Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EDT July 22nd 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem Stars by Marjorieย Pickthall, and took a close look at a James Webbย image Cosmic Cliffs, posted below.ย 

Our prompt was: โ€œWrite about looking up.โ€

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Monday July 25th at 6pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.


 Stars by Marjorie Pickthall

Now in the West the slender moon lies low, 
And now Orion glimmers through the trees, 
Clearing the earth with even pace and slow, 
And now the stately-moving Pleiades, 
In that soft infinite darkness overhead 
Hang jewel-wise upon a silver thread. 

And all the lonelier stars that have their place, 
Calm lamps within the distant southern sky, 
And planet-dust upon the edge of space, 
Look down upon the fretful world, and I 
Look up to outer vastness unafraid 
And see the stars which sang when earth was made. 

James Webbย image Cosmic Cliffs

Credit: NASA.gov


Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EDT July 20th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we look a close look at the art piece When Fire is Applied to a Stone, It Cracks by Jeffrey Gibson, posted below. 

Our prompt was: โ€œ When fire is applied…โ€

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Friday July 22nd at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.


When Fire is Applied to a Stone, It Cracks by Jeffrey Gibson

Credit: http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/jeffrey_gibson


Encuentros virtuales en vivo: Sรกbado 16 de Julio, 13:00 EDT

Nos reunimos 9 personas, desde Nueva York, California, Argentina, Espaรฑa e Italia. Trabajamos el relato corto โ€œEl Drama del Desencantado,โ€ de Gabriel Garcรญa Mรกrquez. 

El microcuento relata el desarrollo de un suicidio. No sabemos por quรฉ lo hizo, no lo cuenta. Llama la atenciรณn el uso de la metรกfora โ€œla puerta falsaโ€. Ha elegido morir de un modo que lo acerca a la vida de los demรกs. No sabemos cuรกntas cosas vio de la vida de los otros, pero aprendiรณ que la vida vale la pena de ser vivida justo antes de morir. 

El cuento tiene un mensaje: el autor juzga/critica el suicidio de esta persona. Pero detrรกs de los suicidios hay tanto sufrimiento que da la impresiรณn de que lo trivializa. Llama la atenciรณn como el narrador habla como si conociera todo lo que piensa el protagonista, pero a la vez sabemos que es imposible, el protagonista estรก muerto.

El texto es breve, solo una frase. Pero el texto estรก lleno de palabras fuertes. Contrastan las experiencias finitas (tragedia y comedia son fugaces) con lo definitivo de la muerte. Se mencionรณ el concepto de intrahistoria de Unamuno: las historias pequeรฑas que existen escondidas a los ojos de los demรกs. El protagonista tiene una revelaciรณn. Hay todo un periplo vital en una peripecia dramรกtica.

La palabra drama recuerda al teatro. Pero en este texto no estรก la primera parte, no sabemos de dรณnde viene el desencanto, tenemos que suponerlo. El texto recuerda que solo son necesarios breves instantes de felicidad. 

Un participante considera que en el propio texto se explica el motivo del suicidio: las pequeรฑas tragedias. El protagonista descubre que sus pequeรฑas tragedias, las que le llevan al suicidio, son las mismas que tienen los demรกs. El texto tan corto nos cuenta todo: la introducciรณn y el nudo estรกn en el texto. Por eso puede arrepentirse, su causa es igual a las de las demรกs.

El texto estรก escrito en una sola frase, pero expresa que la forma y el contenido son lo mismo. La caรญda es un proceso sin puntos, sin paradas. La forma refuerza el contenido. Cuenta un error que no puede arreglar, no puede arrepentirse. El drama es conocer cuando ya no puede cambiar. Gabriel Garcรญa Mรกrquez critica el acto del suicidio e impresiona que puede estar frivolizando. Es un texto lleno de capas y matices. ยฟEl texto cuestiona la libertad de matarse o es que nadie es libre?

ยฟPone el narrador sus palabras en el personaje? ยฟEmite un juicio? Si no quisiera hacerlo, podrรญa haberlo escrito en primera persona.  Es importante quiรฉn es el narrador, quien cuenta la historia.

