Emerging Writers Network

Book Review 2019-002: Premonitions by Elizabeth Schmuhl

Book Review 2019-002
Premonitions by Elizabeth Schmuhl
2018 by Wayne State University Press, 60 pages

(I received an Advance Copy from the publisher).

 

Fifty-nine numbered poems over sixty pages, only one of them stretching itself to a second page. The titles of the poems numbers ranging from 7 through 134 with no discernable pattern to them (are there seventy-five--or more--that were culled from this collection, and if so, why?). Again, this is what happens when you let somebody with an interest in statistics try to review writing, and especially poetry collections. These were some of our first thoughts when we began reading this collection, both back in the summer when we first received it, and again this past weekend as we re-read it again for this review. It wasn't long however before the words of Elizabeth Schmuhl began to congregate in our head and bump the idea of numbers and patterns right on out.

Schmuhl's poems are quick-hitting, but long-lasting. Reading this collection made us want to spend more time outside, to roll around in the dirt, to grow things, to get up and dance (and we do not EVER want to dance). Not many of the poems led us to think--she wants us to gleam this from that poem. What they did instead was create a feeling. One of a bit of loneliness, and desire to shed that loneliness through interaction with nature. The couple of times reading the collection on a quiet bench at the zoo seemed near perfect--amongst others yet alone, enjoying nature and that which was around us.

The collection title seems particularly appropriate. Reading the collection and being his by loneliness, by occasional depressive thoughts, the occasional coyote appearance both in the orchard and off in the distance leads to an ominous feeling--something bad feels to be coming around behind every tree, in every visit to the barn, and with every fruit or berry. It's really not until one has completed the book that the worry about something bad happening dissipates and even then the feeling hovers a bit.

Re-reading the collection again we found ourselves jotting down lines from damn near every poem:

 

Poem #7

My sweat evaporating, turning me more into me, disappearing

 

Poem #9

I'm getting better at not doubting myself

 

Poem #14

In the cherry orchard I offer myself to Earth

 

Poem #15

I shake them

out of my hair

while dancing

to the evening

sounds slowly

turning on

 

Poem #17

I go for walks in the peach orchard and pretend the trees are my friends

(EWN--we cannot deny walking through the zoo at times pretending the animals are our friends)

 

Poem #22

I'm lonely living

in this sea of leaves

 

Poem #26

Not even 

a moth

has landed

one one of

my petals

 

Poem #69

I've been dancing again at night in the orchard

 

And that continues through the rest of the collection. Not a poem went by that something didn't jump out at us, that didn't make us think--frequently about our place in the world, among nature, among other people. The thoughts or actions from the poem's protagonists created a mood while reading the book. The word loneliness appears a bit too often in this review and it's more from a lack of a good vocabulary on our part than due to the poems as written. That feeling though mostly floats through the background of the poems and not direct from the woman (the speaker in these poems is a woman living on a farm--a pretty secluded one from what we readers know). It's something Schmuhl has done that is extremely impressive with this work--getting her readers to feel something without explicitly being told to do so. If it weren't twenty-some degrees outside right now, we'd probably sit out on the porch this evening and dip back into Premonitions. We definitely will do so over and over in the future.

Book Review 2018-005: The Art Poems by Amanda Bintu Holiday

Book Review 2018-005
The Art Poems by Amanda Bintu Holiday
2018 by Akashic, 28 pages

 

(I received a review copy of the box set this chapbook was a part of)

 

These chapbooks all have introductions and I've tried to read the poetry collection first, usually followed by the author biography at the back of the collection, and then back up to the front to read the intro. It turns out that Kayombo Chingonyi, the person that wrote the introduction, and I had one thought in common--Art Poems. I ended up envisioning paintings or the occasional statue while reading the poems within this chapbook.

From "The Dame With the Goat's Foot":

The two-stringed banjo plays
a theme to our aging, Old soaks,
we sit and talk out the weather,
our fortunes and the price of youth.

We sit in worn frills and garters,
holding on to our daughters
and granddaughters
who sleep unhampered
by our laments,
our songs of love and folly

of men who carried us away
on the back of goats.

had me envisioning a couple of women talking/singing together, holding young babies or girls in their arms while sitting on goats and being led away by men. It's not something that usually happens when I read poems--it was a different experience that I enjoyed.

"The Blue Pot" had the couplet:

and a big blue pot
pressed on his head

that had me envisioning a blue pot sculpture, one made by something like a high school student in their school's kiln that has lots of shiny, glazed, blue paint.

