Call for Poetry Submissions

Call for poetry submissions.

What for: The premiere of a soon-to-be-launched online portal for the reading and discovery of the work of West Indian/West Indian heritage writers of poems.

What we are looking for: Unpublished works that explore images of so-called Caribbean-ness and do something with them — invert them, twist them, crack them open. Baptise them or make them anew. Works that tread unfamiliar territory — or familiar ones. Works that spill out from that dark place in your mind and relieve the pressure of compression inside of your heart.

Avant-garde, experimental and radical verse are all welcome. Of particular interest are poems pertaining to themes of identity, gender, gender roles and sexuality.

Please indicate upon submission, if you would prefer to use a nom de plume. Please include a brief biographical sketch or simply, nationality information. Authors retain all original rights to their work.

For further inquiry, to hear more about this venture or to submit work, please e-mail creativecommess@gmail.com

Women Who Know Their Place

Disclaimer: I received this as an email and so do not know the rightful originator of this text.

Barbara Walters, of 20/20, did a story on gender roles in Kabul ,
Afghanistan several years before the Afghan conflict.
She noted that women customarily walked five paces behind their husbands.
She recently returned to Kabul and observed that women still walk behind
their husbands.
Despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem
to, and are happy to, maintain the old custom.
Ms. Walters approached one of the Afghani women and asked, 'Why do you now
seem happy with an old custom that you once tried so desperately to
change?'
The woman looked Ms. Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation
said, 'Land Mines.'

Seriously though, it is a real situation:http://www.globalissues.org/article/79/landmines

To Gain Another Soul

Last night I held my 8th grade parent-teacher conferences. First off, I have to say how much I love my 8th graders. They are an eclectic, electric group of kids whose love for each other resonates. There's M, a young lady from Turkey who is pretty professional when it comes to getting her work done, E who hails from Ghana and broke down to me once admitting, "It's hard being Black in Denmark." There's H, who's turning into such a stunning young man, with those large, dark Arabic eyes which his eyelashes flutter above. There's S, the quintessential football gentleman and K, who's dancing skills are better than I've ever seen in a loooong time. To be honest, I could name them all here for you, cause they each have something super dope about them: I could tell you about S who finally, after 8 years of schooling, seems to be waking up (Yeah!)...but you get the point! They really dig each other, which I guess is where my problem is. They have such a good time together that sometimes it's hard getting them to shut up. But no matter what, they are always respectful, smart, witty and not least of all loving. And I love being around them.
During the conferences, I enjoy witnessing the transformation of my students from cantankerous kids into someone's child, someone elses baby. When my students are with their parents I am reminded of the fragility of their age, the fumbling towards adulthood, the clumsy efforts of navigating life teetering between two worlds: no longer a child and yet certainly not yet an adult.
Many of my consultations take place in Danish and depending on my mood it can be effortless, mimicking fluency even or on the hand, I stumble through sentences feeling myself imprisoned by a lack of vocabulary which in the end, can be sort of humiliating. I found myself experiencing the latter situation last night, with one of student's parents and I joked, "It's a good thing I'm your English teacher, and not your Danish." My student and I laughed and towards the end of the meeting, I asked, as I usually ask, "Har I nogle spørgsmål?" Do you have any questions?--Then the mother turned to her son and asked him something in her native tongue. He then turned to me, with a big smile on his face, "My mom wants to know where you learned Danish. She thinks you speak it very well."

Throughout the evening I met with mostly immigrant parents--some who spoke Danish fluently and preferred I speak Danish, others whose English was far more advanced. I met Egyptian fathers with soft eyes and Iraqi men who looked upon their sons with nothing other than pure love. I talked to Pakistani mothers who struggled to get their child academically on board, even cutting badminton out of the schedule! and children who acted as translators. But through it all there were some apparent things, things such as the love these people had for their children, the promise of these children, and the difficulties of parenting in a country other than your own.

Denmark can be, in a way, a pretty easy country to navigate if you speak only English and/or you're a Westerner. Many people speak English (especially in Copenhagen) and if you're American, you sort of receive a carte blanche to integration. But the ease in which you feel you fit in is but an illusion, and it soon begins to crack when you wind up at a party and well, Danes speak Danish--and of course they should, cause, well, as much as I don't like to admit it at times...I am in Denmark.

