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| The Door by DOUG PAUGH |
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DOUG PAUGH The DoorClosed, has eyes that always open when the sun comes. A thin, oak child hinged on play, goes and goes. Runs in on four folded fingers, stands, a hand not waving, swings with or without linger and falls back to it's temporary sleep until the next body knocks Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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| How The Door Came To Be by DOUG PAUGH |
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DOUG PAUGH How The Door Came To BeGood Luck and Better Friends.In 1980, I decided that for the rest of my life I would dedicate myself to something I felt was meaninful -the writing of poetry. I had written some things, but never more than occasionally. I was in the Navy at the time and crossing the Mediterranean seemed like the perfect place to learn. I wrote for several years not having a clue of what a good poem was, and to this day still find myself questioning. At first, I tried rhyming everything I wrote, I guess I thought that what 'real' poetry was. (This opinion has changed over the years since the Navy.) Learning metrical and formal poetry just seemed a good place to start; but, I have come to feel formal structure and rhyme to be restrictive, because whatever you could possibly think of doing with formal verse, or rhyme, had already been done. It could never be duplicated or topped and, unless you are reading from the work of the Greats, [the great rhymed or formal poem] almost doesn't exist in today's literary world. I studied everything I could find about writing poetry. Studied the different forms and the writers themselves… Dickinson, Whitman, Thomas, to Wright, Hugo, Lorca and the Beats in-between. As I learned more about the craft of poetry, my experiences grew tighter and more controlled. I found that many longer pieces I was working on weren't working the way I wanted. And, I came to realize how much I liked shorter poems; but, couldn't write those very well either. Little was excluded from my studies. I knew everything had to have its turn if I were to learn to write poems 'correctly'. By the time the 1980's had cleared, I was five years out of the Service and back home where I grew up, with my wife and two teenage boys. This is when I really tried to educate myself. We never had a lot of money and I lacked in enough self-esteem to go to college, so I tried to learn everything I could on my own. In 1989, I was very fortunate to discover that we had one of the country's longest running Poetry Series right here in Broome County (NY). Richard Martin was the founder of The Big Horror Poetry Series, and I was lucky to feel welcomed by the group. He was the nearest touch to the modern Beat Generation in this community. In the setting of the Poetry Series I also met a person who would become important - no, rather he was highly influential in my work. A professor at the (now) Binghamton University. His name was Milton Kessler. He was definitely one of the finest writers I'd ever had the pleasure to read, or be with. Kessler often attended the Series' readings and was a staple in Creative Writing to just about anyone who came through this area. Although I never took any classes from him directly, his presence was enough to teach me in self-study a good deal of what I needed to know about the craft. He was a very giving person and knew how to make you feel comfortable with what you were learning. Milton Kessler passed away in the spring of 2000 from pneumonia, while recovering from an Angina attack. T Again, through the Poetry group, I met Gerry Crinnin. He was a student of Kessler's in the early 1990's, where he attended the University to acquire his PHD in English and Creative Writing. He has been teaching the past 13 years or so at the Jamestown Community College's Dunkirk location in Dunkirk, New York. My friendship with Mr. Crinnin has not only developed my writing, but my personal life as well. He is how I was able to master my writing of the short poem, and where my poem, 'The Door', found its birth. We had been sending poems back and forth to each other for almost 15 years and were working specifically on short, object poems when that poem was written. Since we were both Family men first, our friendship seemed to grow strong in its roots. I hold it in high value. Thanks to these people, my poems have found their way into some very nice publications. In the last 5 years, I've found one more person with a keen appreciation for my work, in John Horvath Jr. (Poet and PoetryRepairShop editor). His appreciation for short, descriptive poems is what has urged me to send him some of my better work. Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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| Hydra by ROSALY DEMAIOS ROFFMAN |
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contact ROSALY DEMAIOS ROFFMAN  The recipient of a Distinguished Faculty Award, DEMAIOS ROFFMAN has read her poems in Greece, Ireland, Bratislava and was brought to England by the BBC to read her poems and record a program on the "wild and the sacred" in her work. She is a Member and Director of the Squirrel Hill workshop. PS : to sponsor poetry visit Poetry Sponsors |
ROSALY DEMAIOS ROFFMAN Hydra(a wonderful small island) Here, sleeping I pound the rice; the men buy gold-- the streets all tangle gently in on each other; the French bakery is mostly honey I buy a name-day card for my son Peter It is all in Greek: here, Elizabeth Taylor is visiting some other fantastic American-- Minerva translated my card in her ALL-GIFTS store, while her friend watches her son, the pithee, PETER IS A THINKING PERSON "You write it now in English" she demands and "send it today" and either you or the donkeys climb the steps to find you a high room this warm night" In the morning--coming down -- a tiny book-store near that fan of steps I can still see this Aegean, I am so happy-- what makes me do this? I buy the book in the window, I have to have it--in Greek Che Guevara's BOLIVIAN DIARIES You should be sixty years old before you see this brilliant light; I am so happy-- Can you understand Minerva? kissing a book standing on the steps not being sixty, not reading Greek Copyright 2006, all rights retained by the poet |
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