La propuesta de escritura fue โ€œEscribe sobre un momento en que cambiรณ tu concepciรณn del mundoโ€.Se ha escrito de como desconocemos la realidad del otro y asumimos que la realidad de los demรกs es nuestra realidad. Y la realidad cambia en cada momento. Se escribe sobre los descubrimientos de otras realidades y nuestros propios descubrimientos. Sobre la imposibilidad de dejar de cambiar y como el รบnico cambio es el que ocurre al final de la vida. La importancia de las mรบltiples perspectivas. Escribimos a la sombra del texto y de las reflexiones que hicimos sobre รฉl.

Aquรญ, ahora alentamos a los participantes que si asรญ lo desean, compartan lo que escribieron a continuaciรณn. Deja tu respuesta aquรญ, si deseas continuar la conversaciรณn sobre el poema de Leรณn Felipe. Pero antes, les recomendamos tener en cuenta que el blog es un espacio pรบblico donde, por supuesto, no se garantiza la confidencialidad.

Por favor, รบnase a nosotros en nuestra prรณxima sesiรณn en espaรฑol: El sรกbado 6 agosto a las 13 hrs. o a la 1 pm EDT. Tambiรฉn, ofrecemos sesiones en inglรฉs. Ve a nuestra pรกgina de sesiones grupales virtuales en vivo.

ยกEsperamos verte pronto!


El drama del desencantado por Gabriel Garcรญa Mรกrquez

 โ€ฆEl drama del desencantado que se 
arrojรณ a la calle desde el dรฉcimo piso, y 
a medida que caรญa iba viendo a travรฉs 
de las ventanas la intimidad de sus 
vecinos, las pequeรฑas tragedias 
domรฉsticas, los amores furtivos, los 
breves instantes de felicidad, cuyas 
noticias no habรญan llegado nunca hasta 
la escalera comรบn, de modo que en el 
instante de reventarse contra el
 pavimento de la calle habรญa cambiado 
por completo su concepciรณn del mundo, 
y habรญa llegado a la conclusiรณn de que 
aquella vida que abandonaba para
siempre por la puerta falsa valรญa la pena 
de ser vivida.

Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EDT July 15th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem The Dog Star by Tom Billsborough, posted below. 

Our prompt was: โ€œWrite about a ceremony of renewal.โ€

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Wednesday July 20th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.


The Dog Star by Tom Billsborough

Sirius rising, seed of power..

Wind rode or tide rode
A reed boat sways the whole night,
Straining at anchor.

The papyrus dawn stretches.
The pale East trembles.
The priest too. Who knows.

Red sails tether

The dawn breeze.
The Nile renews her annual surrender.

Sirius rising, seed of power..
In this man's soul
What joy to compose its shell,
The hollow ritual! 

Credit: www.poemhunter.com

Live Virtual Group Session: 6PM EDT July 11th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

Thirty-two participants engaged with The Artist by William Carlos Williams, posted below.ย We noticed first the form of the poem, which evokes Mr. Tโ€™s sudden movementโ€”an entrechatโ€”a performance on the page. In the discussion that followed we wondered not only โ€œ[w]hat goes on here?โ€ (a line in the poem) but also: who does the title name? Is it Mr. T, the woman in the wheelchair who sees and applauds his scissored leap, the poet who performs the movement with words, or we readers, who bring our puzzle pieces from close reading and see all these possibilities?

Our prompt was:ย โ€œ Write about a moment of unexpected beauty. or Write about a leap.โ€ The prompted writing brought moments of beauty: traveling and asking where we are going; arrivals and departures, dogs and hummingbirds, the leap of a trout, a series of movements in ballet before a move to hospital corridors, a last kiss, and the generation of more than one unanswered question.

Thank you everyone for your participation in this eveningโ€™s narrative choreography!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Friday July 15th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.


