THE VISIBLE CITIES

Poem by Luke Deitrick: "Among Fields"

2009-10-22T18:37:00.001-05:00

Today the's big day & we have two new poets to add to this here blog project, the first being Luke Deitrick, of Young Emerging Writers fame. Here's what he as to say about his contribution:

"Living in the cornfield adjacent town of Geneseo has been quiet and delightful. However, when quiet turns to silent, Geneseo doesn't exactly have a prime selection of prospects to fill the void. What better time to ask "Why here?" "Among Fields" is a consideration of such questions. Of course, nothing says existential quandary like a scarecrow."

Indeed. And now, his poem:

Among Fields

One day in a field
a cornfield with no corn,
a Child crafted a Scarecrow
straw, clothes, and hat adorned.

The Scarecrow had come to be.

The Child bade farewell:
“Stand proud, stand tall”
and fled to a home so far
as night began to fall.

And the Scarecrow was happy.

Late, late in the night
as the warm wind rose,
it took his hat, his only hat.
How coldly the wind blows!

But still, the Scarecrow was happy.

The next day, crows flew low, low, and lower.
Had the sky brought new friends?
The sight of him drove them high, high, and higher.
So quickly such things can end!

But still, the Scarecrow was happy.

Soon, the Scarecrow would wonder:
“Why am I here?”
After all, there was no corn to guard,
from all the way there to here.

But still, the Scarecrow was happy.

How could such a thing be true?
No hat, no friends, no answers
How could he be anything but blue?

Because the Child drew him a smile.

BIO: Luke Deitrick is an aspiring hermit who finds no greater joy in life than a piece of toast. He was born in Springfield and moved to Geneseo at a young age. He has recently participated in the Young Emerging Writers program for the second time, and hopes to further publish work in the future.

Poem by Robin Throne: "Hunter’s Moon"

2009-10-21T16:23:00.001-05:00

Our next contribution today comes from Robin Throne of LeClaire, IA. Though she says that the piece is "unfinished" I think it's still quite intriguing. Here is her "contexual statement" about the piece:

"Over the Labor Day holiday, I was in Connecticut doing research for a novel and I was struck by the context of time and place, and how essential that perspective is to our own relative sense of time within a place. As I explored the restored 17th century historic villages of Wethersfield and Glastonbury, Connecticut, I could not help but relate this context to our own historical saviors of 19th century LeClaire. People like Debbie and Gloria, guardians of the repository of local knowledge at the Buffalo Bill Museum, and city leaders and shopkeepers who were committed to restoring the historical ambiance of Antoine’s village. People like Steve and Wanda who continue to work to keep the library doors open to groups like the LeClaire Genealogical Society and information accessible to relative newcomers like me who celebrated my 10th anniversary of my home along the great river on October 15. Or Bob who catalogs our cemeteries and chronicles them on his blog and Friends of the Library who bring the past to life in their fall reenactments of the founding fathers and mothers. I am not a descendent of Parkhurst or Suiter or Tromley, families of the first homes and parks and businesses. But I have found my place in this river village (as other newcomers like Peggy would call it), or city as it would prefer to be known.

On Labor Day, when the historical societies in Connecticut were closed and I was done scoping out the cemeteries, I found myself taking a road trip from New Haven to New London to Barnstable to Plymouth to Swansea and back to Glastonbury, thinking all the while about those that had arrived on this American shore from another place and renamed their cities and towns to honor their former places even if it were a place which no one would ever return.

In LeClaire, we name things for the people that platted this town, first families like Jones or Reynolds, or those that became famous like Cody and Eads. And of course, we name things for states and trees, the river and its valley.

Each month, as the respective full moon reflects over the river (often as if choreographed with the reflecting lights of Port Byron on the Illinois side), I am reminded of time, place and the recording of time and place through poetry. As Glastonbury, Connecticut, restores 17th century homes to bed and breakfasts and posts ‘founding’ signs that read 1693, I could live in a context of believing that this place, my 10-year home, was ‘founded’ less than two centuries ago. This year’s October hunter’s moon reminded me that time and place will always be relative for the observer, and although we seem to have a need to claim it as our own within our own perception of time and place, it was here before. Perhaps then we can be reminded that in doing so, we may also honor those that had claimed it then."

Very cool. Very cool indeed. So here is "Hunter's Moon" (unfinished):

Hunter’s Moon

(unfinished)

The river is never the same in darkness as a swollen McCarty Creek delivers its goods
gurgling still from a sodden July, last remnants of burst tails flagging the wild grasses
like cotton batting, useless filter for crushed cigarette packaging with a one-way ticket
to the wider water tracing a refractive light path cast by a cosmic orange mirror.

Only you can walk on water and bring us to witness this abandoned bank camp
sheltering the thousand who carved out no abstracts or deeds, parcels or plats
now manicured with ornamental grasses, lattice and fence by the guardians
of four-inch grass and warring over clippings that crossed the line.

We see you rise in the comfort of our darkness, replacing the harvest before you
and illuminate the memories erased by day with hibiscus, cul-de-sacs and gazebos
to recall a feast of corn and squash and covenants signed and unsigned.

