Wendy's comments
(member since Sep 26, 2008)
Wendy's comments from the ¡ POETRY ! group.
(showing 1-20 of 43)
The Doctor Appointment
Dawn roses your face, your beautiful face
behind the frosted windshield~
a cloud
covered sunrise~
I slip over the ice crackled street
when you open the door,
as you drive away from me,
you who are so beautiful
Office room and chair
with plastic seat~
We talk as if we know each other~
She computes my statistics while
I weep~
She is anchor for the moment~
She lost a sister
she knows the momentum of grief~
how it builds, releases,
builds again and I think
of how you awoke to find me standing
in your kitchen with tears
on my face~
morning phone call tracking
across my heart~
and you softened by sleep,
how you were so beautiful
Back out to bus stop, stuffing
frozen hands in
pockets and knowing
these two places just
sprung up are already
rubbed raw
and how will I
bear the year ahead:
the loss of my friend
and you in the dawn
so beautiful
Congraaulations, Harley! Bravo! It is a cool website. I especially like your poem about having breakfast with God at the Diner.
Tuesday Nov 3 8:00-10:00 pm
open mic & feature Wendy Brown-Baez
The Cafe
5115 N. Lincoln, Chicago
and
Wednesday Nov. 4: 7-9 pm
Reading Under the Influence
Sheffield's
3258 N. Sheffield Ave.
The Theme: Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-changes
readings by Chicago authors Kathie Bergquist (curator of Sappho's Salon and co-author of A Field Guide to Gay and Lesbian Chicago) and Geoff Hyatt (whose dark fantasy novel, Malagon Rising, forthcoming from Leucrota Press) and Andrew Lewellen, and Minnesota poet Wendy Brown-Baez.
Since it's one year to the day of the Presidential elections, this month's theme is "Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes." Trivia questions may range from politics to transgenderism to yes, maybe David Bowie.
As always, we're in the back room at Sheffield's. There's a $3 cover. Grab a seat, a cocktail and a bite to eat at 7 p.m. Readings begin at 7:30 p.m. You're welcome to stick around for cocktails and conversation with the authors and audience after the event.
Wendy Brown-Báez, author of Ceremonies of the Spirit, is renowned for her signature style as a performance poet; she takes you into her vibrant, colorful world with sensual imagery, elegant rhythms and poignant stories. Ceremonies of the Spirit (Plain View Press 2009) is a collection of love poems that travels a spiral from infatuation to consecration. Ceremonies has been called "gorgeous", "exquisite", "flirty", and "joyous work that should be celebrated."
“That’s what Wendy does, she connects us with words and wraps us in the safety of a shawl so we can fall in love with poetry once again.”
--Gary Glazner, Founder of the Alzheimer’s Poetry Project
What a contrast: Grassland is lovely and fresh and just the lines "the angel who's due at my tent" would get my vote. Day of the Dead is powerfully dark and disturbing and worth more than one read.
We already had this discussion about poetry a few months ago, what is good poetry, what is not. It is basically subjective...and hopefully, one of the reasons we post here is not only to be read but to improve. There is something about the process of putting one's work out there on the screen and taking an impartial look. The opportunity to be heard and responded to is wonderful and I think the rude language I am reading in the comments is ungrateful and unnecessary to get one's point across.
But what I really want to say is that I want to share the reasons I liked the poem Lynette's War. She has an authentic voice. I have heard this voice every day when I ride the bus (I live in the "hood") and this voice is caustic, abrasive, loud, raw but honest. Chella uses the particular details to let us know what kind of person Lynette is, how she would rather lose her job than give her sick child over to impersonal day care and she sticks up loyally for her friend. And ultimately, her attitude toward the father of her child away at war tells us how she feels about war. She is so appalled she won't open his letters, she knows the war will change him into someone she can't recognize. This poem teeters on the edge between poverty and work, between family and war. It is not pretty or up-lifting. It is sombering and devastating and follows a tradition of spoken word that has transformed the poetry landscape across the country and the world. It is not the kind of poetry I write nor the kind I always like to read but in this case, Ms. Courington truthfully captured a life amongst our American cities that is very disturbing to ponder.
Grief
Perhaps there is a way this can be said:
the raw courage of trees
as they stand and shed their finery
the sap sluggish and thick
the way the my blood is
sitting before the fire and making
yet another attempt to shake off
my grief, as if leaves falling to dulled earth
were in any way the same as my heart
broken into pieces too small
to count, as if winter skies could
care about my tears.
I can no longer pretend
that I believe it is rhythm of life to shed,
to discard, to let go. After all, it was the sun
that enticed me here.
I had not thought of winter
except as crisp flakes caught on the tongue
or snow angels cast indiscriminately
onto fat white snow banks.
I did not know that after the mourning
there could be joy and after the joy
a melancholy so deep I cannot shake it off
with wine or dreaming. The hard rippled bark
under my fingers is not the same
as the flayed skin of my heart.
It is only a reminder that I live on
growing another ring and eager to hear
the songs of all the birds denied to me
while I nursed my broken wings.
I believe all the writers in it are but my copy hasn't arrived yet. Jimmy Santiago Baca gave it a great blurb! Check out the link posted above....
Thank you for your kind words...
I love to perform bilingual poems. I usually enlist someone with more fluency than myself to interweave our voices but my accent is improving with every trip to Mexico!
Don't have the accents etc on this copy....
A la pileta is meant to be acted out with two voices, each sitting on either side of the laundry basket as each item of laundry is pulled out, and the chorus line in spoken in unison.
Ai Enrique! That Enrique!
Chili spilled on his good shirt,
his only good shirt
his good white shirt!
Chili votado por toda su camisa blanca
Imaginate!!!
How many times I am telling
that man, No Enrique!
Enough mezcal!
Mira, ya se van, el burro esta liste para la casa...
Siempre, he does not pay attention
to me. Siempre, frego y frego
But I think this time it is impossible
to get it clean. And
where is el dinero por otra camisa?
Gracias a Dios por el bleach y el sol.
Mi’jito, Salvadore.
Look at this. Elbows torn all the way through.
Ai, Salvadore! You would think this child crawls
on his hands and knees.
Nino de 7 anos, grande ahora par air al campo
Un hombrecito, hombre chiciquito.
I scrub for two men.
I bless myself for the sake of dos hombres.
Gracias a Dios por el bleach y el sol.
.
The tablecloth. At least I put water on it
right away. That gringa with the long blond hair
like a movie star, she is, that gringa.
She came to bring the school things for
Salvadore y Marte, so of course, we had
to ask her to stay for our humble meal.
If I had known!
Hubierto comprador patas de puerco
por los frijoles, harina blanca para las tortillas.
But she gobbled up all of it, no wonder,
such a skinny little thing, that gringita!
If she eats like this every night
soon she will be gordita! Como yo!
I put on the tablecloth
to cover the burn marks on
the table, muy feo,
cubrimos la mesa con el mantel que traje conmigo
de la casa de mi mama
lo use la mera noche de mi boda
Used it to make the house of my
husband my home, used it
to pretend I was already a woman.
And now with la gringa, we use
it again to cover the marks.
But then the spills because we are all so nervous.
Trying to eat nicely because of la gringita.
Ai, que puedo hacer!!
Asi es la vida.
Gracias a Dios por el bleach y el sol.
Y este vestido de mi Marte,
mi corazon, mi’jita muy preciosa.
A sweet child, so good, so careful.
She must have not one speck of dirt on
her dress, her little white dress
for church como una angelita, mi Marte..
pronto, bien pronto
ella me ayundara a lavar las cositas, mi'hijita.
by my side, like she is meant to be.
Gracias a Dios por el bleach y el sol.
My poem "A la pileta" is published in:
LAVANDERIA - A Mixed Load of Women, Wash, and Word.
***The ANTHOLOGY is NOW AVAILABLE.***
Lavanderia is an experience in written word and photography. It highlights the universal ritual and common interaction of people, places, and things found between loads of laundry. Lavanderia gives the audience a unique look into an otherwise ordinary chore by giving it voice and visual. It celebrates the task often deemed “women’s work” and honors the history of washer women. It touches on everything from labor strikes and scrub boards to present day love affairs rinsed away in the automatic double loader.
Lavanderia is a reminder that incredible strength and spirit can reside in the most routine spaces.
http://www.lavanderiahome.net
I am the featured reader
at Mercury Cafe
Friday September 25 at 7:00 pm
with open mic
1505 W. Chicago Ave, Chicago
312-455-9924
http://chicagopoetry1.blogspot.com/2009/...
Please come by and introduce yourself! I want to network with Chicago poets for future opportunities.
Wendy
Wendy Brown-Baez, author of Ceremonies of the Spirit, is renowned for her signature style as a performance poet; she takes you into her vibrant, colorful world with sensual imagery, elegant rhythms and poignant stories. Ceremonies of the Spirit (Plain View Press 2009) is a collection of love poems that travels a spiral from infatuation to consecration. Ceremonies has been called "gorgeous", "exquisite", "flirty", and "joyous work that should be celebrated."
In 2004, Wendy released her poetry CD Longing for Home and since then, has performed poetry nationally, and in Mexico, in unique venues such as cafes, galleries, schools, women’s retreats, parking lots, and cultural centers, solo and in collaborations. She has published poetry and creative non-fiction in numerous literary journals, including Mizna, Minnetonka Review, The Awakenings Review, The Chrysalis Reader and Wising Up Press. Wendy was the recipient of 2008 and 2009 McKnight grants through COMPAS to teach writing workshops with at risk youth. She considers her homes to be in Santa Fe, Puerto Vallarta, and Minneapolis with family and friends.
