Paul Marshall at Chuckanut Sandstone Open Mic

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What a thrill to hold this book in my hands!
I first met Paul Marshall at Everett Community College 25 years ago, and we’ve been writing together since we put together a teaching lab around writing in 2009. This past March, he decided to dedicate some time to assembling a book of poems, and he asked me to help. To quote from the back cover:

The poems in Stealing Foundation Stones share the journey of a blue collar, small town, hot-rod loving kid who grew up to go to Vietnam, returned home to the radical turmoil of the 70s, became a psychology professor and an award-winning community college educator, then, after a major loss, rebuilt his life, remarrying and morphing (yet again) into a ukulele-playing grandpa and woodworker and writer. It is a trip you don’t want to miss.

I hardly know what to excerpt here, as I love all these poems. They’re familiar to me as old friends and as welcoming.

Zen Handyman

Cursing saw torn flesh
dripping red blood mars heartwood
my grandfather’s laugh

In these poems, cars rev their engines and bears growl. Blackbirds hoard trinkets the way the poet hoards memories while he lets go of detritus, including old books that (like the bears) growl back: “Their cat haired, dust bunnied pages / fall open as they gasp out their reason to be saved. // I’m a first edition. / I’m an autographed copy.” (“Don’t Leave It for the Children”)

After retiring from the college, Paul and his wife moved to Whidbey Island, and one of his pursuits is to walk the shoreline. This quiet poem makes me feel I’m walking with him:

Post Card Poem to a Friend

Coho and Chinook woke me from a sound sleep last night.
They are returning to the inland sea of our home.
As ever, they sing their spirit songs in time with muscular
undulations in the deep currents of Admiralty Inlet.
Listen. Can you hear them?
Their low murmuring call
imbedded in these post card fibers.

Paul’s book is  available at Amazon. com.  He will be the featured reader this evening, Wednesday, August 12, at Chuckanut Sandstone Open Mic. Here’s the invitation from Carla Shafer, who tells me there is still time for readers to join the open mic. Contact her at chuckanutsandstone@gmail.com . The reading begins at 7 PM (but opens at 6:30-ish) and ends about 8:45-ish. Some hang around and socialize for awhile.
INVITATION & ZOOM LINK:
You are invited to a Zoom meeting. 
When: Aug 12, 2020, 06:30 PM Pacific Time (US and Canada) 
 
Register in advance for this meeting:
 
After registering, you will receive a confirmation email containing information about joining the meeting.
 
It would be lovely to meet you there. Bethany

Poetry Zooming Today: Gary Copeland Lilley and Jourdan Imani Keith

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Jourdan Imani Keith

Yesterday’s email brought this announcement from Kate Reavey:

Peninsula College invites you to participate in the next offering of Conversations Toward a Culture of Justice on August 6, from 4:00 – 6:00 pm, via Zoom.

Peninsula College’s summer conversation series was inspired by Nitasha Lewis, Upward Bound Manager and Peninsula College student, who worked with Dr. Helen Lovejoy and Dr. Kate Reavey to create this safe space for dialogue and discussion. The co-facilitators see this as a valuable educational framework we can offer to students and to the larger communities we serve.  

This spring The Peninsula College Board of Trustees adopted a resolution, urging the college community to take “actions that seek to dismantle systemic inequality and bias [and] confront hate and violence.’ These conversations are a step toward this important and necessary work.
We are delighted to welcome poets Gary Copeland Lilley and Jourdan Imani Keith, who will begin with a poetry reading. 
 
The City of Seattle’s 2019 -2021 Civic Poet, Jourdan Imani Keith is a storyteller, essayist, playwright, naturalist and activist. She is the author of the anthem Let Seattle Be and a student of Sonia Sanchez. Her TEDx Talk, “Your Body of Water,” the theme for King County’s 2016-2018 Poetry on Buses program won an Americans for the Arts award. Her poetry is largely anthologized and was long listed by Danez Smith for Cosmonauts Avenue poetry prize. Keith’s Orion Magazine essays, “Desegregating Wilderness” and “At Risk” were selected for the 2015 Best American Science and Nature Writing Anthology (Houghton Mifflin). She has been awarded fellowships from Hedgebrook, Wildbranch, Santa Fe Science Writing workshop, VONA, and Jack Straw. Her memoir in essays, Tugging at the Web is forthcoming from University of Washington Press. She is the founder and director of Urban Wilderness Project.
 