 The Artist by William Carlos Williams

Mr. T.
          bareheaded
                    in a soiled undershirt
his hair standing out
          on all sides
                    stood on his toes
heels together
           arms gracefully
                    for the moment
curled above his head.
            Then he whirled about
                     bounded
into the air
             and with an entrechat
                     perfectly achieved
completed the figure.
             My mother
                     taken by surprise
where she sat
             in her invalidโ€™s chair
                      was left speechless.
Bravo! she cried at last
             and clapped her hands.
                       The manโ€™s wife
came from the kitchen:
            What goes on here? she said.
                        But the show was over.

Credit: allpoetry.com 
ยฉ by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EDT July 8th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we look a close look at the painting The Janitor Who Paints by Palmer Hayden, posted below. 

Our prompt was:ย โ€œWrite about two sides of yourself. โ€

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Monday July 11th at 6pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.


The Janitor Who Paints by Palmer Hayden

Copyright 2022 The Westmoreland Museum of American Art, Inc.

Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EDT June 29th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem A Poem for Pulse by Jameson Fitzpatrick, posted below. 

Our prompt was: โ€œWhere will we go?โ€

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Friday July 8th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions.


A Poem for Pulse by Jameson Fitzpatrick

Last night, I went to a gay bar
with a man I love a little.
After dinner, we had a drink.
We sat in the far-back of the big backyard
and he asked, What will we do when this place closes?
I don't think it's going anywhere any time soon, I said,
though the crowd was slow for a Saturday,
and he saidโ€”Yes, but one day. Where will we go?
He walked me the half-block home
and kissed me goodnight on my stoopโ€”
properly: not too quick, close enough
our stomachs pressed together
in a second sort of kiss.
I live next to a bar that's not a gay bar
โ€”we just call those bars, I guessโ€”
and because it is popular
and because I live on a busy street,
there are always people who aren't queer people
on the sidewalk on weekend nights.
Just people, I guess.
They were there last night.
As I kissed this man I was aware of them watching
and of myself wondering whether or not they were just.
But I didn't let myself feel scared, I kissed him
exactly as I wanted to, as I would have without an audience,
because I decided many years ago to refuse this fearโ€”
an act of resistance. I left
the idea of hate out on the stoop and went inside,
to sleep, early and drunk and happy.
While I slept, a man went to a gay club
with two guns and killed forty-nine people.
Today in an interview, his father said he had been disturbed
recently by the sight of two men kissing.
What a strange power to be cursed with:
for the proof of men's desire to move men to violence.
What's a single kiss? I've had kisses
no one has ever known about, so many
kisses without consequenceโ€”
but there is a place you can't outrun,
whoever you are.
There will be a time when.
It might be a bullet, suddenly.
The sound of it. Many.
One man, two guns, fifty deadโ€”
Two men kissing. Last night
I can't get away from, imagining it, them,
the people there to dance and laugh and drink,
who didn't believe they'd die, who couldn't have.
How else can you have a good time?
How else can you live?
There must have been two men kissing
for the first time last night, and for the last,
and two women, too, and two people who were neither.
Brown people, which cannot be a coincidence in this country
which is a racist country, which is gun country.
Today I'm thinking of the Bernie Boston photograph
Flower Power, of the Vietnam protestor placing carnations
in the rifles of the National Guard,
and wishing for a gesture as queer and simple.
The protester in the photo was gay, you know,
he went by Hibiscus and died of AIDS,
which I am also thinking about today because
(the government's response to) AIDS was a hate crime.
Now we have a president who names us,
the big and imperfectly lettered us, and here we are
getting kissed on stoops, getting married some of us,
some of us getting killed.
We must love one another whether or not we die.
Love can't block a bullet
but neither can it be shot down,
and love is, for the most part, what makes usโ€”
in Orlando and in Brooklyn and in Kabul.
We will be everywhere, always;
there's nowhere else for us, or you, to go.
Anywhere you run in this world, love will be there to greet you.
Around any corner, there might be two men. Kissing.

 Copyright ยฉ 2017 by Jameson Fitzpatrick.

