I attended Wordstock for the first time on November 7. Although crowded and wet, it was a great experience. I'm not sure whether the venue has enough space for this event, but it looks like it will remain at the Portland Art Museum in 2016.
One of the presenters I was looking forward to was Wendell Pierce. I enjoyed his work on The Wire and Treme. However, I was not prepared for how inspiring his talk would be. Pierce was there to promote his memoir, The Wind in the Reeds, which tells the story of a production of Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot put on by Pierce and others in Louisiana's Pontchartrain Park after Katrina. Pierce was raised in this area, and his parents were among those who lost everything in the hurricane.
Pierce's conversation with OPB's Think Out Loud host Dave Miller focused on the power of art to change lives, and the role that artists play in society. Pierce felt that he had a responsibility to respond to the tragedy in some way, and he also felt obligated to rebuild his hometown. If you'd like to hear their conversation, visit: Wendell Pierce Talks About Acting, Art, and New Orleans
Pierce told us that he had learned that "there are those who do not have your best interests at heart," and warned us to "be aware that there are those who will try to strip you of your humanity." When he returned to Pontchartrain after the storm, what he found reminded him of "nuclear winter." His instinct was "to respond as an artist." Pierce made the point that art is both "practical" and "tangible."
I was very moved by Pierce's talk. I was struck by how much of what he said matched statements that I make to my creative writing students and fellow writers who attend the Ghost Town Poetry Open Mic. Moments like these serve as reminders to stay on the path, and to continue to do The Work, no matter how many might try to dissuade you.
After hearing him speak, and deliver a beautiful reading from the book, I wanted to buy a copy of his memoir. I headed upstairs to the book fair. The book was sold out before I reached the top of the stairs. Although I was disappointed, I was fortunate enough to run into Pierce in the men's room. I thanked him for inspiring me, and we had a short conversation about poetry. I told him that I worked with jazz musicians, and that I spent a lot of time talking to the writers in my community about art's usefulness, its many practical applications. He told me that he admired poets, and that he had been talking to his friend Yusef Komunyakaa about how the relationship between poets and their words resembled the jazz musician's approach to notes. Pierce pointed out that although we have a "finite number of words" at our disposal, there are an "infinite number of possibilities" that can be created with them. Later Pierce said that poetry is "sublime and beautiful, raw and painful, ugly, dangerous."
Later that evening, after Wordstock had ended, Wendell Pierce hosted a screening of Les Blank's 1978 film Always for Pleasure at the Northwest Film Center. Blank's film documents New Orleans as Pierce remembers it, a New Orleans that no longer exists. Pierce introduced the film, and remained afterward for a conversation with local writer and filmmaker David Walker. (David was my editor when I freelanced for the film section of the Willamette Week. He has since moved on from that publication, but I have enjoyed his comic book update of Ernest Tidyman's Shaft.) I learned more about the effort that Pierce has put into rebuilding New Orleans and helping young people in Baltimore.
Pierce talked about the greedy developers who do not care about rebuilding New Orleans, and who have made it very difficult for the poor folks in that city to retain their homes and their culture.
He told us that Bunk, the beloved character he played on David Simon's The Wire, was based on a real detective. Pierce met the man, and though at first Pierce did not know how the real Bunk felt about the actor who was playing a version of him, he eventually received his blessing.
I am so grateful to Wendell Pierce for his devotion to his art and for his generosity of spirit. I want to thank him for taking a few moments to talk to me, and for reminding me to continue believing in myself and The Work.
Writing and art by Christopher Luna. Poetry events in Vancouver, WA, Portland, OR, and beyond.
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Friday, October 16, 2015
"Before I was born, I already knew how to love" for Cathleen Luna
Cathleen Luna and Christopher Luna
Flushing Meadows Corona Park, Spring 1972
Before I was born, I already knew how to love. All the knowledge I needed had already been transferred from my mother to me, through her amniotic fluid. A love that could not be hindered by alcohol or neglect. A love that shines in spite of the terrible shit that mothers and fathers do to their children. My mother evidence that evolution exists, because it manifested itself in a single generation.
What remains to be learned? Kindness,
compassion, understanding. How to refrain from being an asshole. How to keep my
mouth shut when impulse rather than intelligence drives my thought process.
