[Local events] [local events] Sun 12/2 Beer & Putnam @ Division Leap

jennifer coleman jencoleman44 at gmail.com
Sat Nov 17 09:31:57 PST 2012

Spare Room Presents:

CE Putnam & John Beer
Sunday, December 2
7:30 pm

Division Leap
211 SW 9th Avenue
(between Burnside and Oak)

$5.00 suggested donation

Caution: Socks could be knocked off at this event.
Facebook calendar invite:

C.E. Putnam: The year 2012 will see the publication of C.E. Putnam's back
catalog: The Papier-Mâché Taj Mahal (1997), XX Elegies (1998),  Spaces
Where Spaces Are (1999), Transmissions from the Institute (2000), Maniac
Box (2001), Things Keep Happening (2003). He has recently completed the
first two years of a four-year posting as Poetry Attaché for P.I.S.O.R.
(Putnam Institute for Space Opera Research) in Singapore, Singapore.

John Beer is the author of The Waste Land and Other Poems (Canarium, 2010),
winner of the Poetry Society of America's Norma Farber First Book Award.
After more than a decade in Chicago, where he wrote drama criticism for
Time Out, he relocated last year to Portland, where he teaches in the MFA
program in creative writing at Portland State.


As President Van Buren
said to the bee
pass the crayon box
you can breathe
through the built-in
sharpener we all have
the right to kill?
orange jackets
a part of our natural
monkey sniff
mustard chain
of being
granola bar green
the latest color is "ass"
gassed up streams
lost my stinger
flowers make flowers
our home sweet home.

CE Putnam


The thrash determines a maximal rate
spilling your liquid soliloquy
into pathways your friends recognize
muscular, not envisioning a sequence

until Jasper pipes up, unfortunate crooner
doomed to synthesize approximate voice
that we in the bleachers sort of pine for
until love becomes ventroliquism

I didn't mean for it to end this way
bodies on the fence, a swinging ceremony
lionized as "the godfather of lyric"
until a nearby truck unloads our vegetables

hey you sitting on your neighbor's porch
something set the planets in their motion
while I keep recommending the wrong book
the painter grinds her powder, desolate

the sun until it hands off godliness
to a distracted order called the day
or what we made of it, a bird that falls
toward ground that even faster falls away.

John Beer
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