Friday, December 03, 2010
New Poetry at UK Web Site
POETRY MONTHLY INTERNATIONAL has just published a relatively new poem of mine, "When Art Is Not Enough." You can download a .pdf at PoetryMonthly.com. Click on "latest issue", then "December" - you'll find my work on page 9 - many good poems here - take a look.
"1 DAY LESS" on the Big Screen
For those of you in the Los Angeles-Santa Monica area, a screening of the 1 DAY LESS video will be featured at the Academy of Entertainment & Technology, 1660 Stewart St., in Santa Monica on Friday, December 10, 8:00pm - Hope to see you there ....
Friday, October 15, 2010
Poetry in MUSE - from Cleveland's LitCenter
Cleveland's LitCenter has re-published "This Is Not a Dream", from my chapbook WIRED, in its journal MUSE. It's the June, 2010 issue, focusing on imprisonment of all kinds. You can order a copy from the website - the magazine is a good looking, 8X10 glossy with very provocative words and images from many perspectives.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
DVD of "1 DAY LESS"
The DVD of the May 29, 2010 performance of 1 DAY LESS is now complete and ready for the Sol Huroks of today to promote - It has been beautifully edited by filmmaker Marc Saltarelli, is fully titled, and contains our information email address: 1DAYLESSopera@gmail.com.
The video is not for sale, but composer David Javelosa has put up an excerpt on YouTube - click here.
Thanks again to everyone for your comments and encouragement.
The video is not for sale, but composer David Javelosa has put up an excerpt on YouTube - click here.
Thanks again to everyone for your comments and encouragement.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Performance of 1 DAY LESS
The performance of ONE DAY LESS at a pretty full house in the Broad 2nd Space in Santa Monica CA went very well - especially considering less than 8 hours of rehearsal time at the space itself, having to fly in our baritone lead from an Opera Festival in the midwest the day before the performance, not getting our director until a week before, etc., etc.
But we did it - my congratulations and thanks to our singers Luvi Avendano, Jocelyn Lee, Sabine Esmaili, Claudio Saez; our instrumentalists Evelyn Mann, Jill Flomenhoft, and Michael Intriere; and of course to the other half of "we" - composer David Javelosa.
The performance was also beautifully filmed by director Marc Saltarelli.
Please contact me via email (above) for future performances and further information.
But we did it - my congratulations and thanks to our singers Luvi Avendano, Jocelyn Lee, Sabine Esmaili, Claudio Saez; our instrumentalists Evelyn Mann, Jill Flomenhoft, and Michael Intriere; and of course to the other half of "we" - composer David Javelosa.
The performance was also beautifully filmed by director Marc Saltarelli.
Please contact me via email (above) for future performances and further information.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
1st Full Performance of 1 DAY LESS
Composer David Javelosa and I are thrilled to announce that the first full performance of our opera, 1 DAY LESS will take place Saturday, May 29th at the Edye Second Space of the Santa Monica Performing Arts Center. This is a semi-staged production featuring exciting young singers and instrumentalists - and is just the beginning!
Here's a bit from of the press release from Santa Monica College:
CONTACT: Bruce Smith FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Public Information Officer DATE: May 11, 2010
(310) 434-4209 www.smc.edu
A DREAM OPERA AT SMC
What do you get when you put a dream, Maria Callas, a poet and a Santa Monica College professor together? The answer is an experimental opera titled “One Day Less,” which will debut at a free concert in the Edye Second Space at the SMC Performing Arts Center on Saturday, May 29 at 8 p.m.
It began when widely published poet and Pushcart Prize nominee Angela Mankiewicz had a powerful but now vague dream. Then, she heard a story about opera legend Maria Callas in her last years. Shortly before she died in Paris, a near recluse at 53, an unnamed colleague ran into her and asked Callas how she was. She replied: “Caro, every day, thank God, is one day less.”
The mysterious dream and the story gave birth to Mankiewicz’s first opera, “One Day Less.” The underlying theme is alienation. The setting is in the not-too-distant future where people are marginalized by physical deformities. The lead characters meet by chance to find that they have mirrored disfigurements and are compelled to fall in love with each other. Faced with bureaucratic regulations and social stigma, they ponder conceiving a child, but are separated by the powers that be, bringing the story to a tragic ending.
What began with a dream turned into a play, which then evolved into the libretto. “Where the dream ends and the libretto takes over, I no longer have much idea,” Mankiewicz says.
To read the entire release, click here (If necessary, click on "Search Issue Archives" for Vol.11/Issue 49)
Here's a bit from of the press release from Santa Monica College:
CONTACT: Bruce Smith FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Public Information Officer DATE: May 11, 2010
(310) 434-4209 www.smc.edu
A DREAM OPERA AT SMC
What do you get when you put a dream, Maria Callas, a poet and a Santa Monica College professor together? The answer is an experimental opera titled “One Day Less,” which will debut at a free concert in the Edye Second Space at the SMC Performing Arts Center on Saturday, May 29 at 8 p.m.