Gary Copeland Lilley is the author of eight books of poetry, the most recent being The Bushman’s Medicine Show, from Lost Horse Press (2017), and a chapbook, The Hog Killing, from Blue Horse Press (2018). He is originally from North Carolina and now lives in the Pacific Northwest. He has received the Washington DC Commission on the Arts Fellowship for Poetry. He is published in numerous anthologies and journals, including Best American Poetry 2014, Willow Springs, The Swamp, Waxwing, the Taos International Journal of Poetry, and the African American Review. He is a Cave Canem fellow. 
 
This series is co-sponsored by Studium Generale, Magic of Cinema, PC Forks, the Peninsula College English Department, PC Library/Media Center, and  ʔaʔk̓ʷustəƞáwt̓xʷ House of Learning, PC Longhouse. We are grateful for generous contributions to the Peninsula College Foundation.
 
For more information, contact Dr. Helen Lovejoy, hlovejoy@pencol.edu
 
Kate wrote: Please invite and encourage anyone who would like to attend the reading to do so. Everyone is invited!
Here is the Zoom link to share:  https://zoom.us/j/99105600039

will offer a poetry reading tomorrow afternoon (8.6.20) followed by a conversation and dialogue with the audience/participants. If you have time, please consider joining us. This is FREE and open to the public, so please feel free to share widely.


I plan to attend; it would great to see you there.

Claudia Castro Luna

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Among my busy calendar of Poetry Zoom events this week, I was able to attend Tracing the Maps, a poetry reading hosted by Seattle’s Hugo House, featuring Carolyne Wright, Claudia Castro Luna, Cindy Williams Gutiérrez, and Raúl Sánchez. (It is not available as a recording, but it should be.)

I had heard three of the poets in person, over the years, but I am ashamed to admit that I had never heard our Washington Poet Laureate, Claudia Castro Luna, read her work. And I was, frankly, blown away. The woman has such presence and poise, and remarkable, memorable poems full of striking and eye-opening images.

I recently bought a copy of her 2016 chapbook from Floating Bridge Press: this city, a collection of 19 prose poems and an introduction, “Invitation.” If you aren’t yet familiar with her work, here’s a sample to introduce you:

Aerial Equivalent

Each night evening lights, like birthday cake candles, draw out their
last breath. Curtains close over windows in hill homes and in seedy
motel rooms where families too live week to week. From thousands of
hushed, slumbering bodies the unspoken loosens up, levitates. Wishes,
anxieties, and aversions reach the heavens. They fly over the east, over
the west, by way of the north, circling hills and downtown. A formless
psychic soup occupies the aerial equivalent of the city below. Slowly an
invisible city coalesces, imperfect but peaceful, unlike its terrestrial
twin. By daybreak the buoyant city crumbles. Its detritus unadorned
and lodged in unsuspecting throats.

–Claudia Castro-Luna, from this city (Floating Bridge Press, 2016)

You can read more about Claudia at her website, https://www.castroluna.com/ (see link above) or at poets.org.

A Poem and a Writing Prompt

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I decided two weeks ago that I would read some poetry each morning–searching for peace & justice there, if lacking elsewhere–and write something of my own. My general feeling is to put more into the world of what I want to be there. 

For the last two days I’ve been reading Koon Woon‘s Water Chasing Water (Kaya Press, 2013) and feeling my own heart swell upwards as if on a rising tide. Other reviewers have described him as a “writer of solitudes,” but I love the community Koon Woon invokes in almost every poem. I love his poems for his father, poems about sleeping under bridges, about the Chinese waiter reading Nietzsche and dreaming a writing life into being. In this time of madness and isolation, he gives me hope.

Yesterday I copied out this poem:

Around Us

I know now the startling animals and their flying droves
in my wooded new neighborhood,
see the sadness waiting for the return of warm spring rains,
the threat of inverse proportional air
and the sped-up activities of clouds
as winds blow and roll empty trash cans down the street.
Pears and peaches, store-bought, slowly rot
in the fridge, and unattended bills continue to penalize
regardless of who is president of the land.

Jazz and espresso will be as permanent as the Statue of Liberty;
at the tea shop ladies lament that the waitress will grow old.
Rivers burn in the middle of December,
and veterans of unsung daily battles for bread
think in their meditative moments of bovine pastures.
I try to keep an orderly room so that chaos is minimal
because nightly a startling feeling inside my sleep
makes me flee across the pillows of a Third Avenue hotel,
and this time I am fleeing with a ledger,
with the photo of the last girl,
and, hatless in a light rain, seeing
all the cigarette butts in North Beach as the Normandy Invasion.
I shrug, shrug and am gone.

-Koon Woon

My assignment then, was to look carefully–lovingly, compassionately–at all that was going on around me and try to create my own catalog to hold it.

Koon once told me–quoting Confucius–“you must go where your heart goes.” Where is your heart going today?