Another that really had me putting together the image of a painting in my head was "The Angel":

The donkey was stubborn
and Mary dug her heels into its side.
But the mule was tired of walking
and now the baby was crying

with the obvious realization early on that this was Jesus and Mary which probably made the envisioning of a painting a bit clearer and quicker. I definitely found myself reading these poems a bit differently, just from the title alone. And my second read through was enhanced after reading this bit from the author bio:

"Amanda Bintu Holiday considers herself an accidental poet having been an artist and then filmmaker for much of her life." It led me to focus even more on a visual experience the second (and beyond) read through. The thing is, it works and I've picked up other collections or poems since doing so with this collection and have not had the same reaction, even when heading into my reading with that in mind, leading me to believe something about this poet's past artistic endeavors have affected the way that she writes her poems. 

Reading - Poetryoke at Tom's Tavern

In what now sounds like it will be the first of many such events, last night, Tom's Tavern hosted Poetryoke. As it sounds, karaoke, but with poems and not songs. Hosted by local poets Christina Kallery and Matthew Landrum as well as Tom's Tavern's own Ron, the evening ended up a quite successful one as ten others showed up for the evening (including a young man originally from Denmark, now living in Detroit that just happened to stop on in, but was a fan of poetry and literature), most with poems or books in hand, ready to share their favorite words with the others.

Any time I'm at Tom's Tavern I think that the event or evening I'm enjoying possibly could have happened somewhere else, but it just wouldn't be the same--there's a very special ambiance about this little building and its bartender. Many poems were read in two sessions with some jukebox in between. Drinks were had, as were pretzels. And poetry. A lot of poems were read including works by: Jim Harrison, Ellen Bass, Li Young Lee, an anti-war poem by e.e. cummings, Charles Bukowski, Mary Oliver, a couple of different people read from Naayyirah Waheed's collection, Salt. There was a poem from a Chinese author whose name I didn't catch, and wouldn't know how to type it out if I had. Two of Christina Kallery's poems were read. Tony Hoagland was read, as was Robert Fanning's "What is Written On the Leaves." There was at least one poem by Keats, and a few efforts that weren't necessary poetry, but came from the same spirit as poems, including a fantastic interview question response by Werner Herzog.

It seems like a good time when not only everybody that shows up on purpose enjoys the night, but also a random drop-in, whose words upon leaving were "This was really different and not what I expected when I came in here tonight, but it was really great."

Reading Report - The Woodward Line Poetry Reading - April 26, 2017

I attended the Woodward Line Poetry Reading last night in Detroit. The reading was supposed to be inside the Scarab Club, a lovely building across the street from the Detroit Institute of Arts (right across from the movie entrance). However...the building was locked. Fortunately, it was an absolutely fantastic evening, and just around the corner is the little known (okay, I never noticed it before even though I've driven by it numerous times) Hudson's Art Park---a semi-circle cement bench with a hedge of fauna behind it looking in on a structure that reminded me of a sail. As there were 24 people there, it worked out perfectly in terms of having enough spots for everybody to sit around the poet reading.

The outdoor aspect was interesting--it brought some charm, the birds chirping from the Scarab Club, or the hum or electricity from the building to the south--as well as some hurdles, the cars whizzing by occasionally on John R. and what I assume were freighter horns two times. But the temperature was perfect--not too warm out, and not remotely chilly. Just the simple realization that there's a little spot like this a mere block or two off of Woodward Avenue that you could stop and sit and read in semi-peace was great to find out.

James Hart III is the co-head of this reading series and he did introductions last night---not always perfectly loud enough but in each case just enough was audible and his enthusiasm for the upcoming poet was always very clear.

First up--Matthew Landrum--lives in Detroit, teaches high school.

Matthew was a good, solid reader. Loud enough, made sure to make some eye contact with his audience--realized there was a semi-circle and moved a bit to get each of us that "front row" seat every poem. The first poem he read was a translation of a poem by Agnar Artuvertin (sorry, there's supposed to be an accent over the u) from his collection: Hin Einsami Frelsarin (or, The Lonesome Savior), published by Cold Hub Press, translated from the Faroese by Matthew himself. Faroese is language known to about 50,000 people worldwide, mainly in the Faroe Islands, between Scotland and Iceland. If I'm not mistaken, there was a great line referring to the body as "flop house flesh and bones."