“Here are poems that are living, breathing things; that invite us into them, welcome us into their elegant, ethereal dance, and walk us across the threshold into sanctuary where we look inward, feed the soul's spark, commune with enlightenment, and transform. Wendy Brown-Baez creates beautiful work in this collection.” --Michael Parker, reviewer for Oranges & Sardines
Leonard Cohen stikes me straight to the heart. It can be very frustrating to get a poetry audience despite the fact that there are hundreds of poets. My passion is to bring poetry into unique venues to non-tradtional audiences. But this is not always successful, such as when the curator announced we would have some poetry as part of an art exhibition and people ran for the door! Also recently in Santa Fe, my friends all came to my events (standing room only) but hardly any "established" poets. Why is that? Don't we inspire each other? Anyway, here is my poem about falling in love with poetry, a consuming fire, a breath of spirit and eternity.
Penance
The chair is hard, the room cold. This is the price
I pay for falling in love with poetry. My heart
breaks from rejection and thrills at a slim volume
slid from an envelope, the pendulum swing
of loving poetry. The day has descended to
evening, an email or two, a meal taken
on my lap. I want a caress of breeze
dappled light, lazy grass-kissed feet,
but not today, although a few steps away
beyond the edge of a desk canted to the slant
falling from a burnished sky. I paid that price
as well, rubbing eyes into a dark circled
hell of a sleepless night wondering where
did that word escape to, that perfect one
that fit just right. Thus does poetry
take from my hand in rattling coin
the best years of my life. My beloved’s
body and words and particular manner
of spreading honey on bread, these I stole for
poetry. The scent of rhyme, the rhythm
of the soul, the embrace of those who occupy
the tatters of my brain, “nevermore” and “rage
against the dying of the light” beat a staccato
of purpose, of moments when all else fades
but the consuming fire. I fell
in love with poetry. She took everything I have.
She gave me back a shroud, an epigraph, a key.
And still I ask for yet one more.
Words. The chair is hard, the room
cold. This price I pay gratefully,
to feel her breath on my cheek.
The price of loving poetry.
It will be very interesting to see how someone else performs my poem. The event will be taped for tv...
and booklets sold of the poems. There are over 20 local poets represented and this is a great way to have a collaboration.
My poem Migration to be performed as part of
Bloomington Art Center Fall Fusion: Waters:
poetry & prose by local writers,
MN Watercolor Exhibition Ripples & Reflections,
Duexmension Dance theater:
a protrayal of growth, beauty, pain, and redemption
Performance Dates:
September 11 & 12 at 7:30 pm, September 13 at 2:00 pm
Black Box Theater
Bloomington Center for the Arts
1800 W Old Shakopee Rd
Bloomington, MN 55431
Tickets: Adults $18, Seniors $16, Students $14
Purchase tickets online: www.bloomingtonartc enter.com
or call 952-563-8575
Can you post a link to it or is it not on-line as well?
Congratulations!
Wendy
I am called an incurable romantic and I am glad I am not the only one!
Lovely sensuality. My favorite part:
We were all watching--
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
After the Surgery
I brought you apples
sliced thin as wax paper
and Gruyere cheese
because that was all
I had grabbed out of the
refrigerator
The scar throbbed on your skin
between the ribs and hip bone
You showed it to me
asked if it could still
be hurting you, the organ
they removed
and it took all of my strength
not to kneel down with kisses
not because I thought it would
not ease the pain
but because we were already
standing too close
I comfort myself with apples
crisp green ones when the
night is hot and thirsty
I stand in my kitchen
naked slicing apples
communing with Mother Eve
in her skin of defiance
and greed because she wanted
all the Truth, not just what she
could know with her senses
but what she could buy
with her blood,
what she could
use to bargain her way
out of destiny
Jun 06, 2009 01:40PM
I have been reading these posts with interest. I think the difference between poetry and prose is the musicality (not that prose can't have it) and the breath or the spaces or the emptiness into which falls song. Like all writing, it is subjective to the reader's tastes. But I also think there could be categories to the poetry contest such as free verse and rhyme because in my opinion, I believe one needs a mature style to create a ryhming poem that speaks in contemporary language. There is a critiquing group here as well which can be invaluable.
As for the art of poetry, I believe it has to be a consuming passion and then the reader will respond to that on the page or when they hear it in the voice. It is fun to play with words....but to live a life of this calling is to bleed ink and to expose one's soul to the world, to live on the edge between vulnerability and magic. Like any discipline, the more you give yourself to it, the more you begin to hear an authentic voice and the poems within that want to be set free.
Wendy Brown-Baez performs poetry from Ceremonies of the Spirit as part of The Loft member reading with Mary Jean Port and Kate Vogel
on Wednesday June 3 at 7:00 pm
at The Loft at OPEN BOOK
1011 Washington Ave S. Mpls
www.wendybrownbaez.com
