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Slam poet expresses heartfelt emotions

Posted by :jprokop On : February 28, 2013
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Category: Culture

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Slam poet Rudy Francisco shares the first poem he ever performed Feb. 16 in Ice Auditorium. Francisco is widely known as a spoken word artist.

“I challenge you to write again or start writing. Just try it out, its done so much for me as a person.”

These were artist Rudy Francisco’s closing words for the first event of the semester put on by the Associated Students of Linfield College on Feb. 16 in Ice Auditorium.

Francisco spoke from the heart on topics of growing up, love and equality toward women.

One poem the San Diego native performed was titled “Letter to Chris Brown.” While initially earning laughter from the audience, the poem turned its focus on the problem surrounding women’s violence and the portrayals of African American men by media that become true.

The end of the poem brought truth of Francisco’s upbringing and the domes- tic violence he witnessed. He even pointed out that he “did not hate Chris Brown.” The poem brought out his feeling on creating a safety for women.

“Its crazy how often I realize that in America, we do not create a safe space for women,” Francisco said. “It’s interesting how often as a man, I don’t worry about my safety. Like when I go out to my car, I don’t have two thoughts about it. But I have women who are friends, who worry about that every time they leave their house.”

Francisco then shared his first experience of writing a poem and admits the process was difficult.
With the help of his roommate, who suggested the topic, Francisco wrote a poem on “what [he’d] write about if [he] knew what to write about.” The poem described all the things that were typical messages of poems, such as love, world problems, finding parental approval and fame, with an ending message of not being forgot.

He also touched on the controversial issue between the church and the gay community in his poem, “Your God isn’t Mine.” The poem touches on other social issues revolving around hate, including domestic violence, racial tensions and hate speech.

Francisco relates the story of a time when he saw a man on the corner of an intersection holding up a sign reading “God hates gays.” Being a religious man himself, Francisco shares his belief that “God doesn’t hate anyone.”

Francisco does not believe he’d be the person he is today had he not started performing. He works to inspire his audiences to give it a try, ending his show with the challenge. After the performance, many students stayed behind to talk to Francisco.

“His style was very personable and very relaxed, but he was also about involving the audience and making them excited about what he was speaking about,” sophomore Ellen Massey said. “You could tell he was truly passion- ate about poetry and the things he talked about, as the frequency and fluctuation in his voice changed. I am very glad that he was able to come to Linfield and be an inspiration to the students here.”

Kaylyn Peterson

Copy Chief

Kaylyn Peterson can be reached at linfieldreviewcopy@gmail.com.

Faculty sing, play poet’s dark love story

Posted by :jprokop On : November 7, 2011
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Category: Culture

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Two professors told a love story through a vocal and piano duet Nov. 13.

Anton Belov, assistant professor of music, and Jill Timmons, professor of music, combined talents to create their faculty recital in Ice Auditorium.

Belov, a baritone, sang pieces by a range of composers, from Tchaikovsky to Robert Schumann. Timmons accompanied him on piano.

The recital, titled, “A Poet’s Love,” featured the works of Schumann, who used Heinrich Heine’s poetry to compose the song, “Dichterliebe.”

The song tells the story of a poet who falls in love with a young woman.

The piece incorporates strong images from the natural world, using things like plants and water to evoke the descriptions attached to the characters.

Throughout the segments of the song, the characters’ love develops before falling apart.

Belov sang passionately during the middle segments, illustrating how the narrator must have felt to see the woman he loved betray him.

“It’s a dark kind of love story,” Belov said.

Timmons and Belov also performed works by Tchaikovsky, Franz Liszt, Francesco Santoliquido, Alexander Glazunov and Sergey Rachmaninoff.

The duo chose Schumann’s piece because Belov had previously performed it many times, and because Timmons said she had always dreamed of performing it.

“I have such a strong connection to the piece,” Belov said. “There is so much hidden. There is secret meaning in each poem and strong connections throughout.”

Timmons said she and Belov met weekly before the recital, working on song interpretation, style and performance.

“Sometimes we had different interpretations of the pieces, but we worked through them,” Belov said.

Timmons said that working collaboratively was a positive experience because it gave her the opportunity to see pieces from new perspectives.

“The beauty of working with another musician is the way you adjust to each other’s interpretations of the piece,” Timmons said. “[Belov] had a different view of the work than I did, so I found myself adapting, which was really refreshing.”

The pieces evolved during their practice times, Belov said. He said they would continue to change each time the duo performed them, shifting along with the musicians.

