Archive for ‘Poetry’

May 21st, 2013

Farewell, Ray Manzarek

by PaulM

Ray Manzarek, one of the giants of 1960s rock and roll, died yesterday at the age of 74. The co-founder of The Doors performed in Lowell once with The Doors, at the Commodore Ballroom in 1967, and twice with poet Michael McClure at the Smith Baker Center for the annual Kerouac literary festival. The Smith Baker Center is a former Congregational Church, a large brick edifice across the street from Lowell City Hall. Now closed and in disrepair, for a long time the Smith Baker Center was used for performances and community gatherings.

I had the privilege of giving Manzarek and McClure a private tour of the Jack Kerouac Commemorative the day before it was officially dedicated on a Saturday in late June 1988. I was accompanied by Rosemary Noon and possibly Brian Foye, then-president of the local Kerouac organization now called Lowell Celebrates Kerouac! Brian’s group had invited McClure and Manzarek, who had begun performing as a spoken word and music duo, to be part of a massive poetry reading set for the night before the dedication of the Commemorative.

Manzarek and McClure were awestruck by the sculptural tribute to Kerouac, all those words sandblasted into the polished reddish brown granite. Not the kind of words that are usually incised in stone. Not the words of a president or a general or a saint. The words of a writer who pushed the boundaries of prose-writing. Words of a poet from Lowell who wrote poems that looked like poetry, but who also told his friends that he wrote poetry in paragraphs or whole pages. Michael McClure at one point stepped back from one of the triangular granite pillars and said, “This is subversive.”

I was 13 years old when I first heard “Light My Fire” by The Doors on the radio. It was the summer of 1967, and my father had taken a job at the Cal Wool Co-op in Stockton, California. My mother, brother David, and I had joined him out there—we had moved from Dracut in the Merrimack Valley to the San Joaquin Valley, the Great Central Valley. We lived in a modern apartment complex built in a U-shape with an outdoor pool and paved plaza in the center. Day and night for weeks, transistor radios around the pool played “Light My Fire” with the volume cranked up. It was the Summer of Love in San Francisco, 60 miles away, but I was just a kid and didn’t have much of a clue about what was going on in Haight-Ashbury. I liked the music, but I was more interested in what the Red Sox were doing 3,000 miles away in their Impossible Dream season.  Here’s a YouTube version of the song.

The night before the dedication ceremony, Manzarek and McClure performed for an audience of more than 1,000 people in the Smith Baker Center. Also on stage that night were Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Gregory Corso, John Weiners, and a few others, including a couple of writers from the community. McClure later described the event as the most important poetry reading in America that year, 1988. He wrote about his visit to Lowell in “California” magazine when he returned to his home near San Francisco. Manzarek and McClure came back to Lowell a few years later to play again at the Smith Baker Center for LCK! Below is a publicity photo of them at the time.

 Ray Manzarek and Michael McClure

May 16th, 2013

Poet Gary Snyder Turns 83

by PaulM

Gary Snyder portrait (web photo courtesy of seapoetry.wordpress)

One of my early poetry heroes was Gary Snyder, who turned 83 this month. Not only was I drawn to Snyder’s concise and precise back-country poems of the 1960s and ’70s, but I was also in tune to his thoughts about repairing nature where it was torn by humans and building tight-knit communities of open-minded people. He had a way of connecting democracy and poetry in the best sense. My friend John Suiter is writing a biography of Snyder, a follow up to John’s book “Poets on the Peaks,” about the fire-lookout days of Snyder and his writer-friends Philip Whalen and Jack Kerouac in the American Northwest. Snyder is the model for the character Japhy Ryder in Kerouac’s popular novel “The Dharma Bums” (1958), which became a kind of user’s manual for hippies in the 1960s. John and I had a long conversation the other night from his base camp in Chicago. Afterwards, I was reminded of this sketch I wrote in 1990 when Snyder made a stop at Harvard University to read his poems. This would have been a blog post if blogging had been the thing back then.—PM

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Poetry Reading by Gary Sndyer at Boylston Hall, Harvard University

