Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Refrigerator Manuscripts

Jill Bialosky returned to Iowa City for the first time since graduating from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop in 1983 on February 26th, 2009. I found this ironic as I had never before been to a poetry reading and here I was showing up at my first one with notebook in hand observing a writer making her first appearance to Iowa City since before I was born. I was skeptical at first to post a review of Jill Bialosky given the nature of my first attendance so I attended a few other readings in the past weeks, such as translations read at the Sanctuary and Zach Savich at Prairie Lights to see what was out there, only to discover that Jill Bialosky was my favorite poet out of the poets I saw.

For my first time experiencing Live From Prairie Lights I was taken aback at the size of the audience. I had a friend save me a seat in the front row and I was thankful when I started to notice people standing in the back without seats. The audience descended into a dead silence as Jill was introduced. Not too long after being introduced she began speaking and was interrupted by a cell phone ringing in the first row (not mine thankfully). Jill politely stopped talking and allowed the woman to silence her phone before moving on and describing her process of writing and how it affected her ordinary life as “a mother and an editor being in the world”. Jill provided some more background information of her writing style, such as her use of “She the poet” vs. using “I” in order to reach a different consciousness, before reading from her new book of poetry Intruder.

Jill tells us the intruder is part muse, other, and imagined other challenging the levels of selfhood and reality we inhabit. This detailed introduction leading into her first poem had me leaning forward closer to the poet as she spoke, even though I was already in the front row. The first words from the first poem began with “blank canvas” and I could not imagine a more appropriate attention-getter to suck me in for the rest of the night. Jill then read a few sections of a ten section poem entitled “The Skiers” which she called her own version of Paradise Lost. The first section began with “Snow, lone wilderness…” and ended with “high on the crescent” with the final section she read ending “for one moment the world is calm”, which I found translating into my personal experience that night in attendance.

I was really riveted when Jill began telling us the occasion for the next poem she would be reading came from a library of forgotten Chinese manuscripts. Given my interest in Chinese literature and our class discussions of occasional poetry I knew I was in for a treat as Jill says she wanted to “blend the old and the new” with these erotic Chinese poems. The poem was not the greatest of the night, but I couldn’t stop listening with her direct references to Taoism, as I found myself referencing myself throughout her poems as she was reading.

Jill read a few more poems before reading from her novel The Life Room. She presented the themes of desire and responsibility, authentic and narcissus. My favorite lines were “I write because I can’t” and “Loneliness is inevitable, it’s a force of nature.” Then suddenly, the reading was over.

Although Jill Bialosky came off as very quiet and perhaps nervous and she ended her reading somewhat abruptly, I nonetheless appreciate all the advice she gave to the writers in the audience. She advised us against looking too closely, for one can get lost. She shared with us her enjoyment from moving between two genres. And by sharing with the audience that she kept her manuscripts in the refrigerator, I left Prairie Lights with the sense that Jill Bialosky has found a harmonious balance as “a mother and an editor being in the world”.

--Josh Elwer


Facebook Miracle

A five hour drive from Kansas through the heat into the rain of Iowa brought poets CA Conrad, Magdelena Zurawski, and novelist Aaron Kunin on Saturday, March 7th, 2009. Before Zurawski read from her new book, The Bruise, she explained the three's purpose for being in Iowa City. They “kinda invited [them]selves into Iowa City” as three friends who had recently published books and wanted to promote them through the Midwest from the south east to the north west. Originally, they wanted to read at Prairie Lights in downtown Iowa City and “harassed” the bookstore about doing so, but were turned down, so they “facebooked” a friend within the Writers' Workshop at the University of Iowa and scored a reading at the Shambaugh House.

The evening kicked off a little after seven with CA Conrad reading from his newest book of poetry, The Book of Frank. His bright green shirt and matching sparkly nail polish set the tone for his poetry. The sexually humorous poems were well received by the small audience filled with individuals who all seemed to know one another. “My architect asked me to stop calling him my architect,” was just one of the many humorous lines from Conrad’s exercises. Each month he puts a new exercise on the internet for ‘how to write a poem.’ The one for this month is to soak a penny in lemon juice and then place it under your tongue. From there you are to go sit on a bench outside for hours and not be bothered. If you are bothered by someone, you are to tell them “shut-up, I’m busy” because “you’re a poet with a penny in your mouth.” Another exercise that Conrad follows while writing poetry is starting a poem off with something someone has said to him that day.

As Magdelena Zurawski took the podium, she moved the “art/gas money Easter Basket” before she began. The dim, one-lamped room was the perfect atmosphere for the narrative poetry that soon followed. The repetition of the same idea in several sentences through switching the same words around flowed smoothly as Zurawski quickly read her words. Her change in attitude came as a bit of a surprise. She went from laughing uncontrollably during Conrad’s reading and smiles while explaining how they came to Iowa City to a somber and nervous woman who didn’t look up once while reading. I attributed this to the seriousness of her work. Before reading, Zurawski explained the narrator’s want of a physical relationship with another character in the book. By the end of excerpt the audience finds out that the two characters are both women. She addresses this topic in a serious matter, so I think she felt the need to be serious while reading.