This inability to connect fully to your fellow human beings begin to gnaw at your soul. And although Charlemagne has said that to learn another language is to gain another soul, you begin to experience the flipside to that which is, to not learn the language of the country in which you live, is like soul suicide and the only remedy available is the radical action of learning another language!

I explain to my student's mother where I studied Danish. I explained that I ended up going to 3 different schools and eventually, after the 3rd one, my resistance to learning Danish began to thaw. I realized that my anger for having to learn Danish was misplaced and had more to do with the fact that I had ended up so far away from home. I continued to tell her how depressed I was, how isolated I had felt. Yes, she said, she was depressed. Yes, she agreed, it was quite isolating--her son the gentle witness and translator to and of this scene.
Thing is, she is a mother of 3, not from the U.S. and perhaps had none of the other advantages I have had. Who knows? She continued to tell me how isolated and sad she feels and I told her to go out! "Do you have a network?" I asked. "The internet?" her son asked. "No, friends, colleagues, family?" No she replied.
She's been her for as long as I have been. I recognize that look in her eyes, that thick, syrupy look of loneliness. I can recognize it a mile away. I give her some information and tell her the story of how I finally decided to learn Danish. I happened past a school I had heard many wonderful things about. I mustered up the courage, went in and thank-goodness met up with a Danish woman whose heart was open. "Your Danish is good enough. I'll make all the arrangements so that you can start." If she had been a bitch, if she had been closed, I wonder if I would have had the courage to stay and persist?

Nos are difficult to take when the spirit of life, your soul is being eroded by a language your heart does not recognize. Language is the way in which we meet each other, it is an integral way in which we express our humanity. I have to say that I take my hat off to the parents that showed up last night. As a daughter of immigrants myself, I have to say that my parents never showed up to any of my parent-teacher consultaions--I'm in awe of the interest, love and dedication these parents show. These parents are, quite simply, my heroes.

farvel,
the lab

Fall...

The Autumn in the East Coast is a patient old man with a paintbrush. He dips into the sun-tinged colors of creation. He takes his time, stretching the inevitable march towards winter, equipping us with an aesthetic that will fortify us against the cold.

Blackgirl On Mars This Saturday!

Blackgirl on Mars
Live & just back from New York
this Saturday Only
November 21st at 15:30
featuring Martin Ollivierre...
the exhibition hall, Helligånds kirke, Strøget...

Brooklyn Bridge

Things Happen for a Reason...

Lesley-Ann

I read about what happened at the airport. I am so sorry to hear about you missing your flight. It is kind of strange when you think about it -- at the exact time that you were supposed to be in the air you were at the reflexologist experiencing a bit of healing and having a great conversation with someone who I am sure will necessarily be in your future. The actual ticket that you had to get for the error may have set you back a bit, but what you gained as far as spiritual enlightenment is concerned is absolutely priceless.

It was such a pleasure seeing you, girl. I do mean that sincerely. You are far from an angel in disguise. You are an angel in broad daylight. And it is amazing to watch you continually grow into the person that you are becoming, each and every day, in a way that seems effortless but that clearly takes hard work. Go 'head girl. Keep holding it down in Copenhagen.

My warmest regards to Kai and Benjamin. I am sure they are thrilled to have you back. Always remember, though, that New York will be waiting for you with open arms and love each and every time you return.

Always,
d

Hmmmm....

