parispress-blog

[parispress-blog]

Happy Birthday, Pablo Neruda: A Poem by Muriel Rukeyser to the Great Poet

Neruda, the Wine

We are the seas through whom the great fish passed and passes.  He died in a moment of general dying. Something was reborn.  What was it, Pablo? Something is being reborn  :  poems, death, ourselves, The link deep in our peoples, the dead link in our dead regimes, The last of our encounters transformed from the first Long ago in Xavier’s house, where you lay sick, Speaking of poems, the sheet pushed away Growth of beard pressing up, fierce grass, as you spoke. And that last moment in the hall of students, Speaking at last of Spain, that core of all our lives, The long defeat that brings us what we know. Meaning, poems, lifelong in loss and presence passing forever. I spilled the wine at the table And you, Pablo, dipped your finger in it and marked my forehead. Words, blood, rivers, cities, days.  I go, a woman signed by you-- The poems of the wine.

"Neruda, the Wine." Muriel Rukeyser (from  The Collected Poems of Muriel Rukeyser. University of Pittsburgh Press, 2005).

#Pablo Neruda #Muriel Rukeyser

[parispress-blog]

Spiraling Poetry: Tanya Ko

In celebration of International Women's Day, Paris Press is launching our new program, Spiraling. Every month, Paris Press will feature original work by a contemporary woman writer. All genres may be sent to the Press through Submittable on this website. Happy International Women's Day. It is an honor to begin this new publication feature with the work of Tanya Ko.

Grandmother Talking Camptowns

At 77 years old all my teeth are gone and the wind blows past my gums. No windscreen in Dongducheon where homeless live alone.

Rather than live alone I wanted to be a monk in Buddha’s temple but they kicked me out— I sneaked the bacon.

The Deacon’s ad in the newspaper offered a room at his church— In exchange for cleaning I lived well. One rainy night I drank Soju and smoked so they kicked me out.

Damn hard work on my back for GIs— pounded and pounded me inside so one day it had to go. The khanho-won removed my womb no pension for sex trade no yungkum.

American couple adopted my half white son— my half black daughter I left at the orphanage door and never knew her fate.

At one time I had money saved. My brother came in his guilty face Because I can’t protect you— you do this. He used my handling money to become a lawyer and soon removed my name from the family— like scraping a baby from the womb.

Still, on my birthdays my sister Sook secretly came to see me, came with seaweed soup— Unni, Unni… I waited for her to come saved a gift chocolate so carefully wrapped— gum, perfume, Dove soap…

Now that she’s engaged  Sook cannot come again— Why can’t you go to America like the others? For the first time that day I was weeping, Mother, mother, we should not live Let’s die together! but Mother was already gone.

The time goes so fast that people on the moon didn’t know where Korea was.

One day I met a man and I am a woman making rice washing his work clothes submissive and joyful until he found my American dollars ran away and never came back.

Now in Dongducheon look— stars shimmer in the wind.

  Oxtail Soup

How does death feel? I look at the bruise on my left hand, dark purple, what is this called—

mung—holding in the pain, silence of sorrow, ashes spread on the ocean settling in layers palimpsest of lives—like maple leaf

            (Was I here before? Will I come back again?)

impressions left on the sidewalk after they’ve blown away— like a raven on the roof that said              Disconnect the phone

Turn on the gas I was making Oyako Donburi tears come…while cutting up the onions— isn’t that the best gift?

I crack cold eggs, whip pour over boiling napa and chicken broth close the pot lid turn off the gas wait

pour over bowl of rice feed child—

Empty unmade bed— a summer river where I didn’t want to see his body—

When I leave I want to leave beautifully.

Separation— I remember one poet saying that after his wife’s funeral, he found a strand of her hair on the pillow and wept 

            (Was he crying, too, after I left?)

I made sukiyaki the day my father died— I had to feed my children.

Oxtail soup, that’s what Daddy made— suck out all the dead blood and boil until the broth turns milky.

 About Tanya Ko

Tanya Ko, is a poet and translator who was born and raised in South Korea, and received her MFA at Antioch University Los Angeles. She is author of Generation One Point Five, and her work has appeared in journals such as Beloit, Two Hawks Quarterly, Rattle, and Writers at Work. She writes in English and Korean, and currently translates the work of Arthur Sze into Korean. As a woman who lives and writes in two cultures, Tanya Ko offers a unique, authentic, and courageous voice. Her poems create a voice for multiple generations of Korean women, especially for the “comfort women” who were silenced following WWII. Her poems will be published in 2015 by Purunsasang in Korea. She lives in Rancho Palos Verdes, CA.

#Spiraling Poetry #Tanya Ko #poetry #Korean poetry

[parispress-blog]

Alice Walker explains why #ArtsMatter

#ArtsMatter and Paris Press encourage all of you to vote on Election Day. ArtsMatter asks everyone to reach out to candidates running for office. Encourage them to support funding for the arts. Here is Alice Walker in a 4-minute video, showing why arts, especially poetry, are  vital in our communities and must be supported by our local, state, and national elected officials.  Click on the link below!