The night ended with Aaron Kunin reading from his novel The Madarin. This was the only reading of the evening that did not refer to anything sexual, amusing or otherwise. Right off the bat I noticed that he stammered while reading. I was not sure if this was intentional to the tone that he wanted to set for chapter two, “The Newspaper,” or not. “The newspaper wants you to know stuff, but not to do anything” about it, was the general summary that Kunin gave while explaining his piece. Kunin achieved humor through the use of obscure descriptions and dialects of a caterpillar within the scene of the chapter.

The night projected and provoked many different feelings and thoughts. Word placement made you chuckle, made you analyse, and made you consider. I believe that the order of the readers was just perfect for what they were trying to do: entertain on all dimensions. Conrad grabbed our interest with the use of sexual humor within his poetry. Zurawski attributed the needed ‘sad moment’ in everything we experience. And Kunin presented an abstract idea through a bit of laughs and the use of the recent knowledge of the newspaper’s extinction. The three’s performance provided all the ups and downs I would want from a movie.

-Annemarie Chambliss

Monday, March 30, 2009

The Big Poppa E Experience

Walking in to MacBride Auditorium, I was both shocked and slightly embarrassed by the weak turnout for J[amnesty]—the combination slam poetry and music performance put on by the University of Iowa Chapter of Amnesty International. Benefits from this program went to the Iowa City’s Rape Victims Advocacy Program and to Pretty Bird Woman House in South Dakota.

Arriving a little after 7:00, the declared start time for the event, I anticipated a packed auditorium. Contrary to this, I walked in to a crowd of maybe 25 people along with several members of Amnesty International and other associated University groups. Nothing was happening on stage, and seemingly no one was approaching the booths set up by these groups to educate the attendees on human rights advocacy. Though the event was, so far, scarcely attended, it became apparent that the few people in attendance have very big personalities that seemed to make the large auditorium feel fuller than it actually was. The biggest personality in the space was a man walking around, barefoot, and addressing everyone by name. Unbeknownst to me, this was the man I had come to see. This was Eirik Ott, Big Poppa E.

Big Poppa E wore camouflage cargo shorts, silver nail polish, and hoop earrings. He took the stage with a big grin on his face that would produce an equally large smile from whichever audience member he chose to direct it toward. His excitement was contagious from the minute he stepped in front of the mic. Instead of starting with an introduction or by performing one of his poems, Big Poppa E chose to relocate the audience from their strategically placed and spread out locations around the auditorium to a place where everyone was directly in front of him. He then decided to give nicknames to the members of the audience that he had succeeded in relocating. Behind me sat “Red” and “Angry Girl”, to my left were “Green” and “Hollywood” and right in front of me sat “Jeff”. Just “Jeff”. After nicknaming the greater portion of the audience and some of the crew members, like “Sound Guy”, Big Poppa E announced that he would be the host for the evening and would start by performing some of his poems—just as soon as he went pee.

After a few minutes of waiting for Big Poppa E to “take care of number one”, as he so politely put it, Eirik returned to the stage, taught the audience how to clap properly, and began his performance. He started with his poem called “Road Trippin’”, an upbeat piece that seemed appropriate for introducing the audience to his style and to the things that he really stands for. He read mostly from his self published book, Greatest Hits, and a couple times from his own personal notebook. Several of his poems really stood out to me, but overall I was thoroughly satisfied with everything he presented, especially his contagious personality. Before each poem and musical act, Big Poppa E would give some personal commentary, tell a story or a couple of jokes to keep the audience right where he wanted them—totally engaged with what was happening on stage.

Big Poppa E’s performance at the J[amnesty] event was successful and entertaining and could not have happened without his enthusiasm. As many of his poems address the different issues involved with human rights, his performance was a great support to the message of Amnesty International. Despite the small turn out, Eirik made an impact on nearly everyone in attendance and provided a thread that kept the whole program running.

by Allie Noelle

Virgin

Poetry is a divine way to express inner thoughts and perspectives on life. Not only is this something new to me, but so is everything that goes along with Professor Chasar's class. I have never studied poetry to the degree that my peers in this class have, and I am being introduced to many new things. One being a live poetry reading. At first I was skeptical of the attention span I would have while sitting in the audience listening to an unknown name to me, when everyone around me seemed to be squirming in their seats with big smiles waiting anxiously for the speaker to approach the tiny podium. As a young-looking man timidly walked up to the audience after a brief introduction, he seemed more intimidated by the situation than I did. Looking around at a broad age range of audience, I soon realized this is a big deal. The eager listeners encouraged me to take more of an interest in not only Zach Savage, but also poetry readings themselves.

Zach Savich, a former U of I student, quickly broke the awkward silence. He gave a few shout outs, made a few personal jokes, and paused. I sat there, clueless to the references of his former professors and lost in a big room with chairs filled with people. Even though I felt like everything he was going to say would go over my head, I sat there patiently trying to figure out what this was all about.

