The Literary Branch

Since January the Literary Branch has presented readings of great political speeches and readings by local poets. Zoe Murdoch gave a fascinating talk about her novel, Torn by God. We celebrated Joan Raymund and Rivertalk. Barbara Wagner of Laubach Literacy told us how we could become tutors in English. Most recently Lisa Wolpe, founder of the Los Angeles Women's Shakespeare Company, wowed a large audience with her talk - and demonstrations - of Shakespeare's relevance today. We also helped to get out the word out on this year's exciting Ojai Valley Poetry Fest, held June 6 at the Art Center.

No Literary Branch program is planned for July 13. Look for information about the program we're planning for August 10.

For further information, please email Liz grumette at lgrumette@roadrunner.net

And It was a great year....

Lisa Wolpe, above as Iago, who spoke on gender and Shakespeare from the L.A. Women's Shakespeare Company

 

Zoe Murdoch's and her book "Torn by God"

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” — Carl Sandburg



Above: The literary Branch has monthly meetings with featured speakers on a variety of topics..

Literary Branch Trivia: Under the guidance of past Ojai Art Center vice president and Literary Branch chair Joan Raymund the Literary Branch produced 15 issues of Rivertalk, a poetry anthology written by area poets. Copies of Rivertalk's are available at the Art Center and at local bookstores.

“Praise Song for the Day”
The inaugural poem written by Elizabeth Alexander.

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.