BIO: Robin Throne lives in Le Claire, Iowa, along the great river. Her poetry has appeared in Tipton Poetry Journal, Sylvan Echo, North Coast Review, Gypsy Cab, poetry motel, Mankato Poetry Review, Minnesota River Review, Connections, and The Muse.

Poem by Victor Snyder: "Danceland's Euolgy"

2009-10-21T16:14:00.003-05:00

Thanks to everyone who has made it out to the evnets the past two night! Tonight is the workshop at the Midwest Writing Center, so if you can, come. Tomorrow is the big Visible Cities Poetry Project reading, and you should definitely come to that & hear all our contributors bring their work to life! Details on all the remaining events to your right (& scroll down)...

Today's first piece is from Victor Synder of Stillwater, OK. Victor is a QC native, and, well, I'll let him explain this piece & where he's coming from:

"I heard of your project from my close friend Nancy Kiefer, who I am collaborating with on a similar project, based on our memories of the Quad Cities of our childhood. We grew up together and lived only a block away from each other, so we share many similar experiences...

I am an artist, musician, song writer and poet. the poem is based on my years of playing music professionally in the Quad Cities area in the early eighties. Dancland, of course, is a well known landmark in downtown Davenport. I also share Nancy's view of the mid west Gothic flavor of the area that lingers in our memories, and was always fascinated with the seamier side of the Q.C.; the soft white underbelly of seedy bars, run-down strip clubs, and late night honky tonks where I often plied my trade. This poem is an impression from a musician's point of view; a front row seat, if you will, to the often bizarre pageant of life played out after hours in the Cities."

Very cool. & thanks to Victor for his work. NOTE: Danceland is Davenport, IA is decidedly NOT dead. On Halloween, it will be packed with the undead, but the place is still there, still available, though perhaps underused. But not on Halloween. Visit here and here for more info. & now, "Danceland's Euolgy":

Danceland’s Eulogy

Dan had a country western band,
I was a hired gun.
Dan had a gig three stories up;
A ballroom called Danceland.

Dan could not sing, but liked to call
His hired guns his “boys”.
We’d not rehearse his country noise.
He’d shout the key. That’s all.

Old men in tattered suits of plaid
And girdled glamour gals
Would shuffle round the floor like pals;
Lost friends they never had.

Big bands had graced this stage before
In glory days gone by,
But now these floor boards creak and sigh
While dancer’s feet grow sore.

And Dan, his voice is out of key
And echoes in this room.
An amplified, distorted boom
Is Danceland’s eulogy.

Two Poems by Matthew Heston

2009-10-19T14:10:00.006-05:00

Next up we have two poem from Rock Island native Matthew Heston. Matthew is another product of the Young Emerging Writers program, and has published work in Buffalo Carp, and Slurve (see link below). What’s he have to say about his work here? Well, this:

“Having grown up in the QC, the River, and, by extension, all rivers, came to take on a certain meaning to me. I think both of these poems are a way of rethinking that meaning.”

So here are two poems by one Matthew Heston, “River Song (i)” and “River Song (ii)”:

River Song (i)

How hopeful we'd become having found ourselves
riverside again, finally found after miles of unrelenting

earth. We were romantic to the notion, with palms
open and steadfast feets – but seasons change. How

routine the moon became, like magic coming undone
before us, like realizing it was not halos we were wearing,

or that the ripples we created had no destiny, no destination
except, at best, an ocean to find and be lost in and forgotten.

Everyday, a new lesson in desperation, another glance
towards the horizon, another weight on our heavy

breath. We learned to speak between the sighing,
determined to stay planted at the prospect of weary limbs.

God damn the wind, we were bound, but battered, no
match for force nor fate. Then, finally, the collapse—

the gentle crumbling of our bones, it's almost as if
we didn't even notice, as if we'd known it all along.

River Song (ii)

Ask yourself, "Am I blessed or naïve?" Consider
the possibility there is no difference. Once, you saw the ocean,
became aware of its enormity, terrified by its breadth. There is
comfort here— the quaintness of a Midwest vocabulary keeps you
well situated, stable, still. Though you never saw the railroad, you
still claim it as inheritance. Remember how certain you were those
were angels you saw dancing in the river? It may have been the
moon, or the stars, or perhaps nothing more than headlights.

BIO: Matthew Heston was born and raised in Rock Island, Illinois, and is currently a student at Bradley University. His poems have appeared in Buffalo Carp and Slurve.

Two Poems by Wes Solether

2009-10-19T13:32:00.000-05:00

Greetings everyone! This is the big week & we’re starting it off right with several new contributors. First off, we have Wes Solether of Rock Island, IL. Wes is a student at Augustana College and recently appeared in the second issue of an outstanding new online magazine called Clementine (see link below). Here’s what he had to say about these two poems:

“I have always been interested in Invisible Cities and the fantastic ways that Calvino describes Venice. This summer, I went to Prague for a poetry workshop and fell in love with the city. I also got to finish The Baron in the Trees by Calvino while I was in Italy, really getting to see what he was writing about. The combination of traveling abroad, envisioning the cities I have been to, and your call for submissions led me to create some Invisible Cities of my own.”