His smile was genuine. Almost looking as though he did not deserve to be there, he still held his head high and smiled. After giving an interesting brief history of his writing, he introduced his book he would be reading from. Then I felt comfortable. Finally, I thought, this is what I walked down to Prairie Lights to be a part of. Then he raised a question before he read his work aloud: "What do you write for? What do you think of when you write, and how do you portray this?" I paused. Seeing as how I've only written one occasional poem, I really thought about his questions. Is there nothing I am passionate about in my life that I can't, like Zach, write a poem expressing my perspective? Or is what I am passionate for not clearly recognized to the point where I can express my perspective to tell a poetic story? Maybe there is just something I'm not understanding.

Zach's voice was clear, but timid. I felt like he was nervous, which made me nervous too! He finally recited a poem—and, to my disappointment, with little enthusiasm. Or was this the way that his poetry is read aloud? I can not blame him for being nervous, but his presentation did not do his poems justice. Just as we had discussed in class, some poems are written for the page and some for the stage. After putting aside his actual presentation, it was easy for me to listen and understand the context of what he was saying, and really enjoy them.

Zach writes with such romanticism, and he mentioned he draws a lot of inspiration from Shakespeare. This was something I felt I could relate to—a romantic point of view—and after listening to his poems I felt a connection to the whole atmosphere. With each poem, I grew more intrigued, like I was finally understanding why Professor Chasar assigned these reviews.

After all was said and done, the whole experience only lasted an hour. Even though Zach invited us to stay and chat after, I felt as though I needed time to reflect on my experience instead of making random small talk with him. I feel like I am more prepared and have a better mindset for the next reading I will attend.

by Whitney Overmire

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

"Then we made love with our hands up"

I arrive at Prairie Lights on Wednesday, March 25th at about 6:55 pm. This being the first poetry reading I have ever attended, I am pleased to see a member of my class whom I knew frequently attends such readings. I sit next to her and look around, taking in my surroundings. Green plastic chairs are set up in the upstairs area of Prairie Lights; I have an odd moment during which I cannot remember what the area looks like without these chairs. By 7:00 pm, there are maybe about 40 people there, filling almost all of the green plastic chairs. Though, reader, do not necessarily take my word for it, as this critic is incredibly bad at approximating numbers of people. The reading does not start until after 7:05, at which point a woman who I do not know (presumably an employee of Prairie Lights?) introduces Zach Savich. He is to read from his book, Full Catastrophe Living. She describes his work, saying that it addresses the gap between “romance and reality” while “inventing a new world versus staying true to this one.” I like this.

A young man wearing jeans and a collared shirt approaches the podium and immediately begins to read, the words rolling off of his tongue in a slightly monotone manner. He seems nervous, but is simultaneously endearing. He is clearly happy and excited to be there, and he expresses this sentiment. I realize as he begins to read that it is difficult for me to hear poems read aloud; it is hard for me to follow him, and I find myself wishing that I could go back and reread certain passages. The way he reads confuses me slightly. At first, I think that he is reading separate poems and not naming their titles, until I realize that he is reading one long poem and putting what, in retrospect, seem to be meaningful breaks between phrases. I cannot decide if I like this or not.


I do decide, however, that I like the way he speaks while casually addressing the audience better than the way he speaks while reading his poetry. He is funny as he talks to us. After his first short reading, he immediately jumps into posing the following question: “What do you imagine when you write poetry?” He engages us, and seems genuinely interested in the answers that we may have put forth if we had had time to give them. Before beginning his next poem, Savich says, “I get lonelier with every poem I read, so come, let’s say hi afterward.” I find this invitation to be a reminder that he is human, and he seems to be saying that he is as interested in us as we are in him. However, one thing that I do not like about his casual speech to the audience is the way that he addresses certain individuals. He mentions names of people who I do not know and the things they have done together – some people chuckle. This makes me feel like an outsider. Some other people may feel this way as well. I notice a man in the front row who continually smiles at Savich throughout the entire reading; I feel as though he must know Savich. A bored college-age guy in the second row on the side looks as though he might be sleeping and a girl in the back row examines her nails. They may not be so personally connected. Maybe they feel like me.


As Savich continues through his readings, I am struck by two particular lines. They are from two different poems, but unfortunately I am not aware of the names of the poems that they are from:


“Part of you is in pain and you say, “I am in pain” and it’s all of you.


Part of you is numb and you say “I am numb” and it’s more psychological.”


I love this verse simply because of the incredible truth of the statement. It strikes me as something incredibly meaningful and incredibly common, while also being something that people do not often think about.


The other verse that I find compelled to write down is the following:


“Then we made love with our hands up.”

Though this line is obviously quite short and simple, I find it to be interesting because Savich raises his right hand as he says it, the only gesture that accompanies any of his poems throughout the entire reading. His action makes the line seem important to me. It makes me feel as though if nothing else, THIS I should internalize. Why, I cannot exactly say.

I liked Zach Savich very much as a person, though his style of poetry was not the kind that I most prefer to read. I wish that I could have had the book in front of me while he read from it. However, I would not discourage anyone from going to one of his readings; I found him to be an endearing and interesting poet.


