READING BY WRITERS MAY 20th 2014

READING BY WRITERS TUESDAY MAY 20, 7:00 p.m. to When We Finish.

Violinist Mary Scallen and Flutist Jim Miller perform from 7:00 to 7:30 to welcome the audience.

At 7:30 Featured readers are:

CASS DALGLISH, poet and fiction writer, wrote television news and documentaries as a broadcast journalist. Her books include NIN, Spinsters Ink; SWEETGRASS, a Minnesota Book Award finalist; and HUMMING THE BLUES, Calyx Books. Her book length prose poem is the jazz interpretation of the Sumerian cuneiform signs in Enheduanna’s Song to Inanna, Ancient Iraq, 2350 BCE. Cass was an invited speaker at the post museum session of conference Innana – Live at the British Museum in London. The recipient of many fine awards, she serves as Director of the Augsburg College Creative Writing Program.

MARY ANN GROSSMANN began her career at United Press International in Minneapolis, and moved to Dispatch-Pioneer Press, where she has been women’s editor, fashion editor, women’s columnist, assistant features editor, and books editor since 1983. Recipient of Minnesota Book Awards KAY SEXTON AWARD and TWIN CITIES NEWSPAPER GUILD PAGE ONE AWARD, past president of MINNESOTA REVIEWS, and editor with late husband of four MINNESOTA and WISCONSIN ALMANACS. A life-long Saint Paulite, Mary Ann lives in Cherokee Heights in a money-pit Victorian house that she says “…will keep me at my desk until I die”. She adds, “I have been working at the newspaper so long that everyone in Saint Paul looks familiar to me.”

MIRIAM KARMEL, widely published in numerous publications including BELLEVIEW LITERATY REVIEW; WATER-STONE REVIEW; PEARL DUST & FIRE, PASSAGER; and JEWISH WOMEN’S LITERARY ANNUAL. She is the recipient of MINNESOTA MONTHLY Tamarack Award for her short story, THE QUEEN OF LOVE. Her story THE KING OF MARVIN GARDENS, was included in Milkweed Edition’s FICTION ON A STICK. Her first novel, BEING ESTHER, Milkweed Editions, was published in 2013.

JEANNE LUTZ, poet, grew up on a dairy farm in southern Minnesota, attended the National University of Ireland, Galway, earned her B.A. in English from St Catherine University, spent two years in Tokyo, and lives in Saint Paul. Finalist in the 2013 LOFT MENTOR SERIES FOR POETRY, her work can be seen regularly at LIEF MAGAZINE. Poet Ethan McKiernan says, “Jeanne is a poet of comic irony and a ferociously large imagination. Her poems gallop with inventiveness, inviting the reader to ride along……we leave her work hungry for more.”

MARGARET SHRYER, whose first play KATHARINA von BORA, Runaway Nun, was published in 2013. She performed this one woman show about the wife of Martin Luther at the 2013 Minneapolis Fringe Festival and at Raven Theatre in Chicago in April, 2014. She continues to meet with her writing group (USSS) and is currently researching the life of Abigail Adams. Stay tuned.

FAITH SULLIVAN is the author of eight novels, among them THE CAPE ANN and GARDENIAS. The eighth work, GOOD NIGHT MR. WODEHOUSE, will be published by Milkweed Editions in 2015. Sullivan is also the author of countless brilliant articles and essays. Faith serves on the Board of the Loft Literary Center, which she calls her “home away from home.”

MAY LEE-YANG, playwright, poet, prose writer, performance artist, whose theater-based work includes CONFESSIONS OF A LAZY HMONG; TEN REASOS WHY I’D BE BAD PORN STAR; STIR-FRIED POP CULTURE, and more. Her work has been produced by Mu Performing Arts, Intermedia Arts, MN Fringe Festival, National Asian American Theater Festival, and more. She is the author of the children’s book THE IMAGINARY DAY, MN Humanities Center, and has been widely published in numerous prestigious anthologies. She has received grants and fellowships from the Minnesota State Arts Board, the National Performance Network, the Midwestern Voices and Visions Residency Award, the Playwright Center, the Loft Literary Center, and is 2011 Bush Leadership Fellowship winner.

