Poetry reading

The life of a poet, or almost any write has it's tough times. This poem is by my favorite poet, Wislawa Szymborska

Poetry Reading

To be a boxer, or not to be
at all. O Muse, where are our teeming crowds?,
Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare --
it's time to start this cultural affair.
Half came inside because it started raining,
the rest are relatives. O Muse.
...
In the front row, a sweet old man's soft snore:
He dreams his wife's alive again. What's more,
she's making him that tart she used to bake.
Aflame -- but carefully -- don't burn his cake!
We start to read. O Muse.

During the short story class I am taking, yesterday I attempted to explain why a young writer with her first book of short stories to sell had built, probably at her own expense, a beautiful website. I explained that writers are advised to do that even before they have a book to sell, and to be sure to get on Facebook and Twitter and have a blog. I explained the necessity of racking up some prizes from literary journals, and that those prizes are small potatoes financially, and actually have reading fees, so that is you are not a winner you are subsidizing the future of your competitors [and paying for the "name" judge who gets his/her "honorarium" for reading all those stories and choosing the winner and runners up.] All this is true for poets as well, if anything there are more poetry competitions in literary journals -- after all the poems are shorter and quicker to read and more can be put into one journal.

This morning I was reading an article in the newest Poets and Writers Magazine about the book business. I can only moan, with Szymborska, O Muse! Writing is a joy as one sits alone with a pencil or laptop or whatever, when thoughts take surprising shape and characters begin to speak in their own voices ... but then ... O Muse!

Richard Neal, portraits

Richard Neal's portraits now at the Cape Cod Art Museum in Dennis are unlike any portraits I've seen. I'm afraid these photographs are totally inadequate to show the amount of texture and detail involved. For those who have large screen monitors with good resolution some of the intricacy may be visible but very few really good photographers could capture the wonderful combination of apparently found objects and paint used to give meaning to these faces which are strong faces in the first place.

Before painting the portraits Neal affixed pieces of old blue jeans with their zippers and buttons, packaging materials, cardboard, flat and corrugated, netting, even an iron bolt, to the surface of the canvas and very skillfully used them to give form and texture to the faces. The reference that came immediately to mind was Rauschenberg; Neal's purpose is not abstract but in the service of showing human strength within the randomness of prosaic experience.

For me the above painting was the strongest -- Rachel did not agree, she preferred others although we both agree that the top portrait was very, very strong -- one has to see the texture to appreciate it fully. This painting is call PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. By adding the name the painting acquired one more dimension -- in general paintings don't, or shouldn't, need names. But sometimes this kind of reference gives the viewer just that much more frisson.

The museum is not at all large but was a pleasure. Other rooms held more expected sorts of paintings, landscapes mostly. A small porch -- the building apparently was built as a private home -- has a fascinating collection of sculptures, mostly in iron and found objects. The gardens around are beautifully kept and hold more sculpture among the flowers and trees. Finding paintings with as much force and depth as Neal's in this setting is a wonderful surprise.