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Part 3 of 4 66 Tuschen wrote: Andrea Musher was named Madison’s second Poet Laureate by then Mayor Sue Bauman in November 2000. Hardly a “laurel sitter,” we will continue to benefit from her spirited activism as a Laureate through November 2004. Ms. Musher is also a professor in the English Department at UW- Whitewater… - JT Andrea replies in 2016: In 2011, after 26 years of teaching English and Women’s Studies at UW- Whitewater, I retired, but I find that there’s no time to sit on my emeri-tusch. PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Oct 23 - Nov 5, 2003 Vol.2, #4 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Losing Daylight How should I save or spend my dwindling days' light? What graces autumn's edge on winter? There is a lesson, surely, in what Miranda told me of Marco's death. Marco, who years ago drove us to distraction driving us in his VW Bus to all those anti-war rallies, who died a mensch though he could never hold down a steady job as he helped raise a stepdaughter who would never forgive him for not being her real father. Marco, the Polish borli-poet sucked life's pulpy mango to the slippery hard pit, teeth rapping against white juicy bone not letting sleeping dogs lie knowing how close he had come to those Nazi ovens. He was born at war's end to a mother who looked passingly un­ Jewish. Devouring the English language, in his exile's life-it was his fifth and first mother tongue after Polish, Yiddish, French and Hebrew- he didn't know what a waist was, could not reassure his •girl friend that she had one though he tapped out the tapioca tango and the Baba au Rum Rhumba 'till the coffee cups danced and his big dog spun in circles on the kitchen linoleum. He dog-eared my books, left cigarette stubs everywhere, argued politics and poetry loud enough to wake the living, resisted any man's army in letter after painfully drafted letter to his draft board though he still died too young (fifty no longer seems old) be did not deny the course of bis ravening cancer let those who would, say good bye, laid out bis desk.like a poem with messages and metaphors about how to mourn and celebrate his passing. He is somewhere teaching us to look death in the eye even though he says it's all right to wink Andrea Musher for now. Copyright 2003 68 Tuschen wrote in 2003: John Lehman's newest book is a biography of Wisconsin poet Lorine Niedecker (1903 – 1970) entitled America's Greatest Unknown Poet (Zelda Wilde Publishing). He is also the founder of Rosebud, a nationally respected magazine, the poetry editor of the Wisconsin Academy Review, and the person responsible for the annual Wisconsin Academy Review John Lehman poetry award. Finally, he's a wonderful human being, a fine presenter of his work and – John is probably the only SSPS contributor with that much “Wisconsin” on his boots… - JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Nov 6 - Nov 19, 2003 Vol.2,#5 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" A Chinese Puzzle My first wife was artistic, self-assured and short, the second is slender, more spontaneous and warm, but over time some of their traits have converged, or is it me whose myopic vision sees all things one peculiar way? Perhaps at different ages I had wanted different lives-"young man lacking confidence seeks articulate voice" became "failing businessman desires a sweet embrace." But, that's unfair to both. I am more like someone eating take-out food by himself who's been given two fortune cookies, instead of one. "You will succeed beyond your wildest dreams," says the first while the other warns that "All things are subject to a drastic change." Does this mean I'll find success and give it up, or that happiness is just a u-turn away? The answer is as puzzling as two women, so different, who I've loved or the sun shining in the rain. John Lehman ©2003 70 Tuschen wrote in 2003: Poet Suni Caylor was an active participant in the “Yopackian Renaissance” that took place in the early ’70’s on the near-east side of Madison. Gallery 853, MAMA, Chid, art exhibits, poetry readings, and the seeds of the Willy Street Fair - all flourished in those heady years under the grand, anarchistic tutelage of Danny Yopack (oh wait - I’m quoting from my upcoming book here - sorry). Anyway, Ms Caylor was there. She left a pamphlet of poems, Midnight Blue, and many