August 2001Café Society's Poetry News Update
Do you have any poetry news or comments? Mail me on the email link at the bottom of this page. Competitions and calls for submissions can be announced here free.


An interview with   ROBIN OUZMAN

A great deal of my life has been spent out of England, where I was born and spent my childhood in Lyme Regis. I lived in Scotland, which was my mother's side, and take the name Hislop, as writer's name from her family.

Two years ago, I returned from Spain where I had lived as an EFL Teacher and translator, and prior to that I had travelled extensively in the East and spent years in Scandinavia. In Spain I participated in the organisation of bi-lingual poetry readings and have worked on the translation of a number of Spanish and South American poets into English as well as collaborated renditions of English to Spanish, Margaret Atwood for example. I have been to Spain several times since my arrival to the British Isles. Fortunate enough to receive small bursaries which have enabled me to develop a project of translating a contemporary poetry anthology written by Spanish female poets in 1985, that is just after the transition to the so called democracy, the work is entitled Las Diosas Blancas. Some of these translations I submitted earlier this year to the British Literary Translator's Award East Anglia University. Hopefully I will start on a project in collaboration of compiling and translating an anthology of James Stephens, contemporary of Joyce and Yeats better known for his Irish Celtic Fairy Tales and The Land of Youth. Perhaps it will inform to say that the most important influences of his work apart from his Celtic heritage were Blake and Madame Blavatsky's Theosophist movement, which Yeats introduced him to, that makes him particularly interesting to me, in the tradition of Gaelic revivalism, in which he was an important protagonist.

At the moment I can't think what else to say about my life as a poet, except that I am influenced by ancient symbolism and contemporary forms alike and write quite prolifically but mostly only poetry, also to confess that when I do write short narrative forms I am tempted to the absurd, I suppose because variety and the personal take over and the need to look on the funny side of things no matter how tragic becomes adamant, whether one likes it or not.


Poetry L & T:When and why did you first start writing poetry, Robin?

Robin: At the age of ten I started first through school and then later through a teacher to enter poetry recital festivals, I remember at twelve reciting Wordsworth's Hiawatha and Tennyson's The Highwayman, in chorus as well as individually before festival audiences, which always got write ups in the papers. I had a trained lyrical ear and began to transmit it to writing. In my early twenties I got drawn into Sufi poetry Madnawi, even then the question of translation began to interest me, first Rumi (and others like him) was a teacher with novices, who had to develop esoteric techniques to conceal their writings, whilst works would often be the combined product of novices in the same manner a painting of Michaelangelo was a product of his apprentices. However I had had earlier infatuations, such as Oscar Wilde, Ibson and so on. I remember at the age of fourteen substituting word for word Rupert Brook's Prelude, so I was quite ham.

Poetry L & T:Who are your favourite poets, both classic and modern?

Robin: It's works more than favourite poets and those influences traced in the poet, in some of my works I freely interpolate the lines of other poets. It is perhaps more apt to talk of poets who don't generally impress me such as Virgil, Chaucer and Milton or moderns such as Rupert Brook or Rudyard Kipling or Hilaire Belloc. Borges and Graves interest me but are far from exclusive, Sappho and Catullus and of course the Tao, Blake.

Poetry L & T:As a translator, do you find that sometimes a poem can lose some of its musicality when translated from the original language?

Robin:I believe in process and thought transference, the matrix of process, in this context for me I see all poetry in its original creation as a matter of translation through interpretation. I am reading a work now written in a brilliant concise styled English, but it is replete with many old Scots words, which except for a few experts the majority would find difficult to get the exact shade or even to look up, however it would be absurd to translate them into a modern colloquial form. I think that if the poem is more a musical poem than a word poem it may not tally as vituoso in another operetta but there are exceptions think of Danny Boy first a French chivalry ballad then Italian Operetta and finally found its way to Ireland (or perhaps back to Ireland ). I would like to say though that if a poem has intrinsically its own intricate beat that in translation it should transmit even though its emergence is another version.

Poetry L & T: Do you think that sometimes Spanish can sound more passionate than English, and vice versa?

