ALBANY STATE POETRY FESTIVAL: EVENING POETRY READING

The last evening of Albany State University's Poetry Festival featured Frank X Walker, Shirlette Ammons, doris davenport, and me. This event was held at the new Albany Welcome Center, a fine facility for the arts. I arrived early so that I could sit outside and watch the children and families play in Turtle Park.




Shortly after the sun went down, folks began arriving in the upstairs auditorium.


My friend, artist Cindy Davis, was among them.

Dr. doris davenport, the genius behind the festival-- and its director-- welcomed the audience.

She asked me to read first, and of course I couldn't refuse. Here is one of the poems she liked.

First Presbyterian

Sitting in church every Sunday, I hated the hats
I had to wear. They were small things with net
attached. Or hard plastic fruit. They did not fit
and sometimes they fell into the aisle or my lap
if my mother had not pierced their velveteen
skins with hat pins she wove through my stiff
hair-sprayed hair. There was no way to scratch

my small soul through those hats. No way
I could sit through the sermons if not daydreaming
out of them, using the blank wall beside the piano
as movie-screen, imagining myself hatless, free
of my hair spray and beehive, my hair grown
miraculously long, trailing hat pins across
the small town, heading north toward what soon

would be Interstate. What happened next?
Let us pray, said the preacher and I came awake,
though I shut my eyes dutifully. What was
he saying that I should heed, who was this God
who knew everything? Why should I pull on a girdle
and hose for His sake and sit waiting for Him
to call? Just As I Am, we sang, closing the service.
My soul took a deep breath and walked out

(From Aretha's Hat: Inauguration Day 2006, copyright Kathryn Byer)

Shirlette Ammons entranced the crowd with her poems, among them, one of my favorites, from her collection Matching Skin, from Carolina Wren Press.

What is Grass?

All of it—
the tin roof on Trinity Avenue
where the clouds sit and scheme
a seventy-degree Durham
before the heat peaks

A neither bad nor good morning

The Britneys, the Burmese,
a track champion halved and veined,
criminal attempts at concerned media
scribed by typewriters with filthy keys when

We all have medals we should return

The grass is a mattress for our trampling
whisking us past overdue fines and late fees,
oh shits and honest-to-god forgets
as we beg to get clipped
like a thief preying on sickly screen doors
in the beam of broad daylight

—Courtesy of Carolina Wren Press and Shirlette Ammons

(Photo by Jeremy Lange)


(Shirlette talks with students after the reading. )

Frank X Walker began his reading by asking how many in the audience could sing the first stanza of Amazing Grace.

He chose Chasity to sing, and did she ever sing it!

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Then Frank read his poem.


Amazing grace! how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind, but now I see ...

It isn’t negro
but it is spiritual
it do speak to the power
of redemption
to power period
converting lost
to found creating sight
where there was none
but what sound could be
so powerfully sweet
sweet enough
to turn a wretched
slave-ship captain
into england’s most outspoken
abolitionist and songwriter

was it the splash of bodies
dragged kicking and screaming
jettisoned off decks
of ocean coral
was it the crack of the whip
or the popping sound bloody flesh makes
when a sizzling branding iron
breaks the skin

the sound of fear and confusion
below deck
muffled by the sound of rape up above

the sound of 609 beating hearts
sardined into a space for 300

amazing is to be lost and blind
and still the captain
a willing participant
in crimes against humanity

but what was that sound
that liberating release
granting pardons
for penitence undone?
what does forgiveness sound like?

Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come ...

now every time you hear amazing grace
listen for john newton’s apology
his silent sobs seeking salvation
listen and hear
what healing sounds like

’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home

(Photo by Tracy Hawkins)

(I pose with Chasity after the reading, to congratulate her for doing such a splendid job of singing! You can see doris in the background, looking on, obviously pleased with how successful the evening was.) Later I told Chasity that she could sing anything---blues, jazz, grand opera, gospel, country....etc. She couldn't stop smiling.

( The audience flocks to the book table.)

When the Welcome Center shut down, we headed for Orene Hall on the campus of ASU, where a memorable feast awaited us.

And, not long after, we were treated to a dance extravaganza onstage.



With Professor Davenport joining in!

This is the way to end a great day of poetry, don't you think?

ALBANY STATE UNIVERSITY POETRY FESTIVAL

Recently I was invited for the second time to participate in the annual Albany State University Poetry Festival, titled Ascensions, referring to Frank X Walker's latest book of poetry, When Winter Come: The Ascension of York.

I joined Frank, Shirlette Ammons, Dr. doris davenport, the creator and maintainer of the festival, and the students who came to our sessions to write and listen. The three day festival was high-energy and high-fun. I enjoyed every minute. As a native of Southwest Georgia (Camilla, in Mitchell County, a mere 25 mile drive from Albany) I take special pride in seeing one of our local institutions bringing the gospel of poetry to the community.