Timmons said she enjoyed the performance and the wide range of audience members who attended—from trustees to the president of the school to students.

“We had great audience interaction,” she said. “We felt strong participation in the music and poetry.”

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Joanna Peterson/Managing editor
Joanna Peterson can be reached at linfieldreviewmanaging@gmail.com. 

 

Poet draws crowds with Whitman-inspired poetry

Posted by :jprokop On : December 4, 2010
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Oregon Poet Laureate Paulann Petersen reads Whitman-inspired poetry from her new collection, “The Voluptuary,” to a crowded audience Nov. 30 in Nicholson Library. Joel Ray/For the Review

Oregon’s sixth poet laureate read from her new book of poems to a high turnout of students, faculty, staff and others Nov. 30 in the Jane Austin Reading Room of Nicholson Library. The event is part of Linfield’s ongoing series “Readings at the Nick.”
More than 60 people listened to Oregon Poet Laureate Paulann Petersen read from her new collection of poems, “The Voluptuary.”
“The turnout was gratifying — one of the largest we’ve had for any of the ‘Readings at the Nick,’” Professor of English Lex Runciman, who arranged Petersen’s visit, said in an e-mail. “It suggests to me that even in a time of 4G phones and instant access to information, the title ‘Oregon Poet Laureate’ carries a particular cachet.”
Petersen said the book was dedicated to Walt Whitman (with whom she shares her surname) and to her parents. One section of the book consists of poems addressed directly to Whitman.
She said she was inspired by Whitman and wrote many poems while reading through two of his collections: “Leaves of Grass” and “Speciman Days.”
“I was overcome by the immensity of his embrace of the world. [He] just draws the whole world into his poems, and his generosity of spirit,” Petersen said. “It was very, very moving.”
She read two of her poems addressed to Whitman, and she also read a poem by Runciman, titled “All Is A Procession,” which praised Whitman.
“I didn’t know she would be reading it,” Runciman said via e-mail. “For her to do so was a gracious gesture.”
Junior Josh Rivas said he enjoyed Petersen’s reading.
“I liked it overall; her words were almost always of praise, with a bit of nostalgia laced in between,” he said in an e-mail. “Her style has a very personal voice — something I can respect in a poet.”
Rivas said he particularly liked her poem “During a Solar Eclipse.” In the poem, Petersen described how ancient cultures yelled and made noise during solar eclipses in order to drive off whatever they thought was trying to kill the sun, but she also wondered if perhaps the sun and the moon were making love instead and that perhaps it was best to keep quiet and look away.
Petersen also answered questions from the audience about her work as a poet.
“It’s so wonderful to be an ambassador for poetry,” she said in response to a question about her role as poet laureate. “It’s a delight and honor. It’s pure pleasure.”
When asked why she thought it was important to write, she said, “we write to create ourselves.” She also called writing “a wonderful process of discovery.”
Rivas said he thought writing was important for individuals.
“I believe she meant that writing is a way of exploring and relating to the human condition,” he said via e-mail. “We find a bit of ourselves in writing because it is a reflection of the will of our hearts.”
According to oregonpoetlaureate.org, Petersen began writing poetry after moving to Klamath Falls, Ore., and being inspired by its landscape. Her first published poem was in a Sunday edition of the Oregonian in 1976, according to the website.
In April of 2010, she was named Oregon’s sixth poet laureate.
“It still seems amazing to me,” she said. “Practically every day I just have to stop and think, ‘Oh my gosh, is this really true?’”
Runciman said he thinks it’s important for students to attend events such as readings, concerts and art exhibits.
“For our students, we want to put them in the company of practitioners and practitioners that aren’t their teachers,” he said.
Rivas also said that he believes readings such as Petersen’s are valuable to students interested in writing.
“It gives us a perspective of the successful writer and the things that they have to do in order to become so successful,” he said via e-mail. “It also exposes us to new styles and techniques in writing that we have yet to touch upon.”
For more information about Petersen, and to read selections from “The Voluptuary,” visit www.paulann.net.

