• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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performances
October 22

Alternating Currents Live: Tom Rainey & Devin Drobka Percussion Duo

readings & workshops
October 25

Poetry Reading: Stephen Anderson & Erik Richardson

readings & workshops
October 26

Urban Echo Poets

special events
November 3

Join us on Friday, November 3rd for our 37th Annual Anniversary Gala!

 

Archived readings & workshops
Sep 28 Thursday, September 28
5:30pm, RECEPTION & PROGRAM: $80 INDIVIDUAL | $150 COUPLE; PROGRAM ONLY: $25 ADVANCE | $30 DOOR

 

Rebecca Eland Wenrick is the author of Within the Hour / Arrives, then Steady Pace with the Hour (Plein Air Editions), and Pages—a translation from the Spanish, the poetry of Leonardo Cruz Parcero. Rebecca earned her B.A at Naropa University and an M.F.A at Saint Mary’s College of California. She has had the pleasure to perform with dancers from the Boulder Ballet, and to participate with such poetry projects as “Seeding the John Muir Way,” Edinburgh and Glasgow Scotland.  She occasionally teaches at Deer Park Institute, India and currently lives in the mountains of Boulder, Colorado.

 

Stacy Blint is a multidisciplinary artist and writer. Based on the premise that with each breath we are erased a little Disappearing Books is an ongoing multidisciplinary project.

 

Stacy cultivates a daily studio practice. Currently she is in the process of documenting The Art Bunker, a site specific environment that draws on a strong affinity with one of her earliest influences, the Wisconsin artist Mary Nohl.

 

At present Stacy lives in Wisconsin and enjoys it’s rich and not so distant history of pioneers and settlers. Her poems have appeared in Big Bridge, The White Wall Review, Matchbook Magazine, and Drupe Fruits. She is the author of the chapbook 13 Golden Hooks (Saint Earl Press). Her writing has also been featured in the book for the album Death Blues, Ensemble. Professionally she works as a creative director.

 

Mark Tardi is originally from Chicago and he earned his MFA from Brown University. His publications include the books The Circus of Trust (Dalkey Archive, 2017), Airport music (Burning Deck, 2013), and Euclid Shudders (Litmus Press, 2004). He guest-edited an issue of the literary journal Aufgabe  devoted to contemporary Polish poetry and poetics and has translated poetry from the Polish by Kacper Bartczak, Miron Białoszewski, Monika Mosiewicz, and Przemysław Owczarek.

 

A former Fulbright scholar, he lives with his wife and two dogs in a village in central Poland and is on faculty at the University of Łódź.


 

SUBSTITUTION PATTERN

 

natural golden pigment

chromatic third relations

multi-tonic changes

 

barren oak

shallow shoulder

cultured curbs

 

the house casts its roofline

on the empty field across the street

suddenly becoming detached

 

trees mostly brown
the slightest indication

tiny green buds

robin

rabbit

cat

no

squirrel

 

road a strange train

rode when presented with

a decorated laundry hamper

 

desert riding

dessert out of town

desert being

an ocean

 

—Stacy Blint

 

 

On Waverly Street

 

Near the Opera Institute

flooding music from the apartment

felt to be mobile world

glazed, roasted

ducks in the window

Rockies

then the Giants

    3-1

 

and after chicken bones,

scrap metal lay side by side

confetti makers at the curb, empty of their

iodine paper, the upstairs stoop

gets quiet, no one watching baseball

except the dish washer drying dishes

with his t-shirt and the woman

who waits, in turn, for him

such a long way,

even with the porch-light on at the quick block.

 

—Rebecca Eland Wenrick

 

 

from "Attribution Error"

 

           “If there be any art in the weathers of this earth. Or char these
           bones to coal. If you can, if you can. A blackened rag in the rain.”
           –Cormac McCarthy, Suttree

 

As ridiculous as writing a postcard to her cat
these were bodies like mismatched socks
a kind of furniture
no more holdable than the wind
frying onions, diesel oil, the sea itself
waiting to carry out the inevitable
or a hundred other lies
like the moon
like intestinal love
 

 

howling across the zero between waking and sleep
 

the same cross-ply screwdriver
with the weight of a table over their heads
interconnecting tubes, tubes respected or
distorted, curiously cut open, inflected
outside the bare acoustics
in soft-shoe trance
its neural depths, its stages, layers and folds

 

—Mark Tardi