May 10, 2008 2

The next meeting of the Wit and Wisdom Writers Club (Manchester Chapter of the Connecticut Poetry Society) will be on Saturday, May 10, 2008 from 1-4PM at the Mahoney Recreation Center, 114 Cedar St, Manchester. We will plan the June picnic meeting and (still) discuss relocation but perhaps with some new information. The assignment is to write a poem honoring, inspired by, dedicated to Ed Bartek of any other mentor who has influenced your poetry. Any form, any topic. By the time you receive this I will have posted my notes for the April meeting to http://cpsmanchester.blogspot.com.

Poetry is the special medium of spiritual crazy wisdom, the form of expression that comes closest to creating a bridge between words and what is wordless.

~ Wes "Scoop" Nisker ~

1. Minutes of Last Meeting

April 12, 2008

Wit & Wisdom Writers Club

Attended: 11

Emerson Gilmore chaired

April Dining was held at the Marco Polo Restaurant in East Hartford.

on April 12th at 1:00 pm. The luncheon was enjoyed by 11 members.

Phyllis Karlson and Peter who have long been absent attend.

It was our chance to honor Ed Bartek for all his years of service.

Emerson, Charlie and other members offered kind words on how Ed made

a difference. Emerson presented a plaque to Ed from the group. Our way of saying thank you.

Ed spoke of how Wit and Wisdom Writers group got started with Wally W. Winchell.

Members enjoyed the afternoon and read there poems while dining. It was fitting

seeing April is National Poetry Month.

The assignment was to write a food poem. Peter sang his food poem to the music of

"Now or Never". Joan Moran for the first time also sang her food poem. It was enjoyed

by all.

Business:

Relocation: Emerson said we will suspend the search for a new place to hold our meetings.

Until the May 10th meeting. It will be held at the Mahoney Bld. In Manchester.

June Picnic: It is yet to be decided where it will be held. Topic for discussion in May.

Assignment: Next Assignment is to write a poem influenced, dedicated or inspired by Ed Bartek.

Consciousness of you as a writer.

2. Treasurer's Report

3. WWWC Items

4. CPS Items

Remember: APRIL IS THE MONTH TO RENEW YOUR MEMBERSHIP IN THE CONNECTICUT POETRY SOCIETY!!!

Relocation: The MusicMakers Academy director Paula Penna has offered us space for our meetings. I have toured the site and find it ideal in most every way. I tentatively agreed to begin there in September.

Any discussion?

June picnic meeting:

Where?

List, etc.

Manchester Celebration of the Arts

What shall we do?

How shall we do it?

Is there a better way?

AL SAVARD MEMORIAL POETRY CONTEST

Open only to Connecticut poets.

Submit poems: March 1-June 15 (postmark)

Prizes of $150, $100, and $50.

Send up to 3 unpublished poems, any form, 40 line limit each. Include two copies of each poem: one with complete contact info and one with NO contact info. Both copies should be marked Savard Contest. Include SASE for results only (no poems will be returned). Winning poems must be submitted by disc or electronically following notification. Send fee of $10 for up to three poems; make check out to Connecticut Poetry Society. Prize winning poems will be published in Long River Run II.

Send submissions to Al Savard Poetry Contest, CPS, PO Box 270554, West Hartford, CT 06127.

BRODINE/BRODINSKY POETRY COMPETITION

Open to all poets.

Submit poems: May 1-July 31 (postmark)

Prizes of $150, $100, and $50.

Send up to 3 unpublished poems, any form, 40 line limit each. Include two copies of each poem: one with complete contact info and one with NO contact info. Both copies should be marked Brodine/Brodinsky. Include SASE for results only (no poems will be returned). Winning poems must be submitted by disc or electronically following notification. Send fee of $10 for up to three poems; make check out to Connecticut Poetry Society. Prize winning poems will be published in Connecticut River Review.

Send submissions to Brodine/Brodinsky Poetry Contest, CPS, PO Box 270554, West Hartford, CT 06127

5. News Item

‘Love & Death & Love’ His first book of poetry at age 90

BY JESSICA LYONS

Wednesday, May 7, 2008 1:24 PM EDT

At 90 years of age, Flushing House resident Leon Zuckrow has published his first book of poetry, "Love & Death & Love," which is comprised of works that were written following the death of his first wife.

Previously, Zuckrow, who was born in Philadelphia, wrote occasional poetry, for events such as birthdays. He said that although he knew the mechanics of it, he "didn’t have any great need for it."

When his wife passed away 45 years ago, Zuckrow began writing poetry as a way to deal with his wife’s death. However, he was doing it only for himself and not for anyone else.

Zuckrow’s daughter and a couple other people had pushed him to publish his work. He finally decided to do so about a year ago. It came out shortly before he turned 90.