I'm sitting in Newark Airport waiting to get on my flight. Turns out I missed my flight by a day...I've got this thing where sometimes I see things on paper but it doesn't register. For some reason I had it in my brain I was leaving on Tuesday but returning on Wednesday...I knew something seemed strange about it but man, there has been so much on my mind...so I missed my flight and had to buy a totally new ticket to get to Copenhagen. Don't ask.
The SAS ticket guy was a real jerk. I loved the woman at British Airways who helped me out. She couldn't give me a discount, but hey, they got me on a flight so that I can see my son...whom I miss immensely.
This is the first time I have been to New York and not that cool about leaving...
Anyway...what a trip. As I sit in the airport CNN is on and I overhear that they will execute the DC Sniper...they describe how they will do so, lethal injection. As I sit in the U.S....they are about to execute a man.
On my drive to the airport, as I looked at the vast expanse of land that is the East Coast I couldn't help thinking how much I love this country. I know the U.S. has its idiosynchrocies (how do you spell that flippin word?)--if execution could be termed that...but there is something about the potential of this country that really gets me. I mean, there is something wonderful about the diversity of New York, and trust me, I know New York is not your typical U.S. city...but to be honest, I have traveled around the U.S. a bit and Americans are well...just nice. We, like many others around the globe, can be so open and warm...
So, cause I had to buy a new ticket, they had to "select" me for "special screening" which ended up being my being jetted up to √the front of the line, through security and so I didn't have to wait on the god-awful line...
I have had an amazing trip. I have taken some fabulous pictures and have walked the path of my childhood. I must now return to Copenhagen to finish up what I have started but man, if I live long enough, I'm going to make New York City my base and travel from here...the truth is I never want to stay one place. But when i go home, I really want it be the Big Apple.
And for the record...I am so against the death penalty.

Reflections On New York...

It's early morning on the day I am to depart. I'm sitting here, in Marie's living room, listening as Harlem slowly wakes up. There's the distant sounds of trucks rolling down silent streets, the sound of the steam sighing out of the radiators. There is, believe it or not, relative quiet about me. W.154th Street, Sugar Hill, is a very quiet street. And in this quiet, I want to take a moment to express my gratitude.
I am thankful for Marie Brown. I first met Marie in 1996, I believe. Back then her office was at 625 Broadway. She's a literary agent and even after sending her a crooked resume, she hired me. I worked with her for four years, meeting countless literary unsung legends. Lately, when I come home to New York, it with her I stay.
I would like to express my thanks to my friend Rayner. Rayner Ramirez is my old buddy from college. He is now a producer at NBC, but no matter where life seems to take us, when we're together the laughter rolls out like a red carpet to life, reminding us, "What's the problem anyway? Life is good!" I've had the most intense neck pain, and last night, as I lay on the living room floor barely able to open my eyes, my buddy made time to come and see me, rub my back and tell me he loves me. I love him too. Again, I have the best friends.
Then there is the Old School Fluxers. There's Morgan Meis, Toshi Yano, Stephanie Goldber (Shuffy), Jason Brown, Jason Braun...I went to college with them all (except Brown) and then participated in the insane artistic living experiment at 210A Kent Avenue. Actually, to be fair, it wasn't insane, I enjoyed communal living. But the bottom line is, when I'm around these guys, I'm well, myself in a way that I rarely experience in Copenhagen...sigh.
Karen Good is up there on the sisterhood list. I always describe our first meeting at a Brandy party (yes, the singer Brandy, remember her?) as that scene in West Side Story when Tony and Maria first lay eyes on each other. Karen Good is one of the most gifted writers I know and again, as is the case with all my friends here, when we get together the laughter rolls out like thunder, reminding us to stop thinking. And we are pretty cerebral...
Debbie Cowell is another sister who is mad talented and a fellow Brooklyn girl. I met her through Marie at 625 Broadway back in the day. We became friends the moment we both said we were from Brooklyn. Cause it's like that. I told Debbie the other day that most people travel and come back different people, Debbie? She traveled the world and came back even more Debbie. And that's a good thing.
John McGregor! I call John Don Quixote cause John used to go around Manhattan and introduce himself as a literary agent. Now, I'm not saying that John is not a literary agent, cause he did end up selling the definitive book on Zora Neale Hurston, but what I am saying is that there were many years he wasn't selling anything lol. John was the one who hooked me up with Marie. John is the only brother I know who would invite you out to dinner and then you still end up paying half. Unless it's me and somehow, like the other night, we end up getting the other table to pay for the meal. Don't ask--but it was legal. John may have saved my life yet again--I've had the worst neck pain the last four days, and he hooked me up with his girl Soli, a reflexologist and I saw her yesterday. You know what she told me? No one can ever abandon you but yourself. She said she does not think to think but thinks to do. That woman dropped mad science as I melted under her touch. And by the way John, if you're reading this, Don Quixote is my favorite book of all time.
Then there's Lisa Davis! Another woman I met through Marie...Lisa and I can talk books and writing (in fact, this is probably the common thread with all my homies) and Lisa is one of the few where we have managed to maintain a dialogue while I live in Copenhagen and I am so thankful for that. And I'll say to the rest of yall yall need to get skype!
I know I'm missing people...but I wanted to start with this. This is my family. These are the people who have sustained me when I had no one else. These people started off as strangers, but let me in. Thank you guys. Thank you. I am nothing without you.

