Tag Archives: poetry

I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast by Melissa Studdard

I ATEHardcover: 82 pages

Publisher: Saint Julian Press, Inc.; 1st edition (September 15, 2014)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0988944758

ISBN-13: 978-0988944756

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Reviewed by g emil reutter

Melissa Studdard writes of God as female birthing the universe, of what God could be, our reactions and creations. She writes in the poem, Naming Sky:

Kneel to the temple of wind. Listen to the voices
lingering in trees. When they moan,
it is your name they call. You can answer
with touch. You can call them God or sky or self.
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Studdard writes of truck drivers, Neruda, Van Gogh, of trees, animals and gatekeepers. She lives in the sunsets and stars, knows of shadows and lights. The opening of the poem, Those who See in The Dark, pulses with energy and images.
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So freedom would rain
In the ballrooms of their chests,
They entered sideways through the pulse
Of hands on imaginary dreams. One
Wore a wing beat in her eye,
The other, groves of laughter in her thumbs,
And all the while, they called it dancing.
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From Everything is so Delicious:
 
Sometimes
I feel so hungry, so thirsty,
I don’t want to die.
This desire to butter and eat the stars.
This desire to pack the sunset in my bag
and run home with her, to make
a terrarium for the moon.
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I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast is a fast paced creation of stars and sunsets of God and the images of the mind of Melissa Studdard. She is a poet of vison and sensitivity, of the perfect and imperfect, absorbing all around her.

 

You can check out the book here: http://www.amazon.com/Ate-Cosmos-Breakfast-Melissa-Studdard/dp/0988944758/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1411651757&sr=1-1&keywords=i+ate+the+cosmos+for+breakfast+by+Melissa+Studdard

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g-emil-reutter-g emil reutter lives and writes in the Fox Chase neighborhood of Philadelphia, Pa. (USA) https://gereutter.wordpress.com/

Our Nominations for Best of the Net

bestofthenet

Poetry:

Beauty by Nathalie Anderson http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/w14nanderson.html

Work Song by Jose Angel Araguz http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/s14-jaaraguz.html

Philadelphia Hipster by Peter Baroth http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/s14-pbaroth.html

Cry of my empty womb by Salvwi Prasad http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/s14sprasad.html

Spring at Dames Quarter by Russell Reece http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/w14rreece.html

Martyr’s Day by Dennis Daly http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/w14ddaly.html

Fiction:

Sleeping on the Couch by George Wyelsol http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/w14gwyelsol.html

Bed by Beverly Romain http://www.thefoxchasereview.org/s14-bromain.html

Poetry in the News…

the-poet-kelly-drive, Philadelphia, Pa. Photo-by-katie-reutter

The Poet-Kelly Drive, Philadelphia, Pa. Photo-by-Katie-Reutter

Pinsky Teaches Poetry…to the World

http://www.bu.edu/today/2014/robert-pinsky-art-of-poetry/

The new poet laureate: ‘Keep your mouth half-shut’

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/09/26/capital-download-charles-wright-on-becoming-poet-laureate/16215497/

Poetry on prescription from the Emergency Poet

http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-29352405

Tyler Knott Gregson’s Poetry Cracks Best-Seller Lists

http://online.wsj.com/articles/tyler-knott-gregsons-poetry-cracks-best-seller-lists-1411060387

Michael Lista, On Poetry: Why Poetry Sucks

http://arts.nationalpost.com/2014/09/26/michael-lista-on-poetry-why-poetry-sucks/

International Poetry Festival Welcomes Poet Lola Koundakjian

http://asbarez.com/127299/international-poetry-festival-welcomes-poet-lola-koundakjian/

Spectator competition: when prose and poetry meet (plus: verse in the manner of Revd W.A. Spooner)

http://blogs.spectator.co.uk/culturehousedaily/2014/09/spectator-competition-when-prose-and-poetry-meet-plus-verse-in-the-manner-of-revd-w-a-spooner/

Local poet publishes book of ‘observational’ poetry through national magazine foundation

http://downtowndevil.com/2014/09/25/61116/phoenix-shawnte-orion-chapbook-publish/

Poetry, roses on McPhilips’ grave

http://tribune.com.ng/arts-culture/item/17151-poetry-roses-on-mcphilips-grave

David Martin wins $6,000 CBC Poetry prize

http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/books/2014/09/22/david

_martin_wins_6000_cbc_poetry_prize.html

Dylan Thomas remembered on National Poetry Day

 http://www.southwales-eveningpost.co.uk/Dylan-Thomas-remembered-National-Poetry-Day/story-23004815-detail/story.html#OE1PMK6CJyIlGhpe.99

