Today's Journal of Note:
Mad Hatter's Review
http://www.madhattersreview.com/issue8/index.shtml
Poet and Poems (yes, plural this time) of the Issue:
Christine Hamm
http://chamm.blogspot.com/
"Architect of Appetite"
"What Hansel in His Cage is Forgetting"
"In the Witch's House, What Gretel Remembers"
These poems are original and delightful. Tasty, even. They stand alone, but there are more luscious layers to experience when read together.
My mama always says, "The best way to convince people your cooking's good is to starve them a little first."
She also says, "Just enough is just as good as a feast."
The moral dilemma of her logic and her plump body, rotund and ripe as a plum, eludes her, I think.
Words First
Today's Journal of Note:
Exquisite Corpse: A Journal of Letters and Life
http://www.corpse.org/issue_14/index.html
Poem and Poet of the Issue:
(tough to choose today)
"The Evolution of Panspermia" by Frank Eannarino
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was made flesh.
God veiled in flesh: knowledge, power, action, creation, order to chaos.
Women bare children.
Christ was (conceived by) the Divine Father made flesh in Mary's unbesmirched womb.
Gabriel gave her word, but she had to agree first.
She said, "I am the Lord's servant.
May it be as you have said."
Exquisite Corpse: A Journal of Letters and Life
http://www.corpse.org/issue_14/index.html
Poem and Poet of the Issue:
(tough to choose today)
"The Evolution of Panspermia" by Frank Eannarino
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was made flesh.
God veiled in flesh: knowledge, power, action, creation, order to chaos.
Women bare children.
Christ was (conceived by) the Divine Father made flesh in Mary's unbesmirched womb.
Gabriel gave her word, but she had to agree first.
She said, "I am the Lord's servant.
May it be as you have said."
n. A lover of all things but esp. vernacular
Today's Journal of Note:
Rio Grand Review
http://www.utep.edu/rgr
Poem and Poet of the Issue:
"Adaptiveness of Behavior"
JeFF Stumpo
He's tackled defining what a poet is. Can anyone say ever? Can a poet define him or herself? I guess she damn well better try. JeFF manages a fair definition, I'd say.
I have met JeFF, although I'm certain he doesn't remember me, a couple of times. Once at a Brazos Gumbo reading, another time at Revolution. He's a stellar poet, as comfortable on the page as he is on the stage. Worthy of your time and consideration. Keep an eye on this one.
Rio Grand Review
http://www.utep.edu/rgr
Poem and Poet of the Issue:
"Adaptiveness of Behavior"
JeFF Stumpo
He's tackled defining what a poet is. Can anyone say ever? Can a poet define him or herself? I guess she damn well better try. JeFF manages a fair definition, I'd say.
I have met JeFF, although I'm certain he doesn't remember me, a couple of times. Once at a Brazos Gumbo reading, another time at Revolution. He's a stellar poet, as comfortable on the page as he is on the stage. Worthy of your time and consideration. Keep an eye on this one.
Death is not a Democracy
Today's Journal of Note:
Cross Connect
http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/xconnect/
Poet and poem of the issue:
Gregory Djanikian "Covenant"
I did not know about Bhutto's assassination yesterday when I posted. In reading about her life, I am struck by some facts:
Her father was assassinated also, hung by a military regime in the same town where she was killed.
She will be buried next to him in the place of her birth.
Her brother also died under mysterious circumstances in France.
Her father encouraged her to study influential women including Joan of Arc and Indira Ghandi, both of whom were also assassinated.
I saw two pictures this morning.
In one, taken a little time before her death, she is behind a podium wearing deep, royal blue, a white veil, long strings of red and white flowers around her neck, eyes shining, smiling at her people [looking out towards her people], her arms out, raised, hands palms up to heaven.
In the other, a man wearing black, feet planted wide, rubble and bodies on the ground around him, his arms out, raised, hands limp, palms out in the haze, head back resting on his right shoulder, eyes closed [looking but not seeing], teeth exposed below his mustache in a grimace, a street light in the distance in exactly the same pose, like a cross ready to be put to use, to fulfill its purpose.