Robin:Well, my son's use of the imperative is a constant source of dismay to his English relatives who come to me with almost tears in their eyes to implore me to tell him to say please, I on the other hand have been reprimanded for being logical in my own language as shouting, which I would hardly be passionate about, what is the norm for one is an obsession for the other. I know English poets who will only write in Spanish, if that is a passion, with me it is a question and matter of eloquence voiced either as written or uttered, and both languages have their character and characterture, sometimes impressive and sometimes not.

Poetry L & T: Which classic poetry form do you like best?

Robin:I should say Blake in preference to Milton.

Poetry L & T: Are there any things which irritate you in the poetry you read on the internet?

Robin:As a new and experimental media its obvious there would be a lot of poor quality material as well as people getting bogged down in really sad mind games, it's a matter of sorting the wheat from the chaff.

Poetry L & T:Do you think that the internet is useful for poets?

Robin: Yes, but in UK its use is more expensive than in USA Canada, Australia etc; but I also like hand literature and would like to see that free cosmopolitan market as integrated as the internet.

Poetry L & T:I agree, it is expensive here. You have a good point about making the hand literature market more integrated too. Still on the subject of the internet, you are a regular on the Yahoo group Describe Adonis. How did you first hear about that group?

Robin: I am cautious about submitting or subscribing to lists. I have a record of web sitings and I intend to set up a link. I took interest in the Describe Adonis and thought I had encountered Richard Vallance on the web somewhere a couple of years ago. Anyway his writing and presentation of the list is excellent and enjoyable almost, and I've put in a few sonnets, somewhere I have a Villanelle tucked away, which I'll send in.

Poetry L & T:Which subjects do you write about the most?

Robin: I suppose poetry attempts to aim at being on a spiritual level, the last phrase not really being the property of Seamus Heaney. For the most part I write and translate poetry. At present I am at work on two major projects compiling and translating an anthology of the Irish writer James Stephens and translating into English Las Diosas Blancas an anthology of contemporary female poetry published in 1985 two years after the so-called transition to democracy. I am also translating works at present of the Chilean poet Andres Fisher, whose poem Hielo (Ice) won the Gabriel Celeya Award as best poetry book of the year, selections of these will appear in It's a Man's World anthology of poetry to be published through a USA university. At home, if I can call it that, other ground breaking is going on in terms of earning money through translation as much as writing itself. I have sometimes wandered into writing extensive narratives but they are quite perverse.

Poetry L & T:I once saw an illustrated antique (Victorian) book of Dante's Inferno, which I regretted not buying ever since. Is there any such book you would like to get hold of?
Robin:I am going to say Mowgli because I remember the old book with very large print and in the pages these great paintings and it was the tiger in one of those paintings that I believed must have been the sort of picture that Blake saw. Would be more than a hundred years old now.

Poetry L & T:Which classical poetic era would you like to visit, if you could travel back in time?

Robin:Sappho!?

Poetry L & T:Finally, Robin, what advice would you give to a young aspiring poet who wished to improve enough to be published?

Robin:The writing of poetry is not a lesuire.

Poetry L & T:Very succinct, sound advice. Thank you for the interview, Robin.


CLICK HERE to read poetry by
Robin Ouzman




EDITOR'S LETTER, AUGUST 2001

Dear Poets,

This issue features an interview with Robin Ouzman, poet and translator.

Featured poets this month are L B Sedlacek, Richard Vallance, Neil Ray, Ian Thorpe and Jan Sand. Featured Poets is now split over two pages.

NEWS ON SEPTEMBER ISSUE:
The September issue is the Poetry Life & Times Third Birthday issue. There will be more Featured Poets than usual, over several pages, plus a new feature or two. Most of the Featured Poets will be by invitation only and will have appeared in Poetry Life & Times over the last three years. New poets will still be considered for further issues.

Any comments on this issue or back issues can be emailed to me on the link at the bottom of the page. Please indicate whether you would like the comments to go into the Letters section. Announcements are always welcome, you can also promote poetry books here.

Poetry submissions should be in plain text in the body of an email, with a small jpeg author picture attached, also a bio, with the URLs of any ezines mentioned, so that they can be shown as links. This increases the chance of inclusion, especially for late submissions. Pictures are best at a maximum of 520 pixels across, otherwise they take ages to arrive by email, especially in bitmap or TIFF format. Further submission guidelines are available on request.

