..Book Release Party is today, Saturday, December 1 2007 at 11:00am, at the Delaware Co. Institute of Science, 11 Veterans Square, Media, PA 19063.
The new issue features work by RENEE ASHLEY, BARB CROOKER, DAVID KOZINSKI, MARIA FAMA, ANNA EVANS, RACHEL BUNTING, COURTNEY BAMBRICK, PAUL MARTIN, HARRY HUMES, LOUIS McKEE, CA CONRAD, FRANK SHERLOCK, and others, including:
WINNERS OF THE 2007 MAD POETS REVIEW COMPETITION:
KATE NORTHROP was the Judge for the 2007 Mad Poets Competition. In a field of 425 poems, Kate chose 12 to recognize. This year's winners are:
1ST PRIZE - KATE WILDING
2ND PRIZE - KIM GEK LIN SHORT
3RD PRIZE - BARBARA TORODE
4TH PRIZE - TAMMY PAOLINO
5TH PRIZE - MARGARET ROBINSON
6TH PRIZE - ASHRAF OSMAN (for Seasons)
7TH PRIZE - RICHARD S. BANK
8TH PRIZE - KATE WILDING
9TH PRIZE - CAMILLE NORVAISAS
10TH PRIZE - DIANE GUARNIERI
11TH PRIZE - MARGARET ROBINSON
12TH PRIZE - HANOCH GUY
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Patagonia Remota
For the next 10 days, this is where I'll be. No internet, no blogging; nothing but the land, the sky, and words...
Saturday, November 03, 2007
BENEFIT FOR ACTION AIDS
I would like to invite you to a benefit for Action AIDS at which I’ll be reading. Action AIDS is an invaluable Philadelphia resource for those living with HIV. They need our help to keep their doors open, and we've created a fantastic night of MUSIC, POETRY and PERFORMANCE for you!
NOVEMBER 13TH, 2007
STARTING AT 8PM
THE BALCONY
(UPSTAIRS AT THE TROCADERO)
1003 ARCH STREET
CHINATOWN, PHILADELPHIA
http://www.actionaids.org
BRING YOUR FRIENDS! We're asking a sliding scale of $5 to $20, but if you can afford more, PLEASE BE GENEROUS, this is an important night!
HOSTED BY AD Amarosi, CAConrad, and Betsy Andrews
THE EXTRAORDINARY TWO-HEADED DIVA MCs FOR THE NIGHT WILL BE
NEEDLES JONES
&
THE DIVINE MS. JIMMI
PERFORMERS INCLUDE:
THE FEVERFEW
THE ABSINTHE DRINKERS
MY INVISIBLE
GEMINI WOLF
ISH KLEIN
JASON ZUZGA
FRANK SHERLOCK
THEY ARE BIRDS
ASHRAF OSMAN
DOROTHEA LASKY
TARA MURTHA
MARALYN LOIS POLAK
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Loving Beirut
Finally, after more than 9 month hiatus, a new post on Dear Theo,:
http://dear-theo.blogspot.com/2007/09/loving-beirut.html
http://dear-theo.blogspot.com/2007/09/loving-beirut.html
Thursday, September 20, 2007
No Longer
Observe.
This is how it shall be
when you are
no longer.
Murmurs of the everyday
mumbled;
just another picture
with you
behind the frame.
Come close,
feel the warmth
of his cheek.
Close eyes, don’t inhale,
just a film of heat.
This is how it shall be
when you are
no longer.
Murmurs of the everyday
mumbled;
just another picture
with you
behind the frame.
Come close,
feel the warmth
of his cheek.
Close eyes, don’t inhale,
just a film of heat.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Nothing
Nothing is needed.
The realization came quietly,
as a bird sits on your shoulder,
its relief almost forgiving in its lightness.
The absolution of a world expecting nothing,
because it is not paying attention.
Nothing to live up to,
no rock to roll up the hill.
Only strolling, rock on leash,
casually rolling by your side,
sometimes gingerly,
sometimes mischievously.
But even if it were to dash free on its own,
it’s not like it’s anything to miss.
Nothing but the grass, the sunlight,
equally unreliable, equally uncaring,
and yet there.