irreversible memories. She is currently living, writing in Michigan, and aiding her ailing mother. She is missed… - JT The Editor adds: Suni is a poet now living in Madison, WI. She discusses the Williamson Street neighborhood and John Tuschen, Madison’s first Poet Laureate, in the interview in 4 parts from “History of the Arts on Willy Street in the 70’s” on youtube: 1)“Art on Willy St changed the perception of daily life.” 2)“All the artists I knew were driven to make their art.” 3)“We practiced giving up fear.” and 4)“He had the most beautiful butt I had ever seen.” PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Nov 20 - Dec 3, 2003 Vol. 2, #6 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" The Real Quantum Physics And how do these feelings fly faster than an ion stream into the brick wall of the future, past the next calvary, into the firestorm of passionate atoms even now pulling apart yet still configured in the zero point of what always has been? Nothing has happened that isn't already happening. No tears ever falling into arid darkness but into the sea that has already washed away the sacrifice; this sacrifice, not like any other, yet always the same one, breaking the same heart bursting at the speed of light, not quite fast enough to escape the pull of calvary, and always, always remembered by the atoms that only exist when they are seen. Suni Caylor ©2003 72 Tuschen wrote in 2003: Mary Grow is a Cultural Anthropologist. She writes ethnographic poetry, influenced by the many places she has lived. In the mid-70s she maintained a weaving studio in Greece. This was during that perilous and purgative time of the military junta and Ghika’s House is descriptive of that era. Ms. Grow, as an artist and writer, anthropologist, friend and mother, carries with her a deep compassion for fellow human beings - in a true Buddhist sense. Recently returned from Southern France with her husband, Jean Marc, Ms. Grow will be a wonderful (re)addition to the local literary scene… JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Dec 4 - Deel 7, 2003 Vol. 2,#7 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Ghika's House 1974 - Greece Ghika's house rises out of the dark charred walls of deserted stone, haunting the edge of a quiet field. As moonlit windows vault to the sky, this painter's cathedral casts memory to the wind. Gone are the divas with the lavender eyes, their perfume now tangled in vines of wisteria draping the door. Their laughter is silent, sealed in the cracks that mark each room. Artists and writers have all disappeared, banished by fascists who have ransacked this house. They have fled in despair to far off lands, tortured with grief as they patiently wait. Scorpions now scurry from stone to stone, silently guarding the sec.rets of hope. Beauty is lethal as it gathers dust and nests in the corners of tumbled remains. In the courtyard, beneath the stars, the cypress grow. Tonight, these trees that remember the missing and the dead sway mournfully on the wind of change. Mary Grow @2003 74 You can hear Tuschen reading his poem Uncle Harry’s Tombstone by going to Vimeo.com or Youtube.com, typing in Jordan T. Caylor and clicking on Uncle Harry’s Tombstone. As he often said, the poem is in the hearing and hearing him read is an experience all to itself. Editor. PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Mar 4- Mar 17, 2004 Vol. 2, #8 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Three Poems Finally Meeting Neruda (in a dream, real as blue dust) Trying To Catch Some Sleep In The Cement Vortex Of America's lam rich! Vast Interstate Highway System I have clicked my Outside Jersey City One Night In silver spurs thru 1967 When The Moon Was Hard the blue dust of the Neruda moon. And The Rain Was Pounding And Joey Just Kept Laughing I have curled among the trappings of truth - Damn, whispered blade sharp Damn thru Whitman's Itwas leaves of grass. cold. I have lain warm-wrapped Damn... and naked on the tongue of the Blakean sun - and I When The Night Wanders need go no further into this galaxy- misunderstood When the night wanders by Philistines, crusaders and across the machinery the New York Mets. of the dead, your gaze, though far I am nothing now - and tremulous, nothing but rich, blue dust - is home to me. sparkling and radiant, filtering through the I sense your passion - dead American night. you twitched when you