And here they are, “The Windy City” and “The Haloed City”:

The Windy City

Appearing as a scar in the sea,
the Windy City has been dug out
five miles below the earth,
nestled between moth-eaten stone
and writhing worms.
The city rests on an opaque gullet filled to the teeth
with the carcasses of dolphins and whales.
A natural cemetery filling beneath us.

The waterfall from the sea
bisects the city into a blue world and a black world,
depending on what side you look through.
Both sides of residents see distorted images of themselves,
believing that demonic doppelgangers are on the other side.
The two sides war with sticks and broken bones
hurled through the waterfall,
striking stone and flesh.

Sometimes mistaken for the sound of fallen angels,
the wind breathes into the broken bones of the dead.
A resurrection of sound
created by a symphony of skull holes and earthworm paths.

The living in the city and the dead of the sea is a blurred line
when pots and pans are drilled out ribs
and the building are made with ivy withered from waves,
bone wrought with bone.

The Haloed City

The city consists of concentric circles
brilliantly lit at all hours of the day,
and no one knows how they are powered.
Everyone in the city is in a constant state of marriage.
When we entered,
we were separated by gender
and brought to the compatibility chamber
to meet our new spouses.

Some say it is a random process,
while the official stance is divine intervention.

The city exists in three sections.
The only couples allowed to live inside the innermost circles
must be married for at least fifty years.
The innermost section is full of gardens
and brims with golden light from underground,
creating a phantom lake around the legs
of the couples permitted to live there.
The golden gardens are really just cemeteries.

Sectioned off by a canal or a moat,
the Middle Circles of the Haloed City
are being worn down slowly by a heavy fog
that permeates through the sandy brick
and blankets the bedrooms
and sometimes you can’t see the face of your spouse
from across the dinner table.

The Outer Rim is little more than train tracks and box cars
where newly weds struggle to light a match.
There is no fog here,
but the air is heavy with throats
and whispers spoken harshly at night.
Cracked windows and punched-in walls
are always repaired by the morning.

Behind the twenty foot wall of the city limits,
exiled angels search dumpsters
to lick out the arteries of the recently deceased,
trying to find the source of the city’s lights.

BIO: Wes Solether is a current student at Augustana College in Rock Island, IL. Craving a European adventure, he has gone across the pond to get lost on the cobbled streets of Prague. He also fought gladiators and weight gain in Rome and created a shortage of sangria in Barcelona. Recently, he has been published in Clementine.

Two Poems by Maureen Wallner

2009-10-14T17:46:00.001-05:00

Two for one on this fine fall Wednesday!

Our second post today come to us from Maureen Wallner of Moline, IL. Here is what she had to say about her two poems:

The first is through the lens of youth: a first home with its ideals and its sadness at differences, and being so far away from all that is familiar. The second has eyes opened, but not without nostalgia, seeing home for what it is and what it isn’t.

So here are Maureen's two poems, "67 Tolstraat" and "53rd Street":

67 Tolstraat

Day bed against wallpaper
gray with yellow sunflowers,
three steps to books and bones,
a virgin stethoscope,
blue gas flame beckoning in a fireplace.

Floor covered in our steps
on gray linoleum,
gray as ever-staring faces,
windows framing ever-rainy skies.

Bathroom separated by a shower curtain
two steps from the kitchen table,
soup bowls bulging in Belgian vegetables,
hands slipping in soapy bubbles.
Our deep porcelain sink under a rented hot water heater.

So many steps to Antwerp
to our first apartment,
bodies fused on a day bed
early Sunday mornings.

53rd Street

Exiting to 53rd Street.
Seconds flash, a vacuum,
and it is yesterday,

maples’ elbows by a roadside,
sleeping horse barns on Cote Vertu,
crunching gravel in an Austin back seat,
electric posts upside down giant stick men,
to bubby and gramps
on Hutchison.

Cote Vertu scraped
away as mold
for strip malls, condos,
asphalt smeared,
lamp poles blinding symmetric streets.

Here again,
bucking 74, a fanning highway
past a lonely farm house.
Solitary picture.
Like shoulders sagging into corn fields,
a steam shovel
waiting.
A spot for new cement foundations
to prop stores, roll squeaky rusted shopping carts.

No vacancy
for winter wheat.

BIO: Maureen Wallner: From Illinois, USA, I was born and raised in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, a Canadian-American with one foot in each country. But my background in English literature and journalism is strictly from Augustana College, Rock Island, Illinois. I am also a writer: of non fiction, fiction, creative non fiction and poetry, some of it published, some winning contests, some placing in them. My first novel (not as yet completed) is historical fiction. “More than a Country,” it is a story of love and power and the illusion of freedom.

Poem by Elisabeth Athas: "We Will Stay Forever"

2009-10-14T17:19:00.000-05:00

Today we have a couple contributions, but we'll start with Elisabeth Athas, age 16, of Davenport, IA. Elisabeth is an extremely talented young writer, and she had this to say about her poem:

The poem "We Will Stay Forever" came to me as an image of what brought every person of this area to this place. Whether it be a past lived here, the idea of a better future, or simply a life to be lived peacefully, etc. At one time this area was void of life, until we all felt the pull to come or continue to stay here, and now that we are here a part of us will always exist here.

