Surviving "Frankenstorm", New Book, and Happy Halloween

Seriously, how can you be scared of a hurricane named "Sandy"?  It's almost as un-scary as "Bob" from a few seasons ago. "Bob" isn't a hurricane; it's your next-door neighbor who lends you his weed whacker. And he could be married to "Sandy". So when this weather phenomenon began to acquire the names "Superstorm" and "Frankenstorm" (a clever tag for a Halloween-week storm that was a hybrid of three different storms), there was more cause for alarm.  It was truly frightening how big it became and how much it affected practically the whole Eastern half of the country.  Of course, the Jersey shore, northern NJ and New York City got the brunt of it, and the images of the flooding and destruction are chilling.  In my neck of the woods, closer to Philly, we had our share of damage and inconvenience, though nothing of the magnitude of those other areas.  We got hurricane-force gusts but not as much rain, and no storm surge to worry about.  Still, many of us were without power (some still are) and there's a number of downed trees all over.  One came down in my yard and pulled a "hat trick", taking out my electric line, cable and phone line all at once, early in the storm.  For a while I was the only one on my block without power.  We made the most of it, with plenty of candles and flashlights, and we could still cook on our gas stove. We even played a board game together by candlelight (a fine alternative when electronic games are not an option).  By Tuesday we were worrying about our perishable food, but we got everything back except the phone line by that afternoon - even had a local tree service cut up our fallen tree. None of us in in my house had work or school Monday or Tuesday, but today (Wednesday) my wife, who works for the state, was the only one who was off.  Things are almost back to normal here, but The Big Apple, where two of my sons live, is another story.  They're okay, but lower Manhattan is still flooded and mostly without power.  If global warming was a factor in the formation of this monster storm, then we'd better start getting used to more of the same.

In poetry: My new chapbook is out!  It's called Twenty-four by Fourteen, and is a collection of two dozen sonnets and sonnet-like poems, published by Maverick Duck Press.  We had a "launch party" a couple of weeks ago at the Daily Grind in Mount Holly, which was sparsely attended, but I appreciated my friends and family who did come (including my wife, who rarely attends these things).  The cover art, as usual, is by my talented graphic artist son.  Here's a link to the publisher's website, or you can contact me directly for an autographed copy.  Here's an image of the wrap-around cover - note the 24x14 array:
















Happy Halloween:  Here are two pumpkins my kids decorated - my son did the carved pirate emblem, and my Korean international student did her version of a witch:

Poem:  Once again I finished in the top 10 in Robert Brewer's Poetic Asides blog Poetic Form contest.  This time it was for a "chant poem".  The title suggests a seasonal subject, but the theme is more serious, about the dark side of human nature.


Frankenstein

My monster will rise from two teenage boys
who killed a young girl for her bike.

My monster will rise from a commentator
who called the President a “retard”
and from those who hang him in effigy.

My monster will rise from the men who shot
a girl in Pakistan who wanted an education.

My monster will rise from those who bullied
a girl to suicide.

My monster will rise from those who say
the Holocaust never happened.

My monster will rise from the two men
who crucified a young gay man against a fence,
the three white supremacists who dragged
a black man to pieces behind their pickup.

My monster will rise from the slime of hatred
and intolerance, from the stench of inhumanity.

Who will kill my monster?

An Open Letter to Ann Coulter

Dear Ann,
I don’t usually get “political” on this blog, but I feel compelled to respond to your recent Twitter comment, even though by now, what with the 24-hour news cycle and all that, it’s old news. You said after the last debate, “I highly approve of Romney’s decision to be kind and gentle to the retard.” Let’s look at the two reasons this is such a despicable comment.