It began when widely published poet and Pushcart Prize nominee Angela Mankiewicz had a powerful but now vague dream. Then, she heard a story about opera legend Maria Callas in her last years. Shortly before she died in Paris, a near recluse at 53, an unnamed colleague ran into her and asked Callas how she was. She replied: “Caro, every day, thank God, is one day less.”
The mysterious dream and the story gave birth to Mankiewicz’s first opera, “One Day Less.” The underlying theme is alienation. The setting is in the not-too-distant future where people are marginalized by physical deformities. The lead characters meet by chance to find that they have mirrored disfigurements and are compelled to fall in love with each other. Faced with bureaucratic regulations and social stigma, they ponder conceiving a child, but are separated by the powers that be, bringing the story to a tragic ending.
What began with a dream turned into a play, which then evolved into the libretto. “Where the dream ends and the libretto takes over, I no longer have much idea,” Mankiewicz says.
To read the entire release, click here (If necessary, click on "Search Issue Archives" for Vol.11/Issue 49)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
New Poetry Online and In Print
Two recent publishings for your consideration:
"Good Times" published in CLARK STREET REVIEW #70, available at PO Box 1377, Berthoud, CO 80513 ($3) and "My Last Signore" from OFF THE COAST-Spring/2010, available at PO Box 14, Robbinston, ME 04671 ($10), and online at www.off-the-coast.com
Thanks for reading.
"Good Times" published in CLARK STREET REVIEW #70, available at PO Box 1377, Berthoud, CO 80513 ($3) and "My Last Signore" from OFF THE COAST-Spring/2010, available at PO Box 14, Robbinston, ME 04671 ($10), and online at www.off-the-coast.com
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
2 For Today
The Children's Hour
A lonely kid, like most other kids, stuck
inside an omnipresence I didn't know;
always on edge, searching for clues to show
me how the rules work, show me how to make
my self touchable, teach me how to fake
being part of what I was attached to
by a trick of blood. How could they be sure who
I was if I did not remind them, take
them to the bed they gave me? Off a hall-
way, a pentagram of sounds, thick and hard,
a plot to kill, so insignificant
the sounds are swapped like jokes to pass a dull
day among deeded rooms, I am not barred
from or asked to enter. I move my scent
to other space, my chant
unheard. Space is made for me but none is mine.
I look into my eyes and check for signs
I'm here. And when I win
I tell them. I have to. Tell them. If they
forget my name, I will forget it too.
HAWAII REVIEW #45/95
==============================
A Villanelle Variation For My Last Duchess
Dedicated, with much admiration, to the memory of Browning, the Master Poet
They tell me my painting remains on the same wall.
"My last duchess," he repeats to each father come to
propose
his pubescent child's worthiness to succeed me
to imperial riches and papal honors, and to be painted.
The Duke has had several Raphaels and Berninis moved or
removed
but, they tell me, my portrait remains on the same wall.
Does the Duke consider, you think, how Fra Pandolf
may color her cheeks and drape her gown to highlight
the lovely child's worthiness to succeed me?
She will revere, unfailingly, the Duke's 900-year old
name; but should she falter she may, perhaps, be comforted
by my portrait remaining on that same wall.
They say the Duke has grown fond of my glance, the same
glance that so distressed him and must be guarded against
by the chosen child, however demure, who succeeds me.
I wonder that I have ever been happier than here in the
convent:
I bestow my glance as I desire, including to my dear Duke.
They tell me, again and again, my painting remains on the
wall. I pray
that will give solace to the father of the worthy child who
succeeds me.
SKETCHBOOK - 2008
A lonely kid, like most other kids, stuck
inside an omnipresence I didn't know;
always on edge, searching for clues to show
me how the rules work, show me how to make
my self touchable, teach me how to fake
being part of what I was attached to
by a trick of blood. How could they be sure who
I was if I did not remind them, take
them to the bed they gave me? Off a hall-
way, a pentagram of sounds, thick and hard,
a plot to kill, so insignificant
the sounds are swapped like jokes to pass a dull
day among deeded rooms, I am not barred
from or asked to enter. I move my scent
to other space, my chant
unheard. Space is made for me but none is mine.
I look into my eyes and check for signs
I'm here. And when I win
I tell them. I have to. Tell them. If they
forget my name, I will forget it too.
HAWAII REVIEW #45/95
==============================
A Villanelle Variation For My Last Duchess
Dedicated, with much admiration, to the memory of Browning, the Master Poet
They tell me my painting remains on the same wall.
"My last duchess," he repeats to each father come to
propose
his pubescent child's worthiness to succeed me
to imperial riches and papal honors, and to be painted.
The Duke has had several Raphaels and Berninis moved or
removed
but, they tell me, my portrait remains on the same wall.
Does the Duke consider, you think, how Fra Pandolf
may color her cheeks and drape her gown to highlight
the lovely child's worthiness to succeed me?
She will revere, unfailingly, the Duke's 900-year old
name; but should she falter she may, perhaps, be comforted
by my portrait remaining on that same wall.
They say the Duke has grown fond of my glance, the same
glance that so distressed him and must be guarded against
by the chosen child, however demure, who succeeds me.
I wonder that I have ever been happier than here in the
convent:
I bestow my glance as I desire, including to my dear Duke.
