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captainsblogOur first real outing for the two of us in well over a year. Seeing and hearing some friends we hadn't been with for closer to two. We've let some things like this slide by us in recent weeks (okay, months), as work, and home projects, have come to consume too much energy. Today, though, we both decided we would head downtown and beyond to the harbor, where friends were reading at a poetry festival outside the mighty silos of our city's heritage.
The ones now making up the arts district called Silo City have abandoned their grain, but to get there, you pass the still-functioning General Mills plant and smaller silos that make our city smell like Cheerios. We've been in one of these old towers for a reading and musical performance, and their acoustics, intimacy and majesty from the inside are amazing. This one was behind those towers, outside a newer and smaller structure that was probably an office building for the silos back in the day and now houses a cool looking bar and art gallery known as Duende:
Before we left, we continued our series of proctologist jokes from the other day:
Eleanor: Aww, too bad you'll miss your writing group today.
Me: That's okay. Not sure we're even meeting.dauntless_heart and her husband are taking a trip to Roswell this weekend- their first getaway in a long time.
Her: Oooookay,...Oh, Roswell, New Mexico! Not Roswell Park (the famed local cancer hospital).
Me: Yeah. Granted, they both do colonoscopies, but for different reasons.
----
We were a little late for the stated start time after laying in provisions, but wound up plenty early; poets tend not to start exactly on schedule. So we explored the surroundings of this former industrial area, which now include this gated path down to the Buffalo River-
- and this kid-sized soccer pitch with a door at the end-
We saw a few friends we've seen on Zoom from time to time, but then the host came out and the seven poets got under way. Nine, counting two who volunteered at the last minute, including our friend Ben who introduced us to this group via Eleanor's Buddhist connections:
The scheduled poets then went in order:
(1) vonette t. rhodes, who'd helped us park our car and then blew the roof off the silos with her words:)
(2) Gabby Lewis, who is all the things (and more) that you can't fit into any of the boxes people try to pigeonhole her into:
(3) One of the younger poets to join in, Isaac Fareed: a poem from a student and an answer poem from a teacher. Wisdom knows no years.
(4) The first of our friends on the program: Skyler Jaye, who I didn't even think to photograph in the first round because I was so captivated by what she was reading:
(5) Whether sitting near us under a pink parasol or on the stage, our friend Brittany Johnson is the one and only Queen B:)
(Btw.... the kid in the orange shirt who's in most of those shots? vonette's son, who also open-mic'd before the program started;)
(6) Recommended for this program by two different other organizations, a young and fierce poet, Millie Rae. Another of the young who we can count on to unfuck this world of ours with their words, their energy and their brilliance:
and ending with (7), the only one who's been in our home, and one of many in our hearts, our beloved Abby Rose, speaking of onomatopoeia and PB&Js:
These are our people, these are our friends:)
----
After a short break, the seven then came back up in reverse order, from Abby to vonette. Skyler did one of her two as a tribute to her grandmother, who she associates with baking things, so she passed out chocolates to all of us before the reading:
(They'd melted by the time we got back to the car, but the idea's the important thing;)
Unforgotten in all of this was Brandon, who hosted, emceed the music before each poet, and kept our energy and interest there at all times, even in the heat:
And, finally, all of you, take a bow:)
We needed this. Our daily obligations will last another day. As Abby said, Communion wafers taste like crap. Tomorrow will bring more chores, and Monday more work, but it was a joy to be in a place that was never intended to create anything other than grains but instead provided such nourishment for brains:)
The ones now making up the arts district called Silo City have abandoned their grain, but to get there, you pass the still-functioning General Mills plant and smaller silos that make our city smell like Cheerios. We've been in one of these old towers for a reading and musical performance, and their acoustics, intimacy and majesty from the inside are amazing. This one was behind those towers, outside a newer and smaller structure that was probably an office building for the silos back in the day and now houses a cool looking bar and art gallery known as Duende:
Before we left, we continued our series of proctologist jokes from the other day:
Eleanor: Aww, too bad you'll miss your writing group today.
Me: That's okay. Not sure we're even meeting.
dauntless_heart and her husband are taking a trip to Roswell this weekend- their first getaway in a long time.Her: Oooookay,...Oh, Roswell, New Mexico! Not Roswell Park (the famed local cancer hospital).
Me: Yeah. Granted, they both do colonoscopies, but for different reasons.
----
We were a little late for the stated start time after laying in provisions, but wound up plenty early; poets tend not to start exactly on schedule. So we explored the surroundings of this former industrial area, which now include this gated path down to the Buffalo River-
- and this kid-sized soccer pitch with a door at the end-
We saw a few friends we've seen on Zoom from time to time, but then the host came out and the seven poets got under way. Nine, counting two who volunteered at the last minute, including our friend Ben who introduced us to this group via Eleanor's Buddhist connections:
The scheduled poets then went in order:
(1) vonette t. rhodes, who'd helped us park our car and then blew the roof off the silos with her words:)
(2) Gabby Lewis, who is all the things (and more) that you can't fit into any of the boxes people try to pigeonhole her into:
(3) One of the younger poets to join in, Isaac Fareed: a poem from a student and an answer poem from a teacher. Wisdom knows no years.
(4) The first of our friends on the program: Skyler Jaye, who I didn't even think to photograph in the first round because I was so captivated by what she was reading:
(5) Whether sitting near us under a pink parasol or on the stage, our friend Brittany Johnson is the one and only Queen B:)
(Btw.... the kid in the orange shirt who's in most of those shots? vonette's son, who also open-mic'd before the program started;)
(6) Recommended for this program by two different other organizations, a young and fierce poet, Millie Rae. Another of the young who we can count on to unfuck this world of ours with their words, their energy and their brilliance:
and ending with (7), the only one who's been in our home, and one of many in our hearts, our beloved Abby Rose, speaking of onomatopoeia and PB&Js:
These are our people, these are our friends:)
----
After a short break, the seven then came back up in reverse order, from Abby to vonette. Skyler did one of her two as a tribute to her grandmother, who she associates with baking things, so she passed out chocolates to all of us before the reading:
(They'd melted by the time we got back to the car, but the idea's the important thing;)
Unforgotten in all of this was Brandon, who hosted, emceed the music before each poet, and kept our energy and interest there at all times, even in the heat:
And, finally, all of you, take a bow:)
We needed this. Our daily obligations will last another day. As Abby said, Communion wafers taste like crap. Tomorrow will bring more chores, and Monday more work, but it was a joy to be in a place that was never intended to create anything other than grains but instead provided such nourishment for brains:)