Soon, when the grass gets hidden under a sheet of nothing,
and the sun is nowhere to be seen,
and you’ll be missing them more than they’ll ever miss you,
there’ll remain nothing—
nothing waiting,
nothing wanting,
only you smiling,
for no reason,
at nothing.
The realization came quietly,
as a bird sits on your shoulder,
its relief almost forgiving in its lightness.
The absolution of a world expecting nothing,
because it is not paying attention.
Nothing to live up to,
no rock to roll up the hill.
Only strolling, rock on leash,
casually rolling by your side,
sometimes gingerly,
sometimes mischievously.
But even if it were to dash free on its own,
it’s not like it’s anything to miss.
Nothing but the grass, the sunlight,
equally unreliable, equally uncaring,
and yet there.
Soon, when the grass gets hidden under a sheet of nothing,
and the sun is nowhere to be seen,
and you’ll be missing them more than they’ll ever miss you,
there’ll remain nothing—
nothing waiting,
nothing wanting,
only you smiling,
for no reason,
at nothing.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
A Day
Going through the day as if it’s endless;
looking—always looking—just beyond.
Blinders on, senses off,
trudging, oblivious to the sun.
And there it goes, somewhere else,
the same day, out of sight.
A thought crosses, reaching—
arms extended, fingers clasping
at the air.
If only an awareness of the littleness of it,
elsewhere:
a fridge opening, legs stretched over coffee table,
the door unlocking one more time.
The familiar hum of a TV almost muted,
head turning, a familiar face sighs,
a greeting grunted and a nod.
Listless and looking, out at the city,
from the backseat of another cab:
the underside of a bridge, mouths muted by the glass,
and then a cloud.
If thoughts could bind us, we’d be together then,
strewn across the day, on different faces of the earth.
But thoughts remain solitary, drifting
yet resonant;
and for now, again,
make do.
looking—always looking—just beyond.
Blinders on, senses off,
trudging, oblivious to the sun.
And there it goes, somewhere else,
the same day, out of sight.
A thought crosses, reaching—
arms extended, fingers clasping
at the air.
If only an awareness of the littleness of it,
elsewhere:
a fridge opening, legs stretched over coffee table,
the door unlocking one more time.
The familiar hum of a TV almost muted,
head turning, a familiar face sighs,
a greeting grunted and a nod.
Listless and looking, out at the city,
from the backseat of another cab:
the underside of a bridge, mouths muted by the glass,
and then a cloud.
If thoughts could bind us, we’d be together then,
strewn across the day, on different faces of the earth.
But thoughts remain solitary, drifting
yet resonant;
and for now, again,
make do.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Lesser Creatures
Splayed
before you,
pluck them, the stars,
one after the other
from me.
For such things of brilliance
do not belong
in a soul so dark.
We are lesser creatures,
you and I,
from those up there.
And yet this beast in me
will not make peace
with its lower self.
It beats
at the cages of my being,
tight and ragged,
and raging.
before you,
pluck them, the stars,
one after the other
from me.
For such things of brilliance
do not belong
in a soul so dark.
We are lesser creatures,
you and I,
from those up there.
And yet this beast in me
will not make peace
with its lower self.
It beats
at the cages of my being,
tight and ragged,
and raging.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Hypochondriac
He doesn’t know what ails him;
it will not rest until it has a name.
Or he forgets.
He thinks his knees are aching,
or his calves might be swollen.
He thinks he’s got a fever,
or a cough.
He’s tired of thinking.
It crosses his mind
that it might be his mind.
“But it doesn’t make it
any less real,” he says.
He thinks it might be the new job,
or the boredom;
a pill—any pill—would do.
He thinks he’s lucky,
and he’s sorry,
and he counts his blessings in one breath.
“I have you, and her, and her—
don’t make me cry!”
But it still doesn’t have a name.
Only sometimes it doesn’t need one.
it will not rest until it has a name.
Or he forgets.
He thinks his knees are aching,
or his calves might be swollen.
He thinks he’s got a fever,
or a cough.
He’s tired of thinking.
It crosses his mind
that it might be his mind.
“But it doesn’t make it
any less real,” he says.
He thinks it might be the new job,
or the boredom;
a pill—any pill—would do.
He thinks he’s lucky,
and he’s sorry,
and he counts his blessings in one breath.
