tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-234433312024-03-07T03:56:05.298-05:00Noctuary: a record of what passes in the night"It was like the scratching of a pen,//The silence of the night writing in its diary." -- Charles Simic, from "Factory"Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.comBlogger272125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-3821065910088402802015-05-01T17:13:00.003-04:002015-05-01T17:53:57.115-04:00Over in Sandtown<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4byXR3fMcIw0-op_WjFmcoS-bKY3z9ryQNOCKSavqkNBOnX38SdJOPPxxRr4vn451tEKiW-2UtYQDKadaJ2CReor9Xo5CaO3bTYbohmlG2iYrRGUC885ty_N7XCaIhuDptepCmQ/s1600/Sandtown.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4byXR3fMcIw0-op_WjFmcoS-bKY3z9ryQNOCKSavqkNBOnX38SdJOPPxxRr4vn451tEKiW-2UtYQDKadaJ2CReor9Xo5CaO3bTYbohmlG2iYrRGUC885ty_N7XCaIhuDptepCmQ/s1600/Sandtown.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4byXR3fMcIw0-op_WjFmcoS-bKY3z9ryQNOCKSavqkNBOnX38SdJOPPxxRr4vn451tEKiW-2UtYQDKadaJ2CReor9Xo5CaO3bTYbohmlG2iYrRGUC885ty_N7XCaIhuDptepCmQ/s1600/Sandtown.png" height="205" width="400" /></a>I vividly remember getting upset with a friend who was relentlessly teasing me about being from the Sandtown-Winchester neighborhood in Baltimore (well, it <i>felt </i>relentless anyway...). Finally I'd had enough<br />
<br />
"I'm not from no <i>SANDTOWN</i>!" I snapped.<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah? Where are you from then?"<br />
"I'm from Upton!"<br />
"Uh...okay...."<br />
<br />
This may appear to be a distinction without a difference. If you look at the map above, Sandtown is on one side of Freemont Ave, Upton the other (the "A" in "Ave" is practically pointing at the house I grew up in btw). But we take our neighborhoods VERY seriously in Baltimore, so that line is important. In some cases, knowing which side of a boundary line can be the difference between wealth and poverty, working class and poor, black and white (although not as stark as it was when I was a child, <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/politics/2015/04/baltimore_s_failure_is_rooted_in_its_segregationist_past_the_city_s_black.single.html" target="_blank"><b>the 'Red Line' is still there</b></a>), or making your way through the streets in relative safety vs having to run home to avoid a beat down.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRP8n3MI_D5pTvqH5E0n16jMGdsEHRwnhmT3YRm2ARCISHpsvcKnSL-HlbW-zHepF6ebWBpPl56_XUvaga_AArnysSumlCyaVcvp2HSJYsczq2B8cSldOt3ZnBPV2B_Q0sWK37A/s1600/baltimore5bmarcin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRP8n3MI_D5pTvqH5E0n16jMGdsEHRwnhmT3YRm2ARCISHpsvcKnSL-HlbW-zHepF6ebWBpPl56_XUvaga_AArnysSumlCyaVcvp2HSJYsczq2B8cSldOt3ZnBPV2B_Q0sWK37A/s1600/baltimore5bmarcin.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333332; font-family: proxima-nova, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20.0060005187988px;">Photo by <a href="http://benmarcinphotos.com/houses-i/" target="_blank">Ben Marcin as part of his “Last House Standing” series</a> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My sister-in-law lives in Sandtown - in one of only three houses on the block that are occupied. The rest of the buildings are abandoned and boarded up. A friend, 'outsider' artist <a href="http://morgan-monceaux.com/index.html" target="_blank"><b>Morgan Monceaux</b></a> lives in Sandtown - in the house where bandleader Cab Calloway grew up. Again, he is one of the few residents still on that block. The rest of the houses are either boarded up, or torn down (the building next to him practically fell down, damaging the side of his house, and is now an empty lot).<br />
<br />
For me, one of the distinctive 'sounds' of Baltimore is silence. Our hollowed out neighborhoods. Trying not to move due to the Summer heat and humidity. Sirens echoing down the block as police cars scream across the city.<br />
<br />
The empty lots, these abandoned buildings - they were there before the neighborhood's sadly nationally famous resident, Freddie Gray died in police custody in Sandtown. The boarding up of buildings was not a result of a riot. It was the result of years of neglect.<br />
<br />
Baltimore's situation is no different from many places across the country and around the world. Manufacturing jobs left, the number of vessels coming into the Port of Baltimore shrunk, there were fewer and fewer 'good government jobs.' The city shifted to a 'service economy' and attempted to attract tourists to the Inner Harbor and new baseball and football stadiums at Camden Yards. Two major players Johns Hopkins Hospital on the East Side, and the University of Maryland Medical System on the West Side appear to be carving the city up between them. Hopkins is particularly egregious when it comes to taking over housing close to their 'campus' for their doctors, at the expense of residents who are already there.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, in many neighborhoods but particularly in Sandtown, if the older houses are still standing, you also have to deal with <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/freddie-grays-life-a-study-in-the-sad-effects-of-lead-paint-on-poor-blacks/2015/04/29/0be898e6-eea8-11e4-8abc-d6aa3bad79dd_story.html" target="_blank"><b>Lead Paint</b></a>:<br />
<br />
<i>“In 1993, we found that 13,000 kids in Baltimore had been poisoned with
lead, but we weren’t collecting at the levels that we are today,” said
Ruth Ann Norton, the executive director of the Coalition to End
Childhood Lead Poisoning. “If we had, we would have found 30,000
poisoned kids.”</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>“A child who was poisoned with lead is seven times more likely to drop
out of school and six times more likely to end up in the juvenile
justice system,” Norton said. She called lead poisoning Baltimore’s
“toxic legacy” — a still-unfolding tragedy with which she says the city
has yet to come to terms. Those kids who were poisoned decades ago are
now adults. And the trauma associated with lead poisoning “creates too
much of a burden on a community,” she said.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The burden weighs heaviest on the poorest communities, such as the
Sandtown-Winchester neighborhood in West Baltimore where Freddie Gray
lived. Here, most houses were built decades ago, at a time when paint
manufacturers hailed lead as a cheap additive. The effect of that lead,
which Congress effectively banned in 1978, has been profound on Gray’s
neighborhood. Statistics between 2009 and 2013 showed that more than 3
percent of children younger than 6 had possibly dangerous levels of lead
in their blood, more than double the figure for the entire city.</i><br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Lead
poisoning has been an especially cruel scourge on African American
communities. “Nearly 99.9 percent of my clients were black,” said Saul
E. Kerpelman, a Baltimore lawyer who said he has litigated more than
4,000 lead-poisoning lawsuits over three decades. “That’s the sad fact
to life in the ghetto that the only living conditions people can afford
will likely poison their kids. . . . If you only have $250
per month, you’re going to get a run-down, dilapidated house where the
landlord hasn’t inspected it the entire time they’ve owned it.”</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>....the only living conditions people can afford will likely poison their kids...</b></i></div>
<br />
For years I would to look at the city's downtown attractions, the Inner Harbor, Camden Yards, etc, and have premonitions of destruction. "It's fake," I thought. "It's all built on sand," hallucinating an imminent collapse. As this week has shown, my city - your city, our cities - are built on the backs of the poor and trapped, over a lake of kerosene, just waiting for something to ignite it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://covers.powells.com/9781566638432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://covers.powells.com/9781566638432.jpg" /></a>To listen to Antero Pietila, author of <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/61-9781566638432-0" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.3;" target="_blank"><b>Not in My Neighborhood: How Bigotry Shaped a Great American City</b></a> talk about Sandtown-Winchester on KPFA radio (San Francisco), <a href="https://kpfa.org/player/?audio=113430" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.3;" target="_blank"><b>click here (Interview starts at 8:05 time mark)</b></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-62616279608556153352015-04-28T20:34:00.001-04:002015-04-28T20:34:06.676-04:00HomeI still dream of Baltimore.<br />
<br />
Perhaps its strange for me to think that after only four years away I would stop seeing the city I grew up in when I close my eyes. But by now I would have expected at least some of the dreams I remember to take place in New York. But no, somehow every time I wake up and try to remember what I was thinking about over night, I find myself in Baltimore again.<br />
<br />
<br />
Last night, everyone was in Baltimore. As I said to people after the relatively small disturbances at the end of an otherwise peaceful march on Saturday, Don't call <i>this </i>a 'riot.' You do NOT want to see Baltimore riot....well, sadly here we are. Baltimore is a city sitting on top of a tank of highly flammable liquid. Last night, someone, in some areas literally, dropped a match.<br />
<br />
We all saw images of a city in chaos last night. Today, I feel myself in two places at once, my body here in New York, my mind and thoughts back home in Baltimore. I worked at the library on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and North. Before that I worked at the Mondwamin Mall. My sister-in-law, cousin-in-law, and friends live in Freddie Gray's neighborhood. Its a strange, nearly science fictional feeling - I see a group of teenagers here, and am immediately thrown back down I-95 and think I'm seeing groups of Baltimore teens.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZYb7q_IcGqvoG8JwxKtdmCy2vejg2Qo0sdKkb3az_WOdVt1KW0JZfwRnPwyf-vY4cvQxcsbeuT1L3ryyDsUh0DOCQeiLw0zw6cJbYd3oeM9lfSyPjTmcADW9BL57IX7PVl69lA/s1600/untitled.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZYb7q_IcGqvoG8JwxKtdmCy2vejg2Qo0sdKkb3az_WOdVt1KW0JZfwRnPwyf-vY4cvQxcsbeuT1L3ryyDsUh0DOCQeiLw0zw6cJbYd3oeM9lfSyPjTmcADW9BL57IX7PVl69lA/s1600/untitled.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ask why so much of our anger and destruction has been focused toward the BCPD</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvcgc9Lo5GI0H90fyMe9VMObGYv0vrG7311jCI5dXL-qpejLeGiOKlUOU3Q0-v2WkK0SruZw0y9f3xPQ8F6kslJWoBMN1ZEp6UWjeO9xvYCqy7Xk1GGq3w1KZt_bFm8c8hyphenhyphenCQZw/s1600/1531+W+North+Avenue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvcgc9Lo5GI0H90fyMe9VMObGYv0vrG7311jCI5dXL-qpejLeGiOKlUOU3Q0-v2WkK0SruZw0y9f3xPQ8F6kslJWoBMN1ZEp6UWjeO9xvYCqy7Xk1GGq3w1KZt_bFm8c8hyphenhyphenCQZw/s1600/1531+W+North+Avenue.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every person deserves beauty and safety, information and entertainment </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Watching the burning and looting of the CVS at Penn- North last night, all I could think about was the Pennsylvania Avenue Branch of the Pratt Library, where I got my start in the library profession. Part of me wants to believe that the library was spared because it is a bright spot in that tough neighborhood, where all of us on staff, past and present, tried to do our best for those who came through our doors, providing a safe space for all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I want to try to untangle some of my thoughts about Baltimore here over the next few days.<br />
<br />
I have been trying for days to think of what to write about Baltimore and the death of <a href="http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/maryland/baltimore-city/bal-baltimore-sun-coverage-of-freddie-gray-20150420-storygallery.html" target="_blank"><b>Freddie Gray</b></a>. I won't say nothing comes - perhaps its best to say TOO much comes to my mind: about Sandtown, lead paint, the Baltimore City Police Department, despair. How too many people in town are so far past being sick and tired of being sick and tired that they've given up, throwing up their hands and saying, "Well what do you expect, it's Baltimore!" Considering how the <a href="http://data.baltimoresun.com/news/police-settlements/" target="_blank"><b><i>Baltimore Sun</i> exposed the criminal nature of the Baltimore City Police Department over two years ago, and little to nothing was done</b></a>, who can blame them? In much the same way that the Times-Picayune 'predicted' what would happen to New Orleans with their series on the levee system years before Katrina hit the city, far too often it takes a cataclysm before people notice anything.<br />
<br />
Also I think about self-fulfilling prophesies: What happens when expectations have been lowered so far down you cannot even see them? What happens when you tell a population by inaction, word and deed "You ain't shit" over and over and over again. What happens if you think one segment of the city is filled with nothing but drug dealers, criminals and thugs - terms used to describe those living in many of the neighborhoods in West Baltimore that erupted long BEFORE last night's riots - so when people die in those neighborhoods, well, they must have been 'in the game' or in a gang, or shouldn't have been standing around once bullets started flying so they really only just got what they deserved?<br />
<br />
America saw what happens last night in Baltimore.<br />
<br />
But it has also seen it in Ferguson, and elsewhere. It saddens me to say this, but I know we will see it again. And again. And again, until some very fundamental things change.<br />
<br />
I can tell you what happens to individuals who live under these conditions, who hear crap like this all the time, because it happened to me. I too sometimes got so tired and upset at being looked at in fear, of seeing people think my friends and I were dangerous and violent simply by virtue of our skin color, or zip code, that sometimes I too have thought, "Okay, fine - You think I'm dangerous, let me BE dangerous, let me show you 'danger'," and wanted to lash out. Many people, mainly white and not originally from Baltimore, have spoken about how 'angry' the city is. I've not wanted to think about the anger inside myself, or just considered it 'personal' and related to my own issues around being physically and emotionally abused as a child, and feelings of familial abandonment. It sometimes surprises me how rage filled some of my work is. But this anger both is and is not personal, because the forces against the individual are not truly focused on them as people. Because you are not seen as a person, as a human being. You are part of some undistinguished, insignificant, terrifying 'Other' upon whom twisted fears (and twisted desires) are projected. That might be the most frustrating thing - like a terrorist act, the hate you feel coming toward you really is not about *you* at all. People react to the fact that there is a 'hard', 'don't give a fuck' attitude in Baltimore. Yes, its there. And, as much as I suppress it, it is there in me, too. If you've shown that you don't care about me and mine - why in the hell should I care about you?<br />
<br />
At least I have an outlet - I write. I try to create. Baltimore is a city that has cut back on after school programs, recreation centers, school libraries and nearly every other program that might engage young people, and give them a way to channel their energy and focus their thoughts, while focusing funding and resources around the Inner Harbor and other tourist areas, leaving huge swaths of the city neglected. What happens to young people without ways to express themselves, who see no ways out at all?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcf7upwtNNSqzXlg7V8r4hl59h9PJ6jH1owlb36SkA4Ou95K52KiXGtyVY6Owe3hF_f_tRGQhwMmyU6wPTqQMH2xf38Hoh61v-c7b9cu7STD5Qoc319oofoO_W5XkIQ3MRcX1B7w/s1600/bal-bs-md-p1-protest-fox-20150428.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcf7upwtNNSqzXlg7V8r4hl59h9PJ6jH1owlb36SkA4Ou95K52KiXGtyVY6Owe3hF_f_tRGQhwMmyU6wPTqQMH2xf38Hoh61v-c7b9cu7STD5Qoc319oofoO_W5XkIQ3MRcX1B7w/s1600/bal-bs-md-p1-protest-fox-20150428.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-83790655321114621822014-07-31T19:42:00.000-04:002014-07-31T19:42:03.308-04:00Blog Tour: Processing.....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Many thanks to <a href="http://jstheater.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: blue;">John</span></a> for
asking me to be part of this "tour," started by Rutgers-Newark
Graduate School students<b><span style="background: white; color: #474b4e;"> <a href="http://drunkenwhispers.wordpress.com/2014/05/12/my-writing-process-blog-tour/"><span style="color: #72179d; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Serena Lin</span></a></span></b><span style="background: white; color: #474b4e;"> and <b><a href="http://thesafiajamaexperience.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: #72179d; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Safia Jama</span></a></b>.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How this works: each invitee joins
the virtual blog tour and addresses the issue of their Writing Process. We
answer four questions, then select two further writers who blog (and who may or