Nice. Well, without further ado, here's her poem:

We Will Stay Forever

Along the shores we gather
currents of memories
whisper to our hands

Waiting to awaken the water
we deny the mists
guided by storms

It called to our hearts
bound between dams
we digress over its depths

So long ago
the river was silent
sand and weeds caressing waves

Along the shoes we gather
waiting to awaken the water
It called to our hearts
so long ago

BIO: Elisabeth Athas is a junior at Davenport West High residing in Blue Grass, IA. So far, she has published poetry and short stories in the magazine The Atlas. She worked as an intern in the Midwest Writing Center's Young Emerging Writers program. Her favorite part of writing is the revision and editing process because she loves seeing that disasterous first draft shaped into something quite fantastic. She needs caffeine in her blood stream and is constantly learning to speak the truth in love.

Two Poems by former Quad City Poet Laureate Dick Stahl

2009-10-11T16:04:00.002-05:00

Hello! Today we are very fortuante to have two poems from the first Quad City Poet Laureate Dick Stahl. Dick has long been a prominent poet in the QC area and we are thrilled to have him participate in this project. Here's what he had to say about his contributions:

I chose "Cities & Memory" because I learned Davenport in the late 1940s and most of the 50s by going with my dad on his milk route every day in the summer and on Saturdays the rest of the year. I still remember his customers on parts of this route and many of the interesting people along the way.

Thannks very much again to Mr. Stahl for his contribution to this project & to the poetry/writing scene throughout his lifetime. Enjoy! Comment! Share this link with friends!

City Excursion

Davenport is not the grand Mississippi River,
not her star-studded troughs
of sun stipples, her slow, lazy roll of sleepy
winks, her reaching foamy fingers
of slapping waves
against the seawall in Le Claire Park, her eddies
that turn everything
around like feverish, dancing
dervishes, her five mile-per-hour speed chase
on the waterway, her silver streak
of Rapids' water that assays the boom
of the mother lode of rivers,
her East-to-West flow
that resets all compasses or her spring rise like a goddess
that calls all souls to their knees.

So watch your step
when you board the Pipe Dream
docked here. The waters beneath its deck
charm like none other. Their spells
splash with fantastic spirits.
You won't recognize the heaven-gazing spires,
bank clock, crowded streets,
sloping, brick levee and band shell
from your deck chair.
You won't even recognize yourself
after this excursion
on fabled waters. Discover something
of his river, and you'll discover something more
about this grand city
you call home.

Learning Davenport by Route

for Victor and George
names of my grandfather's milk
wagon team of horses

"What's Tuesday's next milk stop?"
my mother asked her father on the wagon. "Don't ask me,
ask them!" he responded, pointing
to Victor and George.

His team knew the daily stops
like they knew the way
to the barn. Blinders did not stop them
from stopping at all paying customers from Waverly Road
east along West Locust Street past the Fairgrounds
to Five-Points.

Nicknamed "Half Pint," I learned my father's Waage's Dairy
route for Tuesday. Dempsey Hotel, Colorado Cafe, Bishops
and Times Cafeteria, then the Second Street strip:
Kresge's, Woolworth's, Schlegel's and Grant's.

While he worked the five-and-dime stores,
I shared my morning with the great Mississippi River.
Leaning against the black railing in Le Claire Park,
I shared my breakfast, a half pint
of fresh chocolate milk,
with the silver power of sun-sparkling waters.

By 10 A.M., we returned to the Colorado Cafe
and headed west on Rockingham Road
to the Double Y Dairy. Then to Rolff Street
and a peak at Rubin Bobo's chimney, a perpetual-motion machine
built in the 1920s near the river and abandoned
when it didn't work. Not a milk stop, but a milestone,
my father said, to man's eternal quest
"to get something for nothing."

With a little horse sense, a high-riding, never-ending river
of fierce undertow and a tall, fireless chimney,
I got something for nothing. I learned a city.
I learned Davenport by route.

BIO: Dick Stahl taught English for 34 and a half years at Davenport Central High School (his alma mater), retiring in 2001. His three books of poetry include After the Milk Route (1988) and Under the Green Tree Hotel (1996), both published by Augustana College’s East Hall Press. Mr. Farnam's Guests, my latest book, was published in 2004 by the Midwest Writing Center. From September 2001 to September 2003, he served as the Quad City Arts' first Poet Laureate.

Poem by Nancy Kiefer: "Royal American Show"

2009-10-05T14:33:00.001-05:00

Hello everyone! Hope this Monday finds you well. First, the Poetry Project & I are starting to get a little press around the Quad Citites. Check it out here.

