Thursday, February 28, 2008

Happy Bird-day!

"For child I am so glad I've found you Although my arms have always been around you Sweet bird although you did not see me I saw you ..."

Oh Bird, Bird

I lift my glass to
the day you were born, I am
all kinds of grateful.

Practically Soul-mates

(don't worry, Bird, I never saw him at the Mt.)

Me and O, we've got a synchronicity going on.

See who gets your vote:

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Torch-lit Octopus

Once in awhile we're lucky enough to know well those people in the world that passing by us would dazzle us and would seem really, a wonder, to know. I am lucky in that my friends are more than a large percentage those people--the ones you are lottery-win-wealthy to score and I have and I never stop marveling at just how.

Among these, L-Bojengles and her Filo-Boy make me prouder than proud to know them.
So, it's likely a little strange for me to direct you to read a review so smart, so generous that between that writing and the way Ms. L. writes about everything from politics (Gobama!) to cinema to music to fashion and all of its ghosts, I feel like the luckiest thing to be called a friend by her. And, if you haven't yet read her poems or if you have and are waiting for a bigger dose, that book that's on its way is well-worth the painful wait.

Besides L, there is my good filo to read as he reviews the lovely and talented Ms. Cate M. and then our sly, silly Chicky's poesy and the fact that Wil Oldham appears here(and wasn't I just listening to you and hot little Matt Sweeney who was supposed to wish me a happy birthday? and wasn't I just craving more Oldham and here then a poem!)


Never have I been so thrilled about a candidate. Direct, classy, cool-headed but without lacking warmth and the desire to bring humanity to every well-considered issue. As for "the words thing," they do matter, but more than the words themselves, the agility of mind and flexibility of options that a humble, intelligent, imaginative thinker brings to a moment. I like Obama's willngness when asked to retract a moment to choose a moment that is not as transparently politically-charged as say "the war on Iraq" which he has addressed with consistency throughout, but to choose instead (and consistent with all of his concern for the American family) the Schiavo case and the cost to individual personal freedom that such a decision risks. How right he is in suggesting that the political arena involves some measure of vanity and ambition and to see, for once in terribly too-long, one who consciously attempts to put those elements to the side in order to address concerns of the people he not only claims to represent but does not forget in his thoughtful treatment of every question and every issue.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Billet Doux--Won't it be Loverly?

I cannot wait for this project to arrive. Kristy Bowen is the greatest. The love letter poems look so pretty and I know that I like the stuff she publishes. Next year, let us all make Valentine's boxes and a new poem all beautiful to send one copy to each person on the postal route. Lots of lace and construction paper and paint and potato stamps and the stuff of second grade. Loverly.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008


Lyricists for Obama. Journalists for Obama. Copyeditors for Obama.

Don't tell me words don't matter. Come along, all of you that make words, tailor words, love words, know that words do stuff, big stuff, like matter, which is, really after all, no small matter.

I love feeling so inspired. Me and L-Bo are taking our words to the street. If you're feeling the Poets for Obama t-shirt impulse, let one of us know. I think we're going to have to get a bunch of them for a bunch of us.

When did I last really care about the election so much? This is fun.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Check Out this Hot Bird!

HoT EmU LuV lives on! Our website (with all credit going to Adriana Baros and the crew of writers who DID contribute some hot emu haiku--thank you) was chosen as a finalist for the SXSW Interactive Web Awards. We considered a quick trip to Austin but likely won't be able to swing it. Still, cross your fingers for our shameless bird that knows no bounds.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Friday, February 15, 2008

Curse the Body that Remembers the Body that Remembers...

One Body
Over the buildings a thinning mist, dawn takes a match to.
All the fuzzy, whirring molecules spin a yarn
of oneness, then flare up, flail, and burn
from such crystal, such sobering, spectacular arsons as this.

Thistle, thistle stop your purpling.
Don't listen to the chorus of fog, its unbearable
sophistry, its prayers. How I hate its implausible reasons.
O, the body...

Copyright © 2007 Yerra Sugarman All rights reserved
from Cimarron Review

Stargazer Lilies & the Blind Heart of mid-February


He arrives at my door with Stargazer lilies,
exotic tall flowers too erotic for us.
Named for nighttime, though we keep
to daylight hours, lest one of us gets ideas.

Three men now have brought me flowers,
each one uncertain in my doorway,
bouquet hanging at his side, embarrassed
by his own thoughtfulness, and I
by how easy I am to please.

I snip the stems and drop them in a vase,
wishing I could gush like a woman being wooed.
But this is a promise he can't deliver.
When he's gone I bury my face in them,
all night l breathe them in.

Flowers like these don't come up naturally,
these were cooed at, coaxed, cut off
at the knees. They tower over me,
block every view, spill their spicy perfume
as their heads dip in heavy half-swoons.