may not agree to continue the project!) exactly one week later. On with the
Show...ur, Tour:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEico2wjRFGiYYAfL_KtJBliyQruA_VeuVGLAQpDcs-_hFliS5X9Ule01xS6r929ofHwvh2caNfZF-FfkRmczvxaHFdUQgbX4-SsWDyQZ7dcTDgGA6HpVd3oYoBKpIrYSd2dJZp4PQ/s1600/RH+2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEico2wjRFGiYYAfL_KtJBliyQruA_VeuVGLAQpDcs-_hFliS5X9Ule01xS6r929ofHwvh2caNfZF-FfkRmczvxaHFdUQgbX4-SsWDyQZ7dcTDgGA6HpVd3oYoBKpIrYSd2dJZp4PQ/s1600/RH+2010.jpg" height="320" width="218" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An amount of skepticism is needed when faced with<br />
my answers to any question</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: #474b4e; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">1) What are you working on?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Right
now I am trying to go through a lot of the drafts, false starts, scribbled
lines and triggering ideas that I have surrounding me at home. In other words
I'm trying to Finish Things, which sometimes can be surprisingly difficult for
me. My secret perfectionism kicks in I suppose and if it's not *exactly*
right.....Anyway, I suspect I have enough already (half) written to make up at
least one other book, if not two. And I want to go back to a project idea that
I had a while ago, but dropped after I found myself talking ABOUT it more than
I was actually DOING it, and my 'muses' stopped talking to me. I'm hearing
their voices again (I hope that's what those voices are and it's not my
medication wearing off!) I also have been thinking about working on fiction
again, but I need 'space' for that, and we all know how space (even 'head
space') is at a premium in The Big Apple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Of
course the problem (?) is that going through drafts, older versions of things,
etc, often leads to completely new material, and I wind up with more than I had
before when I was trying to winnow it down! Such is life.... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/121463/1627581/7136977695_9a877d06dc_b_600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/121463/1627581/7136977695_9a877d06dc_b_600.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">From "Baltimore Folk" (c) Patrick Joust (http://www.patrickjoust.com/)<br /></td></tr>
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2) How does your work differ from others' work in the same genre?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Well, I HOPE it's different - I'd hate to be a
copy of someone else, but how or why eludes me. I think sometimes much of my
work tends to be more straightforward (on the surface anyway), than some of my
peers who I admire greatly. I'm hoping to speak to an audience that often
thinks that they don't like poetry, or that it is not for or speaking to
them. If I have in my head some idea of an 'ideal reader' (other than myself,
and writing to make myself happy) that person I suppose would be it.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Also, too, just as Philip Levine has Detroit and
had Cavafy (Ancient) Alexandria, <a href="http://www.afaaweaver.net/"><span style="color: blue;">Afaa Michael Weave</span></a>r and I (and others) have
Baltimore as our great haunting hometown subject, to which we come back to
again and again.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBL8s8fQwlrMauRoIJ5sGgRQnUcD8_bJK-8DvzJSEcoWdjNM_ovL7XGdkVYEpWZul9YvOI-2pMcF1yIq9gmhhGdRPjAYEB6Fv3Uuy7131uC97MCNCrfYreVKXeXe-3COZ2UkKSw/s1600/Weaver-Harris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBL8s8fQwlrMauRoIJ5sGgRQnUcD8_bJK-8DvzJSEcoWdjNM_ovL7XGdkVYEpWZul9YvOI-2pMcF1yIq9gmhhGdRPjAYEB6Fv3Uuy7131uC97MCNCrfYreVKXeXe-3COZ2UkKSw/s1600/Weaver-Harris.jpg" height="209" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note to self: its best to put your glasses ON when reading<br />(with Afaa Weaver at the Pratt Library, Baltimore)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">3) Why do you write what you do?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
read something fantastic that I think more people should be aware of, and it
becomes a review. I hear an evocative phrase or mash-up of language(s) and it
becomes a poem. I see something that ignites something in me and it becomes a
story. Interesting news items become Facebook posts or Tweets. Half-baked
ruminations on events lead to blog posts...somehow it all seems 'of a piece' to
me, regardless of genre. Its just that different forms fit what I'm trying to
explore better than others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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4) How does your writing process work?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgID1f73R2lcjlNXoDUgNpm3Sl6dbIozq5HSy3bN1-swG2rExq50Wgdq35G2X8s7rCaSSEgQQVrT1kHv91txbiZCxvZ77-jN2uJPcmbjKCW-eJmV1CFsXAbUi7UbxfSgEmDkr66ow/s1600/Idris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgID1f73R2lcjlNXoDUgNpm3Sl6dbIozq5HSy3bN1-swG2rExq50Wgdq35G2X8s7rCaSSEgQQVrT1kHv91txbiZCxvZ77-jN2uJPcmbjKCW-eJmV1CFsXAbUi7UbxfSgEmDkr66ow/s1600/Idris.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, Idris, ANYTHING you say....</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ha -When it works! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I find it very difficult to do my initial writing or drafting at
home. It's taken me a while since moving to New York to find a place to go to
write (since I work at <a href="http://www.poetshouse.org/"><span style="color: blue;">The Perfect Place for Poets</span></a> every day), but
fortunately I think I've found one (or two). No I won't tell you where they
are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lately I've been looking through those drafts and scraps
with scribbled phrases and note on them, and find the ones that still have
'juice' or that I feel I can work on for that day. And I begin moving the words
around on the page, adding, deleting, putting words back, until I get something
that I'm satisfied with. For poetry and fiction, this is done long hand, pencil
on paper. I usually write most of my reviews directly on the computer, and go
back over it on screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">After the draft (again thinking poetry) I'll enter it into the
computer and later print it out. Probably more drafting, changing, what was I
thinking?! will come out of that. Often I put things up on the wall of my
bedroom so I can look at it (or not!) for a few days and fuss with it some more.
Then I like to put it away, get it out of my sight, sometimes for as long as
six months, and come back to the piece and see if there's still something
there, or if I have some additional ideas for edits/changes that my
subconscious has come up with over those months. There are a few things which
have felt 'finished' to me that I skip the steeping time and send them out
fairly soon. And I also occasionally send drafts to people whose work and
judgement I admire and respect, and ask for feedback.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For the next two writers, I choose Samiya Bashir and January
O'Neal - Tag they're "It"!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Samiya Bashir is a poet (<i>Where
the Apple Falls, </i>2005 and <i>Gospel, </i>2009) and was editor of <i>Best
Black Women’s Erotica 2</i> (2003) and co-editor of <i>Role Call: A
Generational Anthology of Social and Political Black Literature and Art</i> (2002).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">January Gill O’Neil is the author of
<i>Underlife</i> (2009), executive </span>director of the Massachusetts Poetry Festival and teaches at
Salem State University in Salem,
Massachusetts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-15046178180667669212014-05-06T18:47:00.003-04:002014-05-06T19:26:28.119-04:00Listing....One sure way to get people talking, or upset - or both - is to create a list.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Mused </i>magazine closed out National Poetry Month with </span><a href="http://www.musedmagonline.com/2014/04/10-black-gay-poets-everyone-know/"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"<span style="line-height: 24px;">10 Black Gay Poets Everyone Should Know</span></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">."</span> It's a wonderful list, filled with writers whose work I like, many of whom I know </span>personally<span style="font-family: inherit;"> (and couple I also have low-level crushes on - LOL!:). It's also an interesting group of, for the most part, younger, up-and-coming writers. But I instantly thought - how come no women? And then, of course, 10 MORE male poets <b>not </b>on the list came into my head....And what about non-US writers? Sadly, it's a never ending process!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In any event, to continue the conversation - and because nothing says you have to STOP reading poetry just because it's not <i>Poetry Month</i> anymore - here are two dozen women and men ranging across time and the African Diaspora (not arranged in any special order) whose work you should explore. AND I encourage you to create your own lists of writers to read and books to delve into, and pass them along to family, friends (virtual and real), and others.</span><br />
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<a href="http://washingtonart.com/beltway/grimke.html">Angelina Weld Grimke</a> </div>
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<a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/countee-cullen" style="text-align: start;">Countee Cullen</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/audre-lorde" style="text-align: start;">Audre Lorde</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/claude-mckay" style="text-align: start;">Claude McKay</a></div>
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<a href="http://voices.cla.umn.edu/artistpages/parkerPat.php" style="text-align: start;">Pat Parker</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.glbtq.com/literature/saint_assotto.html" style="text-align: start;">Assotto Saint</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.junejordan.com/" style="text-align: start;">June Jordan</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://marvinkwhite.com/#/home/" style="text-align: start;">Marvin K White</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/dawn-lundy-martin" style="text-align: start;">Dawn Lundy Martin</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/carl-phillips" style="text-align: start;">Carl Phillips</a><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></div>
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<b>Happy Reading!</b></div>
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<br />Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-80370135587085986832014-04-07T17:27:00.000-04:002014-04-07T17:27:02.785-04:00Essex Hemphill: On taking care of your blessings and 'American Wedding'The great Black Gay poet <b><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/essex-hemphill">Essex Hemphill </a></b>(1957-1995) would sign his letters, "Take care of your blessings." When asked what he meant by that he replied:<div>
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"Some of us bake wonderfully, write, paint, do any number of things, have facilities with numbers that others don't have. Those are your blessings. Some of us are very strong and candid and some of us are nurturers or combinations of all of those things. Just be aware of what your particular things are and nurture them and use them toward a positive way of living. That's simply what I meant."</div>
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In honor of Essex (who would have turned 57 on April 16th), National Poetry Month, the progress of "Gay Marriage" across the US and around the world - and to celebrate Martin Duberman's glorious dual biography, <span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.3; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9781595589453-0">Hold Tight Gently: Michael Callen, Essex Hemphill, and the Battlefield of AIDS</a></u></span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.3;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> here is one of Essex' poems. We miss you, baby!</span></span></div>
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<h1>
American Wedding</h1>
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<span class="author">By <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/essex-hemphill"> Essex Hemphill</a></span></div>
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<br /><span class="author"> </span>
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In america,</div>
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I place my ring </div>
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on your cock </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
where it belongs.</div>
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No horsemen </div>
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bearing terror, </div>
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no soldiers of doom</div>
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will swoop in </div>
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and sweep us apart.</div>
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They’re too busy </div>
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looting the land </div>
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to watch us.</div>
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They don’t know </div>
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we need each other </div>
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critically.</div>
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They expect us to call in sick, </div>
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watch television all night,</div>
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die by our own hands. </div>
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They don’t know </div>
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we are becoming powerful. </div>
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Every time we kiss </div>
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we confirm the new world coming.</div>
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<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
What the rose whispers</div>
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before blooming</div>
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I vow to you.</div>
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I give you my heart, </div>
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a safe house. </div>
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I give you promises other than</div>
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milk, honey, liberty.</div>
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I assume you will always</div>
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be a free man with a dream.</div>
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In america,</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
place your ring</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
on my cock </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
where it belongs.</div>
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Long may we live</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
to free this dream.</div>
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<div class="credit">
from <em><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780452268173-3">Ceremonies: Prose and Poetry</a> </em>(Plume,<em> 1</em>992)<br />
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Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-24089907776675032002013-10-16T21:11:00.001-04:002013-10-16T21:11:21.556-04:00Blog Action Day 2013: Human Rights begin at home<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://humanium.org/en/wp-content/uploads/portail-fr/eleanor-roosevelt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="http://humanium.org/en/wp-content/uploads/portail-fr/eleanor-roosevelt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eleanor Roosevelt holding the <a href="http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/">Universal Declaration of Human Rights</a></td></tr>
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<strong><em>“Where, after all, do universal human rights begin? In small
places, close to home – so close and so small that they cannot be seen
on any maps of the world. Yet they are the world of the individual
person; the neighborhood he lives in; the school or college he attends;
the factory, farm, or office where he works. Such are the places where
every man, woman, and child seeks equal justice, equal opportunity,
equal dignity without discrimination. Unless these rights have meaning
there, they have little meaning anywhere. Without concerted citizen
action to uphold them close to home, we shall look in vain for progress
in the larger world.” - Eleanor Roosevelt</em></strong><br />
<strong><em><br /></em></strong>
The international disgrace that is the US detention center in Guantanamo Bay remains open.<br />
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<a href="" id="a9" name="a9"></a>Article 9.</h3>