said, "There is beauty in vision - there is beauty in those who have bled." John Tuschen ©200i 76 Mark E. Smith Tuschen wrote in 2004: My bet is there aren’t a lot of Assistant Attorneys General writing poetry. Perhaps you know the type: verbose, semantic, driven folks but with original and deftly penned sonnets, sestinas and/or free verse mixed among their briefs as they swarm around the Capital Building. Well, introducing herein - Mark E. Smith. Sure, he’s retired from law now but but not from literature, working part-time in both a used bookstore AND a wine shop (ah, the life!). He continues writing “poems based on truth” as evidenced by the piece published here. Thank you, and have a great day! - JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET Mar 18 - Mar 31, 2004 Vol.2,#9 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Recycled I had a blue suit - Left high school In its padded shoulders, Wore it through College. It hung out Of style At home in dad's closet Until he let it out, Wore it awhile. Suddenly, Grandpa had no suit For his viewing. So it led a long life - In on a boy, Gone on a little man Of eighty-eight. Now he wears it everyday, ''Wore it out" My dad would say. Mark E. Smith ©2004 78 Tuschen wrote in 2004: John Lehman, I've stated here before, has more Wisconsin on his boots than any writer I know and to quote a felon, “It’s a good thing.” Personally, I think John and Richard Brautigan were trout fishing somewhere in Northern California in the mid 60s, John fell in and somehow floated out here to do some wonderful things. I am more than happy he made it. Google his name for more info… thank you, and have a great day! - JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET April 1 • April 14, 2004 Vol. 2, #10 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Journey's End Simplicity you had engraved within my wedding ring. Now I keep it on my desk in a box made of tin. Art of Reconciliation After my wife left me, and then returned, I wrote a one-act play about it, which we performed on a Sunday afternoon at the local bookstore. She, as the "repentant spouse," me, a "cocky but forgiving god." Later that evening, she rammed my car through the back end of our new garage. Men Still Like The Smell of Fresh, Clean Clothes My dead parents drive by our house. They see their youngest child, now a gray-haired man with an aching toe, mowing the lawn. "He still doesn't do a very careful job," my mother notes. "Let it go," my father grumbles, more impressed by my young second wife hanging out a washing of clothes. John Lehman ©2004 80 Mary L. Grow is a cultural anthropologist whose ethnographies have appeared in Asian Theatre Journal, Journal of the Siam Society, and Yale University Press, among others. An intrepid traveler, poetry has been her companion during many years of fieldwork. Mary maintained a friendship with Tuschen for over 30 years and often participated in his poetry readings. Her favorite poets include Kenneth Rexroth and Blaise Cendrars. Mary’s poetry and short stories have appeared in Gargoyle, Dalhousie Review, and Rosebud. Also the author of two children’s books, ‘Chester Meets The Walker House Ghost’ and ‘Chester & The Mystery of the Tilted World,’ Mary shares a creative life with artist and illustrator, Jean-Marc Richel. She currently lives in the Pojoaque Valley, outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Contact: [email protected]. Tuschen wrote in 2004: Dr. Mary Grow, poet, anthropologist, teacher has lived in southeast Asia, Greece, France and Mineral Point. Ms. Grow and her husband, Jean Marc, are back in Madison probably wondering – “why?” Anyway, thank you for reading/thinking and remembering the wonderful sponsors who literally "backup" the State Street Poetry Sheet. Oh, by the way – have a great day… JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET April 15 -April 28, 2004 Vol.2,#11 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Vietnam 1968 Wrapped in bamboo, spirits from north and south float through an emerald sky scanning the craters below. Scars tear this land where rice and rain plant the peasant's foot in the earth of hope. Ancestors remember. They do not forget. Their incense coils into black clouds thundering toxic streaks. Flames scorch the thatch of village homes. Idyllic in construction. Exotic in demise. Martyrs with purpose torch their liberation. Melting desire