“I have you, and her, and her—
don’t make me cry!”
But it still doesn’t have a name.
Only sometimes it doesn’t need one.
We Did
We would extend our arms from car windows,
palms open, fingers stretched,
hands flapping against the wind—
that was the sound of our happiness.
The sunshine, the air,
the world supine at our feet,
the smiles that would never end,
and Amália singing of honey and water,
our names under her breath.
Parked in the middle of a field,
the country was just waking up,
smelling the dawn on our skins.
We stood over a rock
by a lake forced into being,
leaning away from each other,
arms taught, hands clasped, eye unwavering—
we would have fallen had we let go.
And we did.
palms open, fingers stretched,
hands flapping against the wind—
that was the sound of our happiness.
The sunshine, the air,
the world supine at our feet,
the smiles that would never end,
and Amália singing of honey and water,
our names under her breath.
Parked in the middle of a field,
the country was just waking up,
smelling the dawn on our skins.
We stood over a rock
by a lake forced into being,
leaning away from each other,
arms taught, hands clasped, eye unwavering—
we would have fallen had we let go.
And we did.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
First Friday at Milkboy Coffee
Bring your poetry and come join us on Friday, July 6 for what my friend Alrene so aptly described as "love-in" for "the battle-scarred veterans of so many open mics"! It will be an open mic, including but not limited to poets from the Mad Poets Society, Friends of Poetry and PhillyPoetry. We're scheduled to begin at 7 pm, and the address is the new MilkBoy Coffee at 824 West Lancaster Ave in the Bryn Mawr Film Institute.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
i-Outlaw 2.6
My poem, Naked on the Inside, is now featured in the most recent episode of i-Outlaw, 2.6 featuring Annie Finch. Please give the episode a listen!
You can also enter a contest to win a free book of poetry; listen to i-Outlaw now and find out how...
http://i-outlaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/
i-outlaw-26-featuring-annie-finch.html
You can also enter a contest to win a free book of poetry; listen to i-Outlaw now and find out how...
http://i-outlaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/
i-outlaw-26-featuring-annie-finch.html
Monday, July 02, 2007
And the Carnival is Back in Town...
Well, it's not so much that the Carnival is back, as much as it is that I'm back to the Carnival. So, jump over to Billy the Blogging Poet's home-turf:
http://www.musecrafters.com/bloggingpoet/926/A+Bard+Birthday+Party.html
..wish him a Happy Birthday, and sample the sweet poetry offerings at the party!
http://www.musecrafters.com/bloggingpoet/926/A+Bard+Birthday+Party.html
..wish him a Happy Birthday, and sample the sweet poetry offerings at the party!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Cover Your Eyes
It wasn't for the lack of trying.
It was for the stillness in the night
when you called me your life.
But now, he sits there, oblivious,
my life,
and I wonder at your persistence,
as I wondered at the concept of evil—
some things even God falls for.
It is in this insistence of the everyday
that I most indulge your absence,
I let it fill me, like a rag soaks kerosene
right before it catches fire.
I still chew the ragged edges of my fingernails
hoping that in the dead skin
I can taste your insides again.
I have confiscated our words,
set them to oblivion,
that generations to come
would fall in their sweet trap.
I invented love in you.
I ignited you like an Indian widow,
bright flame dancing on supple skin.
And only when your float,
far adrift down the river,
burst the spleen of the night in color,
did I hear the wailing.
And it wasn’t yours;
one can hardly recognize
their voice in tatters.
Still scour those edges,
the banks I’ll never be.
I have tried to bury your eyes in the mud.
But they look up, beyond me,
as evil and docile as the day I buried them,
luring others with their stare.
Yes, I have learnt to forgive
ever since I saw my smile in the waters,
innocent and twisted,
and still covering your eyes.
It was for the stillness in the night
when you called me your life.
But now, he sits there, oblivious,
my life,
and I wonder at your persistence,
as I wondered at the concept of evil—
some things even God falls for.
It is in this insistence of the everyday
that I most indulge your absence,
I let it fill me, like a rag soaks kerosene
right before it catches fire.
I still chew the ragged edges of my fingernails
hoping that in the dead skin
I can taste your insides again.
I have confiscated our words,
set them to oblivion,
that generations to come
would fall in their sweet trap.
