Location: Phoenix Art Museum, 1625 N Central Ave, Phoenix, AZ, 85004
As part of our commitment to sponsor performances that feature outstanding, artistic talent, Maricopa Community Colleges presents its second Annual Elemental Cultural Arts Festival on April 4, 2019. This unique event invites a diverse group of artists within our student body, faculty, and community to come together and culturally express themselves through art.
Join us to watch these artists showcase their talent in the areas of sound, movement, vision, and expression – i.e. DJing, dance, street art, spoken word, and storytelling. The art exhibition and reception will take place from 5 to 5:30 p.m., and performances from 5:30 to 9 p.m. The event will be held at the Phoenix Art Museum at 1625 N. Central Ave. Phoenix, AZ 85004.
Your attendance is greatly appreciated by the art community and the fine arts students at Maricopa Community Colleges.
For more information about the festival, please contact Kara Thomson at 480-731-8630 or firstname.lastname@example.org, or Dr. Rob Morales at 480-731-8302 or email@example.com.
Today we are pleased to feature author Stan Sanvel Rubin as our Authors Talk series contributor. In this podcast, Stan discusses two of his poems, “Entre Des Etrangers” (the meaning of which is “Between Strangers”) and “Tickle.”
Stan states that these poems “weren’t written together, although they were written fairly close in time.” While he continues that these poems weren’t “meant to be paired,” he describes how each “holds the page in a similar way— that is, they have a similar visual weight.” Each poem also has 14 lines; which, Stan admits, is unique considering that he is “instinctively drawn to 13-line units.” He emphasizes the fact that “Tickle” is a single-sentence poem, while “Entre Des Etrangers” is broken up into several sentences, and that this structure serves to reflect the overall meaning of each piece. While Stan continues that these two poems “are not sonnets, and they’re not trying to be,” he describes how both poems are “examples of what lyric poetry is especially about— the creation of a sound body…what you might call the music of each poem.”
“Each poem has some connection to narrative,” Stan continues. While “Entre Des Etrangers” , he states, “has a kind of embedded story involving two strangers coming together….’Tickle’ has a narrative instance of a young boy having just caught a trout, and holding that trout in his hand.” While each poem differs in terms of plot, Stan declares that the significance of both pieces goes “beyond the particular actions of the participants of the poem,” and is “owned again by… the way sound and words can be put together and juxtaposed in somewhat complex ways.”
You can read Stan’s two poems, “Entre Des Etrangers” and “Tickle,” in Issue 19 of Superstition Review.
Globoscope is an immersive work made up of 200-250 luminous spheres. Collectif Coin uses light design to activate a digitized map of the space. Configured in harmony with the characteristics of the Scottsdale Waterfront, each individual sphere in this landscape is merged into an ensemble of light movements that swirl throughout the space. Mathematics and light are used to represent, transform, and expand the space, offering visitors a surrealistic stroll.
Collectif Coin, creators of “Globoscope”, is an experiential light art installation and design lab based out of Grenoble, France. Their work has occupied monumental public spaces as well as more intimate locations, each equally as immersive of an experience. Committed to the production of trans-disciplinary work with particular focus on the digital arts, Collectif Coin works around the notions of body, sound and light. Their work has been shown all over France, Italy, Berlin, Romania and Canada.
The Artist Talk will be held at the Casablanca Rooftop Lounge (7134 E Stetson Dr, Ste 300, Scottsdale, Arizona 8525) on Friday, February 23 at 7pm.
Today we are pleased to feature author Mathew Michael Hodges as our Authors Talk series contributor. Interestingly, Mathew begins his podcast by discussing how he used to feel claustrophobic in the confines of the short story form, though he has now become “more comfortable in the cozy space of the short story.”
Mathew goes on to describe the variety of ways that his ideas come to him. Specifically, he discusses the process of building “A Sound Man,” which was featured in Issue 18 of Superstition Review. For Mathew, the story started with Rory’s job as a sound designer before the other layers of the story fell into place. Mathew also offers insights regarding the creative process and revision. He describes his “write-and-stash method,” which has helped him be more objective when revising.
Went to a cousin’s wedding a few weeks ago, it was nice, flowers, love, family, food, drinks, you know – nice. Well not all of it, that’s more of a cover, thing someone said in the cab on the way home because parts of it were, mmmm, not so nice. The vows, oh my god over the top and the dresses, I know the bride’s supposed to steal the show but come on, peach for your maids, looked like they all went shopping at the same week after junior prom yard sale. And then there was uncle Jean’s toast, roast, I mean toast. You know what I mean, you’ve been to a wedding with an open bar six months after someone got divorced before too right? Of course you have, well this is going to be a little like that, rough in places, but remember – free bar, so hang in there.
