The Grand Confusion

Saturday, November 24, 2018 By Anita Lahey Normally, these are chronicles from the Churchmouse After Hours Coffeehouse. I have woefully failed to share chronicles over the past couple of months. And so, I give you snippets… In September we delved into School Days, which could sound like a trip into nostalgia but, as per theContinue reading “The Grand Confusion”

Darkroom outlines

  Rob Winger’s poem, “Liquid Light,” from his 2007 book Muybridge’s Horse, investigates the early photographers’ role as “necessary chemists.” In his poem, Rob imagines Eadweard Muybridge, the photographer whose work laid the groundwork for motion pictures, at work with photo development substances such as cyanide and pyrogallic acid. He writes, “in his early darkrooms,Continue reading “Darkroom outlines”

Hands Off My Plums

[from the Churchmouse After Hours Coffeehouse chronicles] Chicano poet Alberto Ríos, who served as Arizona’s first poet laureate from 2013-2015, grew up in the U.S. near the Mexican border, speaking Spanish at home and English at school. The result, he says in an essay written about him for the Poetry Foundation website, was the creationContinue reading “Hands Off My Plums”

Inside the Sitar’s Buzz, Venice’s Beguiling Melodies, the ‘Dissolving Voice’ of Rain

  The trick is finding your own pocket of silence within sound. This is what I was thinking when Stephanie Khoury and James Hamilton, seated on cushions on the floor of Churchmouse Books, improvised an Indian classical raga, a mesmerizing, melodic tune that enveloped us in its repetitive strains. Rapt, we all sank into ourContinue reading “Inside the Sitar’s Buzz, Venice’s Beguiling Melodies, the ‘Dissolving Voice’ of Rain”

Tick, tock, sssh!

Drip, clunk, ping, ring, crunch, bang, rustle, hush, hum, roar. The soundtrack of our lives contains music, voices, bells, weather, machinery, bird calls, the whisper of wind. Gentle words and shouting. Think of a soaring soprano, a raucous meeting of crows, the muffle of newfallen snow. Let’s relish the cacophony as we contemplate what silenceContinue reading “Tick, tock, sssh!”

Windswept

  Part of my own motivation, when we planned a “storm chasing” night for Churchmouse After Hours, was curiosity. Why do people chase storms? Why is there such an appetite for all-day weather networks; a fringe element known as tornado chasers; and why, during a hurricane, will people converge on the shore and risk beingContinue reading “Windswept”

Glimpses in Passing…

Toronto poet Gwendolyn MacEwen died in 1987. She was exactly the age I am now: 45. Circumstances aside, no one can really say why one person lives to 90, another to 10, or 25, or 40. That doesn’t stop us from believing certain people go “before their time.” In the case of MacEwen, she “went”Continue reading “Glimpses in Passing…”

The Dutch cleanser woman led us to infinity

Last month at Churchmouse After Hours we plodded through deserts, rode ships, dug tunnels and escaped tyranny. We followed T.S. Eliot’s magi at “Just the worst the worst time of the year / For a journey, and such a long journey: / The ways deep and the weather sharp, / the very dead of winter.”Continue reading “The Dutch cleanser woman led us to infinity”

We Creatures of the Earth Must Move and Move Again—

. . . a matter of sense—the thousand-eyed, thousand-eared alertness of a flock. The strategies are given names— I don’t know them. What sticks for me is how the air itself is altered. The way light bends back from bellies and wings as they turn. Churchmouse is back home—only to ponder what it means toContinue reading “We Creatures of the Earth Must Move and Move Again—”