an incendiary sweetness . . . scheduler of passions . . . 2 poems

I had a great time on Saturday at the Rainbow Book Fair, in its eighth year.

In its seventh year was Come Hear ! -- the marathon reading organized by Nathaniel Siegal and Regie Cabico, and this year hosted by Nathaniel. As did most of the others in the line-up, I read three poems; am posting two of them below. (The third's a soon-to-be-published.)
 

Confused Words 

Woman, you show your lover your worst 

girlish passivity, an incendiary sweetness

teasing her libido each time you approach.  

And your petulance at boyish bumbling -

where the  evenness and patience offered 

those of us who ramble of our importance?

You have such good insights - friends 

admire your well-spoken depths - they do.

For her you show no depth and would she

spot it as she flexes a loud brash rendition 

of the woman she becomes seated across

a table where you pause for caffeine before

a rayon jacket-sheltered run to the place

you two tumble.  You are a couple –

you lapping at cream - her filling the
          chipped saucer as it overflows.

by Sarah Sarai / from Emily Dickinson’s Coconut Face (my Dusie Kollektiv chapbook, distributed at AWP)

Pillow Book

A train steaming out from between your thighs,
the locomotive intensity of its
exit and expressively oriental loss of your forested regions.

We pray for a layover, schedulers of passions:
hear us.

Oh, grant me a boarding pass for where
I want to visit so I can be a passenger,
a tourist in your underground,
eager for an infinity of pinks.

by Sarah Sarai / published in Gobshite Quarterly, Issue 12, 2012

Image from http://www.etsy.com/listing/104765868/leather-sketchbook-journal-pride-rainbow

My AWP Takeaway

Family Dog Presents Buffalo Springfield

My AWP Takeaway

1.  Google runs buses from "the Valley" into San Francisco.
2.  There is, was, and will be gorgeous poetry in Turkey.
3.  Google runs buses from San Francisco into "the Valley."
4.  Nazim Hikmet, 1902 to 1963, is a joy to read.
5.  Those Google people are sure tight with their money when it comes to charitable giving.
6.  Lewis Hyde's exploration of The Gift presents us writers with models of being.
7.  San Francisco has a decent poetry scene, but who wants to live there.
8.  Boston breeds poets and venues.
9.  No good music has come out of San Francisco since Buffalo Springfield.
10.  There are, in fact, countless wonderful poets in Boston and everywhere.
11.  Jefferson Starship?  You kidding me?
13.  Writers of fiction, nonfiction, creative abstracts & co. abound, are enthusiastic, convivial, and of course all too human.
14.  Did Hot Tuna come out of S.F.? 
15.  Approaches to and manifestations of persona poems are varied.
16.  Now, L.A., is a great place to live.
17.  Uses of letters (epistles) in writing range from highly creative to usefully functional and (most) always interesting.
18.  Google is in search of something or other. God help us all when Google finds it.
19.  Hearing poetry in a bar with warm colors and brass fixtures is a necessary antidote to convention center readings.
20.  Soft hands are, for some, genetic.

Basically, heard and saw and met many n-a-m-e-s and wondrous people. The Dusie Kollektiv chapbook swap was a highpoint, partly because it facilitated putting faces to names, mainly because the poets were fun and generous. 

Suggestion for another AWP:  Read all material in advance. Make lists of people I want to catach up with. Plan.  Get phone numbers in advance.  Stay closer to the convention center so offsite readings in the eventuality of snow or other weather are easier to negotiate than they were this time around. 

AWP: I Arrive, *Emily Dickinson's Coconut Face* in Hand

Cover illustraton for Emily Dickinson's Coconut Face.

 

My AWP experience hit two high points, maybe the only two, but that's enough.  One was today when I picked up my badge at Hynes Conference Center in Boston: I didn't feel hostility. I didn't feel jealousy (over what, you might ask, all you did was stand in line and register). Believe me. When I'm comparing myself to anyone, an easy breezy task at a conference of writers, I am more than capable of insecurity masked as hostility. But my internal work this year has been freeing. Plus I'm taking a great class in New York, studying Hopkins with very smart people, which reinforces the beatifying effect literature can have. Which makes me feel good.. So today I just felt happy, relaxed, part of something but not attached. The feeling's going to last for the duration.

Second high point came yesterday in New York when I picked up my chapbook from Staples.  I'd volunteeredfor an AWP chapbook swap organized by Susana Gardner of the Dusie Kollektiv, agreed to show up with 30 copies. At some point 30 poets are going to meet and share. I was ridiculously proud of the results of my two days of work: a selection of five poems, a cool illustration on the cover, the Dusie Kollektiv seal, a bio. 

The poems--there are five--are orphans. With the exception of "Longing for a Blue Sky" which was published in Lavender, I've never been able to place them. I assumed they were early shots, good starts and nothing more, but together they work. At least I think so, and confidence adds a glow to the book. Books of poems need a glow.

I procrastinated pulling the chapbook together because I couldn't find the instructions and was generally panicked. Then I emailed a fellow swappee, publisher, poet, editor T.A. Noonan who graciously and immediately sent what I needed, bless her. Even though I have too many blank pages and committed an infinitude of infractions (I'm sure), these poems are happy to be with each other and proud of their presentation. So for me, without having started, AWP is a success.

Above cover illustration of my chap, Emily Dickinson's Coconut Face, is from S. Sekiya and Y. Kikuchi: The Eruption of Bandai-san, in Transactions of the Seismological Society of Japan. 13(2), 1890, pp. 139-222.}