Best Regards,

                  



Featured poets this month are L B Sedlacek, Richard Vallance, Neil Ray, Ian Thorpe and Jan Sand. Many thanks to all contributors.


L B Sedlacek's new
book, Suicide Pumpkins

L B SEDLACEK
Freelance writer, editor of "Pop Poets," contributing editor of "Muse's Kiss." M.A. from Wake Forest University. Chapbooks include: After Graceland, and The Cat and the Carroll A. Deering and Other North Carolina Poems. Recent publications include: Unlikely Stories, Facets Literary Magazine, Blue Collar Review, New Works Review, IdioM, Red Owl Magazine, and Duct Tape Press.
Books include: Suicide Pumpkins (ISBN: 0738833819) (pictured above), Pop Poets: http://members.aol.com/poppoets,
Muse's Kiss: http://members.aol.com/museskiss,
Authorsden: www.authorsden.com/lbsedlacek

BURYING BICYCLES (27)
© L B Sedlacek
(previously published in Facets Literary Magazine)


When leaves become pavement for cars
and red, yellow and orange
the colors of the dead --
with thick wool socks,
and sweatshirts and pants
the weekend uniform of stockbrokers
and waitresses and everyone in-between --
we go in search of cobwebbed wheels
hidden beside mason jars,
musty clothes
undrinkable wine
and extract our 2-wheel wonders from
their graves
out into the hazy sunlight
to wash them down removing dust and grime
from vinyl seats and handlebars.
Then we climb aboard oblivious to age or balance
lunging forward through decaying grass
onto broken pavement
careening past silent houses
onto quiet streets breathing sighs of relief
from their 2-day reprieve from the Mon - Fri rush hour
that we will soon become a part of again
only after we re-bury
our bicycles back in the basement.


GHOSTS WITHIN
© L B Sedlacek
(previously published in Starry Night Review Literary Ezine)



We are driving, Big Dipper
to the right of this country highway
lit only by the moon flung high overhead --
partying with the stars.

We ride in silence, the big
maroon car hurling forward
past dark houses; we meet no other cars.
No sounds - not even wind delve
into the soft, leather interior
aglow with specks of green neon, that are
read - not spoken aloud.

We are three strangers, like customers
shopping in an electronics store
searching for the right DVD or CD
to strike a spark,
or a flame from a falling star.
The car weaves and climbs up hills;
narrowly making turns.

The passenger in the back lifts
a fist to his face, his body jerking
back and forth as he coughs without
sound; it is too far away to
find a radio signal out here.
The Driver eases off the gas just
a little, eyes droopy, in need of
rest - the front passenger sleeps.

A glow of blue and white hurls
towards us bathing our vehicle
in purple as the speeding sports
car blazes past us never pointing out
with a flash from high beams to low
that we -- in our maroon car --
are driving without headlights.
Making us ghosts driving towards home.


THE PERFECT CIRCLE (14)
© L B Sedlacek



What human being (like Michelangelo)
could tame this beast:
an ancient saying from mouth to paper
with charcoal and lead serving up
dinosaur French fries and lunar soup
leaving behind a legacy and no language barriers
except steel bars and wooden ladders during restoration
where the crowds of tourists and the workers combine
into a mass of spectators witnessing or repairing salvation --
a crowd so large even a soul's spaceship
wouldn't be noticed
if such a thing existed.


THE LEGEND OF NAGS HEAD (22)
© L B Sedlacek



When the sea was unresponsive
and the catch was low
hungry fisherman gazed with envy
on ships of plenty passing by the Outer Banks
on their way from Charleston up to northern ports.
Desperate and starving these land pirates
formed a plan - a way to lure the
cargo-laden ships to destruction --
and on stormy nights they tied
a lantern to the neck of a nag
leading him along the beach
till the ships at sea saw the light
and steered toward the beam
seeking safe harbor, but finding
swirling unrelenting waves
that caused them to crash upon the beach
drowning crews and scattering cargo
that these scavengers with the nags swooped
up like gravy and biscuits
served at Sunday dinner.