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Rain-whipped night outside nondescript auditorium — school hall plain to hold wild ideas, maybe. Slow-gathering crowd reaches some 100: student-looking, Cantabrigian, academic scruff, a few small kids, casual country-style dressers shaking off the wet. Someone tells me Snyder asked to make an appearance, saying “He used to be a hanger-on here years ago,” but I can’t make sense of that since he’s a Westie. This fall he’s teaching a quick course just south at Trinity College. Grolier Bookshop and poetry chapel has a book table out back. Microphone test next, and then a video-disc player is wheeled in. Huge man in plaid shirt overfills a front seat. Two croissant-eating youngsters with blonde mom reading a college paper take seats to my right. Young woman behind describes a film about the Berlin Wall. Many Snyderish-looking men with beards, ponytails, work-clothes. Woman reading Ovid. Someone with stack of books must be expecting GS to sign. A few veteran professors in the youngish crowd. Coats bejewelled with rain-dots. A host of earth-colored sweaters. Cups of yogurt and steamy coffee. Umbrellas and ponchos get shaken. Two black wooden chairs at a fold-up table on stage. Tech director in booth drinks from a quart of juice. This event celebrates publication of essay collection, The Practice of the Wild, and re-issue of Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems by North Point Press of San Francisco, lovely, flinty old poems that made such a difference so long ago. He starts reading “Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout,” — ends “Looking down for miles/Through high still air.” Then tells on himself: “There’s something not true in this poem — ‘I cannot remember things I once read’” — admits, “I could remember Chinese poems. Maybe the truth is I can’t forget anything I’ve ever read.”  Then comes “Piute Creek” with “All the junk that goes with being human” — “I was working for the National Park Service at the time,” he explains.  He then picks up the essays, ten years of work.  “How do we resolve the dichotomy of civilization and the wild?,” he wonders. “What we call wild is very orderly.” He reads calmly, with witty intonations. Happy audience quick to chuckle. “ ‘We have made a lot of this place, but the fishing is no good anymore,’ says a car dealer out west,”  he reports. On stage Gary is a small-framed man with gray-brown hair and a short gray beard, wearing blue cotton shirt open at the neck and a charcoal-gray sport coat. He says, “Very bold people from the ‘60’s are still in play. Everybody’s heart was in the right place.”  To the guaranteed-to-be-asked question about Jack Kerouac, he replies, “Part of his problem was alcohol … He looked to the past but was not necessarily reactionary. He was charming in his way.” And on being a model for Japhy Ryder, he reminds us: The Dharma Bums is a novel. “I like The Subterraneans better than The Dharma Bums, and Doctor Sax is my favorite Kerouac novel.” He recalls climbing the Sierra Matterhorn again — “Range after range of mountains/Year after year,/I am still in love.”  “Why do you write?”, he’s asked. “It helps me organize my own thoughts. It’s a way to participate in your community. I never thought of writing as a solitary activity. I always considered it a dialogue.” To another questioner he responds, “You have to be a working class person to read a lot.” He talks about community work, political work, cultural work. He says his plan for the next seven years is to finish many writing projects. “Everyone is busy,” he says. “Why?  They’re trying to keep up with things.”  And near the end says lightheartedly, “My daily life is like everyone else’s.”

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—Paul Marion, November 10, 1990 (c) 1990, revised 2007

April 17th, 2013

Lowell Mill Girl ~ Lucy Larcom poet, writer died on April 17, 1893

by Marie

MassMoments reminds us that writer Lucy Larcom – one of Lowell’s iconic Mill Girls in her youth, died on this day April 17, 1893.  In her autobiography A New England Girlhood, Lucy Larcom wrote: “From the beginning Lowell had a high reputation for good order, morality, piety, and all that was dear to the old-fashioned New Englander’s heart.”  Larcom  not only tells her story but the story of Lowell – of those who funded, founded, built and worked the factories – the story of the “Lowell experiment.”

On This Day...

      …in 1893, Lucy Larcom died. A popular poet during her lifetime, she would be forgotten today except for a work of prose that she wrote in 1889. Her autobiography, A New England Girlhood, tells the story of her early childhood in the coastal village of Beverly and her move to Lowell, the mill town on the Merrimack River, where she lived and worked for more than a decade. She was a regular contributor to the Lowell Offering. The magazine was published by a group of “mill girls,” as the young women who made up the great majority of workers in Massachusetts textile factories were called. Larcom’s reputation as a poet soon faded, but A New England Girlhood remains an American classic.
Learn more here at MassMoments.org:  http://www.massmoments.org/moment.cfm?mid=116
The view of Lucy Larcom in A New England Girlhood:
We  might all place ourselves in one of two ranks the women who do something, and the women who do nothing; the first being of course the only creditable place to  occupy.”
April 7th, 2013

Gloucester Writers Center Reading

by PaulM

Ryan Gallagher, Chuck Levenstein, and I had a good afternoon in Gloucester reading poems for about 20 people at the Gloucester Writers Center, which is a small house on East Main Street that was once the home of poet Vincent Ferrini, longtime poet laureate of Gloucester and a disciple of Charles Olson’s.