On Friday morning, I began the day's writing workshop by reading some of my poems and inviting the students to "steal" whatever they wanted from my work. They Did!

Fifila had a good time working on her poem.

Students participating in the work shop were the following:

Ronnie Myers

Nicolle Burke

Frederick Peges

Cassandra Starr

Daniel Bowman Forsythe

Fifila Griffith

Maggie Emily

Shawn Sessoms

Wilbur E. "Geno" Jordan, Jr.

Quanda Smith

Charquita Arnold

Geno stole a line about petunias from my "Glorified," and wrote a terrific poem with it, one that he performed in great voice afterward. I'll hope to have it on my blog eventually.

Glorified

Whenever I praise what she's brought forth,
whether biscuits or chicken stewed all day
with sweet corn and butterbeans, she says, "To God
Be the Glory." But I tell her I don't mess around
with an old man who's so far away he can't hear me.
I'd rather be talking to petunias that bloom on her porch,
or the bathrobe she wears when she's making
the coffee, her toes while she's sleeping in front
of the t.v., her big mouth that's snoring.
To you be the Glory, I say, feeling
so brazen this morning, I dare God
to give me the finger. Go scrub out
your mouth,she scolds, but I see her smiling.

DB Forsythe, Cassandra Starr, Shawn Sessums, and Maggie Emily work on their poems.

(DON'T LOOK!)

Dr. doris davenport proudly presents her students after they have read their new poems

She then read one of Frank X Walker's new poems in the persona of Myrlie Evers, the widow of Medgar Evers, slain during the civil rights struggle in Mississippi. (Mr. Walker has also written poems in voice of Evers' assassin and his wife. )

.....and reminded them of the open-mic reading that evening, at which they would be reading the poems composed during this morning session, and urged them to come to Frank X Walker's lecture/presentation early in the afternoon and his Master Class workshop following.

*************************

Go to http://www.frankxwalker.com/, for more informationn about Mr. Walker and his work.

In the afternoon, Frank, after a long, long drive from Kentucky to SW Georgia, gave us a masterful introduction to his work centered around York, who accomanpanied his master William Clark on the Lewis & Clark expedition. Walker's first book, Buffalo Dance, gives us the voice of York as he travels across the continent with the expedition. His new book, When Winter Come, gathers the voices of various characters, both human and not, involved in York's story.

Students listen intently to Frank X Walker's presentation.

At the Master Class, Mr. Walker talks about what good writing demands from its makers.

I took notes during the presentation; Frank looked at me and said, "You're going to steal some of this, aren't you? "

"You bet," I answered. If Jeno can steal my petunias, I can steal some of Frank X Walker's workshop ideas!

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GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS BOOKFAIR, PART 2

One of the pleasures of the Great Smoky Mountains Bookfair was meeting the editors of the new literary magazine fresh...stories, poems, ideas--JC Walkup (Publisher), Penny Morse (Poetry Editor, and Buffy Queen (Non Fiction Editor). We nabbed a passer-by, who looked like a student and therefore more techno-savvy than we are, to capture the four of us beside my table.

They also snapped me in the process of writing a poem for one of the winners of our Bookfair Student Poetry Contest.

And here's my friend Vicki Lane chatting with my mentor and friend Fred Chappell. Fred looks as if he's deep into ponder-mode. I wonder what they were talking about.

As for fresh, the first issue features Robert Morgan with three poems, a story by Kathryn Magendie, and, among many other pieces, a poem by Keith Flynn, Editor of The Asheville Poetry Review, just off the presses. The deadline for the next issue is Dec. 1st, so consider submitting some Winter related work right away. The address is fresh, LLC, P.O. Box 107, Canton, NC 28716.

Why a new literary magazine? Publisher JC Walkup explains. Please click on the image for better reading.



fresh is also offering a fiction and non-fiction contests, deadline Dec. 1, so click on the page image below for more information. The winning story and essay will be published in a future issue, and the 3 top pieces will also receive a monetary award.
But hurry--the deadline for submissions is drawing closer.

GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS BOOKFAIR, PART 1

(City Lights Bookstore, along with The Friends of the Jackson County Library and numerous other volunteers, helped make the Bookfair a reality.)

This year's Great Smoky Mountains Bookfair was a smash hit! We had more people come to visit than ever before, and our authors on display were busier than I've ever seen them. I can vouch for that! I hardly had time to look at the book displays or to visit with friends like Kerry Madden, Pam Duncan, Vicki Lane, Allan Wolf, Fred Chappell--well, the list could go on. The event was held once again at the First United Methodist Church in Sylva, an ideal facility that feels both welcoming and capacious enough for a bunch of writers and readers to hang out for a day, indulging their love of books. We appreciate the church for opening its lovely downstairs rooms to us.

