• 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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exhibitions
August 25 - Oct 1

Exhibition: Vicki, with an i, organized by Michelle Grabner

special events
August 30

Milwaukee Shines: Solar Group Buy

special events
September 8 -10

Indian Summer Festival: Language is Culture

readings & workshops
September 17

Poetry Reading & Talk: Julie Carr

readings & workshops
September 28

Poetry Reading: Stacy Blint, Rebecca Eland & Mark Tardi

readings & workshops
October 5

Poetry Reading: Feliz Lucia Molina

exhibitions
October 11

Exhibition: Jen Bervin, Tactile Lanuguage

Archived readings & workshops
Mar 14 Saturday, March 14
6:00pm, FREE

 

Born in 1943, Robert Adamson lives with his partner, photographer Juno Gemes, on the Hawkesbury River to the north of Sydney in Australia. Over the past five decades he has produced twenty books of poetry. He has been awarded the Christopher Brennan Prize for lifetime achievement, the Patrick White Award, and The Age Book of the Year Award for The Goldfinches of Baghdad (Flood Editions, 2006). His most recent book is Net Needle (Flood Editions, 2015). He currently holds the Chair in Poetry at the University of Technology, Sydney.

 

Brita Bergland was born in the mid-fifties, in the Midwest, not quite a middle child, but into the midst of a large Illinois farm family. She attended the University of Michigan, studying creative writing under Radcliffe Squires. Bergland then moved to Vermont, where she managed to put together a letterpress shop, and started Awede Press. She published books of poems for a number of years, and has remained involved in printing, publishing and writing throughout her life. Bergland’s books include The Poet At Its Desk (Awede, 1987), Rebirth of the Older Child (Burning Deck, 1993), and the recently completed, Lost Was All Location.

 


 

Garden Poem

 

            For Juno

 

Sunlight scatters wild bees across a blanket

of flowering lavender. The garden

 

grows, visibly, in one morning—

native grasses push up, tough and lovely

 

as your angel’s trumpets. At midday

the weather, with bushfire breath, walks about

 

talking to itself. A paper wasp zooms

above smooth river pebbles. In the trees

 

possums lie flat on leafy branches to cool off,

the cats notice, then fall back to sleep.

 

This day has taken our lives to arrive.

Afternoon swings open, although

 

the mechanics of the sun require

the moon’s white oil. Daylight fades to twilight

 

streaking bottlebrush flowers with shade;

a breeze clatters in the green bamboo and shakes

 

its lank hair. At dinnertime, the French doors present us

with a slice of night, shining clear—

 

a Naples-yellow moon outlines the ridges

of the mountains—all this, neatly laid out

 

on the dining room table

across patches of moonlight. 

                       

            —Robert Adamson, from Net Needle

 

 

 

words alone a maple swing

 

 

permitted once the prairie

breeding ground to stars

expansion tethers lightly

bird and being things

 

loneliness exemplar

as a master class 

safety in the potlatch

of the old sod’s grass

 

stars roll backward

in the head

just firmament

finds focus

locust latch the mulberry

cotillions in devotion

 

            —Brita Bergland