The Love of My Life...

Escaping New York

Sometimes when you have to accept a reality, and deal with a reality, you end up stifling other possibilities if only because their presence could be painful. When I left New York, almost 11 years ago, I was ready to leave. Most true-New Yorkers, and by true, I mean those of us who were either born and/or grew up in this magical area of the world have a love/hate relationship with this city. A friend once said that living in New York is like being in a dysfunctional relationship: you know you should get out, but you stay...
So escaping New York was for me, and quite a few other, fellow New Yorkers quite a victory. Let me explain. You ever heard that expression: the city that never sleeps? Well, it's not an exaggeration. There is always something to do here. Take for example this past Wednesday night--the city was just as alive as if it were a weekend. Even in Brooklyn. But the problem is, what happens with most things when it doesn't get any sleep? It gets this delirious from sleep-deprivation. New York is like that...the delirious energy is not always good for someone like me: But God, I love it.
New Yorkers are so friendly. My battery went out in my camera yesterday and this guy in the camera store charged it for me. As my girl Debbie and I eat at Caravan of Dreams, the young lady sitting and writing our side begins to chat with us. The cab-driver from Southern India turns his music up when Rayner and I tell him we that we dig it. The Korean cab driver the other night grabs my hand as I exit the cab, looks me in the eyes and says, "Take care."
I know that I am looking at New York with smitten eyes. But it is a powerful thing to experience the power of coming home. I will always be a New Yorker. Brooklyn girl first, of course, but a New Yorker never-the-less.
farvel,
the lab

Major Paradigm Shift

Who said you can't go home again?
Last night, through an uneventful flight from Paris, I landed for the umpteenth time, at JFK International Airport. It is an airport I have passed through innumerable times but this time, for some reason, it feels different.
First of all, it is the first time I am home in 9 years without my son. It is my first time home, in 9 years as just, well, Lesley-Ann. The other thing is, I have purposely made no airport pick-up arrangements just so that I could ease myself back into the harmonic cacophony that is New York City...
At the train station, as I wait for the E train, I am entertained by large groups of teenagers: It is Halloween, and youngsters are, by the droves, headed into the city for the annual Halloween Day Parade. A racial hodgepodge of kids take the seat opposite me on the train: there's white-faced chocolate boys with ghoulish make-up and fish-net attired young Latinas dresses as zombie nurses. I can't resist: Can I take your picture I ask? After all, this is New York and if there is nothing New York kids love more is having their picture taken. I'll post the pic soon ;-)
As I am rumble through the city of my birth, I wonder, how could I ever have left? I recognized myself in everyone I see: the teenage Guatamalan mother, the thick-thighed girl who yells, "What the blood Clot!" The elderly Korean mother who rests her head on the shoulders of her daughter, the brothers hanging out on the corner who yell after me, "What up Sis?" How could I ever have left? The cultural tyranny I feel myself subjected to in a foreign land melts away and reveals a Lesley-Ann who is whole, who is fixed, who is me.
Who ever said you can't go home again?

This Just In...

Check out my latest interview with Uptown Social!

