This includes JUNE AMP.

THEME FOR JUNE AMP (optional)

“How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?” Dr. Seuss.

So take this theme and interpret as you may with words or art or lyrics or anything interesting! Just so you know, this is an option for those who want it, everything is accepted.

Last AMP was so successful as you can see from the post below of all the videos of our readers and performers. So take the plunge, come on out and try a new thing.

For all of you, as you know we have to put out $20.00 for each reading to the Urban Nature Center to support our space and their cause so bring some loonie and toonies out to chip in. If you can, we also accept donations of food and drink. Just write us a note or bring it by the night of. Can never have enough food!

Hope to see everyone there. Don’t forget to invite a friend!

It was a wonderful evening with a lot of great readers and listeners coming out to support.

We, as writers, all mused on the idea of what does it take to get others to come out? What about all those closet writers who are too scared to read or feel too intimidated. Well I came up with a solution to this without even telling my fellow readers, so hopefully it will come as a lovely surprise. I actually filmed several of the readers reading a poem of theirs or performing so that you can see that there is nothing to fuss about. We are not scary people! We love literature, we are cool cats, we are writers and artists coming together and having a little fun every 3rd wednesday.

our host with the most, jerard hutchinson.

Don’t forget to come out to the next AMP on JUNE 15. Poster and theme will be up soon!

copyright. all photos/videos melissa upfold/calculated colour co. 2011

Also, I am just assuming, but I am certain these books will be made available afterwards if you do not get a chance to get there. Most likely at the WIT table at the Lawrence House on First Fridays and at Artwalk. But I’ll ask. More details to come. Check out the media release below.

Media Release Sarnia
Launch of International Anthology

      Sweet Lemons 2: International Writings with a Sicilian Accent will be launched on May 15, 2011, 2:00-4:00 p.m. the Dante Club, 1330 London Road, Sarnia, Ontario. Free Admission.

Sweet Lemons 2 is a 400-page anthology, edited in southwestern Ontario, with contributions from close to 90 authors. Published by Legas of New York, but edited in Canada by Bright’s Grove residents Delia De Santis and Venera Fazio, the anthology celebrates Sicilian writers, culture, and immigrant experiences and includes the work of a number of award-winning writers.

“Encouraged by the success of the first Sweet Lemons anthology published in 2004, co-editor Delia De Santis and I decided a second volume might be equally rewarding,” says Fazio. “The first volume sold out. It featured American and Canadian writers, was included on the Best of Sicily web site and was chosen by the magazine Italian America as one of their best picks for summer reading, 2006. For this second volume, the first of its kind, we took advantage of global networking and included not only North American writers but also authors of Sicilian heritage from other English speaking countries such as the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia and New Zealand. A few of Sicily’s renowned authors, such as Andrea Camilleri, Elio Vittorini and Maria Messina (Medal of Gold,

award winner) appear in English translation.”

Roughly one-third of the contributors are Canadian and include Sarnia writers Joseph Farina and Carmen Ziolkowski and from London (ON), Jim Zucchero.  “Delia and I are also pleased to include the work of two American Book Award winners, Maria Mazziotti Gillan and Daniela Gioseffi as well as a contribution by Inge Israel, who was named Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres (France),” adds Fazio.

“As in the first book, this second volume explores the complexities of a Sicilian heritage. We know, for example, that Sicilians are often painted with a broad Mafiosi brush and that’s one of the common myths about Sicilians that both books dispel. Like the first book, we believe this second one will also strike a cord with readers wanting to connect to their Sicilian heritage. For readers not familiar with Sicily, they will discover a unique island with a complex culture and a potent hold over her off springs wherever they may live.”

The May 15^th launch will include readings by the Sarnia and London contributors as well as the two editors. It will be hosted by Caroline Di Cocco with special thanks to The Dante Club, The Italo-Canadian Cultural Club – Laziali di Sarnia and the Association of Italian Canadian Writers. The afternoon will also include the launch of Another Trail of Comet Dust: Poems Pulled from Earth, a 24-page poetry chapbook by Lambton County Writer Debbie Okun Hill.

Hello there. In case you have not heard, we have decided to include an optional theme on which writers/artists/musicians can respond. For this month we are turning towards the concept of rebellion, of raising your voice against the majority.

“A riot is the language of the unheard.”
martin luther king jr.

So let your voices be heard!

You do not have to follow this theme but we are keeping it open for intepretation for anyone who wants to follow it.

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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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DON’T FORGET TO GET OUTSIDE AND START YOUR GARDENS!!!

