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Evansville Poets Stars at May Last Sunday Poetry

We had three featured readers — in a way — at this month’s Bloomington Writers Guild “Last Sunday Poetry and Open Mic” (cf. April 28, et al.) all from an active group of poets from Evansville, Indiana, at the southern tip of the state. And two, anyway, in the flesh in spite of storms in the afternoon, with more threatened for later evening, but for the 7 to 8:30 session practically sunny outside the after-hours Morgenstern Books venue.

First up was Nick Wentzil, perhaps better known by his nickname “Frick,” substituting for originally scheduled Teresa Roy, himself an up and coming poet with his first full-size book, MOONLIT 101, “a collection of mostly love and heartbreak poems and haiku,” currently in print. Leading off with two from his book, he continued with an assortment of newer poems he’s been working on, mostly on subjects other than of love and loss, including one from Editor/MC Hiromi Yoshida’s recent anthology, STORMWASH (see April 19, et al.), interspersed by groupings of informal haiku-like short poems.

He was followed by Jonathan S. Baker with fourteen books published and host and organizer of Evansville’s long-time “Poetry Speaks” reading series, starting with a tip of the hat to Teresa Roy, who had been unable to make it, with a poem by her, “Book Burning.” This was followed by two pieces they’d had in STORMWASH, one from DON’T KILL TONY BREWER, their and Hiromi’s tribute to the so-named Writers Guild notable, and a group of sometimes scurrilous (but always in a good-humored way) poems from their 2022 book, COCK OF THE WALK.

As with the previous month, we skipped the break then and went directly to the “Open Mic” portion with fully eleven walk-ons, all of whom this time (having been forewarned that time slots should be kept to two or three minutes) were able to read. Of these, I came directly in the center, at number 6 slot, with a tribute of sorts to a near-legendary mid-twentieth century American icon, Batman.

May Third Sunday Write vs. The Pantoum

We’ve run across pantoums before, surely. A novelty poem form really, though sometimes good, truly poetic pantoums appear (maybe not here, of course): four-line stanzas with lines 2 and 4 repeated (or nearly so) as lines 1 and 3 in the following stanza. And on and on, with a final stanza sometimes — in a bizarro coming ’round the circle — repeating stanza one’s lines 1 and 3 as its 2nd and 4th.

But first things first, this being my usually late response to the Bloomington Writers Guild’s “Third Sunday Write” challenge for May (cf. May 8, below — yes, April’s posting was really late — et al.), in which prompt number 3, of 4, was: “Try a pantoum (if you dare),” followed with a link to a site describing the form.

So, sure, the below sucks. But a dare’s a dare, isn’t it? And, still reeling from NaPoWriMo, a little bit anyway, and with it my tendency to gather added inspiration by taking a prompt’s wording perhaps more literally (seriously? foolishly?) than ever the prompter had probably intended — and then throwing in resident Goth cat Triana, who appeared several times in April’s poem-a-day madness as well, since poems may have objects (while how about the poem itself addressed as a subject . . . ?) — here it is:

PANTOUM, PANTOUM

Pantoum, Pantoum,
what do you say,
tell me to whom
I should write you today.

What do you say,
a poem to my cat?
I should write it today —
you’re sure she’d like that!

A poem to my cat,
Triana’s her name,
you’re sure she’d like that,
and you’re hardly to blame

(Triana’s her name)
for the fact she can’t read!
Well, you’re sort of to blame
for the fact I’ll still need,

since Triana can’t read,
Pantoum, Pantoum,
the hint I’ll still need:
I should write you . . . to whom?

Christmas Willie at 2nd Thursday Spoken Word

Due to the untimely passing of RYDER founder and director Peter LoPilato, the time for a planned April Poetry Issue had come and gone, though there still is some hope for a near-future revival. But poetry is an impatient mistress, and so the May Bloomington Writers Guild “Second Thursday Spoken Word” (cf. April 11, et al.), dedicated to Peter LoPilato’s memory, was set to be a festival of the poems that were to have appeared in that issue.