Gubul gubul, love that word, just the way it feels coming out of my mouth, try it … gubul gubul. Nice right? No you didn’t just say something naughty, but naughty of you to have thought you did. Means curly, in Korean. You had a feeling it did, didn’t you, just the way it sounds, I mean it sounds curly. Yes that’s a long winded way to introduce onomatopoeia, but that’s where we start this; the sound of a word mimicking its meaning – sound having meaning. However, words have other sounds in them too, we say them after all. They got their syllables, get them from their phonemes, morphemes and the like, those things we all stress through pretty much the same way. So yeah, sounds have meaning.
Almost ‘sounds’ like music, I mean, we’ve all heard this one right – music is a language, tickles some universal primitive reptilian leftover nub on our brain stems. Well it’s a can of worms I’ll keep my pinkie out of for now. No, well yes, but not all the way out, just let me dip in and get at the part about music being a sound that can express emotion. Express, convey, prompt – I can’t nail it down with one word. So you pick the one that works on you – just make it mean the way a particular piece of music can make you feel happy, or sad, or scared, or whatever, but pick a word that means that for you. Because the sounds of music can do that.
So here we are, a few premises deep, words are sounds that have meaning and the sounds of music can get at emotions. Sounds doing things, sending out information we can get things from. Okay, so far so good, and excuse the pedant in me but uncle Jean assumed he had us in the palm of his hand too and its right here that I need you with me. So let’s close up the bar for a few minutes and focus. Now, what if those strings of sound our words make are sending out the same kind of emotional meanings music does?
No, no, no, sit back down here, I’m serious. Okay, for sure the sounds that music produce are much more complex than those available to words. Music has tempo, mode, loudness, melody and rhythm, while words on the other hand only have access to tempo and rhythm. But don’t let that get you down, a lot can be done with tempo and rhythm. Let’s start with tempo or speed. Quick gets you happiness, excitement or anger, whereas if you slow it down it slips over to sadness or serenity. Mixed bag? I know, but all is not lost just yet because we still got rhythm. You get the rhythm smooth and consistent and it’ll spell happiness again. Easy enough way to double down on it, quick and smooth musics out happiness. However, if the rhythm was roughed up but you still kept the speed up then you’d get something closer to uneasiness.
Just think about this for a minute, the sounds of words being subvocalized in a reader’s head as they make their way through a paragraph, about say betrayal, wouldn’t it be something if the actual tempo and rhythm of their inner voice was producing a meaning synchronous to the combined lexical meaning of the words. Wow, you’re damn right wow, it would be devilish, the reader would have no idea it was happening, they’d just feel it, same way they feel emotions from music.
However, as with most things, the rub lives in the how. Tempo, speed, you can fiddle with that. Sure individual reading speeds will vary, enter a thousand variables you can’t control for and then throw them away. We’re looking big picture here and big picture tempo is in a writer’s hands. Lexical density, vocabulary sophistication and syntactic complexity, three puzzle pieces every single sentence or paragraph will have lurking inside of them. Ramp them up and the reader slows down and vice versa gets you on the flip-side. And its relative right, slow for me is fast for you, who cares, music’s playing in each individual head, this isn’t a concert after all. That’s the hard one, rhythm, or beat, is a much easier pulse to finger. Syllables, those things you used to count out on your digits when you were a kid, if that isn’t a rhythm I’ll never dance again. You want to get even finer, add in individual word stresses, that place where your voice rises inside a word. In between the words is another playground: punctuation, comma, slash, dash – a writer almost becomes a Lamaze coach for a reader’s respiration.
Now you might be thinking this is even worse than uncle Jean’s speech, but come on, I’m not saying the meaning being transmitting through subvocalized tempo and rhythm are primary. There’s no way they are going to make your love story come out horror show. Not at all, because if I’m right here, then this music is already inside everything you’ve ever written. What I’m thinking is, this ability of music to transmit emotional meaning can be used to supplement the lexical meaning of a sentence or paragraph. Or perhaps a passage could be written with opposite meanings, one where the lexical and the musical were polar to add a touch of doubt to the lexical, like an unreliable narrator.
There’s no need to work through all the different ways this can be kajiggered. If you think this is as bad as uncle Jean’s toast no worries, I’ll go sit in the back with him and watch the bride and groom dance to a love poem put to slow paced (serenity), smooth patterned (happiness) piece of music. But if you hear it too, you know where we are.
My heart and my brain are currently colluding to make me write poems in which sound is a main factor. In the past few years, I’d made poems on a precise subject on purpose – a sculpture, an aromatic herb, a waterfall, a kimono, a collapsed shed. But then I began to swerve away from choosing subjects beforehand, and toward writing poems where sound is foregrounded and seems a subject in itself. I instance three poems, and wonder about why. The first is called “Poem.”
