Blog Archives

Wide and Deep

By | Poetics, Prose, Susan Kelly-DeWitt

One of the great things about being a blogger is that you can shine a little light on work you admire. Today I’m going to direct a fat beam on two very different poets, John Rybicki and Louie Skipper. Rybicki’s poetry is new to me but I have followed Skipper’s work for a number of …

The Kindercoffin

By | Elizabeth Kirschner, Prose

The kindercoffin instead of kindergarten. The kindercoffin I lived in throughout my childhood. A white coffin like the walls if my bedroom. A place to hide in as hiding was the utmost necessary thing to do. I hid under the bed, in the closet and the crawlspace in the cellar where I read, by flashlight, …

Elle `Ecrit `A Pied

By | Elizabeth Kirschner, Prose

We all know of Plein Air and here in Kittery Point, ME, one sees painters at work in the summer with easels planted by the sea, Chauncy Creek, in the Rachel Carson Woods, in fields and by salt water marshes. Less visible are its poets of which I am one. Roughly translated, elle e`ecrit a …

A Commentary

By | John Samuel Tieman, Prose

I read the other day about the famous duel between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, the duel in which Hamilton was mortally wounded and Burr politically ruined. This tragedy is a bit of a mystery.   No one can say why, at some point, they didn’t withdraw from the duel.   But I have a good guess. …

Keepsake, Keep Safe, My Keeper

By | Elizabeth Kirschner, Prose

Poets are the slaves of silence, a sluttish silence that wants it all—forfeit of heart, mind, body, soul—as barter for germinating words, words that come out of a long hibernation during which their roots roost, nest. Keep an ear pressed to ground, one poet taught me and hence I have learned to listen to earth—a …

I Have My Own Song For It

By | Prose

If you feel you’re still “finding your voice,” consider what Seamus Heaney says about his discovery of his own when he wrote the poem “Digging.” In his essay “Feeling Into Words,” he writes of it, “I had done more than make an arrangement of words; I felt that I had let down a shaft into real …

Instructions For My Funeral

By | John Samuel Tieman, Prose

First, remember it’s not my funeral.   It’s yours.   I won’t hear the music.   I won’t hear the prayers.   I won’t hear the cries or the laughs.   I won’t be of much use.   So indulge yourself.   I only have a few requests. Do my funeral like I did my life: don’t be cheap but don’t be …

A Paradise of Shifting Traumas

By | Elizabeth Kirschner, Prose

I stole the title for this piece from Ira Sadoff, a title I came across long ago and faithfully recorded in what I call my Nickel Notebooks. These are old composition books in which I record poems by other poets, their musings and reflections and thereby remain in training as the apprenticeship for the poet …