Tag Archives: national poetry month

el·lip·tic·i·ty

 

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Here we are on this bittersweet day: the last day of National Poetry Month and the last day of napomo at the  dictionary project. Thank you for joining us as we have celebrated poetry and bibliomancy and the play and beauty that can come from constraint-based writing.

 

I always find it fascinating when the word that comes is scientific or mathematical in origin, as with our word today, which is explored through physics and geometry. Although not universally the case, so many of us word types were drawn to words not only out of a love of language and story but a clear sense of doom evoked from math and science. So I think it is an extra challenge to engage through words with concepts that may be outside of our normal day-t0-day processes and frameworks. But then again, when we are searching for understanding is when the most interesting metaphors and twists in language can arrive.

 

Please enjoy these poetic interpretations by Meg and Ari of this:

 

 

ellipticity2

 

 

and this:

ellipticity3

 

 

and this:

ellipticity1

 

 

 

el·lip·tic·i·ty noun (i-ˌlip-ˈti-sə-tē)  1.  deviation from perfect circular or spherical form toward elliptic or ellipsoidal form.  2.  the degree of this deviation.

 

 

 

Ari Ellipticity 1

Ari Ellipticity2

 

 

 

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Ari Belathar is a Mexican poet and playwright in exile. Between 1994 and 2001, she facilitated creative writing and popular theatre workshops for indigenous women and children throughout Mexico. She was also a founding member of the first Mexican community radio station during the student strike at the National Autonomous University of Mexico in 1999. After being kidnapped and tortured by the Mexican National Army in 2001 due to her work as an independent journalist and human rights defender, she escaped to Canada, where she became a political refugee. A winning-artist participant in Artscape’s Gibraltar Point International Artists Residency Program, she has published poetry in literary journals and anthologies around the world. Belathar served as Writer-in-Residence through PEN Canada’s Writers in Exile Network at the University of Windsor and at Brandon University in Manitoba, the latter of which resulted in her first chapbook of poetry in English, The Cities I Left Behind. In Summer 2010, Scirocco Drama published The TAXI Project—a collective play about exile, originally produced by PEN Canada, with Belathar as lead–writer. The TAXI Project was performed by Alchemy Theatre in Toronto and toured high schools and community centres in ten southern Ontario cities and municipalities. In 2012, Belathar was selected as Alameda Theatre Company’s Playwright in Residency as well as being invited to be part of Cahoots Theatre Playwrights’ HotHouse Writing Unit. She is currently developing her first full-length play, La Danza del Venado, a multidisciplinary piece inspired by her own experience of crossing the Mexico/U.S. border into the United States as a child to reunite with her father. In 2013, Belathar lives and writes in Tucson, AZ.

 

 

 

 

MegWade Ellipticity

 

 

 

 

megwade

Meg Wade was born and raised in the hills of East Tennessee.  She received her MFA from the University of Arizona, where she was the recipient of the Academy of American Poets Prize.  Meg is currently finishing her first full-length verse collection, Blame the Woods, and is the working Assistant Editor for an anthology of contemporary, rural American poetry titled, Hick Poetics, forthcoming from Lost Roads Press.  Her recent work has appeared in CutBank, The Feminist Wire, and Phantom Limb, as well as work forthcoming in two anthologies set to be released from Locked Horn Press in 2014.  Beginning this fall Meg will be the 2014-2015 Diane Middlebrook Poetry Fellow at the University of Wisconsin, Madison.  For now, she lives, writes, and teaches in Tucson, Arizona.

 

 

 

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pack

packedHands Holding Soil

 

Today is the third post for napomo at the dictionary project. I’m pleased to introduce you to this pair of poets who I met at ::Throughlines:: an improvisational movement and writing intensive I participated in back in January of this year. They also have an amazing ongoing image/poem project, what they call a daily endeavor of poetic attention, which you can check out here: how we share the sky.

