Sunday, February 15, 2015

A Review of Valeri Beers' ...details....






A Commentary on Life, as seen through the eyes of Valeri Beers
A Review by Alex Conrad

A cute little package arrived in the mail the other day including a book of poetry by Valeri Beers entitled “…details...” and at first glance I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.  As soon as I opened the pages of the book, I was blown away by how simply put everything was.  But through the simplicity of the poetry, the messages of the three “L”s (Love, Lust, and Loss) were made clear.  If I were to choose a favorite poem from this wonderful collection of poems, I would have to choose “Wondering Edge”, for I could sense the feeling that the speaker had at the moment they realized that their partner was gone for good.  Loss is one of those emotions that can cause writers to create beauty out of the darkness.  Out of darkness and despair shall come a beautiful thing!

Interview with Valeri Beers conducted by Alex Conrad
1.      Who or what inspired you to write poetry? 
 I was inspired to write poetry when I was in high school, I joined a creative writing class and was exposed to different styles of poetry. I wrote two poems and submitted them to the school literary magazine. Both were accepted and I have been writing ever since. Writing poems helps me to be able to remember things I see and  feel.   I am inspired to write when listening to music.  I am also inspired to write when I read poems and writing from others , wishing I had written that  ;)
2.      Do you have a favorite place to write? 
In my velour pajamas in bed sipping coffee :) That is a rarity, so I would have to say I don't have a  favorite place, I write when inspiration makes its demands (I keep a small notebook in my backpack  in case inspiration strikes while I'm out and about) I have written in my car while waiting for my girl to be dismissed from school, at a bar (that got STRANGE looks), on the back of paper placemats at restaurants.  I also write and compose poems in my head :)

3.      Who are your favorite poets, alive or deceased? And what are your favorite poems by these poets?
 I really like Erica Jong and Dorothy Parker. Neil Hilborn (from Button Poetry) and Amy Lowell. I like all poems from Erica Jong,  Dorothy Parker has wonderful, sarcastic flavored poems if you like those (some standouts are A Well Worn Story, Resume, News Flash and A Very Short Song) but they're ALL GOOD.  I like deceased poet Amy Lowell.  She seems to have short poems which I love and I have featured her poems on my own website:
            Neil Hilborn is a new  poet, who has some great poems, including   “Static Electricity”,                   “Clatter” and “The Mating Habits of the North American Hipster” He has a bunch of             his own poems on Youtube....here's the video for “Static Electricity”

4.      What five words best sum up your personality?
            Weird. Encouraging. Determined. Prolific. Helpful.
            5. Other than writing, what else do you love to do?
Read books, (fiction, non fiction, sci             fi, fantasy, poetry) listen to all kinds of music, read poetry online in blogs and journals,             look for interesting things to post on my site and on PoetryPasta, take pictures and      videos to help show what I am doing and encouraging other poets  (we need it, thin             skinned and scared bunch of writers we are ;)
6.      What is your favorite poem? Why? 
This is a hard question for me Alex :)  I read so many good poems every day. I subscribe to Poem A Day, I read the submissions for PoetryPasta, I read, read, read! :) I would have to say my favorite poem  is “Alcestis on the poetry circuit” by Erica Jong and have carried it in my pocket for Poem In Your Pocket Day.  I like it because of its truthfulness and how we are all our own worst enemies.
            Alcestis on the Poetry Circuit
(In Memoriam Marina Tsvetayeva, Anna Wickham, Sylvia Plath, Shakespeare¹s sister, etc., etc.)
The best slave
does not need to be beaten.
She beats herself.
Not with a leather whip,
or with stick or twigs,
not with a blackjack
or a billyclub,
but with the fine whip
of her own tongue
& the subtle beating
of her mind
against her mind.
For who can hate her half so well
as she hates herself?
& who can match the finesse
of her self-abuse?
Years of training
are required for this.
Twenty years
of subtle self-indulgence,
self-denial;
until the subject
thinks herself a queen
& yet a beggar --
both at the same time.
She must doubt herself
in everything but love.
She must choose passionately
& badly.
She must feel lost as a dog
without her master.
She must refer all moral questions
to her mirror.
She must fall in love with a cossack
or a poet.
She must never go out of the house
unless veiled in paint.
She must wear tight shoes
so she always remembers her bondage.
She must never forget
she is rooted in the ground.
Though she is quick to learn
& admittedly clever,
her natural doubt of herself
should make her so weak
that she dabbles brilliantly
in half a dozen talents
& thus embellishes
but does not change
our life.
If she's an artist
& comes close to genius,
the very fact of her gift
should cause her such pain
that she will take her own life
rather than best us.
& after she dies, we will cry
& make her a saint.
© Erica Mann Jong

