A Dandy of a Pudding
Last night's coffeehouse event at Mansfield Art Center was a step up from their previous (although even then quite ambitious) arts gathering. The Art Center opened its upper floor to the organizers, allowing them to breathe and expand, and bringing all of us into a wonderful reading experience. The acoustics in the upper floor room were among the best in any event I've attended. We were able to share our hard-tooled word sculptures amid the backdrop of a varied and impressive array of fine water colour originals.
Okay, so I'm trying to really make this sound good and I'm tripping over my tongue--let's just get to it:
After David Kowalka broke the ice with a story, first slot storyteller was great--a wonderfully woven yarn about neighborhood scarecrows coming to life at Halloween when he was ten years old.
Mark Hersman took the hard slot, going first in front of the audience. This was my first time hearing Mark's poetry read as a medley, and his tone, pace and imagery took on a different character and music than I'd heard as he read individual poems. You would have been pleased. The crowd loved him, too.
Kathleen drew with her words pictures that matched every bit in quality and clarity the artwork that surrounded us. She flowed through her reading, never once seeming nervous or hesitant. We sat at the back and watched the crowd drink and relax, drink and grow thirsty for more. She was elegant as always and polished, drawing everyone into the family car as well as the tribal canoe. Her face and voice will be hints upon their canvasses for some time to come.
Enter GaDa's drums. Rhythmic, sensual, spiritual, tribal. Enough said.
Rose did her normal thingamabob with four poems. It felt good to have so many people approach her even prior to reading to say they had heard her the last time and had returned for more. Others spoke of the emotional roller coaster she makes the listener ride.
Michael Buckland delivered a few poems appropriate to the season (in a backdrop of crypts, castle lower rooms, and everyday places that hinted of such atmosphere). His reading--his writing style--reminded me of Milton and Poe. Really quite nice, and different, very gothic and different.
Fred delivered a quick-witted and impeccably timed foray into the mind of the Pedalin' Poet. Made them laugh, made them think, made them wake up. He wrapped a "whole bunch of pleasure" in a ten minute slot and rocked the house.
And right when the crowd thought they'd had all the enjoyment they could take, Ben stepped to the mike and delivered one swift winner after another. I am always amazed at Ben's adeptness at haiku. I would love to see him in the haiku slam at Nationals just once. I think he'd kick butt. And his other poems are just as well crafted.
Jennifer: You would have been proud, lady! So much of your staff reading in one place at the same time and representing the PH aesthetic in varied ways.
On the way out, a gentleman stopped me as he slid on his biking jacket and helmet, picked up his 15 speed land machine, "Where is Pudding House?"
"In Columbus, off East Broad Street"
"Oh, it's a local publisher."
"No, not just local." I replied. "It's the largest small press publishing house in the U.S. Great name to be associated with."
He nodded and buckled his helmet as I turned toward my car, still hearing GaDa's drums and knowing this had been one dandy of a pudding. One dandy, indeed.
I feel a bit sorry for/about the musicians who did not make it out for the night. At the same time, I know this night did everything it needed to do to keep Mansfield's art community wanting more.
Great job, Mark and Carolyn.
Oh! I almost forgot Carolyn! Great poems, great delivery. She has a spare, non-narrative style reminiscent of Mark Hersman's. Really nice job on her poems, too. And a presence as elegant as the art that dressed the walls of the room.
Okay.... gotta go back to work.
Rose
Okay, so I'm trying to really make this sound good and I'm tripping over my tongue--let's just get to it:
After David Kowalka broke the ice with a story, first slot storyteller was great--a wonderfully woven yarn about neighborhood scarecrows coming to life at Halloween when he was ten years old.
Mark Hersman took the hard slot, going first in front of the audience. This was my first time hearing Mark's poetry read as a medley, and his tone, pace and imagery took on a different character and music than I'd heard as he read individual poems. You would have been pleased. The crowd loved him, too.
Kathleen drew with her words pictures that matched every bit in quality and clarity the artwork that surrounded us. She flowed through her reading, never once seeming nervous or hesitant. We sat at the back and watched the crowd drink and relax, drink and grow thirsty for more. She was elegant as always and polished, drawing everyone into the family car as well as the tribal canoe. Her face and voice will be hints upon their canvasses for some time to come.
Enter GaDa's drums. Rhythmic, sensual, spiritual, tribal. Enough said.
Rose did her normal thingamabob with four poems. It felt good to have so many people approach her even prior to reading to say they had heard her the last time and had returned for more. Others spoke of the emotional roller coaster she makes the listener ride.
Michael Buckland delivered a few poems appropriate to the season (in a backdrop of crypts, castle lower rooms, and everyday places that hinted of such atmosphere). His reading--his writing style--reminded me of Milton and Poe. Really quite nice, and different, very gothic and different.
Fred delivered a quick-witted and impeccably timed foray into the mind of the Pedalin' Poet. Made them laugh, made them think, made them wake up. He wrapped a "whole bunch of pleasure" in a ten minute slot and rocked the house.
And right when the crowd thought they'd had all the enjoyment they could take, Ben stepped to the mike and delivered one swift winner after another. I am always amazed at Ben's adeptness at haiku. I would love to see him in the haiku slam at Nationals just once. I think he'd kick butt. And his other poems are just as well crafted.
Jennifer: You would have been proud, lady! So much of your staff reading in one place at the same time and representing the PH aesthetic in varied ways.
On the way out, a gentleman stopped me as he slid on his biking jacket and helmet, picked up his 15 speed land machine, "Where is Pudding House?"
"In Columbus, off East Broad Street"
"Oh, it's a local publisher."
"No, not just local." I replied. "It's the largest small press publishing house in the U.S. Great name to be associated with."
He nodded and buckled his helmet as I turned toward my car, still hearing GaDa's drums and knowing this had been one dandy of a pudding. One dandy, indeed.
I feel a bit sorry for/about the musicians who did not make it out for the night. At the same time, I know this night did everything it needed to do to keep Mansfield's art community wanting more.
Great job, Mark and Carolyn.
Oh! I almost forgot Carolyn! Great poems, great delivery. She has a spare, non-narrative style reminiscent of Mark Hersman's. Really nice job on her poems, too. And a presence as elegant as the art that dressed the walls of the room.
Okay.... gotta go back to work.
Rose
posted by Rose | 12:27 PM
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