Alas, I forgot to bring new batteries for my camera, so I don't have photos of my own to share, but I do have one, taken in my kitchen, of the beautiful wall sconce, with an ear of corn on it (of course!), by my dear friend Gayle Woody, the one who created the gorgeous corn batik that I featured a few weeks back. Gayle teaches art at Smoky Mountain High School now, and her energy and spirit always makes me feel more alive.

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(Sconce hand-made by artist and friend Gayle Woody)

I wrote a lot of poems for both children and adults, including a couple for babies named Eason and Sean Adam. I had a lot of fun writing one for a woman who rescues St. Bernard's, the breed of dog I've always wanted! With four "mutts" living with me these days, I'm glad I don't have the dog of my dreams, though a keg of brandy around his neck would be welcome on cold nights.
The highlight of my day was Allan Wolf's Poetry Alive performance and the readings by our student poetry contest winners. More about that tomorrow. They were fabulous. What poise they all had! I could never had stood up to read my own poem when I was in the second grade. Or the twelfth!

(Photo from Allan's website, http://www.allanwolf.com. )

And yes, I bought books, so many that my friends Harold and Jane Schiffman had to help me carry them out to the car!

Then we joined Fred and Susan Chappell for a glass of wine at Mill and Main, http://www.historicdowntownsylva.com/rest.html, basking in the afternoon light on the restaurant deck.

All in all, a great day for writers, readers, and our region.

GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS BOOK FAIR

ARCHITECT'S RENDERINGS OF THE NEW JACKSON COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY:



TOMORROW IS THE BIG DAY, SO PLEASE MARK YOUR CALENDAR! I'M HOPING NETWEST MEMBERS WILL COME OVER TO SYLVA TO ENJOY THE LITERARY FELLOWSHIP AND BUY BOOKS. (WWW.gsmbookfair.org) THE HOLIDAY SEASON IS ALMOST HERE, SO THINK ABOUT YOUR GIFT LISTS AND REMEMBER THAT BOOKS MAKE THE BEST GIFTS, ESPECIALLY THOSE PURCHASED FROM INDIE BOOKSTORES LIKE CITY LIGHTS. AND IF YOU BUY BOOKS AT THE BOOKFAIR, A PORTION OF THE PROCEEDS WILL GO TOWARD BUILDING THE NEW LIBRARY IN SYLVA, A FACILITY THAT WILL SERVE NOT ONLY JACKSON COUNTY BUT THE REGION, AS WELL. IT'S GOING TO BE BEAUTIFUL, SET ATOP COURTHOUSE HILL.

CLICK ON THE POST LINK TO GO TO SMOKY MOUNTAIN NEWS'S FEATURE THIS WEEK ON THE FAIR.

A QUICK TRIP TO GEORGIA

A few weeks ago, my daughter and I took a quick trip to SW Georgia to see the farm house and walk in the trees. These are some of the paintings still hanging on the walls in the house. They were painted by my great-grandmother, Ella Valentine Fry. This first one was a favorite of mine while I was growing up. It was also my brother's favorite. There's something so quiet, peaceful and romantic about it that I often wished I could step right inside the image and pick up the oars of that canoe.

One of the great pleasures of walking around the farm is looking at the trees. Here is one that my friend Cindy Davis would like claim as a subject. I immediately named it Cindy's Tree.



I can't name this wildflower, but it was luminous.


Some of the pine trees my father planted several years ago.

We'd taken our Ace of Dogs with us, and he was wondering why I was such a slow-poke.

My daughter headed out on her own.

SW Georgia Morning Glories.

BIG SUNDAY GUMBO

We met my brother, his wife, and a couple of their friends at O'Malley's last night for drinks and supper, while watching numerous football games on the televisions all around us. We cheered when Clemson beat Miami--the whole restaurant cheered, for that matter. The Auburn fans were downcast over the LSU game. As we were preparing to leave, I saw that my sister-in-law had left a plate full of chicken bones from her meal, so I asked her for them.

Why? she asked.

For stock, I replied and shamelessly wrapped them in a paper napkin.
And so this morning I have boiled them down to stock and am making a big pot of gumbo.




First the roux, oil and flour in my cast iron pot, heated to a nice brown color, then the peppers and onions, letting them turn a bit soft and savory looking, after which I add the leftover crabmeat in my freezer, the frozen tomatoes from our few in the garden, some chipped barbecue, broughr back from S. Georgia, and catfish. Oh yeah, good ole catfish.

I've just added the exceptionally good looking okra I found at the market, and before supper, I will add the shrimp, though I've already immersed a few with tails on for flavor.





Then I'll let it sit for the afternoon, the flavors mingling in all sorts of magical ways. Just a slight re-heating, and we'll have it for supper, maybe with some cornbread or Annie's Bakery baguette.

For dessert, maybe a cherry pie. We'll see.