-Rachel McNamee

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Is This Thing On?: Another Seth Abramson Review

Wednesday night (March 11), the Mill was packed with a reasonable amount of people—enough to feel a good vibe without the chaos of overcrowding. Talk Art Cabaret promised readings from the Writer's Workshop, and the air of the night felt similar to that of a performance of a promising experimental art rock band just beginning to catch their stride. As such, those attending leaned towards the creatively inclined instead of the older folk one might see at other poetry readings.

Three writers performed last night, but this critic only stayed for two as I had a Midterm to attend to the next morning. However, I truly wished I could have had time for the last reading after thoroughly enjoying the first two. This piece will focus on the poetry of Seth Abramson, but I must mention the work of the previous writer Teal Minton as the two artists' performances blended together like your favorite mixtape. Minton's sci-fi flirting story whose title I can't quite remember (Elvis Presley...) focused on the point of view of a character named Bob and his interactions with his friend Manny over the course of several non-linear encounters in a dystopic Maine where the main characters deal with the complications of their life-threatening cancer. Minton read the story in a cynical weary voice which amplified the resonance of the piece. Appropriately, the audience responded with gracious applause. Clearly most people in attendance had come to enjoy new, brave voices unafraid to experiment in form.

Minton and Abramson seemed to know each other somewhat well, as Abramson mentioned upon taking the stage that Minton requested him to perform some comedic freestyling before his poems, but he resisted. Abramson read a dozen enthralling poems continuing Minton's more cynical tone with vivid examinations on life with the eye of a scientist. I can't claim any real authority on poetry, as it takes me multiple readings and considerable assistance to put a poem in its deserved perspective. However, the fulfilling experience of Abramson's poems on a mind completely out of touch with the field of poetry speaks to how successful Abramson's work was. Abramson's words, read in a similar world-weary voice to Minton, kept an enticing beat pulling the listener along to his fantastic visions whether it be a nineteen armed creature (19 arms), or a drugged out hallucination in my personal favorite, "A Man and Two Boys, or a Horseman." Wary of my small, small short term memory, I resisted taking down his words on my notebook because from the first poem I realized I wanted to allow myself to enjoy this on the same level as a favorite band.

"Three Cuts" seemed to be the crowd favorite of the night, detailing a scene of three virgin attorneys in a barbershop. Abramson prefaced the poem by explaining it did not contain autobiographical information, as it may be mistaken because of Abramson's own profession in law.

One other notable poem he read was titled "Boxer Flyweight In Drag." Poets seem to get a little crazy discussing professions like boxing which involve a degree of self-mutilation, and yet Abramson made the topic his own by, what I may or may not have perceived correctly, to be a seemingly mundane experience of a boxer mulling over his thoughts while walking through an alley.

The night's readings could have offered a more ideal experience without the spontaneous bursts of what seemed to be the scores of "Raider's of the Lost Arks" and/or "Star Wars." However, they did add somewhat of a flair to the readings as the MC noted.

Today I did a bit of internet sleuthing and discovered Abramson to be, by at least my accounts, an established poet, having his work published in a score of important sounding literary journals. He hosts a blog which immediately won brownie points from me for giving me a rush of nostalgia by discussing the narrative merits of a certain classic Playstation game in the context of his large mult-part examination of "2666", a book he's currently reading. He also has a collection of poems coming out this Spring from Ghost Road Press titled Suburban Ecstasies. If the book contains a few of the poems he read last night then I'm sure it will be a worthy purchase. Finally, I highly recommend any readers of this post to catch a Seth Abramson reading if you spot one nearby, regardless of your poetic affiliations.

-Abhijit Pradhan

The Mill and Seth Abramson

On this cold night of March 11th 2009 I ventured to Iowa City’s The Mill for my first night of “Talk Art” which consists of works by the members of Iowa’s Writers Workshop. I was lucky I chose to go on this night because I had the pleasure of listening to a few short poems by Seth Abramson. In general, Seth’s poems were fast paced which caused me to pay close attention during his readings. I’d like to say the majority of the poems he read tonight were in free verse but due to his rapid speed-reading I was not able to focus too closely on any specific forms he may have been writing in. What I did notice however was his subtle use of rhymes in the first few poems he read.

One thing I really liked about Seth’s poetry was his use of more informal language. He does not fill his writing with flowery words, which I feel can sometimes take away from the poem itself. All of Seth’s poems got down to the point and I felt that made them more relatable and also more enjoyable for me to listen to. One line that I felt said a lot in a few words came from the poem “Three Cuts”. Seth wrote, “It’s not easy spending a life time spending a lifetime”. It was brief lines like this that made Seth’s poems so powerful.

Another thing that is to be noted about Seth’s poetry is his ability to focus on the characters in his poems and develop them in only a few stanzas. During his reading Seth told us in the audience that the poem “Three Cuts” was not about him, he said that since the poem is about a lawyer that most people assume he wrote it about himself. It was made clear soon after he started reading the poem why he did not want people to think it was referring to him, the poem was about a virgin lawyer and all the barbers in the shop knew he was a virgin too.