Next up was a poem Matthew had written for Tupelo's 30 in 30 annual poetry month challenge. It was titled "My Second Daughter," that began:  

One day, if you do exist one day

that was simply heartbreaking. A poem to a hopeful eventual second daughter to at least partially replace the first that left much too soon.

Matthew finished with five more poems from his recent chapbook, Berlin Poems, that he said spun out of two four day trips four years apart from each other. These were also excellent poems full of emotion and highlighting Berlin.

I ended up purchasing both of the books Matthew brought with him--writers, be SURE to bring your works with you to readings, you never know who wants to be a little supportive of your endeavors.

Next up was Christina Kallery, and to be honest, the reason I attended--she's probably my favorite unpublished, in chap or book form, poet. I first met Christina, probably some eleven or twelve years ago now, at the home of Dwayne Hayes. It was either at an Absinthe-related party, or Absinthe board meeting (I think this one was a party). Not long after that I received an invite to go see her read at an event I believe she set up that was great (also reading that I got to see read for the first time were Norene Cashen and Jessica Bomarito, and I met James Hart III and Vievee Francis for the first time--and bought Vievee's debut collection because she had copies with her!). I was blown away by all four and continued to catch Christina read when she did over the next few years. There's a reason that Christina is the only person that I've asked to contribute to the Emerging Writers Holiday Gift Email more than once--I love her work and find it haunting in the best ways possible.

She too read to the entire audience, and probably read louder than she ever has in her life. She started with a poem that I've heard before and love--Swan Falls in Love with Swan-shaped Boat, a poem based on a Reuters headline she saw that captures loneliness and unrequited love in as unique a way as possible. She then read "Trying to Start the Van," a poem she wrote while living in New York about homesickness. Next up, "Missed Connections," about the section on Craigslist. Fourth was a poem for those with friends in bands titled "On the List." It had the great line that:

when plus one means having someone to watch movies with

and lastly she read "Burn Outs," that had at least two lines that caught my attention:

starter moustaches shadowing their upper lips

and

a black Camaro they said would never get off the blocks

 

 I still anxiously await a book of these poems to own and read at my whim.

Next up was the best and worst part of the evening--a FOURTEEN year old named Jackson Wright read a dozen poems. Those that were directly in front of the reader reacted in great fashion to at least ten of the works. Those reactions ranged from laughter, to "Wow!" and just happy faces. Unfortunately, I might have heard a dozen words during those dozen poems. I'm amazed that somebody fourteen years old (FOURTEEN!) is working his craft as a poet AND has the willingness to read in front of an audience and look forward to seeing his name for more readings in the future so that I can get front and center (or just indoors might help). I do know he started with a poem he wrote in the 3rd grade that his mother recently found. And the 6th poem was a numbered poem as well. I do hope to get another chance to hear this young man read in the future.

The fourth and final reader of the evening was Marcella Harb (who also happens to be Jackson's mother). She read five poems, each of at least a couple of pages in length. She didn't always start off with the title of the poems (and I have no idea, they may be untitled), but occasionally led in with information. She started her first poem noting that he name meant Jupiter, or god of war. She noted within the poem that she was Palestinian and so she had to be political, and the poem was. The line:

My name means war

jumped out at me. She followed with a numbered poem that she stated was patterned after metaphysical longing. I had some trouble following this poem and would love to read it instead--I liked many of the different ideas throughout but wasn't tying them together very well.

At this point Marcella said she was going to read some more recently written work, and I have to say I enjoyed these last three works more--they were more personal, less philosophical maybe? I think the first two poems would work better on the page than they did out loud.  The last three were easier to follow--and I should also point out that Marcella was an excellent reader--loud enough, made sure everybody got that front row seat throughout, and emphasized some things in her last poem almost like a judge banging a gavel, or like Eminem keeping the rhythm (just at a slower pace than his usually is). The third poem was written while Jackson was in the school's principal's office. The fourth  was titled "Ocean Rescue" and probably my favorite of her works. The last was a poem following Noam Chomsky."

It was a very nice evening, some great work was read (and purchased), and it was nice to catch up a bit. Nice to see the work being done out there and artists crossing the high wire act of showing their art in public to a live, responding, audience.