"Love & Death & Love" features 95 of Zuckrow’s poems, although he said he has written many more than that. The poems take one through the stages that he went through when his wife passed away. He said first there was a period of grief and desolation, followed by a period of understanding. Finally, there was a feeling of elation that he had had love.

"They’ll understand what loves means (and) that death intervenes," Zuckrow said. "It does not prevent or stop it. Love continues."

Zuckrow, who also recently recorded the poems from the book onto CD, has four grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, many of whom never knew his first wife.

"This is a way for them to know what our life was like and what our love was like," he said.

Although Zuckrow said it is "just a book," it has also said that it also means something special to him personally.

"For me, this is like having my wife back again," Zuckrow said.

Zuckrow moved to Flushing House seven years ago after his second wife passed away and his daughter already knew someone who was living there. He is a member of the Flushing House Drama Group, which reads acts of plays almost every Saturday afternoon.

Along with his writing, Zuckrow also does non-conformist artwork, including sculptures. He said that he has been doing art longer than he has been writing poetry, and said that he works mostly with found materials.

A graduate of Columbia University, Zuckrow has formerly worked as a teacher and worked in private industry and for the federal government.

Zuckrow will be giving a reading at Flushing House in the near future and is available for public readings and book signings. For more information, contact Robert Salant at 347-532-3025 or rsalant@uam.org.

Published by iUniverse, Zuckrow’s poetry book "Love & Death & Love" can be purchased through Barnes and Noble’s website, www.bn.com.

Expected-the despair, the sigh and tears and moans because she has gone where body is stripped to bones. Yet?-silliness? laughter? frivolity? and mirth?-

so scandalous after that consignment to earth!

But she decrees it! Then, when I come from above

we are masters again of joy as well as love.

In revelry, not grief, she and I will resume,

robbing time, that old thief, as a new bride and groom.

6. Education

In looking for something educational for the meeting I came across the following test which features real poems and parodies of poems. Which is which?

To take the test and get the answers online go to http://reverent.org/poetry_or_parody.html


Poetry, or parody?

by Mikhail Simkin

Some of these verses are masterpieces, created by the great modernist poets of the early 20th century, Ezra Pound and Amy Lowell. Ezra Pound was the founder of the Imagist poetic movement, while Amy Lowell was the "fair Trotsky of the Imagist revolution." The other verses are parodies, written by two poets, Witter Bynner and Arthur Davison Ficke, to mock the modernists. They used fake names, Emanuel Morgan and Anne Knish, to found the Spectric School of Poetry, which was meant as a spoof. Many advanced poets and critics were completely taken in by this Spectric hoax. And what about you? Can you tell true modernistic poems from ridiculous parodies? Take this quiz to find out.

After each verse choose what it is. Hit the Submit button when done. The quiz will be graded and you will see the correct answers.

I have not written, reader,

That you may read...

They sit in rows in the bare school-room

Reading.

Throwing rocks at windows is better,

And oh the tortoise-shell cat with the can fled on!

I would rather be a can-tier

Than a writer for readers.

I have written, reader,

For abstruse reasons.

Gold in the mine...

Black water seeping into tunnels

A plank breaks, and the roof falls...

Three men suffocated.

The wife of one now works in a laundry;

The wife of another has married a fat man;

I forget about the third.

1. Poetry Parody

Reiteration !...

The seconds bob by,

So many, so many,

Each ugly in its own way

As raw meats are all ugly.

Why do we feed on the dead?

Or would at least it were with cries and lust

Of slaying our human food

Beneath a cannibal sun!

But these old corpses of alien creatures!...

I loathe them!

And too many heads go by the window,

All alien-

Filers of saws, doubtless,

Or lechers

Or Sabbath-keepers.

Morality comes from God.

He was busy.

He forgot to make beauty.

Why does he not call back into their hen-house

This ugly straggling flock of seconds

That trail by

With pin-feathers showing?

2. Poetry Parody

Skeptical cat,

Calm your eyes, and come to me.

For long ago, in some palmed forest,

I too felt claws curling

Within my fingers...

Moons wax and wane;

My eyes, too, once narrowed and widened...

Why do you shrink back?

Come to me: let me pat you -

Come, vast-eyed one...

Or I will spring upon you

And with steel-hook fingers

Tear you limb from limb....

There were twins in my cradle....

3. Poetry Parody

The gentleman with the grey-and-black whiskers

Sneered languidly over his quail.

Then my heart flew up and laboured,

And I burst from my own holding

And hurled myself forward.

With straight blows I beat upon him,

Furiously, with red-hot anger, I thrust against him.

But my weapon slithered over his polished surface,

And I recoiled upon myself,

Panting.

4. Poetry Parody

They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia,

Opulent, flaunting.

Round gold

Flung out of a pale green stalk.

Round, ripe gold

Of maturity,

Meticulously frilled and flaming,

A fire-ball of proclamation:

Fecundity decked in staring yellow

For all the world to see.