A nanosecond’s difference between
nurturing or obliterating the one you love.
An infinitude of choices.
Fractions of seconds eternities in
which to fuck it all up or get it right.
The only constant is love.
Christopher Luna
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
New poem dedicated to my brother, Dan Luna, and my cousin, Christopher Washington
We All Share This Weight
In loving memory of Christopher Washington
and in the hope that Dan Luna remains in good health
Christopher Washington (RIP)
Every person
In every family
Is tied to every
other
By the same thread
Of blood, joy, and
sacrifice
No family escapes
Struggle,
heartbreak, and loss
Each time our
blood
Experiences infection,
we are all infected
Commits a crime,
we all bear the weight
Or is taken in a
flash of viscera and steel
We share the sense
of unfairness
In the suddenness
of its finality
And while all this
loss
Is as natural to
us as breathing
We persist in our
fight to protect each other
From its
inevitability
In our hearts
We dress your
wounds
Make amends
Forgive the
unforgivable
Do the time
Remind each other
to
Take caution
As we take to the
road
Brother
May I dress your
wounds
Take on your
burden
Drive the car for
awhile
I’d gladly put
myself in your place
If it would help
you escape the
Pain and death
promised to us all
Christopher Luna
September 2015
Dan and Christopher in Oregon
Summer 2014
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Writing Through Two Sets of Music by Rich Halley, Tim Du Roche and Friends at Alberta Street Pub, Portland June 19, 2015
Creative Music Guild Presents
John Gross, Reed Wallsmith, Andre
St. James, & Tim DuRoche
Alberta Street Pub, Portland, OR
June 19, 2015
fluctuations heartbreak
everything shrinks
to recede into the bell
crying out for the still
wailing (for) nothing
alternating currents
stripe seduction
two-tone tenderness
falls in line
synchronized inhale
together we
let it out
parallel yet distinct
bubbling up
play a form
“the slow game baby”
bold announcement
of intent
single bell chime
solitary thought crime
breathy spirals
brush pirouette
repetitive escape valve
forgive this swing
grated circularity
pull to and fro
the sorrow
the overseer
lover jilted
disrespected
turn away
threaded
muscularity
intoxicating
support
step unanticipated
conversing with the air
blowing through cilia
measured whisper
barely registers
like thumb
like cloth
drawn across
taut skin
http://www.timduroche.com/
Creative Music Guild Presents
Rich Halley, Michael Vlatkovich,
Clyde Reed, & Carson Halley
“CREATING STRUCTURE” Album Release
Alberta Street Pub, Portland, OR
June 19, 2015
“with that, we’re gonna start”
a conversation
round a dinner table
overlapping throughlines
both harmonic and dissonant
steady and stilted
time is malleable
yet fully framed
turns out that frame
is liquid
runs through and over
returns to the sand
lead, follow, rush
evaporate
intensely concentrated
high energy constructs
dance with life
refuse to lie still
hum w energy
molecular
in its ubiquity
don’t quit
ramp it
up – STOP
crawl
up and meander
drift
and slide
keep
it hot
Michael Vlatkovich, Carson Halley, Clyde Reed, and Rich Halley by Robert Pyle |
“dead of winter”
retroactive liar thrum
nearness of an idea
unspoken unaccepted
wipe a running tear
radiant and clear
both there and here
unkown
and serious
about
the mark that
lingers
the
pain that festers
leaving
heavy scars in its wake
see it (again)
we will dispute
once again
finish me
entrance me
*********
retroactive retraction
find our way into it
little bursts of air
overcome by proximity
add time
subtract grudge
move forward
a millimeter
break steel
she came
life about
finish
the cold
accept that
circumstances
have changed
symbolic gesture
tough time w that
just play
away forward
orderly shattering
systematic
dissolution
sanitary decay
we just breeze
that way
“the semblance of stealth”
a thousand march uphill
and finally ascend
like heaven Poppa
just as I always pictured it
lion smashes head on rocks
where’s the wisdom in that?
father time express
better catch it quick
round and round
assurance
resignation
“duo poly”
you don’t even know what that means
it means two of many
and you will now see what that means
two sway
meanness
to display
pulse
exhale spit
do
it all again
http://richhalley.com/
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