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<li style="color: #300906; list-style: disc inside; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 6.03000020980835px 6.03000020980835px;">No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile.</li>
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The NSA continues to spy...sorry, 'gather intelligence' on us each time we access an electronic device (IMHO the amount of information that is being gathered with these wide spread fishing expeditions is so large that it reaches the point of being meaninglessness - who or what can sift through it all to make heads or tails of it? Only retroactively - after some horror has occurred - could one go back and make connections)<br />
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Article 12.</h3>
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<li style="color: #300906; list-style: disc inside; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 6.03000020980835px 6.03000020980835px;">No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
Stories of bullying (of LGBT kids, but others who 'don't fit in') continue daily.<br />
<br />
<h3 style="background-color: white; color: #660000; font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.40000057220459px; margin: 1em 0px; padding: 0px;">
Article 3.</h3>
<ul style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.960000038146973px; list-style: none; margin: 1em 1em 1em 0.5em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="color: #300906; list-style: disc inside; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 6.03000020980835px 6.03000020980835px;">Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person.</li>
</ul>
Much too close to home: A friend and fellow poet was recently gay-bashed on the streets of Manhattan, one of the most diverse and 'gayest' cities in the world.<br />
<br />
<h3 style="background-color: white; color: #660000; font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.40000057220459px; margin: 1em 0px; padding: 0px;">
Article 13.</h3>
<ul style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.960000038146973px; list-style: none; margin: 1em 1em 1em 0.5em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="color: #300906; list-style: disc inside; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 6.03000020980835px 6.03000020980835px;">(1) Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each state.</li>
<li style="color: #300906; list-style: disc inside; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 6.03000020980835px 6.03000020980835px;">(2) Everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country.</li>
</ul>
<br />
What would if mean if Human Rights really did begin at home? How would we relate to our children, parents, family, neighbors and co-workers?<br />
<br />
How can we talk about Human Rights in our city, state, nation or around the world unless we ask ourselves: <br />
what are we doing behind our own closed doors?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/">Read the Full Universal Declaration of Human Rights her</a>e<br />
<br />
<div style="clear: both;">
<a href="http://blogactionday.org/register-to-take-part/"><img border="0" height="155" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5534/9518057543_c4873b6e78_o.png" title="Join me and take part in Blog Action Day Oct 16 2013" width="250" /></a></div>
<div>
Courtesy of: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=23443331">http://www.blogactionday.org</a></div>
Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-77277937404746105322013-10-03T15:20:00.001-04:002013-10-03T15:20:35.983-04:00Reg-tober Fest<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It never rains, but sometimes it pours:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span dir="ltr"><br /></span></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGJlZqVtaCpCDtuh1edNxCsxEzjI24w49793SPZH2MMUDN76VVN1yNJ70DNxNZiCnJR2PuRXmkXcx0b4BXCD_CePVimVNVFRiKjzS3uk3fFo877FKUcbRQWIrD9SJXbDggPYrvHA/s1600/9780810129153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGJlZqVtaCpCDtuh1edNxCsxEzjI24w49793SPZH2MMUDN76VVN1yNJ70DNxNZiCnJR2PuRXmkXcx0b4BXCD_CePVimVNVFRiKjzS3uk3fFo877FKUcbRQWIrD9SJXbDggPYrvHA/s1600/9780810129153.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span dir="ltr"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'll
be reading/appearing in four cities (and four states) in the next few
weeks in support of </span><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780810129153-0">Autogeography </a><span style="font-size: small;">- and am already exhausted just
thinking about it!:)</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-size: small;">
Hope to see some of you SOMEwhere along the way!</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-size: small;">
best wishes</span><br />
<br />
r</span><br />
<br />
</span></span><br />
<div>
<a href="http://socialjustice.rutgers.edu/event-calendar/cheryl-clarke-a-retrofuturespective" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b><i>Cheryl Clarke: A Retrofuturespective</i></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>
Conference</b></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Livingston Campus Student Center, Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">84 Joyce Kilmer Ave., Piscataway, NJ </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Friday October 4, 2013</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">6:00 – 8:00pm</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="ltr">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span><a href="http://cavecanempoets.org/calendar" target="_blank"> </a>
</span></span></span><br />
<div>
<a href="http://cavecanempoets.org/calendar" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>Cave Canem Prize Reading w/Afaa Michael Weaver</b></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">58 West 10th Street, between 5th and 6th Avenues</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Thursday October 10, 2013</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">7:00 pm</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>Reading with Joel Allegretti, Vasiliki Katsarou and Andriana Rizos</b></span></div>
<div>
<a href="http://corneliastreetcafe.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Cornelia Street Cafe </span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">29 Cornelia Street New York, NY</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Saturday, October 12, 2013</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">6:00 pm</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>Reading with Susan Scheid</b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>A Sunday Kind of Love</b></span></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.busboysandpoets.com/about/14th-v" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Busboys and Poets</span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">14th & V St, Washington DC</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Sunday October 20, 2013</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">5:00-7:00 pm</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">$5</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>Reading w/Hailey Leithauser</b></span></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.prattlibrary.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Enoch Pratt Free Library</span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">400 Cathedral Street, Baltimore MD</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Wednesday, October 30, 2013</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">6:30-8:00pm</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="ltr">
</span></span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Free</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<br />
(see the <i><b>Upcoming Readings & Events</b></i> section over ==> <b>THERE </b>for more info).Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-35876491567838517652013-09-26T19:58:00.002-04:002013-09-26T19:58:29.082-04:00Ken Norton, RIP<img height="320" id="irc_mi" src="http://boxingkodvds.com/images/career-norton8.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="225" /><br />
<br />
The most shocking thing to me about <a href="http://www.latimes.com/obituaries/la-me-ken-norton-20130919,0,3821737.story">the recent death of boxing great Ken Norton, Sr</a>, is that he was 70 years old - my father's age. How in the world is that possible? He seemed so much younger than Ali during their fight in 1973. And his style was certainly closer to those of us who were teens and pre-teens than that of our Dad's (Check the rings, fly collar and chains above - Pure '70s style!)<br />
<br />
And of course there was his amazing body....Norton was "buff" before his time:)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://blacksportsonline.com/home/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Ken-Norton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://blacksportsonline.com/home/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Ken-Norton.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
<br />
As the (essential) website <i>Shadow and Act</i> reminds us, <a href="http://blogs.indiewire.com/shadowandact/boxer-ken-norton-of-mandingo-fame-and-glory-dead-at-70">Norton's other claim to fame is his starring role in Mandingo</a>, the (in)famous Southern slavery pot-boiler.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Author Kyle Onstott's <u>Mandingo</u>, its sequel <u>Drum</u>, and other novels were "Adult Books" in those days, titles which parents read but then hid from as being unsuitable for us kids. Filled with sex and violence and bruise-purple prose, we found them anyway, unable to resist finding out what was so bad about them (I'm not sure there are any fiction titles parents keep away from children now....). The films made from the books were equally lurid, over the top, trashy. Because it is a 'bad film', you're more than a little ashamed to admit being enthralled by it.....but, yeah, we loved them.<br />
<br />
I still think James Mason's whacked-out performance as the shabby master of the even shabbier plantation "Falconhurst" one of his finest comic turns. For me, <b>Mandingo</b> totally ruined any notion of The Glorious Anti-Bellum South. For a lot of us, sitting in the theater, watching in astonishment, in some ways, the movie seemed 'true' - slavery was a horrific system run by people lying to themselves and deserved to be destroyed.<br />
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/bd/Mandingo_movie_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/bd/Mandingo_movie_poster.jpg" width="211" /></a><br />
"The film tells the story of a depraved father and son team
(<b>James Mason</b> and <b>Perry King</b>) who don’t raise crops, but instead breed slaves to sell to other plantations. The decrepit, rotten,
festering plantation they live in mirrors their own rotting, festering depraved
souls, which all slave owners had.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
Throw in insanity, perversion and even incest and you
have a very volatile mix. The film is the perverted, repulsive, and one can
argue, more accurate, other side of the usual Hollywood portrayal of “genteel” plantation life in the South, such as <b>Gone
with the Wind, Song of the South </b>and <b>Raintree
County.</b>" (from Shadow and Act)<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">A poem, in honor of Kenny and </span><i style="text-align: center;">Mandingo</i><span style="text-align: center;"> (You can </span><a href="http://www.fishousepoems.org/archives/reginald_harris/ken_norton_as_mandingo.shtml" style="text-align: center;">hear me read this poem here at the <i>From the Fishous</i>e website</a><span style="text-align: center;">)</span><span style="text-align: center;"> We love you</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Ken Norton as <i>'Mandingo'</i><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">They want me for my body<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">and my name – the guy who<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">busted Ali’s jaw, in his first film! –<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Just to sell some tickets. Just like<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">boxing, just as fixed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">I’m no actor, not the star.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">They named the movie after<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">my guy, but didn’t give me much<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The old slave fighters<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">visit me, Molineaux<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">and others, whisper<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">behind the arc lights <i>Do us<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">right</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">. This whole thing seems<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPr_58ryEEqTo5o1pwoJXrX7GQMp8P-vANrCzfBuR3o_AMh0zSOgVZiDq7ZYZinIkwawjWfQIyS4QUX1LLVfGAyM7wlpH0CMhe_ogu5pEqFOkxDzh3onxS7Wy_5fPl3EqdQPq4JQ/s1600/Ken-Norton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPr_58ryEEqTo5o1pwoJXrX7GQMp8P-vANrCzfBuR3o_AMh0zSOgVZiDq7ZYZinIkwawjWfQIyS4QUX1LLVfGAyM7wlpH0CMhe_ogu5pEqFOkxDzh3onxS7Wy_5fPl3EqdQPq4JQ/s320/Ken-Norton.jpg" width="224" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">strange to them: the shackles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">quick-release, masters’ whips<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">that crack an inch above our backs.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">White men saying, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Come, Go, Stand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Here, Move There.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Wait.<br />
Strip.<br />
Wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Cut.<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Molineaux: Tom Molineaux (1784-1818), a former slave given his
freedom due to his boxing ability, he fought the British heavyweight champion
in 1810 and 1811.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<a href="http://www.hdwallpapersinn.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/ken-norton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-87247659126750208902013-02-20T18:27:00.000-05:002013-02-20T18:27:46.716-05:00Family Portrait in Three Languages<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.viralblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/trialogue1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="http://www.viralblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/trialogue1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I am very honored to be part of this year's <a href="http://www.goethe.de/ins/us/lp/kul/mag/tri/enindex.htm">Trialogue: Chinese, American and German Poetry Collaboration</a><b> </b>sponsored by Washington DC's Goethe Institute in. The theme for 2013 is "Passions" and two of my poems, <a href="http://www.goethe.de/ins/us/lp/kul/mag/tri/pas/spo/en10586884.htm"><i>The Ring Walk</i></a> and <a href="http://www.goethe.de/ins/us/lp/kul/mag/tri/pas/nig/en10586808.htm"><i>1967 Saturday Night</i></a> have been translated into Chinese and German. It is a pleasure to be in the company of US Poets Joseph Ross and Sarah Browing, and our international counterparts Bastian Böttcher, Ulrike Draesner and Ludwig Harig (Germany), and Yan Li, Yang Ke, and Zhai Yongming (China).<br />
<br />
I can not thank Norma Broadwater of the Goethe Institute and DC poet extraordinaire Fred Joiner for asking me to be part of this.<br />
<br />
And no, looking at <i>1967 Saturday Night</i> from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/10-Tongues-Poems-Reginald-Harris/dp/0972124101/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1361402247&sr=8-1&keywords=10+Tongues+harris">10 Tongues</a>, I can not even begin to imagine what My Folks would have thought seeing themselves in German and Chinese! My mind just spins....<br />
<br />
Danke 谢谢 Thank you<br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQT9oUiz5RmKUz2MLzZb1ylrRihWix-1gazAEIe1FQ_eHkSDH-T0g" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQT9oUiz5RmKUz2MLzZb1ylrRihWix-1gazAEIe1FQ_eHkSDH-T0g" /></a><br />
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<b>1967 Saturday Night </b><br /><i>by Reginald Harris</i><br /><br />Every Saturday, Grandfather played <br />his records.<br />The kitchen table set<br />with snacks and scotch,<br />he'd always start with Ellington: <br /><i>A Train</i> or <i>Satin Doll</i><br />curling up the oval stairs<br />sweet as perfume.<br />"I met him once, you know," he told me,<br />“A party in New York. Musta been 19 and 23.”<br />I stared at him, amazed -<br />Real people lived inside the grooves of 78's!<br />'Ma just said, “Humph!” leading me to weekly bath, <br />later sneaking back, lured by Basie, Pres, and Rushing. <br />Mr. B.<br />Billie sings of <i>What Moonlight <br />Can Do</i> and they dance.<br />Then it's <i>After Hours</i>,<br />and it suddenly grows quiet.<br />He closes with Ahmad <br />Jamal - <i>This is the End of a Beautiful Friendship</i> – <br />and the lights downstairs go out.<br />They rise like mist up the front stairs, holding hands, <br />ignoring creaking floorboards, quick-moving feet, <br />drawn by fading echoes, to retire to their separate beds.<br />In my room, mid-way between them, <br />I’d dream of those I'd never seen: <br />Ella, Sassy, Little Jazz,<br />Papa Jimmy, Vernon, Uncle Billy -<br />a man in a tailored white silk suit <br />skimming piano keys like Lindy hoppers <br />while in the corner, away from the crowd,<br />newlyweds count out their rent<br />in nickels, dimes, and dreams.<br /><br />(for Edna and Melvin Harris)<br />
