MATCHBOOK Launch Party!

I am excited to announce that on Friday, September 21, 2007, Beth Gylys is having a launch party for her new chapbook titled MATCHBOOK. It is with ease that I can praise Beth Gylys. As a former student I can attest to the fact she is an amazing professor who has a genuine love of what she does in the classroom. (If that isn't the case she needs an Oscar for her performance!) She is an amazing poet; feel free to read her first chapbook BALLOON HEART or her two full length collections, BODIES THAT HUM and SPOT IN THE DARK, for evidence of her wit, humor, intelligence, and brilliant craft.

I must brag on Beth a little more before I get back to the exciting topic at hand. I keep Beth's BODIES THAT HUM on my desk when writing. It is one of the books I keep in my satchel when I attend conferences. Yes, the book is that good! The Boston Review published a few of Beth's villanelles that can be found in BODIES THAT HUM and David Lehman had this to say about those villanelles:

Beth Gylys has been writing a series of villanelles that test this arduous form
as a vehicle for writing about love, romance, and contemporary life in the
American idiom. She has written more than twenty of these poems to date, and
they are breathtakingly successful in exploring the limits of the form and
applying it to the demands of her own experience. Some of the villanelles are
funny; others are tender, sensual, and filled with high romance; many combine
wit and humor and urban speed in new and exciting ways. In "My Savior in the
Form of a Bus" and "Hard Luck" the apparatus of the villanelle is used toward a
narrative end. "Do Not Dive Head-First" rises beyond the immediate task of
parodying Dylan Thomas, while "Personal" must be the first and only villanelle
on record to combine the qualities of a classified ad with what Norman Mailer
called an "advertisement for myself." Read and enjoy

I digress no more.

MATCHBOOK is a collection of personals written in sonnet form. (Hats off for a collection of sonnets-- I try not to touch a sonnet with a ten foot pen.) Beth delves into all personalities and lifestyles: straight men and women, gay men, lesbians. As if it wouldn't be interesting enough, Beth has spiced up the evening by variety of people reading her poems--- I'm thrilled to be one of the people reading!

Mark your calendar, program it in your PDA, you need to attend the launch party for Beth Gylys's new creation, MATCHBOOK, on 9/21/07 at 7:30pm in the Troy Memorial Library, which is located on the GSU campus.

Attend and see which personal speaks to you. MATCHBOOK has someone for everyone.

Poetry Night at Grass Roots Institute

Tonight was Poetry Night at the Grass Roots Institute, and my first time hosting a poetry reading. Pictures will be coming within the week. Overall, I think we had a decent attendance and a spectacular reading (if I may say so myself). I read some old stuff, some new stuff...... ventured into a painful area, but the writing helps the pain. I was thrilled to be in company with great poets such as Beth Gylys, Jessica Hand, and Kathy Kincer; please read their bios below.

On a special note-- it was an honor to read with my mentor, Bethy Gylys. I keep her book BODIES THAT HUM on my desk and with me when I'm writing. She's an amazing teacher and poet.

I conducted my first raffle to raise funds for my AIDS Walk team, Team Truvy. I sold tickets for an autographed copy of a book by Kim Addonizio, a book donated and autographed by Laure-Anne Bosselaar, and a year subscription to THE CHATTAHOOCHEE REVIEW. We raised $30-- a great start. Before the month is over I will post information how you can participate and win a book autographed by Denise Duhamel, Dorianne Laux, Celicia Woloch, and other great poets.

A big hearty thank you to everyone who attended the reading!


Currently an Associate Professor at Georgia State University, Beth Gylys won the Ohio State University Press Journal Prize for her collection Spot in the Dark (Ohio State UP 2004). Her book Bodies that Hum (1999 Silverfish Review Press) won the Gerald Cable Poetry First Book Award, and her chapbook Balloon Heart won the Quentin R. Howard award (1998 Wind Press). Awarded fellowships from the MacDowell Colony, The University of Cincinnati, and Syracuse University, she has had work published in many journals including Paris Review, Antioch Review, Kenyon Review, Ploughshares, Boston Review, and The Southern Review.

After falling out of an airplane (long story), Jessica D. Hand realized her passion for poetry would, indeed, define her life because as she plummeted with a failing parachute, she was as concerned with the metaphor of the situation as she was with fixing the chute. Jessica (call her Jess) completed two honors B.A.’s (Psychology and Creative Writing) at Carnegie Mellon University. She loved Pittsburgh, but the cold finally drove her back to her native and sunny Georgia. Soon after her return, she was electrocuted (you might call her accident-prone) in her dominant arm, but she keeps writing poetry, even if she has to write it with her toes (that’s an exaggeration—she is learning to write left-handed). She is now in the MFA poetry program at Georgia State University. She is published in Java Monkey Speaks, volume 2, and she was recently a finalist in the Agnes Scott Poetry Competition. Other publications include Toast and the Minnesota review.