City of Eternal Spring by Afaa Michael Weaver

citySeries: Pitt Poetry Series

Paperback: 96 pages

Publisher: University of Pittsburgh Press; 1 edition (September 17, 2014)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0822963256

ISBN-13: 978-0822963257

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Reviewed by g emil reutter 

Afaa Michael Weaver, son of a sharecropper, soldier, factory worker, professor. He has traveled a unique road, a road carved out and built by Weaver himself.  He presents us with poetry that is grounded yet spiritual. City of Eternal Spring is the concluding book of a trilogy that includes The Plum Flower Dance and The Government of Nature.
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The poems in this collection present the reader with a blending of American rearing and Chinese spiritualism.
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From the 2nd stanza of the poem Recognition:
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I am you sitting in chairs, memories coming back
to fill my bones with you, inform the way I get about,
growing old little by little, trying to enlarge the circles
of mother and father and son, the circles my mother made
for me in the pain of bringing me back from breakdowns
so I can see my birth…
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A beautiful stanza reflecting life itself in Weaver’s view. In the chair, memories filling bones, growing old little by little, enlarging circles, freed from breakdowns, born again.
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Weaver’s poem MRT about trains and subways and travel gently brings us to another place, unexpected, our arrival not physical at all.
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From the 2nd stanza of the poem MRT:
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Being is filling the sack of something, knowing
yourself as a space, having mind take over
everything, ignoring the tubes and liquids
that give it something to drive, the mind driving,
stopped only by pain, and the train keeps pain
away from us, as perfect a machine as Chinese
genius can make, no undue slap against the rails
like Boston’s T, or the horror of underground
cities in New York. This is the Swiss ticking
of time in a life where I hide in the language,
bury myself in memorizing a writing that is
the opposite of abc, an American born color
like blackness, a curtain holding itself over me
a talking mirror that lets these staring eyes believe
what American hatred would teach them with
it disciples living here, the white minds who
spread the sickness of the place where I was born.
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City of Eternal Spring is a bold collection from Afaa Michael Weaver. As he embraces spiritualism, Weaver always has two feet firmly planted in the American experience as he has lived it.

 

Check out the book here: http://www.amazon.com/City-Eternal-Spring-Pitt-Poetry/dp/0822963256/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1411581449&sr=1-1&keywords=city+of+eternal+spring+by+afaa+michael+weaver

 

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g-g emil reutter lives and writes in the Fox Chase neighborhood of Philadelphia, Pa. (USA) https://gereutter.wordpress.com/