Next we have an outstanding contribution from Seattle artist & Rock Island native Nancy Kiefer. She has been following the project literally since day one, and wanted to contribute some work, which I think we're all happy that she did. When she first contacted me about thr Project, here are some of the things she related to me regarding her feeling about her hometown:

"I am sort of watching on the side since I live in Seattle. I grew up in Rock Island, though. I've never loved a place more. I love it not only because it is beautiful, and the light shines on the river so uh...19th century like, but also because it contains this midwest gothic thing that is hard to express. Something to do with humidity, big chain smoking ladies buying baloney at the market, corner taps, hard work, racism, birds, and old houses. I'd say most of my work has to do with that in some way. Recently I've been looking at Mauriac's short stories and I read in the introduction that he placed all his stories in the little French town he grew up in--he walked the streets, the rooms of the house, etc. I can understand that as that is the way I make art, with the QC in mind. In my case, the 1960-1970 version of it."
Nancy Kiefer, Sept. 3, 2009

Very cool & to me, she is getting at the heart of what I hoped this whole Project would be about-- those connections we have with place & the various terrains places have: topographical, emotional, aesthetic, memories. So I want to thank her for her insights and her contribution, "Royal American Show":

Royal American Show

Must have been payday because Lila packed up the Cadillac and drove us over the Centennial Bridge to the carnival then gave us each a fat roll of tickets. Bruce had a broken arm but that didn’t stop him from getting in the rocket ship with me and there were no belts so we slipped all over and his cast came down and hit us both on our heads. The Mississippi Levee smelled of tar the hawkers sweaty and swearing and yelled hurry up buy this cinnamon treat and Lila said sure why not so we all got one and it was a piece of red glass wrapped around an apple something from a fairytale it almost broke our teeth. Cotton Candy on a humid day in June doesn’t last you have to eat it fast before you go into the Fun House so we did and on that day it was hot like an attic in there and someone had peed on the slide the one you need to exit so we had to make our way backward out of that dark crooked unfun house in the chaos someone slammed me against a wall with their body then in the dimness one kind-voiced boy wearing a robin hood hat with a tall feather walked me out saying I was going to be okay. Wasn’t that me sniffling when we came out into daylight? Evidently because Lila said honey let’s take you home But Please Lila not before we see the woman with no head I begged and she said okay baby. I loved Lila that day and every day after because this lady neighbor with Jane Mansfield platinum hair and cat blue glasses called me baby on such a June afternoon while the woman with no head turned out to be fake an optical illusion I knew because I looked close and could tell.

Bio: Nancy Kiefer is a visual artist and writer living in Seattle who grew up 8 blocks from the Mississippi in Rock Island, Illinois. You can find her online here.

Poem by Ryan Meehan: "No Surprise is Ever a Quiet Surprise. Everything is Loud Somwhere."

2009-10-02T16:23:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone on this cold, wet fall day. Before we get to today's contribution, I just want to remind you all that the Visible Cities poetry project will be accepting submissions through Sunday, Oct. 18, so please send along your work. Now that we're in to October you can expcet a lot poems by area writers to be posted, as well as by other contributors, and updates about the public events and my chapbook, Complicated Weather. Click on the links on the right for more info about events, submission guidelines, purchasing my book or whatever. Thanks!

Now, on to the good news. Today's poem comes from Ryan Meehan of Moline, IL:

No Surprise is Ever a Quiet Surprise. Everything is Loud Somwhere.

They’ll bring sand…

And iron combs to dry their
hands like angry men
As it will stand…
Thrown from every orifice in
hell for it to cleanse

It’s Winter…It’s Winter…

Shell every picket fence…
And burn all the streets
until they finally reach the end.
And when they bring the sand
We’ll gather along with the river’s pride
And continue to stand…

It’s Winter…It’s Winter…

It’s Winter…

And drop every leather shackle and hence
Restore the glory we once had sent
And get on your knees it’s time to repent
And get on your knees it’s time to repent
And it will be like hell on earth…and hell, like

It’s Winter…It’s Winter…
And I will continue…
Until I’m in dentures…
So indentured…

BIO: Ryan Meehan is a freelance writer from Moline, IL. He is a nonpartisan non-fiction writer. He has one cat and enjoys speaking about himself in the third person to boost his ego and distract himself from the otherwise horrifying existence which he lives. He currently works in the telecommunications sector.

Two Poems by Salvatore Marici

2009-09-26T16:03:00.000-05:00

Hope everyone is having a a great weekend. Today we have two poems from Salvatore Marici of Port Byron, IL:

Continuous River Towns

Boats no longer stop
in the towns without stoplights
along the Great River Route
in the upper Mississippi River Valley.
Planners seek investors
who will renovate and erect
strive for a quaint ambience
to inject into the passersby
hope they become
money-spending tourists
or tax-paying residents
and to convince
the inhabitants to stay.

Port Byron IL and the Dead

White paint peels
on a wooden three story house
with a wrap around porch. In the corner
of the basement a negro man sits in dirt.
He waits for the station manager
to tell him tonight he hides under canvas in a wagon
while a conductor drives16 miles to the next depot,
one trip closer to the US / Canadian border.
Outside of the dwelling
on the stagecoach route
he hears the revs of combustion engines.

A quarter mile away on North Main Street
one-hundred plus years of
ice expansions, melted water contractions,
cracked mud and muck
pried stone foundations and brick-masonry.

Crews finalize the deterioration
and construct a strip mall.
Each unit has a front and back window wall
bicyclists look through see
recreational boats speed
and tugs push barges transporting coal or grain.