K.B. Kincer is in her third year of the graduate program at Georgia State University in creative writing with a concentration in poetry. Originally from Hicksville, N.Y., she has finally lived in the South longer than she lived in the North, but still can’t stomach grits. Her work has appeared in the GSU Review and her poetry won the Agnes Scott Writer’s Festival Contest in 2006. Besides taking and teaching classes at GSU, she hosts Melodically Challenged, a weekly two hour radio show devoted to traditional poetry that features poets reading work from the late nineteenth century through today. It airs Friday mornings from midnight till two on WRAS, 88.5 FM, Georgia State’s 100,000 watt student-run radio station.

E-zine? and Baby Jesus Likes Top Speed

Praise be to baby Jesus--- I am off today. Yes, that's the same baby Jesus who made top speed (see The Contender to understand the reference).

Since receiving the news that ToasterMag will be ending after the next issue, I have been tossing around the idea of starting a bimonthly or quarterly e-zine. For the few months I've worked with ToasterMag, I have enjoyed myself even though it's been a decent amount of work reading through submissions. But, to be honest, I don't know the ins and outs of starting and maintaining an e-zine. Advice anyone? Feel free to post it or email me.


and for baby Jesus, one last Gylys poem:

MY SAVIOR IN THE FORM OF A BUS

"Do you believe in Jesus Christ our Lord?"
An old, balding man was in my face.
He wasn't someone who could be ignored.

I thought he'd go away if I looked bored.
I rolled my eyes and yawned. He kept his place."
Do you believe in Jesus Christ our Lord?"

"I'm Jewish, give it up," I moved toward
the street, but then my heel caught on some ice.
I fell. "You see, He mustn't be ignored."

This guy, I thought, is someone for the ward.
But I was at his feet. "It must be grace,"
he said, held out his hand. "You know the Lord

can work in wondrous ways." He'd struck a chord:
my days in Catholic school, a veil of lace,
these words a priest once said, that I'd ignored:

"He'll come to you, carrying a sword.
And Beth, how will you meet him face to face?"
My bus pulled up just then, thank the Lord,
rescuing me from questions I'd ignored.

~ Beth Gylys
from BODIES THAT HUM, Silverfish Review Press

Work & "Marriage Song"

Work was tiring today. I didn't have my usual patience for the common misconceptions people have about pharmacy-- the biggest one being: pharmacy staffs should give people refills even if a prescription is expired or out of refills. God forbid if your pharmacy staff politely points out that you've had a whole a month to contact your doctor for refills, which would be more efficient than waiting until the day you need the medication to ask you pharmacy staff to contact the doctor and yell at the staff because your doctor didn't respond within your time line.

Ok. Enough of that and more of Beth Gylys, the Poet of the Month for May.

MARRIAGE SONG

Some have affairs. They never stop to think

until they're begging for a second chance.

(We love and learn we sometimes need a drink.)

Impatient with his life, he quipped, "We blink,

we're forty: with wives, kids, retirement plans."

Some have affairs. It isn't what they think.

He saw this woman at the skating rink,

watching their sons play hockey from the stands.

He fought the urge to ask her for a drink.

She wore those stretchy pants, a long faux mink

slid next to him and said, "Hi, my name's Nance."

He wanted her right there. He couldn't think.

They fucked in hotel rooms, designer pink,

drank cheap champagne. He signed her underpants.

They fucked and ordered something else to drink.

His wife broke all the dishes in the sink,

took both the kids and flew first class to France.

Some have affairs--it's never what they think.

We sigh and shake our heads. We have a drink.

~Beth Gylys

from BODIES THAT HUM, Silverfish Review Press

Bad News But More Beth Gylys

Today, I received an email from ToasterMag's editor that he has decided to put ToasterMag on hold. The next issue, the Pride issue, will be the last. Disappointment. I'm feeling loads of disappointment. As I read his lengthy email I understand why he doing what he is doing, and it isn't the end-- just the end of a monthly ezine. At some point there will be something down the road, but I can't really find comfort in that. I've been working hard on developing the creative writing portion of ToasterMag. My latest project was starting an annual contest for ToasterMag-- it was all set to happen, and the talented and freaking awesome poet, Laure-Anne Bosselaar, was going to be the judge. The editor offered to make special provisions for the contest to still happen because he knows how much of my heart I had already poured in, but I don't think I'll take him up on it----- it wouldn't be the same. Oh well, time to find a different way to burn some of my energy.

Now some happiness.....