7.      What are your current, and/or next projects?
            My current project is taking poetic care of my website and helping take care of             PoetryPasta. (www.poetrypasta.wordpress.com)  I am also the editor and submitter for the writer's group at my local library. My next project is hopefully another book, whether it's an anthology or just me, only my readers and publisher (Thomas Hill Publishing) knows :)


Alex Conrad is a student at Montgomery College, Rockville campus in Rockville, MD where he is studying General Studies to eventually pursue a degree in Psychology at a four-year institution.  He has been writing since grade school – whether it be poetry or short stories or the beginnings of a book.  He is currently taking an online Poetry class at the college, which is where he had the pleasure of interacting with Valeri Beers through his professor, Dr. Marianne Szlyk.

I also want to share some music from artists I've seen at the Mid-Atlantic Jazz Festival in Rockville, MD.

The first artist we saw was Vuyo Sotashe, a South African who performs songs in many languages including Xhosa and Bantu.

The first song "Nyoni Yezulu" is in Zulu:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EA9pHj8IPKg

Here he sings "Yise Wabant'a Bami" with Nicky Schrire: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnzrgxdiZeE

We'll finish with a more traditional jazz song ("Magnus' Lullaby")  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHTZcMKW0o8

Someday there will be more YouTube videos of this singer!

Then we listened to the Rufus Reid Quartet.  In fact, here is a video of one of the songs he played.  This video, though, is from 2006 and features different personnel:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VN05u7nGoYE

The group also played "Glory," a song inspired by Elizabeth Catlett's sculpture of the same name:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQ6b4NHv5n8

The personnel in the video appear to be the same we heard at the festival.

I am also including Reid's tribute to Hank Jones, "The Eloquent One": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIW1Mg7f7pk

I'll finish with an image of Elizabeth Catlett's work.  In fact, below is the side view of "Glory."




Thursday, February 12, 2015

A Winter Wonderland


Photography by Juan Tituaña


 
Apologies to those of you in New England or other snowy places, but tonight I would like to share with you Juan Tituana and Jerry A. Scuderi's Winter Wonderland.  These are lovely pictures and poems.  On the other hand, from what I have seen in other literary journals, artists appreciate this season as well.  Perhaps as long as one doesn't have to shovel snow or walk up and down windy Rockville Pike....

Photography by Juan Tituaña
FRIVOLOUS FURY
 
A big storm is coming with February’s chill ;
to isolate, suffocate, bury us at will .

 Call out to your loved ones, and check on our heat .
Buy shovels, and bread; they soon will delete .

 See little flakes fall, what a glorious sight ;
uncountable lilies, no two are alike .

 But what of our power? Our lines may come down .
Then gone will be heat; our light, and our sound .

 Dear lilies accumulate, stacked to a great height ;
all laying a blanket, dust filling the night .

 Sailing white linen falls heavy in loads ;
it scours, and primps, and laces our roads .

 Oh, do we have gas, for the shovel that blows ?
Will the kids go to school, or play in the snows ?

 Our streets will shut down, our cities turn blue .
And . . . , another storm’s coming, oh, what will we do ?

 Just open our drapes, and turn on the floods ;
sit back, and relax, and hug all our loves .

 This blizzard has fury of sights and of sounds ;
it levels our backyard, our lives it shuts down .

 Our land is soon covered, every rail, chair, and table .
What’s in our backyard? To tell we’re not able .

 I’ve push open our door, covered booties to head ;
through deep fluffs of snow, the dog is now fed .

