67°F10:07 AM We’ve spoken before on the subject of talent – the genetic predisposition to be inherently imbued with a certain prowess regarded by our fellows as laudable or enviable – versus the sculpted success imparted from teaching. Are artistic geniuses made or born? This is the kind of topic my husband and I could spend many a late night hour picking apart in ridiculous detail (and inevitably end the discussion on a completely unrelated – possibly morally ambiguous – subject); but, regardless of the philosophy, Louisville will very soon play host to a
The stanza is a fickle creature. Standing alone on a page – an innocent column or small, tumbling paragraph – silences the inherent voice of the words. It is stark. It is quiet. And while a lone internalization of a poem has its own merits, the experience of the stanza changes completely when married to the human voice. Spoken words breed intimacy with the writer in a way that a solitary reader may not sense. The poem now has eyes and breath and motivation outside of its meter and couplings; it is now a living organism. Looking for
So. Now I’ve followed in the footsteps of the great and troubled creative minds, taking my turn in preparation for my slowly simmering magnum opus. And while I flexed the limits of sanity, my little Books corner has sat silent. Instead, I wrote some very nice poetry and cried during Art Therapy. And though not every gifted literary soul need suffer the pain of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and legally-granted chemical happiness, it does add a certain flair to the persona. As Nat
Divinity Rose is hosting a Sub Rosa: The Gypsie Courtyard reunion on Friday, April 27 at Bearno’s in the Highlands. The arts and entertainment showcase and networking event will feature poetry, comedy, music, and a short film.
Feel your tummy. Give it a good inquisitive assessment. Can you sense yourself growing fat and happy? April is reaching the end of its second week, and already we have enjoyed much of the written word’s sweet nectar as National Poetry Month makes its mark amongst Louisville’s literary circles. Like a rich milk it doth flow, people. A rich milk. Take some Tums, drink some water – maybe make plans for a healthy palate cleanser in your horizon – and get ready for another course. Former Kentucky Poet Laureate, Lee Pennington
Fear not the ladder, the mirror or night-colored cat. Eschew the ramifications of cracks, wayward pennies and spilled seasonings. Whether cursed by a band of passing gypsies or currently abundant with luck and gold, your Friday the 13th for this Spring is guaranteed a good time – if it’s free poetry and a cold beer you happen to be seeking, that is. While this month’s InKY Reading Series transpires – as luck would have it – hand-in-hand with that most famous and unofficial of superstition holidays, poets Adam Day and Brian Bark
There is Science. That great institution of grand theory and starched collars, stepping boldly with a keen mind and nerdy glasses into the new frontier of the “unknown”. There is Fiction. That great and playful deceiver, using lies and mimicry in the name of art to stir our passions and spin our yarns; lives laid bare quite literally before our eyes. And then there is Science Fiction. Hmmm….
Are you a starving artist? Do the pages of your life’s work stare at you with a blank, slightly sinister eggshell grimace that taunts the dry, rattling bones of your creative spring? Can no steroid cream cure your ailments? Is there no semi-precious demi-god that $59.99 and a VISA can summon on Sybil’s command? Allow my violin of sympathy to play for you, my friend. As National Poetry Month waxes gently in this merry Spring, many of us languishing in our own personal pits of prose despair can only sneeze mournfully as poetry’s pollen
We talk about poetry a lot. And this is good. Good for the heart, mind, soul and cerebral cortex. Breathe in the sweet aroma of the sonnet. Quiver in the sinuous tension of terza rima. Let your inner hippie flow within the cascades of free verse. Bathe in the rich cords of the ballad. Let it RAIN purple prose! Poetry makes us (or, more than likely, just me) heady with some sort of cosmic (but not religious) chemical reaction. The metaphor, tone and timbre all mixing in a potion like those serotonin and dopamine cocktails that make our br
Martha Rhodes is a busy lass. Why, it seems only yesterday that she was shining in the light of the world’s premiere hotel, waxing her words for the simmering ears of today’s modern gaggle of lovers and hipsters. Oh wait…that’s actually today.