I’m always impressed by people who can say their poems by heart, and Ryan reeled off several when he got up to present. He even sang a song and turned an old Keats piece into a semi-rap. Later, he read three of his translations of poems by Catullus, brought over into English from the original Latin dating from about 500 B.C. An English teacher at Malden High, Ryan mentioned that his school is all in for the Poetry Out Loud project, a national poetry recitation project that now rivals the national spelling bee. All 2,000 students at Malden memorize poems for the program. Ryan is also co-founder of Bootstrap Press of Lowell, publisher of “Young Angel Midnight,” the award-winning anthology of writing, visual art, and music by younger artists of Lowell.

Chuck Levenstein is a poet and scholar, some of whose poetry falls into the “social practice” zone of creative work that we are beginning to hear more about. His segment of the reading began with a short video made by our host, filmmaker Henry Ferrini, combining one of Chuck’s compositions with black-and-white images made by documentary photographer Earl Dotter—pictures of people suffering from job-related illnesses, like black lung. Chuck is an economist and public health specialist who for many years taught and researched at UMass Lowell. He also read some humorous poems about retirement, one about having a big office and not wanting to be remembered only for that temporary possession. He also read a few pieces from a recent special issue of The Bridge Review: Merrimack Valley Culture, assembled in commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the Bread and Roses Strike in Lawrence, Mass. Chuck and UMass Lowell history professor Bob Forrant co-edited the issue, which can be seen online here.

For my part, I read selections from my compilation of Lowell writings, “What Is the City?”, and a few other pieces. I opened with a tribute to Charles Olson, reading part of Letter 3 of “Maximus, to Gloucester” from his masterwork called “The Maximus Poems.”

 

March 30th, 2013

from ‘Easter’ by Galway Kinnell

by PaulM

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Easter

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To get to church you have to cross the river,

First breadwinner for the town, its wide

Mud-colored currents cleansing forever

The swill-making villages at its side.

The disinfected voice of the minister

For a moment is one of the clues,

But he is talking of nothing but Easter,

Dying so on the wood, He rose.

Some of us daydream of the morning news,

Some of us lament we rose at all,

A child beside me comforts her doll,

We are dying on the hard wood of the pews.

Death is everywhere, in the extensive

Sermon, the outcry of the inaudible

Prayer, the nickels, the dimes the poor give,

And outside, at last, in the gusts of April.

Upon the river, its Walden calm,

With wire hooks the little boats are fishing.

Those who can wait to get home

Line up, lean on the railing, wishing.

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—Galway Kinnell, from “The Avenue Bearing the Initial of Christ into the New World: Poems 1953 – 1964″

February 28th, 2013

‘Church of the Immaculate Conception’ by Tom Sexton

by PaulM

Church of the Immaculate Conception

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Because the massive side door is slightly

ajar at 6 a.m., I decide to pay a visit,

to inhabit my past. Inside it could be night.

Old women kneeling. Perfume thick as mist.

To my surprise the man with the purple-red

stain on half his face, a birthmark or a wound

from his war, is still sitting alone at the end

of a pew, a man who disappeared as soon

as Mass was over, barely pausing to bend

one knee, his close-cropped hair now snow.

Penance is the only coin that’s never spent.

He could be only a shadow or even a ghost.

I genuflect. Touch the pew. Turn around to go.

Unclench my fist. Drop a few coins in the box.

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—Tom Sexton (c) 2012, from Bridge Street at Dusk

Tom’s book may be ordered at www.loompress.com

web photo courtesy of jenandtommy.com

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February 19th, 2013

Writers & Publishers Roundup: Saturday @ the Old Court

by PaulM

The 2nd Annual Lowell Writers and Publishers Winter Roundup is set for this Saturday, Feb. 23, 12.30 to 4 pm, upstairs at the Old Court Irish pub, Central and Middle streets in downtown Lowell. See who is behind the books and pick up the newest publications by area authors. Among the publishers attending will be Bootstrap Press, the Lowell Historical Society, Jack Neary Books, Sons of Liberty Publishing, Baywood Publishing, Flying Orb Productions, Arcadia books, COOL, and Loom Press—and more. Authors attending include Judith Dickerman-Nelson, Steve O’Connor, Lloyd Corricelli, Dave Daniel, Matt Miller, Kate Hanson Foster, Chath PierSath, Jay Atkinson, and Kassie Dickinson Rubico—and others.