Readings last just about one hour. Readers will bring books – we have a great book sales table – and will autograph. .

Every Third Tuesday Public At Saint Paul presents: Saint Paul Poet Laureate CAROL CONNOLLY Hosts READING BY WRITERS – free and open to everyone – at the historic University Club Saint Paul 420 Summit Avenue.

Members and Non members are welcome and invited for the optional 5:00 dinner, not connected to the performance, but reservations are necessary – 651-22-1751

Bar is open before, during and after the 7:30 reading…

John Tottenham REGRETS

REGRETS

I don’t understand people
who claim that they have no regrets in life;
who insist, out of gratitude, pride or ignorance,
that they wouldn’t want to change a thing.
My life is a raging river of regret, flowing
into a sea of shame. There is very little
I wouldn’t do differently if given a second chance.
I always knew I’d end up feeling this way:
It was a setup. Regret was something
I worked towards, something I felt I had to earn.
And now, naturally, I regret that too.

After many years of resistance, John Tottenham finally sold out to the lucrative, fast-paced world of poetry. He is the author of The Inertia Variations, an epic cycle on the subject of work-avoidance, indolence and failure. His final collection of poetry, Antiepithalamia & Other Poems of Regret and Resentment, a sequence of mean-spirited love poems with particular respect paid to the institution of marriage, was published by Penny-Ante Press in October 2012.

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He is also an old-fashioned paint and brushes man, whose paintings and drawings have been exhibited at galleries in Los Angeles and New York. His last solo show was at the Rosamund Felsen gallery in July, 2012.

http://johntottenham.com/2012/11/10/regrets/

Good Friday Blue

Emilio DeGrazia…

After catechism, Communion, Confirmation,
The hardening of trust into truth,
We expected rain Good Friday afternoons.

No baseball then, no playing in streets,
No kicking the can, no
Playing robbers or war
Those painful hours from noon to three.

In those days we always saw the evidence: Rain,
A steady stream of punishment,
The Holy Spirit’s drizzle descending like ash,
Or wayward bursts, big as water balloons,
Dropped from passing clouds
Flying in formation overhead,
A certain proof of God.

Today, that April day again
When the only gospel is the same old news,
The dying still goes on.
But the sky is faultlessly blue,
An Easter sky ahead of its times,
One more kind of progress to endure.
In such skies one famous old death
Happened once and for all,
But new ones everywhere provide
Too much cause to agonize.

Live from Golgotha: The Gospel according to Gore Vidal

St. Paul freely improvises his tales as he evangelizes. “‘All things are contained within the single mind of Onespc_vidal True God in His three aspects.’ Saint Paul could dispense this sort of smooth bullshit while taking apart and reassembling a Holy Rolodex machine,” Timothy relates as he witnesses St. Paul in action. Paul speaks in “ye olde” when he quotes the voluminous Christ. Timothy remarks that when Saul of Tarsus meets the Christ vidal-cover-live from golgothaghost, he converts to a religion that Saul/Paul himself had not yet founded. People are consistently disappointed to learn that Christ weighed 400 lbs. and spoke with a lisp. “Why doth thou persecute-eth me-th?” There is an interesting plot twist when Judas is mistaken for Christ and almost crucified. It seems that the “real Christ” was a militant Zionist, and Paul’s golden-rule Christianity an improvisation. Paul journeys from town to town raising money and founding churches, adding to his Holy rolodex, and tap-dancing. Cameos from celebrities such as Nero, Petronius, and Shirley MacLaine are interspersed throughout Timothy’s odyssey from CE 33 to CE 96.”
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Live_from_Golgotha:_The_Gospel_according_to_Gore_Vidal

BUY THE BOOK

Foraging for Wood on the Mountain

Jack Gilbert 1925 – 2012

The wild up here is not creatures, wooded,
tangled wild. It is absence wild.
Barren, empty, stone wild. Worn-away wild.
Only the smell of weeds and hot air.
But a place where differences are clear.
Between the minds severity and its harshness.
Between honesty and the failure of belief.
A man said no person is educated who knows
only one language, for he cannot distinguish
between his thought and the English version.
Up here he is translated to a place where it is
possible to discriminate between age and sorrow.