 

 

Book Review 2017-004: Girl B by Victoria Adukwei Bulley

Plans are that before April 4, I will have read and commented upon all ten of the chapbooks within the forthcoming (Akashic Books) box set:  New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (NNE). I've spent a lot of time with multiple readings of many of them so far and am really enjoying them (to the point that I plan to go backwards and read the three earlier annual box sets). The set was selected and edited by Kwame Dawes and Chris Abani and there's an eleventh chapbook included which includes an essay from each about the series and their selection process. One of the specifics is that nobody that they include has published a collection prior to their inclusion. The third such chapbook I'll be reviewing here is Girl B by Victoria Adukwei Bulley. It is 30 pages long with 14 poems included and a preface written by Karen McCarthy Woolf. The cover is by the artist, Ficre Ghebreyesus who was born in Asmara, Eritrea--he passed away in April 2012. His work adorns all eleven chapbooks in this box and they are gorgeous.

The collection begins with the poem, "Girl," which begins:

Hair coming down past your breasts like confetti. Your straighter teeth, your

stripped upper lip (recoiling still), your clean, dark complexion. Lean thighs,

or the gap between them. The grasp of your jeans at you like a lover that you'd

like to leave, exposing the gap.

and so on. It's an idea/concern that comes up more than once in this collection, one of African descent and the ideas of what is considered beautiful by the majority. We see it again later in the first two sections of the poem "Girls in Arpeggio." The first section follows along the line of thinking from "Girl," that of looking to assimilate in regard to what is considered beautiful:

The smiles of the girls

on the children's relaxer kits

told no lies. They were too happy

to realize they were poster girls

for the effacement of themselves.

while the second section looks at the opposite, what happens to those that do not try to assimilate when it comes to what the majority sees as beautiful:

There is a toll charged

for choosing to be the exotic one.

The problem has something to do

with your acceptance of a cage

made from laundered gold.

Another poem, "Peach Crayon," also outwardly deals with race:

All your love aside,

I thought about leaving you

 

for some imaginary man:

tall, dark, hair like mine

 

but cut back, shaped up, black, too.

I was thinking about the kids--

 

about the kids of the kids.

It seemed the safest way

 

to ensure they won't come home

like I did, bearing artwork, portraits

 

of the artists: white and blond,

aquamarine gems for eyes

 

While this outwardly pointedly looks at an inter-racial couple, I wonder if it partially reads, as it considers the kids and the kids of the kids so heavily, from that kid point of view, one that has aspects of their life determined by the actions of their parents--the decisions of their parents. I consider this knowing that Adukwei Bulley is a British-born and raised Ghanaian poet and writer per her bio. With this in mind, she's one that has seen an aspect of her life determined by a decision of her parents.

I enjoyed seeing various styles (and here is my utter lack of knowledge of poetry hurts) shown in the writing of these poems--there are prose poems, poems in stanzas, poems in couplets, poems in sections, and more. In this way, and some of the variances this collection certainly feels like a debut, but the poems are powerful without beating the reader over the head in a way that suggests it's an excellent debut from a poet to anxiously await more work from in the future.

Book Review 2017-003: sugah. lump. prayer by Momtaza Mehri

Plans are that before April 4, I will have read and commented upon all ten of the chapbooks within the forthcoming (Akashic Books) box set:  New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (NNE). I've spent a lot of time with multiple readings of many of them so far and am really enjoying them (to the point that I plan to go backwards and read the three earlier annual box sets). The set was selected and edited by Kwame Dawes and Chris Abani and there's an eleventh chapbook included which includes an essay from each about the series and their selection process. One of the specifics is that nobody that they include has published a collection prior to their inclusion. The second such chapbook I'll be reviewing here is sugah. lump. prayer by Momtaza Mehri. It is 30 pages long with 18 poems included and a preface written by Tijan M. Sallah. The cover is by the artist, Ficre Ghebreyesus who was born in Asmara, Eritrea--he passed away in April 2012. His work adorns all eleven chapbooks in this box and they are gorgeous.

The first poem in the collection is "Call it something other than strength," however, it falls into a small section of poems under the header Fajr. One of the things I've enjoyed digging into these chapbooks has been learning new things. I've gone to Google or Dictionary.com frequently and this time it was to find out that Fajr refers to the morning prayers of Muslims. There are four other sections in the book and they move through the Muslim prayer day with Dhuhr (afternoon), Asr (late afternoon), Maghrigh (evening) and Isha (night). I'm not exactly sure how that fits into the collection; there does not appear to be anything overly religious in the individual poems within.

Lines from within this poem that caught my attention:

In the beginning there was life, then death.

We're still having the middle parts decided for us.

A reminder that we all have similar beginnings and endings and maybe there is something there with that follow-up, which in the poem is a couple of lines later--that the middle part is being decided, almost implying we don't have much to do with what happens throughout our lives. That sentiment continues:

In the meantime, the dream time, our arrogant cells multiply

in spite of themselves, tear each other apart in their soft millions.