At suite 201,
customers open and close the door
of the pub and eatery, It’s on the River.
However, the electric car dealership
who parked their one car outside
and an investment company vacated.
In most cells wires dangle,
floors do not have cement
and ghost squatters coexist
with the passersby
and the commuting inhabitants.

BIO: Salvatore Marici poems have appeared in several magazines including Zygote in My Coffee, Slow Trains, Buffalo Carp, Oyster and Chocolate, and Off Channel. He placed in various poetry contests and has work forthcoming in the anthology More Sweet Lemons. He lives on the edge of urban sprawl in Rock Island County with his three cats, Moe, Curly, and Ruby Tuesday.

Poem by Mike Bayles: “Cloud-swept Skies”

2009-09-24T18:05:00.005-05:00

Hello everyone!

Today we have a poem by Mike Bayles of Davenport, IA:

Cloud-swept Skies

Ragged clouds impose themselves
on skies overlooking the cities
nestled on the river's north bank,
lying under the edge of a weather front.

The span of an aging bridge
takes me higher
and into a spattering of rain,
while on my way home.

I wonder why rain would fall
on one city and pass another.
I wonder about hidden currents
inciting Midwest weather.

A cool breeze stirs skies
well past the peak of summer,
the hint of fortunes
for one and all along the river.

BIO:
Mike Bayles is a Midwest resident, who has written for most of his life. he became serious about writing after his father, Robert Bayles, died in 1993, to move on with his life. In writing, Mike celebrates some wonderful aspects of living. As a person who's faced losses, he uses writing to reclaim parts of his life to overcome the sense of loss and feel whole. He is excited about the creative process, and feels creation is life taken to its highest level.
His poetry and short stories are published in a number of literary magazines and anthologies. WVIK Public radio has also featured his writing.

Deadline Extended & COMPLICATED WETAHER

2009-09-21T18:14:00.005-05:00

Greetings! Just a qucik note: the deadline for the Visible Cities Poetry Project has been extended to Sunday, October 18, 2009. There is a prompt, which you can find here, or if you just want to write something relating to place & identity, that's great as well, but please follow the submission guidelines. In other news, my first chapbook, COMPLICATED WEATHER, has just come out from Rocktown Press. You can purchase directly from this site (see the PayPal button on the right?) or you can get in touch with me & I can sell you a copy. They will be more widely available very soon, but wanted to make it available here at least. Most news about that very soon. Stayed tuned! New poems from area poets up this week. Thanks... RC

Poem by Connie Wilson

2009-09-15T16:01:00.007-05:00

For the first poem to be posted on this blog, we have an excellent contribution (with photo) from award-winning local author Connie Wilson, "Please Do Not Feed the Waterfowl":

Please Do Not Feed the Waterfowl

Eight of them silhouetted against the paddlewheel steamboat...four boys, four girls.

They slouch there, ill-at-ease in their unaccustomed Prom finery.

The I-74 Bridge looms behind them in the distance.

One girl, chilled by the spring breeze, wears her date's jacket slung casually around her shoulders. She stares at the ground. Is she thinking about the night ahead? Is she thinking about the future, as she shivers, clutching her evening bag?

"Are we grown? Are we ready?"

The blond athletic-looking boy in the white Saturday Night Fever suit and white shoes wears a turquoise tie and matching handkerchief. He coordinates with his date's turquoise strapless formal.

Will they always be this in tune with each other, this harmonious? Are they a couple only for now, only for tonight, only at this moment in time?

He squints, staring at the camera.

"Are we grown? Are we ready? Are we having fun yet?"

What lies across that bridge....across the Mississippi River...across time?

What does the future hold when Prom night ends?

"Are we grown? Are we ready?"

In youth, the future stretches out forever, spins on like an endless ribbon, an eternity of time, an infinite river of days and nights and dances and dates. But this is Prom night, and the end of high school is near.

"Are we grown? Are we ready?"

The sign reads: "Please do not feed the waterfowl."

If only there were other signs. Signs to instruct. Signs to warn about the future...

For now, it is just: "Please do not feed the waterfowl."

Connie Wilson has written for many newspapers, including the Quad City Times and the Moline Dispatch, and has taught at many QC area colleges and universities. She has won several awards for her writing including 2008 Content Producer of the Year in January 2009 for her contributions to Associated Content. Her latest book, Ghostly Tales of Route 66, Volume II (Quixote Press) will be released September 24. She will be appearing at Barnes & Noble in Northpark Mall, Davenport, IA Oct. 17 or Oct. 24 (details forthcoming). You can visit her on the web here or here.

UPDATES

2009-09-11T16:53:00.002-05:00

Call for Submissions Expanded!

So I have continued to get submissions here & there, but I am really hoping that we can generate lots of poems down the stretch for this project—as it is YOUR project, people of the QC—so I've decided to open up the submissions a bit more widely. There is a prompt, as I am sure you have seen (check older posts if not), but if you find the prompt confusing, confining or just lame, forget it. Just write SOMETHING! 3 poems or less, having something to do with place & identity (or not, I suppose), send them along. I'm hoping we can get this conversation rolling as we get deeper into the fall, which I find to be one of the best times to be living in this area: the smells, the colors, the shrinking days. Picking up an extra hour of sleep. Magical. Seriously though folks, I hope you'll all contribute something, even if writing &/or writing poems is not something you do regularly.