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In other news we got this invitation from Debbbie Okun Hill from the Spoken Word Group at the Lawrence House:

If you’re looking for something “literary” to attend on Sunday, May 15 from 2 to 4 p.m., we’d love you to join us in launching two books at the Dante Club, small hall, 1330 London Road in Sarnia, Ontario. The afternoon will feature readings from several local and out-of-town contributors* as well as entertainment and light refreshments. Admission is free and is open to the public.
 
Featured books include:
 
SWEET LEMONS 2: International Writings With a Sicilian Accent, an anthology edited by Bright’s Grove writers/editors Venera Fazio & Delia De Santis
 
and
 
ANOTHER TRAIL OF COMET DUST: Poems Pulled from Earth, the second poetry chapbook by Lambton County poet Debbie Okun Hill
 
The event is being presented by The Dante Club, The Italo-Canadian Cultural Club – Laziali di Sarnia & The Association of Italian Canadian Writers.
 
Hope to see you there.

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Map to the Urban Nature Center at 184 Christina st. North.

CHALLENGES

1.THEMES These will be abstract themes to challenge people to write or perform about a particular topic. This will be proposed as a question, a piece of poetry ( or excerpt), or random action to be applied to the poem itself. The theme will be posted as soon as possible up on this blog.

2. BRING ONE PERSON TO THE EVERY AMP! We challenge you to bring one friend, introduce one coworker to AMP.

3. BLOG:  Every month we challenge you to submit something to the blog. Be it your favourite poem, one you have written yourself or by a poet you find interesting, a song, a video, an interview, an essay, etc. etc.

This is an attempt to add more and more content to this blog.

In order to make things easier we will have a map up on the blog for people who do not know where the Urban Nature Center  is located, also on facebook.

We will also make small handouts with this blog address on it for you to hand out to your friends.

One thing we all decided is that we want an AMP that’s progressive, one that’s committed to looking forward and one that is relaxed and open and willing to try new things. We want to grow with our group and make it challenging as well as fun. We want to encourage those who have never been and celebrate a community that we have created.  We want to publish more, be more present in the artistic scene in our community and introduce many people to the poetry and art we love.

So here are some photos from last night. Thanks to everyone for coming out last night and to those who couldn’t make it, we hope to see you next time.

jerard, the host with the most.

the crowd of enthusiastic poets.

George Stoesser reading some classics

Elena Feick

everyone loves cupcakes and urban nature center sculptures

Also, in a spontaneous act of poetry George and Jerard read sections of poems back and forth. Jerard read two originals and George read The Cry of the Dreamer by John Boyle O’Reilly

I happen to tape most of this exchange as both men chose sides of the room to read their selections from.
Here is a link to that video:

ENJOY!

The next AMP will be held MAY 18. CHECK FOR THE POSTER COMING SOON AS WELL AS THE CHALLENGE THEME!

THANKS AGAIN EVERYONE WHO  CAME OUT!

DON’T FORGET TO SEND YOUR POSTS FOR THE BLOG TO: spokenwordsarnia@gmail.com or san.ria.press@gmail.com

WABAM.

Amp is in only two days! I hope to see everyone’s smiling face at the urban nature center, 730pm. let’s celebrate national poetry month!

anne sexton.

Buying the Whore.

You are the roast beef I have purchased
and I stuff you with my very own onion.

You are a boat I have rented by the hour
and I steer you with my rage until you run aground.

You are a glass that I have paid to shatter
and I swallow the pieces down with my spit.

You are the grate I warm my trembling hands on,
searing the flesh until it’s nice and juicy.

You stink like my Mama under your bra
and I vomit into your hand like a jackpot
its cold hard quarters.

For my lover returning to his wife

She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.
She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.
Let’s face it, I have been momentary.
vA luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,
has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter’s wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,
done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.
She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person,
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission -
for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound -
for the burying of her small red wound alive -
for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother’s knee, for the stocking,
for the garter belt, for the call -
the curious call
when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.

