December 30, 2002-January 5, 2003: Rob Meador and Faith Vicinanza

week of December 30-January 5, 2003

Rob Meador and Faith Vicinanza

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Robert Meador

Bio (auto)

Rob Meador currently lives in New York City, where he’s lived since leaving Tennessee in 1983 By day he writes advertising copy and designs web sites for a college textbook publisher By night he plays guitar and mandolin in a variety of folk/ bands in New York’s East Village In between he writes nauseatingly self-referential poetry that assumes everyone on earth is as utterly fascinated by his own spoor as he is.

The following work is Copyright © 2002, and owned by Robert Meador and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

I Woke In Tears Today

a dream phrase following
me into consciousness The words were epitaphy,
intoned like a voiceover
in a movie about Texas It was important, an insight,
a truth succinctly put,
something to carve on a stone
or tape to the back of a door But by the time I showered,
shaved, and begrudgingly flossed,
it was gone I could only recall
“why” and maybe “matter”
Where did the dream phrase go?
Back to the barn for another day?
Or did it fly out my ear to
thunder across the big sky
and circle the dream of another?
Maybe somewhere in Montana
some guy will wake up with the
sound of my voice hoofing
through his brain, saying
“Why does it matter?” or
“Why are you this way,
what’s the matter with you?”
Maybe he’ll dream back the answer.

Photo of Me and Gwen at the Cotton Ball

The first girl I seriously dated
told me she wouldn’t live past 21 I used to think about that on the drive
between Chattanooga and Jasper,
through close hills cloaked with kudzu
and green-yellow leaves that seemed to light
the sun I’d pass Nickajack Lake, man-made,
although the natural light didn’t mind
fire dancing over its glassy ripples,
and the old highway lined with
eyeless motels and toothless gas stations When I got to Jasper we’d cruise around in
her Camero, listening to Bread and Elton John,
and laughing at the rednecks at the ball field Or we’d highjack a corner of the community
swimming pool and float around each other
like jellyfish connected by a thousand
strands of plans and melodrama I said we could name our first child
Gregory Duane (after the Allman Brothers) She said she dreamed her wedding She could see herself standing there,
But she could never see her own face That’s how she knew she wouldn’t live
long enough to get married.

I Have a Question

There’s a shadow me in Tennessee,
practicing golf strokes on a burned lawn I have two fat children I follow football My life there’s no better than here,
but I can feel the breeze that brushed
my dad’s face in the charcoal quiet, as he
watched his house glow gold at the windows I can hear the iced grass crunch underfoot
in the sleet and smoke dawn I can smell pine tar and cedar chips,
the snake air of freshwater lakes,
salt ham and coffee How long does it take to unlearn your life?

Faith Vicinanza

Bio (auto)

Faith Vicinanza is a published poet, visiting artist, editor, publisher, workshop facilitator, and event manager She is a Master Teaching Artist in Poetry for the CT Commission on the Arts; on the editorial staff of several national literary journals; the Executive Director of the CT Poetry Festival (1997, 2001, and 2003); and founder/executive director of Hanover Press, Ltd , committed to bringing new and accomplished voices to a wide readership

Ms Vicinanza is founder and executive director of PoetTs, Inc , a not-for-profit collective of poets and teachers that develop and facilitate visiting artists’ programs for young writers She develops and delivers creative writing and self-expression workshops for writers’ retreats, conferences, and festivals; as well as stage performances; and is co-founder of Creative Beginnings-a partnership offering workshops to support the creative writing process She has worked with Litchfield Performing Arts, The Greater Hartford Arts Council, Urban Artists’ Initiative, The Connecticut Commission on the Arts, and BOCES (NY), among others
Ms Vicinanza founded or co-founded numerous writers’ support groups and poetry programs in coffee houses, libraries, art spaces, schools, museums, and community centers in Connecticut, including the Wednesday Night Poetry Series initiated in 1994 which is now the second longest running poetry reading and open mike series in the state featuring new voices and accomplished poets from around the world

Ms Vicinanza has been featured from San Francisco to Stockholm, Sweden, is the author of two books of poetry, and the co-author of a creative writing workbook Her work has appeared in numerous journals, including Poetry Slam-The Competitive Art of Performance Poetry (a ten year history-Manic D Press, San Francisco, 2000), The Red Brick ReviewThe Connecticut River ReviewIn The RawThe Fairfield Review, and is forthcoming in The Connecticut Review (spring 2003), and Selected Poems From The Daily Grind (an anthology-fall 2002) Recent appearances include the New London Boats, Books, and Brushes Festival (September, 2002) with William Meredith and Doug Anderson She was one of 16 poets to be nominated for the position of Poet Laureate of the State of Connecticut in 2001
Visit the CT POET ONLINE CALENDER which Ms Vicinanza edits by going here and clicking on CT POET ONLINE CALENDER.

The following work is Copyright © 2002, and owned by Faith Vicinanza and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Blood Senryu
– a poem for my daughter in three parts

She tells me she is
late First the breath, then questions
form quicker than tears
I can no longer
conceive She knows what I want I must let go, twice
In the stark clinic,
I recall my own choices Today she’s eighteen
previously published in The Red Brick Review in 2001

In your hands,

I am all ink and pen
writing myself into the copper of your eyes,
the damp of your whisper,
the fabric of night you wear,

but my words fade as quickly
as I write them, so I write them
again, each time you pull me
to you
previously published in The Connecticut River Review, 2001

March 23rd, 1998

I recall little
except the date, 
except that is was
Monday, Richmond,
three days groceries
stored or refrigerated,
CDs and books in orderly fashion
on the small space of table
in that studio apartment
where I needed

A half day’s commute
from husband, daughter,
three cats, one dog,
and the clutter of accumulation,
this place was sanctuary
Suddenly, there was you,
and most of it is blurred now
or forgotten, except
that you were so hungry
devouring breath
and bone.

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