 

– from The Great Fires: Poems, 1982-1992 by Jack Gilbert

College “Sports” Emilio DeGrazia

PRIVATIZE

“Have we gone insane?” is what a Minnesota cattle farmer probably not much interested in March Madness asked. His question was a reaction to the news that Jerry Kill, the University of Minnesota football coach, had his $1,2000,000 salary increased by an extra $2,100,000, plus perks, for guiding the Gophers to eight wins and five losses during the 2013 season. Maybe winning isn’t everything. It certainly isn’t for everyone.
No doubt Coach Kill is a nice enough guy and competent enough at what he does. And he didn’t complain about the salary bump he received. Ohio State’s Urban Meyer makes $4,600,000, plus perks, and he’s in the same league.
It’s hard to imagine anyone in his or her right mind seriously believing that the NCAA Division One big money sports––football, basketball, hockey––have anything but a tendril connection to a university’s higher education missions. There are several fine student-athletes who get excellent grades while working very hard at their sports. The graduation rate for athletes and non-athletes is comparable, though the amount of money it takes to get a student-athlete a degree is hidden in a murk of red ink. But it seems obvious that the hazards of football seem well out of line with what health educators teach, and that at the D-1 level students need to learn how to keep their classes from interfering with their serious sports jobs.
Student-athletes must suspect they’re part of an entertainment industry. Coach Kill was honest enough to fess up to it, and he left the impression that as a newcomer to the industry his new salary represents his fair market value.
But some of the people responsible for overseeing the numbers at D-1 higher educational institutions maybe need some refresher courses in elementary arithmetic. Only 23 of the 228 NCAA D-1 sports programs generated enough income to cover expenses in 2012, and 16 of the 23 winners received subsidies by way of student fees and university and state funds. The other 205 were losers, as were the donors and tax payers who picked up the tab. Losing seasons are a financial trend for most NCAA schools.
Meanwhile, the NCAA as an organization quietly showed a profit of $71,000,000 for 2012. Rather noisily state governments try to figure out how to pay their bills.
It’s time to turn these big-time sports teams into what they really are: Businesses. Because I’m addicted to thrift I think they should get off an unsustainable welfare system. Privatize them.
I’m not a spoil-sport. I know that millions love to cheer for the logos and colors on the laundry they love. Big time sports are major rituals that stimulate a deep need for community identity. As a kid in Michigan I grew up loving the Spartans and Wolverines, and I got my graduate degrees as a Buckeye at Ohio State, and when I married a Nebraska woman I learned to love Cornhuskers, and because I pay taxes in Wisconsin I have a Badger in me, and because my daughter is a student at the University of Iowa I’m a Hawkeye too. As a Minnesotan I’m a devout Gopher, for reasons I can’t fully explain. I want everyone to win.
A lot of people are not ready to give up big-time collegiate sports yet, even when they go home from a game losers again.
Turning big-time collegiate sports programs into for-profit enterprises should especially appeal to fiscal conservatives who have a passion to cut taxes and privatize the public schools.
Here’s my business plan: Turn the big-time intercollegiate sports over to private entrepreneurs willing to invest in new business ventures. Let entrepreneurs, rather than participating schools, run them as private for-profit businesses. They buy the naming, branding, and concessions rights from universities. They lease the cheerleaders and marching bands. They lease university facilities, or construct their own. They pay all travel and advertising expenses. They cut their own TV and bowl game deals. They hire the coaches and other managers. They pay the bills and enjoy the profits that come rolling in. Private investors could get involved, and maybe Wall Street too.
Could these new business enterprises––let’s call them clubs––still be considered intercollegiate sports? A few rules would give them permission to say yes. The players would be recruited from the pool of graduating high school student-athletes, as they are now. They would have five years to fulfill four years of service on the playing field. They would be required to establish student identity by taking at least one class at the university whose logo they wear during games.
Nothing much would change, except the ownership of teams, business plans, and bookkeeping responsibilities. Gopher fans could continue to cheer for players wearing Gopher uniforms, and everyone could continue to have a good time.
Currently there’s some talk about student-athletes unionizing. That’s an issue players could work out with management, maybe after some discussion about salaries for coaches and club executives. Clubs, as free enterprise businesses, could make millions, or not. And if not, owners could downsize or apply other lean strategies.
Already there are rumors about the University of Minnesota needing $190,000,000 for improved practice facilities. Experts feel that the UM will not be able to compete without the upgrades. They’re very probably right. Why would an eighteen year-old super athlete high school recruit want anything but the latest and best high-tech facilities? Why not go to Penn State instead?
Tim Dahlberg, sports writer for the AP, says, “That’s the way things are in big-time college athletics, where the rich are getting richer. Hard not to profit when the labor is free.” Hard not to profit when public university athletic programs are bailed out by student fees and tax dollars.
I’m with the cattle farmer from western Minnesota. Why play this game? “Have we gone insane?”
Four or five times a year I get a call from sweet-voiced students at my alma mater Ohio State. They want me to send OSU money because there’s never enough to go around. I plead with them to spread the word: For starters, I tell the voices on the line, cut the coaching salaries in half. Call me again after you begin there.=