Live Virtual Group Session: 6PM EDT June 27th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

Twenty-eight participants gathered to read and discuss Ada Limรณnโ€™s โ€œI Have Wanted Clarity in Light of my Lack of Lightโ€ from her 2022 collectionย The Hurting Kind.

After reading the poem I Have Wanted Clarity In Light Of My Lack Of Light from The Hurting Kind by Ada Limรณn (poem posted below), we commented on โ€œthe attack of the poemโ€ with its barrage of sounds and images that echoedย our experiences of the worldโ€™s โ€œtoo much-ness.โ€ย Theย narratorโ€™s referencesย to โ€œknocking in the bloodโ€,ย โ€œa sound that undoes meโ€ย andย becomingย โ€œMoreย sense, shake, and nerveโ€ (i.e. moreย like a dog than a human)ย suggested an experience of post-traumatic stress disorder, perhaps that of a veteran.ย We questioned what it means to be brave in the face of the many current challenges that worry and wear us down.

Before we were prompted, โ€œWrite about a time you were braveโ€ one among usย offered a glimpse of light to the group with the words, โ€œLook upโ€ as a strategy that is both a physical act and a metaphor that can changeย ourย perspective.ย Several people read aloud accounts of bravery in the face of grave illness, grief, and a kidnapping. One participant shared a drawing of flowers and a gunโ€™s trigger and double barrels, whichย reminded people of anti-war protest emblemsย in the 1960s.

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Wednesday June 29th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.


I Have Wanted Clarity In Light Of My Lack Of Light by Ada Limรณn

Fireworks in the background like an incongruous soundtrack,
	either celebratory or ominous, a veil of smoke behind

a neighborโ€™s house, the air askew with booms.

The silver suitcase is dragged down the stairs, a clunk, another clunk,
	awkward wheels where wheels arenโ€™t any use. Uselessness of invention.

There is a knocking in the blood that is used to absences but hates this part
	the most. The sudden buried hope of illusion.

Lose my number, sadness. Lose my address, my storm door, my skull.

Am I stronger or weaker than when the year began, a lie
	that joins two selves like a hinge. Sawdust in the neighborโ€™s garage

that smells of the men who raised me. What is the other world
	that others live in? Unknown to me. The ease of grin and good times. 

Once I loved fireworks so much that they made me weep without warning.
	I smoked too much pot one young summer and almost missed them

	until I simply remembered to look up. Gold valley crackling in chaos. 

Now, it is a sound that undoes me, too much violence in the sky.
	In this way, I have become more dog. More sense, shake, and nerve.

Better now when the etches in the nightโ€™s edges are just bats,
	Erratic and avoiding the fireflies. How much more drama

can one body take? I wake up in the morning and relinquish my dreams.
	I go to bed with my beloved. I am delirious with my tenderness.

Once I was brave, but I have grown so weary of danger.
	I am soundlessness amid the constant sounds of war.

Pp.48-49. The Hurting Kind. (2022) Minneapolis, MN: Milkweed Editions. 

Encuentros virtuales en vivo: Sรกbado 25 de Junio, 13:00 EDT

Nos acompaรฑaran seis participantes desde Nueva York, Espaรฑa, Argentina, y California.

El texto que escogimos para hoy fue Chica Americana en Italia, una fotografรญa de Ruth Orkin, tomada en 1951.

Tuvimos una discusiรณn muy rica. Lo primero que se noto fue que hay 15 hombres en diferentes aptitudes hacia la mujer, solo hay un hombre que no estรก mirando la mujer. La estรฉtica de la mujer se compara con las miradas de los hombres. Hay algo sublime en la imagen de la mujer. Uno de los hombres agarra su entrepierna.

Un participante se preguntรณ, ยฟPorque estรกn juntos todos los hombres? ยฟQuรฉ es el propรณsito de reunirse en una esquina? Alguien en el grupo le contestรณ: lo que siempre hacen los hombres en la esquina, nada. Lo que notamos es que es obvio que, al llegar la mujer, todo cambia.

Otra persona comenta que la imagen de la mujer muestra miedo, ella no lo estรก pasando bien, agarra su chal con afรกn. El aรฑo es seis aรฑos posguerra, que nos dice mucho de lo que estaba pasando en ese tiempo. El punto de reuniรณn con los amigos eran las esquinas.

Mariola y Olga Lucia, las facilitadoras, les explicaron a los participantes la historia de la foto: la mayorรญa de la gente que ve la foto cree que la chica estรก pasando por acoso, pero ella, Ninalee Craig, dijo en varias entrevistas, que ella lo estaba pasando muy bien. Ninalee y Ruth Orkin estaban haciendo un experimento por dos horas tomando fotos por Florencia, Italia, viendo como la gente trababa a Ninalee.

Despuรฉs de tener este contexto, alguien dijo que ella habรญa visto a la mujer impasible desde el principio. Ninalee estรก en el centro de la vereda, sin miedo, como si no le llegaran los comentarios o miradas de los hombres.

Un participante comentรณ que sabiendo que las mujeres planearon tomar las fotos cambia todo porque no son fotos espontรกneas; ยฟdรณnde estรก la verdad si la mujer pasรณ dos veces?

Otra persona notรณ que impacta de la ausencia de la caballerosidad.

La propuesta de escritura fue, โ€œEscribe sobre una miradaโ€. Un participante escribiรณ del impacto de la mirada del otro. Otro escribiรณ sobre reglas bรกsicas y dichos como โ€œquien no comprende una mirada tampoco comprenderรก una larga explicaciรณn.โ€ El baile puede ser en acto รญntimoโ€”se notรณ que en bailar la samba, se sabe que nos vamos a mirar a los ojos. En su escritura alguien comentรณ que los ojos no saben mentir. Tambiรฉn se hiso la comparaciรณn entre ver y mirar. Se noto que lo mirado siempre es elegido. Tambiรฉn nos arreglamos y vestimos para el enfoco de los que queremos que nos vea.

Aquรญ, ahora alentamos a los participantes que, si asรญ lo desean, compartan lo que escribieron a continuaciรณn. Deja tu respuesta aquรญ, si deseas continuar la conversaciรณn sobre la escena de la foto de Ruth Orkin. Pero antes, les recomendamos tener en cuenta que el blog es un espacio pรบblico donde, por supuesto, no se garantiza la confidencialidad.

Por favor, รบnase a nosotros en nuestra prรณxima sesiรณn en espaรฑol: El sรกbado 16 de julio a las 13 hrs. o a la 1 pm EDT. Tambiรฉn, ofrecemos sesiones en inglรฉs. Ve a nuestra pรกgina de sesiones grupales virtuales en vivo.


Chica Americana en Italia, una fotografรญa de Ruth Orkin, tomada en 1951

ยฉ2022 Ruth Orkin Photo Archive


Live Virtual Group Session: 12PM EDT June 24th 2022

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

For this session we read a poem Two Guns in the Sky for Daniel Harris by Raymond Antrobus, posted below. 

Our prompt was: โ€œWrite about a time when you didn’t know the words.โ€

More details will be posted on this session, so check back again!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โ€œLeave a Replyโ€), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโ€™re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Monday June 27th at 6pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions 


Two Guns in the Sky for Daniel Harris by Raymond Antrobus

When Daniel Harris stepped out of his car
the policeman was waiting. Gun raised.

I use the past tense though this is irrelevant
in Danielโ€™s language, which is sign.

Sign has no future or past; it is a present language.
You are never more present than when a gun

is pointed at you. What language says this
if not sign? But the police officer saw hands

waving in the air, fired and Daniel dropped
his hands, his chest bleeding out onto concrete

metres from his home. I am in Breukelen Coffee House
in New York, reading this news on my phone,

when a black policewoman walks in, two guns
on her hips, my friend next to me reading

the comments section: Black Lives Matter.
Now what could we sign or say out loud

when the last word I learned in ASL was alive?
Alive โ€” both thumbs pointing at your lower abdominal,

index fingers pointing up like two guns in the sky.

ยฉ 1909 - 2022 The Poetry Society and respective creators 
ASL illustration by Oliver Barrett.