Speaking of attention, that is what I love so much about the dictionary project and annual series like napomo. Because it is all about attention: attention of one person at a particular moment in time to a particular word and meaning. Maybe it’s a word we’ve never heard of in our lives. Maybe it’s a word we’ve long forgotten. Maybe it’s a word that is part of our daily vernacular. In any case, we are asked to show up to that word in a new way, to see it with fresh eyes, to discover the ways in which our current mindset and circumstances and place in the world inform our understanding. What draws our attention in this word and meaning? How do make sense of it in this particular moment?

There is a majesty in this kind of micro-level attention. Because, in truth, all the micro choices we make add up to the macro of our daily existence and what we contribute to the collective. Our creativity is not only found in the novels we painstakingly craft but in that hard earned and alive sentence, in the way we set our table with consideration of color and light and texture, in the summer garden we co-create by digging our hands into the packed earth.

So thank you to Kathy (whose birthday is today!) and Katherine for their attention. Thank you to John and Jamison. Thank you to Johanna and Matthew. Thank you to the poets still to write this month and all the writers who have shared their work on the dictionary project. What a difference a word makes when you bring your attention to it.

 
 

pack  (pak),  v.t.  [< prec. pack, v.t.], to choose or arrange (a jury, committee, etc.) in such a way as to get desired decisions, results, etc.

 

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k bio pic

Katherine Ferrier is a poet, dance artist, educator, maker and curator. She is a co-founder of The Architects, an improvisation ensemble with a performance history spanning over 20 years, and teaches and performs regularly throughout the US and abroad. Katherine curates /directs Cultivate, a festival created to nourish a growing community of contemporary dance-makers and dance supporters in Northern New Hampshire, and her writing about dance has been published in Contact Quarterly and Kinebago. Her spontaneous on-demand typewriter poetry service, THREAD, was recently featured in The Knot, and she offers ongoing writing workshops at The Gallery at WREN in Bethlehem, NH.

 
 
 
 
 

KathyPack

 

kathycouch

For 17 years, Kathy Couch has been designing and creating visual landscapes in performance and installation works. Through the use of light, language, readymade objects, photography and space, she attempts to craft experiences that allow people to linger and contemplate moments of being, that they might become more aware of the power they possess to influence and shape the way they move—alone and together. Kathy is currently engaged in the year-long collaborative photography/writing project How We Share the Sky with Katherine Ferrier. This past January, in collaboration with Katherine, Kathy created and taught ::Through-Lines::, a 4-day writing/movement workshop exploring the intersections of language, body, space and objects in Tucson, AZ. Kathy makes her home in Northampton, MA.

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screw

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Today, we have our second series of poems for the third annual napomo at the dictionary project in honor of National Poetry Month. All month we will be posting poems written from bibliomanced dictionary project words. In an added twist, this year, two poets are writing to each word. We are discovering what happens in these pairings when two different minds and aesthetics hold space for the same word.

 

Poets Johanna Skibsrud and Matthew Schmidt have written on screw. Please enjoy their poems and feel free to write your own poem inspired by screwin the comments if you so desire. The actual piece my finger landed on when selecting the word was the image of a lagscrew below.

 

 

screw1

 

 

screw  (skro͞o), n.  [ME.  screwe; OFr. escrone, hole in which the screw turns  <  L. scrobis, vulva],  1.  a mechanical device used for fastening things together, consisting of a naillike cylinder of metal grooved in an advancing spiral, and usually having a slotted head: it penetrates only by being turned: male (or external) screw.  2.  anything like such a device.  3.  a hollow cylinder equipped with a spiral groove on its inner sufrace into which the male screw fits: female (or internal) screw.  4.  the act of turning or twisting; turn of a screw.  5.  a screw propeller.  6.  [Chiefly British], a) a stingy person; miser. b) a crafty bargainer.  7.  [Chiefly British], a bit of tobacco, etc. (in a twisted paper).  8.  [Chiefly British] a worn-out horse.  9.  {Slang], a prison guard.  10.  [British Slang], salary.  v.t.  1. to twist; turn; tighten.  2.  to fasten, make secure, tighten, press, insert, etc. with or as with a screw or screws.  3.  to contort; squeeze; twist out of natural shape: as, screw one’s face up.  4.  to force to do something; compel, as if by using screws.  5.  to extort or practice extortion on: as he screwed me out of money.  v.i.  1. to come apart or go together by being turned or twisted in the manner of a screw: as, the lid screws on. 2. to be fitted for being put together or taken apart by a screw or screws.  3.  to twist; turn; wind; have a motion like that of a screw.  4.  to practice extortion.