I invented love in you.
I ignited you like an Indian widow,
bright flame dancing on supple skin.
And only when your float,
far adrift down the river,
burst the spleen of the night in color,
did I hear the wailing.
And it wasn’t yours;
one can hardly recognize
their voice in tatters.
Still scour those edges,
the banks I’ll never be.
I have tried to bury your eyes in the mud.
But they look up, beyond me,
as evil and docile as the day I buried them,
luring others with their stare.
Yes, I have learnt to forgive
ever since I saw my smile in the waters,
innocent and twisted,
and still covering your eyes.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Monstering
“Daddy, help me!”
“They made her stir a burning pot of shit until she passed out.”
“They tied his arms behind his back and hung him from them.”
“You could hear the screams all the way down the hall, she said.”
“They even had the human pyramid as a screensaver in the detention office.”
“They made her stir a burning pot of shit until she passed out.”
“They tied his arms behind his back and hung him from them.”
“You could hear the screams all the way down the hall, she said.”
“They even had the human pyramid as a screensaver in the detention office.”
“And now to Mary Cantell with Shadow Traffic.
Mary, how’re the roads looking out there?”
“Ah, John, it’s a real nightmare on 76…”
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Love Eviscerated
When I killed you, I didn’t cry.
I just looked down, at your head
listless, your hair wiry, your eyes
glazed.
_____I just looked down
with a semblance of pity, or
perhaps regret.
_____It wasn’t everyday
that I got to love this much.
When I killed you, a lop-sided smirk
dawned on my face, a smile
that was almost tender.
I didn’t look back
to see if you’re done.
I just assumed the best,
which never happens.
And now I find you’re very well
and alive.
There are worse things in life,
I imagine.
But the nightmare never ends,
out of boredom.
You'll get it in the mail
someday,
and it will be old and stale
and delicately fragrant,
and mildly haunting.
Like a piece of the cross,
arcane, and blood-soaked,
and generally irrelevant.
Such is our story,
mostly myth.
I just looked down, at your head
listless, your hair wiry, your eyes
glazed.
_____I just looked down
with a semblance of pity, or
perhaps regret.
_____It wasn’t everyday
that I got to love this much.
When I killed you, a lop-sided smirk
dawned on my face, a smile
that was almost tender.
I didn’t look back
to see if you’re done.
I just assumed the best,
which never happens.
And now I find you’re very well
and alive.
There are worse things in life,
I imagine.
But the nightmare never ends,
out of boredom.
You'll get it in the mail
someday,
and it will be old and stale
and delicately fragrant,
and mildly haunting.
Like a piece of the cross,
arcane, and blood-soaked,
and generally irrelevant.
Such is our story,
mostly myth.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Pointless
Sometimes, just like that,
they land--
no purpose, no excuses,
not even a clearing of the throat.
They just settle, and insist on being written.
No point--except the blankness of the night.
No value--except the nagging of the void.
Nothing.
And they lodge--
like her words, like that word,
like stuffed animals in tree branches.
Everybody is Pocahontas but me--
I clean chimneys,
I wait on the corner, expecting the rain.
Like that, just like that,
just like the words you never said because he's too young.
Meaningless, yet insistent.
they land--
no purpose, no excuses,
not even a clearing of the throat.
They just settle, and insist on being written.
No point--except the blankness of the night.
No value--except the nagging of the void.
Nothing.
And they lodge--
like her words, like that word,
like stuffed animals in tree branches.
Everybody is Pocahontas but me--
I clean chimneys,
I wait on the corner, expecting the rain.
Like that, just like that,
just like the words you never said because he's too young.
Meaningless, yet insistent.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Poetry Corner @ Fairmount Arts Crawl
This Sunday, April 29 2007, I will be reading with a group of friends and fellow poets at the Poetry Corner, as part of the Fairmount Arts Crawl, a day of art and festivities in the Fairmount district. I hope you can join us for a fun-filled day of events!