The ballad of the lonely masterbator
The end of the affair is always death.
She’s my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
Finger to finger, now she’s mine.
She’s not too far. She’s my encounter.
I beat her like a bell. I recline
in the bower where you used to mount her.
You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
Take for instance this night, my love,
that every single couple puts together
with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
the abundant two on sponge and feather,
kneeling and pushing, head to head.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
I break out of my body this way,
an annoying miracle. Could I
put the dream market on display?
I am spread out. I crucify.
My little plum is what you said.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
Then my black-eyed rival came.
The lady of water, rising on the beach,
a piano at her fingertips, shame
on her lips and a flute’s speech.
And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
She took you the way a women takes
a bargain dress off the rack
and I broke the way a stone breaks.
I give back your books and fishing tack.
Today’s paper says that you are wed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The fury of beautiful bones

Sing me a thrush, bone.
Sing me a nest of cup and pestle.
Sing me a sweetbread fr an old grandfather.
Sing me a foot and a doorknob, for you are my love.
Oh sing, bone bag man, sing.
Your head is what I remember that August
you were in love with another woman but
that didn’t matter. I was the guy of your
bones, your fingers long and nubby, your
forehead a beacon, bare as marble and I worried
you like an odor because you had not quite forgotten,
bone bag man, garlic in the North End,
the book you dedicated, naked as a fish,
naked as someone drowning into his own mouth.
I wonder, Mr. Bone man, what you’re thinking
of your fury now, gone sour as a sinking whale,
crawling up the alphabet on her own bones.
Am I in your ear still singing songs in the rain,
me of the death rattle, me of the magnolias,
me of the sawdust tavern at the city’s edge.
Women have lovely bones, arms, neck, thigh
and I admire them also, but your bones
supersede loveliness. They are the tough
ones that get broken and reset. I just can’t
answer for you, only for your bones,
round rulers, round nudgers, round poles,
numb nubkins, the sword of sugar.
I feel the skull, Mr. Skeleton, living its
own life in its own skin.

The truth the dead know

Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.

We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.

My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one’s alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

here’s a link to some more of her wonderful poetry

here’s a link to a biography of her

here’s a link to the wikpedia site about her and her writing

and a poem by the man himself:

Why Do You Hate Me?
John Newlove
From: Apology for Absence: Selected Poems 1962-1992. Erin, Ontario: Porcupine’s Quill, 1993. p.145.

So you live of the sea;
and I am the dry acrid land.

You have the sweet fish swimming
and dull mannerly grain grows in me.

Your blood shines in curving darts;
I grow in calculated rows.

So I say I love you,
and you say, Why do you hate me?

I speak in a foreign language.
You don’t know what I say.

Check out my old stomping grounds at In/words press, the poetry magazine at Carleton University. Here is Issue 5.2 november 2005

Here is another great publication out of ottawa: Ottawater which celebrates ottawa poets.  A brief introduction:

Founded to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the City of Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, “ottawater,” and its chemical formula/logo “O2(H2O),” is a poetry annual produced exclusively on-line, in both readable and printable pdf formats, and found at (http://www.ottawater.com). An anthology focusing on Ottawa poets and poetics, its first issue appeared in January 2005, 150 years after old Bytown became the City of Ottawa.
Here is a link where you can download the publication

We cannot leave ottawa without thinking of Bywords.ca a great publication out of Ottawa, revived by Amanda and Charles Earl (and a whole selection committee that helps!) On the website you can read the current issues, back issues or find places to submit, chapbooks to purchase, etc.

Also check out the A B  series, the performance and experimental sound/poetry group out of Ottawa started by max middle.

Another great reading series is the Dusty Owl group. Find out more here.

New and exciting events in reading include VERSEfest. Find out more info here

One of the readings series in Ottawa that a profound effect on me was the Tree Reading series. For more information click on this link

Know more Ottawa Links? Comment on this post!
To end, we’ll finish off with a poem by

rob mclennan from shampoo magazine issue number 36

“

it is true I have come inside
rob mclennan

I have a headache as wide
as the northern lights

is that canadian enough?

white wine I can’t drink
w/out frontal lobe knives

I was distracted from rapture

a snap in the sky like a tear
five minutes post-lightning

our culture been eaten to bare
small hands chew to one side

everything is illuminated
glowing tributes of storefront

like a renaissance chapel
, the cloud a low ceiling

the air on the street like a tomb”

and one final link to a poet I had the pleasure to help edit the chapbook of, writer Sean Moreland. Check out some of his poetry here in ditch poetry.

and a place to buy some of the things you’ve seen, Chaudiere Books.

For some visuals, check out these two guys:

Charles Earl

and

John W. MacDonald

in particular, his shots of versefest

and his photos of ottawa poet jw curry

okay, done. for now.

thanks ottawa.

Come out on Wednesday April 20th to celebrate National Poetry Month with AMP. Free to everyone, always accepting and willing to listen to new and old performers alike. Come out and meet the growing spoken word community in sarnia/lambton.  Starts at 7:30pm-9:30pm. Urban Nature Center/ downtown christina st. Sarnia.