NEW RELEASE – Donald Richardson’s ReUNIONS

Cover of ReUNIONS by Donald Richardson. Cover is mostly blank, with the sketch of a man with his back slightly turned toward us. His posture is relaxed; his hands are in his pockets, his sleeves rolled up, and he appears to be reflecting on his life. A signature of the artist, Bob Callahan, is prominently figured beside the man. TEXT reads: ReUNIONS: New and Selected Poems by Donald Richardson.We are happy to announce the release of ReUNIONS, New and Selected Poems by Donald Richardson!

This new collection of poetry from Donald Richardson is quilted from decades of work, spanning from Knocking Them Dead and Night Waters to Romantic Unions, new poems from 2016 and 2017. In many ways, the poems are messages to loved ones, a scrapbook of memories and reflections, things so deeply personal yet ubiquitous to the human experience.

Portraits on the cover, beautifully rendered by artist Bob Callahan, capture the essence of reflection, and are the perfect partners to Richardson’s poems.

You can pick up your fantastic copy, available in paperback for $15.00 USD, directly from BrickHouse Books!  The first 100 orders receive FREE SHIPPING!  Simply click the link below for our order form.  Mail your order, along with a check payable to BrickHouse Books, Inc., to:

BrickHouse Books, Inc.
306 Suffolk Road
Baltimore, MD 21218-2521

BrickHouse Books, Inc. is a Maryland non-profit corporation.  10% of your payment is tax deductible.

Click here to order ReUNIONS ]

or

[ Visit ReUNION ‘s page in the BHB Catalogue for more information ]

 

Upcoming Reading with BHB Poet William Rivera

Poet William Rivera (Buried in the Mind’s Backyard, BrickHouse Books, 2011) will be joining poet Elisavietta Ritchie (Reflections: Poems on Paintings) at the Kensington Row Bookshop for a reading.

SAVE THE DATE!

Wednesday, June 28th @ 7pm
Kensington Row Bookshop
3786 Howard Ave
Kensington, MD

See you there!

Readings and Release Party for Doritt Carroll’s New Book

Doritt Carroll, BrickHouse Books’ Poetry Editor, released Sorry You Are Not an Instant Winner via Kattywompus Press.

SAVE THE DATES!

Listen to Carroll herself read selections from this jovial collection, and join her for the release party in September!

READINGS:

Third Saturday Reading Event
June 17th, 2pm – 4pm
Robert Harper Books
6216 Rhode Island Ave.
Riverdale Park, MD 20737

Georgetown Library – Date TBA!

RELEASE PARTY:

September 28, Time TBA
The Barking Dog
4723 Elm St.
Bethesda, MD 20814

For more information on Doritt Carroll and her work, visit dorittcarroll.com.

Summer Events

Summer is the season for festivals and we have some great events coming up! Please see below for a quick summary or check our Events calendar for a more extensive list.

day_painting

Painting by Zsudayka Nzinga. For more, see her online gallery at zsudaykanzinga.com.

July 8 (6-9pm) – Zed’s Cafe July Open Mic – Featuring two husband and wife duos, poets Teri Cross Davis and Hayes Davis and artists Zsudayka Nzinga and James Terrell. Enjoy readings by the poets and live painting by the artists in this cozy Silver Spring cafe. Don’t forget to bring your own work to share after the reading! For more information, see the event’s Facebook page or the Zed’s Cafe website.

July 23 (1:30-3:30 pm) – A Poetry Extravaganza – Poems will be read by a diverse spectrum of poets at George Washington University’s Estelle & Melvin Gelman Library. There will also be a music demonstration “On Synchronization Of Poetry Imagery”by Wing-chi Chan. The event will be followed by a reception. For more information, see our Events Calendar.

August 4 (7-9pm) – Cracks in the Road – An open mic for people of color & allies responding to recent acts by law enforcement. Read your own work or the work of others, sing, or support by listening. Sign up begins at 6:30 pm. Co-hosted by Regie Cabico, Doritt Carroll, and Teri Cross Davis.

August 5 (6-9pm) – Zed’s August Open Mic – This month’s open mic will feature Kathi Wolfe as the opening reader and former featured reader Cort (CL) Bledsoe as an MC. Bring some of your own work to read after the features or just stop by and listen.

Kathi Wolfe in NYC 12/2

Bailout Theater

Please join author Kathi Wolfe on December 2nd for a reading with Bailout Theater, courtesy of Judson Arts Wednesdays. Doors open at 55 Washington Square South at 7 pm. Free community meal served and devoured at 7:15 pm. Free art offered and enjoyed at 8 pm. This month, a lineup of poets and musicians, curated by Sarah Duncan, reflect on “Wellness” through story and song. For more information please see the event site, http://judson.org/bailouttheater.

Discovering Our Authors: J. Tarwood

One of the pleasures of being the new prose editor at BrickHouse Books is discovering the people who have published with us, including the poets. After all, I have said that what I look for in prose submissions—among other things—is “a distinctive voice . . . and an obvious love of language.” Meaning a touch of poetry.

And as someone who has traveled more in the first years of her life than many have in a lifetime, I was delighted to hear from poet J. Tarwood, who happened to be in Laos at the moment. Here is what he sent me a few weeks later from who knows where:

J. Tarwood's BHB title

J. Tarwood’s BHB title

As an adult, I’ve worked in Kenya, Turkey, Yemen, Oman, Colombia, and Dubai; I’ve trekked by all sorts of dubious means through most of Africa, Europe, and South America, even darting a few times into Asia. I’ve lived out globalization from aerograms to emails; that’s given me a vision quite different from many contemporary American poets. I like what Rimbaud said: “I is another.”

In high school, I wanted girls. All I had for wooing were words. The right ones, though, said at the right time, in the right way, could work magic: the wow of sex, the blessed chance—

You could go to another world;
You could talk to a pretty girl.

Mother knew words. Born in the Blue Ridge, mired in the Midwest, she yearned for the lost home like a Palestinian. Silence a growing hole in and out, she battled back with savage stories of invisible kin, entrancing me along. Up North was a hungry hell. Only Back Yonder got to be real.

Father hated words. In the kitchen, alone with the light, he would read big borrowed books. “All talk,” he’d curse. Up North was fate. Swallow and shut up.

Up North certainly had no place for me: deindustrialization’s cannon fodder, “No Future” stamped on the forehead at birth. Leave or rot, honeychild.

I left and just didn’t stop. “Grin like a dog, wander aimlessly,” a drunken Tamil quoted to me in Istanbul. I followed adventure or dollars, my life a travelogue of hard to say places. At interviews, I pretended I had a career. Practical people understood it really had been one foot after another.

Yet like the superheroes I had so intensely scrutinized as a boy, I had a calling I held close—as if I were to spy for a goddess, and all this gadabout were both education and mission.

A calling makes sense with divinity. Otherwise—scour the bio for the prof who loaned the book, the gal who wrecked the heart, puzzling out a life obsessed.

Land of luck, that. I prefer a life possessed.

Words alone conjuring worlds? In high school, I drifted through the Upstairs Bookstore, where I bought a paperback of The Waste Land, lightly yellowing, thin as a broke wallet. Eliot never had me in mind as a reader: I had been streamed into Jolly Books of English courses to prepare me for a life of stupor. Nevertheless, his words dazzled me the way my mother’s had and the way I wished mine to dazzle the girls who dazzled me.

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?

Poetry must be magic, a secret kept by being shared.

Note: The first lines quoted are from The Tubes song “She’s a Beauty.” The last lines quoted are from the first section (“The Burial of the Dead”) of TS Eliot’s The Waste Land.