IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT W/ CHIWAN CHOI!

THANKS FOR THE WRITING! AND THANKS FOR READING +V!
CHIWAN CHOI brings us GRIGOR PANKOV ! ALEXANDRA KOSTOULAS ! STACEY MANGIARACINA and !J.I.G.G.S.A.W!
Chiwan Choi is a writer, editor, teacher, and publisher. He has been a member of the Los Angeles Poets & Writers Collective since 1989. His poems and essays have appeared in numerous journals and magazines, including ONTHEBUS, Esquire, and American Book Jam in Tokyo. Chiwan’s first major collection of poetry, The Flood, will be published by Tia Chucha Press in April, 2010.
He is a regular in the Los Angeles literary circuit, often invited as a featured poet at readings at the Hotel Cafe in Hollywood, the legendary Beyond Baroque in Venice, and the Los Angeles Central Library. He also leads two writing workshops, one in downtown and one in Santa Monica.
After a two-year stint in New York, where he received an MFA in Dramatic Writing from the Tisch School at NYU, Chiwan returned to Los Angeles where he and his wife, Judeth Oden, launched a new publishing company to feature Los Angeles writers, Writ Large Press, in March of 2008.
He lives in Downtown Los Angeles with his wife and their dog, Bella. You can follow his writing on his blog, www.chiwanchoi.com and keep up with his publishing company on www.writlargepress.com.

!J.I.G.G.S.A.W!

TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS

I know this redhead,
she scratched her dome when asked 2 groove—yes
we hyphy danced, her passion grow’d,
but when I blew breath she went back 2 brunette.
Confused yet?

Alexandra Kostoulas

The F-word

I learned my first cuss word when I was five
and got to walk to the end of the block
for the first time.

Grigor Pankov

a few lines composed toward the end of the war  
 
the room is small
the lights
the fridge

Stacey Mangiaracina

Drowning Pool

There are days
when the sun shines
bright against a big blue
sky filled with
white cotton clouds.

THIS SATURDAY NIGHT ! POEMS ! BY GAIL ANNETTE EASTERLING

One of my favorite things to see is a star-spangled sky, through the leaves of a tree as I lay on my cot in the still of the night.  God surely created a beautiful sight!

It’s SATURDAY NIGHT Brought to us by OSCAR BERMEO!!!

Thanks so much for coming out! And Oscar for connecting us w/ Amalia Bueno ! Rachelle Cruz ! Guillermo Parra and Amir Rabiyah !  THANKS FOR THE POEMS !   Hope you all enjoy the show +V.

Oscar Bermeo: Whenever I say poetry the next work that leaps right into my head is community.  There’s no way around it for me.  I know that writing is a very solitary act and that no one can come in and write the poem for you but that’s only where the poetry starts.  Or maybe not, maybe the poem–even for the most reclusive of writers–begins in community as well.  In some form of sound, experience or thought that has made some connection with that writer, and, from that connection, the desire to make another connection.

I’ve been told this is a very idealized vision of poetry.  That poetry is a business–the grind of publication, the staunchness of the workshop, the hustle of live readings, the deadly serious pursuit of authenticity.  Yes, all those things are part of the rigor of poetry and they should never be taken lightly. But what about the joy of opening your circle of poetics?  Finding new audiences and encountering different poetic viewpoints?

The poets presented here believe in the value of community.  All the poems here happen in the wild open air with interactions as varied as Radiohead in Venezuela, a trip on the Bx1 in the Bronx, communion with the dead, and conversations with God.  These poems bristle against the unexpected, invite conversation and (in my idealized world) spread out to create connections with their poetry.

Word.

Oscar is the author of three self-published poetry chapbooks, including Heaven Below. He lives in Oakland, CA, with his wife, poeta Barbara Jane Reyes.  For more on Oscar and his poetics, please visit his website: www.oscarbermeo.com.

AMIR RABIYAH

Beirut Achilles

his new leather shoes broke open the back of his heel

RACHELLE CRUZ

Poem in the Time of Recession
For Thomas

I’ve sold my brain
and its’ dimpled container

GUILLERMO PARRA

Kid A

You will not write the honest
version of your life

AMALIA BUENO

 

The Ramshackle Garden

I remember your bougainvilleas bloomed
their hottest pinks and most vivid yellows

BRL Saturday Night- A Tribute to MARLON EVANS w/ writing from Joseph O’Connell, Frances Sjoberg, Franci Washburn and Simon J. Ortiz, curated by Wendy Burk

Poet Marlon B. Evans was born on October 8, 1952 and left this world on July 28, 2009. Wendy Burk: Marlon was Tohono O’odham and Akimel O’odham, Desert and River People. He received a B.S. from Rochester Institute of Technology and a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona. He had just completed his first year of graduate work in the University of Arizona American Indian Studies Program, with an emphasis in poetry and media arts.