He should have chosen an easier flower,
something less prone to dramatic scenes,
quicker to die. Petals drop to the floor
where I let them lie.

Copyright © 2007 Tara Gorvine All rights reserved
from Tar River Poetry

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Tired today. Saw a picture of a mean but lovely man beside an anemic mosquito--that was sad. Saw the picture of sucked-out-blood of friendship--that, too. And the job front. And my motivation. And my sister's hideous, sucky, monstrous husband. Not good.

But there are things like my bird and the spinal-column he wears with such finesse that I remember again a boy can have that, plus character, real character. There's NY and my friends and my other sister's boy and good food, music, color, and the promise of newness in newness and that Billet Doux is due out any minute from Dancing Girl Press! I love this project, love that it had me in Dr. Bird's office on my knees for all of a Sunday afternoon into evening with vellum paper, rubber stamps of bare trees and dandelion spores and fine glitter all starry-spidering across the filmy page. I felt like a little kid, the night before Valentine's Day boxes were due for school. The doilies and candy hearts of it all.

What's Still Right in the World

Autography 4

During this time people protested. I didn't though I never for one moment was for it. And people bought supplies and became political but I didn't though I never for one moment doubted these necessities. A poet acquaintance had a baby. I saw her and the baby—they'd just been at a protest—and felt like I'd never had a baby despite my two boys. I stopped reading newspapers except about science and stopped the TV news though poets were at protests and writing blogs and someone asked me how I could write such abstract lyrics at a time like this and I looked at him and wondered what it felt like to write a poem. Pregnant women looked freakish to me, like costumes or experiments. On my way to the day care I looked at the big bellied women or new mothers with strollers and wondered what was it like to push a baby out of your body. Last night as I gathered my little son out of the bath into a green towel—clean, smooth, slippery, sleepy—I wondered what that was like.

--Rachel Zucker

Monday, February 11, 2008

New York, New York

What a wonderful trip. It was so, so, so good to see these very people: my dear, pretty and talented Veacearina (and her friend, Katherine) though not enough time and now I'm strategizing a quick long weekend and some Brooklyn-time and some Prabhakar and Cynthia time (who were off to Hawaii) and a whole day wandering Chinatown and another for the Village and another and so on...
Also, I finally met Laura--friend of Steve--whom I'd heard about for years.
And Steve, sigh...too, too long it had been and his reading was explosive, riveting, smart and funny. Aaron Smith read the poems I know him for and have always enjoyed and some wild, hilarious, edgy, new stuff. All this after the most poetic of introductions by the inimitable and lovely Glenn Raucher.
Christine Kronis from my Cincinnati workshop was there, having moved to NY and seeing the advertisement for my reading.
Ah, Stevanies-Two, 2/3 of the fiestiest friends I have (Lizzie, you know you have your sash, too,)I miss you guys something atrocious already.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

What the Heart's Chambers Should Contain

the work of lush bella, the toystore and yumminess of it.

WeSt SiDe Y ReAdiNg!

Come see us read. Come see us read. I will try to coerce a certain leading emuist to do a guest stint for a poem or two.

You will hear Aaron Blue on Blue Ground Smith!
You will hear Steve Blind Date with Cavafy Fellner!

You will be Intagliod but blue no more!

Bird, Bird, This One's For You

One of my three blog-watchers complains there's too much posey, not enough narcissism, so I dedicate today's post to my fellow half-hearted Patriots fan (or anyone who's offended Philly less than NY).

As for NY--greetings! I hope you're enjoying your perfect little prompt passes. I can't decide whether to register this very second or never again. I am still pouting.

I big-apple soon enough and with the prettiest cargo in tow. Free lodging, upper east side and two of my boys for a slumber party. (Not as fun or twice as fun as it sounds, depending on who you ask.)

Steve Fellner and I finally celebrate that long overdue set of victories. Steve writes funny, brilliant, weird and utterly captivating poems. His images are the bright side of bizarre and make my brain sparkle (much like the dialogue of a certain Dr. Bird--which is, believe it or not, a real species.)

I must be strategic with the limited city-time, and yet, one longs for some Barnes and Noble overlooking the park time. One longs for some Saturday morning farmer's market, some wicked theatre and wickeder food.

This week brings work and more work, fiction sent out and fiction formatted. (A bit more novel.) I just recently heard from one of my favorite fictionistas: Alicia and her work is so gorgeous and true that it shames me. With luck, she'll motivate me to finish this book.

Saturday stretches out lazily and there's too much to do before we Superbowl and Sunday. Go New England or whatever. (You're no NBA.)

We live for the dance, after all, isn't that right, Bird?