Posted in news

2018 Wheelbarrow Books Poetry Prize (Emerging) Winner Selected

KBrace2Kristin Brace, winner of the 2018 Wheelbarrow Books Poetry Prize (Emerging).

Congratulations are in order for Kristin Brace, the latest winner of the Wheelbarrow Books Poetry Prize.

Brace’s collection, Toward the Wild Abundance, was selected by judge Sarah Bagby. “Toward the Wild Abundance conjures emotions initiated by the frailty and wonder of our lives,” Bagby writes. “The multifaceted nature of this work demands that it be read for voice and validation.  A second reading reveals a deeper commentary on the nature and value of art and the artist. These kaleidoscopic poems also shine brilliance on themes of memory and the passage of time.  They fluidly transport us from past to present and into the imagination to pose questions about how our experiences inform identity and meaning.”

Kristin Brace writes poetry, fiction, and children’s literature. She is the author of the poetry chapbooks Fence, Patio, Blessed Virgin and Each Darkness Inside (Finishing Line Press, 2018). Brace earned an MFA in Writing from Spalding University and her work has appeared in journals such as Fiction Southeast, The Louisville Review, Water~Stone, The Chariton Review, and The Other Journal. She serves as executive director of the Grand Rapids Creative Youth Center, where kids become published authors. Brace plays the accordion, studies Italian, and loves Lake Michigan in every season. She makes her home in West Michigan with her husband, the entrepreneur and inventor Neal Brace. She can be found online at www.kristinbrace.com.

Finalists for this round are Emily Calhoun for Under Long Rains, Ann Miller for The Direction of Flight, Jacob Oet for Inside Ball Lightning, and Heidi Seaborn for Cleave.

In addition to publication in late 2019 by the MSU Press, Brace has been awarded a prize for $1,000. She joins previous winners Cortney Davis (2016), William Orem (2017), and Gary Fincke (2017).

Wheelbarrow Books is an imprint of the RCAH Center for Poetry at Michigan State University, with distribution by MSU Press. It awards two prizes annually, each to an established and an emerging poet. For more information, guidelines, and to learn more about previous selections, visit http://poetry.rcah.msu.edu/wheelbarrow-books-poetry-prize.html

 

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Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “The White Poet Wants to Know Why I Don’t Write More Arab Poems,” by Leila Chatti

The White Poet Wants to Know Why I Don’t Write More Arab Poems

Because, while a war blooms at the margins

of the other country that claims me, still

 

I am here with my ordinary grief and its language.

 

Because every time I open my mouth

I am an Arab opening my mouth

 

and the poem is, and isn’t, responsible.

 

Sometimes I have to shake

the sand from my story

like a shoe by the side of the road.

 

I have lost nearly everyone I love, and all

to mundane tragedies.

 

I have never felt in my bones a bomb’s

radius of light.

 

The truth is I can only write about God

so many times

 

before he starts listening.

 

The truth is, like you

some days I am struck

 

by pleasure so simple and insistent

I can’t resist—the sun offering indiscriminate

 

brightness against my window, on the table

an empty glass glittering

 

—or sometimes, too, I am unwilling

to mention the wild

 

flowers staked in the field like flags.

 

Previous published in the Summer 2017 issue of The Georgia Review 

Please join us Wednesday, April 18 as we welcome Leila for a reading at 7 p.m. and as she announces the winner of the Annie Balocating Prize. Details at Poetry.RCAH.msu.edu

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: i come to the city, by Cheryl Clarke

Tailored-Tomboy-Kicks-Up-The-Dust-In-Tomboy-Style-Fashion-7

i come to the city

 for protection
and to witness the thick transactions
of women
and women
and dance with my head.
My turns are calculated
to end on the right foot
to subdue the hip movements.
The city fumes with expectations
and the smells of women
wanting women.
I been in love
six times in the last six months
and ain’t done tryin yet.

Cheryl Clarke

 

Join the RCAH Center for Poetry as we welcome Cheryl Clarke, Wednesday, March 28, for a 3 p.m. talk in the LookOut! Gallery: Gwendolyn Brooks: “Bad Woman” Poet in the Streets and at the Margins, and for a 7 p.m. reading of her own work, in the RCAH Theater.

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “Languages” by Carl Sandburg

 

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There are no handles upon a language

Whereby men take hold of it

And mark it with signs for its remembrance.

It is a river, this language,

Once in a thousand years

Breaking a new course

Changing its way to the ocean.

