(no subject)
May. 14th, 2008 | 04:48 pm
Team louderARTS 2008
Jeanann Verlee
Marty McConnell
Oveous Maximus
Rachel McKibbens (Grand Slam Champ!)
(
After drawing second, and not really nailing my first poem, I squeaked my way through every elimination until finally somehow ending up in third place. Bizarre, but that's what happens when I stop thinking so much about the slam and start thinking about the poems. Hard to do. The night was loooooooooooooooooong -- five rounds is killer, and the open mic ended up being much longer than it normally is on finals night. But so it goes -- we survived, we rock, we are headed to Madison this August. Let the games begin!
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Monday!!!
May. 11th, 2008 | 02:54 pm
It's the night folks have been working toward all year long, the competition that will determine who will represent louderARTS at the 2008 National Poetry Slam in Madison, Wisconsin. louderARTS' five-round finals is legendary nationwide as the toughest competition, producing a team renowned for its performance prowess and dedication to the written craft.
Competing in the 2008 louderARTS Grand Slam Finals are: Arianne Benford, Roger Bonair-Agard, Akua Doku, Eliel Lucero, Oveous Maximus, Marty McConnell, Rachel McKibbens, Jon Sands, and Jeanann Verlee.
Place your bets and hang on to your seat! And bring a poem to share on the city's best open mic...
louderARTS: the reading series
every Monday at Bar 13
35 East 13th Street @ University Place, 2nd Floor
7 p.m.
$6 ($5 for students)
2 for 1 drinks all night
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music, poetry, and food
May. 5th, 2008 | 04:34 pm
One, we are playing at the Lower East Side Girls Club this Saturday -- come on out and enjoy!
Check it out: Saturday, May 10 at 3:30 -- 56 E. 1st Street (between 1st and 2nd Aves) -- FREE
Two, she and her sister have started a food blog, which is both fun and fabulous. And potentially fattening, but so it goes. :)
Check it out: "A Mouse Bouche: The Hart Sisters Eat Life" -- www.mousebouche.blogspot.com
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new tarot draft -- Strength
May. 3rd, 2008 | 06:30 pm
but I’ll not widow the world
-- Li-Young Lee
good breath, I’ll be your husband.
and water as well, and bread, and dirt.
a native polygamy, a feast
of refusal. heat comes, the joints
unhitch, it’s spring. and all
that promise is a bird
you tried to hold, once, twitch
and sprawl and disappear. a pear
still hard on the tree. here’s
where the real work comes.
the lion’s tongue becoming
your tongue, the rose of your throat
opening, the feral creature
in your gut pushing wide the jaws
and crawling out into the vicious day.
here’s where we celebrate. here’s a god
with your face. a king with a cunt, queen
of hallelujahs, the earth under your feet
snakes that twine up your thighs toward the sun
at the center of your wild and blooming chest.
this is no exercise, no practice, the vow
on which your life will axis, the rod
of your becoming, the root of your onetime
backbone fusing into the earth
that spawned you, which you
have neglected, returned to, and earned.
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MONDAY! louderARTS 10-year anniversary kick-off event
Apr. 30th, 2008 | 06:00 pm
Please join the louderARTS Project on Monday, May 5, 2008, as we launch a year-long series of events celebrating 10 years of presenting the very best in poetry and performance!
WHAT: 10-YEAR Anniversary launch party + CD recording + Featured poets Patricia Smith and Thomas Sayers Ellis! (Oh, and 2-for-1 drinks, of course!)
WHERE: Bar 13,
WHEN: Monday, May 5 at 7 p.m.
HOW MUCH: Just $6! $5 for students.
WHY: To kick off a year-long celebration of louderARTS!
PATRICIA SMITH is one of the world's most formidable poet/performers. A four-time national individual slam champion, she starred in SlamNation and appeared on HBO's Def Poetry Jam, and travels the world teaching and performing. Her latest book, Teahouse of the Almighty, (Coffee House Press) was chosen by Edward Sanders as a National Poetry Series winner, voted as the Best Poetry Book of 2006 on About.com, and was awarded the 2007 Hurston/Wright Legacy Award and the Paterson Poetry Prize. Her new book, Blood Dazzler, will be published by Coffee House in 2008. She is also the author of three previous books of poetry -- Close to Death (Zoland Books), Big Towns, Big Talk (Zoland) and Life According to Motown (Tia Chucha).
