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Part 2 of 4 32 Tuschen wrote in 2002: F. J. Bergman, the “Bringer of Storms and Space Lord Mother” with the deceptive haircut is also a fantastic photographer, poet, and performer. Add to that the fact that she is the number one person to look toward if you want any info on Madison poetry scene, click into madpoetry.com -“The Home of Mad Poetry.” It's her baby and she rocks it well. She also hangs out with the gang of syllable slingers called Cheap At Any Price Poets - check them out, she/they deserve all the attention due and given… - JT F.J. Bergmann writes poetry and speculative fiction, often simultaneously, appearing in Dreams and Nightmares, Farrago’s Wainscot, Kaleidotrope, North American Review, Pulp Literature, and a bunch of regular literary magazines that should have known better. No literary academic credentials, but sympathetic to those so afflicted. Editor of Star*Line, the Journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association (sfpoetry.com), and poetry editor of Mobius: The Journal of Social Change (mobiusmagazine.com); awards include the 2012 Rannu Prize for speculative poetry, the 2013 SFPA Elgin Chapbook Award for Out of the Black Forest (Centennial Press, 2012), and the 2015 Rhysling Award for the long poem“100 Reasons to Have Sex with an Alien.” srAr£SrREUPOETRYSNEEr Sept 5-18, 2002 Vol 1,#12 Edjtor: John Tuscheo End of Summer the days are folding themselves inward tugging the weather behind them which is getting shorter the bears are gliding into the unsuccessful suburbs trying to look as if they were already there and back again from the woods with a basket of clean white pebbles and moonlight the stars are an audience the moon is an observer a cloudy night is you dancing on an empty stage behind the shabby velvet curtains listening- for echoes F.J. Bergman ('Opyright 2002 34 Extra Edition for September 11 Tuschen wrote: Walt Whitman, the Grandfather of contemporary American poetry, wrote this during the Civil (sic) War. He nursed many people. He loved Manhattan. He felt much. He wept often. But he was also peaceful and joyous. Then he died… Nah… srAr£SrREUPOETRYSNEEr September 11, 2002 Vol 1,#13 Editor: John Tuscben EXTRA EDITION 9/11 Editor's 11ote: Walt W1litma11, t!,e Gra11dfat!,er of co11temporary America11 poetry, wrote t!,is ► d11ri11g t!,e Civil (sic) War. He 11ursed ma11y people. He loved Ma11l,atta11. He felt much. ► He wept ofte11. But 1,e was also peaceful a11djoyous. The11 1,e died. ..Na/1... ► ► I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there * * * * I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth... from SONG OF MYSELF, 33 Walt Whitman (1813-1892) 36 The author says: "Andrea is the author of six poetry collections, including An Ink Like Early Twilight and We Lit the Lamps Ourselves, both from Salmon Poetry, and Yaya's Cloth from Iris Press. A short-short collection called Coffee in Greece will be published by Anchor & Plume Press in April, 2016 [email protected] srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU Sept 19 - Oct 2, 2002 Vol 1, #14 Editor: John Tuschen MOTH MAN On our way to the store for butter, my daughter finds it hanging off the pillar of the strip mall it might have been a toy in the gift shop at the zoo this moth with gold and russet velvet wings as wide as my hand, its body a plump fruit. A kind man drinking his coffee at the outdoor table leans in to speak: Your daughter is the only one to see it. He picks it up, as if moths are his closest kin. Without bruising a wing, he lifts it onto his finger, and gives us its name: Cecropia. Inches away from my face, he holds it even with my eyes as if to say: Look in the concrete and fact of this Zife, wild truths alight. Andrea Potos copyright 2002 38 Tuschen wrote in 2002: Andrea Potos’ chapbook of poems The Perfect Day was published by Parallel Press of the UW Madison libraries, and she is working on another manuscript of poems about Charlotte and Emily Brontë. Andrea, a long time bookseller at A Room of One's Own bookstore, also agrees that "it would be fun” imagining a meeting of the Brontës and the Beats… srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU Oct 3 - Oct 16, 2002 Vol 1, #15 Editor: John Tuscheo IN THE OLD BOOKSHOP When it happens it's always a blustery day, a leaden sky on the verge of release, the wind driving me inside for musty comfort and warmth. My shoulders relax, amber light envelopes me, Glenn Miller's orchestra croons from somewhere. My out-of-print search ends today, the one I have been waiting