Fairmount Arts Crawl: Poetry Corner
Ward Park, corner of 24th & Aspen Streets
(Rain Venue: London Grill Coffee Shop / 23rd & Fairmount)
Sunday, April 29 2007, from 2:00pm to 5:30pm
www.fairmountartscrawl.org
Fairmount Arts Crawl: Poetry Corner
Ward Park, corner of 24th & Aspen Streets
(Rain Venue: London Grill Coffee Shop / 23rd & Fairmount)
Sunday, April 29 2007, from 2:00pm to 5:30pm
www.fairmountartscrawl.org
2:00 - Nancy ParksProgram:
2:30 - Ashraf Osman
3:00 - Michele Belluomini
3:30 - Dan Maguire
4:00 - Arlene Bernstein – www.friendsofpoetry.com
4:30 - Joe Fanning (musician)
5:00 - Dr. Niama Williams – www.niamalesliewilliams.citymax.com
Saturday, April 21, 2007
And the Thinking Blogger Award goes to...
A couple of weeks ago, Tamie named me as one of the 5 lucky recipients of her Thinking Blogger Award. I felt especially honored by the fact that I was the only blogger on the list she didn't personally know. Thank you, again, Tamie!
So, it took me a while (by the time I came back to the luxury of my DSL connection in the US) to comply with the rules for the awarded, which are as follows:
- If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
- Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
- Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.
- something katy
I do have to start with Katy, certainly one of the best things to happen to me in the blogging world. Katy and I met through blogging, less than 2 years ago, strangers mutually admiring each others' work (though it certainly feels now like we've know each other for an eternity). We were so thrilled by our correspondence, musings about poetry and frequent digressions on life, that we decided to start a blog for it. And then, as we became better friends, it seemed we both started writing less. But every now and then I still do find on her blog(s) that post that reminds me why I was so enamored in the first place, and why I still am one of Katy's biggest fans! - mysterious eve
For all those who don't read Arabic, I am sorry--that you are missing on Eve's writing. She does have an English-language blog, but it is different in content and spirit from the Arabic one. And though there has been a few translations of some posts here and there, it still is a privilege and a pleasure to read Eve in Arabic. Very few people writing in Arabic these days compare--even the wit of the lighter posts is a pleasure! And though she, too, seems to have been struck by scarcity recently, her blog remains a trove of gorgeous insightful writing. - Passing for Normal...
The jack of all trades, Mirvat seems to write in every format and subject matter, all impressively well. From poetry to fiction and non-fiction, from incisive (and very well-informed) political commentary to insightful introspective musings and colorful narratives, Mirvat's blog is always a delight, if not a thoughtful challenge. And be sure to have her on your side when it comes to heated debates... Phew! - Silliman's Blog
Even though I highly doubt that Silliman would participate in this meme, this list of Thinking Bloggers couldn't possibly be complete without him. His blog remains by far the gold standard of blogging poetics, and often broader cultural issues. From his invaluable posts of links (perhaps the most efficient way to catch up on brainy reads around the web), to his expansive (and always impressively informed) reviews of books and events, I know of no other blog that even comes close in dedication and consistency of quality. And there is perhaps no better indicator of that than his loyal and passionate readership, as evidenced in the never-ending commentary section. - urban_memories [the unfinished polaroids]
No, I am not biased by the fact that our blogs share the same template, or that we share the same nationality and profession; but I must be at least a bit biased towards the sensibilities that are the cause/result of these commonalities: from the hyper-punctuation of his handle and blog title (that is as architectural as they come, in the contemporary sense of architecture that seems to concern itself with anything but building), to the fixation on memory and ephemerality. Still, _z.'s (see?) posts remain lucid and grounded, always enjoyable and on-the-pulse. But perhaps what I am most biased towards are his excellent comments, which are often more articulate and insightful than the posts he's commenting on.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
While I'm Gone
I'll be going to Lebanon soon for a couple of weeks, my first time since the war... I'm certainly looking forward to seeing my family again, but bracing myself for the worst, in terms of witnessing the destruction--or just the cleared lots and non-existent bridges. I don't think I'll be online much while there (not like I've been posting that often of late!). But while I'm gone, I invite you to visit the newly launched Mad Poets Blog. And I hope to come back refreshed and inspired, with some fresh words up my sleeve.