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<b>Samstagnacht 1967</b><br /><i>von Reginald Harris<br />übersetzt von Peter Beicken, Lane Jennings, und Katharina Semke</i><br /><br />Jeden Samstag spielte Großvater<br />seine Platten.<br />Auf dem Küchentisch<br />ein Imbiss und Scotch,<br />immer begann er mit Ellington:<br /><i>A Train </i>oder <i>Satin Doll </i><br />wand sich die ovale Treppe hinauf<br />wie ein süßes Parfüm.<br />„Weißt du, ich hab ihn mal getroffen,“ erzählte er mir, <br />„Auf ’ner Party in New York, um 1923 rum.“ <br />Ich hab ihn angestarrt, erstaunt –<br />,Richtige Leute lebten in den Rillen der 78er Platten!<br />Oma sagte nur, „hm“ und führte mich zum wöchentlichen Bad<br />von dem ich mich später zurückstahl, verlockt von Basie, Pres, und Rushing.<br />Mr. B. [Billy Eckstine]<br />Billie [Holliday] singt <i>What Moonlight<br />Can Do</i> und sie tanzen.<br />Dann ist’s <i>After Hours</i>,<br />und plötzlich wird es still.<br />Zum Schluss dann Ahmad <br />Jamal – <i>This is the End of a Beautiful Friendship</i> –<br />und unten gehen die Lichter aus.<br />Sie steigen wie Dunst die Vordertreppe hinauf, Händchen haltend, <br />ohne sich an den knarrenden Dielen zu stören, sich schnell bewegende Füße,<br />angezogen von verschwindenden Echos, sich zurückzuziehen in getrennte Betten.<br />In meinem Zimmer, auf halbem Wege zwischen beiden, <br />träumt ich von denen, die ich nie gesehn:<br />Ella, Sassy, Little Jazz,<br />Papa Jimmy, Vernon, Uncle Billy -<br />ein Mann in einem weißen maßgeschneiderten Seidenanzug<br />ließ die Finger über die Tasten gleiten tänzerisch hüpfend wie Lindy Hoppers, <br />während in der Ecke, von der Menge abgewandt,<br />Jungvermählte ihre Miete zusammenzählen <br />in Fünfern, Zehnern und Träumen<br /><br />(Für Edna und Melvin Harris)<br /><br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQL1GTXF0nrSKdJ7eYeAjxVy1kvWyBTIQO65as8Dv4XhO__P88N" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQL1GTXF0nrSKdJ7eYeAjxVy1kvWyBTIQO65as8Dv4XhO__P88N" /></a></div>
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<b>1967年星期六晚上 </b> <br /><i>刘园园译</i><br /><br />每逢星期六,祖父总是放唱片<br />厨房餐桌上摆放着小吃和威士忌酒<br />他总是以艾灵顿的曲子开头<br />列车或者洋娃娃<br />蜷缩在椭圆形楼梯上<br />像香水一样甜美<br /><br />他告诉我“你知道吗,我遇见过他一次”<br />“那是在纽约的一个聚会上,马苏塔 19岁,而我23岁。”<br />我看着他,眼里充满了好奇—<br />这是个真真正正生活在1878年的人!<br />马只轻轻发了一句“哼”,就带我去了每周一次的沐浴<br />之后我跟着巴锡,佩斯和罗史,B先生悄悄溜回来<br /><br />比利唱起《月光的魅力》,跟随着音乐翩翩起舞<br /><br />接下来是《三更半夜》,然后突然一切变得静默无声<br /><br />最后一首是艾哈迈德贾马尔的曲子—《友谊的完结篇》,之后楼下的灯便熄灭了<br /><br />他们站起身来像迷雾一样,手牵着手,丝毫感觉不到地板被踩得咯吱作响,快速地移动步子,<br />回到各自的房间,回声也逐渐消逝在沉寂里<br /><br />我的房间在他们中间<br />晚上我梦见了那些不曾见过的艾拉,莎茜,小杰士,杰来爸爸,韦农,比利叔叔—<br /><br />他身着手工裁剪的白色丝绸西服,像林迪一样指尖掠过琴键,他没有和众人一起<br />而是一个人独自躲在角落<br />虽然新婚燕尔但是要付房租,他在一旁细数着五分十分的硬币<br />当然这个时候梦想似乎已经无法数得清 </div>
Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-86573741774150821982013-01-24T14:31:00.001-05:002013-01-24T14:31:27.643-05:00Conditioning, or Pavlov's Dog Goes to the Movies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last week, I had the pleasure to attend a screening of <a href="http://www.middlenowhere.com/">Middle of Nowhere</a>, the new film by director <a href="http://www.avaduvernay.com/about/">Ava Duvernay</a> staring newcomer Emayatzy Corinealdi, Omari Hardwick, David Oyelowo and Lorraine Toussaint.<br />
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I <i>really </i>enjoyed it. The performances were uniformly good and film has it's own relaxed pace and a beautiful understated quality. I was also impressed by the writing, which I thought was very good and very 'real.' The characters talked the way people actually talk, and nothing seemed forced, which was a great pleasure to luxuriate in.<br />
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But one interesting thing that both the friend who invited me <i>(thanks Bernie!)</i> and I commented on afterwards is how we 'kept expecting something to happen.' This is a movie with no gunshots, no drive-bys, no explosions. It is disturbing to realize this, but sadly, we've been conditioned to expect these things when going to the movies - and particularly to movies staring African-American characters.<br />
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It bothers me no end that I have fallen for this, to expect to see violence on screen when I watch a movie, or a television show. It disturbs me that a plot point or the resolution of a problem comes so often accompanied by a gun shot, explosion, or the throwing of a fist, that I've been trained to expect to see that all the time, in nearly every show. Many of us, myself included, are so used to 'sensation', spectacle, quick cuts and fast pacing, that a film or TV show that has its own pace, that takes its time, can feel 'slow,' that 'nothing is happening' on screen (I am glad to have seen <u>Nowhere</u> in a theater so that I could be enveloped in it, as opposed to at home on DVD where I may not have given myself up to it as much).<br />
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And of course the possibility of violence seems to always lurking when Black characters appear in a movie. Many years ago I read an article that noted how many African-American characters on television have a relationship with the criminal justice system - either as cops or criminals. Part of that is a function of there being so many cop/mystery shows on TV, but much of it also is the LACK of Blacks as regular characters on non-cop shows. We tend to be associated with crime (on both sides of the line) - so is it any wonder that there is this fear of (in particular young) black people in the real world? See enough negative images and one begins to <b><i>expect</i></b> things to 'jump off.'<br />
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So I am very grateful to the makers of <u>Middle of Nowhere</u> for slowing me down, allowing me to rest for a while in their world, and above all helping me to realize that something not very pleasant that has been happening to me - that I have been turned into a well conditioned test subject. Thank you for helping me to recognize this, and helping me to truly <u><i><b>see</b></i></u>. <br />
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<br />Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-67234675557719486652013-01-09T12:29:00.001-05:002013-01-09T12:29:56.050-05:00Inaugural poet Richard Blanco<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.richard-blanco.com/img/richard-blanco-author-photo2nico-tucci.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Richard Blanco, Poet, Cuban-American, Gay, Inauguration, Obama" border="0" height="320" src="http://www.richard-blanco.com/img/richard-blanco-author-photo2nico-tucci.jpg" title="Poet Richard Blanco" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard Blanco (photo by Nico Tucci)</td></tr>
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I was planning on putting a poem on the blog today, anyway - then early this morning news came down that gay Cuban American poet<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/09/books/richard-blanco-2013-inaugural-poet.html?hp&_r=1&"> Richard Blanco had been chosen to read an original poem at President Obama's Inauguration</a> on January 21st! I've known his work since his Agnes Lynch Starrett Prize-winning debut, <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/65-9780822956839-2">City of a Hundred Fires</a> (1998), and so am completely thrilled by this news, and am anxious to hear what he has written to present to the nation.<div>
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I am also expecting some backlash - 'Obama is catering to his gay base, he's playing the Latino card, this is more about Identity Politics than the Art of Poetry' and other forms of similar BS. <a href="http://www.richard-blanco.com/poetry-books/">Blanco's work</a> is strong enough to stand such petty, 'Sour Grapes' sniping.</div>
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PS: As a friend mentioned on Facebook last night, for those keeping partisan score at home, in the Inaugural Poet category that's</div>
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Democrats 5, Republicans 0</div>
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(Robert Frost, Kennedy; Maya Angelou and Miller Williams, Clinton; Elizabeth Alexander and Richard Blanco, Obama)</div>
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Here's a prose poem by Richard Blanco, that is part of our <a href="http://www.poetshouse.org/programs-and-events/poetry-in-the-world/one-city-many-poems">One City, Many Poems</a> initiative here at Poets House. <a href="http://www.richard-blanco.com/directions-to-the-beach-of-the-dead/mexican-almuerzo-in-new-england.php">Hear him read this poem on his website</a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mexican
Almerzo in New England<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">for
MG<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Word is praise for
Marina, up past 3:00 a.m. the night before her flight, preparing and packing
the <i>platos tradicionales</i> she's now heating up in the oven while the <i>tortillas </i>steam
like full moons on the stovetop. Dish by dish she tries to recreate Mexico in
her son's New England kitchen, taste-testing <i>el mole</i> from the pot,
stirring everything: <i>el chorizo-con-papas</i>, <i>el picadillo</i>, <i>el guacamole</i>. The
spirals of her stirs match the spirals in her eyes, the scented steam coils
around her like incense, suffusing the air with her folklore. She loves
Alfredo, as she loves all her sons, as she loves all things: <i>seashells</i>,
<i>cacti</i>, <i>plumes</i>, <i>artichokes</i>. Her hand waves us to circle around the kitchen
island, where she demonstrates how to fold tacos for the <i>gringo </i>guests,
explaining what is <i>hot </i>and what is <i>not</i>, trying to describe
tastes with English words she cannot savor. As we eat, she apologizes: <i>not
as good as at home, pero bueno</i>. . . It is the best she can do in this
strange kitchen which Sele has tried to disguise with <i>papel picado</i> banners
of colored tissue paper displaying our names in piñata pink, maíz yellow, and
Guadalupe green--strung across the lintels of the patio filled with talk of an
early spring and <i>do you remembers </i>that leave an after-taste even the <i>flan </i>and <i>café
negro</i> don't cleanse. Marina has finished. She sleeps in the guest room
while Alfredo's paintings confess in the living room, while the papier-mâché
skeletons giggle on the shelves, and shadows lean on the porch with rain about
to fall. Tomorrow our names will be taken down and Marina will leave with her
empty clay pots, feeling as she feels all things: <i>velvet</i>, <i>branches</i>, <i>honey</i>,
<i>stones</i>. Feeling what we all feel: home is a forgotten recipe, a spice we can
find nowhere, a taste we can never reproduce, exactly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">from</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/62-9780816524792-1">Directions to the Beach of the Dead </a>(University
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Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-49842161897697608802013-01-03T17:10:00.001-05:002013-01-03T17:30:04.104-05:00Welcome 2013 / 2012's BooksHappy New Year!<br />
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I resolutely refuse to make New Years Resolutions....but one of the things I hope to do this year is be more regular with posts here on the blog. Of course with Facebook, Twitter, and other forms of social networking, blogging is now <b><i>SO 2005</i></b>, and may soon be going the way of the typewriter and snail mail. But since I still send cards and notes via US Mail, I guess I'll stay back here in the dark ages for a while longer.<br />
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I recently mentioned to a friend (via Tweet of course!) that I read over 60 books in 2012. Actually looking at my list of titles, I managed to hit 70 before 1/1/13 (With a push I might have made it to 71, but I finished Colm Toibin's luminous <u><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9781451688382-1">Testament of Mary</a></u> on New Years morning.)<br />
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Hello, my name is Reggie, and I am a book-a-holic.<br />
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Yes, I am one of those people who can read more than one book at a time - so long as they are sufficiently different. I often have a fiction and a non-fiction book going at the same time, unless one totally grabs me and I can't put it down. Reading poetry takes me LONGER to read than other forms of writing, so a 'slim volume of verse' may take me a while to get through. I also <a href="http://www.lambdaliterary.org/author/reginald-harris/">write reviews</a>, and have been on the judging panel for book awards in recent years, so that ups my numbers. The real secret, however, is having a healthy commute - 45 mins each way on the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/nyregion/06reading.html?_r=0">NYC subway for reading</a> every weekday to and from work. That undivided time has greatly increased my ability to devour books. As the marvelous <a href="http://undergroundnewyorkpubliclibrary.com/">Underground New York Public Library tumblr</a> site shows, I'm not the only one. Sorry, Baltimore - New York is "The City That Reads!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ms. Donalay Thomas reading "Resurrecting Midnight" by Eric Jerome Dickey on the A Train (NYTimes 9/6/2009).</td></tr>
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It is also amazing to see the incredible range of books people around me are reading, which goes far beyond the usual best sellers list (Although in 2011 it did seem as though *everyone* was making their way through Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy). One of the negative things about e-readers I feel is that while it increases privacy it masks what you are reading, making the act of reading in public less social. Everyone is curious about other people's books, whether they are on the lookout for the next thing to read, or so they can recall their experience reading that title, or so they can wonder "Why on earth are <i>they </i>reading <b>that</b>!?!"<br />
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My reading tends to be pretty random. I do have favorite authors and a couple of them (see Winterson, Delany and Schulman, below) came out with new books in 2012. Every now and then you'll catch me with a best seller; more often than not I'm in the middle of something a little older, or something I 'should have read' a long time ago. I may try to keep up with new poetry, but otherwise it's difficult to predict what I may be reading.<br />
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Rather than the ubiquitous "Top 10 List," here almost in the order that I encountered them during the year are a few of the books that really stood out for me. And yes, I know I'm being too coy by half in not mentioning poetry...so sue me!<br />
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Paul Russell - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/2-9781573447195-1">The Unreal Life of Sergey Nabokov</a><br />
Colm Toibin - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9781439195963-2">The Empty Family: Stories</a><br />
Jeanette Winterson - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/7-9780802120106-3">Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?</a><br />
Keith Haring - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/72-9780143105978-0">Journals</a><br />
Samuel R Delany - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9781936833146-0">Through the Valley of the Nest of Spiders</a><br />
Sarah Schulman - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/62-9780520264779-2">The Gentrification of the Mind: Witness to a Lost Imagination</a><br />
Martin A Lee - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9781439102602-1">Smoke Signals: A Social History of Marijuana - Medical, Recreational and Scientific</a><br />
George Lois - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780714863481-0">Damn Good Advice (For People with Talent)</a><br />
Valerie Martin - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780349117324-5">Property</a><br />
David Byrne - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/18-9781936365531-0">How Music Works</a><br />
Ayana Mathis - <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/18-9780385350280-0">The Twelve Tribes of Hattie</a><br />
<br />Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-175233644087148222012-07-15T16:32:00.000-04:002012-07-15T16:32:12.407-04:00Proud / Out<br />
<span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 24px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><i>"Once
upon a time, we were for gay liberation...That's a big word. . . .