Cross Connect
http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/xconnect/
Poet and poem of the issue:
Gregory Djanikian "Covenant"
I did not know about Bhutto's assassination yesterday when I posted. In reading about her life, I am struck by some facts:
Her father was assassinated also, hung by a military regime in the same town where she was killed.
She will be buried next to him in the place of her birth.
Her brother also died under mysterious circumstances in France.
Her father encouraged her to study influential women including Joan of Arc and Indira Ghandi, both of whom were also assassinated.
I saw two pictures this morning.
In one, taken a little time before her death, she is behind a podium wearing deep, royal blue, a white veil, long strings of red and white flowers around her neck, eyes shining, smiling at her people [looking out towards her people], her arms out, raised, hands palms up to heaven.
In the other, a man wearing black, feet planted wide, rubble and bodies on the ground around him, his arms out, raised, hands limp, palms out in the haze, head back resting on his right shoulder, eyes closed [looking but not seeing], teeth exposed below his mustache in a grimace, a street light in the distance in exactly the same pose, like a cross ready to be put to use, to fulfill its purpose.
I do not know what support means
Today's Journal of Note:
Raving Dove
http://www.ravingdove.com
Poet and poem of the issue:
Anthony Buccino "Old Man"
It's hard to know where to fall. 9/11 was one of the most horrific tragedies this country has ever experienced on its own soil. The chain of events that have followed have only deepened that tragedy regardless of wrong or right or politics or causes.
The facts: People died. People die.
Whose flag do you wave? Whose gods do you pray to? Who and what do you owe? In this life? With your death?
Raving Dove
http://www.ravingdove.com
Poet and poem of the issue:
Anthony Buccino "Old Man"
It's hard to know where to fall. 9/11 was one of the most horrific tragedies this country has ever experienced on its own soil. The chain of events that have followed have only deepened that tragedy regardless of wrong or right or politics or causes.
The facts: People died. People die.
Whose flag do you wave? Whose gods do you pray to? Who and what do you owe? In this life? With your death?
Skulls and Fruit, But No Still Lifes
I met with my friend, Larry D. Thomas, the 2008 Texas Poet Laureate, for lunch yesterday. I discovered Larry (well, his poetry, not him) in the coolest bookstore in West Texas, Marfa Book Company. I wanted some poetry written by a West Texan about West Texas to read while camping in Big Bend National Park, but I wanted quality--something worth my money and, more importantly, my attention and my time. I came across Larry's Where Skulls Speak Wind. I carried it in my backpack to the top of the Lost Mine Trail. As I looked out over the canyons and pines and the March wind blew across those pages and the rich imagery of his sparse words, I not only saw the landscape but felt it.
Through a series of events beyond coincidence (more about that later), we met this year. A couple of months ago, he graciously agreed to read some of my poetry, including my creative thesis that I composed between 2001 and 2004. After lamenting not being painters, we had an awesome lunch at Cafe Artiste. I was touched by his kindness, blown away by his honesty, and humbled by his praise. This man knows how to craft words, ya'll, so to say that I value his opinion is an understatement. He deserves the title Laureate and your time, too, at the very least. I had just finished reading his chapbook, The Woodlanders. I am astounded by this man's talent, the way he can stare into the darkest corners of the soul and still want to (and still know that he can) be redeemed.
See what I mean...
With the Light of Apricots
Chapbook published by Lily Press
Available electronically at FutureCycle Poetry
Through a series of events beyond coincidence (more about that later), we met this year. A couple of months ago, he graciously agreed to read some of my poetry, including my creative thesis that I composed between 2001 and 2004. After lamenting not being painters, we had an awesome lunch at Cafe Artiste. I was touched by his kindness, blown away by his honesty, and humbled by his praise. This man knows how to craft words, ya'll, so to say that I value his opinion is an understatement. He deserves the title Laureate and your time, too, at the very least. I had just finished reading his chapbook, The Woodlanders. I am astounded by this man's talent, the way he can stare into the darkest corners of the soul and still want to (and still know that he can) be redeemed.
See what I mean...
With the Light of Apricots
Chapbook published by Lily Press
Available electronically at FutureCycle Poetry
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