The aoudad, a North
African sheep, doesn’t
eat the fruit of the
baobab tree, a South
like words related
to one another,
but of course they
says “inchoate” is
from Latin for “not
yet harnessed.” It
says “chaos” is from
Latin (and Greek) for
“empty space.” Well,
both words are lovely
noises to dramatize
confusion. So are
ukes of koa wood,
In Maori, the
particle noa means
all these words or
just, nearly, quite,
until, at random,
in vain, and as soon as.
Noa sounds like
an adverb to me.
What is it with
O and A – alpha
I logged onto
AOL to see.
Aonia is where
the Muses live,
in Helicon. In
Italy, Aosta was
St. Anselm’s home
town. The lifting
organ, the aorta,
carries blood for the heart.
I’d always thought the words “chaos” and “inchoate” were weird and wonderful (and not very useful). One day, digging around, I kept coming on other words in which O and A figured. Who has heard of the aoudad sheep? How many people know the versatility of the particle noa? The items on my list clung together, together with the grand concept of A and O, alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. It seemed good in a poem to have small things brought into a relation with higher things. And there’s nothing small about the aorta or about what its job is.
On the Santa Ana winds this elevated group
soars, and at night by the light of St. Elmo’s fire
they drift as far as San Domingo and beyond. You should
see them gyrating to “The St. Louis Blues”
and “The St. James Infirmary”! The opposite of St. Bernards.
On breaks, this one reads FourSaintsinThreeActs, by Stein;
that one is reading SaintJoan, by Shaw. A third is
reading Mont–Saint–MichelandChartres, by Henry James. They are all
reading about themselves in TheLivesoftheSaints
in St.-Tropez or St.-Moritz, watering-places of glamour.
The saints make frequent use of the antidepressant and antioxidant St. John’s wort.
Settling in with cases of St.-Émilion, one of them retells
the riddle of “As I was going to St. Ives.” Another recites
“The Eve of St. Agnes.” One is immersed in Rumer Godden’s
lovely novel ACandleforSt. Jude. They dine on coquilles St.-Jacques.
And they think this is lots of fun, but extreme hedonism and extravagance
and cultural overload catch up with every one of them. So they go on the
historic pilgrimage – mountain and valley, desert and plain and swamp – to Santiago de Campostela.
The use of the word “saint” in this poem is distant from that of the historical figures revered by churches. Many uses here refer to geographical places named for saints; some to literature, to music, to an herb; to a wine, to a stately dog breed. The situation is slightly absurd. It’s not that saints have attached themselves to the secular world; rather, the secular world has attached itself to them.
I chose this poem-making method: I ransacked reference works to get names of saints; I collected these names and tried to unite them on a page in some sort of relationship dictated by the repeated use of the names. It didn’t make logical sense, and I didn’t expect it to. It was an “artificial” method. But when I had finished, I thought it had become a poem. Repeating the word “saint” throughout the poem makes it seem like a litany. Is it a secular one? Or not? The saints in this poem seem to be living in the midst of joy and energy, peaceable, the way we’re supposed to be.
The third and final poem is a ghazal. The form has the built-in sound repetition of the compulsory end words, repetitive whether you like it or not! (I’ve only written one ghazal before.) As I wrote, I heard the long O’s and short O’s make themselves known. I thought they helped make the poem both unified and ridiculous (the latter especially, in that the poet thinks she would be any good at playing a horn). “Bone Ghazal” praises “distinguished figures” with sonorous names – the Aldas, Marilynne Robinson, Goya. (The Bonapartes are of course distinguished for warfare.) All three poems were calling to me to pay careful attention to the aural presence.
There is a handsome wildflower/weed, eupatoriumperfoliatum, bone-
set, which I worked my fingers to the bone
trying to transplant, without success. It bears white umbels –
umbrellas, really – and its blossom is the color of bone.
Alan Alda, they say, told a Columbia Physicians and Surgeons
commencement that “The headbone is connected to the heartbone.”
The brother of Napoleon, seated on the throne of Spain,
was painted by Francisco Goya: this was Joseph Bon-
aparte, they say. Glamour and privilege; in those circles
they dined on the delicate veal sauce and marrow-bone
flavor of osso bucco. You wouldn’t find this dish in the
town of Robinson’s masterpiece, Housekeeping, Fingerbone,
Idaho. Boneset was used in home remedies, teas to assuage
pain of ague, flu and colds, indigestion in the elderly, bone
fractures. (Boneset tea! Catlap!) Alan and Arlene Alda gave so much
to help the world of poetry, I think there isn’t a mean bone
in the body of either one. Goya painted masterpieces
galore, despite a tumor on the legbone.
This ghazal celebrates distinguished figures
whom I wish I had the musical talent to praise with the trombone.