First, you’re insulting the President of the United States. Okay, we all love the First Amendment, which gives us the right to call the President just about anything we want. Heck, I called George W. Bush an “idiot” on more than one occasion. But there’s something particularly insidious about the “R-word”. Let’s face it: no matter what you think about Barack Obama and his first term in office, he is an intelligent man. Insulting his intelligence will get you nowhere. I have to digress a little and comment on the attitudes I’ve witnessed in the last four years. I have never seen such disrespect and utter vitriol for a president as I have seen for this man – a deep-seated hatred that for the most part he does not deserve. And it doesn’t take a sociologist to know where much of it is coming from. You may disagree with him, but for God’s sakes, he is not a Muslim, a communist, a subhuman (as depicted in some execrable cartoons), and he is, I repeat, is, a U.S.-born citizen. I have never seen a president hung in effigy by his own citizens like I have with this one. (And I don’t need to point out the other connotations of that display.) I have to say, Ann, you must relish feeding this hatred with the use of that word.

Second, the word itself is reprehensible. Inexplicably, it’s become fashionable as a general insult among young folks. Maybe you thought because you have a Twitter account and used it, it made you look “cool”. You’re not. These days, even “mentally retarded” is considered un-PC, so “retard” is even worse – it’s a slur, no matter how it’s used, almost as bad as the “N-word”.

Let me tell you a little story. When I was in fifth grade, there was a developmentally-disabled boy in our class that my friends and I made fun of on the playground. Our teacher heard about this and gave the three of us a long, stern lecture on treating others with respect and dignity, which I remember to this day, some fifty years later. I never used the R-word again. Maybe if you’d had a lecture like that in your youth, Ann, you wouldn’t be the mean-spirited human being you are today.

The backlash to your comment has been amazing, not so much in support of the president as of the millions of developmentally-challenged individuals who deserve more than the indirect slap in the face that you gave them. I’ve read some eloquent statements on the matter from them and their families, and I couldn’t possibly have said it better, so I won’t try.

In conclusion, Ann, I don’t expect you, a standard-bearer for the right wing, to like Barack Obama. So vote against him, and encourage your friends to do the same, just as I will encourage my friends to vote for him. But stop calling the man, or anyone else in this precious world, a “retard”. Because you know what? It’s not just a word – it’s also a boomerang.

Extra: Basking in the Post-Dodge Glow

I attended the biennial Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival this past week.  It's the four-day festival that features readings and performances by renowned poets from around the world, with music, panel discussions, book signings, open readings, and a lot of other activities.  It's the largest poetry gathering of its kind in North America, I'm told, and it's small wonder it's been called the "Woodstock of Poetry".  (Especially one year at a one-time-only venue when it was a sea of mud!)  For years it had been held in historic Waterloo Village, a rustic recreation of a 19th century town in north Jersey, but when it was resurrected from oblivion two years ago and moved to the Performing Arts Center in urban Newark, NJ, I was skeptical that it could be as successful as previous years, so I skipped it. I went this year, however, and though the ambiance of the new location is quite different, it was still a huge success.  I went for only one day, which happened to be "High School Student Day", so the venues were packed.  But I must say that the kids were quite well-behaved, attentive and enthusiastic, and I enjoyed the positive energy that they brought with them.

Of course I had to see my idol, Jane Hirshfield, and I got a chance to say hello to her before her evening performance.  I attended both of her readings and the afternoon panel conversation in which she participated, "Finding Your Poetry", which was moderated by another poetry friend, J.C. Todd.  In fact, I saw several fellow poets I know who were there as attendees or volunteers: Diane Lockward, Lois Harrod, Laura Boss, Madeline Tiger, Tony Gruenwald, Amanda Berry, and Rocky Wilson.  The "famous poets" lineup was impressive as usual: I got to see the current Poet Laureate, Natasha Tretheway, as well as Amiri Baraka, Eavan Boland, Juan Felipe Herrera, Dorianne Laux, Rachel McKibbens, Emari DiGiorgio, Taylor Mali, Arthur Sze, Ada Limon, Joseph Millar, Terence Hayes, Fanny Howe, and Thomas Lux.  I also participated in an open reading attended by about a hundred people, and I read two of my poems, "Dancing with the Muse" and "Postcard to the Ex", which got a great response.  It was a long but really fine day.