It is mountain effluvia

Moving to valleys

And from nation to nation

Crossing borders and mixing.

Languages die like rivers.

Words wrapped round your tongue today

And broken to shape of thought

Between your teeth and lips speaking

Now and today

Shall be faded hieroglyphics

Ten thousand years from now.

Sing—and singing—remember

Your song dies and changes

And is not here to-morrow

Any more than the wind

Blowing ten thousand years ago.

Posted in Poetic Justice

“Poetic Justice” is in (and on!) the Air

Listen up!

The Center for Poetry has ventured even further to reach audiences of poetry through its new podcast “Poetic Justice.”

Interns Shannon McGlone and Allison Costello combined their love for radio and discussing poetry and social issues to produce a podcast, online for your listening enjoyment.

In the first episode, the hosts talk to the Director of the Center for Poetry, Anita Skeen about her former teacher and literary icon, Margaret Atwood.

Poetic Justice is produced by the RCAH Center for Poetry at Michigan State University. Original music by Shannon McGlone.

New episode available now!

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “Recreation” by Audre Lorde

 

audre lorde

Coming together

it is easier to work

after our bodies

meet

paper and pen

neither care nor profit

whether we write or not

but as your body moves

under my hands

charged and waiting

we cut the leash

you create me against your thighs

hilly with images

moving through our word countries

my body

writes into your flesh

the poem

you make of me.

 

Touching you I catch midnight

as moon fires set in my throat

I love you flesh into blossom

I made you

and take you made

into me.

 

Audre Lorde, “Recreation” from The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde. Copyright © 1997 by Audre Lorde. Reprinted with the permission of Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency and W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., http://www.nortonpoets.com.

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “I Want To Work in a Hospital” by Cortney Davis

I Want To Work in a Hospital

where it’s okay

to climb into bed with patients

and hold them—

pre-op, before they lose

their legs or breasts, or after,

to tell them

they are still whole.

 

Or post-partum,

when they have just returned

from that strange garden,

or when they are dying,

as if somehow because I stay

they are free to go.

 

I want the daylight

I walk out into

to become the flashlight they carry,

waving it as we go together

into their long night.

 

Poem courtesy of http://www.cortneydavis.com/

Cortney Davis’ Taking Care of Time is the inaugural winner of the Wheelbarrow Books Poetry Prize. This book will be available for sale from Michigan State University Press through their website at www.msupress.org and at bookstores in March 2018.

The RCAH Center for Poetry will represent Wheelbarrow Books at the Association of Writers & Writing Programs (AWP) conference in March 2018, where there will also be copies available.

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “Mothers” by Nikki Giovanni

the last time i was home

to see my mother we kissed

exchanged pleasantries

and unpleasantries pulled a warm

comforting silence around

us and read separate books

 

i remember the first time

i consciously saw her

we were living in a three room

apartment on burns avenue

 

mommy always sat in the dark

i don’t know how i knew that but she did

 

that night i stumbled into the kitchen

maybe because i’ve always been

a night person or perhaps because i had wet

the bed

she was sitting on a chair

the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through

those thousands of panes landlords who rented

to people with children were prone to put in windows

she may have been smoking but maybe not

her hair was three-quarters her height

which made me a strong believer in the samson myth

and very black

 

i’m sure i just hung there by the door

i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady

 

she was very deliberately waiting

perhaps for my father to come home

from his night job or maybe for a dream

that had promised to come by

“come here” she said “i’ll teach you

a poem: i see the moon

               the moon sees me

               god bless the moon

               and god bless me

i taught it to my son

who recited it for her

just to say we must learn

to bear the pleasures

as we have borne the pains

 

Nikki Giovanni, “Mothers” from My House. Copyright © 1972 by Nikki Giovanni.

Source: The Collected Poems of Nikki Giovanni (2003)

Posted in news

New Year, New Events!

If you’re searching for warmth and comfort during these cold winter months, seek shelter at one of The Center for Poetry’s many 2018 Spring events.

Our monthly Haiku Study Group begins Saturday, January 20th and the annual Festival of Listening is on Thursday, February 22nd.

The Spring Poetry Festival kicks off with Cheryl Clarke on Wednesday, March 28th, with an afternoon conversation and evening performance.

To find out more about events, locations and times, check out our calendar of events.

Posted in poem of the week

Poem of the Week: “The Snowman,” by Wallace Stevens

sad-snowmanRGB

 

The Snow Man

 

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

 

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

 

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

 

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

 

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

 

 

From Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens, 1954.