When I think about Marlon, I think about the poems he wrote, and also the poems he had not yet written. We can’t know what those poems would be. But you can read a feature on Marlon’s work in the Fall 2007 issue of Red Ink Magazine, a journal of Native voices that was very close to his heart. And thanks to Marlon’s good friend Eric Mache, you can watch a video of Marlon reciting his poem “A Eurocentric Memoir.”

Marlon surrounded himself with a circle of other writers and artists, as talented and unforgettable as he was. Here, a few of them share their work in tribute to our friend Marlon Evans.

Simon J. Ortiz

A Love That Thrives

Soon after we met, a number of summers ago, the late Marlon Evans told me what he really wanted to do.  Write a story, write a script, and make a movie about Ira Hayes.  In fact, the true story of Ira Hayes.  Ira and the Akmiel O’otham community.  “Not that drunk Indian story, not that Tony Curtis b.s. movie Hollywood shit,” Marlon said.  

Franci Washburn

Still Present

In Memory of Marlon Evans

In the rain drenched brown of the earth, still I see your face

Dripping sweat after your run up Tumamoc.

Frances Sjoberg

Recitation for Marlon Evans

from his self-introduction in Red Ink

Taking a poem from beginning to end

With a story in between

Joe O’Connell

Marlon was my best friend for many years. Among the qualities I appreciated during those years were his honesty and generosity. He would talk, then grow silent and think, then talk some more—as if an invisible string were slowly drawing the truth out of him.

IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT curated by Trevor Calvert

SCROLL DOWN! for new writing by ! Ryan Bartlett ! Steffi Drews ! Bhanu Kapil !

THANKS SO MUCH, for reading and writing and Trevor for bringing us these poems; I hope you all like the way they look! +V

BHANU KAPIL

IMMIGRANT:

a set of notes* before “Schizophrene.”  Never coming.  Not wanting something in return.  Tepid.  Immigrant, immigrant, why are you so scared to get in trouble?  Calling me up.  Spitting down the phone like that.  Then hangin’ up.

1.  An immigrant flares at the periphery of a long time comin’s vision.

STEFFI DREWES

VILLAGERS AT THE ROUND TABLE

Did he throw the branch to me? to the scorpion? or did he sink the statue for someone else?

Ryan Bartlett

FATTY IN FRAME
(For Mr. Arbuckle)

Fatty’s
face begins
to freeze

IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!!!!

SCROLL DOWN FOR NEW WRITING BY Jack Morgan ! Elizabeth Terrazas ! Lukas Champagne ! Alisa Heinzman ! John Kusper !

NEXT MONTH GUEST CURATOR Trevor Calvert!

John Kusper

CELESTIAL SUBWAY (SILENT SYMPHONY)

Lit by the synaptic flicker of a nervous lantern

Void imbued by an osmosis of shadow into light.

Alisa Heinzman

IN YARDS

1.
The light withdrawn to the fence base. A shadow the shape of your yellow chair. There is no chair but you reach both ways in your yellow shirt and pretend to swim the backstroke.

Jack Morgan

From The Haunting of Ninja Town

JEOPARDY

I look into the mirror
and don’t turn myself
on anymore.

Elizabeth Terrazas

Poem Object

wonder if rain and ghosts come into this world

very often

too many pictures and dances to cement

every one of them

takes me back when I was

now, is it true, Joe?

say it isn’t so joe, a chrysanthemum

a piano

speak of a time

when    she knew the answer

not always

to the kernel      I must say

not always this

way-slow down         let’s talk about it: sit

in this chair: let’s say what

let’s say:  where

would it go without me   what would the shoes say?

What are now prayers read

In Catholic school     fathom beyond

Victim     beyond the past

Is prosperity

We celebrate our unusual manner

Of speaking and writing      look I see no

I see know way to–

NEARLY

If my jaw were loose I would speak in third person. I would be an actress.

Lukas Champagne

HER TRIUMPH

I sat out and watched the weather systems pass, ordinarily there were four or five of these like accelerated photography each day.  It was an island about four miles off the coast of Maine; and I’d gone there to write in a big house with rotted ceilings and newspaper lampshades.  The house was situated in the apex of a cove

Happening!!!

Happy Day +V.

Back Room Live ! SATURDAY NIGHT ! Mumolo ! Burford ! Zetter ! Prickett

MAURICE BURFORD ! SHARON ZETTER ! BEN PRICKETT ! and this months currator SARA MUMOLO ! Thanks Sara and thanks for Reading +V.

Sharon Zetter

/Wrinkle                                                                        Glass/

She belly, I distend                                                      a cursed jar

Sara Mumolo

from Money On It

I can’t hide you—the rock cried out

Maurice Burford

[the] Robin’s Poem

1. Letter to Robin

This is the most important letter you will ever receive

Ben Prickett

My father died younger than any of us expected, contributing to my belief that we were made of something too soft.

Also, 7PM

!