There are a trio of poems titled "transatlantic," along with these lines from "I believe in the transformative power of cocoa butter and breakfast cereal in the afternoon":

Here, in the country of your birth, we cross the Persian Gulf,

and

I know even less,

except our feet hanging off a hotel bed;

a geologic upheaval.

show a concern regarding immigration. Very little, however, is stated directly by Mehri in these poems. Instead, multiple readings unearth layers, and greater enjoyment each time through. Both those layers, and simply coming across lines that I loved, such as this couplet from the final poem, "To Him, We Belong,":

If I can't hvae this beauty, let me have namelessness.

At least then, I can name my dead in the kind of peace they deserved.

 

Book Review 2017-002: Sabbatical by Famia Nkansa

Plans are that before April 4, I will have read and commented upon all nine of the chapbooks within the forthcoming (Akashic Books) box set:  New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (NNE). I've spent a lot of time with multiple readings of three of them so far and am really enjoying them (to the point that I plan to go backwards and read the three earlier annual box sets). The set was selected and edited by Kwame Dawes and Chris Abani and there's a tenth chapbook included which includes an essay from each about the series and their selection process. One of the specifics is that nobody that they include has published a collection prior to their inclusion. The first chapbook I'll be reviewing here is Sabbatical by Famia Nkansa. It is 32 pages long with 15 poems included and a preface written by Dawes. The cover is by the artist, Ficre Ghebreyesus who was born in Asmara, Eritrea--he passed away in April 2012. His work adorns all ten chapbooks in this box and they are gorgeous.

The first poem, "Welcome," opens with:

 

I am trying to explain my intact clitoris,

the Jill Scott nestling against Obrafour

in a crevice of the shelf.

 

and ends 9-11 lines later with:

 

                       Why

have I never seen a war? Is my

family civilized or tribal?

 

and has Nkansa's first I--all fifteen poems are written from the first person--looking at what it means to be African, and maybe especially so when having moved to the United States, and from the eyes of non-Africans who have only heard specifics of what life is like there. It reminds me of an earlier poem of hers, "The Soundtrack to an Ovary," (not included in this chapbook) with it's lines:

 

The voices say when you have failed. The voices say,

"to be female and Ghananian is to be doubly African."

 

To be doubly African is to be even more defined by journalists and history books.

To live with having footnotes the world shows no interest in learning to read.

 

The various I's--and I did my best to try to determine, and came to the conclusion that they're not all the same, that they're not all Famia Nkansa speaking--hit on many topics just as deeply as they do this idea of what is an African. They hit on sex, on relationships, on inter-racial relationships, on mothers, on abuse, and so on. Nkansa's poetry holds onto information, letting little bits go with each subsequent reading, and especially when reading aloud--I found the poems had a different rhythm when I read them aloud than when I simply quietly read and that the rhythm helped me dig into each just a little bit deeper.

There is much going on with the body in these works--good and bad. "How to Honor Our Illnesses" begins:

 

I stick my tongue out. You box my chin.

I hold my breath. you split my lip.

i crack my knuckles. You laugh at me.

 

while "it is from my need to matter that I ask you this," includes:

 

your knees tickle my eyelashes

your soles azonto on an iris

i swipe the tip of my nose

breathing your taste

into my fingers

I cup fireflies as they flicker

                                           on and off...

                                                                on and off...

 

The poems touching on inter-racial relationships do not seem to lead the I's involved toward positive thoughts. Even though early in "Aftermath" the lines:

 

Your mother said that I was cute.

It let me know that she is both perplexed and proud

she raised the kind of child

who could think

I was attractive.

 

it winds down toward:

 

I am deciding between Merlot

and a potted indigo orchid--

which of the two I will bring to meet your mother,

the politest way to demur

when she starts to pet my hair.

 

and from "Forty Acres and a Mule," comes:

 

My toes tangle

in the cloud of carpet,

 

beige as a

dune in Namibia,

 

cashew-colored

like our child,

 

the inside of a tree;

 

what shame looks like

when you slice it in two.

 

The chapbook ends with "Moses," and comes full circle to this reader in once again looking at what it means to be an African, this time not from an American's standpoint as in "Welcome," but from the standpoint of those that never left their homes upon one's return:

 

I was not kidnapped

or sold. I was banished out of love

so I could be molded

and returned. Now I am back.

Silence snores in every room.