Humanity

Gregory_Corso

 

 

 

Gregory Corso
b. March 26, 1930

What simple profundities
What profound simplicities
To sit down among the trees
and breathe with them
in murmur brool and breeze

And how can I trust them
who pollute the sky
with heavens
the below with hells

Well, humankind,
Im part of you
and so my son

but neither of us
will believe
your big sad lie

[via wood s lot]

Why Auden Matters…

The Secret Auden

Edward Mendelson in New York Review of Books

1.

W.H. Auden had a secret life that his closest friends knew little or nothing about. Everything about it was generous and honorable. He kept it secret because he would have been ashamed to have been praised for it.

mendelson_1-032014.jpg Jerry Cooke/Pix Inc./Time Life Pictures/Getty Images
W. H. Auden, Fire Island, 1946

I learned about it mostly by chance, so it may have been far more extensive than I or anyone ever knew. Once at a party I met a woman who belonged to the same Episcopal church that Auden attended in the 1950s, St. Marks in-the-Bowery in New York. She told me that Auden heard that an old woman in the congregation was suffering night terrors, so he took a blanket and slept in the hallway outside her apartment until she felt safe again.

Someone else recalled that Auden had once been told that a friend needed a medical operation that he couldnt afford. Auden invited the friend to dinner, never mentioned the operation, but as the friend was leaving said, I want you to have this, and handed him a large notebook containing the manuscript of The Age of Anxiety. The University of Texas bought the notebook and the friend had the operation.

From some letters I found in Audens papers, I learned that a few years after World War II he had arranged through a European relief agency to pay the college costs for two war orphans chosen by the agency, an arrangement that continued, with a new set of orphans every few years, until his death at sixty-six in 1973.

At times, he went out of his way to seem selfish while doing something selfless. When NBC Television was producing a broadcast of The Magic Flute for which Auden, together with Chester Kallman, had translated the libretto, he stormed into the producers office demanding to be paid immediately, instead of on the date specified in his contract. He waited there, making himself unpleasant, until a check finally arrived. A few weeks later, when the canceled check came back to NBC, someone noticed that he had endorsed it, Pay to the order of Dorothy Day. The New York City Fire Department had recently ordered Day to make costly repairs to the homeless shelter she managed for the Catholic Worker Movement, and the shelter would have been shut down had she failed to come up with the money.

At literary gatherings he made a practice of slipping away from the gaunt and great, the famed for conversation (as he called them in a poem) to find the least important person in the room. A letter-writer in the Times of London last year recalled one such incident:

Sixty years ago my English teacher brought me to London from my provincial grammar school for a literary conference. Understandably, she abandoned me for her friends when we arrived, and I was left to flounder. I was gauche and inept and had no idea what to do with myself. Auden must have sensed this because he approached me and said, Everyone here is just as nervous as you are, but they are bluffing, and you must learn to bluff too.

