THIS BLOG IS NO LONGER OPERATIONAL. PLEASE ENJOY WHAT IS HERE, AND DO LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU WISH. NORTH CAROLINA'S NEW POET LAUREATE IS CATHY SMITH BOWERS. SHE WILL SOON HAVE HER OWN WEBSITE THROUGH THE NORTH CAROLINA ARTS COUNCIL SITE. I WILL BE SHIFTING MY ATTENTION TO HERE, WHERE I AM, (SEE SIDEBAR)USING IT TO DRAW ATTENTION TO WRITERS WHOSE WORK DESERVES ATTENTION. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT ME THERE. For a video of the installation ceremony, please go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xAk6fOzaNE.
Go to http://www.yourdailypoem.com/, managed with finesse by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer, who says, "Our intent is to make visitors to Your Daily Poem aware of the joy and diversity of poetry."
Saturday, February 7, 2009
NC 'ZINES: CAVE WALL
(Cover Art: David R. Winston: Let's Just Be Friends)
CAVE WALL is a new poetry magazine in our state, and it's been garnering great reviews from readers and in the media. Its Editor Rhett Iseman Trull and Assistant Editor Jeff Trull describe their magazine this way on their website, www.cavewallpress.com.
Cave Wall, published twice a year, is a national literary magazine dedicated to publishing the best in contemporary poetry. We are interested in poems of any length and style from both established and emerging poets. Each issue includes black & white art, as well.
--------------- Among the North Carolina poets who have been published in Cave Wall are Bill Blackley and Diana Pinckney. Anyone who keeps up with NC poetry knows who Bill is and what he has contributed to NC letters through his involvement in the NC Poetry Society, among others. Bill is also a a ferocious harmonica player. And an M.D., besides that. Oh yes, don't let me forget, he's a poet. Maybe being a medical doctor has led him to some secret discovery for harnessing human energy. Some special formula he has tucked away?
Here is his poem from Issue #3/ --Winter/Spring 2008
A TIME PIECE
Two-finger blow a kiss goodbye to dad’s graduation watch left for easy pickings on a beach blanket. So long, to the self-winding Seiko rolled in gray sweat pants outside the handball court where a thief slips my treasured piece into his pocket and beats it while his lookout grins. Bon voyage, to the green-rimmed Swatch a kid sticky fingers from a pool locker while I struggle to hold my water-polo position. C’est la guerre to the radium-dotted Bulova I peel off a National Guard soldier not in Vietnam long before I bag and airmail his scorched effects to Altoona. Adios, to a fourteen dollar Timex I toss to a co-worker when presented a Rolex at my retirement gala. Gods chuckle at us mortals caching batteries, winding stems and punching in our measly hours.
Diana Pinckney has been featured earlier on our ncarts.org site and I encourage you to go to our archives and seek her out. She is a member of what I call "the Charlotte group," including Dannye Romine Powell, Dede Wilson, Lou Green, to name only three of this remarkable gathering of poets who are also friends.
Diana has published poetry and prose in such journals and magazines as Cream City Review, Tar River Poetry, The Deep South Writers Chapbook, Gulf Stream, The Comstock Review and others. Her chapbook, Fishing With Tall Women, won North Carolina’s Persephone Press Book Award and South Carolina’s Kinloch Rivers Memorial Chapbook Contest. Nightshade Press published her second collection, White Linen. Two of her poems have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Pinckney was selected for North Carolina Writers Network’s Blumenthal Writers and Readers series in 1994 and 1999. Her writing has won awards from numerous journals and from the North Carolina Poetry Society, the Poetry Council of North Carolina and the Charlotte Writers Club.
Here are two poems selected from the four in Cave Wall # 4, part of her new Mermaid series.
THE MERMAID WONDERS WHERE HER DAUGHTER GOES
Tall on this rock, she gives me a See ya and dives
for longer and longer swims, leaving me to wonder whose sails
spread before or under her on those hard slick boats she loves.
Whose sand oozes between her toes, sticks to her legs
after a throw-down with beach bums.
Total party hounds, she sneers
when I ask. Gives me an O.K. sure or worse, a None’ ya biz when I warn.
Besides me, who waits for those white arms rolling in the foam of midnight,
those bright streamers of hair tangled with moonlight, lifted by a tide
that measures my days, that returns each night, refusing to give up my daughter.
THE MERMAID’S DAUGHTER WONDERS WHO HER MOTHER IS
I floated by in a basket? Like wood storks bring babies out of the marsh. Oh, please. So she sang and played her flute, combed my hair with coral and, whoa, gave me manatee’s milk meant for those fat pups under mangrove roots, wrapped me in greasy sealskins, yuck, fed me fish roe – no way this was caviar – tern eggs. Whatever.
Like how did I end up with her? Maybe some beach beauty does a total meltdown at two a.m., can’t take the crying. Who knows. Hello? No one drops her baby in a grass basket – wouldn’t that leak -- then shoves it out to sea. Mothers don’t do that. Do they?
I've lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina since 1968, though I'm a native of SW Georgia. My paternal grandmother was born in the Blue Ridge, and I grew up wanting to live here. Where I am.
I've published five collections of poetry, the most recent 4 being with LSU Press, and have published poetry in magazines ranging from The Atlantic Monthly to Appalachian Heritage. But I also hike, bang pots and pans around in my kitchen, and love several dogs who leave fur all over my carpets. I write poetry because it's my way of singing back to the world both within and without.