Collingswood Book Fest and Even More Limericks

Once again, I attended the 10th annual Collingswood Book Festival yesterday.  It's a great one-day street festival celebrating the printed word (and we need to do that more than ever these days), with local and regional authors giving talks and signings, as well as kid's events (Kathy O'Connell from XPN's Kid's Corner was there, along with local kid-band favorites Ernie and Neal), publishers, lots of new and used books for sale, and a day-long schedule of poetry events.  Lots of my poetry friends were there: Tammy Paolino and B.J. Swartz, along with Walt Howat, organized the "poetry tent";  Anna Evans judged the children's poetry contest; Kendall and Christinia Bell represented their own Maverick Duck Press (who will be publishing my new chapbook later this month); and Don Kloss represented our group, The Quick and Dirty Poets, at the "Occupy Poetry" event that showcased local poetry groups. My son came along, too, and we participated in a workshop run by Peter Murphy (founder of the Winter Poetry and Prose Getaway), and an afternoon open mic.  I also got to meet Pulitzer-Prize-winning political cartoonist Tony Auth, late of the Philadelphia Inquirer, and got him to autograph a copy of his new collection The Art of Tony Auth: To Stir, Inform and Inflame. The weather was nearly perfect - a little cloudy and windy in the afternoon, but nothing to complain about.

I'm looking forward to the new print issue of Verse Wisconsin, which will be featuring two of my poems, "Ghosts" and "Downsizing", both of which, you could say, are autumn-themed.  Also, I need to remind you all (if you're local) of my upcoming reading for Maverick Duck Press at the Daily Grind, High St. in Mt Holly, on Friday Oct. 19 at 7:00 p.m.  Hopefully it will be a "book launch" as well, with the impending publication by MDP of my new chapbook, Twenty-four by Fourteen.  Be there if you can.

I've been enjoying entering online humor contests lately. I finally submitted to the New Yorker's weekly Cartoon Caption Contest - I'll know in a week or so if I'm a finalist. (Website visitors can vote online for one of the three finalists in the contest.)  I also entered another political poem to Salon.com's weekly limerick contest, though I can't tell if it's actually still running.  I did, however, score another HM in Mad Kane's Limerick-off for this one:

Young Hester displayed her dismay
that her rep in Sex Ed would hold sway:
"They think that I'm sultry,
imbued in adult'ry -
it's a class where I don't want an 'A'!"

Baseball: The Phillies season is over.  They succeeded in having their first non-winning season in 12 years (81-81) and missed the playoffs for the first time in six years.  If their first half had been as good as their second half (which would have been tough with all the regulars who were injured) they would have at least got a wild card spot.  Well, no use crying over spilt milk.  Retooling has already begun with the firing of three coaches, and the hiring of Hall-of-Famer Ryne Sandberg, who did a fine job coaching their minor league Iron Pigs franchise, as third-base coach.  I have little interest in the post-season at this point, though I seriously think the Nationals could go all the way.

Poem: Here's the timely limerick I submitted to the Salon.com contest, after viewing the (so-called) debate:

Mr. Romney has stated that, yes,
he plans to de-fund PBS.
I can just see the headline:
Big Bird in the breadline,
and Elmo a homeless hot mess!

Pushcart, A New Book, Trivia, and a Loss

Late again!  Now that there’s little nip of autumn in the air and the school year is back in full swing, it’s time for an update.

The big poetry news is that I’ve been nominated for a Pushcart Prize for my poem, “Postcard to the Ex”, which appeared in this year’s issue of US 1 Worksheets.  (Click here to see it on their webpage.)  It’s my second Pushcart nomination, and even though I now realize that there are probably a couple of thousand nominees each year, it’s still quite an honor.  It would be even sweeter if my poem made it into the annual Pushcart Prize anthology, but I’m not holding my breath.