 

I don't think there's a poem among these fifteen that I've read less than four times now and I foresee reading them all many more times in the future. Famia Nkansa is a writer that I'll be looking for more work from in the future and Sabbatical has been a great way to start reading this box set.

 

Source of Lit - Akashic Books and the New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set

To be honest, I'd completely forgotten I'd requested this from Akashic Books and must give huge thanks to Johanna Ingalls over there for sending a copy to me. In early April, for the fourth consecutive year, Akashic Books will publish a box set of chapbooks of poetry written by African poets. These chapbooks will be written by authors will no full-sized collections in print. The series is edited by Kwame Dawes & Chris Abani.

This year's box set contains 11 chapbooks, one written by Dawes & Abani as an introduction, and ten chapbooks written by poets of African heritage--some live in Africa, some outside the continent, and some share time both in and out of Africa. 9 of the poets are women. The biographies are all extremely impressive--just no full-sized poetry collections among the ten poets.

My plan is to look at these chapbooks here at the EWN and do so one by one. Maybe spend a few days with each, reading and re-reading; reviewing the preface written by a more established poet and see if I can understand what they're saying and if my own reading of the work allows me to agree or find differences.

I'd be remiss in not noting how fantastic each of the 11 covers are, each done by Ficre Ghebreyesus, sadly deceased as of nearly 5 years ago--his work secured through his widow and family. Each one is stunning and I look forward to seeing how each may fit with the works inside the covers.

Vievee Francis Wins Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award!

It's always nice to see people you believe are talented win awards, or receive some sort of niceties for their work and efforts. In this case, the niceties are an award, and it's worth $100,000 to winner Vievee Francis (it's the Kingsley  Tufts Poetry Award, which she received for her third published poetry collection, Forest Primeval (Northwestern University Press). 

I'm a big fan of Vievee the poet, but maybe even a bigger fan of Vievee Francis, the person. One nice thing about never trashing emails, and/or having a blog, is the ability to sometimes track back to things. 

June 1, 2006--I went to a poetry reading at the Contemporary Art Institute of Detroit to see four female poets. At this point in life, I know I knew Jessica Bomarito and believe I'd probably met Christina Kallary and maybe Norene Cashen as well, but I know I had no idea who Vievee Francis was. Hearing her read and chatting a bit afterward with her was an excellent introduction.

November 14, 2006--Vievee had emailed me the week prior and asked me to come get a coffee and talk about books--from the linked to post:  "...the woman is a an absolute joy to spend time with.  I'm sure we appeared to the other three or four people in the coffeeshop we met in, to be quite comical, getting more and more excited as our conversation moved forward and it became obvious that our reading tastes were pretty well aligned."

December 20, 2006--I went to the third installment of the Snowbound Poetry Series at the Scarab Club in Detroit--from the linked post:  "

Vievee Francis should get some special commendation for putting together the Snowbound Reading Series.  Half over now after last night’s reading, the performances have been fantastic.  Last month’s readings (Blair, Kahn Davison, Versiz, and Matthew Olzmann) were excellent, and those of Will Copeland, Christina M. Archer and Tyehimba Jess last night were right up to that level, if not even slightly higher.

Free Press columnist (and per Vievee’s introduction, much more) Desiree Cooper was the hostess of the evening and she stressed the importance of Write Word, Write Now, the organization that the bulk of the readers in the Snowbound series are members of – a writing group of many extremely talented writers and performers.  She also reminded the audience (which looked to hover just below 50 strong last night) to go out and spread the word about what was witnessed last night."

 

I remember seeing Vievee read that first time and moreso talking to her afterward. And I definitely remember hanging out with her at Cafe 1923 in Hamtramck and catching some stares from those trying to read or simply drink their coffee or tea in peace. And the Snowbound Series she and her husband, Matt Olzmann put together were incredible. Four readings, sixteen poets, many with slam background that Vievee was working with to get them to understand how to move that message to the page and the results were fantastic. 

Seeing her win this big ol' award was fantastic and a great reason to wander down memory lane a bit.

 

One Hundred Sixty-Six New Poems to Read

That is, if I'm counting correctly as I go through the tables of content. This wonderful looking trio of titles arrived today:

The Big Book of Exit Strategies by Jamaal May (Alice James Books, 2016)

Forest Primeval by Vievee Francis (Triquarterly Books, 2015)

Play Dead by Francine J. Harris (Alice James Books, 2016)

Just in time to enjoy during National Poetry Month.

One Hundred Sixty-Six new poems to read!