BRUSHED (29)
© L B Sedlacek



A painting of a portrait
except the face is real:
the eyes blink,
the nostrils sniff,
the ears twitch,
the fingers touch,
the mouth speaks.

Breathe.

Rose in full bloom, crimson red,
intoxicating, silky,
thick curved thorns.

Breathe.

The portrait talks to long lines of fan club members
who wait hours for one photo, two autographs, and three-minute
conversations.
Then, brushed by fame, they leave escorted by Security
while clutching mementos --
completely dazzled by inhaling the same air.

Escorted by limousine, the portrait is transported to a
complimentary suite
locked up safe and sound,
alarms set, Guards in place.

Somehow it manages to ... breathe.


[email protected]



RICHARD VALLANCE

was born on March 11, 1945 in Guelph, Ontario Canada. He was raised on the Naval Base, H.M.C.S. Cornwallis, on the Western shore of the Province of Nova Scotia in the Maritimes. After traversing the beautiful Bay of Fundy many times during his childhood, he became addicted to the sea.

When Richard was 10 his family moved to Stratford-upon-Avon, in southern Ontario, sister city to her namesake in both England and in the United States. The new Shakespearian Theatre was constructed there in 1953.

He then went on to high school and graduated from Grade 13 with flying colours, taking the Ontario Scholarship Award for his school. Then he went on to earn an Honours B.A. at Sir Wilfred Laurier University (1968), and a Master of Library Science degree at the University of Western Ontario, London (1975).

After that he worked for several years as a Reference Librarian, first at Sudbury Public Library, then Alqonquin College of Arts and Technology (Ottawa), and finally, the University of Ottawa.

Severe alcoholism forced Richard to retire on long-term disability, nine years ago, at the age of 47. He says this is the best thing that could have happened: "I stopped drinking cold turkey on March 25th., 1992, and have never looked back since.... Before age 47, I might have composed about 200 poems. Since that age, I have written at least another 1,500, of which about 1,000 are sonnets. It's just mind-boggling! Oh well, there are always late bloomers in life. I guess I'm one of them."

Since then he has lived a "passionate, sometimes a 'tempest in a teapot' - but almost always reasonably happy life". He lives in a happy, long-term relationship with his boyfriend, Louis-Dominique Genest, who was born in Sherbrooke, Quebec, on April 11, 1950. They have been together for four years.

PUBLISHING HISTORY:

  • 1. A Quilt of Sonnets: Forty Four Familiar Poems. Ottawa: Providence Road Press, (c) 1998 56 pp. ISBN 1-896243-07-x
  • 2. "À la belle inconnue (Robert Schumann)", in: Arts and Literature Review. Lakehead University. Vol. 1 (3), 1972
  • 3. "Chanson d'Auverge", in: A Ray of Hope. (c) 2000. 257 pp. pg. 129 ISBN 1-58235-559-2
  • 4. "Pow Wow", in: An Hour at Sunrise. (c) 2000. 313 pp. pg. 167 ISBN 1-58253-539-8

    INTERNET:
    Autumn Leaves [May/June, 2001] - and several of his poems will soon appear in A New Millenium Anthology [also in CD] and in another journal, which I am not yet at liberty to disclose.

    Yahoo Groups:
    Describe Adonis
    le jeune matelot
    Poetry Lynx Links
    and co-moderator, along with Scotty Snow at: Narcissus Reflects

    UK Smart Groups:
    Wil Shakespeare and Pierre de Ronsard - Across la Manche
    Illiassia - Homer's Iliad - Smart Groups (UK)

  • Their Eyes
    © Richard Vallance

    June & July 15th, 1999


    The moon, whose baleful eyes implore
    the sullen sky with hollowed light,
    slobbers along a forest's floor,
    but leaves few clues that delve the night.

    but leaves instead the stars behind,
    whose eyes are dancers to our eyes,
    as you lie in my arms, but never blind
    to a shadow in darkness, however it sighs.

    So if that moon should raffle still
    two owls in a forest's lair,
    listen, my son, and stalk their hill!

    Listen, and gaze, and you may see
    the moon in their eyes, inside a tree.


