless is the tarmac wind, the kickback of jet fuel fume, the bulkhead of the coffin wherein only regret to be alive Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1132713504120836572005-11-22T21:36:00.000-05:002005-11-22T21:38:24.133-05:00Poems Without TitlesEarly Dylan poems sold at auction.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1131394820878215882005-11-07T15:18:00.000-05:002005-11-07T15:20:20.890-05:00 This poem is Poem of the Month in Earth's Daughters magazine. Flight She begs him not to let the bird go. A house bird, a cage bird a little dew-grass green bird. The wild birds will kill it. All the while she argues the child finds an oblong leaf makes it swoop Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1130195860752718402005-10-24T19:13:00.000-04:002005-10-24T19:17:40.756-04:00Excerpt: Impossible To Tell, by Robert Pinsky (As heard on The Simpsons! "Little Girl in the Big Ten") Slow dulcimer, gavotte and bow, in autumn, Bashõ and his friends go out to view the moon; In summer, gasoline rainbow in the gutter, The secret courtesy that courses like ichor Through the old form of the rude, full-scale joke, Impossible to tell in writing. "Bashõ" He named Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1129008411408290442005-10-11T01:25:00.000-04:002005-10-11T01:26:51.413-04:00Eileen Myles said this at Hampshire College graduation in 1998."See a poem is a tiny institution. I just write lots and lots of them, and it gives me a way to be in the world. It's actually a very worldly job, there really isn't a wrong place to be, a poet kind of goes with anything, any kind of decor, indoor, out. Presidents like to have poets nextCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1129007575005673132005-10-11T01:07:00.000-04:002005-10-11T01:14:00.126-04:00January: Blank. Blank. Blank. I just happened upon Anselm Berrigan's daybook.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1128898430729311462005-10-09T18:53:00.000-04:002005-10-09T18:53:50.733-04:00PublicationI have a long poem, "Abecedary (Amsterdam)" in the newissue of Not Just Air. You can also hear me reading ifyou click on the microphone to the left of the poem.http://www.sundress.net/notjustair/issues/issue3/NJA3.html#CeliaWhiteCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1128626028142505022005-10-06T15:11:00.000-04:002005-10-06T15:13:48.146-04:00Fiftieth Anniversary of Howl, Celebrated by City LightsAll over the country, there will be commemorative readings, and CL will republish the great poem in April 2006.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1128051225297739612005-09-29T23:32:00.000-04:002005-09-29T23:33:45.303-04:00Sharon Olds refuses dinner at the White House.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1124165963266077682005-08-16T00:14:00.000-04:002005-08-16T00:19:23.270-04:00TIME Magazine: a 13 year old on "Poetry Is What I Love".Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1121737862711451892005-07-18T21:33:00.000-04:002005-07-18T21:51:02.716-04:00Fighting fake poetry contests...as only a librarian can: Foetry.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1119655404734720202005-06-24T19:22:00.000-04:002005-06-24T19:23:24.736-04:00New Sappho poem!Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1118941446582131692005-06-16T13:01:00.000-04:002005-06-16T13:04:06.586-04:00Information with your Amusement...The Omnificent English Dictionary In Limerick Form.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1116468036614742282005-05-18T21:59:00.000-04:002005-05-18T22:00:36.620-04:00"SF" by David Lehman SF stood for Sigmund Freud, or serious folly,for science fiction in San Francisco, or fearin the south of France. The system failed.The siblings fought. So far, such fury,as if a funereal sequence of sharps and flatsset free a flamboyant signature, sinful, fanatic,the fire sermon of a secular fundamentalist,a singular fellow's Symphonie Fantastique.Students forget the state'sCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1114138422467594122005-04-21T22:43:00.000-04:002005-04-21T22:53:42.470-04:00Recent ReadingsGary Snyder read here tonight, the eve of Earth Day, in the gracious auditorium of the Albright-Knox Art Gallery. Anna Walsh and I arrived when the line stood at about 300 people. Wow! We thought we'd know everybody, but no, many were academics, or Greens, or old naturalist hippies (god knows how they survive in Buffalo).Snyder read poems around the eruption of Mt. St. Helens, Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1112647160550055732005-04-04T16:33:00.000-04:002005-04-04T16:39:20.550-04:00Ted KooserPoet laureate Ted Kooser has begun his work: American Life in Poetry provides newspapers and online publications with a free weekly column featuring contemporary American poems. You can read it online or subscribe to have it delivered to your email address.You can hear his visit with Terry Gross on Fresh Air here.