Thus deviating from the usual pattern, after opening music by neighboring Brown County singer/guitarist Chris Barth, MC Tony Brewer read an introducing piece about Peter LoPilato, then, explaining that perhaps a better event description would be “a sampling of pieces that were to be in THE RYDER,” several poets being from out of town or otherwise unavailable to read that night, we heard the first of two groupings of poets. Then came another musical interlude/intermission, after which those of the second group read for a total of about twenty presentations in all, to an audience of around the same number, followed by a final musical selection.

For myself, I was in the second grouping, third poet from the end, with a single poem (as was the case for a majority of the other poets as well). Starting with a brief explanation of the nature of what I’d be reading, a poem informed by an at the time popular group of early twentieth century poems called “Little Willies” (see also February 20), I concluded with an 18-line entry about the Christmas gift of a chemistry set, “Scientific Method,” “hopefully informed by the spirit” of the example I’d just read.

April 3rd Sunday on 2nd Wednesday of May

Yes, this is late, sorry. Blame last month’s NaPoWriMo — or else maybe me, but here it is anyway. Tardy, but never forgotten. And first, of only three prompts this time out, “When I saw the sun disappear” (one suspects this may have been meant to do with April 8’s solar eclipse, but by now of course that was old news. Last month, remember?).

So anyway, for the Bloomington Writers Guild Third Sunday Write here goes:
WHEN I SAW THE SUN DISAPPEAR

When I saw the sun disappear,
WOW! I blinked several times first,
I mean this wasn’t like a few weeks before
when they had that eclipse — that was fun —
but this was more like the sun DISAPPEARED!
That was it, blotto, no sun at all, and of course no light
either when, instantly overloaded, the power
went out too.
So I checked all my pockets, instinct I guess
from back when we all carried matches, or lighters,
when everyone smoked. But those days were
long past (would we even have “days” now?).
So, nothing else to do, I turned as best I could figure
toward where I thought home was,
groped through the dark — crawled when going
got rough — but luckily found it (I fortunately hadn’t
had time to go far, when “it” happened),
felt up to the key lock, and opened the door.
More groping, then, fleetingly petting the cat
whose meows sounded puzzled too when she
slinked past me, and found a flashlight.
I checked batteries then, for extras when needed —
I imagined the stores would be sold out quickly —
and found and lit candles (these from a burner
on the gas stove — no matches, remember?).
Then thought, as I felt that brief moment of warmth,
that even my camp lantern would be no help
when the intense cold came.

1st Sunday Prose Back to Two Features, Walk-Ons

This month’s Bloomington Writers Guild sponsored “First Sunday Prose and Open Mic” (see April 7, et al.), at Bloomington’s Juniper Gallery, returned to its classical pattern of two featured readers and, after a break, brief closing readings from audience members — in this case three.

Thus, Bloomington-raised and current Evanston, Illinois resident Freda Love Smith, author of the memoir I QUIT EVERYTHING and full-length book RED VELVET UNDERGROUND, opened the session explaining how, in Bloomington for her niece who graduated yesterday from the university, she had also stopped by and chatted with students at the pro-Palestinian encampment in Dunn Meadow and, for today, had decided instead of reading from her book, to read excerpts from a just-written essay scheduled to appear this fall in INDIANA REVIEW on 1970s activist/Symbionese Liberation Army member — and herself an Indiana University graduate (class of 1970) — Angela DeAngelis.

She was followed by IU Department of Folklore and Ethnomusicology PhD candidate, and production volunteer and past Lotus Education and Arts Foundation staff member Jeremy Reed with excerpts from his dissertation, with sections on public space, rumors, and limits on permitted and non-permitted speech centered, in this case, on the Jaresh Festival of Culture and Arts, an annual summer celebration in Jordan.

Then after the break, there were three volunteer readers of which I was last, following humorous segments by Writers Guild member Tonia Matthew and First Sunday Moderator Molly Gleeson, bringing us back to the possibly more somber mood of the opening essays with a flash story, “The Third Prisoner” (no, no, my position in the lineup is pure coincidence), on a sort of South/Central American activism . . . with zombies.