    Legend
    © Richard Vallance

    April 20th, 2001



    "If life is a legend, yea, legend be life,
    Hie thee to my castle, brave Camelot;
    Play me the lay you'd thought you'd forgot,
    While a time for roundelays is rife."
    My damosel's fingers strum at her luth
    As her perfume of roses duskily lingers,
    Whose lasting impression fades with a truth
    That age wastes away that pluck of her fingers.

    I'd thought I'd forgotten the lay she had sung
    faraway, long ago but silk pillows echo
    bells that had twice in her burial rung.

    Had rung when they rang, but where in their break
    Could I have discerned anything than a triste dirge,
    Unless this whole legend were some god's mistake?


    Imagine If You Please
    © Richard Vallance

    May 1983, revised 2001



    Imagine if you please a small Trieste Café
    Where by chiaroscuro light our jazz
    Musicians play p-p-pianissimos to our stray
    Conversations, or with more than a hint of pizzazz
    In overtones of grey, as if puffs of lazy smoke
    Wafted over gesticulations! They'd almost choke
    Us because we laugh into champagne! Are we
    Still in sync with his fingers as he
    Frenzies the keyboard with flurried aplomb,
    Or in his breathless pauses, did he pause again,
    Or what's with it he plays? - Prelude under the domed
    Trellis? He appears as though through a pane
    To have seen us, glass stained, glance over candles,
    Head over heels, and you were flinging off sandles.


    Lucifer
    © Richard Vallance

    April 4th, 1998, revised July 3rd, 2001



    You say (You Say!) you sprang Whose? Light upon the World
    before What Source of Us was done? You claim you glazed
    cool jars with Uriel's fire, but, artisan, look at you now!
    Lilliputian, black as any black hole to distant stars.

    Oh my, oh my Lucifer! Undying and unborn,
    you've gone & fled your fast Lover's arms,
    you still are a drift a rift still in sojourn
    of weariest light were your love was cast

    in a black and alabaster stone,
    whose veins in red crustacean bone
    vane to a windlashing's down at seas.

    You've pinched a hemophiliac soul
    with birth at shrieks to life at death.
    You've seen the Light? Excuse us, eh? But, may we go?


    III: A Quilt of Sonnets
    © Richard Vallance

    1997 & 1999



    "A Quilt of Sonnets", who longs to weave
    for those who laugh and those who grieve,
    for those who pour their tears in showers
    to those forlorn amidst white flowers?

    for those who've searched the sun in vain
    and, it appears, who may not have found
    the well of a heartbeat's subtlest sound
    within their bay's cool garden.

    for those, so unlikely, but lovers still who,
    as they drift off in slumber alone but together,
    sow stars in the waves they're seasoned to weather!

    For you, my companions, my lovers, my friends,
    for you if you'll stroll the cool inlets with me,
    I'll sing of us still to thrill at the sea!


    The Title poem from my first published book:
    A Quilt of Sonnets: Forty Four Familiar Poems.
    Ottawa: Providence Road Press, © 1998. 56 pp.
    ISBN 1-896243-07-x


    Out-of-doors
    Richard Vallance, 2001July 16th., 2001
    for Sara Russell



    This moon you see, is crescent's bowl of light,
    whose laughter falls, celestials, snows on elements,
    splashes plashed on dreamers, libations very bright,
    or washed ashores where waves walk up appellants.

    What damask's sheens of oceans just espouse
    those stars, their zeal between your every breath
    in inspiration's teeth, or between cliffs' whistler boughs,
    or why did you and I walk where's not too distant death?

    Now there is no reason not to share, "What? Some nights skid by!"
    Were oceans as eery as all night crisp, or you and I, windblown?
    Was there anyone down off Dover's cliffs, in out-of-doors July?
    Now I remember, all too weary, you'd tripped on a dislodged stone.

    Or when the brilliant sun's declared them, "Open!",
    is dawn's betrayal of our days any the less outspoken?

