Monthly Archives: July 2010

Our local impresarios!

Terrific write up on Harris Gardner and the Poetic Justice series, co-sponsored with the Grolier Poetry Bookshop at the Liberty Hotel, Boston, (formerly the Charles Street Jail.) (Help- ye prisoners of the metaphor! ) The series is cited in the Sunday July 25th issue of The Boston Globe in the “Ideas Section.” The article appears in “Shelf Life,” an informative literary column written by Jan Gardner. The first reading at the Liberty Hotel, with Henri Cole and Franz Wright, was a huge success. On Aug 12th Afea Weaver and Dan Tobin are the featured readers. Open mike too!

Copyright Kathleen Spivack

Reading

Wonderful poetry reading, last Thursday July 22, 2010 sponsored by
Ibbetson Street Press/ Tapestry of Voices Reading Series:
held at the Leventhal-Sidney JCC Newton, Ma.
Poets Harris Gardner, Zvi Sesling, Bert Stern, Ruth Kramer Baden and Fred Frankel read poetry of Jewish themes, followed by an open mike, hosted by poet Doug Holder. Ruth Kramer Baden’s new book “East of the Moon” is just out, designed by Steve Glines and published by Ibbetson Street. Lovely evening.

Copyright Kathleen Spivack

Their Tranquil Lives

Their Tranquil Lives won a First Prize, the 2010 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Award.

Oh lost world of Gustav Klimt,
the jeweled and doe-eyed women
swam the walls and ceilings
of pre-Holocaust Vienna’s
ornate opera. Women’s compliance
did not need to be stated,
was pink and white
and not hidden by drapes.

World War I had not yet happened.
The city was a beaker spilling over
with bits of gold applied
which one could drink
or pour into, carefully
lavish and lucky.

Outside the window apples
shone in their dappled garden.
The women had proud
names, and pregnancies.
They rose like mermaids through
their tranquil lives,
upward and passionate.
The insides of their wrists
were white and still unmarked,
smoothed with kisses:

Vienna before History—
Each morning was a waking: pond
drenched in light; the path,
perfumed with little flowers, stitched
white butterflies and the painter-god
creating first-words; a mosaic
of forbidden.

As if memory
would tapestry forever
voyeur-painter’s studios, light-
drenched: the livid golden hair
and modeled arms and bracelets lifting:
perfect breasts; rounded nutcracker
thighs and, ready for the
taking, the ripe fruit.

As if the comet,
pleasure, would never
burn itself to ash; the dross,
once-glorious color
seeping , leaching, thinly
staining Europe.
Oh much punished and
lost worlds of Gustav
Klimt, while you stroked
undertone rose-ochre tints
to flesh, your century,
demented, waited
for its urgent re-inventions;
voice-over, take-over
newsreel/newsprint narratives:
blunt black- and- white.

Copyright Kathleen Spivack

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