Blue Man, Once Upon Future Time 4 Update

Another quick note for “The Writing Life” for the last day of April. This received this morning from Editor/Publisher Logan Uber (cf. March 19, 16), on a lead-up to publishing for a story originally submitted on February 8, a remarkably quick trip from submission, to acceptance, to contract, to entering the editing phase thus far.

Thank you for your patience as we work through all of the edits for “ONCE UPON A FUTURE TIME, VOLUME 4.” If you haven’t yet received a link to a Google Doc for your story don’t be alarmed we’ll have one to you shortly. On a different note, it’s getting close to time to remit payment for your story. Do you have a PayPal, Venmo, or similar account that we can use to send you your payment.

Additionally, please provide a brief author bio of no more than 250 words for inclusion in the book.

And so the information requested has gone back this afternoon. The story, a new one, “The Blue Man,” a far-future set variant on the Charles Perrault fairy tale “Bluebeard” — but with a different, and trickier, ending. This is for an anthology of fairy tales told with a science fiction bent. Or, quoting from the original call: There are as many tales as there are stars in the sky and now is your chance to share yours, once upon a future time.

To see for yourself, check these pages for more information as it becomes known.

Ryder Rejects at Last Sunday Poetry’s Open Mic

Another lovely, warm evening greeted the Bloomington Writers Guild’s “Last Sunday Poetry Reading & Open Mic” (see February 25, et al. — a March “Last Sunday” having been pre-empted by Easter), including this time sun!, at Morgenstern Books. The opening featured reader was Writers Guild founder Patsy Rahn, with nonfiction and poetry publications both in the US and England as well as being 2021’s recipient of the People’s Choice Award from the 5th Open Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals (LIFT), with — with an eye toward Gaza-related protests on the local IU campus, including incidents spurred by IU and state police — a series of poems from both her 2018 collection, THE GRAINY WET SOUL, and a new collection currently in press, based loosely on the idea of “humanity.”

She was followed by Zionsville resident Rosaleen Crowley, a graduate from University College Cork, Ireland; past president/interest group leader of the Writing Group, International Women Indiana; and a current Creative Writing-Poetry MFA student at Butler University with, first, a group of poems written in and about Ireland coupled with many reminiscences, and finally some poems from the most recent of her six poetry books, BE PREPARED TO BE LUMINOUS, written in and about Indiana.

This was followed by an open-mic session with a record eleven people signed up of which, due to strict time constraints given the session’s 7 to 8:30 p.m. time slot (that is, running up to the bookstore’s closing), only nine were able to be heard. Of these I came sixth with, noting May’s upcoming Second Thursday Spoken Word where poems originally selected to be published in THE RYDER’s spring poetry edition (up in the air at this moment due to the untimely death of its de facto Editor-in-Chief/general firebrand Peter LoPilato) are to be presented, and as a sort of preview of mine, three brief poems that THE RYDER had rejected: two shadormas, “The Health-Conscious Vampiress Reflects Upon Her Most Recent Meal” and “Error in Judgement,” and a more conventional “Pas de Dead.”

Stormwash: Climate Awareness Readings, Dance

STORMWASH is an inter-arts program presented by the Arts Alliance of Greater Bloomington, Artists for Climate Awareness, the Writers Guild at Bloomington, Windfall Dancers, Inc., and musicians Julian Douglas and Kyle Quass.

Tony Brewer, Zilia Balkansky-Sellés, Peter Kaczmarczyk, Ray Zdonek, Lara Tokarski, Walter Biskupski, and Arizona will perform climate conscious poems as spoken word with expressive dance accompaniment by Erin Strole, Joanne Shank, Maxime Werk, Corinne Jones, Kay Olges, Kara Lynn Hayes, and Nonie Daniels. Julian Douglas and Kyle Quass will provide musical interludes.

Thus the announcement. The event: The official debut of STORMWASH: ENVIRONMENTAL POEMS (see March 11, February 12, 5, et al.), courtesy of the Arts Alliance Center in Bloomington’s College Mall.