 She stayed in her little house, under cover and straw ;
in wonder, amazement, some fright, and some awe .

 Finches and snow birds skip around at our feeder ;
my bacon fat sun seeds give fuel for their heaters .

 Chickadee and Titmouse all join in the fun ;
prancing about on a day without sun .

 Snow ploughs pushed and scraped and ran through till dawn ;
keeping open our freeways, puppy tired little pawns .

 Tore-up dirty grass, snow drifts now too wet ;
I’ll long for the pureness of our blizzard yet !

 Soon all will be gone, summer heat ’ll set in ;
and we’ll think of our snow days, fond memories we’ll bring .
Good-Bye Snow !
 
                      Jerry A. Scuderi    February 23, 2010


Photography by Juan Tituaña
Photography by Juan Tituaña
A Morning of Manna

See forests puffed of cotton lint ;
evergreens so weighted low.
The bite of air’s not a mint ;
shimmering cloak show us your glow .

 Spreading oaks stretch so high ;
buds await as patient guests .
Wired poles with powered sides
frame fertile fields deserving rest .

 Brilliant sun of cloudless sky
displays matted grasses choked with fluff .
Winter’s coat soon gone good-bye ;
these frozen toes have had enough .

 Wooded scapes guard crystal creeks
escaping slow among the locks .
A paradise among the meek
watch glaring glass on cotton rocks .

 Alabaster lowlands of marshed ponds
find padded geese avoiding ice .
Draw me close , oh earthly bonds .
Glories’s back , how you entice !
 
Jerry A. Scuderi February 14, 2013   



 Photography by Juan Tituaña
Photography by Juan Tituaña

Drizzled Darkness

Drizzling snow   Darkness glows
Mounds grow heaps    Children leap
Scapes erases    Masking places
Amassed and carried    Village buried

Mounds in heaps    Little ones leap
Cotton sought    Play in thoughts
Amassed and carried    School yards buried
Delivering storm    Front porches scorned

Cotton sockers    Fuzzie dockers
Fluffing down    Lanes are bound
Whisking storm    Vision scorned
Coating all    Winter’s doll

Imposing down    Day is bound
Fire roars    Warmth on board
Arresting all    Winter’s maul
Waist deep blanket    Schoolers like it

Wood stove roars    Warmth on board
Silent mounting   Twilight counting 
Waist deep blanket    How kids like it
Snowing air    Inviting stares

Scape erased    Make-up placed
Drizzled snow    Enchantment glows
                                             
A pantoun

                                                         Jerry A. Scuderi 02-18-2014


 Photography by Juan Tituaña

Photography by Juan Tituaña
Green Pea Soup

At breaking dawn , the house is dark ,
No guiding light for me .
Cuddled sound as I embark
rests the slender form of Lee .

Sleep my fair of many springs ,
radiant as the morn .
Create a home and hearth for kings ;
amuse with buck and fawn .

I’ll breakfast on her green pea soup ;
assult a lawn filled deep with snow .
Feed animals and secure the coop .
Skirt the storm a foe .

White bellies perch on our dogwood tree ;
fluffing out the wind and chill .
Sunshine brings a chance to dance ;
about the grass of dill .

Find your joy ; it’s at your feet .
You’ll leave your life and times .
Contentment’s there ; just look and seek .
Life’s just a  verse   of     rhyme .

                                                         Jerry A. Scuderi  3-04-14 


 Photography by Juan Tituaña

Photography by Juan Tituaña


In addition to the beautiful words and images, Jerry and Juan have also provided some music for you:

First is jazz piano bar music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhUuEUj2zWk

Or would you prefer some saxophone? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivJrE_Wory0

Sade will make you forget the winter time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zX8nZI8U9XY

Watch this space for information about how to vote in the fall contests!

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Kavon Ward's "I am Michael Brown"


Tonight I'd like to post The Poetic Activist Kavon Ward's necessary and powerful spoken word piece "I Am Michael Brown" as part of The Song Is..'s mourning and memory contest.  I am proud to be including spoken word at this blog-zine, and this contest is an especially suitable place for spoken word since it is an important genre, especially within the African-American community.