in a saffron robe. Begging bowls empty, their dharma complete, ashes sweep the wind with cinders of shame. As rusted steel collapses into tracks of time, joining white bones littering the fields, ghosts silently weep in this de-humanized, de-militarized zone. Mary Grow 102004 82 Tuschen wrote in 2004: The State Street Poetry Sheet can hardly let April (the national “Poetry Month”) slip by without publishing a poem by Andrea Musher, Madison’s Poet Laureate. Thank you for reading and have a great day! _ JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET April 29 - May 12, 2004 Vol.2,#12 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Milk and Honey I wept for beauty when I was 20 standing in the Rijksmuseum In Amsterdam there is a woman timeless, glowing, pouring milk from a pitcher pouring liquid, pouring light. She wears something yellow, something blue a cap on her head And the light coming in through the window just above like blessing like beauty like healing like hope like light--though it is paint. There is no reproducing that Vermeer its glow its life so much rounder than what we walk around each day more precious than the morning light we waste wishing we could sleep more write sing love more than we do in our moments of waking to doing what is expected instead of what we are called to when we stand weeping for beauty in front of a painting that is not political --though its preservation and presentation is-­ whose meaning is the illusion it creates of understanding beauty, the timeless, the real She stood by the window She poured milk from a pitcher It was a picture in a museum a cupboard opening in the heart the ache of feeling understood the ache of longing for the touch beyond touch Where is this place withheld that I would enter? At 20 I wept for beauty At 40 beauty is the deep hold of memory: Light honeying the pitcher of milk Andrea Musher Me all unused to the world ©2004 84 F.J. Bergman appears once again in the State Street Poetry Sheet. She is, of course, the “Bringer of Storms and Space Lord Mother” with the deceptive haircut (but I’m sure you already knew that) and the author of Sauce Robert, published under the pen name of “Easter Cathay.” The shadowy Ms. Bergman is also the guiding force behind a wonderful and invaluable website “The Home of Mad Poetry” www.madpoetry.org. This galactic site has information on Madison poets, readings, contests, awards and links to the national scene. Now concerning the last issue of SSPS - issue #12 - it was printed as #11. My staff here at SSPS is admittedly overworked and underpaid. Mistakes are bound to happen. Sorry. Anyway, thank you for reading and have a great day! - JT Editor, 2016: We fixed the problem, no problem. PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET May 13 - May 26, 2004 Vol. 2, #13 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" • End-of-the-World Grill Hot enough for ya? I'm getting the notoriety I deserve. To be this week's special guest president. Sixty-mile-an-hour winds on the radio. Global warming increases thermal energy in the atmosphere, resulting in stronger winds; bigger, frothier waves on the ocean. Whitecaps reflect more light, increasing the planet's albedo. Light scatters in the atmosphere, raising the earth's temperature some more. Everybody talks about the weather, but somebody dido 't sign the Kyoto Protocol. "Clear Skies." Hah. Watch this space for further development. Where would you begin? Why are we here? You're just not my idea of appropriate Presidential material. Accomplished liar, yeah; mission no. Demonstrably, God hates everybody. I could murder too, if the occasion arose. Stupid and evil. And a little too rich. Two hundred million y ears out of Africa and this is what we've got to show for it. Visa. MasterCard. American Express. Expiration. Are you a Christian? Richard Coeur-de-Lion, the Crusades. You see yourself. Out of luck, shithead. If only. Mister Fixit: wiring, plugging leaks, clearing away rubble and brush, crap down the drain. HVAC expertise. A family-owned business. F.J. Bergman @2004 86 Tuschen wrote in 2004: Christmas Eve, 1968, right down here on State Street, I was working alone in an empty record store when this woman flew in the door hoping to buy some last minute gifts. We talked a bit. I found out that she was the Poet-In- Residence here at the University and that she was driving home that night - Vermont. I told her I was a poet and she invited me to come visit and the next summer I did. Quite honestly, that visit changed my life. Ruth Stone, now in her eighties, has received the National Book Award for Poetry for her collection of poems In The Next Galaxy (Copper Canyon Press). The two poems here are taken from that book and printed with permission. She also has received two Guggenheim Fellowships, the 2002 Wallace Stevens Award, the Shelley Memorial Award and many others. She remains my mentor and a dearest friend. Ruth has taught and inspired countless students, poets, non-poets and long-haired hippie record store jerks - I mean - clerks. Please enjoy. Thanks for reading - and have a great day! - JT The New York Times wrote on Nov. 24, 2011: Ruth Stone, a poet who wrote in relative obscurity until receiving the National Book Award at the age of 87 for her collection “In the Next Galaxy,” died on Nov. 19, 2011 at her home in Ripton, Vt. She was 96. Her death was announced on Tuesday by her daughter Abigail Stone. PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET May 27 - June 9, 2004 Vol. 2, #14 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Corn is universal, so like a Roman senator. Its truths are silk tassels. True its ears are sometimes rotten, impure. But it aspires in vast acres, In The Next Galaxy rectangular spaces, to conspire with every Things will be different. pollinator No one will lose their sight, and to bear for the future their hearing, their gallbladder. in its yellow hair. It will be all Catskills with brand­ new wraparound verandas. And what are your aspirations, The idea of Hitler will not oh my dears, have vibrated yet. who will wear into tatters While back here, like the dry sheaves they are still cleaning out left standing, stuttering pockets of wrinkled in November's wind; Nazis hiding in Argentina. my Indian corn, my maize, But in the next galaxy, my seeds for a ruined world. certain planets will have true Oh my daughters. blue skies and drinking water. Ruth Stone ©2003 88 Tuschen wrote in 2004: Ever see in old poet fall on his ass on icy Francis Street in February while trying to help a young student gather her papers that have been windswept down to State Street? Me neither, ‘cept when poet Gregory Corso and I were sliding down Francis in the winter of ’82. Ever see local poets get paid for their work? Well, you will again thanks to an upcoming grant from Madison City Arts and the Wisconsin Arts Board. Thanks for reading and have a suitable day…JT PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET June 10 - June 23, 2004 Vol.2,#15 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" An Evening of Roasted How Not To Die Apples & Swine & Alma's Laughing Around people if I feel I'm gonna die Summer moon I excuse myself begged its way into night telling them as Alma pearled "I gotta go!" across the balcony - "Go where?" they wanna know glistening, I don't answer witty, I just get outa there as brave as away from them a butterfly because somehow they sense something wrong Only 14 months on and never know what to do this planet - it scares them such suddenness already owning How awful most of it... to just sit there and they asking: John Tuschen "Are you okay?" ©2004 "Can we get you something?'' 'Want to lie down?" Ye gods! people! who wants to die amongst people?! Especially when they can't do shit To the movies - to the movies that's where I hurry to when I feel I'm gonna die So far it's worked Gregory Corso ©1973 90 Tuschen wrote in 2004: Stone sculptor, poet Dan Raven (nee Danny Yopack) moved from Madison to Santa Fe some time back. Mr. Raven/Yopack was born here, received his M.F.A. from the UW Art School and was one of a handful of “right brained” visionaries that helped develop the beloved “near-east side” community into the wonderful and eclectic bohemian neighborhood that it is today. Gallery 853 at 853 Williamson Street was a haven and an outlet for the local artistic genii in the early ’70’s as well as a stop over for many traveling artists, musicians and poets - famous and infamous. His dedication to art and artists will never be disputed. He is a rare bird indeed, this Dan Raven. Thank you for reading and have a suitable day… - JT Dan goes on to say: “In 1971, I graduated from the University of Wisconsin with an MFA in printmaking. Several years later I discovered a new artistic