 

 

 

Desire Must Be Taken Literally

 

What exists?

 

Already.

 

Even in darkness.

 

If not:

 

the idea of darkness.

 

Marked, therefore,

already, by

 

the idea of light.

 

What is there but that

to grow slowly

 

toward, or away?

 

What but that

 

to propel

 

that most

uncertain element,

 

the soul,

 

slowly toward

the idea of itself?

 

To hover, as above,

or outside of itself.

 

A question.

 

Toward which

the mind also turns

 

in a deliberate spiral—.

 

The mind, the simple

lag-screw

 

according to which

 

we conjoin,

 

and therefore

establish,

 

between that most

 

uncertain element,

 

from which we came,

and the world, which is

 

most certain, some

 

relation.

 

What, then, the soul,

but the simple

 

opening, carved

by the mind—

 

as it constructs,

 

like a joist or a beam,

 

upon which the idea

holds,

 

a further idea?
As it insists, if only

by virtue of its

 

continuous effort

to do so,

 

the possibility that

 

the mind will

also hold?

 

That it will still

be possible,

 

therefore—

 

if only

very briefly—

 

to suture to the

uncertain idea

 

a single real thing?

 

 

 

Skibsrud portrait, fall 2013, 1Johanna Skibsrud is the author of the Scotiabank Giller Prize winning novel, The Sentimentalists, a book of short fiction, This Will Be Difficult to Explain, and Other Stories, and two collections of poetry, Late Nights With Wild Cowboys and I Do Not Think That I Could Love a Human Being. A second novel, Quartet for the End of Time will be released in fall, 2014. She lives in Tucson.

 

 

 

 

 

Cyclical

Shades drawn—darkness crept scantly
scantily through slats—a cover of destiny
destination to which each day pours itself
out. Outside lined slats, thump of bass
an apartment adjacent in rhythm, enjoys
Saturday evening victuals, imbibes in whether
Sunday will ever step from shadow to show
itself, a difficult concept to grasp in utter
dark, that even through stars appear away
through several named spheres exiting the planet
seem on the verge of consummation, of consumption
in blackness which harnesses a vast swath
of earth, here, now, as somewhere else
someone else is sunning themselves by a rill
twisting grass blades, a tune upon lips
accompaniment to slow burble sluicing
submerged rock on its way to a place
any party herewith has been except tangentially
or rather mentally, in eye of idea
where a picture once seen must be
like this place where the rill—after turning
into other names, empties itself, finally
in an ever ebbing body that removes
all notion of meaning in here, now
until again a cycle is run and rain
falls on windows, behind shades
draws a party at an apartment indoors
bass fading into a dull thrum
in a different time when someone is idle
rill tricks, trickle thought into a coalescence
of sunburst over horizon, another contemplation commences.


2013-04-23 23.54.53Matthew Schmidt is an MFA candidate at the University of Arizona. His work has appeared in Asinine Poetry, Down in the Dirt, Eye On Life and The Missing Slate.

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sur·ren·der

Photo by Francesca Woodman

Photo by Francesca Woodman

 

 

Well, here we are at the conclusion of a wonderful na·po·mo at the dictionary project! I’m grateful that poetry gets its own month and also grateful that we can continue to read and support poets, to write and share our own poetry all year. I want to thank all of our wonderful poets for the work they have written and shared with us and special thanks goes to our last poet, Danielle Vogel. 

