The Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival

Four days of peace and poetry is one slogan that could suit pretty well for The Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival, dubbed "Wordstock" by The New York Times. Based in Newark, New Jersey, and arriving this year to its 13th edition, the biennial event is North America's largest poetry festival. Sharon Olds, Martín Espada, Kay Ryan and Bob Hicok are only a few names from the long list of poets taking part in the evening programs, which are the centerpiece of the Festival. If you're nearby, don't miss it!

The Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival
October 7-10, 2010
NJPAC and Newark's Downtown Arts District


Further reading:

Festival 2010

Festival Poets

Scheduled Readings

little red riding hood feels the tingle

"I want to be notorious,
infamous, androgynous,
barely innocent,
vaguely inconsistent"
Giovanni Anderson (1742-1801)






Behold, a nightmare!
a porn star, a turtleneck, and no poet
So much energy towards a useless revolution,
Mother said -- What a waste of time!

And the higher the buildings rose the deeper we were drowning
Into recession, anxiety and Civil War, which was anything but Civil
The Rat Race was over, the triumph of Evil inevitable,
The smell of your panties, unforgettable

[PLACE COMMERCIAL HERE]

The story of Little Red Riding Hood, everybody knows -Or should know-
Is not about a girl shuttling a piece of cake for her grandmother, no
It is about the innate curiosity of the young
About the dawn of sexual arousal

So when The Wolf living in the dingle
Makes Little Red Riding Hood feel the tingle
From his signature swinging schlong
You can't help but remembering Anderson's words:
barely innocent, vaguely inconsistent

Because both Wolf and the red hooded girl are hungry
And she may not be as strong as him, but you know she has the instinct
To devour the black animal using teeth and nails
Were it needed -- and you can comfort yourself saying:

Poor little thing!
Just a little girl!
Good heavens!
Dear Lord!

The higher the buildings rose, the bigger our despair
Just like when you came back home -- just like
Only to grab your belongings
And walked out the door without saying goodbye.


richard krauss (Missoula, MT, 1975)

roadkill

I washed the Honda Odyssey
just yesterday-and now
the bumper’s splattered.
I dread the clean-up process.

Surveying the wreckage, I try to
recall the last time I witnessed
any expression on your pyrite face.
The trail of tears was absent
at your mother’s burial,
so why is your salt spilling
on the tabby's mangled body?

Fascinated, I study the feline's
anatomy: crushed skull bone,
intestines strewn across the
steaming pavement.

I wonder: should I be touched,
or annoyed by the tears that
dampen your graying beard?

I wrap the tabby in a
flowered picnic blanket
that hides the matted fur.
And from the right angle,
she looks peaceful.


stephanie gustafson (St. Paul, MN, 1988)

scotch, lipstick, and alone

donaldina relocated to
steamboat springs twelve
years ago, she's originally
from scotland

donaldina has girlfriends, but
not friends, and on friday nights
she never has a date

how could
this be?

she is a respected bagpiper,
two handicap golfer, and
a champion curler.


lawrence gladeview (Longmont, CO, 1983)

wine in my throat, pen in my hand, you in my vengeance

If that was love, I rather go loveless
And well, yes, I am putting this into verse
After reading my metaphoric Monday paper

Where it is printed that I was so not
The kind of guy you expected
Or ever wanted as a significant other

It is all so lame:
Me and you, the metaphores,
Stating the obvious, not being able to see the evident

Your all new look
Favoring the clothes you once said
Were reserved for desperate wannabes

Your sudden new life
I can't compare
Friends all drawn from the liberal arts

Your new boyfriend
I can't compete
His clothes are so much better than mine

Tell me if it will ever stop hurting
Tell me if I will ever forget you
Tell me if this poem will do


carson newman (Boston, MA, 1987)

they call me hispanic

they call me hispanic, latino, brown
what do they know?

they call me wetback, chicano, tex-mex
they build a wall

they say we're good fo'nuthin', yet use our tax dollars
for pumping petrol in their border patrol

they call me hispanic, latino, brown
mandatory labelling, profiling frenzy

they knock our doors in the middle of the night
asking for josé, for hernán and rita

they won't let our children speak spanglish
and yet they order undocumented fajitas

they send me to eat in the kitchen when company comes,
but I laugh, and eat well, and grow strong

they call me hispanic, latino, brown
they build a wall


silvia arroyo (El Paso, TX, 1972)

summer work

subdued in the raw smell of office supplies
and paper bags with the tops rolled over,
you'll take down in your messagebooks
how they stapled you to a rolling chair,
made you dance for a man you don't know
and for a phone that does not want to ring
and does for anyone but you.

so you answer in a name that isn't your own,
pray at an arbitrary wooden desk
to not be there long enough to see
your name engraved on a rectangle paper card.


samantha zimbler (Staten Island, NY, 1991)