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1112640139624477732005-04-04T14:41:00.000-04:002005-04-04T14:42:19.626-04:00Urban EpiphanyThe 4th annual Urban Epiphany is coming up--Sunday, April 24, 2005. Sign up!Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1112639201752346482005-04-04T14:25:00.000-04:002005-04-04T14:28:56.216-04:00GroundbreakingThe Academy of American Poets list of groundbreaking books of poetry.Also cool is their list of ways to celebrate poetry.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1112463943547409072005-04-02T12:44:00.000-05:002005-04-02T12:45:43.550-05:00More on CreeleyA nice remembrance in the Buffalo News.Perfect Nancy's take.Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1112229712145044002005-03-30T19:41:00.000-05:002005-03-30T21:33:01.330-05:00SadMay 21, 1926 - March 30, 2005American poet Robert Creeley passed away this morning at 6:15 am inOdessa, Texas, where he was fulfilling a Residency at the LannanFoundation. (Mr Creeley was a recipient of the Lannan FoundationLifetime Achievement Award.) His wife of twenty-eight years,Penelope, and son Will and daughter Hannah were at his side. Thecause of death was complications from Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1102965755110269582004-12-13T14:19:00.000-05:002004-12-13T14:23:41.376-05:00Sky Song by Robert Desnos The flower of the Alps told the seashell: "You're shining" The seashell told the sea: "You echo" The sea told the boat: "You're shuddering" The boat told the fire: "You're glowing brightly" The fire told me: "I glow less brightly than her eyes" The boat told me: "I shudder less than your heart does when she appears" The sea told me: "I echo less than her name does in Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1100058109333073282004-11-09T22:32:00.000-05:002004-11-09T22:41:49.333-05:00Hangover as Folk Art Brautigan Bibliography has information about his stories, poems and much more in text and mp3 (!!) formats. (His reading style is curiously like Sharon Olds', which makes me wonder about the California connection.) Love Poem It's so nice to wake up in the morning all alone and not have to tell somebody you love them Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1099807960225383002004-11-07T01:11:00.000-05:002004-11-07T01:12:40.253-05:00This is the poem from the movie, Before Sunrise. Delusion Angel -By David Jewell Daydream delusion. Limousine Eyelash Oh, baby with your pretty face Drop a tear in my wineglass Look at those big eyes See what you mean to me Sweet cakes and milkshakes (laughs) I am a delusioned angel I am a fantasy parade. I want you to know what I think. Don't want you to Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1099328840613083382004-11-01T13:04:00.000-05:002004-11-09T22:46:47.493-05:00GOODWILL THRIFT STORE, MISSOULA, by Sheryl Noethe It's hard to hate anybody when we're all maybe trying on the shoes of the dead together, trying on their slacks and reading their books. So we are gentle to each other when we reach for the same glass or same blanket. Smile when we collide between the broken couch and a stain on the sheet. We pass, cool ghosts who feel the sleeves of jackets, Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1099243728083313362004-10-31T13:27:00.000-05:002004-10-31T12:28:48.083-05:00Children's haiku, with beautiful drawings. merry-go-round the child waves every ten seconds Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1099112499426844932004-10-30T01:59:00.000-04:002004-10-31T12:29:06.936-05:00The Lannan Literary Foundation website offers transcripts, and sometimes sound and video files from their reading archive. Amichai, Clifton, Amiri Baraka, just to name a few of hundreds. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1096651762754048352004-10-01T13:27:00.000-04:002004-10-01T13:29:22.753-04:00Perfect Moon - Patti Smith perfect moon I am calling perfect moon clad impure I approach your naked neck barefoot baying perfect moon perfect moon I am with you perfect moon I adore surrendering to thy great hands I am yours perfect moon Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1095828145473225492004-09-22T01:40:00.000-04:002004-09-22T00:42:25.473-04:00the short version of summers past: by naomi, from Portland Stories the roxy, kamel reds, your little stereo always playing bikini kill, camping in the sand dunes, walking around downtown, dumpster diving, punk rock, chain smoking, smoking on the bridge, smoking on your front porch, smoking out my bedroom window, absolutely fabulous, hornsby’s hard apple cider, too drunk to know we were setting Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1092434178138529602004-08-13T17:49:00.000-04:002004-08-13T17:56:18.136-04:00Ted Kooser named Poet Laureate. (Hear all about it at NPR.) I've loved his work a long time and have often used it in teaching metaphor to kids in younger grades. I think it's lovely that poetry so straightforward and well-wrought has gained such recognition. A Birthday Poem Just past dawn, the sun stands with its heavy red head in a black stanchion of trees, waiting for someone to come with Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1092071985508083552004-08-09T13:19:00.000-04:002004-08-09T13:19:45.506-04:00Baseball Poems Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1091025777572054282004-07-28T10:39:00.000-04:002004-07-28T10:42:57.573-04:00"I think my poems mean what they say .... There is no message, nothing I want to tell the world particularly except what I am thinking when I am writing." --John Ashbery His birthday is today. He was born in Upstate New York ("I hear America snowing") and is known as part of the first wave of the New York School of Poets. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1089580895578321492004-07-11T17:20:00.000-04:002004-07-11T17:21:35.580-04:00Desire by Christopher Locke — after Wim Wenders Berlin is thick with ruin, and the angel is expected to be less than a shadow — to stare down impotent at all their crying out, their replays in a great theater of loss. Shaking rain from his wings, he settles into a library, everyone sitting, or standing between the orderly shelves. He leans Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1088396402285663212004-06-28T00:16:00.000-04:002004-06-28T00:22:07.480-04:00The Poet and His Song Today is the birthday of Paul Laurence Dunbar, one of the greatest African American poets of his time, who died at age 34 from tuburculosis. THE POET He sang of life, serenely sweet, With, now and then, a deeper note. From some high peak, nigh yet remote, He voiced the world's absorbing beat. He sang of love when earth was young, And Love, itself, was in his lays. But, Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1087445961956479872004-06-17T00:13:00.000-04:002004-06-17T00:19:21.956-04:00It's Bloomsday. Today is Bloomsday, a day to celebrate James Joyce's novel Ulysses, whose action takes place on June 16th, 1904. It's called Bloomsday because the main character in the book is Leopold Bloom, a Jewish ad salesman who lives on the north side of Dublin. At one point he gazes across the sand at a young woman, while fireworks go off over the ocean. Joyce wrote: "And she saw a long Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1086273691828838632004-06-03T10:37:00.000-04:002004-06-03T10:41:31.826-04:00"Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private." --Allen Ginsberg It's Allen Ginsberg's birthday. He was, before his death, perhaps the best-known poet of our time, although his work is rarely taught in schools. Minnesota Public Radio's wonderful Writer's Almanac had this to say: It's the birthdayCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1086059161733326832004-05-31T23:05:00.000-04:002004-05-31T23:06:01.733-04:00Ink and Flesh If you were to have a line of poetry tattooed upon your body, what would it be? Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1085701857425210492004-05-27T19:49:00.000-04:002004-05-27T19:50:57.426-04:00Tinywords tinywords' mission: humanize technology, spread haiku worldwide. haiku Tinywords is one of my favorite sites; I get their daily haiku in my email, always a delight, and they've published some of mine, as well. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1083083406306908242004-04-27T12:30:00.000-04:002004-04-27T12:34:13.890-04:00Kate Millet, Mike Basinski, Patti Smith, Frank O'Hara.... UBU is an incredible collection of poets reading their own work. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1081792460154083182004-04-12T13:54:00.000-04:002004-04-12T13:58:08.403-04:00Patti Smith, Poet Laureate of Punk Audio and text bits from NPR. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1081703021182348362004-04-11T13:03:00.000-04:002004-04-11T13:07:27.983-04:00Peonies by Mary Oliver This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready to break my heart as the sun rises, as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers and they open-- pools of lace, white and pink-- and all day the black ants climb over them, boring their deep and mysterious holes into the curls, craving the sweet sap, Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1078887417071399952004-03-09T21:56:00.000-05:002004-03-09T22:00:00.920-05:00A Poet's Spirit Springs to Life on Death Row "I remember thinking one time — I'd already been here a while — and I realized I hadn't seen a star in 12 years," he said in an interview at the Union Correctional Institution here. "And I started to wonder about them, thinking they'd changed or something, and I wrote this poem imagining stars but from the perspective of a bat." Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1070981605514913562003-12-09T09:53:00.000-05:002003-12-09T09:54:28.513-05:00Me I’m happy with the every day way like the mist and vines in these rock stream ravines this wilderness is so free and vast my old friends the clouds drift idly off there is a road but it doesn’t reach the world mindless who can be disturbed by thoughts at night I site alone on a stone bed while the round moon climbs the face of Cold Mountain --Han Shen Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1069173621414875822003-11-18T11:40:00.000-05:002003-11-18T11:40:55.436-05:00"Wherever I go, I find a poet has been there before me." --Sigmund FreudCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1066493449195379972003-10-18T12:10:00.000-04:002003-10-18T12:10:49.290-04:00"Today my poems seem only the spells I muttered while waiting for poems." --Hayden CarruthCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1066422369275791122003-10-17T16:26:00.000-04:002003-10-17T16:26:09.090-04:00"The original crime: art, rime." --John BerrymanCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1066355075553113242003-10-16T21:44:00.000-04:002003-10-16T21:45:37.513-04:00"The secret title of every good poem might be 'Tenderness'." --Galway KinnellCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1066229587025623912003-10-15T10:53:00.000-04:002003-10-15T10:53:06.490-04:00Of course, to be a poet is to be naked. --Kelly CherryCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1066182179680497982003-10-14T21:42:00.000-04:002003-10-14T21:42:59.300-04:00From Awakening Osiris, The Egyptian Book of the Dead, translated by Normandi Ellis The ibis and the ink pot--these are blessed. For as the ibis pecks along the bank for a bit of food, so the scribe searches among his thoughts for some truth to tell. All the work is his to speak, its secrets writ down in his heart from the beginning of time, the gods' words rising upward through his dark belly, Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1066058867963354102003-10-13T11:27:00.000-04:002003-10-13T11:27:47.790-04:00After Tu Fu (They Say You're Staying in a Mountain Temple), by Marvin Bell In the damp evenings of summertime, I cannot trust my words to reach you. They drink up every nuance shamelessly. They are more ravenous than my mouth calling. In the crusty air of wintertime, I cannot trust my words to go to you. They see too well the leafless trees. They know too well the outcome of love. In the Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1063631309889989582003-09-15T09:08:00.000-04:002003-09-15T09:08:29.883-04:00"Autumn," by Linda Pastan, from Heroes in Disguise (W.W. Norton). I want to mention summer ending without meaning the death of somebody loved or even the death of the trees. Today in the market I heard a mother say Look at the pumpkins, it's finally autumn! And the child didn't think of the death of her mother which is due before her own but tasted the sound of the words on her clumsy Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1063330024709850492003-09-11T21:27:00.000-04:002003-09-11T21:27:04.676-04:00Autumn Day, by Rainier Maria Rilke Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. Now overlap the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free. Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more warm transparent days, urge them on to fulfillment then, and press the final sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1062380880019709202003-08-31T21:48:00.000-04:002003-08-31T21:47:59.870-04:00The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the west garden; They hurt me. I grow older. — Ezra Pound, The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1062374536913649492003-08-31T20:02:00.000-04:002003-08-31T20:02:16.793-04:00The Gardener, a great piece in the New Yorker about Stanley Kunitz and the generations of poets he nurtured. “All I want to do is write poems, and think about the garden, and be in the garden.” Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1062021321311967162003-08-27T17:55:00.000-04:002003-08-27T17:55:21.170-04:00Today I was interviewed by the Buffalo News for an upcoming story of Buffalo's literary community. Watch for it in the Gusto the last Friday of August. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1058978132706259872003-07-23T12:35:00.000-04:002003-07-23T12:45:28.843-04:00Samurai Song Robert Pinsky When I had no roof I made Audacity my roof. When I had No supper my eyes dined. When I had no eyes I listened. When I had no ears I thought. When I had no thought I waited. When I had no father I made Care my father. When I had no Mother I embraced order. When I had no friend I made Quiet my friend. When I had no Enemy I opposed my body. When I had no temple I Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1058454939692855942003-07-17T11:15:00.000-04:002003-07-17T11:15:39.656-04:00Honku Road rage haiku. "Separate yourself from the moment of rage, observe the thing that's making your blood boil, and crystallize the experience into a pithy little 5-7-5 gem." Aaron NaparstekCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1057357488497328542003-07-04T18:24:00.000-04:002003-07-04T18:24:48.460-04:00Ted Berrigan died 20 years ago today. It is also the birthday of Ted Joans, who recently passed. "Don't let the minute spoil the hour." — Ted Joans Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1057271976443473522003-07-03T18:39:00.000-04:002003-07-03T18:39:36.356-04:00KENNETH REXROTH (before reading his poetry): “Well, what would you like tonight, sex, mysticism or revolution?” WOMAN IN AUDIENCE: “What’s the difference?” Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1056928108936628842003-06-29T19:08:00.000-04:002003-06-29T19:08:28.933-04:00A Coat I made my song a coat Covered with embroideries Out of old mythologies From heel to throat; But the fools caught it, Wore it in the world’s eyes As though they’d wrought it. Song, let them take it, For there’s more enterprise In walking naked. --William Butler Yeats Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-1056728497391049482003-06-27T11:41:00.000-04:002003-06-27T11:42:35.940-04:00Today is the birthday of many poets: Frank O'Hara, Lucille Clifton, Paul Laurence Dunbar. I have put together a new chapbook of my own poetry. It's called Sip. It's my 5th (well, 6th perhaps [Fevers, Cusp, Mouth, Stick, Lit, Sip]. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-958382342003-06-19T15:54:00.000-04:002003-06-19T15:54:52.536-04:00Poetpal Matthue Roth waxes poetic about City Lights. I was at that Jill Corral reading, and at the trashed-getting part, where I believe Matthue even sipped my Manhattan. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-957546472003-06-17T10:48:00.000-04:002003-06-17T10:48:23.493-04:00The Fortune Cookie Man, by Ron Padgett Working for ten years now at the fortune cookie factory and I'm still not allowed to write any of the fortunes. I couldn't do any worse than they do, what with their You Will Find Success in the Entertainment Field mentality. I would like to tell someone that they will find a gorilla in their closet, brooding darkly over the shoes. And that that gorilla Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-955894112003-06-12T09:51:00.000-04:002003-06-12T09:51:45.056-04:00Anne Waldman interview in Tricycle. "If you don’t valorize reading and study and thinking and imagination, you are in trouble as a culture. You remain cut off from other cultures, other realities."Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-955198762003-06-10T16:15:00.000-04:002003-06-10T16:21:46.000-04:00City Lights Celebrates 50 years. "City Lights" sounds like a lamp store -- until you remember that the lights are the poets and playwrights and writers who crowd into town to scribble verse and try to keep us from nodding off on our chilled cucumber soup [thanks, sean]Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-940218732003-05-08T20:29:00.000-04:002003-05-08T20:29:17.603-04:00Also lovely: Wine Poetics. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-940211732003-05-08T20:12:00.000-04:002003-05-08T20:12:37.000-04:00Excellent interview with Alan Shapiro in The Atlantic. Shapiro recently published a book of prose about his sister's death, and a book of poems about his brother, who also passed away. Yet, what luminous things he has to say: The kind of poetry that I needed back in 1999, when my brother was dying, and frankly still need now, is one that wants to raise the dead—that wants to bring the beloved Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-937187172003-05-03T16:53:00.000-04:002003-05-03T16:53:56.113-04:00I like what Steve Earle (songwriter) has to say about the difference between songwriting and poetry. Turns out he also writes stories..... Do you make a distinction between poetry and song lyrics? Steve Earle: Sure. I agree with Gregory Corso—I mean, I understand why it irritates him when they call songwriters "poets." Songwriters have the advantage of refrain, they have the advantage of the Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-937137692003-05-03T14:38:00.000-04:002003-05-03T14:38:49.620-04:00The price of this book, Leonard Cohen I had high hopes for this book. I used to be there, too. I thought I might live in one place and know one woman. I walked through the starlight this morning. I made my way through the lambs to the slanted concrete floor. I had on my red apron and I had the woman I loved. I wanted to end it, but it would not end: my life in art. I had pledged my Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-937137322003-05-03T14:37:00.000-04:002003-05-03T14:37:59.036-04:00Donna Stonecipher in Conjunctions. I knew Donna years ago in Seattle, before and after she lived in Prague. I think she's a marvelous poet. White Mouth I had forgotten all about the star inside the apple, eating my way through orchardsful in the intervening years, years marked by Who does not judge each heart by halving it from the top instead of scoring delicately around the Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-936536322003-05-02T11:02:00.000-04:002003-05-02T11:02:27.310-04:00Thanks to all who made Urban Epiphany 2003 a resounding success. We had 100 readers, many happy listeners, and coverage by two local news stations. Today, more sound: UBU Web, featuring Artaud, Patti Smith, Ed Sanders, Frank O'Hara and many others reading their own poetry. Includes a section of readings from the St. Mark's Poetry Project, very special. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-933413162003-04-27T10:00:00.000-04:002003-04-27T10:00:20.553-04:00Celia White (that's me) on WBFO. (includes audio) BUFFALO, NY (2003-04-25) A month long poetry celebration ends on Sunday, April 27 with one last, breathless event in Buffalo. The five-hour long poetry marathon, called Urban Epiphany, will feature non-stop recitations by more than one hundred local poets. In the last of our special series previewing the event, WBFO's Joyce Kryszak showcases Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-932007512003-04-24T17:27:00.000-04:002003-04-24T17:27:46.620-04:00The End and the Beginning Wislawa Szymborska After every war someone has to clean up. Things won't straighten themselves up, after all. Someone has to push the rubble to the side of the road, so the corpse-filled wagons can pass. Someone has to get mired in scum and ashes, sofa springs, splintered glass, and bloody rags. Someone has to drag in a girder to prop up a wall, Someone has to glazeCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-932002162003-04-24T17:17:00.000-04:002003-04-24T17:17:41.623-04:00The first ever conference of poets laureate will take place this weekend in New Hampshire. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-932001652003-04-24T17:16:00.000-04:002003-04-24T17:16:50.870-04:00United States Poet Laureate Billy Collins' plan to bring poetry to high school students: Poetry 180. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-929311452003-04-20T10:28:00.000-04:002003-04-20T10:28:44.403-04:00Brian Lampkin on WBFO. Brian is just about the only person who writes political poetry I truly adore. Brian & I went together to WBFO with the baby twins to record our poems. We traded off the girls while each recorded. Everyone assumed I was the mom. When that got clarified, everyone assumed Brian just had them for the day. Brian has them every day, and he is wonderful. He's also a passionate Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-928560262003-04-18T16:40:00.000-04:002003-04-18T16:40:23.123-04:00"A Rainbow of Poets Who Rhyme from Life" , the New York Times' review of HBO's Def Poetry Jam. I'll admit to mixed feelings about this show. I've seen it twice (keepin' an eye out for Matthue.) The performances come across as speeches and/or theatre, to me, more than poetry. Why? I am generally not drawn in by the language, but by the content. To me, true and good poetry is an exquisite blending Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-924941402003-04-12T14:33:00.000-04:002003-04-12T14:33:18.560-04:00Urban Epiphany update Joe Todaro and I have secured over 100 readers for Urban Epiphany, the community gathering of Western New York poets, which will take place on Sunday, April 27. The event will be taped for later broadcast on public access television at the Home of the Future. Visit the link above to sign up, download the flyer, and see who's on the roster..... In other Buffalo poetry news,Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-924938032003-04-12T14:25:00.000-04:002003-04-12T14:25:36.763-04:00Sandra Guerreiro on WBFO. Fantastic! "ain't no sunshine when she's gone" by Sandra Guerreiro there is a cure for that you might find it elsewhere instead of inside you the mind is it's own place guilt is like fragments attached to your hands like conversations that sometimes cut make sure you never wash it or let it go find out the last day your lips touched secure investment as a back to Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-921756352003-04-07T17:40:00.000-04:002003-04-07T17:43:21.000-04:00My pal and poet-in-arms Kristi Anne Meal reading poems and being interviewed on WBFO. (Note: Kristi will be one of the nearly 100 readers at Urban Epiphany, 4/27, in Buffalo.) "Turn of the Century Period Piece: Disheveled Sequence" By: Kristi Meal oooo, women looovvvve her. where is she? even when she's right here in the room she's intimidating to approach. something about her aura, the way Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-921639892003-04-07T14:24:00.000-04:002003-04-07T14:24:29.483-04:00Poetry to Go in Buffalo. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-920529862003-04-05T14:48:00.000-05:002003-04-05T14:48:01.606-05:00I've been wondering just what makes Rumsfield tick. His language is strange. Slate has culled some poetry from press conferences. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-920528902003-04-05T14:45:00.000-05:002003-04-07T17:42:34.000-04:00Regime Change, by Andrew Motion, Britain's poet laureate Advancing down the road from Nineveh Death paused a while and said, Now listen here You see the names of places round about They are mine now and I have turned them inside out. Take Eden further South At dawn today I ordered up my troops to tear away its walls and gates so everyone can see that gorgeous fruit which dangles Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-907739152003-03-15T15:07:00.000-05:002003-03-15T15:07:12.746-05:00On the Strength of All Conviction and the Stamina of Love --Jennifer Michael Hecht (via mpr) Sometimes I think we could have gone on. All of us. Trying. Forever. But they didn't fill the desert with pyramids. They just built some. Some. They're not still out there, building them now. Everyone, everywhere, gets up, and goes home. Yet we must not diabolize time. Right? We must not curse the Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-903752822003-03-08T18:52:00.000-05:002003-03-08T18:52:13.530-05:00BostonPoet offers links to poets & poems as well as a calendar of literary events. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-895690572003-02-22T17:39:00.000-05:002003-02-22T17:39:11.046-05:00The ever-industrious Caterina has begun a Poems about War weblog. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-894008732003-02-19T20:18:00.000-05:002003-02-19T20:18:02.390-05:00Adjective & Noun Meet in the Middle of Town Today I had my writer kids take a piece of paper, fold it lengthwise, and on the left side write a list of adjectives. Then we traded papers, and without checking out the adjective list, wrote a list of nouns. We all grinned at the the original language which emerged. Here are some of the best ones: stinky dude distant Boston greasy Iraq tasty Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-891556362003-02-15T15:41:00.000-05:002003-02-15T15:41:13.563-05:00The Love Cook Ron Padgett Let me cook you some dinner. Sit down and take off your shoes and socks and in fact the rest of your clothes, have a daiquiri, turn on some music and dance around the house, inside and out, it's night and the neighbors are sleeping, those dolts, and the stars are shining bright, and I've got the burners lit for you, you hungry thing. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-890995532003-02-14T12:03:00.000-05:002003-02-14T12:03:59.560-05:00Poets make headlines...now, there's a new one. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-890514712003-02-13T16:01:00.000-05:002003-02-18T21:19:42.000-05:00Wage Peace Judyth Hill (thanks, sean) Wage peace with your breath. Breathe in firemen and rubble, breathe out whole buildings and flocks of redwing blackbirds. Breathe in terrorists and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields. Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees. Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact. Wage peace with Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-886820682003-02-06T21:33:00.000-05:002003-02-08T12:12:07.000-05:00Because of Libraries We Can Say These Things, a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye She is holding the book close to her body, carrying it home on the cracked sidewalk, down the tangled hill. If a dog runs at her again, she will use the book as a shield. She looked hard among the long lines of books to find this one. When they start talking about money, when the day contains such long and hot places, she Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-886780212003-02-06T20:02:00.000-05:002003-02-06T20:02:53.280-05:00Poets Against the War! Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-884407862003-02-02T18:23:00.000-05:002003-02-02T18:25:24.000-05:00White House cancels Poetry Symposium. Marilyn Nelson, Connecticut's poet laureate, said Wednesday that she had accepted the White House invitation and had planned to wear a silk scarf with peace signs that she commissioned. ``I had decided to go because I felt my presence would promote peace,'' she said. ** You may also remember that Bush chose not to have a poet read at his inauguration. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-883879002003-02-01T14:35:00.000-05:002003-02-01T14:35:34.233-05:00Poet of the Airwaves Poet Scott Poole reads poetry on Spokane radio every Monday. Now that's a nice gig. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-882932302003-01-30T18:07:00.000-05:002003-02-03T00:40:32.000-05:00Sad News Leslie Fiedler has passed away. FIEDLER-Leslie Aaron - 1/30/2003 January 29, 2003. Beloved husband of Sally Smith Andersen Fiedler. Dear father of Kurt (Cathy) Fiedler, Eric (Lori), Michael, Deborah (Frank) Apraku, Jenny (Sergio) Arillo, Miriam 'Memo' (Robert) Konrad, Soren (Kazuko) Andersen and Eric (Meghan) Andersen. Brother of Harold (Edith) Fiedler. Former husband of MargaretCelianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-882911462003-01-30T17:25:00.000-05:002003-01-30T17:25:24.626-05:00Books, a poem by Albert Goldbarth This book saved my life. This book takes place on one of the two small tagalong moons of Mars. This book requests its author's absolution, centuries after his death. This book required two of the sultan's largest royal elephants to bear it; this other book fit in a gourd. This book reveals The Secret Name of God, and so its author is on a death list. Celianoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3701808.post-880573542003-01-26T14:42:00.000-05:002003-01-26T14:42:14.000-05:00"A poet is someone who is not satisfied with saying only one thing at a time." --Theodore Roethke "Poetry is a child bringing the teacher the syringe she found on her seat." --Maura StantonCelianoreply@blogger.com