THOMAS SAYERS ELLIS co-founded The Dark Room Collective in
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NaPoWriMo draft 27
Apr. 30th, 2008 | 05:49 pm
everyone believes that you
are a monsoon, a force
beyond resisting, that having given
my throat to the storm once, twice,
having perched on the shore
watching the rain come and come,
having gone down to the river
with only the small boat of my heart
in tow, now, now they believe me so
enraptured with water as to disregard
the rapids, the sky cracking open
like a rotten stump with one swing
of the axe – I don’t know why
it’s Ophelia's dress they drag over
my head, what fever for disappearing
they believe winds these veins
but I am gone, gone, gone, dry
as a stone in
in a shoe, as a quarter glued
to the sidewalk on Saint Mark’s. and you
are not that monsoon. not the bath of acid,
not even the river that hauls itself uphill
and drops off to a falls without warning.
you might be the ocean. or the instant
between lightning and thunder
when all the children are counting
to see how far off’s the storm, their fat
hands around mason jars filled with fireflies
or crawfish, a small tempest of fascination
on the way to growing up.
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i don't know how i feel about this. wild.
Apr. 29th, 2008 | 06:26 pm
Poetry Contest
Enter your poem by May 8th to win the grand prize $500 Amazon.com gift card or be one of five runners up to win a $100 Amazon.com gift card!
Moving poetry is about capturing glimpses of life on paper in an imaginative way. On April 18th, one film will show us how an entire lifetime can be encapsulated by a single, fleeting moment. In conjunction with Magnolia Picture’s The Life Before Her Eyes, SheKnows presents the “Defining Moment” poetry contest.
Please submit a poem that captures a moment in your life in which you had to make difficult choice and how that choice impacted the course of your life. Please email entries to poetry@magpictures.com
Starring Academy Award®-nominee UMA THURMAN (Kill Bill) and EVAN RACHEL WOOD (Across

the Universe, Thirteen), The Life Before Her Eyes is the new film from Vadim Perelman, the acclaimed director of House of Sand and Fog. The Life Before Her Eyes is an intense and visually evocative drama about the loss of youth, investigating how a single moment in time can define an entire life. Based on Laura Kasischke’s visionary novel, the story hinges on a pivotal confrontation: two high school girls held captive by a gunman and forced to make the terrifying choice as to who will live and who will die.
The Life Before Her Eyes explores the reverberations stemming from the collision of past and future, reality and dream. Life can end in an instant—yet the echoes of possible futures remain inescapable. Moving backwards and forwards in time, it combines the dramatic intensity of Sophie’s Choice with the eerie mystery of a ghost story like The Others.
The grand prize winner (1) will receive a $500 gift card to Amazon.com. Five (5) runner ups will receive a $100 Amazon.com gift card. Please submit entries to poetry@magpictures.com
PointsandPrizes.com Keyword: POETRY worth 100 points good through 05/08/08.
Not a member? Join Points and Prizes now for more free stuff!
| Prize: | $500 and $100 Amazon.com gift cards |
| Number of prizes: | 1 Grand Prize and 5 Runners Up |
| Contest start date: | April 14, 2008 |
| Contest end date: | May 8, 2008 |
| Open to: | US/Canada residents 18 & over |
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NaPoWriMo draft 26
Apr. 29th, 2008 | 03:33 pm
like a fish in shallow water, like the fluid
in bones mapping the rise and fall like
mercury like the tide controlled by nothing
I’ve ever seen before.
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NaPoWriMo draft 25
Apr. 28th, 2008 | 04:45 pm
Procter & Gamble promotes explicit open-mouth homosexual kissing.
after years of experimentation with various formulations
Procter & Gamble has resumed using explicit
open-mouth homosexual kissing in their soap opera.
after weeks of consideration and rejection,
Procter & Gamble has resumed using explicit
mildness to hands, the standard of excellence.
after weeks of consideration and rejection,
"As the World Turns" decided to include
mildness to hands, the standard of excellence.
a white soap satisfactory in every respect.
"As the World Turns" decided to include
a more distinctive name, one people would remember,
a white soap satisfactory in every respect:
WARNING – content is repulsive!
a more distinctive name, one people would remember,
would desensitize viewers to the homosexual lifestyle.
WARNING – content is repulsive!
did not fall into the category of pure,
would desensitize viewers to the homosexual lifestyle.
college chemistry professors and independent laboratories
did not fall into the category of pure,
radical homosexual agenda. velvety smooth and easy to lather
college chemistry professors’ and independent laboratories’
unhealthy and immoral lifestyle includes homosexual marriage.
radical homosexual agenda, velvety smooth and easy to lather,
has the ability to float — perhaps its most famous feature. promotes
unhealthy and immoral lifestyle, includes homosexual marriage.
a sudden flash of inspiration while attending Sunday church service
has the ability to float perhaps its most famous feature. promotes
the decision to support the homosexual agenda. Psalms 45:8,
a sudden flash of inspiration while attending Sunday church service:
All thy garments smell of myrrh and aloes and cassia,
the decision to support the homosexual agenda, Psalms 45:8.
out of the ivory palaces whereby they have made thee glad.
