Read for Food

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Dear Friends,

We are fast approaching the eve of another tremendous night of literature for a cause.

The cause is hunger and the objective is to support local pantries and kitchens with the money and food that we collect at Read for Food events. We pass along 100% of your donations.

Whether you are drawn to pentameter or pulp I can guarantee that you will have a memorable experience on Friday September 24, 2010, 7 PM at The Boughton Place Theater in the Round, 150 Kisor Road, Highland, NY (3 miles east of NYS Thruway Exit 18/New Paltz, off Route 299.)

There is an open mic and refreshments. Suggest donation is $5.00. Also please bring along some canned or dry goods.

Go to www.readforfood.org for a map and info.

THIS FRIDAY . . .

Two Master Snake Charmers will be featured: Christopher Wheeling and Janet Hamill.

Not to be missed, Christopher Wheeling’s profound poems can turn scepters into serpents, while Janet Hamill’s language possesses the spiritual power to lure snakes right out their pulpits. Furthermore, like a couple of cosmic chiropractors, Janet and Christopher will realign the spine of our galaxy. They might even correct yours.

CHRISTOPHER WHEELING has been writing and performing his poetry in the Hudson Valley since late 2001. His style varies widely across the body of his work, occasionally using a traditional form but more often using free verse and surrealism as his preferred techniques. In May of 2004, he graduated from SUNY New Paltz with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. He has worked a variety of odd jobs in his life, but the written art is the only occupation that has lasted with any significant time in his time here on Earth. He has been published in Chronogram and Home Planet News.

He owes much of his style and passion to the poets of the Hudson Valley, and cannot thank them enough for their influence over the years.

JANET HAMILL, an instructor and member of the Board at the North East Poetry Center’s College of Poetry in the New York Hudson Valley, is the author of five collections of poetry and short fiction: Body of Water, Lost Ceilings, Nostalgia of the Infinite, The Temple, and Troublante. Her work has appeared in such anthologies as Living With the Animals and Deep Down: The New Sensuous Writing by Women (both by Faber and Faber), The Unmade Bed (Harper Collins), Up Late: American Poetry Since 1970 (4 Walls 8 Windows), Bowery Women Poems, and in magazines and journals such as Bomb, City Lights Review, Colorado North Review, Kansas Quarterly and the Hart Crane Newsletter. She has read at such diverse venues as the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church, the Walt Whitman Cultural Center, the WORD Festival, the Bowery Poetry Club, the Knitting Factory, CBGB's, Nuyorican Café, Summer Stage, Manhattan Theatre Club, the Peoples’ Poetry Gathering, the Rubin Museum of Art, Lowell Celebrates Kerouac in Massachusetts, the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, the Church of Beethoven in Albuquerque, Bumbershoot in Seattle, the Meltdown Festival in London and the Liss Ard Festival County Cork, Ireland. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and the Poetry Society of America’s William Carlos Williams Prize.

Hamill has released two CDs of spoken word and music in collaboration with the band Moving Star: Flying Nowhere which was produced by Lenny Kaye, and Genie of the Alphabet which featured cameos by Patti Smith, Lenny Kaye, David Amram and Bob Holman.

Ham ill’s website is http://www.janethamill.com/.

Join us,

Regards,

Paul

Purgatory road, but certainly not purgatory

Friday night, March 5^th, 2010, the poetry performed at the Howland Center in Beacon, New York, was as satisfying as frozen custard on a hot summer’s night.

The featured poets, Mike Jurkovic and Marina Mati were in complete command of their art. Mr. Jurkovic, who began the set, was as smooth as silk and Ms. Mati, who anchored, was flawless.

After the intermission twenty poets performed at the open-mic. The craftsmanship and skill presented were absolutely astonishing. In fact, although unavoidably invigorating, with such pros as John Kenselaar, Cheryl Rice, Theresa Costa, Lynn Hoins, Roberta Gould, Haigan Smith, and Donald Lev all reading, the literary perfection displayed might have been as daunting to the uninitiated as Roger Clemens pitching to a rookie. Nevertheless, newcomers and regulars alike, were equally enthralled.

Mike Jurkovic’s bombastic sarcasm led the charge. He performed many of the poems that are on his newly released compact disc, “Purgatory Road.” The more you heard the more you wanted to hear. Which is a testament to Mike’s talent for what he had to say wasn't always pretty.

Whether he was comparing national politics to a ponzi scheme, or sending his neighbor’s son to war, he remained cool, calm, collected, and edgy. If you ever wondered about what it might be like to read another person's thoughts but have never been able to decipher the encryption, then poetry readings like the one held Friday night in Beacon are for you.