Take care,
Ashraf
Take care,
Ashraf
Monday, March 19, 2007
Queering Language - The Philly Launch Event
This coming Saturday I will be reading at the Philadelphia Launch Event for EOAGH: A Journal of the Arts, Issue 3: "Queering Language" in which I was featured. This online publication is free and includes the work of over 100 contributors as well as editors' statements on this project:
http://chax.org/eoagh/issue3/issuethree.html
For more information:
http://www.robinsbookstore.com/events/032407.html
http://chax.org/eoagh/issue3/issuethree.html
Saturday, March 24th, 6pm to 8pmI hope you can make it!
ROBIN'S BOOKSTORE
108 S. 13th St. Philadelphia
For more information:
http://www.robinsbookstore.com/events/032407.html
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Islamica
The Flight of the Swallow is now featured in the current issue of Islamica magazine, along with In Two Weeks, Ten years, and Seasons.
Many thanks to Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore for making that possible.
Many thanks to Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore for making that possible.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Fear
This is an old poem I wrote on a challenge for the (now-defunct) erotic poetry blog, Wet Poems. I never posted it here before, nor did I claim authorship for it on that blog. I guess I was always--appropriately enough for the title--somehow afraid to. Today I was looking for it on that blog only to realize that the entire blog is no longer. I also found out that there is an audio file on the web of the one time I read it in public (the web is good like that):http://www.writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/Queering-Language.html
So I though I might as well give it a home here...
So I though I might as well give it a home here...
Some days I try to catch up with my fantasies
and sleep with people I don't know.
Not sleep, really; we'd both be standing,
more hurried than a dream,
and we'd smell, too.
But for a few minutes
we'd get a glimpse of the lives we don't live,
lips we could have gotten used to tasting,
skin new to our own.
Turns out it felt so good
because there was blood in my semen.
It burned the next morning,
like fear--sparkling, brilliant and red.
Because we invite fear,
pressing groins against cold slab,
reaching for where it is shaved,
and very real,
knees on terrazzo,
gagging for the first time.
"Where?" he said,
"Here," I pointed with my face.
It smelled different,
another scent of bleach.
My skin absorbed in the dark--
taught, tingling, tender.
I carried the void within me,
clenching it like a preemie,
just another form of love.
Sometimes fear is when it happens.
Friday, February 09, 2007
"Queering Language" Poetry Anthology
. . . is out, and I'm in it! The kick-off event will be in New York at the Bowery Poetry Club this Saturday, and I will most probably be there. Here are the details:
Saturday, February 10th, 2007
8pm-10pm
@ The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (@ Bowery & Bleecker)
www.bowerypoetry.com
Admission $5.00 plus 2 drink minimum
There will also be an event for the anthology here in Philadelphia, more on that later.
This online publication includes the work of over 100 contributors as well as editors' statements on this project.
Saturday, February 10th, 2007
8pm-10pm
@ The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (@ Bowery & Bleecker)
www.bowerypoetry.com
Admission $5.00 plus 2 drink minimum
There will also be an event for the anthology here in Philadelphia, more on that later.
This online publication includes the work of over 100 contributors as well as editors' statements on this project.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Oh, l'amour!
Come join The Great Valentine Debate of 2007, Love: Bane or Boon?
Friday, February 2 2007
5:00pm - 8:00pm
At Milk Boy Coffee,
Lancaster & Cricket Avenues,
Ardmore, PA
610-645-5269
Arlene Bernstein, Mike Cohen, Steve Delia, and myself… plus Annabella Wood, Ray Duffy, & Joe Fanning providing the music!
Sponsored by Ardmore First Friday.
Friday, February 2 2007
5:00pm - 8:00pm
At Milk Boy Coffee,
Lancaster & Cricket Avenues,
Ardmore, PA
610-645-5269
Arlene Bernstein, Mike Cohen, Steve Delia, and myself… plus Annabella Wood, Ray Duffy, & Joe Fanning providing the music!
Sponsored by Ardmore First Friday.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Central Library Reading
Happy new year! May it be a good one for all!
I will be reading at the Central Library in Philadelphia next Monday, January 8 at 6:30 pm. The reading is part of the library's monthly Monday Poets series, and I have the pleasure to be reading with the sublime Autumn Konopka. If you're in the area and looking for something to do on a Monday night, please join us! The reading will be in the beautiful Skyline Room (on the 4th floor, I believe) and the address is 1901 Vine Street.
Hope you can make it!
Ashraf
Program:
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