Equality is a small word and a small concept. It's just accepting what
little piece everyone else has...." -</i>- Bill Dobbs</span><br />
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I've wanted to write something about Pride this year, but "Gay" News keeps on coming. So I better do it now<br />
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This was the first NYC Pride I've been to since I moved here from Baltimore, and we managed to go to events in three boroughs: Queens, Brooklyn, and Manhattan, as well as the "Leather Pride" event, Folsom East. Staten Island's Pride was the same day as Queens, and The Bronx's event is coming up in July - and, sadly, we missed Harlem Pride this year as well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3YrZ_of2fn-vhIZ9Gf8YFC2-5pDRBm4U1s20cYUzh0DuPR-UnzH2PvRKHBQO2Ou8ZEA0XemTKb9deofYACT5nSvcmkfRqdF5kyOtVIYoBckpFJDu-JCN2s9CJ7NxV5bWOfqrXw/s1600/IMG-20120603-00206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3YrZ_of2fn-vhIZ9Gf8YFC2-5pDRBm4U1s20cYUzh0DuPR-UnzH2PvRKHBQO2Ou8ZEA0XemTKb9deofYACT5nSvcmkfRqdF5kyOtVIYoBckpFJDu-JCN2s9CJ7NxV5bWOfqrXw/s320/IMG-20120603-00206.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martha Wash at Queens Pride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Brooklyn's event was more of a Street Fair (although we didn't stick around for the evening parade), as was Queen's Pride for the most part - although Queens capped off the day with a wonderful but too short performance by Martha Wash (although we did get to say hello as she rode by in a chauffeured Cushman after the performance, which was a thrill). As a friend who lives in Harlem said about Pride there, for many it was like a reunion or family day, where you get to meet people you haven't seen in a long time, hang out with friends, and have fun (Baltimore's Black Pride Block Party was like this for me. In fact there's someone who we invariably would ONLY see there every year)<br />
<br />
The "Big Pride" in Manhattan on the last Sunday in June was, as could be expected, more of a mob scene. One aspect of it, however, was particularly troubling. The Christopher Street area and the waterfront along West Street/The West Side Highway below it has traditionally been a place for young gays to gather. This year, it was nearly impossible to get to "The Piers." Streets - including Christopher - were blocked and limited numbers of people were allowed to get down to West Street. It took some people we knew who went to Rockbar almost an hour to get there, for example.<br />
<br />
Once you did manage to get to and across West Street, only a strip of the walkway was open and available to revelers. Benches and the running and cycling track were blocked. There was very little room for people to do more than just slowly walk up and down along the river. As someone who has fond memories of the Pier area before 'renovation' (and spent the evening of Stonewall 25 in 1994 up all night sitting by the Hudson) this felt tragic to me. Even The High Line was closed on Pride Sunday, I'm assuming to prevent partiers from taking that area over as well. Friends who were in Manhattan for Pride last year also say that this year was much more cordoned off and constrained than in 2011. <br />
<br />
I can't help but wondering if part of the reason for what I can only call mistreatment or mismanagement of one of the largest events in New York City had something to do with race, class, and age.<br />
<br />
The crowds in The Village, along Christopher, Washington, West Streets and the Pier area were overwhelmingly Black and Brown. One can't make generalizations about people's economic status at a glance, but I'd estimate that most were Middle to Working Class, who wanted to enjoy the day inexpensively (ie not at a bar or club that very likely had increased prices or cover charges specifically for Pride). I'd estimate 60 - 80% of the people on the streets in the West Village were under the age of 35.<br />
<br />
What does it mean when The City/we treat the Next Generation of LGBTQ people in this manner? It felt very obvious to me that those of us in the streets that day were not wanted in that area. The obstacles felt like a form of harassment, of disrespect, a way of saying "Go back where you belong." It disgusted me.<br />
<br />
One of the post-Stonewall triumphs of the Gay Rights Movement was to create safe spaces for 'Queer" people to live, work, and gather. In a Gay variation on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stadtluft_macht_frei" target="_blank">"Stadtluft macht frei" - City Air makes you Free </a>, being in places like The Village, "Boys Town," Dupont Circle, The Castro, and others gave gays and lesbians a place to live their lives openly and without fear. And gays were quick to inform straights who came into those areas that this was Our space, not theirs.<br />
<br />
Now these spaces were never Paradise, particularly if you were a person of color: they were and remain overwhelmingly white. But for the most part we understand how to navigate a majority white world (having had to do that all our lives anyway). The chance to be with others like ourselves, to hold our boy or girl friends hand in the streets, was (and is) worth putting up with some racial crap.<br />
<br />
It seems to me that The Village and other spaces like this still hold that promise of freedom for many young LGBTQs, and for same gender loving people of color as well. We flock to these areas because they are our spaces too. We also want to breathe the air of these cities created by our LGBTQ foreparents, as a way to thank them for creating them, enjoy what they fought for, and to keep the space open for those who come after us. The kind of disrespect and herding of that mainly young, mainly minority, crowd on Pride Day Sunday flies in the face of that idea of freedom. The City of New York, and organizers of NYC Pride, should be ashamed of themselves for what they did to this huge segment of our population.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBSwhJWwoDLiPlZ-HyzDgYD33XdEGzhTa3lZw7ujvkui3PN7ipyeNV-mh4iwevVlZ6ncq9zzQovUBbiv6xtu1A_bjMZBK35-GKKPOhJ-Yc2OOvBKAGFayoUTnyBNvc_T_iKDdfg/s1600/IMG-20120617-00294.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBSwhJWwoDLiPlZ-HyzDgYD33XdEGzhTa3lZw7ujvkui3PN7ipyeNV-mh4iwevVlZ6ncq9zzQovUBbiv6xtu1A_bjMZBK35-GKKPOhJ-Yc2OOvBKAGFayoUTnyBNvc_T_iKDdfg/s320/IMG-20120617-00294.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">@ Folsom East</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The big post-Pride news has been about coming out, with Anderson Cooper leaving his <a href="http://www.out.com/entertainment/2008/09/22/glass-closet" target="_blank">'glass closet,</a>' and singer Frank Ocean revealing that one of his first loves was another man. For some (particularly here in New York where its standard to adopt an "Everybody Knew" attitude, Cooper's admission was no big deal. But I thought <a href="http://andrewsullivan.thedailybeast.com/2012/07/anderson-cooper-the-fact-is-im-gay.html" target="_blank">his statement</a>, particularly this section, was very good:<br />
<br />
<i>It’s become clear to me that by remaining silent on certain aspects
of my personal life for so long, I have given some the mistaken
impression that I am trying to hide something - something that makes me
uncomfortable, ashamed or even afraid. This is distressing because it
is simply not true.</i><br />
<i> </i>
<br />
<i>I’ve also been reminded recently that while as a society we are
moving toward greater inclusion and equality for all people, the tide of
history only advances when people make themselves fully visible. There
continue to be far too many incidences of bullying of young people, as
well as discrimination and violence against people of all ages, based on
their sexual orientation, and I believe there is value in making clear
where I stand.</i><br />
<br />
<i>The fact is, I'm gay, always have been, always will be, and I couldn’t be any more happy, comfortable with myself, and proud.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRJSDacAjteJw1tZAXf9U8un-E0Jt94CMZduxD-KRGEmXo-38EAXjQKVL9cvA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRJSDacAjteJw1tZAXf9U8un-E0Jt94CMZduxD-KRGEmXo-38EAXjQKVL9cvA" /></a><i>I have always been very open and honest about this part of my life
with my friends, my family, and my colleagues. In a perfect world, I
don't think it's anyone else's business, but I do think there is value
in standing up and being counted. </i><br />
<br />
In large part, this is the way <b>most </b>of us live our lives, I think. We're 'out' to those we are close to and need to be honest with, and its none of anyone else's business. Pride gatherings do allow us to add our number to the thousands of others like ourselves, show support, and cavort in the streets for a while. Then we go back to work and the ordinariness of our lives the next day. <i> </i><br />
<br />
Frank Ocean's 'coming out' is something different, more complicated. My reading of <a href="http://frankocean.tumblr.com/post/26473798723" target="_blank">his statement</a> indicates that Frank has 'come out' as possibly bisexual, not 'Gay' in the way we now take such admissions to indicate which side we are on in the 'never the twain shall meet' camps of either One Thing or The Other. I was an remain very moved by his revealing that he fell in love with another man when he was 19, and that while something physical may or may not have happened, his feelings were not reciprocated by the other man, and that he couldn't tell Ocean that he felt the same way until three years later. That kind of heartbreak is something most if not all of us have been through, particularly as teenagers.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.stocks-site.com/media/images/frank-ocean-2012.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.stocks-site.com/media/images/frank-ocean-2012.png" width="211" /></a></div>
Frank Ocean - who, I'll admit, I'd never even heard of before his statement broke - is to be commended for his honesty, and for being so brave to admit his vulnerability. And for writing and performing songs where he does not change the gender of his love object, as so many closeted performers have done in the past. One would hope his honesty, and the increasing discussion of the centrality of same-gender-loving people to black music<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> (cf. <span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2012/06/anthony_heilbut_s_the_fan_who_knew_too_much_reviewed_.html" target="_blank">Anthony Heilbrun</a> </span>"It is impossible to understand the story of black America without foregrounding the experiences of the gay men of gospel") will lead to greater openness by others, and a sea change in the music business. But it is WAY to early to tell about that.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Quick aside relating Ocean and Heilbrun - looking at the lyrics of "Bad Religion" it's easy to see the lines "</span></span><a class="has_comments state-accepted" data-id="895873" href="http://rapgenius.com/895873/Frank-ocean-bad-religion/This-unrequited-love-to-me-its-nothing-but-a-one-man-cult-and-cyanide-in-my-styrofoam-cup-i-could-never-make-him-love-me-never-make-him-love-me-love-love">I could never make him love me</a>" and <a class="state-accepted" data-id="898215" href="http://rapgenius.com/898215/Frank-ocean-bad-religion/Its-a-bad-religion-to-be-in-love-with-someone-who-could-never-love-you">It's a bad religion / To be in love with someone / Who could never love you</a> not only as relating to the man he fell in love with, but also to a God who rejects who you really are. Millennium approaches?<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.bakeryandsnacks.com/var/plain_site/storage/images/media/images/oreo-gay-pride/6889606-1-eng-GB/Oreo-Gay-Pride_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
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<a href="http://www.bakeryandsnacks.com/var/plain_site/storage/images/media/images/oreo-gay-pride/6889606-1-eng-GB/Oreo-Gay-Pride_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.bakeryandsnacks.com/var/plain_site/storage/images/media/images/oreo-gay-pride/6889606-1-eng-GB/Oreo-Gay-Pride_large.jpg" /></a></div>
But then, for some "Gay Pride" isn't what it used to be, anyway.