If you are worried about what a poem is, well, that's a long conversation. My best & most brief suggestion is to say that it has something to do with words & instinct. I suggest thinking about how place & identity are related, how they are related to you & to express your thoughts in words. They certainly need not rhyme, or be in a poetic form of some kind. It most certainly does not have to sound "poetic". It should, perhaps, feel true when you read it: true to an idea, an image, something less tangible perhaps.

What I would do is, well, what I did for the new material coming out in my chapbook: I thought about the place where I'm from, thought about my memories of specific places & specific people. I free associated from sort of general ideas or memories or images I got from reflecting back on who I am & where I'm from. I listened to where the words had the most appealing music to my ear, followed the images in a way I felt to be true to what I was trying to represent. Did I get it right? That's entirely up to you as readers, but I feel like I got close & I trust that feeling. Maybe that isn't as helpful as I want it to be, but I would end by saying that if you start writing & it doesn't sound like you &/or what you think a poem should like, you are probably on the right track.

One last thing: if you want to submit, want to get some feedback from me & do not want to be considered for publication, no worries. I am more than happy to read your work & will give it the same amount of attention regardless of your intentions for it. Okay? Now write something & send away!

Chapbook Update

Just a quick note to let everyone know that my chapbook, COMPLICATED WEATHER, will be available one week from today, Sept. 18. Some free copies will be available through the Davenport Public Library, who will be distributing a limited number of copies to the public for the book discussion I will be doing at the DPL Fairmount Branch on Thursday, Oct. 22 at 4 p.m. More info on when & where you can get your free copies WHILE SUPPLIES LAST! If you can't get a free one, fret not: copies will be available through my person & this website, at a very affordable price, very soon.

Visible Cities Shout-Out

The first piece of correspondence I have received about this project came from a Quad City native based in Seattle, artist Nancy Kiefer. I very much would like to include an excerpt from the very kind & supportive email she sent me regarding the project, I will wait until I have her permission. Suffice to say for the moment I am very moved by her remembrances of Rock Island (where she is form) & the QC in general, especially considering where she is living now. She & I have both appeared in the pages of the literary magazine Cranky, also based out of Seattle & she is extremely talented. Take a minute & check out some of her work here.

Thanks everyone! Write something— it does a body (& soul) good. More soon true believers…

Love & best,

RRC

2009-09-03T15:10:00.001-05:00

September 3, 2009

Greetings to everyone! First off, I want to thank everyone who has submitted to the poetry project. You have until Oct. 1 to submit— & it's free, so please get on board! Check out the prompt below, get your poem on & send it my way!

Also, for those of you on Facebook, there's a Visible Cities Poetry Project group you can join, that will have updates and info on the residency. Here's the link. Join up! Bring friends! All are welcome…

So my chapbook, Complicated Weather, will be out very soon on Rocktown Press. Soon like within the next 7-10 days. Lots more info coming on that (including where to get free copies!). But before that gets out & before I start posting some of the work that's been submitted to me, I thought I would get the ball rolling by posting a "b-side" from my chapbook.

The following "letter" was written this summer & was intended to be in the chapbook; but on the last round of editing, I pulled it out. Partly because I wanted to post it here. So I hope you enjoy. Any questions or responses, positive or negative, are very much welcome & hey! Why not write your own "letter" to a place that means something to you & send it in for the poetry project? Just an idea…

One more thing: I've heard that finding Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino, the book that is the big inspiration behind this entire project, is sadly hard to find around the Quad Cities. So, I have taken the liberty to include to a few links related to that book below. I cannot encourage you strongly enough to track down a copy of Invisible Cities & read it for yourself. It is truly a work of genius.

In any case, hope the info is helpful. Hope you enjoy the poem. Hope you are well. See you soon…

Love & best,

INVISIBLE CITIES LINKS

-Invisible Cities at Wikipedia
-Invisible Cities at Amazon
-Invisible Cities at Google Books
-Invisible Cities Vladmaster set
-Invisible Cities post on MetaFilter with links
-Invisible Cities on Medha's Notes

Dear Quad Cities—

So long I've been contemplating both of your best sides

& struggle to see my reflection in either. Now more than ever. Really,

it's the classic charms that keep me spinning my proverbial plates around

the corners of your four cities & two states. Just like the song "In a Mist"

sometimes the things closet to us are obscured, too distant to be touched.

You weaken the magnets holding me down with your sideways channel,

losing its chill as it pours southward w/ hearts & minds bought off. Suckers

for a melancholy song.

Please bring back the Thunder,

Your Secret Admirer

The Visible Cities Poetry Project: Call for Submissions

2009-08-04T16:46:00.002-05:00

Welcome to The Visible Cities!

This blog will be "homepage" of sorts for a poetry project/residency that will be happening in & around the Quad Cities throughout the fall of 2009. This project is meant to encourage people to look more closely at their surroundings, the places in their lives, and to consider how those places impact their personality, and vice versa, through the lens of poetry.