Here is a link to "I Am Michael Brown":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-raVjhL5_I

I am also including her "I Am Trayvon Martin," which, in this video, she is performing at the Apollo:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npA_EVNNCbA



Kavon Ward is a nationally recognized, award winning spoken word artist and poetic activist.  She recently received 1st place at the historic Apollo Theater’s Amateur Night, shared the stage with gospel artist Hezekiah Walker and was  featured in the 2013 African American Festival, alongside artists like Patti LaBelle and Fantasia.  Kavon is the 2012 Paul Robeson Here I Stand Poet and opened for Common at the Lincoln Theater in this capacity.  Also in 2012, Kavon took the stage with activists like Joe Madison and Dick Gregory, to perform her piece, “I Am Trayvon Martin,” during the Trayvon Martin – Washington DC Rally for Justice.

Kavon has also performed at the Washington, DC Black Theater Festival, the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation’s Avoice Heritage Celebration, Busboys & Poets, Bohemian Caverns, Nuyorican Poets Café, and Annie’s Art Gallery.  Her CD, From Policy to Poetry, and poems, including Harlem: Mission to Motivate, Black is Beautiful, and Beef with God are available for purchase at her online store and her piece,  “I Am Trayvon Martin”, is available on  iTunes.  Kavon’s poem Love Epiphany is also featured on the R&B Love Jonz Mixtape Volume 1.

If you would like to explore more of her work, here is a link to her website: http://kavonward.com/



Friday, February 6, 2015

Poems by Will Mayo






Will Mayo is another one of the poets I've met on Facebook, but, unlike Pijush and Adelaja, he is a local poet.  The picture above is not a local picture, but I think it fits Will's poetry well.  I am a little late posting his work, but then they are appearing one day closer to the weekend.  



HAUNTED BY THE NIGHT

By

Will S. Mayo

As soldiers to the haunted man once remarked,
the night is full of many strange things:
the air drips with moisture
like the water off a child's nose on a rainy night.
And the sounds reverberate through the spectrum
like the winds wrapping their way
around the melon that is but a moon.
While buildings crack open
with heat and cold,
doorways, windows, shutters framed by peeling paint
flap open, then close
on a night owl's midnight stroll
through alleys echoed by a foghorn's siren,
rustled by leaves torn like decaying flesh.
And when at last,
some bed may be ready
in a dumpster found overturned by the park,
the cock is sure to crow three times in tandem,
each for denial of the night.





THE SOUNDS OF THE NIGHT


The sounds of the night
reverberate through the streets.
Sirens,
exhaust from worn-out mufflers;
footsteps,
solitary,
breaking through the cloud cover
to tread the walks.
All without glimpse of broken globe
or spangled lights
to tell the face of the blue clad man.
And as the last engine revs
to the dying whisper of gravel's wind,
only the captain of the watch
can tell which sound matters most.




WINDOW SHOPPING

By

Will S. Mayo


All the shops are full tonight.
There's a window dresser's dummy
hanging from a nail.
There's a clothespin through the eye
of a button
in the latest from torn pants.
And inside everywhere
the prostitute glares
from shades of every shop on the street.
Her reflection shows
a wig that's fitted too tight,
high heeled shoes made for stiletto blades,
and a size 8
that just won't quit.
She stares at you
like she wants you
to do her a favor.
And yet she'd rather
you didn't.
Outside, the streetlamps dim
and slowly blink off.
She wrinkles her brow
in the late evening sunlight.
Tomorrow she will have varicose veins.



Phantasmagoria

by

Will Mayo

When the voice aches from within.
When the man longs for the day's end.
Then as tomorrow seems only a daydream
and yesterday a mere phantom of a thought
it is that life itself is only a shadow of the living.
For then it is that no mirror reflects,
no stream shines with that ancient gaze.
And every footstep is a hammer for the corpse,
a drumbeat for the dying.
You stare into the glass upon the 3 am bell.
No face, living or dead, awaits your reflection.
For every light has blown away
and darkness is the shadow of the wavering candle.
When you wish to blow out the wakening ghost
and continue with living,
it is only the bell that stops you.
The sounds of the gongs within cymbals colliding
coincide with the beating of your heart.
Thunderclaps the mountain
and it is at such times that you wish you were only dreaming.