As reporter Steven Thrasher wrote in a long article in the Pride issue of The
Village Voice, <a href="http://www.villagevoice.com/2012-06-20/news/gay-inc-free-speech-rights/" target="_blank"><i>Does Gay Inc Believe in Free Speech?</i></a>, our current large scale Gay Rights Organizations ("Gay Inc) are more interested in remaining connected to corporations than the interests of the 'average' LGBTQ person. And the drive for liberation and freedom of expression for all peoples - gay, bi, straight, 'fluid', 'don't like labels', etc - has given way to the hazy notion of 'tolerance.' Rather than being seen as threatening, in the current climate we are just another consumer group to be catered to
(<a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/targets-decision-sell-frank-ocean-album-raises-fresh/story?id=16773147">Target notwithstanding</a> - for now), as <a href="http://www.bakeryandsnacks.com/Markets/Kraft-s-gay-pride-Oreo-connects-well-with-neglected-rainbow-market-says-expert" target="_blank">Kraft and its "Gay Oreo"</a> knows quite well. That wasn't quite what I was hoping for, back in my youthful days of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/March_on_Washington_for_Lesbian,_Gay_and_Bi_Equal_Rights_and_Liberation#Platform_and_Demands">Marching on Washington</a>. I still have a much broader vision of the future we should be working toward.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></span> <br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">"Never once did Martin Luther King Jr. use the word<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: inherit; -moz-font-language-override: inherit; border: 0px none; color: black; font-size-adjust: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; padding: 0px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">tolerance</span><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>in his speeches, <a href="http://bigthink.com/postcards-from-zizek/good-thinking-is-good-questioning">says </a></span><a href="http://bigthink.com/postcards-from-zizek/good-thinking-is-good-questioning"><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Slavoj </span></a><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://bigthink.com/postcards-from-zizek/good-thinking-is-good-questioning">Žižek.</a> "For him (and he was right) it would have been an obscenity to say white people should learn to tolerate us more." The goal of the Civil Rights Movement was not simply appealing to liberal magnanimity, but demanding equity, including economic equity. Tolerance is a request that represents a retreat from that ambitious vision. When King marched on Washington D.C., he didn't say, "learn to live with us." He said, "</span><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/17/i-have-a-dream-speech-text_n_809993.html" style="color: #e34900; cursor: pointer; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_blank">We're here to cash a check</a><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">":</span></div>
<br />
<i><span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: inherit; -moz-font-language-override: inherit; border: 0px none; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size-adjust: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; padding: 0px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">One hundred years [after the Emancipation Proclamation], the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check</span></i><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border: 0px; color: black; font-family: freight-sans-pro, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; padding: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">. </i><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: freight-sans-pro,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 25px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcd9Hfwstn8nifzv9zl4Sj4JL8DNMFj8QLtOtC_aVgjn-4BZ06mOb7jbCtEab4ot3pOcpcmU-s20DgIPVqJN0Rqc7howtx4yY61u2iILR5VvTKFf1quisjkJe4QFXvuOY8skQ7hg/s1600/Queens-20120603-00217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcd9Hfwstn8nifzv9zl4Sj4JL8DNMFj8QLtOtC_aVgjn-4BZ06mOb7jbCtEab4ot3pOcpcmU-s20DgIPVqJN0Rqc7howtx4yY61u2iILR5VvTKFf1quisjkJe4QFXvuOY8skQ7hg/s320/Queens-20120603-00217.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow over the closing of Queens Pride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-66739181095285682852012-06-27T19:47:00.002-04:002012-06-27T19:47:38.691-04:00Poem: As once the winged energy of delight by RilkeWas moving some papers this morning and ran across a copy I'd made of this poem by the glorious <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/295" target="_blank">Rainer Maria Rilke</a>. As happens whenever I encounter Rilke's work, I read this poem over and over again, and it has been haunting me all day.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/414VFHbVT7L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/414VFHbVT7L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
As once the winged energy of delight<br />
carried you over childhood’s dark abysses,<br />
now beyond your own life build the great<br />
arch of unimagined bridges.<br />
<br />
Wonders happen if we can succeed<br />
in passing through the harshest danger;<br />
but only in a bright and purely granted<br />
achievement can we realize the wonder.<br />
<br />
To work with Things in the indescribable<br />
relationship is not too hard for us;<br />
the pattern grows more intricate and subtle,<br />
and being swept along is not enough.<br />
<br />
Take your practiced powers and stretch them out<br />
until they span the chasm between two<br />
contradictions… For the god<br />
wants to know himself in you.<br />
<br />
from <span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/2-9780679601616-4" target="_blank">Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke</a>, t</span><span style="background-color: white;">ranslated by Stephen Mitchell (Modern Library 1995)</span><br />Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-75355535746438809522012-06-26T12:20:00.000-04:002012-06-26T12:20:44.404-04:00Navigating "Autogeography"So, you know those stories you read about where someone gets a phone call telling them they've won something, and the person doesn't believe it, or thinks it must be a practical joke? Yeah, well....now it's happened to me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSp0-0NvFbmz289LIqKKDf9bQvcNEdJFW1slnKp_zSFRB7giolzNh2Fh_EJFFOeu4SRGCnTP0tWBjvCoGdiwGS2SUE0yW1tv29Oq44fPlBeMpJr0wB8QpG1z046Zgcn63cjhAOg/s1600/AutoGeo+Original+Cover.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSp0-0NvFbmz289LIqKKDf9bQvcNEdJFW1slnKp_zSFRB7giolzNh2Fh_EJFFOeu4SRGCnTP0tWBjvCoGdiwGS2SUE0yW1tv29Oq44fPlBeMpJr0wB8QpG1z046Zgcn63cjhAOg/s400/AutoGeo+Original+Cover.JPG" width="383" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover of the draft manuscript</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I was VERY humbled and honored to find out yesterday that my manuscript, <u>Autogeography</u>, was chosen for this year's <a href="http://cavecanempoets.org/northwestern-prize" target="_blank">Cave Canem Northwestern University Press Poetry Prize</a>. I still don't quite believe it, and expected to wake up today discovering that it all had been a hallucination. (It also didn't help that it was my birthday!)<br />
<br />
But now there's a press release and everything, so I guess it must be true!:)<br />
<br />
I want to thank the judges, Parneshia Jones and Janice Harrington, for selecting my work, and everyone who helped me to pull what started life as a wild hairy mess of pages together into something like a coherent text - or as close to coherent as <b><i>I</i></b> can get, anyway. This is, in fact <u>Autogeography 2.5</u>: <span style="background-color: white;">as I've said to a few people, I put the manuscript together, sent it out for folks to critique, then about six months later decided to rework the whole thing, as I was no longer happy with it. After some cutting, reshuffling, and various other forms of revision short of tossing it in the air and letting the pages organize themselves on the floor, I had something I felt a little better about. The odd thing is, however, I was looking at it <i>AGAIN</i> over the weekend, thinking, "Hmm....This one, I don't know...Maybe I should....."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">"</span><span style="background-color: white;">A poem is never finished, only abandoned." - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Val%C3%A9ry" target="_blank">Paul Valery</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"> (In my case, that goes for books as well!)</span><br />
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The press release is below, and after that, one of the poems mentioned by Janice Harrington.<br />
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Thank you, thank you, thank you!<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px;">Cave Canem and Northwestern University Press are pleased to announce that <b>Reginald M. Harris</b> has been awarded the <b>2012 Cave Canem Northwestern University Press Poetry Prize</b> for his manuscript <b><i>Autogeography</i></b>, selected by judges Janice Harrington and Parneshia Jones, and slated for release in summer 2013. This </span></span>second-book award for African American poets, offered every other year, celebrates and publishes works of lasting cultural value and literary excellence. In addition to publication by Northwestern University Press, the recipient receives $1,000. About <i><span style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px;">Autogeography</span></span></i><span style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 20px;">, </span></span>Janice Harrington writes:</div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype'; font-size: x-small; line-height: normal;"><span style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 19px;">“<i>Auto </i>meaning self or same, and <i>Geography</i> meaning earth writing. In <i>Autogeography</i>, Harris explores the geographies that have written his identity as an African American and as a gay male. His stylistically diverse collection is personal, contemporary, marked by the rhythms of African American music, inventive, and filled with a disarming wit. In ‘The Poet Behind the Wheel,’ Harris writes of the poet: ‘Do NOT let him drive you: / Buckle up and hours later / Who knows where you’ll arrive’—advice readers will be happy to ignore as <i>Autogeography </i>travels through a landscape of personal lyrics, descriptive portraits, and historical witness. This is poetry that wants to speak to readers and not above them. He walks the streets you walk, sees the people you see, feels—especially in ‘The Lost Boys: A Requiem’— the same heart-breaking despair over the plight of African American males (drugs, violence, AIDS, urban ruin) that you feel. Harris is driving and readers are lucky to be in the passenger seat.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype'; font-size: x-small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17px;">Alison Meyers, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype'; font-size: 10pt;">Executive Director, Cave Canem Foundation</span><br />
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The Poet Behind the Wheel<o:p></o:p></h1>
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is dangerous. Juggling pad, pen,<o:p></o:p></div>
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steering column, each traffic light<o:p></o:p></div>
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brings forth a line, every <i>Yield</i> a different<o:p></o:p></div>
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turn of phrase. The speedometer<o:p></o:p></div>
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counts out syllables, not speed<o:p></o:p></div>
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and directions come apart under his fingers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maps lose their meaning Right? Second<o:p></o:p></div>
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Left? Gas
station? –<o:p></o:p></div>
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only words, playing cards to be reshuffled later.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do not get caught behind him<o:p></o:p></div>
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he drives slowly, leads followers
astray<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do not honk your horn<o:p></o:p></div>
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it reminds him of Purcell,
Armstrong, the Walls of Jericho.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do <b><i>NOT </i></b>let him drive you:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Buckle up and hours later<o:p></o:p></div>
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who knows where you’ll arrive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(Reginald Harris, from <u>Autogeography</u>, <a href="http://www.nupress.northwestern.edu/" target="_blank">Northwestern University Pres</a>s, 2013)</div>
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<br /></div>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-69285980817864746672012-06-01T15:03:00.000-04:002012-06-04T13:03:02.159-04:00Poem: Alabanza by Martín Espada<a href="http://www.martinespada.net/" target="_blank">Martín Espada</a> was <a href="http://www.poetshouse.org/programs-and-events/readings-and-conversations/martin-espada-on-puerto-rican-poetry" target="_blank">at Poets House last night</a>, and read the title work from his non-fiction collection <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/61-9780472051472-0" target="_blank"><u>The Lover of a Subversive Is Also a Subversive: Essays and Commentaries </u>(University of Michigan Press, 2010)</a>. The subtitle of the essay is "Colonialism and the Poetry of Rebellion in Puerto Rico," and focuses on writers <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clemente_Soto_V%C3%A9lez" target="_blank">Clemente Soto Vélez</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juan_Antonio_Corretjer" target="_blank">Juan Antonio Corretjer</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_Matos_Paoli" target="_blank">Francisco Matos Paoli,</a> and others. It was terrific to hear him deliver it, bringing the poems embedded in the text to life (Espada began by saying that the way he writes essays is to begin with poetry then wrap his comments around them "like bacon and liver.")<br />
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In the Q & A afterward, he talked about how we live in an "Age of Hyper-Euphemism," and "the divorce of language and meaning," and how it was the job of the poet to "take back the language....restoring the blood to words." Something to ponder over the weekend....<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pyDiqNZcGqq6lXTj0PcksPzSAaP1NHToYE6BbvAk-S-U_hzGl8-OsKrW6Jo7mCvL4akOEoy3TJa1l4tgU2GgQj9_pZhvalGUG7CV8P8tCKSWrvdLMuCgIKowrh_68f3d99efJw/s1600/Espada+Murillo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pyDiqNZcGqq6lXTj0PcksPzSAaP1NHToYE6BbvAk-S-U_hzGl8-OsKrW6Jo7mCvL4akOEoy3TJa1l4tgU2GgQj9_pZhvalGUG7CV8P8tCKSWrvdLMuCgIKowrh_68f3d99efJw/s320/Espada+Murillo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martín Espada, with poet<a href="http://www.fishousepoems.org/archives/john_murillo/index.shtml" target="_blank"> John Murillo</a>, at Poets House, 5/31/2012</td></tr>
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Here's one of my favorite Espada poems (IMHO one of the best poetic 'responses' to 911), and the title of his "New and Selected Poems 1982-2002), a good place to start for those who want to read more work by this important poet.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b><span class="TITLE">Alabanza: In Praise of Local 100</span>
</b></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">for the 43 members of Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees Local 100,
working at the Windows on the World restaurant, who lost their lives in
the attack on the World Trade Center</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<pre><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Alabanza.</i> Praise the cook with the shaven head
and a tattoo on his shoulder that said <i>Oye</i>,
a blue-eyed Puerto Rican with people from Fajardo,
the harbor of pirates centuries ago.
Praise the lighthouse in Fajardo, candle
glimmering white to worship the dark saint of the sea.
<i>Alabanza</i>. Praise the cook's yellow Pirates cap
worn in the name of Roberto Clemente, his plane
that flamed into the ocean loaded with cans for Nicaragua,
for all the mouths chewing the ash of earthquakes.
<i>Alabanza</i>. Praise the kitchen radio, dial clicked
even before the dial on the oven, so that music and Spanish
rose before bread. Praise the bread. <i>Alabanza.</i>
Praise Manhattan from a hundred and seven flights up,
like Atlantis glimpsed through the windows of an ancient aquarium.
Praise the great windows where immigrants from the kitchen
could squint and almost see their world, hear the chant of nations:
<i>Ecuador, México, Republica Dominicana,
Haiti, Yemen, Ghana, Bangladesh.
Alabanza.</i> Praise the kitchen in the morning,
where the gas burned blue on every stove
and exhaust fans fired their diminutive propellers,
hands cracked eggs with quick thumbs
or sliced open cartons to build an altar of cans.
<i>Alabanza.</i> Praise the busboy's music, the <i>chime-chime</i>
of his dishes and silverware in the tub.
<i>Alabanza.</i> Praise the dish-dog, the dishwasher
who worked that morning because another dishwasher
could not stop coughing, or because he needed overtime
to pile the sacks of rice and beans for a family
floating away on some Caribbean island plagued by frogs.
<i>Alabanza.</i> Praise the waitress who heard the radio in the kitchen
and sang to herself about a man gone. <i>Alabanza.</i>
After the thunder wilder than thunder,
after the booming ice storm of glass from the great windows,
after the radio stopped singing like a tree full of terrified frogs,
after night burst the dam of day and flooded the kitchen,
for a time the stoves glowed in darkness like the lighthouse in
Fajardo,
like a cook's soul. Soul I say, even if the dead cannot tell us
about the bristles of God's beard because God has no face,
soul I say, to name the smoke-beings flung in constellations
across the night sky of this city and cities to come.
<i>Alabanza</i> I say, even if God has no face.