All thy garments smell of myrrh and aloes and cassia.
Ask your pastor to put this information in the church bulletin.
Out of the ivory palaces whereby they have made thee glad,
puffed-up and frothy, the result of an accident!
Ask your pastor to put this information in the church bulletin:
Tough on grease and easy on hands.
puffed-up and frothy, the result of an accident,
gay activists are hopeful that the famous slogan
Tough on grease and easy on hands
will make the lifestyle more acceptable to society.
gay activists are hopeful that the famous slogan
will you consider making a tax-deductible donation?
will make the lifestyle more acceptable to society.
Thank you for caring enough to get involved.
will you consider making a tax-deductible donation
as a commitment to "diversity?” Dear Marty,
thank you for caring enough to get involved.
P&G stopped showing such scenes some months ago,
as a commitment to "diversity." Dear Marty,
since the ingredients had not been changed in any way,
P&G stopped showing such scenes some months ago.
I would suggest P&G continue making the best products possible.
since the ingredients had not been changed in any way,
(open-mouth homosexual kissing in their soap opera)
I would suggest P&G continue making the best products possible,
after years of experimentation with various formulations.
(Note: all text excerpted from the American Family Association Action Alert of April 24, 2008, authored by Donald E. Wildmon, and from Procter & Gamble Company, “Who We Are: History of Ivory”)
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NaPoWriMo draft 24
Apr. 28th, 2008 | 04:20 pm
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call for submissions...
Apr. 24th, 2008 | 02:05 pm
Please pass on to anyone you think would be interested...
***
Hello, hello hey
I am working on an anthology of poetry by immigrant [or first generation] people who identify as LGBT/queer. I want the poetry in this anthology to focus on the experience of an individual living between two worlds, the world they/their family/community comes from [sometimes even lives in] and the world their sexual identity brings [or doesn't] bring them into. I am looking for submissions or publishing leads.
This is the long story or the short one:
I have been interested for some time in the lives of those who negotiate who they are and when; walking a line between community and acceptance. I grew up in an immigrant Russian household [immigrant myself] within a Russian community. This experience shaped me into a creature of balancing acts and secret poetry. I would sneak out to queer open mics and come home to a place where my parents would talk about how strange and disgusting Americans are, fucking everyone and shaming the world. I realized that I was one of those "Americans" and in order to live safely within the Russian community, I would have to disguise myself at all times.
Outside the Russian community I was just another queer white girl who wouldn&'t come out. Didn't I know about PFLAG? Everybody's community/family eventually "gets over it" right? Well, if you recognize the lack of english speakers in immigrant communities or the lack of LGBT outreach and ACCEPTANCE education in places like "little Russia" then you understand where the road ahead seemed blurry. In a culture of Will&Grace, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and every other show that allows you to think coming out leads to acceptance, there is very little in the way of safety nets for those who do choose to risk the truth.
When I first came out to myself, I found most of my solace in poetry, in the words of Adrienne Rich, Audre Lorde, June Jordan, and later Michelle Tea, Thea Hillman, and Staceyann Chin. Even so, it was only Staceyann's work that really talked to me about the negotiation of identity. When I was kicked out of my home and crying because I had ruined the dream of two people that left everything they knew in order to give me a better life (while they confined themselves to a language they didn't understand and a medicare system that left them near death), there was no poetry I knew to go to.
Poetry had always been my answer, my bible, and when I needed it most --it held nothing for me. Later, sitting between two friends talking about our lives as queer children of immigrants [ one Bengali and the other Dominican], I realized our sharing gave me a hope and I craved a way to carry it with me, to give it to others.
I need to create this book in order to know there is a place where the voices of immigrant queer/ LGBT people are collected. Our stories are intense, beautiful, and empowering. I need this book because I need it, because I know there are people out there who need it.
If you can contribute, please contact me letting me know telling me you're interested asap.
Contribute before May 10th [deadline is stretchable but it would help me greatly to get it on or before this date]
Peace,
Gala
Gala (dot) Mukomolov (at) gmail (dot) com
[please repost.]