One poem that really stood out to me in terms of its character development was the last poem Seth read, and possibly his best poem of the night, “Final Boy." The poem is about a letter a man wrote to his wife and son about why he is leaving them. But “Final Boy” then dove into deeper issues like the choices in life that a man sometimes has to face in regards to women and children. All in all I honestly enjoyed listening to Seth’s Work, and he made my first experience at a poetry reading a positive one.

By: Audrey Thar

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

The Reviewer Listens to a Poet Contemplate the Third Person

At 6:59 p.m., Prairie Lights is already brimming full with hopeful poetry lovers, sullen required attendees, and everything in between. Why ever they came, they certainly did come on Thursday night to see Jill Bialosky read from her newest collection of poems, Intruder. They sat cross-legged in the aisles and stood at the back, peering over shoulders. Many of them carried notebooks—possibly for personal use, but more likely to record some proof that they attended. Many classes at the university require that students attend poetry readings, and as a result the audience reeked a little of assignment. It is not all the time that an odd crowd takes over the personality of a performer, but I confess I worried a little how Jill Bialosky would handle us.

The answer was gently. She approached us calmly and gave us near constant smiles and eye contact that she maintained for the entire hour. It was a little reminiscent of a nice aunt or family friend. To introduce her work, she softly described her writing process and the way it lead her to dealing with identity: the “I” in poetry, she said, could be the poet or a character, that is, autobiographical or simply universal. To investigate, she found herself with the construction of “a poet” rather than an “I” in her work. In fact, the personal pronoun does not seem to appear in Intruder at all. Instead, Bialosky uses “she” as the poet and the character, with titles like “The Dream Life of the Poet” or “The Poet Contemplates Her Calling.” The concept seemed intriguing and worth exploring, but it read a little like The Poet Trying to Tackle a Theme Halfway. Instead of breaking down voices and exploring the difference between the “I” voice and the character voice, she simply merged them into “the Poet,” a character that is based on the “I.”

The most memorable poem seemed to be “The Poet Discovers the Significance of the Old Manuscripts.” The on-class-assignment students, who up until this point had been scribbling (or at least doodling) in their notebooks, sat up and listened to this one. Here, “the poet” discovers erotic Chinese poetry that she describes as “cruel.” Bialosky read, in her soft-spoken way, about how the “epic masterpiece…wanted to devour its reader with desire…They’d been drinking…days of unwrapping long beautiful robes…cut her with a knife.” A girl in the front row had been lulled to sleep (which I could understand, given Bialosky’s gentle, melodic voice) but her head snapped to attention here. Silence followed this. “Strange poem,” she murmured.

It was odd that she characterized these erotic Chinese poems as featuring “blood and darkness” but still having “gentleness in tone.” This is exactly the way I would characterize Bialosky’s poetry. Despite being “devoured,” drinking, and being “cut…with a knife,” there were also “long beautiful robes” and “epic masterpieces,” not to mention the sweet little voice that read it.


Despite her efforts to interact with her audience with warmth, eye contact, and more introduction than was even necessary, the audience sat in almost audible silence during the question portion of the reading. They either were so in awe that they could think of nothing to say, or they simply felt awkward. Either way, Bialosky quietly wrapped up the reading, notebooks were closed, and the audience went home.

Was she, as Booklist suggested, a creator of “stormy poems of love, disruption and resignation?” Perhaps not. Did I fully understand her takeover of identity as “the poet?” Definitely not. But were the poems aesthetically pretty and gentle enough to be enjoyable? Perhaps so. As a whole, Intruder left me feeling as ambiguous as her third person narration.


Reviewer: Nora Heaton

Review: Hillcrest Open Mic!

The open mic at Hillcrest on March 5, 2009, had some very impressive acts, as well as some less impressive acts. While there were not any poems read, there were plenty of musicians who performed songs. The audience was made up of about twenty or thirty students. They were all very respectful of the performers, but not overly enthused by the performances. They were attentive, but seemed like they were partly attending so that they could socialize instead of watch the different acts. The performers were mainly male, the last act being the only two female performers.

There were seven acts, and each was different from the next. The songs performed ranged from Indie music to Rock music to Country music. The various different genres of music added some excitement to the open mic overall. But, the average skill level of the performers lessened the excitement a bit.

The first performer played the guitar and the harmonica, and he also sang. His performance was very impressive. He sang two songs, both with confidence and ease. His raspy voice made his indie-rock song very calming, even relaxing. His first song set a mood for summer nights, as he sang about warm campfires at the beach and community. But the second song he sang had a very depressing theme through it, a song about a girl breaking his heart. He sang it with a lot of emotion, which enhanced his transitions between loving this girl and being broken by her. Both songs he sang were beautiful melodically, and about different and interesting topics, but his presentation of the actual words was quite poor; he did not enunciate enough to understand some parts in both songs.

The next act was a different guy, who also sang two songs. His music was country-rock, with the same summertime feeling as the first performer. At this point, the theme was that everyone was excited for when summer is going to arrive. The first song he sang was about enjoying summer while it lasts. His second song was about a summer fling he had, but it was less poetic than his first song. The first song personified the weather, and really set up a scene of a beautiful summer lifestyle, but then he sang us a vague description of his love life; it seemed sweet, but it was quite hard to find any details about the girl, or any part of their relationship, for that matter. The melodies of both songs were very nice, but the lyrics were inconsistent in their descriptiveness.