<i>Alabanza.</i> When the war began, from Manhattan to Kabul
two constellations of smoke rose and drifted to each other,
mingling in icy air, and one said with an Afghan tongue:
<i>Teach me to dance. We have no music here.</i>
And the other said with a Spanish tongue:
<i>I will teach you. Music is all we have.</i></span></pre>
<pre><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>
</i></span></pre>
<pre>from <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780393326215-4" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;">Alabanza: New and Selected Poems 1982-2002 (W. W. Norton & Company)</span></a></pre>
<pre></pre>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-92104688610019012222012-05-28T19:11:00.001-04:002012-05-28T19:11:08.486-04:00Recent Reading (Memorial/Memory Day)<a href="http://isbn.abebooks.com/mz/62/14/0140234462.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://isbn.abebooks.com/mz/62/14/0140234462.jpg" /></a>Although <a href="http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html" target="_blank">Memorial Day</a> is set aside to honor those in the Armed Forces, this excerpt from <a href="http://www.haring.com/about_haring/bio/index.html" target="_blank">Keith Haring</a>'s fantastic <b><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780143105978-0" target="_blank">Journals</a> - which I have NOT been able to put down all weekend! -- </b> that speaks to keeping alive the memory of our friends, mentors, and those who have inspired and helped show us the way in life (there are many ways to be 'of service to our nation' which is what Memorial/Decoration Day is supposed to commemorate)<br />
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I feel the way Haring does about SO MANY friends, family and fellow writers and artists, some of whom are still alive, and some who have passed on - or, better said, who have "dropped the body," for their spirit still survives and the memory of them and what they gave me and others survives to this day. I am eternally grateful to them, and thank them for welcoming me into 'the brotherhood.'<br />
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(And a special thank you to <a href="http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/keith_haring/#" target="_blank">Keith and the Brooklyn Museum</a>!)<br />
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Friday May 22, 1987<br />
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Quick meeting with a woman who called and wanted to talk about <a href="http://briongysin.com/?category_name=about-brion-gysin" target="_blank">Brion Gysin</a> and the problem of not letting him disappear.... Brion Gysin and William Burroughs have had an incredible influence on me and provided a lot of inspiration....It's important that his work be available for future generations of artists. Their work gave me a structure to understand what I had already done....<br />
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Also, it was my first real contact with "the brotherhood" of artists that has existed through the ages. They initiated me, in a way, into this "brotherhood" by sharing with me some of the secrets and intimacies of their lives as young, gay artists. There is a very real historical line that can be traced all the way back. Brion knew all about this. He spoke of it very eloquently and, although thoroughly more intelligent than me, never talked down to me, but talked to me as if I were also a part of this. Through his confidence in me and his assurance and analogies to my historical counterparts, I began to accept the fact that I am part of this, whether history will accept it or not. Many, like Brion, have been written out of history by the uninformed, barbarically (fake intellectual) conservative, homophobic public. It is up to the people who knew Brion and understood his importance to try to fight against his disappearance....<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/keith_haring/images/04-Keith-Haring-Portrait_428H.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/keith_haring/images/04-Keith-Haring-Portrait_428H.jpg" width="314" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; vertical-align: baseline;">Self-Portrait with Glasses Painted by Kenny Scharf</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 20px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">, circa 1980. Polaroid photograph. Collection Keith Haring Foundation. © Keith Haring Foundation</span>
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I strongly encourage you to visit <a href="http://haring.com/">Haring.com</a> and the <a href="http://keithharingfoundationarchives.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Haring Foundation Blog</a> for more about Keith, and the work his art continues to do.<br />
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</div>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-12575439773752653982012-05-17T18:02:00.000-04:002012-05-17T18:02:06.595-04:00International Day Against Homophobia/RIP Donna Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.homophobiaday.org/utilisateur/images/homophobie/en/en_camp2012_300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.homophobiaday.org/utilisateur/images/homophobie/en/en_camp2012_300.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
How sad and slightly ironic that the "Disco Queen" Donna Summer should pass today, the <a href="http://www.homophobiaday.org/" target="_blank">International Day Against Homophobia</a>. Founded by the Martiniquean academic <a href="http://philosopedia.org/index.php/Louis-Georges_Tin" target="_blank">Louis-Georges Tin</a>, the day attempts to coordinate events around the world to garner support and respect for lesbians and gays.<br />
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So to lose Donna today - Wow...Her music was the soundtrack of my young and not so young life. You HAD to hear a Donna Summer song at least once every time you went to a club. Although she became 'Born Again' and <u style="font-weight: bold;">may</u> have <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donna_Summer#Controversy" target="_blank">fallen and bumped her head on a Bible at one point</a>, most of us continued to love her and play her music. In addition to a terrific (underrated) voice, Donna's music was all about love and joy (and not just the infamous, glorious "Love to Love You Baby" kind of love either.) There's an infectious joy to Donna Summer's music, which we all tried to embody on the dance floor.<br />
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In the midst of dealing with very sad news related to the bullying of both <a href="http://nymag.com/news/features/danny-chen-2012-1/" target="_blank">adults</a> and <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/11/jay-corey-jones-gay-minnesota-teen-suicide_n_1510001.html" target="_blank">teens</a>, it is so important to remember this community of loving friends we have around us, and try to expand it and make it embrace the world.<br />
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A poem by the fabulous <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/1136" target="_blank">D. A. Powell</a>. My apologies to him for not being able to accurately capture the spacing of his glorious long lines.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">[now the mirrored rooms seem comic. shattered light: I once entered the world through dryice fog]</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">"this was the season disco finally died" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">- Kevin Killian, <i>Bedrooms Have Windows</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">now the mirrored rooms seem comic. shattered light: I once entered the world through dryice fog<br />not quite fabulous. just young and dumb and full. come let me show you a sweep of constellations:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">16, I was anybody’s. favorite song: <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">dance into my life</em> [donna summer] and they did dance</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">17, first fake i.d. I liked <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">walk away</em> [donna summer] I ran with the big boys </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">18, by now I knew how to move. on top of the speakers. <i>give me a break</i> [vivian vee]</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.357em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">19, no one could touch me. donna summer found god. I didn't care. <i>state of independence</i></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">20, the year I went through the windshield. sylvester sang <i>I want to be with you in heaven</i></span><br />
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<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', serif; line-height: 1.357em; margin-bottom: 1em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I said "you go" and "scared of you." I listened to pamala stanley <i>I don't want to talk about it</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, 'Palatino Linotype', serif; margin-bottom: 1em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: 16px;">from <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/61-9780819563347-0" target="_blank"><i>Tea</i> by D. A Powell</a> (Wesleyan University Press, 1998)</span></div>
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQiukpbgRH5jUL2cqg2rGwzdzd0p6yz-zELdrLqJ-6CJQ6lpqCx1A" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQiukpbgRH5jUL2cqg2rGwzdzd0p6yz-zELdrLqJ-6CJQ6lpqCx1A" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-42410104983264521742012-05-02T13:40:00.000-04:002012-05-02T15:07:41.660-04:00Poem: Gospel by Rita DoveWho says you can't read/post poetry <b>AFTER </b>Poetry Month? Particularly something as delicious as this one, by former Poet Laureate Rita Dove, from her 1987 Pulitzer Prize winning collection <u>Thomas and Beulah</u>?<br />
<br />
Note to poets and other writers: Rumor has it that <u>Thomas and Beulah</u> was rejected by <i>numerous </i>publishers before being picked up by Carnegie Mellon....so keep writing and hang in there!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRZTDPF9HP9zpaMyKP9qODUIhF9Wa99H9-WLpbd9lwSEyT-c3LE" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRZTDPF9HP9zpaMyKP9qODUIhF9Wa99H9-WLpbd9lwSEyT-c3LE" /></a><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Gospel</span></b><br />
<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Swing low so I</i><br />
<i>can step inside</i>—<br />
<br />
<br />
a humming ship of voices<br />
big with all<br />
<br />
the wrongs done<br />
done them.<br />
No sound this generous<br />
could fail:<br />
<br />
ride joy until<br />
it cracks like an egg,<br />
make sorrow<br />
seethe and whisper.<br />
<br />
From a fortress<br />
of animal misery<br />
soars the chill voice<br />
of the tenor, enraptured<br />
<br />
with sacrifice.<br />
<br />
<i>What do I see,</i><br />
<br />
he complains, notes<br />
brightly rising<br />
<br />
towards a sky<br />
blank with promise.<br />
Yet how healthy<br />
<a href="http://covers.powells.com/9780887480218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://covers.powells.com/9780887480218.jpg" /></a>the single contralto<br />
<br />
settling deeper<br />
into her watery furs!<br />
<i>Carry me home,</i><br />
she cajoles, bearing<br />
<br />
down. Candelabras<br />
brim. But he slips<br />
through God’s net and swims<br />
heavenward, warbling.<br />
<br />
from <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/62-9780887480218-1" target="_blank">Thomas and Beulah</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> (<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;">Carnegie Mellon Univ Press, 1986)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;">And a heads up for those in the New York area (h/t thanks to the <a href="http://www.poetrysociety.org/psa/events/nyc/poets_in_the_playhouse_rita_dove/" target="_blank">Poetry Society of America</a>)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Friday, May 4, 7:30pm</span></h3>
<h4 class="city" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 6px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
Queens, NY</h4>
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POETS IN THE PLAYHOUSE:<br />Rita Dove's Thomas and Beulah</h4>
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<em>Poets in the Playhouse</em>, brings poetry from page to stage, beginning with a theatrical staging by students of <em>Thomas and Beulah,</em> the Pulitzer prize-winning collection by Rita Dove at Queens College with a theatrical staging by students. Introduced by Darrel Alejandro Holnes.<br />
<br />
<em>Co-sponsored by the MFA Program in Creative Writing and Literary Translation and the Department of Drama, Theatre & Dance.</em></div>
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The Little Theater at Queens College<br />
King Hall, Room 115<br />
65-30 Kissena Blvd<br />
Flushing, New York</div>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-66691484460912688572012-04-30T13:21:00.000-04:002012-04-30T13:21:18.073-04:00Poem: canvas and mirror by Evie ShockleyI have a weakness for poetic self-portraits, particularly those that play with the idea of how one describes anything (I still get a thrill from <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/98" target="_blank">Michael Palmer</a>'s "Autobiography" which begins 'All clocks are clouds.' WTF?!? LOL! :)<br />
<br />
In honor of Poetry Month and our Alma Mater <a href="http://cavecanempoets.org/" target="_blank">Cave Canem</a>, here is a poem from the wonder-filled work of <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/2123" target="_blank">Evie Shockley</a> (whose critical work, <span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><u><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/71-9781609380588-0" target="_blank">Renegade Poetics: Black Aesthetics and Formal Innovation in African American Poetry</a></u> is a must read</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">canvas and mirror</span></b><br />
<br />
<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">
</pre>
<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif;">self-portrait with cats, with purple, with stacks
of half-read books adorning my desk, with coffee,
with mug, with yesterday's mug. self-portrait
with guilt, with fear, with thick-banded silver ring,
painted toes, and no make-up on my face. self-
portrait with twins, with giggles, with sister at
last, with epistrophy, with crepescule with nellie,
with my favorite things. self-portrait with hard
head, with soft light, with raised eyebrow. self-
portrait voo-doo, self-portrait hijinks, self-portrait
surprise. self-portrait with patience, with political
protest, with poetry, with papers to grade. self-
portrait as thaumaturgic lass, self-portrait as luna
larva, self-portrait as your mama. self-portrait
with self at sixteen. self-portrait with shit-kickers,
with hip-huggers, with crimson silk, with wild
mushroom risotto and a glass of malbec. self-
portrait with partial disclosure, self-portrait with
half-truths, self-portrait with demi-monde. self-
portrait with a night at the beach, with a view
overlooking the lake, with cancelled flight. self-
portrait with a real future, with a slight chance of
sours, with glasses, with cream, with fries, with
a way with words, with a propositional phrase</pre>
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</pre>
<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.postnoills.com/images/Evie_Shockley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="http://www.postnoills.com/images/Evie_Shockley.jpg" width="320" /></a></pre>
<pre style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, 'lucida sans', helvetica, geneva, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">
</pre>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-76552003538061483002012-04-27T17:48:00.000-04:002012-04-27T17:51:19.243-04:00Poem: Our Tears are Sweet by Simin Behbahni<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://a4.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/5689_124940322023_116334392023_2840190_6112374_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://a4.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/5689_124940322023_116334392023_2840190_6112374_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simin_Behbahani" style="font-size: medium; text-align: -webkit-auto;" target="_blank">Simin Behbahni</a> (b. 1927)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simin_Behbahani" target="_blank">Simin Behbahni</a> is a<span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"> prominent contemporary Persian poets. Although she is considered Iran's national poet (<i>The</i></span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"> Lioness of Iran) that country <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=124768269" target="_blank">denied her a travel permit in 2010 as she was boarding a plane to Paris.</a></i><br />
Audio of Behbahni reading her work can be found <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2009/06/poet_simin_behbahani_says_neda.html" target="_blank">on the NPR website here</a><br />
<br />
This poem is from the new anthology, <span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: 1em;"><u><i>The Forbidden: Poems from Iran and Its Exiles</i></u>, edited by <span style="line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://www.sholehwolpe.com/AboutSholeh/index.html" target="_blank">Sholeh Wolpé</a>, who I had the great pleasure of meeting at this year's AWP Conference in Chicago</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c290d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;">.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c290d; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Our Tears Are Sweet</b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our tears are sweet, our laughter venomous.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We're pleased when sad, and sad when pleased.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We wash one hand in blood, the other we wash the blood off.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We cry as we laugh at the futility of both these acts.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Eight years have passed, we haven't discovered their meaning.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have been like children, beyond any account or accounting.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have broken every stalk, like a wind in the garden.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have picked clean the vine's candelabra.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And if we found a tree, still standing, defiantly, </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">we cut its branches, we pulled it by the roots.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We wished for a war, it brought us misery,</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">now, repentant, we wish for peace.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We pulled wings and heads from bodies,</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">now, seeking a cure, we are busy grafting.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Will it come to life, will it fly,</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the head we attach, the wing we stitch?</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">translated by Farzaneh Milani and Keveh Safa</span></span><br />
<a href="http://covers.powells.com/9781611860344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://covers.powells.com/9781611860344.jpg" /></a><span style="line-height: 16px;">from <a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/64-9781611860344-0" target="_blank">The Forbidden: Poems from Iran and Its Exiles</a></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;">, edited by </span><span style="line-height: 20px;">Sholeh Wolpé (Michigan State University Press, 2012)</span>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-30737299804348418652012-04-26T10:59:00.000-04:002012-04-26T10:59:29.126-04:00C. P. Cavafy: Three translations of "The City"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2009/04/19/books/longenbach-190.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2009/04/19/books/longenbach-190.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Constantine Petrou Photiades Cavafy (1863 - 1932)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Happy <a href="http://www.poetshouse.org/programs-and-events/poetry-in-the-world/poem-in-your-pocket" target="_blank">Poem in Your Pocket Day</a>! In addition to carrying around the poems Poets House are handing out today, many <a href="http://www.poetshouse.org/programs-and-events/poetry-in-the-world/poem-in-your-pocket/song-in-your-heart" target="_blank">written by 3rd and 6th graders from PS 89 and I. S. 289 about the neighborhood</a>, I also have Edmund Keely's <u><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/63-9780880015165-0" target="_blank">Essential Cavafy</a></u>, one of my favorite 'little books.' Here is Cavafy's "The City," first, the original, from the <a href="http://www.cavafy.com/index.asp" target="_blank">Cavafy Archive website</a> then two translations.<br />
<br />
Note <a href="http://www.criticalflame.org/verse/0909_kalogeris.htm" target="_blank">from George Kalogeris</a>: "In the original, all the rhymes are full rhymes, the pattern is
a-b-b-c-c-d-d-a, and the first and last line of each stanza rhymes
variations of the word for “sea” (<em>thalassa</em>) and for “wasted” (<em>xalassa</em>)."<br />
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<div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Η Πόλις</span></b></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Είπες· «Θα πάγω σ’ άλλη γη, θα πάγω σ’ άλλη θάλασσα.<br />Μια πόλις άλλη θα βρεθεί καλλίτερη από αυτή.<br />Κάθε προσπάθεια μου μια καταδίκη είναι γραφτή·<br />κ’ είν’ η καρδιά μου — σαν νεκρός — θαμένη.<br />Ο νους μου ως πότε μες στον μαρασμόν αυτόν θα μένει.<br />Όπου το μάτι μου γυρίσω, όπου κι αν δω<br />ερείπια μαύρα της ζωής μου βλέπω εδώ,<br />που τόσα χρόνια πέρασα και ρήμαξα και χάλασα.»<br /><br />Καινούριους τόπους δεν θα βρεις, δεν θάβρεις άλλες θάλασσες.<br />Η πόλις θα σε ακολουθεί. Στους δρόμους θα γυρνάς<br />τους ίδιους. Και στες γειτονιές τες ίδιες θα γερνάς·<br />και μες στα ίδια σπίτια αυτά θ’ ασπρίζεις.<br />Πάντα στην πόλι αυτή θα φθάνεις. Για τα αλλού — μη ελπίζεις—<br />δεν έχει πλοίο για σε, δεν έχει οδό.<br />Έτσι που τη ζωή σου ρήμαξες εδώ<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
στην κώχη τούτη την μικρή, σ’ όλην την γη την χάλασες. </div>
<div>
<br />
<h1>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></h1>
<h1>
<span style="font-size: large;">The City</span></h1>
<br />
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
find another city better than this one.