Late in life Auden wrote self- revealing poems and essays that portrayed him as insular and nostalgic, still living imaginatively in the Edwardian world of his childhood. His Doggerel by a Senior Citizen began, Our earth in 1969/Is not the planet I call mine, and continued with disgruntled complaints against the modern age: I cannot settle which is worse,/The Anti-Novel or Free Verse. A year after he wrote this, I chanced on a first book by a young poet, N.J. Loftis, Exiles and Voyages. Some of the book was in free verse; much of it alluded to Harlem and Africa; the authors ethnic loyalties were signaled by the name of the publisher, the Black Market Press. The book was dedicated To my first friend, W.H. Auden.

A few years later I got a phone call from a Canadian burglar who told me he had come across Audens poems in a prison library and had begun a long correspondence in which Auden gave him an informal course in literature. Auden was especially pleased to get him started on Kafka. He was equally helpful to unknown young poets who sent him their poems, offering detailed help on such technical matters as adjectives and enjambment.

When he felt obliged to stand on principle on some literary or moral issue, he did so without calling attention to himself, and he was impatient with writers like Robert Lowell whose political protests seemed to him more egocentric than effective. When he won the National Medal for Literature in 1967, he was unwilling either to accept it in Lyndon Johnsons White House during the Vietnam War or to make a Cal Lowell gesture by a public refusal, so he arranged for the ceremony to be held at the Smithsonian, where he gave an acceptance speech about the corruption of language by politics and propaganda.

He was always professional in his dealings with editors and publishers, uncomplainingly rewriting whole essays when askedexcept on at least two occasions when he quietly sacrificed money and fame rather than falsify his beliefs. In 1964, for his translation (with Leif Sjöberg) of Dag Hammarskjölds posthumous Markings, he wrote a foreword that mentioned Hammarskjölds narcissistic fascination with himself and alluded almost invisibly to Hammarskjölds homosexuality, which Auden perceived as something entirely inward to Hammarskjöld and never acted upon:

A thorn in the flesh which convinces him that he can never hope to experience what, for most people, are the two greatest joys earthly life has to offer, either a passionate devotion returned, or a lifelong happy marriage.

He also alluded to Hammarskjölds inner sense of a messianic, sacrificial missionsomething he seems to have recognized as a version of the messianic fantasy to which he had himself been tempted by his youthful fame as a revolutionary left-wing poet. Continue reading

Emilio DeGrazia… A Muse for….

Our Favorite F-Words

The question surfaced as a bad joke among a group of thoughtful friends: Whats the favorite American F-word? A womanwho happens to be a very attractive blonderesponded first. Freedom, she said with a slight twist to her smile.
Two F-words obviously troubled her. When she is seen as a typeand stereotypeit seems easy to assume that her good looks provide her the opportunity to have more freedom, and fun, than most other people. Doors that remain closed to the unattractive would open to her. She would have a wider choice than most about where she lives, with whom, and what work she would do. Shed even have a shot at becoming a million dollar newscaster for a FOX TV news station.
But she seemed to have a better sense than we did of the downside of her good looksthe constraints, call them lack of freedom, her presence as a type placed on her. She no doubt knows, for example, what it is like to be held in the grip of gazes refusing to let go of her, how some of those gazes freeze her with fear, and how her freedom of movement is controlled by personal safety concerns. If she got a millionaire job with FOX shed have to perform on cue, force her smiles on audiences looking for any small excuse to send their remotes in search of a different face, and keep her opinions to herself without improving on the words she hasnt written but has to recite.
These are ordinary constraints, and no doubt there are others more serious. But if her type, blessed by biology, has to live within limits too, how free are the millions who dont have her advantages? Does any woman freely choose her role as news anchor, mother, wife, cheerleader, cancer patient or millionaire? Well, yes, perhaps, if we believe the noisy and glib libertarian voices addicted to telling us were all singular captains of our individual fates. But no, if biology, the stock market, social mores, education, governments, genetics and chance have any say about how she turns out.
To be American israther too simplyto let freedom ring, especially as a word. Americans believe people are free to choose, free to make winners or losers of themselves, free to go to heaven or hell because theyre free to work or not to work hard enough to end up where they end up, even if theyre in an unemployment line and there are no jobs. Americans believe in free markets and the free enterprise system and in free trade and free expression. And everybody knows freedom doesnt come cheap, that if we want to keep it we may have no choice but to pay for it with our lives.
Belief in Americanized freedom does not chime well with the second most popular American F-word.
Its hard to insist that the lines about freedom should be dropped from the refrains Americans routinely croon when they feel the need to feel good about themselves and their beliefs. Freedoms often the word we attach to a positive feeling we enjoy, especially when were well cared for and not wholly in the grip of some control. The thought of freedom dignifies us by providing strokes for what we do that turns out right, even if we are mainly just lucky. Its a favorite topic of political candidates, especially at the fundraising events they have to do. It has, in short, many usespsychological, political, practical, inspirationalnot all of them morally defensible. And the power, influence, and currency of the wordlike moneysseem directly proportional to its immeasurability. If we dont know what freedom is, it therefore must exist out there somewhere, circulating freely in its own sounds.
No one, as yet, has invented a thermometer, gauge or app that measures how free (or happy) we are or are not. Actual prisons, with their solitary confinement cells, would be a good place to begin taking baseline measurements, and the hungry and disabled might also provide us a few key indicators about what freedom is. But inner freedom, which maybe sits at home in our easy chairs or walks down the street toward a liquor store while we whistle a tune, would be trickier to calculate.

