GV – John J. Trause and Mark Fogarty

October 23, 2016


JOHN J. TRAUSE will be the featured poet at the Red Wheelbarrow Poets’ monthly reading on Friday, Oct. 28 at 7pm. John will be launching his seriously seditious new book of poetry, Exercises in High Treason.

MARK FOGARTY will start us off with a salute to our Nobel laureate and a few songs and poems from his new chapbook, A Prayer for Jordan. The RWP Open Mic follows.

$8 cover includes coffee/tea, dessert

GainVille Café
17 Ames Avenue


RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – Oct 18

October 23, 2016

Red Wheelbarrow Poets
Poem of the Week 10/18/2016

Nasreen Khan

Eid al-Adha

It is Eid in Senegal.

Muslim Festival of the Sacrifice
to celebrate Abraham’s submission,
when he agreed to sacrifice his son.

The streets run red with the blood of slaughtered goats,
and the air is thick with their bleating.

Lift your skirts so the hems
do not become wet with blood.

Father has forbidden,
with a venom unique to converts,
the eating of meat consecrated for Muslims.

Meat sacrificed for idols will defile you.

Late that night, beside my African nanny
I swallow chunks of goat and greasy jolof rice,
trying to avoid the faces of the others like me:
foreign children raised by servants.

It pleases me to wonder,

when all of us are returned to our beds
before our parents wake
and we say our Christian grace
at the next breakfast table,
will they know?

Will they know
they have slept in homes
and broken fast with
heathens and idolaters?

Will they know they cannot sacrifice us,
like Abraham and his Isaac,
on the incensed altars they have chosen?

Will they know
a different god has already claimed us?

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WCW – Emilia Phillips

October 18, 2016

Wednesday, November 2, 2016, 7 p.m.

Williams Center for the Arts

Plus the words of William Carlos Williams
and open readings from the floor


Emilia Phillips is the author of two poetry collections from the University of Akron Press, Groundspeed (2016) and Signaletics (2013). Her poetry appears in Boston Review, New England Review, Ploughshares, Poetry, and elsewhere. She is the recipient of the 2015 Nonfiction Prize from StoryQuarterly, the 2012 Poetry Prize from The Journal, and fellowships from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, The Kenyon Review Writers’ Workshop, among other places. She’s the Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at Centenary University.

Pastoral (Radio)

Out of range the stations’ signals confuse—
like grasses, crossing. Over the fields,
a field of waves. I have thrown my voice into
the future. I’ve called after
it to return. Like the radio,
I’m waiting for something to come, flickering
meanwhile with half-songs.

Contact: John Barrale – john.barrale@gmail.com


Oct 22nd 2016 at the Meadowlands Museum

October 18, 2016


RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – Oct 11

October 13, 2016

Red Wheelbarrow Poets
Poem of the Week 10/11/2016

Janet Kolstein

A Stream of Alluring Things That Don’t Really Exist

Something raw and natural whirls
around the bedroom walls,
veined with deep blue, baby blue,
the blue of Naples Bay,
the blue of a jay.

There is no curse
in the fevered dreams of marble and alabaster,
timeless as light that streams though a rainbow.

Austin’s sleek young physique,
leather and wood smoke,
knit together crazy talk about matchups
and fans who smile louder
and play ball with punch.

They were all magically turned on —
drunken jet-lagged dancers in cowboy boots
ready to service every piece of art.

Couples were mirrors of desire,
buttery objects that slid
up and down against each other
into pools on the floor.

Such behavior is a form of surveillance
when just trust us isn’t enough,
and dubious passion,
a totem stained black,
ensures an absence of questions.

Walking such a fine line,
you have to live here to understand
their playground is a giant round bowl of music
open to the sky,

and contenders, hot or cold,
are sparkly, leopard-covered runners
twirling ritual above their heads.

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The Red Wheelbarrow #9 Launch at the Meadowlands Museum

October 8, 2016

Join us for the Red Wheelbarrow #9 launch at the Meadowlands Museum in Rutherford, NJ, on Saturday, October 22nd, at 1 p.m. Contributors will read their poems and celebrate the legacy of Dr. William Carlos Williams in the unique atmosphere of the permanent exhibit dedicated to the Pulitzer-winning poet and hometown physician.

The Red Wheelbarrow Poets will present the Meadowlands Museum with the complete collection of The Red Wheelbarrow journal.

Free admission and surprise musical guest! We hope to see you there.

When: Saturday, October 22nd, 1 p.m.
Where: The Meadowlands Museum
91 Crane Ave, Rutherford, NJ 07070
Tel: (201) 935-1175

Please Note: you can follow everything about the Red Wheelbarrow, its events and poets at the following sites:

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RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – Oct 04

October 6, 2016

Red Wheelbarrow Poets
Poem of the Week 10/04/2016

Arthur Russell


He was the brother to whom it fell
to sell his parents’ house, travelling down
to Charlottesville all those years, to visit
both, then one of them, then just the house.
In the room where he’d read books as a child,
other than the oxygen tank beside the recliner
that replaced the wing chair he liked,
very little had changed.

The innocence and scent had long since drained
from the dried hydrangeas and lilacs
in Roycroft vases on the glass front bookcase.
Floor-length brocade drapes hung shut, as always.
Light from leaded glass sconces above the mantle,
the same lamps he’d read by, lit an oil painting
of a clipper ship, square rigged, lunging forward
under a white sky and a chopped, green sea.

There were secret faces in the abstract pattern
of the wallpaper. He saw the first one
when he was seven, partial as the moon
behind a scrim of trees. He froze,
pretended to ignore, then peeked again, and saw
a whole tribe of faces around the room,
with crayon jaws and heavy eyes,

most somewhat obscured by drapes or chairs;
but the first one, over the radiator,
like an Easter Island moai, was his man,
the one he stared down, the one he reckoned
and then parlayed with, his counterpart,
the general and chief of the faces,
and though they never spoke, they did confer,
with eyes, on the articles of his leaving.

When, married, divorced and married again,
with a stepson playing football for State,
he returned to empty and sell the house,
he made his phone calls from the chair
beside the oxygen tank across from the chief
of the faces, who had a scarred cheek
from a raised seam in the paper after
years of darkening heat from the radiator.

This is how life found him that November,
talking to his sister in New York, to a broker
from Weichert and to Goodwill for a pickup date,
and gazing at the moai on the walls,
a sort of a class photograph.

The books he’d read were safe within him,
although dispersed by time.

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