Braden Smith /Managing editor
Braden Smith can be reached at linfieldreviewmanaging@gmail.com.

unearthed verse

Posted by :jprokop On : September 25, 2010
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Category: Features

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Fall arrives on campus as acorns litter Linfield’s sidewalks and leaves blanket the ground. The season calls for a warm cup of chai or spiced cider. It puts us at the Review in the mood to snuggle up with our steaming mugs and read a good poem. We dug up the work of a few of Linfield’s well-versed poets to put you into an autumn state of mind, too. So grab your mug and your softest blanket, and cozy up to these poems:

liner notes
By Jordan Jacobo, senior

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
— T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

oh, but we’ve had enough of these
Odyssean wanderings,
we’ve heard enough of Aegean’s
constant, hushed sound,

we’ve wept enough for innocence,
for the facade that’s been
peeled away, faded, tattered,
the stale yellow wallpaper of
a forgotten, forlorn aesthetic
and you—you tell us to have hope,
you want us to look forward
without fear, to stare out
at ocean waves on clear,
moonlit nights and not
be sad for the things
that have slipped away
silently and surely.

we’re resolute in this view
of the ever-changing,
windswept, maddened world,
where no man (or woman)
can discover any unknown lands.

all the treasures we hold are known
and the thoughts we have are built
upon the mouldering foundations
of ragged generations, for
the air here is musty,
there is chaos in the mind,
as the squalid people sit with
cups of coffee and newspapers
that go unread, echoing the calls
for lost truths that will
never return to us.

—let us go then,
leave this place
and not look back,
for the friends and
former lovers
we abandon
will forgive us,
will forget us.
time, ticking away
will take us to tomorrow.

cloud Gazing
By Sammi Mack, senior

Meadow flowers fragment
and float downwind
scattered dust, leaving wishes
like ashes, gently
dissolving.
Skyward, popcorn kernels burst
to life, caught by rays
that slant and bend
round bulbous curves, melting
butter yellow across smooth
smoky curls.
Pop!
Curious, I reach aloft and pluck
those soft, airy cambers
that bloom
brilliant in their blue bowl—
while sweet summer sunshine
melts like light
on my tongue.

indivisible
By Lauren Funtanilla, senior

Evening lights the pier as people
retire to husbands and to wives
leaving the woodened walkway vacant
except for you. You, wihose shadow lurks
amid the city’s silhouette reflected
in the bay’s drowsy, rocking blue.
Strangers. Seekers of solace. Stepping
lightly together and without words,
our silence pulls us close
and holds Time’s hands still.
Our bodies immobile by an invisible sail
folded, tucked and tightened
’round like the sea’s breeze. I breathe
wisps of rain, waiting for the morrow
carried in the undercurrents
of an organic moment. Heartbeats
pulsing in harmony, in and out,
matching the rhythm of the tide
a moon-tide lullaby like echoing quartz
weathering at the bottom of the sea.

Your eyes lock to mine, unlocking my lies.

And I haven’t the courage to not
blink. Releasing me from you,
saved from becoming indivisible
like water. The self left whole
as my feet, instructed by the mind,
carry me away.

real Estate
By Stephen Dennis, senior

We have only so much
space inside our heads.
Facts slide around like butter
on a hot plate, effortlessly moving
to the periphery of memory in
order to accommodate the push
created by an order for a tall,
non-fat, double soy, vanilla latte or
your mother’s birthday.

My Bible stories are hazy and I don’t
remember the generals of Gettysburg,
but I can recite Collins’ Aristotle by
memory and I know she turns
fifty-seven on February 23rd.

Eventually Collins will glide to a corner,
making room for two or three sets of nine
digit numbers and we won’t do anything
special on the 23rd of February.

All I will remember then of now is the
dryer running at your apartment,
tumbling my socks and shorts while I sat
in your kitchen watching you make
lesson plans. That, and the giant
oak in the corner of my grandparent’s
lawn, rising like a sylvan Hiroshima
over the block.

setting the Alarm
By Lex Runciman, professor of English

Late arc of stars
and clouds in slow revolve, six hours
to fall asleep and stay asleep dreaming –
but I’ve been reading about fear,
and now spring, 1963, I’m 12,
walking from school to my Aunt’s house.
No busses after a nuclear bomb: this is practice
for walking somewhere safe in half an hour.
(If it’s not practice, my father is dead.)

The road turns and dips, all downhill.
My toes bump at the ends of my shoes.
The knuckles and bones of each hand swing.
Body and toes, and this mailbox and this mailbox,
and that broken glass and those tall grasses
and that crumpled paper will all go white,
white hot to ash, white hot to ash, white hot
to ash – it’s just a rhythm, nothing happens.

Sky to the west is clouds,
crazy tops increasing out of themselves,
flat bottoms widening and almost black.
I walk. They drift this way,
east and north. Soundless. Slow.
They just float.