• 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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readings & workshops
February 23

Poetry Reading: Anna Vitale & Roberto Harrison

readings & workshops
February 24

RESCHEDULED: Genre: Urban Arts No. 3 Release

readings & workshops
March 1

Wisconsin Reads The Round House

film & video
March 2

aCinema Screening

readings & workshops
March 7

Poetry Reading: Kwabena Antoine Nixon

readings & workshops
March 8

Poetry Reading: Ed Block & Jenny Benjamin

readings & workshops
March 14

Kundiman Midwest Chapbook Series: Suman Chhabra

performances
March 15

Formations Series for New & Improvised Music

readings & workshops
March 17

Where My Dreaming and My Loving Live: Poetry & the Body with Nikki Wallschlaeger, Jose-Luis Moctezuma & Jay Besemer

readings & workshops
March 22

Community Conversation About The Round House 

readings & workshops
March 28

Poetry Reading: Sherwin Bitsui & Bojan Louis

film & video
April 6

aCinema Screening

readings & workshops
April 11

Poetry Reading: Luci Tapahonso

readings & workshops
April 14

Kundiman Midwest Chapbook Series: Lo Kwa Mei-en

readings & workshops
April 17

Poetry Reading and Conversation with Roberto Harrison @ Brown Deer Public Library

performances
April 19

Alash Ensemble

exhibitions
April 21

Woman: Frailty Thy Name, works by Renee Baker

performances
April 22

ACL presents Renee Baker Quartet, Visual Dark Scratch Suite

readings & workshops
May 2

Poetry Reading: Layli Long Soldier

performances
May 13

Alternating Currents Live presents The Bridge

readings & workshops
May 16

Kundiman Midwest Chapbook Series Noel Pabillo Mariano

performances
May 17

Formations Series for New & Improvised Music

readings & workshops
May 24

Poetry Reading: Urban Echo Poets

Archived readings & workshops
Mar 25 Wednesday, March 25
7:00pm, Pay What You Can

 

A reading in celebration of the release of Margaret (Peggy) Rozga’s latest poetry collection, Justice Freedom Herbs.

 

Margaret (Peggy) Rozga is a civil rights activist, poet, playwright, professor emerita, and the author of Though I Haven't Been to Baghdad (Benu Press, 2012) and 200 Nights and One Day (Benu Press, 2009. She served as managing editor of the chapbook anthology Turn Up the Volume: Poems about the States of Wisconsin (Little Bird Press, 2013). Her essay "Community Inclusive: A Poetics to Move Us Forward" was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and is included in the Cow Feather Press anthology of prose works from Verse Wisconsin. She has been awarded residencies at the Sitka Center for Arts and Ecology and at the Ragdale Foundation and a fellowship at the American Antiquarian Society. A sought-after poetry workshop facilitator and speaker on social justice issues, Peggy believes both activism and creative writing involve seeing, being aware beyond the obvious, and both involve the dogged determination to get something right.  

"Margaret Rozga's words alight - as a monarch might - on the edge of your spirit. They linger there as if you read them in passing, maybe in a volume on a shelf in a cabin overlooking a river, and come to you quietly for you to savor later. A beautiful work for justice and beauty - great action and the small work of tending leaves."

             —Andi Cumbo Floyd

 


 

History Lesson

at a church near Philadelphia, Mississippi

 

For James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman

 

Burned down to the bell Freedom Summer

then resurrected in red brick, a site now

for civil rights pilgrims, this church, its grounds

with three crosses, held me like a womb of silence. 

 

Surely the commercial-sized panel truck

jolted and creaked down the rutted road, 

but its unblemished white body, like some

unpurged ghost in my mind, 

 

suddenly loomed large and larger, the vehicle

edging in on me, stopping, so the driver, White

like me, my age, could question me face to face. 

Do you know where highway 740 is at?

 

I relaxed, the question no challenge. I had a map, 

fetched it from my car, looked, but could not

get my bearings.

 

He took my map, studied it, returned it to me. 

I used to live here, he says and breathes in 

then exhales slowly. But

everything's changed.

 

"Is that right?"

He showed no doubt. Yes.

 

I watched him pull back onto the road

looked for a logo on his truck. None. 

Checked the map index. There is no highway740. 

What was he looking for? What was he telling me?

 

Maybe I misremember what number he asked for. 

That was the summer we turned the corner

of a new century. I write a dozen years later, 

and I still don't know.