for gleams off the third wooden shelf from the floor; dust moats float when I pull it swaddled in a seamless clear jacket to my breast- within its shine I see my face. Andrea Potos copyright 2002 40 Tuschen wrote in 2003: Tenaya Darlington writes for Isthmus and offers us a book of poems, Madame Deluxe (a National Poetry Series award winner) available at A Room of One's Own. Her poetry as well as her journalism has a courageous bitch quality undercut only by its honesty and frankness… JT Tenaya Darlington lived in Madison from 1997 to 2005. She worked as an editor and columnist for Isthmus and spent her other waking moments writing a poetry collection (Madame Deluxe, Coffee House Press 2000) and a novel (Maybe Baby, Little, Brown 2004). During that time meeting Tuschen and attending his readings were a highlight -- proof that Madison's bohemian scene was alive. Today, she lives in Philadelphia, where she teaches writing at Saint Joseph's University and pens a curious blog devoted entirely to cheese, called Madame Fromage (www.madamefromageblog.com). srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU Feb 13 - Feb 26, 2003 Vol 1, #17 Editor: John Tuschen The Headless Horsewoman By day, by night, I go headless, I go craving. Under the lunatic lights: writhing, Or through the passage Along the river, naked, I call for it, my own erosion. The neck mimics something But is only a pedestal. The mystery of how I got here Gives me vertigo. Sky with a body dangling. Or it is light, I go in and out of hedgerows, No sense of navigation, Body holding up sky. One flash epiphany: I was never A child, just an owl In a narrow bed, the darling Guest of a brain. He who does not eat birds knows this. Petals are a gimmick. And eyelids. Quick, will your voice Fit in this cage? Do your feet go in this box? Too many questions for no head. It is better to think I am a hole, a thousand things rustling. Tenaya Darlington ► copyright2003 ► 42 Tuschen wrote in 2003: Madison poet, John Lehman, is a busy one alright. A contributing writer for Isthmus, Mr. Lehman is also the "founder and associate publisher” of Rosebud, a nationally respected and distributed literary magazine based in Cambridge, Wisconsin. He is also the person responsible for the annual Wisconsin Academy Review John Lehman poetry award ($500 - poets can buy hell of a lot of duct tape with that kind of moola!) plus he, along with Madison Poet Laureate, Andrea Musher, published CUP OF POEMS and a side of prose which were available in cafés citywide. Mr. Lehman reads his work wonderfully and honestly. His poems are "justified" (justified, get it? justified!) aw well… JT The author offers: John "Cambridge Humanities Council" Lehman President and Founder, Rosebud Book Reviews 315 Water St Cambridge, WI 53523 [email protected] 608-235-2377 (cell) www.RosebudBookReviews.com www.buildnewbusiness.info www.LehanInfo.com My books are available from Amazon and www.DamnGoodBooks.com. On Kindle they are under "John Lehman" and "Jack Lehman." If you don't have a Kindle you can get a free ap by clicking in the right-hand column. On the web site the books are available in "mini paperback" form. srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU Feb 26 - Mar 12, 2003 Voll, #18 Editor: John Tuschen In Other Words Employed I don't reside in this office building where March wind growls outside like a hungry stomach, nor spend the prime hours of my day locked in its padded eight-foot cell with a computer, telephone and electronic mail. So what am I doing here, you ask? I'm searching for dues as to where I really am when I put callers on hold, pretend to plan a report or sit and stare at florescent lights. Oh, yes, the evidence is here, attached to e-mails I have sent to myself at home: "the burning soles of boots," a "peek-a-boo Veronica Lake," the "elevator which stops unexpectedly at another floor'' and Mr. Shaw who is better known as Fate. These .are impulses from one part of my brain to another. Invisible as flying sparks in the day. But at night they ignite to become stories each burning like a trash ba1Tel on the comer of a street with twisting flames that mark faces of curious passerby who at times stop to warm their hands and look into my eyes. John Lehman copyright 2003 44 Tuschen Wrote on 2003: Tom Neale is a Madison poet, singer/song- writer, city employee, union man, part-time philanthropist, full-time humanist and occasional meteorologist (witness Tony Castenada's 8:00 Thursday morning show on WORT– FM.) Mister Neale is also a historian, researching various myths and lies so prevalent