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The 92nd St Y / Makor 35 West 67th Street WhYwords Poetry/Performance Series Veronica Golos, Curator invites you to: LOVE IN MANY GUISES A Jubilee Reading February 14, Monday, 6pm, $8 with: Lorna Blake Cheryl Boyce-Taylor Veronica Golos Patricia Spears Jones Patricia Smith Sheree Renée Thomas HOSTED by David Pérez After the reading, join the poets for dinner in the fabulous Makor Cafe; books by the authors will be available for purchase. To order tickets, phone 212-601-1000 or go to www.makor.org ---------- POEMS: Lorna Blake's poems have appeared in Calyx, the Connecticut Review, Crab Orchard Review, the Hudson Review, The Formalist and many other journals, as well as in the anthology Ravishing DisUnities: Real Ghazals in English, edited by Agha Shahid Ali. She is currently the Senior Editor in Poetry at the journal Rattapallax. PROTHALAMION Marriage begins in the giving of words - Wendell Berry Love will pitch a tent anywhere - at the edge of a cliff in a hurricane wind, on a great ocean of grass just as the tornado approaches and whisper reckless promises of permanence, sincerely meant. Marriage vows to build a home: walls and rooms to move between, an attic, stairs, a few hiding places, doors, an open window, shuttered sometimes; now add lamps, mirrors, a drawer that locks, a bookcase wide enough to shelve the crowded past, the stories yet to come. Set the cornerstone on this wedding day - Love always insists, it will blow over us, but storms will come and in a house of words you stand a chance, a fighting chance. ---------- Cheryl Boyce-Taylor is Trinidad-born and New York City-bred; she is a poet, visual and teaching artist. The author of two collections of poetry, Raw Air and Night When Moon Follows, she is currently working on Convincing the Body, her newest collection of poems due out in the Fall of 2005. ARRIVAL POINT JUDITH Rounding the bend moon a red womb bloomed she crossed the road crossed again got lost in the thickets then suddenly the frozen lake my heart rose a high singing strangling breath with alabaster skin moon and her daughters leapt into my room and all night wore black silk gloves the slender light of point judith a slight blue slip to cover her female slickness ---------- Veronica Golos is co winner of the 16th Annual Nicholas Roerich Poetry Prize for her book, A Bell Buried Deep, published by Storyline Press, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Edward Hirsch. She was a 2003 recipient of a three-month residency at the Wurlitzer Foundation, in Taos, New Mexico. She is on the teaching faculty of Makor, where she teaches Memoir. Ms. Golos is a poetry editor for The Other Half: A Magazine for Emerging Artists of Color and a member of 3poets4peace. AFTER THE DROUGHT inside their brown caps set stiffly upon their long necks, the Hollyhocks wait. A sudden racking rain, then shade: the formal front begins to peel the bud inside the pod flowers and pushes color into my hand as when your kindness pours into my own proud cup your words an elixir a taste that opens the soles of my feet my palms my belly my mouth; as you press as the Hollyhocks press to be ordained into red and pink and perfume into the natural giving wet. ---------- Patricia Spears Jones is a 2003 NYFA Fellow and author of the collection, The Weather That Kills from Coffee House Press and the play "MOTHER" produced by Mabou Mines. Her poems are anthologized in Poetry After 911; bumrush, a defpoetryjam; Best American Poetry 2000 and Blood and Tears: Poems for Matthew Shepard; her work appears in Bomb, Black Kenyon Review, Ploughshares, Poetry Project Newsletter, Telephone, The World, Agni, Barrow Street, Callaloo among other venues. She is the co-editor of the groundbreaking anthology, Ordinary Women: An Anthology of New York City Women, and is a former Program Coordinator of The Poetry Project at St. Mark's Church and has taught at Parsons, Sarah Lawrence and Naropa University. HOW HE KNOWS ME How he knows me comforts me It's that we were lovers once thing It's that we may be lovers again thing Or simply we love How he knows me panics me Stops me from trusting my own story How she risked much Lost a little Got some things back Where I watch my tongue is how I hear new birds They are louder their music stubborn like believing in the end of things When we are breathing. ---------- Patricia Smith is a nationally recognized writer and performer, is the author of three books of poetry, as well as the critically acclaimed history,"Africans in America," the award-winning children's book "Janna and the Kings" and "Fixed on a Furious Star," an upcoming biography of Harriet Tubman. She is a Cave Canem faculty member and was recently the Bruce McEver Chair in Writing at Georgia Tech University. DANCE LESSON there is nothing distinct about your rhythm: fumbling, white boy marching band staunch, the occasional waddle. it took me hours to teach you to dance with your shoulders, and years to discover where your music actually comes from. open your drum and encircle, strum my visible hollows with your mouth. and you don't move your shoulders at all. jesus. ---------- Sheree Renée Thomas is the editor of two groundbreaking anthologies, Dark Matter: A Century of Speculative Fiction from the African Diaspora , a New York Times Notable Book of the Year and winner of the 2001 World Fantasy Award, and Dark Matter: Reading the Bones. She is at work Bonecarver, her first novel, winner of the 2003 Ledig House/LEF Foundation Prize for Fiction, and What Spirit Took, a poetry manuscript for which she was awarded a NYFA Fellowship. Her work can be found in Role Call, Bum Rush the Page: A Def Poetry Jam, Obsidian III: Literature of the African Diaspora, Drumvoices Review, ...So Long Been Dreaming: Postcolonial Visions of the Future among others. A Memphis native living in New York, Sheree is the mother of two beautiful daughters. MAPOU WINE I wake to hear your breathing a wet whisper where thighs begin your tongue a startled shade of green in the night the Iwa walked along the sleeping curve of our spines they dance as I dance for you now with painted toes digging in the moist earth in these uncovered roots rest the soles of spirit signs sealed with honey dust sprinkled with morning dew I wake to sweet tremors unfolding beneath bare feet my big toe dripping mapou wine down your throat. | ||
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