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naPoWriMo draft 23
Apr. 23rd, 2008 | 11:24 pm
of weathering storms. tired of storms
altogether, tired of weather. your cross
of a body at once famine-light
and lead-heavy. those alchemists
always trying to turn lead
into gold never met you. had
no idea how a heart can rise up
and float to the surface without
displacing a drop of water. how
the light trawls until it finds
your hair, each unguent tendril
curling toward the sun.
you’re nobody’s war, and a constant
battlefield, the body contriving
against itself to survive. I want
to give you something
for your velvet mountain
of a heart, so far outweighing
your body, for now, for now,
to tell you something about the moon
or the glacial movement
of tectonic plates but all the words
all the words lean toward love, love,
love, love, love, love, love, love,
love. love. there’s a tune in you
that does not quit, no matter
how the body quakes and resists.
this is your curse, and your bliss.
this is how we go on.
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NaPoWriMo draft 22
Apr. 23rd, 2008 | 12:52 pm
pantoum for a boy in
no friend or lover, no husband or wife, no community, no commune.
one pair of Rockford Red Heel Socks, cut up old nylon stockings,
our deepest cravings for unity and wholeness, cotton batting, kapok,
divine expectations of which we are only partially aware.
one pair of Rockford Red Heel Socks, cut up old nylon stockings,
shredded foam rubber or polyester fiber. red knitting yarn.
divine expectations, of which we are only partially aware,
inhibit the expression of free friendship and love.
shredded foam rubber or polyester fiber, red knitting yarn,
evoke instead feelings of inadequacy and weakness,
inhibit the expression of free friendship and love,
turn the socks inside out. starting three inches from the heel
evoke instead feelings of inadequacy and weakness.
cut the sock between the seams. this leaves an opening in the crotch.
turn the socks inside out. starting three inches from the heel,
love cannot develop in the form of an anxious clinging to each other.
cut the sock between the seams. this leaves an opening in the crotch,
a gentle fearless space in which we can move. use the crotch opening.
love cannot develop in the form of an anxious clinging to each other.
stuff the head, body and legs. turn the sock so the seams are on the inside,
a gentle fearless space in which we can move. use the crotch opening
as long as our loneliness brings us together. round the ends. stuff the arms.
stuff the head, body and legs. turn the sock so the seams are on the inside.
we castigate each other with our unfulfilled and unrealistic desires
as long as our loneliness brings us together. round the ends, stuff the arms.
oneness, inner tranquility, the uninterrupted experience of communion,
a running stitch of either black or white across the middle of the lips.
the mouth can be improved. sometimes a fez is used for a cap.
oneness, inner tranquility, the uninterrupted experience of communion,
our deepest cravings for unity and wholeness. cotton batting. kapok.
the mouth can be improved. sometimes a fez is used for a cap.
no friend, or lover, no husband, or wife, no community, no commune.
(note: lines excerpted from Henri Nouwen’s “Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life” and from Lenny Taylor’s “Instructions For Making The Red-Heel Sock Monkey Toy”)
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NaPoWriMo draft 21
Apr. 23rd, 2008 | 10:12 am
spring, sprang, to have sprung
a janitor’s jangling keys
Demeter’s mouth
spring
the equation
freed to think like this
what might erupt?
the boys squabble over whom
they would fight
their pomegranate mouths
their pomegranate words
fevering
a gold watch
a gold teeth
fronts
I ain’t gonna front
I would not fight you, man
scared of you, man
you crazy
seven bells, a chime, the clanging
and clanging
oh damn, Persephone, damn
the peach blossoms are
erupting, the lace shows through
the shirt, green on green on green
you crazy, man
Lazarus-like
don’t call it a comeback
I been here for years
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NaPoWriMo draft 20
Apr. 23rd, 2008 | 12:07 am
to kill me, slamming histamines
into my body too quickly
for any drug. on the subway,
a woman is holding a magazine
on whose cover a woman
looks over a shoulder draped
with aquamarine, amethyst,
ruby – what must it be like
to want only one kind
of body. the gnome has hold
of my bronchial tubes again.
he’s heavy with pollen and does
not love me. I covet the easy
breathing of the other passengers.
the woman with the French
magazine looks askance
at my hacking. someone
has a bird on this train, no joke,
a damn parakeet on the Q train.
in European lingerie ads
they don’t airbrush out
the nipples – it’s wild
and somehow ordinary
at the same time. the parakeet’s
shrill tweet sounds like a cartoon
version of a bird, like a recording
of a pet store or whatever jungle
parakeets hail from, where they gather
in flocks instead of solitary in cages
draped in towels on the subway.