in American culture, he rewrites them in verse and honesty. The above poem is a historical narrative on the Indian, Pocahontas… JT Tom adds: I now live in rural Wisconsin about 200 miles north of Madison on 5 acres along a trout stream with my wife, Susan Crane, two large dogs, Lander & Carter, and a young cat that adopted us, Arlo the Red Emperor. [email protected] srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU Mar 13 - Mar 26, 2003 Voll,#_19 Editor: John Tuschen APRIL 11, 1617 / REBECCA­ No princess - held. hostage by the invaders of her people's coastal country. John Smith'IJ salvation - colonizing propaganda. Married off to a penniless Englishman. Renamed Rebecca and carried off _ to her husband's mother country to become the ornamental curiosity of England's aristocracy. Returning to America, coming home to a colony· propped up by the trade in tobacco; she sickens and_ dies like so many others of a disease foreign to this hemisphere.. Dies two years before the first Africcµis are shipped into Virginia, to begin replacing the decimated native labor force building the tidewater plantations of the colonial elite. Dies a returning exile; never knowing she is destined to become a heroine in the victors' mythology of racial supremacy and empire. Tom Neale· copyright 2003 46 Tuschen wrote in 2003: Madison poet, Ron, Czerwien, is also the owner of Avol’s Bookstore (yeah, in that “Deco” building on Gilman, half-block off State Street [which has now moved into 315 W. Gorham with A Room of One’s Own. ed.]) where he hosts guest poets and open readings on the first Thursday of every godforsaken Wisconsin month. (These are now held at Mother Fools Coffee Shop at 1101 Williamson St. on the first Friday of every godforsaken Wisconsin month. ed.) Ron and his lady Helen slid on over to Paris last summer. Apparently he brought this little gem back for us. But “didn’t see one damn beret the whole time I was there!” he whispered to an eager Francophile in the dark DMZ known as Gino’s… - JT srAr£STREUPt9ETRYSHEU Mar 27 - April 9, 2003 Vol 1,#20 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen Rue American The evening's misdirection's and poor pronunciations end with a number of empty, passing taxis, each driver's dour expression leaving your room at the Hotel Senateur further removed than the fictional projection of an American in Paris, or the Japorama, run by an expatriate Vietnamese who feigns his ignorance of English tonight in response to military build-ups in the middle east, like any honest-to-god Parisian, and then, to leave no doubt, charges three times more for a liter of Badoit than the epicerie on the Rue Monsieur le Prince, where you pause to admire the graphic art on bright pyramids of biscuit boxes, rounds of cheese, sidewalk displays of fruit threatening cascade merely because you pass. Ron Czerwien copyright 2003 48 Poetry movements do not always occur in the big cities. There have been movements as significant to their own locale as others were to the entire country. Info on author? Use Google. Type in “poet john tuschen” srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU April 10 - April 23, 2003 Vol 1, #21 Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" One Moment A saxophone snaps back at the night. Your fingertips are touching my fingertips and when you whisper 'I want you to want me,' your voice cracks hard like years of cigarettes and pain have taken away all the softness and your eyes, your green, green eyes look down or far as if looking at nothing's shadow and the comers of your mouth also move downward but only slightly as tho the smallest smile may appear next and surprise both of us and then we would have to laugh a little at our tenderness - so small and gentle that it hangs on the alto saxophone note that's blowing away from us now unscathed and heaven-bound. 50 Miriam Hall Tuschen wrote in 2003: Poet Miriam Hall, a willing refugee from the vast Neanderthal savannas of McCarthy’s Appleton, seems to have found a place where her desire for creative expansiveness and camaraderie thrive. An activist as well as a poet, Ms Hall works at the Rainbow Book Cooperative on West Gilman Street and can be seen/heard at any of the many poetry readings around Madison - especially those progressive in intent. Jeezz! that’s all of ‘em. Right? - JT Ed.: Ms.Hall can also now be found at Shambala Studio on Baldwin Street near Williamson Street. srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU May 29 - June 11, 2003 Vol 1, #22 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconscious nois " back from rome, end of january its early am: a japanese-made fog machine rolls a new giomo over my all-american frozen lake mendota. where are the speeding italians? rushing their fricatives over dropped inflections; their self awareness at their necks, wrapped in benneton roll-topped sleeveless tunics? culture shock at 6am is nothing but mallard ducks, dressed in greying snow, penned in by tufts of struggling grass, eking out malk in their green and gold spotted black-and-white wisconsin accents. Miriam Hall copyright 2003 52 Mitchell Metz Tuschen wrote in 2003: Mitchell Metz is a poet from Oconomowoc, WI and claims that he, “can bench press twice his weight and recite the capitals of every nation on the planet.” I never met this fellow but I like the smooth irony in this poem. He has also published in “about eighty publications” including The William and Mary Review, Mangrove, Potpourri and Southern Poetry Review… - JT srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU June 12 - June 25, 2003 Vol 1, #23 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" ETHIC Gore-texed and fannypacked, we hike like hikers would like to be seen hiking. We are full of purpose, gorp, and gear. Whiptail lizards skitter the chaparral before the gratifying crunch of our Birkenstocks. We know the grasses: tanglehead, strangletop; and the birds: cactus wren, thrasher. The names feel good on our arid lips, the labels on our trim hips. We remain well hydrat-ed and consult maps. Across the wash, unwashed Indians pillage pods from the mesquite bosque, grind them into flour. We proudly pay taxes to teach aboriginal people the abc's of hygiene and conservation, buy them bread. Mitchell Metz copyright 2003 54 He was in love with the idea of America. srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU SPECIAL JULY 4TH ISSUE! Voll,#24 Publisher/Editor: John Tuscben "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Walt Whitman (1819-1892) Beat! Beat! Drums! Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows - through doors - burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congragation, Into the school where the scholar is studying; ► Leave not the bridegroom quiet - no happiness must he have now with his bride, � Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain, ► So fierce you whirr and pound you drums - so shrill you bugles blow. Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow! Over the traffic of cities - over the rumble of wheels in the streets; Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds, No bargainers bargain by day - no brokers or speculators - would they continue? Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums - you bugles wilder blow. Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley - stop for no expostulation, Mind not the timid - mind not the weeper or prayer, Mind not the old man beseeching the young man, Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties, Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump O terrible drums - so loud you bugles blow. Walt Whitman copyright 1861 56 Tuschen wrote in 2003: We are very pleased to announce that the State Street Poetry Sheet will begin publishing Volume 2 on September 11 and continue publishing, bimonthly, some of the best writing in the area. This is made possible by a grant from the Dane County Cultural Affairs Commission and the kind support of the State Street shopkeepers who advertise on the back of this sheet (on the frontispiece and verso of this book, ed.). Please support these wonderful folks! And, by the way, this poem was written by Adam Foo. Personally, I think it’s a pen name… - JT srArESrREUPOETRYSHEU August 28 - Sept 10, 2003 Vol 1,#25 Publisher/Editor: John Tuscben "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Vine Street, Berkeley (When the Paint Was Still Wet) She was a seeker of mirrors. She found one empty mirror and buried it with the rest. Discovering little .. that thin, blue-edged angel of the Bay. She could weep on a dime, stutter some rhyme, shift her paradigm, and yet she moaned - well, at least I'm tryin'. Oh yes, she had the best, or connections for the very best. and called herself "hypo-disco" her pale lips would glow two white worms under black light... 