#vote #election #Alice Walker #Muriel Rukeyser #poetry #arts

[parispress-blog]

Thank you, Galway Kinnell (1927 –2014)

Paris Press is deeply grateful to Galway Kinnell — to his generosity, his poems, his teaching, his deeply meaningful life that changed so many of us. We mourn his death and in his unbearable absence we will do our best to celebrate his life. We send our deepest condolences to his family and to all who loved and admired him. It was an honor to host Galway and to have the opportunity to thank him for changing director Jan Freeman's life when he came to Ashfield last summer to read his poems in support of Paris Press. Galway was among the poets who praised the out of print Life of Poetry at an event at Poets House in 1986. This event led to the founding of Paris Press nine years later, to bring that extraordinary book by Muriel Rukeyser back into print. Galway Kinnell changed the course of Jan Freeman's life as a poet, and also as a publisher. He changed many lives through his poetry, his generosity, warmth, and humor, his teaching, and his wisdom. Rest in peace, Galway.

[parispress-blog]

Galway Kinnell's poetry reading with Mirah and Ephraim in Ashfield

#Galway Kinnell #Ashfield MA #Paris Press #Saint John's Church

[parispress-blog]

Portrait of Muriel Rukeyser by photographer Lida Moser

A heart-stop moment in early September. The New York Times published the obituary of photographer Lida Moser. In 1996, Director Jan Freeman had the first Northampton, MA, reading for the new edition of The Life of Poetry by Muriel Rukeyser. After the event in Nielson Library at Smith College, a woman in her seventies came up to Jan and said she'd known Muriel in NYC and had a photo of her that she wanted to show her. The woman was moving away that week, and asked Jan to visit the next day. Among stacks of boxes in the Elm Street home was a photo of Muriel Rukeyser that captured her young, beautiful, open face. Lida Moser was broke and she wanted to sell the photo. Jan was broke, but luckily, bought it. Lida really wanted Jan and Paris Press to have the picture. She was so excited and grateful that the Press had published Rukeyser and The Life of Poetry. Lida was overwhelmed with packing, and she couldn't believe that she'd come to the reading. Then she couldn't wait to show Jan the portrait she'd taken of Muriel in the sixties, and to sell it to her.

That evening, Jan propped the portrait of Muriel Rukeyser on a top shelf, overlooking the Paris Press office. It's been there ever since. Jan assumed Lida died many years ago. And just last year, Paris Press began using the photograph on the many programs and materials it created to celebrate Rukeyser's 100th birthday. It is such a beautiful, loving image of Muriel Rukeyser, and brings to mind Anne Sexton's famous remark: "Muriel, mother of us all." Rest in peace, Lida Moser. How fortunate that Jan's path crossed with hers during Lida's last days in Northampton, during the first days of Paris Press's raison d'être and the beginning of Jan's life as a publisher.

#Lida Moser #Muriel Rukeyser

[parispress-blog]

Portrait of Muriel Rukeyser by photographer Lida Moser

A heart-stop moment in early September. The New York Times published the obituary of photographer Lida Moser. In 1996, Director Jan Freeman had the first Northampton, MA, reading for the new edition of The Life of Poetry by Muriel Rukeyser. After the event in Nielson Library at Smith College, a woman in her seventies came up to Jan and said she'd known Muriel in NYC and had a photo of her that she wanted to show her. The woman was moving away that week, and asked Jan to visit the next day. Among stacks of boxes in the Elm Street home was a photo of Muriel Rukeyser that captured her young, beautiful, open face. Lida Moser was broke and she wanted to sell the photo. Jan was broke, but luckily, bought it. Lida really wanted Jan and Paris Press to have the picture. She was so excited and grateful that the Press had published Rukeyser and The Life of Poetry. Lida was overwhelmed with packing, and she couldn't believe that she'd come to the reading. Then she couldn't wait to show Jan the portrait she'd taken of Muriel in the sixties, and to sell it to her.

That evening, Jan propped the portrait of Muriel Rukeyser on a top shelf, overlooking the Paris Press office. It's been there ever since. Jan assumed Lida died many years ago. And just last year, Paris Press began using the photograph on the many programs and materials it created to celebrate Rukeyser's 100th birthday. It is such a beautiful, loving image of Muriel Rukeyser, and brings to mind Anne Sexton's famous remark: "Muriel, mother of us all." Rest in peace, Lida Moser. How fortunate that Jan's path crossed with hers during Lida's last days in Northampton, during the first days of Paris Press's raison d'être and the beginning of Jan's life as a publisher.

#Lida Moser #Muriel Rukeyser

[parispress-blog]

Galway Kinnell reading with his grandchildren in Ashfield, MA

A year ago, Paris Press was privileged to host Galway Kinnell reading his poems at Saint John's Church in Ashfield, our hometown. It was an extraordinary afternoon of poetry. During the reading, Galway recited poems from the past and offered new work. He also treated the audience to a recitation of Yeats, while his grandchildren recited Keats and Shelley. It was a heart-filled event. After the poetry reading, Galway signed books at the Curtis House next door, where Gloria Pacosa served a summer feast -- all in support of Paris Press. Many thanks to Galway Kinnell and his family, to St. John's Church, and to Dave Gold for recording this magical event. Nearly thirteen months later, listening to this recording makes it clear that Galway's reading was a highlight of the year.

#Galway Kinnell #Ashfield MA #Yeats #Keats #Shelley #Curtis House #Paris Press #poetry #event

[parispress-blog]

An interesting list of important women overlooked by the mainstream--and Bryher at #3! We're proud to have published the extraordinary memoir mentioned here, The Heart to Artemis, and two of her novels, Visa for Avalon and The Player's Boy. Visit parispress.org to check out her work.