Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Where the heart is...
I will be in Lebanon from March 8-23. Hopefully that'll inspire me to write some...
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Caramel
Caramel, a Lebanese movie about 5 women that work in a beauty salon, and Lebanon's official selection for the 2008 Oscars, will start playing in Philadelphia at the Ritz Theatres on Friday, February 1. Here is a preview:
And here are a Variety review and a Herald Tribune article on the movie.
And here are a Variety review and a Herald Tribune article on the movie.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
MAD POETS REVIEW (Volume 21)
..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
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
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.
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