Ink Sweat & Tears - the poetry & prose webzine

Peter Weber knows a house of mis-dysfunction

Charles Christian — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 19:17:00 +0000

House of mis-dysfunction

There was never enough love in this house
long stretches of silence
but I think I've figured it out
The sun only shines half of the time
and then the moon, a fraction of that
and then there's darkness...

and there was never enough fun either
more so at the beginning
but then fewer
and farther between
and that seemed to be related
to the silence
as well

In the meantime...
We would take turns losing our minds.
We might be play-tossing our kids with a blanket
and one of us might let go of the blanket
getting distracted momentarily,
while the other would scramble an attempt
to grab opposite ends of the blanket
at the same time.
Hopefully in time.

* Bio: "My name is Peter Weber. Currently on one of the smaller islands within the 5 boros of NY. Born on an even smaller island." http://pilgebump.wordpress.com

New prose: Carmen Schreffler says breathe

Charles Christian — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 18:23:00 +0000

Breathe

Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out.

Those were the only thoughts that could run through her head as her heart felt as if it were being crushed within her. Damn it, when would she learn? She was constantly over extending herself and yet the "karmic" favor was so rarely returned that by now she most certainly should have learned that it was a bad, no a horrible idea to put her heart out on display.

David had been her latest sure thing, this one was different. Susie had recently proclaimed her undying love to him and they had begun to plan a future together. She was sure he would be the one, the one to put her first, to be as generous towards her as she had always been towards others, to love her as much as she loved him, and to not be afraid to proclaim it. Susie couldn't wait to tell all of her friends about him, about how different and wonderful he was.

Earlier in the day Susie had decided to enjoy the last nice fall day of the year and to meet her friend Margie at an outdoor cafe. The two women sat talking, and giggling like school girls in love as Susie shared the plans that she and David were making. As she was leaving the cafe Susie bumped into David's sister. Susie greeted her warmly, the woman was clearly baffled, she had no idea who Susie was or why she should care that she was a friend of David's.

They parted company, Susie's world suddenly began to hurt to move through. She knew this feeling all too well. She had been here before.

Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out.

* Carmen Schreffler writes when the muses speak from the mountains of Pennsylvania. More of her ramblings can be found at www.lolawisdom.com

Review: You Are Here poetry show, Norwich

Charles Christian — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 16:00:00 +0000

You Are Here, a poetry show: Colette Bryce, Daljit Nagra and Jo Shapcott

20 January 2010, Norwich Arts Centre

An interesting evening. When I bought my ticket from the venue, five days in advance, it was numbered only 34 and I had the sinking feeling that once again I’d be sitting in a small audience in a large venue watching first-rate poets who’d travelled hundreds of miles to be here. Needn’t have worried, as it turned out: tickets were also available from other outlets and, apparently, offered two-for-the-price-of-one online in the days leading up to the performance. If that was the marketing strategy, it certainly worked and the 130-seater auditorium was almost full.

The event was subtitled ‘a poetry show’, as opposed to a plain, old poetry reading. This was because the performance had been choreographed, with the three readers on stage together most of the time, but moving between a limited number of props, eg some chairs and a table. The programme says the person responsible once directed a play called Two Women and a Chair! In fact, it was a valiant attempt at overcoming the usually static nature of poetry.

Did it work? Well, yes – but I only wish they’d moved slightly less frequently. As it was, I found myself anticipating the next shift-round, rather like that drama warm-up game: ‘Sit, Stand, Lie Down’. However, a lot of people present didn’t find it obtrusive and opinion remained split. When the chair was placed upside down on the floor with someone kneeling behind it, I thought it might represent a pew – especially as the choreographed pouring and drinking of water by the poets also seemed to be ritualistic – but maybe not. Two of them got the wrong glass at one point (well, it was the opening night); hope no-one had ‘flu. And does the fact that the audience noted this mean that action had overtaken words as the focus of attention? Perhaps, at times – but I’m still glad this production had the courage to try a different approach and see what poetry can do/what can be done with poetry.

Of course, there have always been performance poets who take a more active stance, but these were page poets writing about identity; no chance of anyone here whipping out their little ukulele – although Colette Bryce did tell a joke. As part of the 30% of the British population with some Irish culture-and-heritage, have to say my toes curled when she did that joke about Jesus being Irish (well, Derryman, Kerryman – insert the county of your choice). You know: thirty-three, unmarried and living at home with his parents. However, most of the feedback I heard was that Ms Bryce was the preferred turn of the evening, with her tinkling slant-rhymes and twinkly delivery, so perhaps it was just the massive chip on my shoulder that prevented me from finding this funny. Certainly her poems about the leaving of Derry addressed the nature of belonging more directly than Jo Shapcott’s sophisticated imagery regarding illness and its impact upon self-image.