*******2009 BAY AREA POETRY MARATHON*******

“An ear and mind opener… this event delivers the real thing: edgy stuff, poetry with a real bite!” –SAN FRANCISCO MAGAZINE

Come hear poetry by: ME * SAMANTHA GILES * CAROLINE GOODWIN * OWEN HILL * SARA MUMULO * ERIC OLSON * STEPHEN VINCENT * DELLA WATSON * JESSICA WICKENS at THE LAB, 2948 16th Street (@ Capp), San Francisco *1 block from the Mission BART stop*

!

IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT ! Debbie Yee ! Margaret Rhee ! Oscar Bermeo ! Craig Santos Perez !

Scroll Down for this months writing brought to us by Craig Santos Perez and come back for  guest curators Sara Mumolo, Saturday June 27th and Trevor Calvert, Saturday August 29th. Also, look out for some new Pages! As always, looking for new writing.

Thanks Craig :]

+V. 

Margaret Rhee

 

 

 

Address: the Ocean

We peered into circle windows     Backs of tan leather seats

Boats rocked slowly                      To the water

Debbie Yee

 

 

The Mole’s Benefaction

1

I grant you the applejack, a swig
of something, terminal moonshine.

Craig Santos Perez

 

 

[a figure against limit]

We’ve survived the long rain
only to wander around the edges

Oscar Bermeo

 

from Anything to Declare?

 

How streets came to be.

They found a path and called it the Way, and in past times called it the One Way, but now we know it as the Broad Way. But before it was Broad, someone had the idea that the Way, like el Barrio, must have family out there and it was only right to have family united.

 

BACK ROOM LIVE !

SCROLL DOWN for  poetry by HARMONY HOLIDAY and WENDY BURK,  collaborative epistolary poetry by DELLA WATSON and JESSICA WICKENS and a travel essay by LAURA BRENNAN!

Come back in May and June to see what our guest curators bring to the screen!
05/30/09 CRAIG SANTOS PEREZ
06/27/09 SARA MUMOLO

Harmony Holiday

The Disorientation of Sweet Violence

You punch me in the face and grey flowers bloom, not elsewhere, just as soon

Wendy Burk

Inner Pool

I have not raised the weight
but already                       ripple coasts arm

 

Della Watson and Jessica Wickens

”3

Dear Crow

This note is precision”

3.1

benjamin,

forgive me, i’ve neglected our vocabulary. the days’ little worries kept me from cackle
practice. pallor was a dinner. so now i owe you two and want to speak twice at once.

Laura Brennan

Home Again 

 

 

“A run down of the things I did in the first 48 hours back.

-drank a Moonlight Death & Taxes Black Beer as soon as I got off BART (actually 2).”

SEND US SOME PAGES!

GILLIAN AND I ARE LOOKING FOR PAGES TO READ. CHECK OUT OUR SUBMISSIONS PAGE AND SEND US SOME +V

BACK ROOM LIVE NOW! RIGHT NOW! CHOI ! RICKEL ! HUDSON ! HAMEL

IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT ! scroll down for new writing by  Boyer Rickel ! Chiwan Choi ! Victoria A. Hudson ! and NEW ! Life-long Press Co-Editor Gillian Hamel ! Also, check out our new and updated Pages,  top  right.  Submit some pages of your own +V.

Gillian Hamel

how moths and lamps really work

there might actually be something beyond the light that is attractive. ‘all I need’ does not suggest this outright but something in there takes you in that direction, wondering how much the dark disturbs or if there’s a possibility of something afterward once you get out of it. I think I understand what you mean now. it’s not necessarily about being literal, when anything in your mind can easily be imagined or understood, like the last hour or so of Jaws.

if only I could stay here indefinitely,
and maybe you could be here too

Boyer Rickel

from reliquary

The beaked and opalescent bloodied

stump my dog nudges—a chunk

of pigeon in shadow. Things known

Victoria A. Hudson

Trigeminal Neuralgia

Silent
It strikes
No warning
Swift

It slithers

Chiwan Choi

inexplicable walls—uncooperative roses

—the black out—the sirens—air cracking with each rushed
inhale—this is the waiting—cross legs and hard concrete

New Poems and Prose on the way!

Goldman ! Cully ! Moctezuma ! Durback ! Right Now !

The next installment of Back Room Live ! On Line ! is ready to be read. Many of you are used to this event happening at Mc Nally’s in Oakland Ca. Now, thanks to free blogs! you can check out the NEW multi-genre blogging series Back Room Live, right here! If you are a writer who would like to join the series, I’ll be posting the work of 4 new people the last Saturday of every month at 7pm. So check out the site to see what we’re posting and what we’re looking to post. Scroll down to see this month’s poetry and script!

Steven Goldman

From: The Idiot’s Guide To Life

According to a Latin proverb, there are four things a man must do in his life:

1. Plant a Tree.
2. Father a Child.
3. Write a Book and…
4. …?