Two RA's told jokes and stories in between all of the acts, which slightly stole the spotlight from the performers. But the second to last artist was successful in being noticeable; his song described a lifestyle that many teenagers can relate to, with a very relaxed sound to the music. He described his own rebellious behavior throughout his teen years, and how he felt about his actions; he sang about how he had no regrets for anything he did, and about a girl he loved the whole time. It was not a classic love story, but he added so much emotion through the words he used, glorifying the pain he endured in order to have a good time.

All in all, I would definitely recommend this event, in the case that it happens again. It is a great opportunity for students to perform their art in a safe environment.

By Suzi O'Hare

The Beat Was There: Craig Arnold

I have no complaints about the platter of poetry I've sampled at this reading. Craig Arnold, with his peppered method of reading and spicy delivery, takes us on a tasty ride through the realm of narrative poetry in his new book Made Flesh.

He starts with "Couples from Hell," at a point unseen as the middle, and seamlessly transforms the room into a gallery of oratory experience. Immediately I note his articulate use of alliteration and punctuated accent through the reading. As he progresses, I find myself being sent on a wave of sensory outbursts ending with bread, butter, coffee, and a deeper hunger for more.

And this is still his opening poem. The rest of the evening would electrify my senses into further dancing.

His poems exhibit well-placed changes in movement, colorful and contrasting. His poem "Mistral" sent me through the frantic reds of city life to peaceful greens of a calming Easter Monday. "A Place of First Permission" had me swinging to vibrant hues and party beats Arnold himself could only describe best: "The whole world is poured into the deep bowls of my hips." It was a point where Arnold's "jazz" hit me. The beat was there, thriving successfully in the air and on the page.

I can't stress enough the sensory candy I felt my brain exposed to. "Made Flesh" was a perfect example, calling (for me, at least) all five senses to the stage to play, mingle, and mold into a tasty web for my mind to eat up.

Arnold possesses a talent drenched in his mastery of the craft. For a fellow member of the Front Range, I'm proud!

by Rebecca Levin


Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Shea Shimmies His Way Into Our Hearts


On a particularly biting Thursday night in January, I made my way on foot to Prairie Lights, deciding to give my couch and I Love Money 2 a rest. Having heard that the poet was a graduate of Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and had won the Fence Modern Poets Series competition, I was very intrigued to hear the works of this accomplished writer. A young, charming, (and somewhat cute) James Shea began his performance, and I knew at once that I was going to enjoy my night in with Shea and his new collection, Star in the Eye.

Shea’s style is one that I have come to learn and respect—short and sweet, quick to the point, relatable, and full of hidden depth. Unlike the long, heart-felt, emotional poems I once felt I had to write in order to achieve my goal, Shea never once got too sentimental, and yet managed to thoroughly engage his audience. The poet’s works were never too long, and always ended with a sort of punch line, making all of us crave for more without ever losing focus or causing me to wonder what I was going to wear over the weekend. His poems proved to be full of humor, not only to entertain us sitting there under his spell, but also to get across a common thought or idea in a different, more enjoyable, and quite sophisticated way. His humor never came across as young, stupid, or childish, but more the feelings of the everyday, average person.

One poem that made me laugh internally (while also cringe at its truth) was Shea’s “Hwan’s Condition.” “He wants to sleep / but he had to do / all this work, but / he wants to do / all this work, but / he has to sleep.” From the college students to the older adults present in the audience, I felt all of us could easily connect with that poem; we were able to laugh at its open audacity, while knowing inside we were all dreading the work we were putting off to be at the reading. Despite the breeziness of that particular poem, often times Shea would introduce more philosophical ones, causing us to think more abstractly. At times, the poems felt darker, or dream-like, but they were never too overpowering. Part of the reason for this can definitely be awarded to the style and lyrical set-up of the poem. As I am currently enrolled in Lyric Structures at Iowa, Shea’s poems made me appreciate my growing knowledge from that class for the restrictions and framing that can be displaced in writing. Through Shea’s shorter lines and simple words, he was able to do the opposite and write moving, reactionary, relatable poems that are both enjoyable to read and hear.

James Shea’s poems were exactly the kind I look for—on the shorter side, with a cultural resonance, written for himself and for others. His quirky, sometimes strange poems are easily grasped by anyone, giving them accessibility, while opening up a new meaning when delved into deeper. Whether it was his Iowa pride, his appealing voice, his physical appearance or simply his defined talent, I found his variety of poems to cause the time to fly by, leaving me to begrudgingly leave the warmth of Prairie Lights with an elated feeling about the performance I had just seen.

-Lucy Williams

Cody's World

There was something in Cody’s poetry. She read at The Mill in downtown Iowa City on February 25th, 2009. And there was something in it that struck me deeply, which resounded. It was the fragmentary, mirror-like quality I think. Because suddenly, a feeling of dissociation would give way to the feeling of a wisdom-pin pricking the surface of my skin, and then it would vanish. The room was full of people listening intently, attempting to feel the impact of Cody’s words. And there are important things in there. Ideas about the importance of our natural environment, asymmetry, and self-righteousness. It was a quiet cry, yet a cry nonetheless from a pleading place in the action of our world.