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
and my heart lies buried like something dead.
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”
</div>
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
This city will always pursue you.
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
You’ll walk the same streets, grow old
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
there’s no ship for you, there’s no road.
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
you've destroyed it everywhere in the world</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span class="author">from </span><em id="source_691015376"><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780691015378-1" target="_blank">C.P. Cavafy: Collected Poems</a></em> (Princeton University Press, 1992) </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
t<span style="text-indent: -1em;">ranslated By </span><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/edmund-keeley" style="text-indent: -1em;">Edmund Keeley</a><span style="text-indent: -1em;"> and </span><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/philip-sherrard" style="text-indent: -1em;">Philip Sherrard</a></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<h1 style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The City</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
You said: “I’ll go to another land, I’ll go to another sea.<br />I'll find a city better than this one.<br />My every effort is a written indictment,<br />and my heart — like someone dead — is buried.<br />How long will my mind remain in this decaying state.<br />Wherever I cast my eyes, wherever I look,<br />I see my life in black ruins here,<br />where I spent so many years, and ruined and wasted them.”<br /><br />You will not find new lands, you will not find other seas.<br />The city will follow you. You will roam<br />the same streets. And you will grow old in the same neighborhood,<br />and your hair will turn white in the same houses.<br />You will always arrive in this city. Don’t hope for elsewhere -<br />there is no ship for you, there is no road.<br />As you have wasted your life here,<br />in this small corner, so you have ruined it on the whole earth.</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
from <span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1em;"><u><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1546374407">The Collected Poems of C. P. Cavafy</a></u></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1em;"><u><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780393328998-1" target="_blank">: A New Translation</a></u> (WW Norton, 2007), </span></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">translated by Aliki Barnstone</span></div>
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<h1 style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></h1>
<h1 style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The City</span></h1>
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
You said: “I’ll go to some other land, I’ll go to some other shore.<br />
There’s bound to be another city that’s better by far.<br />
My every effort has been ill-fated from the start;<br />
my heart — like something dead — lies buried away;<br />
How long will my mind endure this slow decay?<br />
Wherever I look, wherever I cast my eyes,<br />
I see all round me the black rubble of my life<br />
where I’ve spent so many ruined and wasted years.”<br />
<br />You’ll find no new places, you won’t find other shores.<br />
The city will follow you. The streets in which you pace<br />
will be the same, you’ll haunt the same familiar places,<br />
and inside those same houses you’ll grow old.<br />
You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t bother to hope<br />
for a ship, a route, to take you somewhere else; they don’t exist.<br />
Just as you’ve destroyed your life here, here in this<br />
small corner, so you’ve wasted it through all the world</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZi0ndmnIZ8_jzIb2YLwHnWFH1VAve_r4flIRYBvkT4LFuFP_I4mIIjM5zQu98tD0v7-1K_Zpkv-Abb1ILoYfqEAEbHDtkL28uI6AaW5JMatVK7MiLBpizd2agrRMMPshLnDO-hw/s1600/Poems,+Pocket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZi0ndmnIZ8_jzIb2YLwHnWFH1VAve_r4flIRYBvkT4LFuFP_I4mIIjM5zQu98tD0v7-1K_Zpkv-Abb1ILoYfqEAEbHDtkL28uI6AaW5JMatVK7MiLBpizd2agrRMMPshLnDO-hw/s320/Poems,+Pocket.jpg" width="315" /></a></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
from<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #4a3a2d; line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9780375400964-8" target="_blank">C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems</a> (</span><span style="color: #4a3a2d; line-height: 1em;">Knopf, 2009)</span></span></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
translated by Daniel Mendelsohn </div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
</div>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-8503477034649838542012-04-25T16:00:00.001-04:002012-04-25T16:00:16.429-04:00Four Sisters from Zakaria by Ghassan ZaqtanContinuing Poetry in Translation Week, here is a poem by Palestinian Poet Ghassan Zaqtan. He was supposed to give a reading at Poets House a few weeks ago, as part of his US tour to promote a new book of English translations of his work, but <a href="http://www.aclu.org/blog/free-speech/aclu-asks-state-department-issue-visa-palestinian-poet" target="_blank">could not get a visa</a>. We went ahead with the program, with his translator poet and doctor <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/fady-joudah" target="_blank">Fady Joudah</a> reading and translating some of the work featured on <a href="http://youtu.be/CKrBv4U3vM0" target="_blank">a recent YouTube video</a> Zaqtan made once it became evident that he would not be traveling to the U.S.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://iwp.uiowa.edu/sites/iwp.uiowa.edu/files/zaqtan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="http://iwp.uiowa.edu/sites/iwp.uiowa.edu/files/zaqtan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ghassan Zaqtan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Joudah also talks about <a href="http://blog.bpj.org/2009/03/fady-joudah-on-translating-ghassan.html" target="_blank">talks about translating him here</a>.<br />
<br />
You can hear this and another poem in both English and Arabic <a href="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/indepth_coverage/entertainment/poetry/profiles/poet_zaqtan.html" target="_blank">here at the PBS website</a>. PBS' video of him reading is <a href="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/video/module.html?mod=0&pkg=conflict&seg=9" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<em style="color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;">* Zakaria and Artouf are two Palestinian villages in the Khalil (Hebron) area whose occupants were forced to leave in 1948.</em>
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span class="brickheading" style="font-weight: bold;">Four sisters from Zakaria</span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">climb the hill alone </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">in black clothes. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters sigh </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">facing the thicket. </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters in the dark </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">read wet letters. </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">A train coming </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">from Artouf passed </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">behind the picture. </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">A horse carrying </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">a girl from Zakaria</span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">neighs on the ridge </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">across the plain. </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">In the gorge </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">clouds slowly pass. </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">from Zakaria, alone </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">in black clothes </span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">on the hill.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<div style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">
<em><a href="http://www.sakakini.org/literature/gzaqtan.htm" target="_blank">Translated by Sargon Boulus</a></em></div>
<div style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<br />
<div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span class="brickheading" style="font-weight: bold;">Four sisters from Zakariyya</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters </span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">climb the mountain</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">alone </span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">in black clothes. </span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<a href="http://covers.powells.com/9780300173161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://covers.powells.com/9780300173161.jpg" /></a><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters sigh in front of</span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;"> the grove.</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters in the dark </span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">reading soaked letters.</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">There was a train</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">behind the photo passing from </span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Artouf.</span></div>
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">There was a</span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;"> horse</span><br />
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">carrying </span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">a girl from Zakariyya</span></div>
<div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">whinnying in the slope behind</span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;"> the plains. </span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">And the </span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">clouds were slowly passing</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">through the canyon.</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">Four sisters </span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">from Zakariyya</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">by the hill</span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">alone </span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">in black clothes</span><span style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">.</span></div>
</div>
<br />
<div style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">
<em>Translated by Fady Joudah, from </em><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/62-9780300173161-0" target="_blank"><u style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Like a Straw Bird It Follows Me: And Other Poems</u><i style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> (Yale University Press, 2012)</i></a></div>
<div style="color: #2e2e2e; font-size: 11px;">
<em><br /></em></div>
</div>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-56125687621195815682012-04-20T12:12:00.003-04:002012-04-23T17:31:36.781-04:00A.E. Stallings -- Extinction of Silence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.macfound.org/media/photos/STALLINGS2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="http://blog.glsen.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/DOS_social_profile1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://blog.glsen.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/DOS_social_profile1.jpg" /></a></div>
In honor of <a href="http://www.glsen.org/cgi-bin/iowa/all/home/index.html" target="_blank">GLSEN</a> (The Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network) and today's <a href="http://www.glsen.org/cgi-bin/iowa/all/news/record/2860.html" target="_blank">"Day of Silence"</a> to draw attention to the anti-LGBTQ name-calling, bullying and harassment in schools, a poem by the immensely talented translator and formalist poet <a href="http://www.macfound.org/fellows/19/" target="_blank">A. E. Stallings</a>.<br />
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<br />
<div class="tab-content active" id="poem-top">
<h1>
Extinction of Silence</h1>
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<div class="tab-content active" id="poem">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.macfound.org/media/photos/STALLINGS2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.macfound.org/media/photos/STALLINGS2.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A. E. Stallings</td></tr>
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<div class="poem">
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
That it was shy when alive goes without saying.
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<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
We know it vanished at the sound of voices
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<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Or footsteps. It took wing at the slightest noises,
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<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Though it could be approached by someone praying.
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<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
We have no recordings of it, though of course
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
In the basement of the Museum, we have some stuffed
</div>
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Moth-eaten specimens—the Lesser Ruffed
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And Yellow Spotted—filed in narrow drawers.
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<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
But its song is lost. If it was related to
</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
A species of Quiet, or of another feather,
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<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
No researcher can know. Not even whether
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<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
A breeding pair still nests deep in the bayou,
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<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Where legend has it some once common bird
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<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Decades ago was first not seen, not heard.</div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<i>from</i> <i><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/" target="_blank">Poetry</a> (February 2006)</i></div>
</div>
</div>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23443331.post-16763188926895851592012-04-20T09:00:00.000-04:002012-04-23T17:27:39.315-04:00Three Poems by Olav HaugeUr...<i>Olav</i>...<i><u>Who</u></i>?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.anvilpresspoetry.com/assets_cm/FILES/image/HAUGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.anvilpresspoetry.com/assets_cm/FILES/image/HAUGE.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the Orchard: Olav H. Hague (1908 - 1994) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not the <a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15408" target="_blank">E. E. Cummings poem</a> (and that's <i><b>Olaf </b></i>anyway), but a <a href="http://tuvala.blogspot.com/2008/09/olav-h-hauge-norwegian-poetry-at-its.html" target="_blank">Norwegian poet</a> who spent his entire <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olav_H._Hauge" target="_blank">life on a farm in the small town of Ulvik</a>. In addition to his own poems, he translated English, French, and German poets into his native language, and was influenced by classical Chinese poetry.<br />
<br />
Many thanks to <a href="http://www.coppercanyonpress.org/" target="_blank">Copper Canyon Pres</a>s and their selection of his poems<u><a href="https://www.coppercanyonpress.org/pages/browse/book.asp?bg={92D0C8D5-A037-4A87-93C5-27BF0671A669}" target="_blank"> <b>The Dream We Carry</b></a></u><b> </b>for introducing me to this quietly beautiful writer.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I Have Three Poems</b></span><br />
<br />
I have three poems,<br />
he said.<br />
Who counts poems?<br />
Emily tossed hers<br />
into a trunk. I<br />
doubt if she counted them,<br />
she simply opened another tea bag<br />
and wrote a new one.<br />
That was right. A good poem<br />
should smell of tea.<br />
Or of raw earth and freshly cut wood.<br />
<br />
<i>(Translated by Robert Hedin)</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">To My Fingers</span></b><br />
<br />
Oh, you fingers,<br />
how many hours you've had<br />
to slave for a cold brain<br />
and a dead body!<br />
And if I didn't write then<br />
you would take to whispering.<br />
Didn't the poems become good then!<br />
When you were speaking with tongues of fire!<br />
<br />
<i>(Translated by Robert Hedin)
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Dream</span></b><br />
<br />
Let us slip into<br />
sleep, into<br />
the calm dream,<br />
just slip in - two bits<br />
of raw dough into the<br />
good oven<br />
that we call night,<br />
and so to awake<br />
in the morning as<br />
two sound<br />
<a href="http://covers.powells.com/9781556592881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://covers.powells.com/9781556592881.jpg" /></a>golden loaves!<br />
<br />
<i>(Translated by Robert Bly)</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>from </i><a href="http://www.powells.com/biblio/1-9781556592881-0" target="_blank">The Dream We Carry: Selected and Last Poems of Olav H. Hauge</a><i> (Copper Canyon Press, 2008)</i>Reginald Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01318624469970165605noreply@blogger.com2