58 THE STATE STREET POETRY SHEET 2002-2005 VOL. 2 60 Doctor William Chickering Historian / Physician at United Family Healthcare Cambodia Hospital & Health Care Currently (don’t know how current, ed.) self-employed / Beijing United Family Hospital Tuschen wrote in 2003: It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly where Dr. Will Chickering, his French wife, Benedict, and their new baby, Alma, really call home. They have a house on Madison’s near-west side, but they spend at least half the year bringing much needed medical aid to people around the world. Viet Nam, Laos, Cambodia, Kathmandu, Guatemala, the Dominican Republic are only a few of the places where desperate people in desperate need have benefited from Will and Benedict’s expertise and compassion. This poem, “Entropy”, is for Alma, their 7 month old baby. Will is convinced that Alma was conceived on the Ho Chi Min Trail in Viet Nam. So… this is the beginning of Volume 2. Volume 1 featured 25 issues of the finest poetry in the area. You will see the same quality in Volume 2, and thanks to the support of the Dane County Cultural Affairs Commission, the twelve poets published from September through February will be paid for their work. And please don’t forget to support the wonderful (and LOCAL) State Street area shopkeepers that advertise here - courageous people all. - JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Sept.11-Sept. 17, 2003 Vol.2,# 1 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Entropy Sunlight slanting in from always Could be 1945, she could be me Could be 1969, when I failed to Be Here Now or 1957, when I was eleven, and it lit an ice-encased cottonwood on fire. Hair so fine it feathers when I sing to her Could photons be shivering it? Or is she playing in the predawn dark? Dust we are motes that swirl for a time then sink into shades invisible Afternoon sunlight slanting in from always (but) not forever. Will Chickering copyright 2003 62 Tuschen wrote in 2003: F.J. Bergman, the “Bringer of Storms and Space Lord Mother” with the deceptive haircut is also a fantastic photographer, performer, and, as evidenced here, a truly fine poet. A poet capable of capturing (as she does with a camera) the indistinct drama of a still life and tapping it into a very distinct vibrancy. Her newest book, Soft Robert, is a wonderful example of just such gentle manipulation. I heard Ms. Bergman read at Canterbury Booksellers recently and found that she is able to convey this vision vocally as well. Another example of Ms. Bergman’s talent and energy (not to mention dedication) is visible through her invaluable website - The Home of Mad Poetry: www.madpoetry.org. This is Ms. Bergman’s second appearance in the State Street Poetry Sheet and it seems to be a pretty good fit - dontcha think? Well, I do… - JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Sept 25 - Oct 9, 2003 Vol. 2, #2 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Forward, Fast You could live your life in fast forward if only for the pleasure of watching the clouds being swiftly written across the sky like the compulsive output of a mad typist who never notices that her cryptic messages erase themselves as fast as the characters appear and sets each page on fire as it leaves the printer and falls to the smoking floor like a napalmed flag of surrender, vanishing in a burst of light. F. J. Bergman Copyright 2003 64 Tuschen wrote in 2003: “Blank verse” usually refers to a poem written in unrhymed iambic pentameter (yeah, yeah, look it up) but for this issue of the State Street Poetry Sheet it represents the fact that the only publishable poems were a couple of pieces from outside the boundaries of Dane County. Where are the local submissions? Are Madison and Dane County poets that well off that they can refuse the opportunity of receiving $25 for their work? Interesting. Give me a bowl of their cereal. My contract with the Dane County Cultural Affairs Commission specifies that the writers published (and paid) herein must reside in this region. My email address is printed above - snail mail can be sent to State Street Poetry Sheet c/o Avol’s Bookstore - their address is on the back of this sheet. And not to disappoint you, dear readers, I have attached copies of various SSPS back issues. Enjoy! - JT Editor, 2016: Of course we can no longer follow this excellent advice, there is no State Street Poetry Sheet currently being published. Wouldn’t it be great if one of you reading this right now felt energized by the idea of a new, dare we think Improved? State Street (or Williamson Street or Monroe Street) Poetry Sheet? Who knows what poets, what poems, might enliven our civil - or not so civil - discourse? PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Oct 9 - Oct 22, 2003 Vol. 2, #3 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Blank Verse $10.00 ISBN 978-1-5323-0006-6 51000>