AFTERWARDS

Your desktop PC is well-equipped to handle
every disaster from spilled coffee to a power surge,
which is only one reason I don't understand
how you can just stand there,
puzzling at the toes of your Reeboks,
as if you might think of an apology for yourself
or your lack of courteous love-making practices,
such as kissing me on the neck,
for instance, or taking off your tube socks,
which, after all, usually have holes, and anyway,
you told me you didn't believe in all that shit
about mutuality of marriage, so at least you could stop
curling your lip like a frazzled Doberman
and fuck like you want to fuck
or leave like you're never coming back.

~ Beth Gylys
from BODIES THAT HUM, Silverfish Review Press

ToasterMag: Volume 2, Issue 5

Featured in ToasterMag's FREEHAND department in Volume 2, Issue 5 are Beth Gylys & Theresa Davis. (Click the graphic to read their work.)

Beth Gylys-- There is so much to say about Beth Gylys that I could write a book. Instead of writing that book I'll simply say she's an amazing and talented professo and one hell of a poet-- I say these both from first hand experience. I always keep her book BODIES THAT HUM near by when I write; I can always find inspiration in her words. FREEHAND is featuring two of her poems that will appear in her new chapbook LITTLE MATCHBOOK.

Theresa Davis-- Or as I should say Theresa "Fucking" Davis. She's a teacher, poet, and activist. Whenever anyone mentions slam/spoken word style poetry, I always say, "I never enjoyed slam poetry until Theresa Davis." Each time Theresa takes the stages she rocks it out-- she's my rockstar. The poem included in FREEHAND is a personal favorite of mine, and I am glad Theresa said yes when I asked to publish it.

Poetic Inspiration AKA Beth Gylys

In honor of National Poetry Month, Collin has written a few posts regarding inspirations. I thought I'd follow and mention a local muse of mine, Beth Gylys. Simply put: she rocks me. After working with her I often joke about my work being BBG or ABB-- before Beth Gylys or After Beth Gylys. It is with great pleasure that I share one of her poems and announce two of her poems will appear in the May issue of ToasterMag:

Photographer

Framing, you crouched, focused, captured, shot,
I watched you where I stood, your movements slow,
measured. Sparring with the light, you hoped
to hold the thing, to catch the proper angle,
came back along the path where arches rose
and sunlight burned my face. We walked a while,
then stopped again for ten or fifteen minutes.
Patient, I’d learned it takes a lot of time,
confining bits of world within squares.

At home, we relived Arches by the window,
holding each slide up to see the image.
“Look,” we said, “this one’s really good,”
and passed them back and forth across the table,
the cat meowing at our feet, and you,
annoyed. “Shut up!” you yelled, and grabbed for her.
I loved the colors of those slides, the orange--
pink of rock, rising from the sand,
the one of us standing by a bush,
your arm around my waist, your silly grin.

In albums of your many trips and visits,
there’s more of me than you. Waist-deep in leaves,
I wave, or showing of my strength, I hold
your friend piggyback on the lawn—I’m bent,
laughing, his elbow hooked around my neck.
At Crater Lake, I stand in shorts and seem
exhausted, my hair flying loose, my eyes
squinting at such rich shades of blue.
That was before I flipped the car. You took that
too, the metal crushed like foil or paper
while I lay miles away in ICU.

In most, I seem content, holding the cat
or drinking coffee with my high-school pal.
What did I know or did I lose from then
to now? Here’s one in Maine, the two of us
on bicycles—Acadia Park—the ocean
neating the shore beneath the road we ride.
is that the way we lose ourselves in time:
a wind or ocean chips away the land;
we wake one day to find ourselves surrounded,
water to our hips, the island gone?

Last year my parents came to see the house.
You and Mom installed an extra phone line
to run the modem that you’d bought. “You two
can talk through e-mail,” said my mom. Her smile
stung; she never read me very well:
our own strained smiles still trying to believe
in what we were, still trying to deceive.
there are no pictures of that visit; you hardly
took the camera out all year. We never

did get copies of the wedding proofs.
The photos with the shadows that you hate,
and hardly any of our guests. We shrugged
and said, “What can we do? He is our friend—
he took them all for free.” We rolled with things.
That was our way. When Sara came, the time
her husband threatened to find a whore, we made
the extra bed, drank tea and talked till late.
and when my cousin told us he was gay,
we gave him hugs, played Scrabble all night long.

The pictures end in New Orleans. Your friend
got married there last June; there’s only one
of us together, riding the train, your hand
holding the rail above my head. We smile,
of course. We had to smile—this was a picture!
And then blank pages after that. I turn
and turn as if to find a future there—
us headed West, or fixing up the house—
as if the slots of plastic might be filled
with answers to the questions: what went wrong,
why loves leaves us, or how to carry on.

from Bodies that Hum