I’m planning to publish a new chapbook by next month - it will be a collection of sonnets and other 14-line poems titled "Twenty-four by Fourteen".  I plan to have it out just in time for a reading sponsored by my publisher, Maverick Duck Press, at 7:00 on Friday, October 19 at The Daily Grind in Mt. Holly.  If you’re a local friend or acquaintance, come on out for what I hope will be an entertaining evening.

It seems I’ve become a bit of a legend at my local Mexican restaurant and watering hole, Tortilla Press Cantina, where they have a weekly trivia (“Quizzo”) contest.  I’m a trivia fanatic, and I’ve won a few prizes there playing solo (usually against several teams of two to four people).  At one point, one of the MCs dubbed me “Bruce the Shark”, and the name stuck as my “team name”.  I haven’t won the last three times, but my “consolation prize” last week was that one of the other teams named themselves after me, something like “Was Bruce at Shark Camp All Summer? Welcome Back!”  (I took a bit of a hiatus during the summer.) That was nice of them, but they didn’t win that night either.

On a sadder note, I lost a longtime friend to cancer a couple of weeks ago.  I’d known Bill since just after college – his girlfriend and future wife Marlene was a classmate and good friend of my wife’s.  We shared many good times together over the years, the most significant being their only son, and our second son, who were born just days apart. Bill was a taciturn, laid-back, genuinely nice guy who shared my love of music and the Phillies – I watched them win their first-ever World Series championship in 1980 on his TV.  He is the one who took a spring training trip to Florida to see the Phillies play in March.  I will miss him.  I’ve been writing some poems about this lately, like this one:

Remembrance

You walk down the long hall for the last time.
Framed photographs hang on both walls -
your memories lined up as a gallery.
When you reach the other end,
your picture will hang there too.

Finally, to lighten things up a bit again, here's an educational and entertaining animated video about the metaphor, narrated by one of my favorite poets (and people) - of course I'm talking about Jane Hirshfield:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0edKgL9EgM&feature=player_embedded






  

Limericks, Another Music List, and Incongruous Trees II

I can't believe September is already upon us.  School starts next week, and we already have our new international student staying with us (our third in three years).  She's from South Korea, as the others were, and she will be a sophomore this year. My wife is over the moon that we have a girl living with us, after raising four boys for almost her whole adult life.  Now she has a shopping companion, for one thing.

I'm in another one of my writing funks, having written about two "serious" poems in the last three weeks, though I've still been cranking out those limericks for Mad Kane's Limerick-offs. (Host Madeleine Kane provides the first line, and participants write the rest of the limerick.) I did get a couple more honorable mentions last week and this week for these:

A father was very obsessed
with the way that his teenage girl dressed:
"You inveterate flirt,
that's a belt, not a skirt,
and your blouse reveals most of your chest!"


A woman was peeved at her mate,
a Saudi-rich oil ponentate:
"We had a big fight,
'cos he's drilling tonight,
but by that he means wife number eight!"


I also entered a new limerick contest at Salon.com a couple of weeks ago and was picked as one of the winners.  The topic of the week for the limericks was the new vice-presidential candidate:

Paul Ryan, would you please explain
how your budget plan isn't insane?
I can tell you with surety
that Social Security
is not what I'd call "gravy train"!

By the way, you may recall the poem "Incongruous Trees" from my last blog post.  Well, here's a photo of one of those infamous trees outside of Mass MoCA:

And here's a actual art work in the window of their gift shop that may make you writers chuckle:

Music:  I love music lists, and as I reported before, WXPN is getting ready for their annual Top 885 Countdown - this year's theme is "Greatest Rock Songs".  I shared my top 10 a couple of blogs ago, but some of my fellow "boardies" (regulars on the xpn.org bulletin board) have been complaining about how much "classic rock" will make the list, as opposed to other subgenres like punk and modern alt-rock.  So one of them suggested making a list of the best albums from 1980 or later, not released by a "classic rock" artist.  I came up with a pretty good list, I think, though it pained me greatly not to include three of my all-time favorite post-1980 albums (Paul Simon's Graceland, Peter Gabriel's So, and Richard and Linda Thompson's Shoot Out the Lights).  I also decided to stick with personal favorites over albums that I  acknowledge were "great", like Radiohead's OK Computer or The Clash's London Calling.  So here's my "Favorite Top Ten Non-Classic-Rock Albums from 1980 to Present":