    [email protected]


    NEIL RAY
    Neil D. Ray is a 46 year old poet/performer, living Fayetteville, North Carolina (USA). Affectionately known as, The NightWalker", Neil is considered to be one of exciting new voices in North Carolina Poetry. His love for the spoken word has garnished him with prominent positions in numerous literary and artistic organizations and events. He is a member of the Writers Ink Guild of Fayetteville, and the editor of the Guilds newsletter, The Ink Pad. Neil serves as Chairman of Membership Development for the North Carolina Poetry Society. [email protected] Neil is always seeking new events and new venues, to delight the artistic hearts of poetry. Neil enjoys the power of "open mikes". He is the host for two of the regions most successful "open mike" programs, "Java Jams" and "The Late Night Affair". His one and only purpose is to encourage and inspire "spirits" to rise.

    Over the past six years, Neil has been published in variety of literary anthologies, magazines, and newsletters, along with local newspapers and community related publications. His work has appeared on several on-line poetry sites, and he has been featured in "Charlottes Web" and "Poetry Life and Times". He edited the Writers Ink Guilds latest anthology, Homecoming (Old Mountain Press), and is writing the introduction for the Coffee Scene Anthology, House Brew. Neil has even written articles for "Up and Coming", a regional arts and entertainment magazine, http://www.upandcomingmag.com, and was the 2000 Fayetteville "Slam Poetry" Champion.

    "Neils poetry", as one poet remarked, " is delightfully precise".

    Quote from Neil:
    "I enjoy what I do, and I enjoy the way it effects others. Their inspiration and spirit help me to create, and the friendships developed through reading, writing, and participating in the various events, convince me more and more, that we all carry the "soul of the artist", within us. If no one else will listenthe page will. It is the most loyal friend you have.”

    Inhale
    © Neil Ray, 2001



    He could hear the pain in her voice,
    and it left him wading in frustration.
    His desire was to leave this place
    and go to her.
    He knew she would be standing
    in the shadows of the sycamores
    anticipating and waiting to breathe.
    If only she would concede him the privilege of being
    air.
    Did not she understand the connection of sun,
    and moon, and earth.
    How else could she explain this twisting necessity
    and its vagrant reply.
    He heard her voice infiltrate common distractions
    and he felt awkward in helplessness.
    He gave her words racing from a sensitive heart,
    tingling with spices of hope.
    He should have been there
    listening to her pain against his chest.
    Perhaps, beneath the weight of revelations;
    they could discover themselves.
    And "I Love You", would not seem tainted,
    nor promises - stone.

    They could breathe, again.
    If she would only grant him the privilege of being
    air.


    T
    © Neil Ray, 2001



    Strange, I should find the Goddess Diana, sitting at your feet.
    Venus does well, to hide her envy.
    Dare not I see the warrior in the woman?
    Structured to maintain order,
    yet inducing desire.
    I remember you from previous adventures.
    Eyes met, mouths speak,
    admiring the way we stand.

    Now, as then, I accede the authority in your essence.
    Of which vision do I seek to respond?
    I appreciate you raw and untamed;
    stained with a predators instincts.
    I savor you soft and sensuous,
    an untouched child of indigenous passion.
    I see the Goddess Diana, sitting at your feet.
    And Venus does well, to hide her envy.


    Sara’s Eyes
    © Neil Ray, 2001



    I ponder sensations given by eyes that speak of emotions.
    That satisfy inquiries, to clarify the sentiments we share.
    I accept your words as ornate waves of essential motions.
    Words beating like hearts make known the extent of care.

    Words to engage us, of which we can not compare
    With song, or dance, neither daily, or nightly devotions.
    They comfort my soul and release me free of fare.
    I ponder sensations given by eyes, that speak emotions.

    You beautiful, from a distance, stilled in quiet reflections.
    Your essence emanating it presence, is a brilliant flare.
    Which illuminates thoughts and deeds to flatter affections
    That satisfy inquiries, to clarify the sentiments we share.

    You stand before me, a treasure precious and rare.
    You release yourself, with generous conversations.
    I listen with submissive ear, and a sanguine stare.
    I accept your words as ornate waves of essential motions.

    Your eyes present the honesty of your observations.
    And I want to intone words that will hold you here.
    Words that yield peace to our ambulant admiration.
    Words beating like hearts make known the extent of care.

    Perhaps, at anther time or place, we would be quick to dare
    The courage in our truths and the depths of our temptations.
    But, our moment is swift, and will only allow us to bare
    A transient glance and a fleeting sigh to lay still our passions.