In addition to moderating this site & participating in the public events October 19-22, 2009, I am inviting people to submit their own work to be considered for publication on this site and to read at a public reading on Thursday evening, Oct. 22 (location TBD). The prompt & all the details for submitting are listed below. Please contact me with any questions. Thanks everyone! I'm looking forward to reading your work…

The Visible Cities Poetry Project: Call for Submissions

THE VISIBLE CITIES is a poetry project developed by Ryan Collins to coincide with a poetry residency he will have in the Quad City area October 19-22, 2009. The theme for this residency is: Looking at Place and Identity through Poetry: how do we shape the places around us, and how do those places shape us?

As part of this residency, Mr. Collins will be moderating a blog, called THE VISIBLE CITIES (www.visibleqc.blogspot.com), where he will post his own original content, links to poetry resources and information about local/regional arts and culture. Additionally, he will be posting poems submitted by local poets that best engage the theme as articulated in the submission guidelines.

Everyone who submits to THE VISIBLE CITES will receive a brief response to their work from Mr. Collins. The poets who most successfully engage the prompt will have their work posted on the blog. These poets will also have a biographical note posted with their poem(s), and will be invited to read their work at a public reading hosted by Mr. Collins on Thursday evening, October 22 at (location TBD).

Please read the prompt and follow the guidelines below to submit your work and be considered to read at THE VISIBLE CITIES community-wide poetry event:

PROMPT:

The idea for THE VISIBLE CITIES is a take on the book Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino, in which the many cities of the Tartar Empire are described to emperor Kublai Khan by the explorer Marco Polo in the most spectacular detail. The chapters are arranged by the different modes by which these cities are described: Cities & Memory; Cities & Desire; Cities & Signs; Thin Cities; Trading Cities; Cities & Eyes; Cities & Names; Cities & the Dead; Cities & the Sky; Continuous Cities; Hidden Cities. For this project, please select one of these ways of looking at (or thinking of) the Quad Cities and its surrounding areas, your hometown or any other place that you feel has made an impact on your identity, and write a poem (or poems) from that perspective.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

-There is NO FEE for submitting to THE VISIBLE CITIES

-Please submit up to 3 original, unpublished poems (no more than 3 pages, please)

-Poets must reside in the following counties in Illinois and Iowa: Henry, Mercer and Rock Island (in IL) and Clinton, Muscatine and Scott (in IA)

-Submission period: August 1, 2009 to October 1, 2009; submissions received outside the submission period will be deleted without being opened

-There will be two categories of submissions: Youth (18 & under) and Adult (18 & over)

-Electronic submissions ONLY

-Email poems as either a single .doc or .rtf attachments

-In the subject line of the email, please include first and last name, date and the word "Submission" (ex. "John Smith, August 1, Submission")

-In the body of the email, please include the following information: Name, Address, Phone #, Email Address, Age, County of Residence and a brief note on your submission and how it relates to the prompt; you may also include a biographical note

-Responses to submitted poems will be sent via email; those poets whose work is selected to be published on the website will be notified on a rolling basis by email or phone throughout the submission period

-All selections for THE VISIBLE CITIES will be made by Ryan Collins

* Please e mail your submissions by October 1, 2009 to rcollins@midwestwritingcenter.org

The Visible Cities: Looking at Place & Identity through Poetry

2009-08-04T16:28:00.004-05:00

The Visible Cities: Looking at Place & Identity through Poetry is community-wide poetry project happening during the fall 2009, featuring a residency by poet & Quad City-native Ryan Collins October 19-22.

Theme/Description

The great American poet Elizabeth Bishop in her poem "Questions of Travel" once asked, "Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?" While this is an important question of any journey taken, it begs us to ask others, such as:

-How well do I know the place I call "home"? -How does this place help define who I am? -How do I look at this place differently after I traveled or lived other places? -How have other places I've traveled or lived help to shape who I am and how I see the world?

The Visible Cities will be an exploration of questions such as these. It encourages everyone to examine the place where we are, places we have been and how place informs who we are, how we behave and how we live. It has been said that it's not the destination, but the journey that matters; but without destinations there are no journeys, and while it is great to be mindful when we move from place to place, it is equally, if not more, important to be mindful how we move within or around a place, and how that place and its contents move around us. Edgar Lee Masters once said, "…places do have an essence, everything has a noumena back of its appearance." The Visible Cities will encourage area residents to engage that "essence" in new ways.

By examining this place we call "home" (the Quad Cities & surrounding areas), its topography, history, structures and people, we not only come to know more about this place, but also about ourselves: what impact we have on this place and what impact it has on us. From a better understanding of place comes a greater appreciation of where, and who, we are, and the potential that comes out of our shared history.

Through poetry, Ryan Collins will engage the Quad Cities in a variety of events that will inspire people to more deeply consider the places around them, what those places mean to them and what they mean to those places. Through his own work and work by well-known poets and writers, he will help people to re-discover the place we call "home" in a new light, inform participants about these places we share and help people to express all the things home can mean to us all.