Spoken word performers, dancers, and musicians advance the goals of this year’s ACA opening program for the gallery show Depictions: Earth, Life, and Our Shared Responsibility, a guided meditation to elevate consciousness about earth’s vicissitudes, and our role in counteracting them through our personal practices of sustainability.

In STORMWASH: ENVIRONMENTAL POEMS (The Grind Stone, April 2024), 40 poets address the climate crisis and its various effects.

With me one of the poets with “The Drowned City,” a reaction to 2005’s Hurricane Katrina and the consequent flooding of New Orleans, originally published in THE MAGAZINE OF SPECULATIVE POETRY. Though, having not been matched with a dancer, one not read this night (as other poems — with dancers — but out-of-town poets or poets that couldn’t make it this evening had substitute readers. One does what one can).

For others, though, copies of STORMWASH were available at the Arts Center, and can be found on Amazon as well by pressing here. (Hint: my poem is on pages 27-28.)

And Again (Or, I Couldn’t Resist It — Sorry)

And so, NaPoWriMo time again (cf. April 15, just below), or today’s poetry challenge had to do with contrasts. In short: Write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does. That is, concrete vs. abstract, the example they gave concentrating on sharp, sensual images seen relaxing on a summer day, with an ending line on wasting one’s life.

Having relaxed too much, then, one supposes? The ideas are connected — if unexpected.

And so it came to me, having already used three or so prompts to write poems about my cat, why not (sigh) again. But this time a great ending line came to me too! Even if, perhaps, mildly repulsive, but that’s pets too, isn’t it — anyway, sometimes?

Thus, tipping one’s hat to the Goth Cat Triana (“black-cloud-over-snow cat” being, I understand, a Chinese term for this particular kind of cat):

TRIANA
The “Goth” cat, but graceful, too,
slinking, stalking,
brave and skilled huntress,
silent feet, tiptoes,
“black-cloud-over-snow” cat,
darker than coal, but
white chest, tummy, feet too,
dark and light face and chin.
Comical sometimes
but beautiful as she purrs,
yawns, gets up, saunters.
I wonder how mice taste.

NaPoWriMo Does It Again, or, April 2024: A Poet’s Odyssey

Let us go back in the Wayback Machine, for exactly one week:

So, somewhat against my best judgement (that is, things can pall if they become too routine — but then one can always quit early and who else will know?) I accepted a dare to myself and “joined” NaPoWriMo, the write-a-poem-from-a-daily-prompt challenge for National Poetry Month, a.k.a. April. But the NaPo guys had to know better for April 8, at least for a broad swath of states from Texas to Maine, where there was to be a total solar eclipse.

Thus, for April 8, a prompting for poems of doomed love, of the breakup of couples, on a day when the sun and moon . . . well, of a union that did not last long.  Did one sense a subject?

And so for today, as said a week later, the subject matter is stamp collecting or, rather, unusual stamps. Or, well let’s let the NaPo guys say it themselves:  Take a look at @StampsBot, and become inspired by the wide, wonderful, and sometimes wacky world of postage stamps. For example, while it certainly makes sense that China would issue a stamp featuring a panda, it’s less clear to us why the Isle of Man should feel the need to honor 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY in stamp form. From Romanian mushrooms to Sudanese weavers to the Marshall Islands getting far too excited over personal computing, stamps are a quasi-lyrical, quasi-bizarre look into what different cultures (or at least their postal authorities) hold dear.

The Isle of Man? The Manx?  Does one once more sense something obvious (hint: it’s not cats with no tails, though they can be included)?  So:

THE ISLE OF MAN
(” it’s less clear to us why the Isle of Man should feel the need to honor 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY in stamp form” — NaPoWriMo prompt. 4-15-24)

The Isle of Man honors
2001, the Space Odyssey film,
but is that, then, so odd?
Is not the home of us all, the Earth,
an island of man;
and is not our collective journey
around the sun,
and with that star to who knows where,
an odyssey that would top any other
our minds can conceive?