Mike’s sly smile and dramatic presentation skills help you imagine what it’s like being John Malkovich . . . I mean Mike Jurkovic, perceiving the world through jade-colored ironies: comically musing that the “tree of heaven” is an invasive species, eating his Thanksgiving supper surrounded by formaldehyde-saturated walls, despairing for the village because he became a poet instead of a carpenter.

On the other hand, although equally witty, Marina Mati was fearlessly dark. She was out of the starting blocks with: “Poetry was Not Created for Your Convenience” and her imagery was as solid as anyone’s. From “soot cocoons” to never returning home, she too invited us inside her brain for the duration of her performance. Furthermore, Marina proved a formidable showman mixing styles, including two pieces accompanied by acoustic guitarist, Logan. Marina concluded with her four-part piece called Gershwin Romance which reminds us that music influences poetry as much as poetry influences music.

To paraphrase John Updike writing about Edgar Degas' painting “Ballet Rehearsal Onstage,” 1874, Friday night at the Howland Center there was a democracy of vision that gave the awkward equal representation with the graceful. The performances of everyone involved especially Mike and Marina reinforced the notion that although everything is not poetry, poetry, in the mind’s eye, is everything.

John Kenselaar

Truth’s Troubadour

There are cultures where reading poetry as we usually do, a cappella, would seem unnatural. Throughout the world poetry is often sung or accompanied by an instrument. I admire a musical approach, and will be the first to admit when I hear a popular song that is poetic. From Simon and Garfunkel to Spearhead, who would deny the "poetry" in many modern lyrics? Admitedly popular songwriting has usurped poetry. Nevertheless, few modern lyrics rise to the standards most of us hold for poems. This said. It was clear to me the first time I heard John Kenselaar that he reveres song and poetry too much to allow one to intrude unreasonably upon the other. John was reciting his poems while playing the grand piano on the Colony Café’s historic stage and his musical-poetry immediately reminded me of the renowned guitarist and occasional poet, Leo Koetke.

If you are familiar with Leo, but didn't know that he wrote and performed poetry, then you might want to check out Leo’s album "My Father's Face." What was so interesting to me about John's work was that, like Leo, John seemed to straddle both genres the lyrical poem and the poetic lyric. You might charge me with aggravated semantics, but in creating from instinct and desire, rather than a geometric postulate, John may have formed his own exclusive category. He couples his literary skills with intuitive instrumentals and a rich baritone voice that for me is as satisfying as a Lindy's Ruben.

John Kenselaar, who has written and studied poetry for over 35 years, has become a regular and generous supporter of the Read for Food poetry series and its open mic. I'll never forget how at our kick-off event last March he handed me his total royalty from the previous weekend. All of which, and then some, was given to Rosendale Food Pantry the next day. In keeping with this generosity, John's poetry is about life, love, and loss. His work is as genuine as it comes, uncontrived, intelligent, and wise. John's literary clarity, stage presence, and insight captivate audiences of all ages and creeds.

My thoughts on Robert Milby . . .

When Martians visit the Hudson Valley they cannot help but notice the lively poetry scene. They report back to their superiors with vivid tales of attending readings in coffee houses and bookstores. They describe the unique custom of Earthlings in the region reading and enjoying each other's words; a practice that is hardly ever observed in other parts of the planet. During these data gathering soirees to the Earth’s surface, the Martians regularly monitor the activities of a human with god-like powers over his words. These alien observers report that he has single-handedly energized a literary renaissance. His name is Robert Milby.

I met Robert Milby at the Mudd Puddle Cafe in New Paltz in April 2008. It was the first poetry open mic I had ever attended. Although at the time he was grappling with the loss of his dad he never let that pain hinder the warmth of his welcome. Now, a year and a half later, he is still heartily welcoming newcomers. I feel fortunate to include Robert as one of my friends. Without Robert's unswerving commitment, poetry in the Hudson Valley would be a footnote instead of a phenomenon.

If I was asked how to describe Robert’s poetry, I might say (considering his following of Bedouins and Martians) that he is the Sufi mystic Jelalludin Rumi incarnate. But this time Rumi is sick and tired and not going to take it anymore. From his eulogistic drumming on behalf of the enslaved, to his joyous trumpeting of nature and its bounty, Robert’s poetry resonates with anyone who has retained an ounce of their humanity.

Robert combines this powerful ethos with a dramatic sense of showmanship. His carefully crafted work is cooked with conviction and seasoned with sarcasm. In Robert's world, patriots have resorted to tribalism in order to survive, and oncologists might as well be conchologists. His poems, while sounding an alarm, are not final and leave us looking forward to his next prediction.

Read for Food

My thoughts on Robert Milby . . .

Paul Clemente, October 5, 2009