Gil Scott-Heron

My relationship with Gil Scott-Heron is deep, complicated and old. His genius and artistry has never failed to amaze me. And whenever I saw him live, I always knew I was getting the best of what he has: no matter where in his life he, or even I for that matter, had happened to be in. I remember seeing Gil Scott-Heron play a show, I think it was at the Knitting Factory, but anyway, his telling the audience that his moms was sick, and how he left after the show and ended up standing right next to us in the train station, taking the same train uptown and my being like, damn, that's Gil Scott-Heron...Gil Scott-Heron to me is wisdom for the soul.
Real life is complicated: And Gil Scott-Heron never ever tried to tell us differently.
So, Blackgirl on Mars would like to express a personal welcome back to the Griot: You've been missed! Here's a taste of his new stuff! Thanks Malaika Adero for sending me this link!
Here's a quote from a Village Voice interview he gave a few years ago:
What about Black youth?
What about them?
What important challenges are they facing now?
Getting to be adults.
What's preventing them from doing that now?
Nothing. Except taxes. The money needs to be spent more on the things that will help them. In our community, we have a whole lotta of people that need help. We need better housing. We need better schools, relationships, and we need to socialize. We pay all these people to represent us. We pay their salaries. They are actually our employees.
farvel,
the lab

Brooklyn

Tree crowns
look like
mountain
tops
& sky lines
look
like ocean views,

deflated
men
exit OTB's

thier dreams
dismantled--
yesterday's news.

Mother sits
next to child
a wall
of hostility
in the air,
rocked by the
movement
of the train,
the child,
she doesn't
stare.

Project
boys
rig intercom
systems
love heavy on
thier hearts,
anything just
to ring her...

Recycling
bins sit
next to
Redemption
Centers,
Sundays the hats
as varied
as Africa

a laundry
basket
so full
it regurgitates
it's contents,

clothes
spill over
all over
the carpet,

horses
are metal
with the
glitziest
of rims
sneakers land
on concrete
hopscotch
next to
garbage bins.

Cardboard
smelling
streets
subways
of wet
metal
steam
whistles
constanly
out of a
forgotten
kettle.

a little
brown
girl
sits at
a shaky
kitchen table
the ripped
plastic
digs
into her
young skin
she eats
salt fish
and looks
out the
window
as a plastic
clock
bought on
Flatbush
chips
away at
her
lifetime.

Bandit Queen Press is Proud to Announce Its Second Title!

BANDIT QUEEN PRESS

ANNOUNCES THE RELEASE OF GOOD WORKS

A paperback collection of novel excerpts, short stories, memoirs, poems, song lyrics, original sketches, paintings
and photographs by English-speaking women living in Denmark.
GOOD WORKS can be purchased from ATHENEUM INTERNATIONAL BOOKSHOP, Nørregade 6, 1165 København K, tlf (45)33 126970. On-line orders at www.atheneum.dk
FOR ENGLISH SPEAKERS phone the store or email books@atheneum.dk with their request!!
Support Bandit Queen Press!

“Refreshingly varied, yet with a common thread….10 women, all accomplished writers, celebrate in 10 individual voices the expatriate experience - in prose, poetry, images and song. A valuable, and enjoyable, addition to the literature of displacement and assimilation.”
Heather Spears, award-winning Canadian poet

“To leave one's home country can be an exhilarating and even frightening adventure that cries out for expression. Good Works puts words to the expatriate experience in all its frustrations and all its exhilarations." Thomas E. Kennedy, author of The Copenhagen Quartet; Advisory Editor, The Literary Review

"Compelling writing: a refreshing collection ... leaves a wonderful taste on the literary palate."
Lennox Raphael, journalist, poet and playwright


Participating authors are:

Serena Rose Blossom

Anna Lia Bright

Lesley-Ann Brown

Colleen Calhoun

Diana Deverell

Linda Horowitz

Elaine Nielsen

Velda Metelmann

Clarice Scott

Aline Talatinian

The release of GOOD WORKS coincides with the 75th anniversary of the founding of the American Women’s Club in Denmark, a non-profit organization that provides social support to its members living permanently or temporarily in Denmark and promotes mutual understanding between the USA and Denmark. For nearly two decades, the American Women’s Club has sponsored a group for writers who wish to hone their craft in English. Publication of this anthology by women from a half-dozen countries around the world, is made possible by a cultural award from the club and personal contributions.