Betsy Magill, poet and nurse, has died

Betsy died Wednesday of COPD. She was a wonderful poet, with a delicate sense of the power and rightness of words. Last year, she published a chapbook of her best poems.

Here is one of them that expresses how I feel:

LACE

How cruel lace looks
on loneliness
white against stark black
when the poverty of grief is insulted
with abundance
just give me
one hand
one shell
one open flower
the intimacy of rain
and
one more
hour

Despite all I can do, I cannot get this poem to format as she has it, for she does not use even lines, but I hope you will get some idea of her work from it.

Poetry and wounded warriors: follow-up

I learned from the Wounded Warrior Battalion at Camp Lejeune that the proposal for a workshop by Marty Silverthorne was circulated, but got no response. I am sorry, as I thought it would be very beneficial. But the men are the best judges of what their needs are.

I will now approach the Mayor's Committee for the Handicapped to see if they are interested.

Poetry and wounded warriors

Our Coastal Poetry Consortium is trying to organize a poetry-writing workshop for wounded warriors at Camp Lejeune. Marty Silverthorne, a good poet and a great guy who is also a quadriplegic, has agreed to lead the workshop. I can't think of a better leader for such a group!

Marty and Mike Hamer, who is also wheelchair-bound, have a group called "Eight wheels and nowhere to go." They present programs of song and poetry. They are excellent.

Walking into April

Went with Nancy and Les King to Barton College today for the N.C. Poetry Society's annual Walking Into April program.

Nancy and Marty Silverthorne presented their poetry in the morning and had an open forum. In the afternoon, Lenard Moore read, followed by the three poets he had mentored for the Gilbert-Chapell Distinguished Poets Series read. Then there was an open mike.

There were a good number from Jacksonville: Nancy, me, Veronica Williams, Patsy Lain, and Donna Graham. Patsy and Donna were two of Lenard's students and read wonderful work.

Spent entirely too much on wonderful poetry books.

I will post pictures later.

Poetry and music in Greenville

I went to the Eclipse Gallery in Greenville to attend a performance of poetry and music by Marty Silverthorne and Mike Hamer. Both men are in wheelchairs: Marty is a quadriplegic and Mike a paraplegic. Marty's poetry was excellent, much of it with a true rural NC flavor, and Mike's music, which he sang and played on the hammer dulcimer and harmonica was interesting and often amusing. Marty and Mike collaborated on the lyrics of some of the songs. An excellent program!

The mighty Breva scooted down and back smoothly, efficiently, and gorgeously, as usual. I am going to have fun on my motorcycle this summer!

A winter poem by Alfred Kreymburg

NUN SNOW
A Pantomime of Beads

Earth Voice
IS
she
Thoughtless of life,
A lover of imminent death,
Nun Snow
Touching her strings of white beads?
Is it her unseen hands
Which urge the beads to tremble?
Does Nun Snow,
Aware of the death she must die alone,
Away from the nuns
Of the green beads,
Of the ochre and brown,
Of the purple and black
Does she improvise
Along those soundless strings
In the worldly hope
That the answering, friendly tune,
The faithful, folk-like miracle,
Will shine in a moment or two?

Moon Voice
Or peradventure,
Are the beads merely wayward,
On an evening so soft,
And One Wind
Is so gentle a mesmerist
As he draws them and her with his hand?

Earth Voice
Was it Full Moon,
Who contrives tales of this order,
And himself loves the heroine,
Nun Snow

Wind Voice
Do you see his beads courting hers?
Lascivious monk!-

Earth Voice
Was it Full Moon,
Slyly innocent of guile,
Propounder of sorrowless whimseys,
Who breathed that suspicion?
Is it One Wind,
The wily, scholarly pedant
Is it he who retorts?

Wind Voice
Like olden allegros
In olden sonatas,
All tales have two themes,
She is beautiful,
He is beautiful,
With the traditional movement,
Their beads court each other,
Revealing a cadence as fatally true
As the sum which follows a one-plus-one
So, why inquire further?
Nay, inquire further,
Deduce it your fashion!
Nun Snow,
As you say,
Touches her strings of white beads,
Full Moon,
Let you add,
His lute of yellow strings;
And, our Night
Is square, nay,
Our Night
Is round, nay
Our Night
Is a blue balcony
And therewith close your inquisition!

Earth Voice
Who urged the beads to tremble?
They're still now!
Fallen, or cast over me!
Nun, Moon, and Wind are gone!
Are they betraying her?

Moon Voice
Ask our Night.

Earth Voice
Did the miracle appear?

Moon Voice
Ask our Night,
Merely a child on a balcony,
Letting down her hair and
Black beads, a glissando
Ask her what she means,
Dropping the curtain so soon!