Coffeeshop Writer's Group / Poem: The Highland Avenue Archives

Ruth and Anthony Williams who has a notebook filled with his poems. Tho I didn't say anything, I think he lives in a N Phila area with gangs. He brought his son Jawante with him, a tall kid for first grade.

Anthony said Jawante is used to going with his dad to poetry readings. Anthony has custody.
Donna Krause of Rockledge.
Donna brought these newcomers who really enhanced our group: Joseph Nutter and Bob, who is Donna's brother. A friend of theirs died - John Marshall - and all three of them wrote tribute-poetry to John. Extremely moving. Nutter had a surprisingly melodic voice and we encouraged him to use it: to find ways to perform.

When I was growing up in Cleveland, there was a high school named John Marshall. Who it was named after is not revealed on Wikipedia. My dad would have gone there but he went to the vocational school instead b/c he wanted to take radio announcing.

Look at the coincidence with Joseph Nutter and his mellifluous voice and my dad.


Carly Brown and Nadia Lande. How many people dyou know who are from CA and move to PA? That's Carly the redhead for you. Nadia lives in Fort Washington and was raised here and lived in NM for awhile, the perfect place for this nature-lover.



Elijah Pringle III and Beatriz Moisset. Elijah is from Philadelphia and South Carolina. Beatriz is from The Argentine with its ethnic diversity. Her family was orig. from France. Her late husband was named Peters. Now she lives in Willow Grove PA and

somehow we all found each other at The Writer's Group!!!

Read this article about Weinrich's I wrote for Patch.com.

This was one of the best groups we've ever had. Everyone offers such good feedback on the writing. I wrote my new poem about Highland Avenue, which goes past Abington Hospital, half an hour before the meeting.

It's the only way I can write: under pressure.

Since I run the group, we can let the conversation wander wherever it will. We stay on task and the most important thing is for everyone to read, and to ask the group questions about their poem.

"Do you understand the last stanza?" "Is there a better word I might use instead of...."

Since we were making good time, I got to read my previous poem Hoedown at the Landfill.

Elijah said he wouldn't change a word and knew I had tightened it. His nephew Anthony is a "master at removing the AND word and the THE word," all in the name of tightness, which is an operational word in poetry.

No extras allowed. They take away from the centrality of the poem.

You don't really know your poem until you read it out loud. Rhythm is the most important thing. Carly had a very good rhythm in her poem.

Beatriz read one of her nature essays - River of Birds - and everyone loved it. Someone commented that she should write a biology textbook b/c of her excellent prose and little stories.

Nadia usually brings in a nature poem or something about an abstract concept. She brought in Doubt yesterday. It made us all think. The thoughts in our head come out different on paper. She'll probly tighten it up and bring it in next time.

A nod to Archie Bell and the Drells.

Linda Barrett left early to work at Giant. She read an amazing poem. You never know what's gonna come out of that woman's head. It was about a snazzy car from 1978 - a GT Opal -and written from the point of view of her brother.

Question: Who made the car? Was it American or foreign-born?

Elijah read a poem astonishing in its cleverness. Like Dick Cavett, who has a particular talent with words so that, par example, he can take a phrase like 'particular talent' and create another word w/it, using all the letters.

He brought in a poem about buying roses so his friend would forgive him for a transgression.

The poem was written in two columns.

However, you can read it four different ways: top to bottom, side to side (the two columns), or backwards.

Elijah, who works at Prudential, just sent me an email saying Bravo! You run a really good group.

Why, thanks Elijah. That's cuz I have all of you to help me!


THE HIGHLAND AVENUE ARCHIVES

my car is a steed
the wind blows my hair
soon the snortings
replaced by remembrances of
you, dr aydin, a shrink i saw in
the emergency room
your beard and swarthy skin
deemed you different
tell me your thoughts you said
in a small cell where i paced
and felt my head connected to the stars
i want my earth back
and swallowed the small white pills
with a plastic cup of water
now, nejat aydin,
you are dying
kidney failure, they said,
perhaps dead
as i pass your circular drive
did i thank you enough?

horace avenue of the three stop signs
who will dilly dally?
who will go first?
if it pleases you, mr black car,
let me through
nostrils flaring

trot to our left and we’re
back in the hospital
my room overlooking highland
i watched dogwalkers in
my nightgown and ate
rice crispies with lo-fat milk
and salisbury steak like in
stauffer’s frozen tinfoil dinners

slowly slowly
the big light at susquehanna
a beautiful name we stole from the algonquin
none of us beautiful people
none of us
so you loved the land
but raped and scalped the conquered
your language is lovely,
Susquehannock'

on the bicentennial of america’s revolution
my son was born at this hospital
birth certificate wearing
stars and stripes
the doctor told me not to scream so much
he’d never delivered a woman with
senses intact
insistant on wearing her glasses so
she could see the infant emerge in the
overhead mirror
did you hear me screaming
i asked dad who drove me over

every street is like highland
- archived memories -
i wish there were another road:
i would go there.