• 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
«
»
exhibitions
May 4 - Jun 11

Exhibition: News from the Homefront, Recent Works by Jeff Morin

readings & workshops
May 25

Poetry Reading: Urban Echo Poets

film & video
May 26

aCinema presents Curious Games

readings & workshops
June 1

Book Release: Resist Much / Obey Little: Inaugural Poems to the Resistance

readings & workshops
June 4

Poetry Reading: Jennifer Scappettone

readings & workshops
June 6 -9

Intersite: Geopoetics of the Constructed Landscape and Beyond

special events
June 11 -11

Anja Notanja Sieger's Advice Tent

Archived readings & workshops
May 21 Sunday, May 21
2:00pm, FREE

 

Suzanne and Sarah Rosenblatt, mother and daughter, will read from their writings that grapple with life without their beloved husband and father, Adolph Rosenblatt,  in a time of tumultuous political change. Sarah's poems from her recently published, Where are We in This Story, also explore the mystery underlying everyday life. Suzanne's journal and poems explore the interconnectedness of nature, humans, politics, of all that happens on earth. Come celebrate mystery, kindness, love and loss.

 


Excerpt from Where Are We In This Story? by Sarah Rosenblatt:


One minute you think you are brilliant,
The next minute, You feel you are losing your marbles.
One minute your children are loving and insightful,
The next minute, they are delinquent heartbreakers.
There is no truly objective version
Of one irrefutable truth
That will be spelled out to the sky, to the birds,
No Answers to the precipitous questions in your hair

 


Excerpt from Suzanne's journal:

When someone loses a limb, the nerves are still there
So it feels as if the limb is.
It sounds similar to losing your other half
After 57 years of living together, I keep feeling as if Adolph's still here,
On the couch paging through a book of Van Gogh paintings,
Complimenting my blouse when I walk into the living room.
Somewhere in my mind
I still expect him to critique my drawings, comment on a poem,
Enjoy the dinner I just cooked.
I look at the upcoming concerts he would have loved to go to with me,
I used to watch him conduct from his seat
Yes, used to watch
Now I have to turn all those expectations, all those habits of thought
Into memories.