1. Talking Heads - Remain in Light
2. World Party - Goodbye Jumbo
3. Los Lobos - Kiko
4. Matthew Sweet - Girlfriend
5. Spoon - Kill the Moonlight
6. Decemberists - The Crane Wife
7. New Pornographers - Twin Cinema
8. Dire Straits - Brothers in Arms
9. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois
10. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs

(Dire Straits are borderline "classic rock" but they debuted in 1978, so they're not quite of that era, nor are Talking Heads, who also debuted in the late 1970's but were more a product of the punk-rock era.)

Culture and Incongruous Trees in the Berkshires

We had the really fine weekend last week, part 2 of my wife's 60th birthday celebration.  (Part one was her ladies-only tea party a couple of weekends ago.)  We took a long weekend trip to the Berkshires in Massachusetts - we'd been there about eleven years ago and really enjoyed it, but only had one of our sons come with us at the time.  This year we took all four and their significant others, and stayed in two 2-bedroom condos at Wyndham Bentley Brook resort.  Getting there was an adventure, with heavy rain for much of the journey, which is usually about four and a half hours from our house.  But once we got there we had a splendid time.  The Berkshires have a lot going on culturally in the summer, so we took advantage of that by attending a production of Shakespeare's The Tempest (starring Olympia Dukakis) on Friday evening, seeing Yo Yo Ma perform Elgar's Cello Concerto at Tanglewood on Saturday (what an amazing and passionate performer he is), plus some shopping and museum-hopping the rest of the time.  We only wished it was longer than four days.

My group, the Quick and Dirty Poets, had our monthly reading last evening, featuring our friend Adele Bourne, who unfortunately lost her husband (and fellow poet) John earlier this year, and who will be moving from the area soon, so it was probably a "farewell" reading for her.  It didn't start auspiciously though - the coffee shop where we always have our readings was inexplicably closed.  We ended up going over to Adele's house to have it there. (She'd already planned to have people over anyway after the reading.) She read poems by John and herself (rather moving, needless to say), followed by readings from the other poets in attendance.  It turned out to be a good evening after all.  Adele's chapbook, A Grocery List and Other Poems, is available from Finishing Line Press and Amazon.com.

Now my big news: I was reading the Writer's Almanac interview with Marge Piercy last night (you'll recall I took her week-long workshop on Cape Cod in June).  The interviewer's last question was, what new writers excite her?  She included me in her answer!  Wow - I guess I'll have to live up to that praise now.  She also mentioned my fellow workshop member Shana Ritter, and Maria Gillan, whom many of us New Jersey poets know as the editor of Paterson Literary Review.  It's so cool to get props from a famous writer!

Poem of the Week:  One of the sites we visited last weekend was Mass MOCA, a modern art museum in a converted factory in North Adams.  We'd been there before on our previous trip, and one sight struck me enough to inspire this poem, which appeared earlier this year in the online journal Curio Poetry:

Incongruous Trees  (Mass MOCA Summer 2001)

After wandering the glory of forested Berkshire hills,

we stop one morning at a modern art museum,

a converted factory in an old industrial town.

On the promenade to the entrance

we pass an unassuming row of maples.

Our eyes catch the glint of green above our heads,

where they should be – and we stop in our tracks.

Thre trees are upside-down,

hanging from cables strung across poles.

They grow earthward from metal tubs,

trunks pulled gravity-straight 

leaves clinging in midair, so it seems.

This is a Magritte painting come to  life –

the familiar presented incongruously.

Water drips like IV fluid from hydroponic pots

to grateful foliage below.

We marvel a moment before we proceed,

but the message is delivered:

“Welcome. Come in. 

See how we have played with the world.

Take a look.

And take a look again.”