passion – stone carving. I have been working in this medium ever since. My work has been exhibited during the past 20 years throughout Santa Fe, as well as in galleries in Texas, Tennessee, Chicago, Arizona, and British Columbia. I have won several awards and had a new body of work unveiled at the 2013 La Cienega Studio Tour.” Close friend, Sharon Kilfoy, tells us that he has preferred working more in the written word during the past few years. Hopefully he’ll be seen in Madison sometime soon and be willing to share a bit with we who miss him and those who would delight in getting to know him. PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET June 24 - July 7, 2004 Vol.2,#16 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Rooting For A Weed Throw The First Stone Do you know what I love? Its release from the hand I love to root for that plant, vibrates into my memory, probably a weed, who has recalling those times of wonder the strength and audacity and amazement at the brevity to push through concrete of asking the compelling question into the air world, of my parents or my teachers, a protester of sorts, and how seldom I was rewarded kind of a leftist radical for the good questions, of the plant world, an underdog, but instead was graded someone you would probably for the right answers. never take home to Mom. The arc of the thrown stone Dan Raven is reflected in a reverse image ©2004 by the mirror like pond reminding me of my search, for that place of convergence of the dual aspects of being, coming together as that arc intersects with its reflected self, hitting the pond and disappearing, its memory in the moment recorded by the growing rings moving outward in concentric circles, causing a leaf and a twig to bob up and down on those waves of memory. Dan Raven ©2004 92 Tuschen wrote in 2004: Poet Charles Cantrell is a long-time Madison poet who still has this deep Southern accent that has followed him around “jus like a lil ole puppy dawg that ain’t let go.” He has a new chapbook entitled Greatest Hits from Pudding House (2004) and has published widely and often. Thanks for reading and have a suitable day… - JT To share a little more, Ucity wrote: Charles Cantrell is semi-retired from teaching English at Madison (WI) College, has poems in recent issues of Confrontation, Wisconsin Review, and Bareroot Review, New work is forthcoming in Clackamas Literary Review, Mudfish, Quarterly Review of Literature, Sandy River Review, and Soundings East. His awards include grants from the Wisconsin Arts Board, fellowships from Ragdale, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and Ucross. He is also listed in a 1992 edition of Who’s Who in American and Canadian Poets, Editors and Writers. Poems have appeared in numerous publications, including The Literary Review, Nimrod, Poetry Northwest, Prairie Schooner, and Yankee. He was nominated for a 2000 Pushcart Prize. He lives in Madison, Wisconsin with his wife and son. And Charles tells us: A long-time resident of Madison, I retired from teaching English at Madison (WI) College in 2005. I have published two chapbooks: Cicatrix, and Greatest Hits 1978-2003. My poems have appeared in over 200 journals, including Poetry Northwest, The Literary Review, Prairie Schooner, Southern Poetry Review, and most recently in Confrontation, Soundings East, UCity Review, Free State Review, Mudfish and others.My work has been nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize. My awards include several fellowships from Ragdale and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, grants from the Wisconsin Arts Board, and the 2011 Aga Shahid Ali Scholarship from the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. An earlier version of my manuscript was a finalist twice in Four Way Books competition and a semi-finalist in the Samuel French Morse Award. The new version of this manuscript was a semi-finalist in the UW’s 2016 Brittingham-Pollak Prizes. PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET August 19 - September 1, 2004 Vol. 2,#17 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Bats in the Cbinaberry Tree will soon cast razor shadows over the fireflies above the ferns. Someone on TV, who acts like John Wayne, proclaims \Y-!'