Tag Archives: maryrose larkin

Yes! Reading Series Welcomes Anne Gorrick, Maryrose Larkin and Lynn Behrendt

Please join us for an amazing trio of poets!

Anne Gorrick is the author of I-Formation (Book One) (Shearsman Books, 2010), the forthcoming I-Formation (Book Two), and Kyotologic (Shearsman Books, 2008). She also collaborated with artist Cynthia Winika to produce a limited edition artists’ book, “Swans, the ice,” she said, funded with grants from the Women’s Studio Workshop in Rosendale, NY and the New York Foundation for the Arts. She curates the reading series Cadmium Text, featuring innovative writing from in and around New York’s Hudson Valley (www.cadmiumtextseries.blogspot.com). She also co-edits the electronic poetry journal Peep/Show with poet Lynn Behrendt (www.peepshowpoetry.blogspot.com). Anne Gorrick lives in West Park, New York.

Maryrose Larkin lives in Portland, Ore. where she works as a donor researcher. She is the author of Inverse (nine muses books, 2006), Whimsy Daybook 2007 (FLASH+CARD, 2006), The Book of Ocean (i.e. press, 2007), DARC (FLASH+CARD, 2009), The Name of this Intersection is Frost (Shearsman Books, 2010), and Marrowing (Airfoil, 2011) Maryrose is one of the organizers of Spare Room, a Portland-based writing collective, and is co-editor, with Sarah Mangold, of FLASH+CARD, a chapbook and ephemera poetry press. She is currently working on "Twenty Questions for Five Masters" a play for Language Master and voice.

 

 

Lynn Behrendt is the author of several chapbooks, most recently Acquiescence and This is the Story of Things That Happened, both as part of the Dusie Kollektiv 5. A full length collection, petals, emblems, is available through Lunar Chandelier press. She co-edits the Annandale Dream Gazette, an online chronicle of poets' dreams, as well as Peep/Show, an electronic journal of innovative contemporary poetry.

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Yes! Reading Series Welcomes Jennifer Karmin, Maryrose Larkin and Sarah Giragosian

Yes! kicks off its Fall 2010 season with three wonderful writers. Please join us for an evening of delight!

Yes Reading Series Fall 2010 Welcomes Jennifer Karmin, Maryrose Larkin and Sarah Giragosian

Poem by Jennifer Karmin author of aaaaaaaaaalice

desk / a table frame or case esp. for writing and reading

the alphabet a a a a a a a lot
comes after a box of papers some
things to do lots of things to do get
things done in the real world get things
done in my world a calendar is useful
a good invention pens books what else
bills letters to send postcards stamps
lists and lists of everything notebooks
full of ideas learn to play chess work on paintings
film to develop a tape recorder mom plays o sue zanna
mail always comes try to decide what should go
in every drawer everyone has a junk drawer
i am organized and not very organized


Excerpt from Maryrose Larkin’s Late Winter 30

The pressure of facing the why section when I wanted horizon

pressure dropped winter angle face  and  spring 50%   pushed

through grey replacing from the top and patchy

no  winter or                late winter

shiver cover some can never


Late one in whirl no opposite morning  cross struck pink

change insoluble atmosphere east facing mothering under

but not mother not cinders not mocking pushed into wings

late suffer other petal synoptic surface shadow and 50% no 50

pansies no 30 pansies silver light on the fence

rain the written

Sarah Giragosian’s “The Glass Squid”


Nearly unseen, so limpid

as to be lost, the glass squid

is a genius of minimalism;

even its outthrust eyes conceal their long shadows,

their undersides casting forth light as from street lamps

and effacing their structures.

The glass squid never outgrows

its safe, calflike translucence,

although I wonder if it feels quite safe

when it passes its predators: moire chambers

with electric lures and waving, tentacled things

that shiver against seaweeds

or medusa heads, trawling

or still. Night is a fiction

below, yet the darkness that the diver

caught on camera could be in a Caravaggio.

There’s a cost to see the squid’s eyes tricked into sight;

its dark, broadside world was lit

for an instant not by light

of its design.   Was it scared?

Some survive with minds that are semaphores

of alarm, while others cope with a force–violent

and vestigial–that nests above in neural

readiness, quick to transmit

its misprision, as in love.

I look as if at a sphinx,

as if we’re bound together in exam

or fugue, while some strange atavism vies within.

Configured so, I soon look away, though masked eyes

can look as through a glass seal.

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