February 17th, 2013

‘Checking the Property’ — for Presidents’ Day

by PaulM

Here’s a hat tip to the climate-change demonstrators in Washington, D.C., who are speaking on behalf of the planet this holiday weekend. Lowelltown is as white tonight as the monuments in the capital city. I wrote this poem after a family trip to Washington in the summer of 2004. There were John Kerry-for-President signs in the windows. GOP posters for “W,” too. Barack Obama was a figure on the horizon. — PM

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Checking the Property

My nine-year-old son says, “I’m going to read the ‘Gettysburg Address’”—on the other side is the lesser-known second inaugural speech. What’s the Lincoln shorthand? Freed the slaves; saved the union. People crowd the marble steps at dusk. A sign asks for silence. When he sees my wife lining up a snapshot, a guy in a straw cowboy hat offers to take a picture of my brother’s family, my wife, son, and me in the glow of the civic temple. Climbing the steps, I caught sight of the figure set behind the columns, and then lost him because of the steep ascent, only to come upon the sculpture again near the top, where visitors gaze at the huge seated president, whose massive square-toed boot juts out, looking as if it could kick Jeff Davis’ football the length of the Reflecting Pool and onto the white spike of the Washington Monument, which, in the after-supper hour, reflects sun along its narrow western face, a mighty glo-stik on the national common, a staunch obelisk, a big white numeral standing for the first president, who set the constitutional republic in motion, the stone blocks a different shade on the top half, marking a stop in work and resumption, the monument telling its own story, one in which protesters rolled cut stones into the drink, foreshadowing later protests and rallies and comings together, like the 1963 March on Washington that brought Martin Luther King to these same steps to declare his dream of a nation at last free for all, the same steps where Joan Baez and Bob Dylan sang for justice and where Dylan returned to sing for Bill Clinton’s booming inaugural, the same steps from which movie-land Vietnam vet Forrest Gump spoke, and from which he spotted his life-long love and source of ache splashing toward him, the same pool in which the spaceship crashed in the Planet of the Apes remake, this electric stretch of public land without timber or copper, a wide open space in which to make a verb of America—to recall and celebrate and to do democratic research and development in this red clay-lined lab, bordered and crowded with evidence of the ongoing experiment, and bearing key formulas and equations inscribed in stone.

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—Paul Marion (c) 2004

 

February 8th, 2013

Schedule for Writing Stuff

by PaulM

The Lowell Poets reading at the Gloucester Writers Center has been rescheduled for Saturday, April 6, at 1 pm, in the fishing hub of the North Shore.

Also, with Winterfest pushed ahead to Saturday, Feb. 23, that means the 2nd Annual Lowell Writers and Publishers Winter Roundup at the Old Court Irish pub will be happening in the middle of all the festivities downtown. I hope some young authors sign up for the Human Dogsled Race. The Writers Roundup is 12.30 to 4 pm, upstairs at the Old Court.

February 3rd, 2013

Writers Roundup at the Old Court, Feb. 23

by PaulM

The 2nd Annual Lowell Writers and Publishers Winter Roundup is set for Saturday, February 23, 12.30 to 4.00 pm, upstairs at the Old Court Irish pub at Central and Middle streets in downtown Lowell.

Publishers and writers attending include playwright Jack Neary, poet and memoir-writer Judith Dickerman-Nelson, Sweeney-and-Seawell creator Dave Robinson, John Wooding of UMass Lowell and COOL (with his new Vanderbilt Univ. Press book about higher education co-written with Kristin Esterberg, as well as books from Baywood Publishing), Ryan Gallagher and Bootstrap Press, poet and writer Chath PierSath, our own Dick Howe Jr (whose book on Lowell Legends is due in March) Lloyd Corricelli and Sons of Liberty Publishing, Steve O’Connor of two-book fame, Julia Gavin of the Artists League of Lowell, fiction and essay writer Kassie Dickinson-Rubico, Matt Miller (whose prize-winning second book of poems, “Club Icarus,” is now available), and my Loom Press with books by the above-mentioned Judith, Dave, and Matt, as well as Tom Sexton’s new book of Lowell poems and titles by Al Bouchard, Bob Forrant & Christof Strobel, Kate Hanson Foster, Paul Hudon, and other authors with ties to the city and region—with more signing up every day.

2012 Writers and Publisher Roundup at the Old Court [Photograph by Joe Marion]