Virginia Woolf: Becoming an Artist
Hamlet or a Beethoven quartet is the truth about this vast mass that we call the world. But there is no Shakespeare, there is no Beethoven; certainly and emphatically there is no God; we are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself.
Djelloul Marbrook: The Prosody of an Ineradicable Sob
My poems, whatever their other springs may be, flow from the meter of my inner voice in creative conflict with an ineradicable sob. When my breathing is interrupted by a … Continue reading
Jose Padua: The Complete Failure of Everything
We got there right before the guy who ran the slam started coming around with the sign up sheet, and as he walked by I said to him, “I’ll try … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Exile from Mayberry
After having returned to Washington I found myself watching television all the time. I’d watch Late Night with David Letterman every night, waiting for him to do one of those … Continue reading
Jose Padua: The Bartertown Ball
When I got into Washington my friend Eddie met me at the train station and took me directly to Neal’s. Neal had drafted Eddie to be the master of ceremonies, … Continue reading
Jose Padua: The Birth of the Spoken Word Demon
I’d been back in Washington for a month when, standing by the magazine racks at Tower Records, I spotted someone I knew on the cover of High Times. It was … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Becoming a Poet
Ever since I can remember I wanted to be a poet, and in the early 80s I began sending my poems out to magazines in the hopes of making the … Continue reading