And in the first time in the history of this literary community, a word was bibliomanced for the second time. I guess this is appropriate because it is a word we probably all need to be reminded of from time to time. The word is surrender. Those of you who have been regular followers of the dictionary project will remember that I first wrote about surrender in the fall in relationship to an Amy Goodman reading I attended. I am delighted to share with you Danielle’s gorgeous and evocative take on the word. Thanks go to Danielle for providing the image as well.

And thanks to you, today and always, for reading and being part of this process.

 

sur·ren·der (səˈrendər)v.t. [OFr. surrendre: sur-, upon, up + rendre, to render], 1.  to give up possession of or power over; yild to another on demand or compulsion.  2.  to give up claim to; give over or yield, especially voluntarily, as in favor of another.  3.  to give up or abandon; as, we surrendered all hope.  4.  to yield or resign (oneself) to an emotion, influence, etc.  5.  [Obs.], to give back or in return.  v.i.  to give oneself up to yield.  n.  [Anglo-Fr.  < OFr.  surrendre (see the v.); inf. used as n.],  1.  the act of surrendering, yielding, or giving up.  2.  in insurance, the voluntary abandonment of a policty by an insured person in return for a cash payment (surrender value), thus freeing the company of liability.
SYN.–surrender commonly implies the giving up of something completely after striving to keep it (to surrender a fort, one’s freedom, etc.); relinquish is the general word implying an abandoning, giving up, or letting go of something held (to relinquish one’s grasp, a claim, etc.); to yield is to concede or give way under pressure (to yield one’s consent); to submit is to give in to authority or superior force (to submit to a conqueror); resign implies a voluntary, formal relinquishment and, used reflexively, connotes submission or passive acceptance (to resign an office, to resign oneself to failure).

 

 

 

dv1 dv2 dv2again dv4

 

 

Vogel, Dictionary Project author photoDanielle Vogel’s textile scroll-works and ceramic book artifacts, which explore the ceremonial gestation of a manuscript as it is written, have been exhibited in galleries across the country. Her most recent collection, Narrative & Nest, is a cross-disciplinary study relating the construction of nests to the writing of books — both as complex sites of composition, habitation, instinct, and narrative. She is the author of Narrative & Nest (Abecedarian Gallery, 2012) and lit (Dancing Girl Press, 2008). She received her MFA in Writing & Poetics from Naropa University, and is currently a PhD candidate at the University of Denver. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island, where she is writing toward the completion of her book Clasp, excerpted here. Her author photo was bibliomanced by Maurice Blanchot’s The Writing of the Disaster and reads: “a turning point which puts us face to face with the demand of the turning point.” Danielle wrote, ‘I often carry books alongside the books I am writing. I dip into them for messages the way one might visit the Tarot. One such book is Maurice Blanchot’s The Writing of the Disaster. While writing the middle section of Clasp, I asked Blanchot’s book to interrupt my writing practice with a message and this is what I received.”

 

 

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sur·veil·lance

"What Are You Looking At?", Banksy

“What Are You Looking At?”, Banksy

 

Today is the last day of April and the last day of na·po·mo 2013. We have a double-decker day with one poem now and one poem later in the day. Our first poem today is by Logan Dirtyverbs. Enjoy!

 

sur·veil·lance,  n.  [Fr.  <  surveiller, to watch over; sur- ( < L. super), over + veiller  < L. vigilare, to watch],  1.  watch or observation kept over a person, especially one under suspicion or a prisoner.  2. supervision or inspection.

 

