Jazzoetry: In & Out of Time - Music Set to Words

Quinn's  

330 Main Street  Beacon, NY

Monday,  February 27th    8-11pm    Suggested Donation

Calling All Poets & Quinn's presents JAZZOETRY – Music Set To Words.

This hotly anticipated inaugural event features many of the Hudson Valley's celebrated

actors, poets, and storytellers who know how to groove 'n flow with the incredibly gifted

musicians that make up the Jazzoetry Quartet.

The evening will move in and out of time with jazz instrumentals & jazz vocals, as poets

and storytellers perform spoken word and improvise with the ensemble.


Jazzoetry Quartet:

Kitt Potter - Vocals/Jazzoetry

Neil Nail Alexander – Piano

Robert Kopec - Upright Bass

Eric Pearson - Sax, Reeds, Flute


Jazzoetry Features:

Dutchess County Poet Laureate Poet Gold

Mike Jurkovic

Glenn Werner


Join us as CAPS pushes free speech forward when we need it most.
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Friday, May 5 8pm: An Evening with Eamon Grennan

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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(Now I Am the) Time Bomb

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Nephrite Jade

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Featured

Three Poems - Karen Corinne Herceg

 A Thin Season

(For a young man beheaded for listening to Western pop tunes

in his father's grocery store)

It is a thin season

culling the air of blue breath

choked sudden as a sword

at the throat of a young infidel

the forbidden pop tune of his innocence

still playing in the annals

of his thoughts

kneeling, repetitive, insistent

as the accusations of the faithful

who behead him

on an afternoon like any other

clouds rising

in a decimation of distance

between the neck and heaven.

Isis goddess of love, the moon,

magic and fertility,

a healing sister of deities

daughter of earth and sky,

twists in a massacre

of celestial delusions

bearing the severed body

back to the arms that bore him,

the one who will hear music

no more. here ...


Autumn Waits

The day screams colder

presuming bare

desperate winter trees.

Leaves bleed out colors,

sap freezing in their veins,

skies running bleak.

I build fires

against a frigid

unforgiving horizon,

fabricating warmer hope,

when climate will not mirror

the measure of my soul,

dictate rhythms of desires,

the direction of spirit.

When melting or igniting

will not be issues

within the waiting.


Feline Intensity

She regards him

with a feline intensity

the pierce of question

disguised as bravado

fake it 'till you make it

says the swish of the tail

the come hither

bait and switch love trap

that knows you want it

so she gives it

hoarding triumph

like a flag

raised

while gazing in the moist aftermath

her sleek eyes following sky-framed rooftops

that keep reaching.

Cats never look hurt:

just indignant.

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Featured

Azaleas and Wild Onions



I’m in my Azalea bed digging out – again – wild onions that continue to
multiply there year after year.
When a hawk flew into the house and was killed
I buried her in this bed,
rested her on dried Sage,
planted an Azalea next to her,
placed a beautiful stone over her plot.
And the pungent wild onions grew.
When my brother died, Mom and I scattered his ashes
in a hidden clearing in the woods behind her house.
We planted Azaleas to adorn the earth
next to a beautiful stone I placed on his plot.
And the pungent wild onions grew.
Sometimes the sorrowful fragrance of this planet’s progeny is just too much.
Year after year I’ve uprooted the sad scented things.
I’ve covered them over with heavy mulch – leaves and bark-
so the sun can’t warm them, I believe,
so they can’t grow bigger, I think,
so they can’t multiply, I hope.
Still in the spring, wretchedness again grows up around the bushes of pink and purple joy.
Then I discovered I could eat them –
those tart, toothsome, allium canadense.
So now, I snack on them while weeding,
knowing that ants farm aphids, and flowers seduce bees
because they live in mutual symbiotic relationship.
And if I eat bitters, sweetness will by and by appear on my plate
from the soil of the One Earth
from the One Garden.
Where grow both wild onions and Azaleas.




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Featured

Jewel Weed

The jewel weed is blooming 

In the late summer field. 

It's strangely sad that sweltering days 

are coming to a chilly end, 

Like a love affair that smolders 

with desires and resentments, 

Kept in teetering balance 

Till the tipping point comes sure as bills. 

And what once filled the dancing heart 

Now spills ashes on the floor. 

But while the jewel weed still blooms, 

The lingering high sun brings to blossom 

what could be, 

Then rolls downhill to the icy cold 

of what will be.  

(8/22/15 JM)

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First Day of Autumn

It's nice to feel an air conditioned day, 

Nature's changing thermostat 

set just where I like. 

Leaves on the trees disagree:

some are red with anger 

that Mother Nature turned off the heat,

some are yellow with fear 

for the coming chill of winter,

and some have fainted dead away, 

lying on the ground.


(9/22/16 JM)

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All the World is an Asana



A petal on a flower practices her yoga.
in a body no longer strong and agile,
her favorite posture being dormancy.
Her light, imprisoned in rigid form,
craves a change of asana.

Maples awaken in the distance with swaying red buds,
birds and bugs fly and wiggle,
stream currents flow,
moving beings in their unique
flowing, growing, flying and wiggling asanas.

Rocks still and sturdy in unperturbed posture,
the sun in fiery, shining Warrior Stance
and the moon in golden Silent Savasana,
pose, gazing at us, dreaming that all the world
has moved into the asana of loving.

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Packaged Brightly

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury

what else do you need to know?

How they've fleeced your bloodline.

Gutted your sons and defaced

your angel daughters.


How they put the planet

up for sale. Sky brown. Dead Sea.

Cut down mountains to get their goods

to a new market now that yours is

dark and shuttered.


How you always owe them something

even if they've claimed

each extremity. One by one.

Lopped off and

thrown in a hole


leading to

the process machines

that break the shit down

into dinner. Packaged brightly

w/lots of salt. And sugar.

And booze. 18% by volume.


How we dance on our last leg

the latest gyration. The newest dodge

and hustle. And I wish I had a hacksaw

to cut the shin away.

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