Of course, I will begin the music with Monk's "Round Midnight": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKayR1oqC7w

Here is an early version of his "Straight No Chaser": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVb9e1DgKJ4

"Well, You Needn't" is a little quick and bouncy, but I am including it anyway: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOvKLvWuZjg  Perhaps it is meant to represent the cars zipping along at night.

Monk's "April in Paris" fits the mood a little better: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmkhpbJtItI

Then I will conclude with "Pannonica": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8PHk1aA8Uo

And so concludes the fall contest!  We will have a special winter wonderland entry by Juan Tituana and Jerry A. Scuderi as a grand finale.  Thank you for an excellent fall at The Song Is..  I will be posting the rules for voting in the contest before the Winter Wonderland appears.

Sunday, February 1, 2015

To Celebrate the Publication of Pijush Kanti Deb's New Book






To celebrate the publication of Indian poet Pijush Kanti Deb's first book of poems, Beneath the Shadow of a White Pigeon on February 1, I am posting several more of his poems.  In addition, Valeri Beers of PoetryPasta is interviewing him, and I am posting a link to the interview here:  https://poetrypasta.wordpress.com/2015/02/01/new-poet-pijush-kanti-deb-interview-now/
I Surrender To The Tradition
                      Composed by Pijush Kanti Deb
At last, I surrender to the tradition
to live a blissful  life
exiling my masculinity-
the culprit of all bitter clashes
in my underarm
and start enjoying the magic
that ensnares my sky, my land
and my beloved belongings
to start dancing and singing around me;
my logical babbling,
rough and tough attitude
and ‘’Do or die’’-the powerful hymn
start sneaking from my orbit.
The people,
sad, disturbed, angry and zealous,
owing to my free and harsh masculinity,
start reverse marching to their origin.
The needless eyes
may shut their windows down
yet they witness
the smiling faces, appreciating lips
and helping hands-
ever-ready for nurturing  my new born happiness
and a compromised heart
that buys hundreds of charismatic worlds
in exchange for only one-the dogmatic masculinity.







To Read A Brand New Book
                             Composed by ---Pijush Kanti Deb
The old reason and the young desire
call for a whispering conflict
regarding an appropriate time
to read a brand new book
unwrapping it carefully
by the eagerly fingers,
looking at the beautiful paintings and stories-
painted and written skillfully
by a well known painter cum writer,
by the enchanted eyes.
They start casting of arrows of
arguments and counter arguments
to each other
till the casting of the last arrow
and at last,
a cartel- the gainful last resort
appears between
the most powerful and ever- agitated rivals-
mind and brain,
decides- a noon-hot and matured,
the appropriate time to open and read
the book with entire satisfaction.
Alas!
On the hint of the rest-less heart
the foolish eyes welcome
the abrupt flow of wind to fly into the room
from the impatient  world
through the open window.
It comes in and starts playing
‘’Go as you like’’ with the immature reader
trespassing each and every corners
and finally ensnares the reader
to make the book opened, naked and read.
Within a fraction of a moment
the virginity of the book is lost,
reader’s immaturity and  ill-competency are detected
and the most thrilling earthly pleasure is left unfelt.





The Rhino-Skin
       Composed By- Pijush Kanti Deb
The wrapping of myself with the rhino-skin
makes me rough and tough and fearless
in facing the revolution of my boss around my loopholes
and buffering his jumping on me with his loudspeaker-
speaking to my closed ears
steering his inflamed tongue-
just tasted the hot breakfast prepared by his awful  wife,
to extinguish his burning heart
by shifting the impact and the incidence of his suffering
to my  shrewd shoulder-
already guarded by my impenetrable amulet-
made of rhino-skin
by the grace of  something stoic like the Devil
At my home, I fastened the loop of the rhino-skin
as it is to be tested again for another inevitable round
by my family-boss-
my beloved babbling wife-
rich in her self-made complaints against my inabilities
leaving her each and every demand unfulfilled
and on my declining dedication to family
though I make my-self  a tolerant rhino-man
carrying my two heavy bosses with no complaints and groaning
In the evening, I put off my rhino-skin
and rush to a private land of earthly fairies-
composed by a compromised cartel-
made of me and of my a few friends-
the hunts of the same hunting,
where we convene a dance party
on the music of our good-luck
and welcome  a fountain of  intoxicant amusements
to wash out all the humiliation of daily life
and to recharge all of us to endure the bosses again and again.