She Had Some Horses by Jay Harjo

SheHadSomeHorsesPbkbig

  • Paperback: 80 pages
  • Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company (December 17, 2008)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 039333421X
  • ISBN-13: 978-0393334210
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Reviewed by Stephen Page 
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Friday afternoon.  I take a taxi to the Buenos Aires Airpark.  On my flight to Uruguay I read She Had Some Horses, by Jay Harjo. The poems seem somehow familiar, something . . . I am trying to put my finger on it . . . yes . . . they remind me of poems I have read in workshops at university—there is nothing technically wrong with them, but there is nothing outstanding about them either.  They evoke some imagery, but little emotion.   My friend meets me at the airport and drives me to his home.  That evening, after eating grilled lamb on a patio in back of his house, I gaze over what he calls a “backyard”, which is a hundred acres of rolling land surrounded by barbwire fence with a small herd of horses that graze on the grass.  Once in a while one of the horses will take off running, and two or three will follow its lead, running, jumping in the air, kicking their hooves about, neighing like they are laughing, manes and tails flowing.  Running about, it seems, just to run about—to have fun—to be happy to be alive.  I note how gracefully horses move. How proud they stand when they stick their heads up from grazing to look about.  That night, I read the book again.  I begin to notice a subtle tugging from the poems, an evasive yet imperative beckoning.  The next morning, I read the book a third time.  The poems stun me. Each one dazzles me, has my full attention—like the way I notice a woman is beautiful and interesting in a way I did not on a first meeting with her, but upon a second and third encounter, moves me, enters me, will not leave me.  One of the better poems in the book is ‘The Woman Hanging From the Thirteenth Floor Window’:
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She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor
 window. Her hands are pressed white against the
 concrete molding of the tenement building. She
 hangs from the 13th floor window in east Chicago.
 with a swirl of birds over her head. They could
 be a halo, or a storm of glass waiting to crush her . . .
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The woman hanging from the 13th floor window
 on the east side of Chicago is not alone.
 She is a woman of children, of the baby, Carlos,
 and of Margaret, and of Jimmy who is the oldest.
 She is her mother’s daughter and her father’s son.
 She is several pieces between the two husbands
 she has had. She is all the women of the apartment
 building who stand watching her, watching themselves. . .
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She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window
 on the Indian side of town. Her belly is soft from
 her children’s births, her worn Levi’s swing down below
 her waist, and then her feet, and then her heart.
 She is dangling.
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The woman hanging from the 13th floor hears voices.
 They come to her in the night when the lights have gone
 dim. Sometimes they are little cats mewing and scratching
 at the door, sometimes they are her grandmother’s voice,
 and sometimes they are gigantic men of light whispering
 to her to get up, to get up, to get up. That’s when she wants
 to have another child to hold onto in the night, to be able to fall back into dreams.
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And the woman hanging from the 13th floor window
 hears other voices. Some of them scream out from below
 for her to jump, they would push her over. Others cry softly
 from the sidewalks, pull their children up like flowers and gather
 them into their arms. They would help her, like themselves.
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But she is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window,
 and she knows she is hanging by her own fingers, her
 own skin, her own thread of indecision . . .
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The woman hangs from the thirteenth floor window crying for
 the lost beauty of her own life. She sees the
 sun falling west over the gray plane of Chicago.
 She think she remembers listening to her own life
 break loose, as she falls from the 13th floor
 window on the east side of Chicago, or as she
 climbs back up to claim herself again.
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The image of the woman hanging by her fingertips on the window ledge is vivid.  She is depicted metaphorically as EveryIndianWoman, but she could just as easily be EveryWoman, the poem is written that well. Every reader feels empathy with The Women, as do the spectators on the street below.  Thusly, EveryOne is up on the ledge with The Woman, right beside her, or as her.  The poem begins tragically but ends victoriously.  There is hope to escape the fall from the ledge in the sense of self-reclamation.  After all, hasn’t everyone been hanging from a ledge at least once in his or her life—at least some sort of a metaphoric ledge?
The rest of the poems are just as vivid as they are emotional.
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stephen-in-the-countryStephen Page is from Detroit, Michigan.  There he worked in factories, gasoline stations, and steel-cutting shops.  He always longed for a vocation associated with nature.  He now lives in Argentina, teaches literature, ranches, and spends time with his family. http://stephenmpage.wordpress.com/

PHILALIA Small Press, Poetry and Art Fair September 25th to September 27th

phil

PHILALALIA is a three-day FREE event that will bring together poets, visual artists, publishers, & arts enthusiasts to showcase, perform, & sell their work.

WHERE:   Tyler School of Art, on the main campus of Temple University. There will also be off-site events at venues throughout the city.

WHEN:

Thursday, 9/25, 2-5pm

Friday, 9/26, 11am-5pm

Saturday, 9/27, 11am-5pm

 

The Schedule : http://philalalia.com/schedule/

For More information on vendors, poetry readings and more at PHILALIA visit: http://philalalia.com/

 

100,000 Poets for Change- Philadelphia Area Events – 2014

100000-poets-1100 Thousand Poets for Change is an international grassroots educational organization focusing on the arts, especially poetry, music, and the literary arts. Founded in 2011 by Michael Rothenberg and Terri Carrion it focuses on a world-wide event each September. 700 events in 550 cities in 95 countries took place on September 24, 2011 and the event was described as the largest poetry event in history.

soud comm park

Saturday, September 27th, 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. – Souderton Community Park – Wile Ave. & Reliance Road, Souderton, Pa.

100 Thousand Poets for Change – Philadelphia area poets read in Souderton Community Park in Montogmery County http://www.a2pwebdesign.com/montcopoet/news/newsblast09272014.htm

green line

Saturday, September  27th – 2p.m to 5 p.m.- Green Line Café-  43rd and Baltimore Ave., Philadelphia, PA

100 Thousand Poets for Change- Philadelphia area poets read at The Green Line Café in West Philadelphia. http://greenlinecafe.com/

moonstone

Saturday, September 27th- 4 p.m. – Brandywine Workshop, 728 S. Broad Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

100 Thousand Poets for Change – Philadelphia area poets read at The Moonstone Poetry Series http://www.moonstoneartscenter.org/100-thousand-poets-for-change/