I’m sure this one was born
in captivity, and her mother
and generations of parakeets
before her. I never meant the bird
to be a metaphor for your life
but when the phone rang at 4
a.m. I knew it would be you
and I knew you would not
be sober. I just spent a bundle
on new medicine that’s supposed
to work wonders. my living
room window faces an empty lot
where the cats come to eat
what they scavenged or killed.
I don’t know why we assume
the park pigeons are somehow
happier than that noisy parakeet.
the other window overlooks the tracks.
the faces rock past uptown and down.
I don’t think they can see me watching.
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NaPoWriMo poem 19
Apr. 21st, 2008 | 01:30 pm
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NaPoWriMo poem 18 (yes, yes, I'm behind.)
Apr. 20th, 2008 | 11:50 am
oh honey, I have been you. braced
between two blown fuses,
sparking, heads on fire – I know
you want to grab your boy
and run but also to turn, to smash
to dust the man who tried to make him
invisible or gone or wrong –
I watch you grab the flat brim
of his cap, saying no, no, no, no,
all five foot two of you a taut
and jangling wire, I watch you give
your good and vulnerable back
to the crazy white man in the hat
as he removes his jacket and bellows.
girl, I’ve watched rage rise up, a wave,
and take everything down. have felt the cord
in my own belly snap and held the two ends
burning, knowing to let go
meant a wine glass to the temple. brave
girl. you held on just long enough. for your boy
to tuck his wings and sit. for the man to leave
to feign calling the police. for the train
to leave and us all to breathe
as we thought we had been all along.
I should have said, good job. should have said,
be careful of that urge to hold the current.
I like to believe that if the cops
had actually come, I would have had
your back. would have told
how you stood between fire and fire
as your boy defended your theoretical honor
the best way he knew, that the man
threw his own fur hat and flailed
his strange arms in hate while your friends laughed
and said, crazy. crazy. what I would not tell
is how your boy’s hands were shaking.
how you held them behind your left hip,
out of sight. how you pitched your gum
after the man, how it stuck there, pink
and spitshiny in his fuzzy white hat
as the train and all of us pulled away.
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NaPoWriMo poem 17
Apr. 19th, 2008 | 01:03 pm
is killing you off in sections.
in this morning’s dream you may
or may not have been the serial
killer. there may or may not
have been a stripper involved,
but I was at the opera
when I found out
you were missing. La
Traviata, a voluminous
woman onstage, alone. back
at the strip club, a grisly room
in the basement was designated
for measurement and for carving
away fat. you’d been missing
five days, which I did not find
surprising. I told the man
we’re not married. he took
my left hand as evidence,
promised to return it
in due time. a math whiz
spun the segments of a Rubik’s
cube without looking, the colors
lining up and crawling off in order:
red, then yellow, blue, green, and so on.
I’m headed to your old neighborhood
to buy lumber. the slats for the daybed
disappeared somewhere between Crazytown
and Boxville, but that’s OK. the C train
pulses with hormones and teenage
shrieks. the dream could mean
almost anything. I’ve been thinking
a lot about cemetaries, about the need
to have somewhere to put the dead,
metaphorically. I’ve never visited
anyone’s grave, not even
the grandmother I still dream
into full conversation. she always
seems about to go swimming,
always having just finished
breakfast, the pink grapefruit drained
and sectioned on the table. here’s
a confession for you: I always wanted
to be the one to leave you broken.
but this is better, this death
by increments, this way
the gravestone’s no more than a baby
tooth buried under the bone tree, planted
where all things lost and outgrown go.
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naPoWriMo draft day 16
Apr. 16th, 2008 | 11:58 pm
not like you, but what you brought here,
honey peach bath salt, milk soap, ylang
ylang oil. the floormat is a goner, refuses
to dry after the great water disaster
of 2008. between the slow train
and the fast train passing, a kitten
rages for milk in the empty yard
beneath my window. the wild
echo-chamber of my brain
remembers everything, especially
the wrong things, the hesitations
and accidents, the awful good-byes.
you’re right about the control thing.
but when a clothesline of martyrs defines
the word woman in the dictionary
of your childhood, you learn either fast
or never that no one can carry your own
fat heart but you. if I come to expect orchids
and sushi, what will happen when you tire
of surprising me. so I stockpile
every sweet word you drop in my lap
like a cat with the small heart of a fresh kill.
turn each in the light to see what species
of bird, what genus of mouse you took down
to give me this thing that shivers
in my hand like a planet, waiting to be named.
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in which I say: please come by if you can! it'll be slamalicious!
Apr. 16th, 2008 | 03:26 pm
Marty.