Painting by J.M.W. Turner



A Magnificent Painting
          Composed By- Pijush Kanti Deb
Blood sheds on the stainless canvas
turning it into the drops of sweat
and gives, thus, the birth of a magnificent painting
ensnaring claps, kisses, rewards and awards
to be generous to drop on it
from the blissful eyes and the perceived hearts.
Maybe, a bunch of blessings are also bestowed on it
by blissful and watchful aerial eyes
but a course of curses are booked
for those careless  painters
who give their paintings just the beginning,
leaving the finishing to money and machine,
produce some so-called paintings-
lacking color and scent of humanity,
dump them in the slums of garbage
and pollute the cleanliness of the environment
where the stainless paintings are still blissful
in picking the flowers up
thrown gratefully by
the dreamful eyes and the hopeful hearts.




Me and My Poorness
                 Composed by –Pijush Kanti Deb
My poorness gets different reflections
from different mirrors-
set in the eyes of my nearest and dearest
and hence different definitions are propounded,
conceived by their perceived hearts
and proclaimed  by their open lips.

My father- my earthly creator
defines me as a mistake-
incorrigible during his life-time
and shows his tired back
to the eyes of my dogmatic compulsion.

My dream-girl- the only rose of my thorny garland
repents for choosing me as her only man,
finds a similarity between
falling in my heart and plunging into a dirty ditch
and suffers from a sudden headache
in my passionate presence.

The government- my God father
endures me as an ugly black spot
on the forehead of my motherland,
non–erasable despite of a series of washing-
plan-wise year after year
and leaves me alone for automatic rectification.

My mother- my divine oasis,
bestows my helplessness with the shadow of
inspiration in my burning desert,
considers me with all her sympathy
as a penniless and compelled unemployed
and embraces affectionately me and my hidden tears.





A Scared Idea
            by- Pijush Kanti Deb
To come to light
a newly conceived ideal idea is scared
and hesitated in its unabated peeping
from the womb to light
for watching a through pass
leading to a benevolent hut-
wherein a hidden reformer waits
to welcome and use it
in blooming the smiles in the gloomy faces,
It seems to be caused by an outsider
of the world of the idea and the reformer,
an undead robot- the watchman,
made of non-sticky metal-
untouchable to any prayer or importunity
standing just as an impenetrable wall
in front of the entrance of the hut
along with its ghostly gesture
and well ambidextrous too
in showing its reluctance to any new idea-
willing to enter the home
and to any sharp reformation
deserving universal sympathy and support
causing the raising heads and hands
against its own and its programmer’s existence.

Here is some music to accompany Pijush's poems.  I haven't posted any of Gene Clark's songs in a while, so I will find a few good ones for you.  Apologies for any repetition.

Let's start with Clark's "No Other":  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YULwbhga18

"Strength of Strings" follows: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9RyvUGJ5Wc

"Life's Greatest Fool" was to have been the single from No Other: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzvKS5QD2nU

"Tried So Hard" is from an earlier album, but I think it fits well here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xi9umtNVS3U

"Changes" is actually by Phil Ochs, but it fits well here also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8nHXYhYKfY

I want to finish with "From a Silver Phial": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WvavhLZO2_0

But most important of all, see the link below to order Pijush's book:http://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Shadow-White-Pigeon-Pijush/dp/1505854113/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422831433&sr=8-1&keywords=pijush+kanti+deb

And be sure to read Valeri Beers' interview with Pijush: https://poetrypasta.wordpress.com/2015/02/01/new-poet-pijush-kanti-deb-interview-now/