Albany Poets presents . . .part 1 ....February 15, 2017
'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.
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
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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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.
Letter Home
Some Civil War guy
in 1863 wrote:
Martha, I have seen
the dog
'n pony
show
and I
can't watch
no more.
Me neither.
I know
the feeling.
Especially
blue
vs.
gray.
I know
the blood
don't matter.
The air
is out
of the
balloon.
You can call
customer service.
But I doubt
they answer
the phone.
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It was a dream: Posing as a grifter
w/a bearcat named Ellie.
Nothing happened. We just kept posing
as the photog fumbled
w/film and flash.
Ambience. Angle.
Incidence. Time.
We chatted easy. She’d just broken up
w/a guy named Jim
who ran a deli on 6th. I’d just celebrated
my 25th. It was a great party.
Shadows. Stanchions.
Contrast and grain.
Hand in hand.
Depth of field.
Arm in arm.
The rule of thirds.
She looked like two million
and I felt like three.
Flash. Zoom.
It was a dream.
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Goggling, Ooh and AhhThe village eccentricspits on your car.The aging hippieargues a lot.No one has a handleon it anymoreExcept the marketand you knowthey're bettingyou turnon your own anddo the dirty workfor them. You knowthey've got itfigured outto the very last gasp.Rounded upto eat your dimeand daughter. You knowthis is how it goes.It happens t...
Jane Street (our tellings)
They all wanted to fuck me
on Jane Street but didn't.
Such was the luck
of the brotherly type.
A witness to women
learning to walk
along the Rockaway sand.
Playing them Dusty. Joni. Laura.
Our voices rising to the sky
black w/worry. Intrigue. Late periods
and trouble at home. Manhattan dying.
The Bronx afire. The autumns
in Washington Square.
We talked to the city and
the city talked back.
Whispered us secrets
and lies. And truths that later
proved true.
They all wanted to fuck me
on Jane Street but didn't.
Such was the luck
of the brotherly type and
some pangs still play
in our tellings today.
Certainly sickness. Certainly death.
Certainly the tides, high and low and
who did who on Jane Street.