But for me, the star of the show was Daljit Nagra – OK, I admit it: I was already a fan and turned out on a freezing January night especially to see him. And I wasn’t disappointed: all the chairs and other presentational devices just fell away as he stood (or sat) open-handed and told us in deceptively simple language about the harsh things of life, e.g. In A White Town: ‘She never looked like other boys’ mums… That’s why I’d bin the letters about parents’ evenings’. My toes curled again, but in a completely different way, as decades vanished and I was once again that little girl with tawny curls and freckles who thought she was East Anglian and didn’t understand why (during The Troubles) strangers in the street would shout things in her face, like: ‘Oi, Paddy! Why don’t you fuck off back where you come from?’ And now here I sat in the audience, listening to the crushing blows experienced by optimistic Asian people and trying not to cry, ashamed at the decades of dyeing my hair yellow. This is what poetry is supposed to do…

You Are Here has another ten dates on its tour of England this year. It comes in at under an hour in length (no interval), but only costs £7 and is more engaging than some theatrical shows costing over three times as much. All the poets are assured and interesting: there’s something for everyone – you pays your money and you takes your choice. Bring a pen, as the programme contains a detailed audience questionnaire.

...review by Bev Ellis (Bev Ellis is a poet working in the extreme East of England. She is a lifelong Alice Cooper fan.)

Contributor news - new reading + new publication

Charles Christian — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Time to catch up on some contributor news, starting with a self-explanatory poster...

• And, next, news of a collection back in print after a gap of seven years... a delicate dance of wings: haibun by Linda Jeannette Ward, with illustrations by Pamela A Babusci and JW Stansell. Winner of the Haiku Society of America’s 2003 Merit Book Award for Best Book of Haibun. Second printing released January 2010. Introduction by Larry Kimmel. ISBN 0-9702457-4-2. 6"x9" Perfect bound. 51 pages. Published by Winfred Press, Colrain, MA and Clinging Vine Press, Coinjock, NC. Order from Larry Kimmel's Storefront http://stores.lulu.com/larrykimmel

Here are twenty-one true life mini-dramas, bringing to life a variety of daily, as well as extraordinary, encounters with nature at its most tranquil and its most ferocious moments. Linda Jeannette Ward is best known for her tanka poetry, published in journals internationally, and included in two collections A Frayed Red Thread (Clinging Vine Press, 2000) and Scent of Jasmine and Brine (Inkling Press, 2007). Strongly influenced by traditional Japanese forms, her haiku, tanka and haibun are often written in a modern style favored by English-language poets.

"Ward's prose is an instrument for sensory perceptions that are finely drawn and rich in detail while the haiku and tanka reinforce the splendor of the natural setting before her." ...Jeffrey Woodward, Editor of Modern Haibun & Tanka Prose

Mandy Pannett has some snaps to share wih us

Charles Christian — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 13:00:00 +0000

SNAPS

•   I’m at Uni in Wales. Joan puts rollers in her hair and lies on the rug in front of the one bar fire to dry it. It takes forever and there’s a scorching smell. Elizabeth’s mother has sent her homemade Cornish pasties but they’re all broken up in the box. She’s in tears but we still eat them.

•   We go camping. My baby is 6 weeks old. I change her nappy in the dark and tread on it. Yuk squeezes up through my toes.

•   I catch my mother reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover in a brown paper wrapper.

•   In Hall we talk about heavy petting. We know which couples go all the way. There are rumours about bromide in the coffee.

•   My daughter’s friend comes to stay. We are told it’s either that or she’ll be taken into care. A few weeks later I get a phone call from the school saying the girl is truanting – and my daughter with her.

•   I collect for Amnesty and hand out leaflets. One man shouts at me ‘I was in the war. I’ve done my bit!’

•   My mother’s father, aged 19, goes home to find his own mother has had a baby during the day. He leaves home in disgust and never goes back.

•   I play ‘I don’t like Mondays’ with the volume full up.

•   A newspaper cutting of my mother’s mother shows her driving a tram during World War 1.

•   My second baby cries all night. It goes on for months. He tells me to put her in another room and shut the door. I go in with her.

•   In one week I read The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, The Land of Far Beyond and my mother’s copy of Forever Amber.

•   I go to lots of parties. They all have the Bee Gees belting out More than a Woman. Floorboards shake with the stomping.

•   My daughter kidnaps a cat that eats from bins outside the Chinese Take Away and smuggles him into my house. I love him lots but he won’t eat cat food, only rice and peanuts.

•   Aged 10, I sit on the beach at Dymchurch and think I shall remember this moment for the rest of my life.

* Mandy Pannett is a regular contributor to IS&T. She teaches creative writing in West Sussex, helps to run an arts cafe and supports local writing groups. She has two poetry collections from Oversteps Books – Bee Purple and Frost Hollow – and a recent one – Allotments in the Orbital – from Searle Publishing.