Tag Archives: No River Twice

Poetry month books & doings

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It is, once again, April: National Poetry Month. My recent trip to the AWP bookfair has given me many poetry books to peruse at whatever pace I please, and because the weather here has been far too wet to do much in the garden, I’m using the free time to read. The outpouring of millions of peaceful protesters who oppose the current administration’s policies and who rallied on April 5 was somewhat heartening to me, but I remain skeptical and am aware that real change takes a long time. For the present, I’m bolstering my spirit through poetry.

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I met Diane Thiel decades ago, briefly, at the West Chester Poetry Conference. She is incredibly talented, intelligent, frighteningly well-educated, and her work impressed me a lot; somehow, though, I did not get around to reading the many books she’s published since then, so her Questions from Outer Space (2022) is a delight and a revelation. Travel, literary and historical references, child-raising, teaching–the poems here cover a large range of topics. I bought her book at the Red Hen Press tables in LA. Red Hen is a terrific source for contemporary poetry books, if you’re looking…

At Saturnalia’s booth (another good small press with a large catalog), I found three of Martha Silano’s books and rejoiced. So far I have finished reading only The Little Office of the Immaculate Conception, which I love, but I can hardly wait to read her more recent books. She has a wry sense of weird, nerdy humor that’s inflected with science facts and grocery-store labels, pop culture and life in the burbs, and a healthy questioning of, well, everything.

My fellow Goddard alum and friend Lou Faber has a new book here, and it’s so wonderful to read the work of a long-time poetry colleague whom I haven’t seen in years but whose voice comes recognizably through this collection. The second half of the collection, in particular, deals with the emotionally-complex aspects of being an adoptee and this person’s efforts to untangle where (and who) he’s “from.” Contradictions abound over the years; then, DNA testing sort of, but not quite, sorts out some of the mysteries. But life–well, much of life contains mysteries and always will.

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Meanwhile, this April I will be busy giving and attending in-person and online poetry events–even a radio spot! I’ll be reading mid-day at a local community college, participating in a No River Twice poetry event; and at some point this month, an interview about The Poetry Press Project (and my latest book) will air on WDIY 88.9FM. And a few of my poems will be appearing in print this month, the first of which is here: “Luna, Paloma.” I’ve also signed up for virtual attendance at a couple of poetry reading; and on May 4, I will be among the features for a virtual reading sponsored by One Art journal. My physical stamina isn’t what I wish it were, but thanks to technology that enables me to participate from home, I can manage to do a bit of yard work and STILL get to a poetry event.

Msr. Coulon & memorization

This post responds to Cleveland Wall, a poet for whom recitation is part of presentation and who reminded me of an old poem of mine I had written in response to a visual image on a postcard. The image and the poem are below, but what strikes me about recalling the work is that it is one of the few poems I have managed to memorize.

Ms. Wall memorizes much of her work and has presented at performances such as slam poetry events and No River Twice shows [Facebook video link below–you can catch a glimpse of me reading here, too.]

Alas, I have ever and always been terrible at memorization. In Sunday school, my younger sibling earned points for Bible verse memorizing at probably twice my pace. I enjoyed theater but never learned lines well enough to manage more than walk-on roles. Song lyrics came more easily, probably because the music helped cue me to the phrases.

You would think a poet–a versifier!–could commit her own work to memory. But no. Add that to my numerous failings.

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I bought the Louis Coulon postcard in 1980 at a New York City stationer’s. What I did not know then (hey, no interwebs) was that Coulon sat for a number of portraits and was a relatively famous postcard subject at the fin de siecle.

Here’s the poem, first published by the estimable Harry Humes in the now-defunct Yarrow: A Journal of Poetry in 1992.

La Barbe

Monsieur Coulon, my grandfather, wore large mustaches and a beard three meters long. He tied it to the bedposts by night to avoid strangulation in his sleep; as it was, he died of fever in 1904, and the beard grew two centimeters more the day after his death. For years I had nightmares, Grandfather silently choking me in the posterbed I’d inherited from his estate. I bobbed my hair before the style became fashionable; Mama said it was scandalous, but the dreams ceased. I left Nievre for Paris and America, to avoid strangulation.

In 1942, I visited Savannah, Georgia, where trees resemble men, their great beards choking ocean breeze. I dream of trees opening gray coffins into a humid night–

                           I am an old woman, now, and waiting–

         ah, listen:

the wind is speaking French, Grandfather, it takes my precious breath away!

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Louis Coulon, beard

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P.S.–I have updated my P&W directory entry. Check out https://www.pw.org/directory/writers/ann_e_michael