TO NEITHER CONFIRM NOR DENY
 

a legible surveillance disclaimer
TO OBSERVE WITH INTENT
a distinct whine in blue sky
TO NOTICE AGGRESSIVELY
where drones roam freely
TO ACTIVELY TAKE NOTE
soon drones will keep quiet
TO KEEP CLOSE WATCH
a more convenient freedom
TO INTERCEPT PREEMPTIVELY
the windchime sounds unstable
TO ASCERTAIN CULPABILITY
the bee conducts search flower-by-flower
TO AGGREGATE EFFICIENTLY
a swarm of self-directing drones
TO SECURE THE HOMELAND
an obtuse infestation of bugs
TO PHOTOGRAPH PUBLIC SPACES
a budding nest of security cameras
TO TRANSMIT ELECTRONICALLY
the trains of thought in choreography
TO IRREVOCABLY CONNECT DOTS
a gold rush of data mining geology
TO PRACTICE NONADMISSION
a twenty twenty all aerial eyesight
TO UNMAN AERIAL SYSTEMS
an officious and casual voyeurism
TO SPEAK FREELY IN PUBLIC
a vain culture easiest to surveil
TO SEARCH FOR IDENTITY
a watched society most secure
TO ASSOCIATE WITH OTHERS
social media a great diy fbi fyi
TO KNOW THE LATEST
a clear evolutionary craving
TO SEE AND BE UNSEEN
knowing what others are doing
TO RECOGNIZE THE FACES
security for whom & by whom
TO AUTOMATE REDACTION
certain cannot be used
TO SPEAK SUSPICIOUSLY
prison regulates unemployment
TO WAGE WAR ON FEAR
war a fantastic job creator
TO TRIGGER WORDS
self-surveillance smaller govt
TO POLICE STATE SECRET
the alibi sousveillance hobby
TO THREATEN PRIVACY
policing the self in private
TO USE DANGEROUS SPEECH
a homegrown wet orwellian orgasm
TO STATE & PLAUSIBLY DENY
or what do you have to hide anyway
TO JUST ASK A FEW QUESTIONS
you don’t know what you have to hide
TO AGREE TO TERMS & CONDITIONS
until it has been finally found
TO PLEASE SIGN HERE
x___________________________

 

 

Photo by Trish Santangelo

Photo by Trish Santangelo

 
logan dirtyverbs is a bilingual poet, performer and dj based in tucson, az. to see more of his work, check out: dirtyverbs.com and @dirtyverbs on twitter.

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scold

© ladiscarica, NO, (NEON. La materia luminosa dell’arte, MACRO)

© ladiscarica, NO, (NEON. La materia luminosa dell’arte, MACRO)

 

For our third post of na·po·mo, we have a poem from George Life. Enjoy!

 

scold* v. find fault with angrily —n. one who scolds.

 

Picture 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

george-lifeGeorge Life lives in Tucson where, among other things, he is working on a complete translation of the late poems of Du Fu. More at periplumvia.blogspot.com.

 

 

 

*Word was bibliomanced from a 2000 Webster’s New Pocket Dictionary.

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re·cep·tion

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re·cep·tion  (ri-ˈsep-shən)  n.  [ME. reception; OFr.; L. receptio  <  pp. of receptere; see RECEIVE],  1.  a receiving or being received.  2.  the manner of this: as, a very hearty reception  3.  a social function, often formal, for the receiving of guests.  4.  the act of mentally accepting or approving.  5.  in radio & television, the manner of receiving, with reference to the relative quality of reproduction: as, the storm caused poor reception.

Our second poet for na·po·mo is Christina Vega-Westhoff. Enjoy her poem below.

 

 

AFTER DIRECTION

 

For we are questioning how they breathe life

into the fragrant cities.

Did dust cover your nose and blind you?

Did the patterned walls beseech you?

How education advanced, or was said

to. Take care that what is painted on your

inside is not five. You came too soon to asking.

 

But what is given to be received.

We of the screaming action clan. Act even still.

To subvert delay reception. The moon began to speak

now silently. The boat if you stepped into it did

not sink. Was said to resemble oat.

 

In this painting it is the handing back of fate.

Once the gods discovered the vow broken

all sides lay still waiting. Those that didn’t

still found themselves in question.

 

The little young woman—how desiring she is to

take. To say the gift is precious—not to

be thought of, glossy. Too used then

to taking another and then this too.

 

If the police could have been an elsehood.

Stealing for selfhood.

The spider in the mouth of your swallowing.

So many times as though erased.

Calm now.

 

Claro, who would have been received as

departing. Led back into the cell. Before

exported/exiled/deported.

