Art Instead of Poetry

And why not?

Here's two pieces I made in photo shop using the same new painting.

I'm doing a reading with my lovely friend Cheryl Burke Tuesday (9/25) at Bluestockings bookstore on the Lower East Side (of Manhattan). I'll be reading my poetry -duh-- and Cheryl will be reading an excerpt from her fantastic memoir or her poetry -- both are great. The open mike starts at 7 and the reading will commence at 7:30. More about me:
www.christinehamm.org

Here's some directions:

Bluestockings is located in the Lower East Side of Manhattan at 172 Allen Street between Stanton and Rivington - which means that we are 1 block south of Houston and 1st Avenue.

By train: We are 1 block south of the F train's 2nd Avenue stop and just 5 blocks from the JMZ-line's Essex / Delancey Street stop.

By car: If you take the Houston exit off of the FDR, then turn left onto Essex (aka Avenue A), then right on Rivington, and finally right on Allen, you will be very, very close.

You can also try their website: www.bluestockings.com.


______

And hey, also -- I'm doing a reading at the main library in Queens in December and they are PAYING me $150!!

I can't tell you how amazing that is. Oh, you're all poets, so you know how amazing it is. I'm going to have to find some "family friendly" poems for the reading, though!

This is a holiday card I've created:





I think the text can be interpreted in many ways. Perhaps God gets drunk on X-mas? Perhaps the man in the apartment above is lonely and hates the holidays... Who's to say?


Still very ill. I believe I'm getting worse. Passing out during my reading tomorrow would at least be memorable for the audience...

Excavate


In some parts of the world right now,
it is night, and where it is night,
women are going underground

women dig
women lay flat on their faces in pits
women find tunnels and make tunnels and
burrow

women avoid stiff tree roots
women wear hard and ugly yellow hats
women carry their tools over their shoulders
and in their pockets

women crawl down into wet caves
with ropes around their waists
women take off their heavy gloves
to brush at the dirt to delicately peel
the years away from the teeth from eye sockets
women whisk the dull gold rings the bracelets
with toothbrushes

women gently straighten
the rotten calico skirts
women tap at the sodden brown femurs
until they shift until they loosen from the wall

women slip tentative dirty fingers
under the damp petticoats
under the ripped slips
and the moldy underclothes and women
lift away the smeared envelopes
the soggy letters the words spilling
like glistening persimmon seeds
into underground puddles

women reach between the legs of the dead
women find old tongues new ways to fit
a language heavy and stained still
smelling of horse dung and honey



____________

So I’ve been reading a lot of Adrienne Rich, and I have my “fight the power” baseball cap on (backwards). Is this poem too clichéd? Have you heard it all before?