Intern's Blog: Post #2

 

Hello Everyone, and welcome to the week 2 and 3 post of the Intern’s Blog! 

 

I was running a little behind on the week 2 post so I’m just combining it with week 3.  My name is Max and I am the intern at this here Writers Center.  The days go by and with it my experiences grow.  Last week began with a visit to Annie’s house, and can I just say that she has a really lovely house.  The day consisted of finalizing some P.R. for the upcoming Shahar Bram event (this coming Wednesday at 7:30 for those interested PROVIDE LINK) and some tasty sandwiches and garden fresh vegetables.  We also had some great conversations about chickens and I met the venerable Chick Chick, chicken survivor extraordinaire.  While at the house, Chick Chick’s domain was invaded by Annie’s suns chickens, and I was informed of the ongoing squabble between Chick Chick and the invaders, who seem to have elevated Chick Chick to a position of God-Queen because Annie will often throw treats to Chick Chick.  Poor Chick Chick wants no part in the silly pageantry or companionship of the other chickens, but alas she cannot free herself from them.

Outside the world of poultry I became a master of list making on excel, and gained a Boy Scout badge in it, but I am happy to say that I am making a major dent in the organization of information here at the GWC, and I think I’ll be leaving it with a nice set up of organized lists.  Last Tuesday marked the arrival of Shahar Bram and his wife at the Center.  Shahar is an Israeli poet and scholar hailing from Haifa, and gave a wonderful talk last night on Olson and his influence on Israeli poets.  With Shahar’s occupation of the Writers Center I was forced away for the rest of last week and the entirety of this week, but this allowed me to really make a dent in my list making.  Last Tuesday, however, just before Shahar arrived, I was able to meet many of the folks that help run the GWC, and a few that would like to help out.  I finalized plans for this blog and the Resident Writer’s Blog (Checkout Rudy’s post as the first official blog post) with our wonderful web man Steve Brettler, and was able to plan out a restart of the Moth reading group at the Center, which sounds like it will be a lot of fun.

Last weekend I actually took some time off to visit King Richard’s Faire in Carver, which proved to be a lovely little outing with friends.  The only real problem with this trip is that it ended with my tire being completely flat in Carver, which is about 2 hours from my humble abode.  On top of my flat tire, only a mile down the road from the Faire I blew out my spare tire…  Needless to say I am very thankful for friends and Gold AAA cards.  I had seven people in my car, and we somehow made it home, but it took a lot longer than we had planned.

Due to that whole debacle I was unable to come in on Monday, and instead spent the day replacing all of my tires…

Tuesday, however, saw another visit to Annie’s wonderful house where we further discussed plans and visited Chick Chick, and Annie’s wonderful flower garden!  Wednesday was spent with more lists, but at night we had Shahar’s lecture, which was spectacular, and before that Annie took me on a tour of Gloucester as we collected supplies for this Saturday’s 8 Plays for the Price of 1 at the Rocky Neck Cultural Center (If you’re interested in attending please do, there are some great refreshments and the event starts at 7:30 PM).  I must again note just how beautiful a town Gloucester is.  I feel like, to me, Gloucester represents everything that is romanticized about a New England fishing town.  From the docks, to the beautiful beaches, and the grimy warehouse, and sea-seasoned houses, and the boats, this town has got it all.

Today sees me (hopefully) finishing up a large part of the lists, and reflecting back on my first three weeks at the GWC.  I again am so thankful for all of the opportunities I being met with at the GWC.  Until next week I will leave you with the wise words of Charles Olson.

Cheers!

 

 

Maximus to Gloucester, Letter 27 [withheld]

By Charles Olson

 

I come back to the geography of it,

the land falling off to the left

where my father shot his scabby golf

and the rest of us played baseball

into the summer darkness until no flies

could be seen and we came home

to our various piazzas where the women

buzzed

 

To the left the land fell to the city,

to the right, it fell to the sea

 

I was so young my first memory

is of a tent spread to feed lobsters

to Rexall conventioneers, and my father,

a man for kicks, came out of the tent roaring

with a bread-knife in his teeth to take care of

the druggist they’d told him had made a pass at

my mother, she laughing, so sure, as round

as her face, Hines pink and apple,

under one of those frame hats women then

 

This, is no bare incoming

of novel abstract form, this

 

is no welter or the forms

of those events, this,

 

Greeks, is the stopping

of the battle

 

               It is the imposing

of all those antecedent predecessions, the precessions

 

of me, the generation of those facts

which are my words, it is coming

 

from all that I no longer am, yet am,

the slow westward motion of

 

more than I am

 

There is no strict personal order

 

for my inheritance.

 

                     No Greek will be able

 

to discriminate my body.

 

                        An American

 

is a complex of occasions,

 

themselves a geometry

 

of spatial nature.

 

           I have this sense,

 

that I am one

 

with my skin

 

             Plus this—plus this:

 

that forever the geography

 

which leans in

 

on me I compell

 

backwards I compell Gloucester

 

to yield, to

 

change

 

          Polis

 

is this

 

 (Poem courtesy of http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/238348)