The necessity, though, of Cody’s poetry to be read rather than heard detracted from the overall experience. That, as well as Cody’s apprehension to perform fully. It was as if Cody expected her words to be paid attention to regardless of her eagerness for them to be heard. One would think that if another had something crucial to say, that they would say it with an awareness and a focus intent upon the transference of material from their self to their target. This is not to say that Cody had nothing important to say. As I stated above, there were key moments in which Cody’s unclearness became clear, and ideas with “oomph” found their way to the audience. This is a testament to Cody’s work, that it can be performed hastily and still hold consequence. But she might try to explore the further possibilities of forthright performance.

“…a flood, a flock, a sky, a city…”, “…there is no wilderness in the sun..”, “…this is our own, we own it…”, “…there is no wilderness in the sky…”, “…look at the mess we’ve poured into the sky…”, “…of the heat inside a tight knot…”, “…time does not equal a bird…” all long to be heard, to be shouted, not to be subtly suggested.

Still, I’d recommend reading Cody’s work. It’s not simple. It sounds as if it plays within itself using punctuation to emphasize interconnectivity and fragmentation, mathematics, science, and beauty.

-Jacob Zawa ‘09

Vigilant Sensitivity: Craig Arnold

Arriving unfashionably late to Prairie Lights on a Friday night, I find the audience already hushed in the presence of a thin, bald gesticulator in front of the podium. Craig Arnold, a University of Wyoming professor, reads from his new book of poetry, titled Made Flesh.
Unfortunately for you, dear reader, you happen to have inherited a reviewer frequently prone to bouts of thoughtlessness and spatial drifting when exacting topical observation seems necessary. Typically at poetry readings, I lose focus and then, at the outset of every new poem, I redouble my determination to pay strict attention to the subject matter of the poem, but inevitably find myself ruminating upon tangents in the middle, losing all credibility as a reviewer in the process.

However, for the sake of this review, such pretext is irrelevant as Craig Arnold sufficiently snagged my full, relatively undivided attention from the outset of his reading (or at least my outset which begins around the second poem). His reading style was a constantly varied one, not confined to a simple mechanical intensity or an overflowing spontaneity, but rather a blend of forceful, lithe enthusiasm and a softer contemplation. At times, Arnold snatched the listener from the beginning of his poems, jaunting quickly over narrative images and circumstances only to slow down as he delves deeper and deeper into the implications of each circumstance. For example, in one poem, “a glass is offered,” to which Arnold demands “Look, Take it before it falls,” emphasizing the words “look” and “take” with a polite urgency rather than an angry demand that at once draws the reader’s interest (why should I look? why should I take it?). Pay attention to the images because they unfailingly relate to a specific feeling, often juxtaposing an unlike image with an unlike feeling, or focusing on a seemingly innocuous image, like a glass being offered, or a woman in a kitchen and developing a deeper meaning around it.

There is a vigilant sensitivity at the heart of Arnold’s poetry, despite much of the erotic, dynamic imagery and diction he uses. Even though he moves quickly in many of his poems, he does not often swallow syllables and savors each word, giving his poems this fragile quality, as each word matters, but only briefly; he’s moving on. The meter he used in his poems did not seem to readily fall into a discernible, received form, though the natural rhythm was undeniable, emphasized by his gestures, which were often unique at specific points. In one poem, he says “If you’re not using your body right now maybe you’d let me borrow it for a while,” and I thought that rang a true description of the reading, him moving and speaking to the audience, silent and still. To me, this lent a very personal aspect to the reading because one got to see the visceral reaction the poet emitted at these points. I felt as though I was let into the world where Arnold had constructed and clearly reveled in his poems. A bit like being a houseguest to a new homeowner who hurriedly shows me all details of the new home with pride.

Several days after the reading, I bought Arnold’s new work, Made Flesh, and though I think it is an excellent volume, I feel as though his reading of the work certainly added something immeasurable to it, and I can still hear his voice in my head, rising and quickening, only to fall and slow contemplatively over the length of the poems.

Sean Ehni

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Surprises in a Burgundy Tassel


Craig Arnold steps from stage left and jumps into the microphone, poetic images issuing from his mouth – no introduction necessary.  He stops and his oratory spell is broken into a full smile.  After iterating his gratitude for being back in Iowa City visiting Prairie Lights on February 27, Arnold jumps right back into his vocal groove reading a selection of poems from his new book Made Flesh. 

 His rhythm varies from staid, tapping his foot for emphasis, to frantic: words quickly falling out of his mouth with gestures punctuating his speech.  Nimble is the word that most comes to mind, while listening to him.  He speaks very quickly during some parts, but his annunciation never suffers, always making the sounds clear and precise.  Without taking into account the wonderful imagery conjured by his voice, listening to Arnold is enjoyable in itself.  The alliteration, assonance, consonance and rhyme make his performance a treat to the ear.  More than once, I found myself a little confused at what was actually happening in the poems, instead lost in the simple pleasure of its sound.  However, there were a few unmistakable images that really stuck with me.