Common sense tells us that the choices we make, consciously or not, entangle us in a chain of consequences that can liberate or maybe strangle us. Way leads on to way, not always to greener pastures. We choose to drink or smoke too much, marry this woman rather than that one, have children or not, attend this church or that one, take this job or none at all. These choices, some of them resulting from accident of birth, routinely result in outbursts of the second most favorite American F-word, the nasty one. This second most favorite American F-word seems to make it clearalong with the contempt, frustration and anger it communicates in no uncertain terms that there are a lot of Americans not enjoying their freedom as advertised.

Why is it that so many Americans so frequently use both F-wordswith connotations so antithetically positive and negativein the same conversation? If the freedom word is routinely used as a way to unify and inspire us as a people, the nasty F-word is a weapon by which we express frustration, contempt, and even hatred for each other. Though women especially know how this words weaponry is linked to sex, we seem screwed up about a lot of things when we use the nasty F-word.
Do we use the nasty F-word because we feel betrayed by the promises the freedom word offers, especially when the gap between the haves and have-nots is so obvious? Though the rich and powerful in some ways may be the most restricted among us, they are also inclined to use the freedom word as a way of putting down those who dont enjoy the privileges they suffer from. While researchers in the health sciences are finding that some rich folk are suffering from a new disease being referred to as affluenza, this affliction doesnt prevent those passionate about the virtues of wealth from dismissing the poor and destitute as complainers when those in the underclasses talk freely about the constraints they face. Freedom, when its meaning is perpetually on the loose, goes into hiding in those experiencing the realities of joblessness, unattractiveness, disability, old age, poverty, and bad luck. In a climate of opinion requiring us to be free while denying us the means to achieve a reasonably comfortable life style, the other F-word, and the nasty behaviors that follow from it, has its say.
In the old days our moms would wash our mouths out with soap when we didnt watch our language. But modern moms arent as free to do that these days. So when we have the urge to use either of the F-words, I think wed be better off biting our tongues on our way to second thoughts.

Jacob Bacharach Has A Poem

A Spate of Unions

That which wasnt is becoming by
best estimations something well achieve
within what Im assureds a reasonable time
as soon as now, if I can be believed.
The past is past. The future is to come.
Mistakes, if they were made, and let me say,
I can conceive that they were made by some
impatient staffer, unpaid junior aide,
although of course I cant with certainty
identify what they might be, because,
let me be clear, they were not made by me,
will nonetheless . . . where was I? Let me pause.
To those whod make us choose between what may
and might never be done, I say, I say.

jacobbacharach.wordpress.com/author/jacobbacharach/