They tell me, again and again, my painting remains on the
wall. I pray
that will give solace to the father of the worthy child who
succeeds me.
SKETCHBOOK - 2008
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
"POLITICS"
In America
A child sitting on the edge of a cot
in the cell of a jailhouse;
his head droops into his folded arms,
the toes of his stocking feet
skimming the ground;
10 feet above his head is a slice of light
onto sky and barbed wire.
On someone’s sidewalk there are teddy bears
and candles, photographs and photographers.
In a hospice for dying children there is wailing,
there are caresses and prayer, hope
for an end to grievous pain.
Not in this cell, in this jailhouse
no candles, no caresses; a slice of light
onto sky and barbed wire.
SKETCHBOOK, 2009
==================================
Considering “Empire” by Kaplan – The Day After
Warm, always warm
every day, warm
not hot, never hot, warm
everyday, warm
every night
A bird, not an eagle
dozes on a railing,
a suspended railing
in danger of melting
into the smoky milk
of a triumphal arch
while smaller beings
too new to remember cold
poke, scamp about
in yellow light,
and plot
PROTESTPOEMS.org, 2009; GUYANAJOURNAL.com, 2010
A child sitting on the edge of a cot
in the cell of a jailhouse;
his head droops into his folded arms,
the toes of his stocking feet
skimming the ground;
10 feet above his head is a slice of light
onto sky and barbed wire.
On someone’s sidewalk there are teddy bears
and candles, photographs and photographers.
In a hospice for dying children there is wailing,
there are caresses and prayer, hope
for an end to grievous pain.
Not in this cell, in this jailhouse
no candles, no caresses; a slice of light
onto sky and barbed wire.
SKETCHBOOK, 2009
==================================
Considering “Empire” by Kaplan – The Day After
Warm, always warm
every day, warm
not hot, never hot, warm
everyday, warm
every night
A bird, not an eagle
dozes on a railing,
a suspended railing
in danger of melting
into the smoky milk
of a triumphal arch
while smaller beings
too new to remember cold
poke, scamp about
in yellow light,
and plot
PROTESTPOEMS.org, 2009; GUYANAJOURNAL.com, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
2 LOVE POEMS
Old Age, Alone: A Love Poem
If I must live a long time
without you, I will grieve
but I will not mourn.
If no one of blood or brain
stops by to touch my face
or roll me into sunlight,
if no one is left to speak
to me as if I still exist
or nod at my babbling,
I will start the tape at August,
a hot afternoon, when your breath
questioned mine and our lust-
driven, love-drenched epic began.
I will dawdle over every frame,
mouth every syllable, until
the reel whips to its end. I will
sob and shake my head like a forlorn
beast; I may even call out your name.
And if I'm touched and rolled and
spoken to and heard, I'll wait
until they've gone to press my heart
and start my tape, again.
Comstock Review, 1997
===================================
Forever & Forever & Forever
"This is forever - we are in it now" - A. R. Ammons
What are you looking for, Beloved,
what do you seek?
Why ask me such questions, Beloved?
You are not as meek
and wide-eyed as you pretend to yourself
to be, a Byronic Don Juan,
sultry newborn, happy hostage
to your own innocent charm;
You know as well as I, your make-believe
Venus, that all my tricks
of seduction, my blinding beauty
are out of Kabala books.
And what does Kabala say, Beloved
what do the books say?
That forever is a pretty thought, Beloved
a thought we create
in our own image of unending love
and pleasure for as long
as we want to stay in this place, drawing
each other's breath, as long
as we want to promise, as long as we see
ourselves in each other's eyes,
in each other's sighs;
this is Forever, Beloved, it is now.
JerseyWorks.com – Summer/2008
If I must live a long time
without you, I will grieve
but I will not mourn.
If no one of blood or brain
stops by to touch my face
or roll me into sunlight,
if no one is left to speak
to me as if I still exist
or nod at my babbling,
I will start the tape at August,
a hot afternoon, when your breath
questioned mine and our lust-
driven, love-drenched epic began.
I will dawdle over every frame,
mouth every syllable, until
the reel whips to its end. I will
sob and shake my head like a forlorn
beast; I may even call out your name.
And if I'm touched and rolled and
spoken to and heard, I'll wait
until they've gone to press my heart
and start my tape, again.
Comstock Review, 1997
===================================
Forever & Forever & Forever
"This is forever - we are in it now" - A. R. Ammons
What are you looking for, Beloved,
what do you seek?
Why ask me such questions, Beloved?
You are not as meek
and wide-eyed as you pretend to yourself
to be, a Byronic Don Juan,
sultry newborn, happy hostage
to your own innocent charm;
You know as well as I, your make-believe
Venus, that all my tricks
of seduction, my blinding beauty
are out of Kabala books.
And what does Kabala say, Beloved
what do the books say?
That forever is a pretty thought, Beloved
a thought we create
in our own image of unending love
and pleasure for as long
as we want to stay in this place, drawing
each other's breath, as long
as we want to promise, as long as we see
ourselves in each other's eyes,
in each other's sighs;
this is Forever, Beloved, it is now.
JerseyWorks.com – Summer/2008
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