Tonight we’re at the Bellingham Public Library!
210 Central Avenue
Bellingham, WA 98227
(Use the back fountain entry.)
Doors and sign-up at 7:30pm. Poetry begins at 8:00pm sharp!
Bring poetry and feel free to sign up to read it!
Tonight’s host is TBA
Tonight’s featured poets are Mary Eliza Crane & Peggy Barnett
Free to the public, but we do pass a jar around to collect donations to help pay for things like visiting poets and the occasional publication.
So, that’s us, now here’s them:
Peggy Barnett was born in 1945 and grew up in Queens, New York in the 1950’s. She graduated from The Cooper Union with a degree in Fine Art. She opened a studio in NYC in 1968 and was a photographer for 45 years. In 2006 she moved to Woodinville, WA. Peggy knows that the Northwest is beautiful, but memories of the past haunt her: the Holocaust, growing up Jewish in an Italian and Irish neigborhood, the atomic bomb, Junior High School, and childhood’s distant happenings arise in her poetry in a Proustian dream. The present on the West Coast is always interrupted by the past of the East Coast. Her poetic memoirs dwell on the specifics of unending change. Her first book is titled “On Your Left!” She is a member of the Northend Band of Poets and reads in Portland, in the Puget Sound area, and SF.
The Longest Word
It was in the school yard of PS 89, Queens, in 1955
that I first heard the longest word
of my life:
Ralph Hammelbacher said it fastest:
and we each repeated it ourselves
amazed at our brilliance,
at our ability to so conquer the English language.
we whipped out the word
while sitting at the soda parlor counter
the jukebox playing Bing Crosby singing
“Would you like to swing on a star?”
as we ate the scrumptious banana splits
Mr. Wolke concocted
out of his homemade ice cream
the secret recipe for which he
bought with him from Vienna
after the War.
He never put his bananas in the refrigerator
“No, no, no no, no, no, no”.
They melted, sweet and ripe
under the vanilla scented whipped cream.
I rolled it out again quickly
trippingly on my tongue
But it wasn’t bigger than the
word we had learned yesterday in science:
That word was really scary, because it was
followed by the small word:
Mary Eliza Crane is a native of New England who settled into the Cascade foothills of the Pacific Northwest many years ago. A regular feature at poetry venues in the Puget Sound region, she has read her poetry from Woodstock to LA. Mary has two volumes of poetry What I Can Hold In My Hands (Gazoobi Tales Publishing, 2009) and At First Light (Gazoobi Tales Publishing 2011). Her work has also appeared in Raven Chronicles, The Cartier Street Review, Quill and Parchment, The Far Field, and several anthologies. She is working on her third book.
I become quickly accustomed to living alone
small simple meals
hummus and figs
spinach and eggs
rice, a few slices of cheese.
I no longer track the comings and goings
of not yet adults
piles of shoes
plates on the counter
sudden changes of mood.
There is never a full load of laundry.
The well does not run dry.
Baths are long and luxurious
hot and scented
patchouli or cedar in salt.
I lock the door at night now
like a woman who lives alone in the woods
at peace with the wolves
but not so sure of the hunters.
I slip into cool sheets
and drift into twilight sleep.
My lovers are old men
face cradled in soft chests
of gray bristling hair,
a mirror of uncluttered want
communion of pure need.
Got all that?