They brought a quilled, yellow dahlia,

To me who am barren

Shall I send it to you,

You who have taken with you

All I once possessed?

5. Poetry Parody

Red slippers in a shop-window, and outside in the street, flaws of grey, windy sleet!

Behind the polished glass, the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceiling like stalactites of blood, flooding the eyes of passers-by with dripping colour, jamming their crimson reflections against the windows of cabs and tram-cars, screaming their claret and salmon into the teeth of the sleet, plopping their little round maroon lights upon the tops of umbrellas.

The row of white, sparkling shop fronts is gashed and bleeding, it bleeds red slippers. They spout under the electric light, fluid and fluctuating, a hot rain -- and freeze again to red slippers, myriadly multiplied in the mirror side of the window.

They balance upon arched insteps like springing bridges of crimson lacquer; they swing up over curved heels like whirling tanagers sucked in a wind-pocket; they flatten out, heelless, like July ponds, flared and burnished by red rockets.

Snap, snap, they are cracker-sparks of scarlet in the white, monotonous block of shops.

They plunge the clangour of billions of vermilion trumpets into the crowd outside, and echo in faint rose over the pavement.

People hurry by, for these are only shoes, and in a window, farther down, is a big lotus bud of cardboard whose petals open every few minutes and reveal a wax doll, with staring bead eyes and flaxen hair, lolling awkwardly in its flower chair.

One has often seen shoes, but whoever saw a cardboard lotus bud before?

The flaws of grey, windy sleet beat on the shop-window where there are only red slippers.

6. Poetry Parody

Two cocktails round a smile,

A grapefruit after grace,

Flowers in an aisle

...Were your face.

A strap in a street-car,

A sea-fan on the sand,

A beer on a bar

...Were your hand.

The pillar of a porch,

The tapering of an egg,

The pine of a torch

...Were your leg,

Sun on the Hellespont,

White swimmers in the bowl

Of the baptismal font

Are your soul.

7. Poetry Parody

Beyond her lips in the dark are a man's feet

Composed and dead...

In the light between her lips is a moving tongue-tip sweet,

Red.

Her arms are his white robes,

They cover a king,

His ornaments her crescent lobes

And two moons on a string.

Sheba, Sheba, Proserpina, Salome,

See, I am come!- king, god, saint!-

With the stone of a volcano O show that you know me,

Pound till the true blood pricks through the paint!

Twitch of the dead man's feet if he remembers

A bunch of grapes and a ripped-open gown.

And the live man's eyes are night after embers,

Two black spots on a white-faced down...

And in the dawn, lava ... rolling down...

Downrolling lava on an up-pointing town.

8. Poetry Parody

Poet, a wreath!-

No matter how we had combined our flowers,

You would have worn them - being ours....

On you, on them, the showers -

O roots beneath!

9. Poetry Parody

Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth,

Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.

10. Poetry Parody

See, they return; ah, see the tentative

Movements, and the slow feet,

The trouble in the pace and the uncertain

Wavering!

See, they return, one by one,

With fear, as half-awakened;

As if the snow should hesitate

And murmur in the wind,

and half turn back;

These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe,"

Inviolable.

Gods of the Winged shoe!

With them the silver hounds,

sniffing the trace of air!

Haie! Haie!

These were the swift to harry;

These the keen-scented;

These were the souls of blood.

Slow on the leash,

pallid the leash-men!

11. Poetry Parody

Goddess of the murmuring courts,

Nicotine, my Nicotine,

Houri of the mystic sports,

trailing-robed in gabardine,

Gliding where the breath hath glided,

Hidden sylph of filmy veils,

Truth behind the dream is veiled

E'en as thou art, smiling ever, ever gliding,

Wraith of wraiths, dim lights dividing

Purple, grey, and shadow green

Goddess, Dream-grace, Nicotine.

Goddess of the shadow's lights,

Nicotine, my Nicotine,

Some would set old Earth to rights,

Thou I none such ween.

Veils of shade our dream dividing,

Houris dancing, intergliding,

Wraith of wraiths and dream of faces,

Silent guardian of the old unhallowed places,

Utter symbol of all old sweet druidings,

Mem'ry of witched wold and green,

Nicotine, my Nicotine:

Neath the shadows of thy weaving

Dreams that need no undeceiving,

Loves that longer hold me not,

Dreams I dream not any more,

Fragrance of old sweet forgotten places,

Smiles of dream-lit, flit-by faces

All as perfume Arab-sweet

Deck the high road to thy feet

As were Godiva's coming fated

And all the April's blush belated

Were lain before her, carpeting

The stones of Coventry with spring,

So thou my mist-enwreathed queen,

Nicotine, white Nicotine,

Riding engloried in they hair

Mak'st by-road of our dreams

Thy thorough-fare.

12. Poetry Parody

7. Next Assignment

Write a poem about going home, finding a place, returning home, being home, etc.

0 comments: