Tag: American Poetry

for Robert Frost’s birthday, I wrote him a love poem…

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by deb Ewing

I’ve said before I don’t venerate poetry. Poetry should not be placed on a pedestal, because it lives and breathes with us. I recorded myself reading this piece while sitting in my doctor’s office waiting room. The background noise is the television, the nurse, another patient.

Robert Lee Frost was born in San Francisco, California March 26, 1874. He died January 29, 1963 in Boston, Massachusetts, two years before I was born. He’s remembered for a small-town, almost rural perspective in his poetry, but if you want a real feel for the man I recommend Robert Frost on Writing, by Elaine Barry. I’m not even gonna tell you.

Today we commemorate the birth of Robert Frost. Be careful what you say if you mention him to me, because how you feel about Frost’s work will impact how I feel about you. Don’t be too shiny, but don’t gloss over. It’s okay to say you don’t know anything about his work. Seek it out.

In Memoriam George Keenen (1943-2021)

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Thank you, Jack Foley, for your loving review of the late former Art/Life poetry editor George Keenen’s RECORD (Igneus Press, 2021) in Poetry Flash.

We lost our beloved George Keenen, aka GEK, (1943-2021) after a long and graceful battle with Parkinson’s, as well as a helluva case of really good writing.Throughout it all, as the diseases took more and more out of him, he faced his condition with a beautiful attitude of acceptance. He was a joy to be around; bearing witness to his journey was a privilege. His writing was so passionate, sharp, elusive, caring.

I met George in the early Ventura poetry and art scene, back even before the City of Ventura started funding the arts and doing the first Artwalks, back in the early 1990’s.

Check out this video where I talk about George Keenen’s role in the wee-early 1990’s Ventura art, poetry, and performance art scene.

I had big love for George right away, and we corresponded non-stop, sharing writing, for thirty years.

That first meeting, he’d invited me, Phil Taggart, Ted Vaca, and Matt Swain to do a spoken word performance at the Stone Steel Building where Shya was living illegally and making art. Everyone was living in commercial spaces in those days. We showered at the College or at one of the beach public showers. I don’t think the latter had hot water.

Then George was doing theatre, too, with Ted Vaca and Steve Aguilar at the Plaza Players. Here’s Ted Vaca talking about that a bit.

We’re going to miss him so damn much. I miss him so much it hurts every time I think about going to my email box and never ever receiving his words again. Ah, the hot Ojai summers, the sense of being outside of it all, and the poetry…

George Edward Keenen, may you Rest In Peace