Held heavy then passive.

What was the mouth spoken of.

The daughter’s friend humping the carpet in

the basement. Truth or dare the dream

died. Across of this take flight.

How if it became too much for any one person,

having given, disappointed, and betrayed. Crossing

the country to find oneself forgotten.

 

 

 

IMG_3077 copyChristina Vega-Westhoff is a poet, translator, and aerialist living in Tucson. Her poetry appears or will appear in Fieralingue, Spiral Orb, The Lumberyard Magazine, 1913: A Journal of Forms, and Witness: A JLP Anthology.  Translations of Melanie Taylor Herrera’s work appear or are forthcoming in Ezra, Metamorphoses, and PRISM International.

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na·po·mo

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Well, spring has sprung. April has come. And along with being the time where things turn green and blossoms sprout from the ground, April is National Poetry Month. To celebrate, the dictionary project is hosting its second annual na·po·mo! All month, we will be featuring poems contributed by visiting poets in response to  dictionary project words. Stay tuned!

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so·lo

 

 

so·lo (ˈsōlō),  n.  [ pl.  SOLOS  (-lōz); rarely SOLI (-lē)], [It.  <  L. solus, alone],  1.  a musical piece or passage to be played or sung by one person, with or without accompaniment.  2.  an airplane flight made by a pilot alone, without any passengers or instructor.  3.  any performance by one person alone.  4.  any card game in which there are no partners.  adj.  1.  arranged for or performed by a single voice or instrument.  2.  performing a solo.  3.  made or done by one person v.i. in aviation, to make a solo flight, especially one’s first.

 

It’s the last day of April and the last day of National Poetry Month! So today, we have our last word and last post for our first annual na·po·mo. The word is so·lo and the poet is TC Tolbert. Thanks so much for joining us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

TC Tolbert is a genderqueer, feminist poet and teacher committed to social justice.  Co-editor of the forthcoming Anthology of Trans and Genderqueer Poetry (Nightboat Books), TC is the author of two chapbooks, territories of folding (Kore Press) and spirare (Belladonna).  His first book, Gephyromania, is forthcoming from Ahsahta Press.  He is the Assistant Director of Casa Libre en la Solana, Adjunct faculty at University of Arizona and Pima Community College, and founder of Made for Flight.  www.tctolbert.com

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pe·nol·o·gy

 

Robyn, from "Handle Me"

 

 

pe·nol·o·gy  /pēˈnäləjē/  n. the study of the punishment of crime and of prison management.  mid 19th cent.: from Latin poena ‘penalty’ + -LOGY. –pe·nol·o·gi·cal  /pē-nə-ˈlä-ji-kəl/ adj. pe·nol·o·gist /jist/  n.

 

Writer Annie Guthrie joins us for our first annual na·po·mo. Enjoy her poem and photos:

 

 

*

make a box
a social judicial legislative executive box
a thought box
what kind of time does it keep
bodybox time  you feel
yes what did the mothers do
I always study yourself
you are the box. make you the box box fist
im going to punch me first
im going to wall my own wall with a wallbox!
make it box make it do
what kind of keeping does it do
heritage box lineage box legacy box
are you the archon who traces
my fistbox punches ?
yes attention is valuable
is studying humane
that’s why you can’t find it?
it is hoped
navigational way points fix whatbox
your ownself atbox
fear it keeper it do keep
trespassing the natural
I have I have not I had I had not I do have I do not have
I do I did I was I were I were not I am I am not
I where I am I where I am not I am not where
whatbox stay right there where you arebox
I can still put my hands in my pocket
it’s no longer in your hands
wouldn’t you wear gloves for that
yes

 

 
 

Annie Guthrie is a writer and jeweler living in Tucson. She works and teaches at the UA Poetry Center. She has work published in Tarpaulin Sky, Ploughshares, Fairy Tale Review, HNGMAN, The Destroyer, RealPoetik, Everyday Genius, Omniverse, The Volta, Spial Orb and more.

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