One of my favorites was the scene where a young man tells a friend of his romantic feelings for her, only to be rebuffed with “don’t be silly”.  He sits and focuses only on a burgundy tassel that’s hanging on the table, the image that he will link with this moment forever.  Though part of a longer, more complex narrative, this scene stuck out to me so much because of its meticulous detail.  I was thrust into the intense feeling of the young man who has spilled his heart but is ignored, so he focuses on something outside himself rather than take a closer look at his present emotional turmoil.    

Following the reading, when asked why use poetry as the form to convey what could be prose, Arnold responded that he liked the groove in poetry which can be subtle or blatant.  He likes the rhythm to be irregular enough to surprise and delight, which exactly sums up the experience I had at his reading.    

                                                                                                                                        -  Shannon Green

Sunday, March 1, 2009

The Outside Inside Reading

The University of Iowa’s Writer’s Workshop is a renowned program celebrated worldwide for its commitment and leadership in literature. Although, what may not be so well-known about the Workshop is the intimate readings held at the Mill in Iowa City every other Wednesday night called “Talk Art Cabaret.” These readings provide an opportunity for students of the Workshop to read from their work as well as for the community to hear the newest development and, as the students call it, “evolution” in poetry. However, while the dark and cozy atmosphere of the Mill may seem like a welcoming place for any reading, the event held by the Writer’s Workshop was much like being on the outside of a long running inside joke in which only the students of the Workshop knew the punch line.

The evening’s performance was initiated by an introductory video that lacked any real connection to the reading or actual art that was being presented. The writers’ introductions were perhaps equally as long as the students’ readings and it soon became clear that Wednesdays at the Mill are more of a histrionic display of art and the garnering of personal fame rather than the sharing of students’ work. What is generally taken very seriously in Iowa City was surprisingly not handled with the level of respect that is expected for Workshop students. Furthermore, for anyone not involved in the Workshop, the readings are much like observing conversations in which one cannot participate. Many of the comments outside of the actual reading were intended for people in the Workshop, and the evening functioned on a first-name basis that made outsiders not knowledgeable of the students in the Workshop rather frustrated.

Despite the lack of professional conduct at the Mill, audience members cannot dismiss the artistic qualities and conceptual interest in the poetry. This past Wednesday, February 25, Cody, a female poet in the Workshop read from her current manuscript. If audience members are willing to look past the theatrics at the Mill, they might find that it is worth listening to the students’ work. Reading in a quick paced manner, Cody described her poetry as “a rush of words” and focused on themes such as nature, “there is no wilderness in the sky,” identity, “I, you, who, it she collapses into limits,” and deception, “hide as in the hidden skin” that resulted in writing that was introduced as “philosophically plain” but ultimately sophisticated in terms of style, taking the simple and turning it into the abstract, eliminating excessive embellishment for visual images. Lines with particular conceptual interest also include “I erode a network of noise,” “if we leak out into the pale sky it could kills us,” and “translating sheets of sun to a guy cemented in the sky.” For the oration of one poem, Cody even embodied a speech impediment that stuttered the reading of her words –something received only by listening and not reading.

While Wednesday night readings at the Mill may not be taken as seriously as some audience members might hope for, the artistic credibility and quality is still entertaining and “Talk Art Cabaret” is in the end, worth finding time to attend.


Kathryn Duffy

"The Intruder"

The first word that comes to mind in describing Jill Bialosky’s poetry reading is “quiet”. The second is “awkward”. Neither of these is the hallmark of a great poet. On Thursday, February 26th, Bialosky read poems from her recently-published volume, “Intruder”. According to Bialosky, her poetry examines the nature of love; she also pointed out that she was examining poetry writing from different perspectives. Personally, I couldn’t tell one poem from the next in terms of perspective; with names like “The Poet Contemplates Her Role”, “The Dream Life of the Poet”, and “The Poet Discovers the Significance of the Old Manuscripts” (quite a mouthful, that one), I don’t know who Bialosky thinks she’s fooling, but it sure wasn't me.


In “The Poet Discovers the Significance of the Old Manuscripts”, Bialosky tells the story of a female poet of roughly her age (which I’m sure was a real stretch) reading Chinese erotic manuscripts that, as the poem describes it, “wanted to devour the reader with desire”, whatever that means. Bialosky’s inspiration? An experience she had when reading exactly those Chinese manuscripts at the Smithsonian. How creative.

Bialosky’s interactions with the audience were sparse; she spoke only to preface her poems (often ruining their plot twists in doing so), to talk about herself and the experiences that led her to write certain poems, and to read her poems. Bialosky didn’t really relate with her audience, aside from factually pointing out that she had, indeed, attended the University of Iowa, before returning to talking about her poetry and all the wonderful things she’s written.


Her poetry was a little less than impressive; several times, Bialosky mispronounced words, the clear hallmark of someone using a thesaurus. Her unimaginative “exploration” of relatively everyday things (like books, skiing, and nature) was less than insightful and certainly not original, and because of this her reading was less than ideal.


By: Mike Sowell