An Evening with Eamon Grennan

Friday, May 5 8pm: 


Born in 1941, Eamon Grennan is a Dublin native and Irish citizen who has lived in the

United States for over thirty years. He was educated at University College in Dublin

and Harvard University.

His collections include: Matter of Fact (Graywolf Press, 2008); The Quick of It, (2005);

Renvyle, Winter (special limited edition, 2003); Still Life with Waterfall (2002),

winner of the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize; Selected & New Poems (2000);

Relations: New & Selected Poems (1998); So It Goes (1995), a finalist for the

Paterson Poetry Prize; As If It Matters (1992); What Light There Is and Other Poems

(1989), a finalist for a Los Angeles Times Book Prize; What Light There Is (1987);

and Wildly for Days (1983).

As well as a number of Pushcart Prizes, he has received awards from the National

Endowment for the Arts, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and from the

John Simon Guggenheim Foundation.

He taught at Vassar College until his retirement. He lives in Poughkeepsie, and spends

as much time as he can in the West of Ireland.

Join us for a very special evening.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/eamon-grennan

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Rice & Holland Awarded 1st & 2nd Place

"Your Service" by Cheryl A. Rice and "The Osterias Are Tipping Prosecco" by Ken Holland were awarded first and second place prizes respectively, in the 2017 Stephen A DiBiase Poetry Contest sponsored through Albany Poets. Both Cheryl and Ken are long time CAPS members and supporters! Wooooo Hooooo!


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HERCEG & GOULD CO-FEATURE AT ARTBAR IN KINGSTON MARCH 9

Karen Corinne Herceg and Roberta Gould co-feature on 3/9/17 at 7:00 PM at ArtBar Gallery, 674 Broadway, Kingston, NY 12401 (845-338-2789) for WOMPS (Word of Mouth Poetry Series). Open mic sign up 6:30 PM.

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CAPS 3/3/17

Here are the YouTube links for last night's reading.

See it all in full, living, democratic colour!


part 1: Anne Gorrick & Bill Seaton

https://youtu.be/ld89OI1IMQY


part 2: open mic w/Greg Correll, Cheryl A. Rice, Tara Yetter, Glenn Werner, Jim Eve,

Hayden Wayne, Leslie Gerber, Kate Hymes, Christopher Wheeling and others

https://youtu.be/ld89OI1IMQY

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YouTube

https://youtu.be/-EaWy4J-ePo

Albany Poets presents . . .Part 2 . . .The Interview

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Albany Poets presents pt 1 - YouTube

https://youtu.be/mL7JxC-OaQ8

Albany Poets presents . . .part 1 ....February 15, 2017

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Freedom Isn't Free

Freedom Isn't Free bumper sticker caught my eye.

I thought, that's true, and even though

Military Funerals Are Free,

Death Is Costly to the soldier,

his wife and child, mom and dad, friends and family.

I know the debt we owe to those who brave cross blood red seas, 

leave their body parts in desert sands,

lose their minds from killing innocents

on the way to protect our enclaves, fresh cut lawns,

summer barbecues, big cars and little children.

Thank you is not enough.

But enough is enough.

Our sad little world needs to learn the lesson.

Killing to maintain freedom is never the answer.

It just leads to more killing and less freedom. 

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The Real Estate Of My Mind

‚ÄčMy stories are contrived from concealed figments of

imaginary pieces of the real estate of my mind

that stalk the subconscious synapses of paradox,

unfold layers of evocative reflections of experience,

journey through poignant particles of brainwaves that

peddle through the thick atmosphere to empty space,

seeking time bomb snippets set to detonate at moment's notice.

Minutes ago, words did not appear on this paper,

now language is squeezed n' transformed

into poetic birth of another doggerel.

If I were a woman, I would breast feed this infant

so that he/she would manifest to completion.

But, I am a man whose innate ability to nurture

lay in the soil over which I toil each spring

as I till, seed, water, weed, reap, sow my paradise.

In stillness, my lucid mind wanders inward,

convolutes, then circumvents reality,

logic disappears, reason reflects observation,

a flicker of perception is ignited,

lyrics pour from philosophical vessel

onto slippery roads I travel, paths once forsaken,

given up for dead, only to rise in the sunshine.

The sky is a cloudless incandescent blue.

The 80-degree temperature is the perfect palatial pallet.

The sultry wind crawls 5mph from the warm gulf waters.

Swan families are floating in file beneath the boat dock.

Married eagles are nesting in needles atop the pine trees,

Playful squirrels are fidgeting up bark of the palm trees.

Poking, peaking, long-beak White Ibis' aerate the lawn.

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Featured

Walking My Dog During a Florida Thunderstorm

The rainclouds appear as a puffy silk shelf

from which gray garland cotton balls hang

from the saturated swollen sky

like ribbons of Christmas tree ornaments.

Cracks of thunder crackle with

flashes of lightning streaks that explode,

light up the darkness in flames

like oil and water sizzling in a frying pan.

A spectacle of blue spears

slice the sparkling heavens

illuminate the water-logged particles,

like dancing minstrels parading the engorged highway.

All this,

while my dog pissed and shit.

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pillaged wine

'scuse me for

outwardly processing but

I can't control myself

these days. There's too much

to masticate and castigate

not to. But I'm

low on patience

and need action. Abolition.

Absolution that this statecraft

between us, between the world

is more than funds and suppression.

More than archived warheads and

blanching at darker skin than cardboard.

I don't buy it.

It's not policy

it's theology.

And the faster we make

that distinction

the better. God can't lead us

all into battle

but each

will claim

his banner.

And you know the shit-storm

that shadows: tin cut messiahs

yell for blood

and everyone bleeds.

We all become bovine

and crave a good steak

w/our pillaged wine

and sterling spoons.

We feed their children ours

and that has got to stop.

'cos I won't spend

my golden years

mucking out

the shit of kings.

Bleaching their chambers

of virgin blood. Lighting their pyres

and burning my own.

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