!l find ,Vl\ID or bulldoze the desert trying. Perhaps I dreamt the last part, but Herr Wayne isn't kidding. My friend, a gulf War vet, bas prostate cancer. He watches sunsets and likes bird books, all flying creatures, he says, moths, bats... Since the disease hasn't spread, he's not anxious about bis life and unknown revelations to come if they come. But erase a few moths, then kamikaze the fireflies--their milky light, like a glowing epiphany we could catch and not know the meaning. Clouds erase the moon, and my friend's shadow crumbles to chalk dust. He has also been reading ancient Chinese poet1-y-- moon, bamboo, wine as metaphors--lotus petals rippling shadows topping ponds. I'm not sure why this poetry, but knowing him, I'll say, one purple flower, diminutive shadow, rain today, sun tomorrow, earth rot and carbon monoxide. Wilting and falling suggest return. And for good reason the poet's lover covered their bed with violet blossoms before he returned with a basket of sticks for the fire. Charles Cantrell ©2004 94 Tuschen wrote in 2004: Richard Peabody is editor of Gargoyle Magazine, author of five books of poetry, two books of short stories, and has co-edited six anthologies with Lucinda Ebersole including – Coming to Terms: A Literary Response to Abortion, and Conversations with Gore Vidal (2005). He edited A Different Beat: Writings by Women of the Beat Generation. Richard also teaches fiction at Johns Hopkins Advanced Studies Program. Richard lives in Arlington Virginia. (He also help me pay my MG&E bill once and thinks my stutter is cool…) anyway, thanks for reading and have a suitable day… Richard explains in 2016: After grad school I hitched across America during the 1976 Bicentennial. I'd only heard two or three poets read live before I landed in Madison, WI and walked into a bookstore where I caught Tuschen and Warren Woessner doing a gig. Both were fabulous in different ways and I did the fanboy thing and bought their books and asked them for autographs. When I got back home to DC I began Gargoyle Magazine with two friends--the result of my trip, that reading, and finally being out of school. It wasn't too long after that I asked Tuschen for work. I'm glad I had the chance to correspond with him, print his poems, and hangout when I finally made it back to Madison in 2004 to read my own poems at Avol’s. [email protected] PATEPRESl'OSRY5f/EEf July 22 - August 4, 2004 Vol. 2,#18 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of tile subconsciously noisy" Last of the Red Hot Magnetos Smoky Your skin Mists my eyes A floating garden We kiss And have no time To sparkle The way we know how Blood rivers Passing through our lives - Richard Peabody ©2004 This poem was originally printed on the same PO# as the poem on the following page. 96 Tuschen wrote in 2004: Poet Robert Schuler will be reading from his work at the westside Barnes & Nobles on Sunday, July 25th at 7pm. His eleventh book of poetry, In Search Of Green Dolphin Street, was published this year by Marsh River Editions. Robert teaches film, American Literature, and writing at UW-Stout and probably isn’t even remotely interested in helping me pay my MG&E bill. Nevertheless, SSPS is pleased to publish his work. And by the way, “frelon burn” translated means “brown hornet” and is a cut on Miles Davis’ Filles De Kilimanjaro. Check these poets out for a couple suitable days plus… - JT Robert continues: “My writing is what I see; it’s the world,” says Schuler, a professor at UW- Stout since 1978 who teaches English and Philosophy. the act of writing fulfills two main goals: to inspire readers to “look out the window again,” and to keep himself awake in a culture of many distractions as he tries to “figure it all out.” Poetry is a fitting means to this end, and a natural extension of his other field of study: philosophy. “Writing is re-thinking,” he says. “I wanted to be a novelist, but it kept bursting out into a bunch of poems.” PATEPREETPOETRY51-/EET July 22 - August 4, 2004 Vol. 2, #18 Publisher/Editor: John Tuschen "The quiet voice of the subconsciously noisy" Miies Davis, Frelon Brun bebopping it down /re/on brun what's it all about can we drum it up sanctify the seconds the woods the hawks the winds want to drum it up the light falling swirling over the pools of the river who is the drummer i want to be the hornet who hammers the air /re/on brun stinging your mind getting the whole going - Robert Schuler ©2004 This poem was originally printed on the same page as the poem on the previous page. $10.00 ISBN 978-1-5323-0006-6 51000>