    Given by eyes that speak of emotions.


    [email protected]


    Click here for August 2001 Featured Poets page 2 --> link for second half of featured poets....



    Over the next month
    The Poet's Porch will take on a new look.
    This is to celebrate its birthday.


    Born August 22.1999 -

    link banner for Poets Porch



    VAL MAGNUSSON has updated her website:

    http://valmagnuson.com/

    Why not drop by soon...




    The 14th St. Y of the Educational Alliance
    The Center for Cultural and Performing Arts
    Wendy Sabin-Lasker, Director WhY Women Poetry Series,
    Veronica Golos, Artistic Coordinator for Literary Programs

    Presents:

    NEW FOR FALL: WRITING CLASSES
    From Fact to Fiction - Carol Dixon
    All In One Poetry Workshop - Kate Light
    Free the Artist Within - Jelayne Miles
    Writing a Life: Discovery of Soul and Surface - Patricia Smith
    News From Poems - Angelo Verga
    (Classes start mid October.
    For information please call 212-780-0800x255 and
    leave your name and address {s l o w l y} for further information).

    Some of the WhY Women Poetry Events in the Fall:
    Oct. 4 - OPENING DOORS with DH Melhem, Rashida Isameli, Veronica Golos and music.
    Nov. 8 - THE FEELING OF FLESH with Cortney Davis and Sondra Zeidenstein +music
    Dec. 6 - CEREMONIES OF LIGHT with Enid Dam & TBA
    Dec. 20 - SOMETHING UNDERSTOOD with Phillis Levin and others TBA, introducing her new anthology, The Penguin Book of the Sonnet, with music by Sarafina Martino.

    For more information about events in the fall, or to join the mailing list, write to:
    Victoria Golos [email protected]

    344 East 14th St.
    New York, NY 10003, USA

    Phone:
    212-780-0800 x255



    NEWS FROM

    The new poetry chapbook 'Filling the silence with a sigh'
    by Deborah Swain is now available from Comrades Press

    Full details at

    http://www.comrade.org.uk/press/index1.htm


    NEW POETRY SITE:

    POESIE'S LAISSEZ-FAIRE FAIRE FOIRE

    Poetry submissions welcome in both English and French.

    http://www.homestead.com/poesieslaissezfaire/index1.html


    VIRGINIA ADVERSARIA POETRY CONTEST: $200 in Prize Money!

    First place receives $125 and publication
    Second place receives $50 and publication
    Third place receives $25 and publication

    2 poems constitute one entry, though poems will be judged separately and entrants may elect to send only 1 poem. Poems must be 75 lines or less. Final judging will be conducted by Virginia Poet Laureate, Joseph Awad. Entry fee is a $10 check made out to Empire Publishing.

    All entrants receive two copies of Virginia Adversaria - a $10 value - including the Winter 2002 issue (containing the winning poems).

    To enter, send 1 or 2 unpublished poems, name, mailing address, and entry fee to:

    Virginia Adversaria Poetry Contest
    PO Box 2349
    Poquoson VA 23662
    All entries must be postmarked by September 3, 2001, received by September 10, 2001.


    NEW ANTHOLOGY - SUBMISSIONS WANTED
    For Kedco Artist Profile Press

    We pay in free copies of anthology + prizes for the best.
    Short story trophies + solid silver medallions to be won!

    Submissions of short stories and/or up to 10 poems wanted for new MILLENNIUM DAWN anthology, to be published both as a CD rom and a bound book.

    Email submissions to Elaine Davis at [email protected] before September 2001.


    THE PERILS OF NORRIS cartoon, #6 of new story.
    Spot Reginald The Rat and win a prize! There are classy Poetry Life & Times pens to be won, also CDs of my complete set of cartoons, including The Amulet and one about Alice Cooper. Just email me at [email protected] and say where he is in this month's cartoon.

    The Perils of Norris started in August 2000. To catch up on past episodes, click the links below and click your browser's Back button to return.

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    Click here for BACK ISSUES page


    Mail me on: [email protected] with any poems, letters or poetry news.
    Please get Featured Poets submissions in as early as possible each month.



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