uconn

Tree Box

Poetry box as-Tree sculpture by Randall Paterson, poem by Alexander Waid, University of Connecticut, Avery-Point, Ct.

Poetry box by Randall Paterson

Raven Night Love
by Alexander Waid

Night sheltered us
in her raven wings
as we embraced
on the shore
with no more
walls to close us in
than the sea and the sky.
The world lapped us
a lullaby
and entranced us with a dance
of red fish in the sky.
We loved that night.
Waves rolled,
the tide came and went.
We left as blood drew the curtains
on the raven wings
that had held us safe.

Poem by Alexander Waid. Professor Waid completed his Ph.D. in Romance Languages and Literature in 2000 at the University of Chapel Hill in North Carolina. He has taught at UNC-Chapel Hill, Carnegie Mellon University and currently teaches at the United States Coast Guard Academy, where he was hired to restart the then-defunct language program. His research areas include Cultural Studies and Film, Technology Enhanced Language Learning and U.S. Latino Poetry. He has published numerous poems and articles, presented at regional, national and international conferences and his latest book, a translation of Miguel de Unamuno's "Tres historias más" was published December, 2013. He is currently working on a book-length project which seeks to understand the philosophical and psychological underpinning of the Spanish Civil War through the lens of Don Quixote's madness as expressed by Miguel de Cervantes. Dr. Waid resides in Mystic with his wife and their two children. He can often be found running, hiking and biking through the local trails.
Poetry box by Randall Paterson.

Barcelo Box

Barcelo Box

Poetry box by Diane Barceló

It is the silk that rustles
by Michael Bradford

it is the silk that rustles

not her thighs

you dream of them

flitting about

a gleaming burst of gold and copper flint

beneath a light sea of sheets

a light scent of rain

woven through the sweltering breeze


it is the silk that rustles

and gathers at her feet

in tiny waves

you see how they form,

gathering armies

marching across the terrain of her flesh

for the theatre of my desire

you see how it all disappears

into the crevice of her thighs

and is reborn


of course, you will remember

the moment you realize

a certain kind of death

is inevitable

 
Poem by Michael Bradford
Poetry box by Diane Barceló (b. 1957, Hartford, Connecticut, USA) received her B.F.A. from the Corcoran School of Art, Washington, DC in 1982 and her MFA in sculpture from the University of Maryland, College Park in 1989.
Residencies include IPARK (East Haddam, Connecticut), the Banff Center for the Arts (Alberta, Canada), Byrdcliffe Artists Colony (Woodstock, NY), a foundry internship at Johnson Atelier (Trenton, New Jersey) and the Griffis Foundation (Sophia, Bulgaria). Awards include the 2006 sculpture fellowship from the Connecticut Commission on Culture and Tourism. Her mixed media installations, works on paper and photography have been shown in galleries and museums in the United States such as the Mattatuck Museum, the University of Connecticut (Avery Point and Stamford Campuses), The Corcoran Gallery of Art, Mitchell College, Roanoke College and Rosemont College. Her work has been reviewed in The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Washington Post, The Washington Review, The Observer and The C-ville review. Diane Barcelo lives and works in New London, Connecticut.  http://postmedium.org/dianebarcelo, or http://picasaweb.google.com/dianebarcelo

Flores Box

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Poetry box by Ana Flores

Sigue Caminando (Keep Walking)
by Ana Flores

 

My father the architect held the end of the measuring tape.

Keep walking, he yelled to me

In Spanish as the feet rolled out and his cigar fumed.

We were standing in pine woods finding the lot for our new home.

His ashes fell on dry needles. His smoke

Caught in the branches.

 

Cuba and Connecticut share nothing except the sea.

Now we lived in Connecticut but we didn’t live by the sea.

When we drove to the beach my mother sat under her umbrella

And my father wore dark glasses.

I swam.

 

I keep the ocean and his tape near.

His tape translates fragments of my life so cleanly:

The width of windows for new curtains, The area of wall that needs paint,

The run of the deer fencing protecting the vegetable garden.

 

Last week: A storm hit. I walked the beach.

Behind me Piping plovers chased and Engineers measured

The salt line that erased our nests.



Poetry box and poem by Ana Flores, sculptor, ecological designer, curator, and activist. Her sculptural work focusing on cultural and ecological narratives is shown internationally and included in private, corporate and institutional collections throughout the United States and abroad. For almost two decades she has been promoting interdisciplinary dialogue and groundbreaking collaborations between the arts and sciences. She has worked with communities to design award-winning outdoor installations, parks, and programming that engage people with the cultural and natural history of their local landscapes. Flores developed Poetry of the Wild in 2003 while she was an artist in residence at the Wood River Watershed Association. The project has been traveling throughout the United States for a decade now.

Flores has been invited as a visiting artist and lecturer throughout North America, Canada, Great Britain, and New Zealand. She has also taught for many years, at the Rhode Island School of Design she created numerous community-centered courses focused on the environment and healing. She maintains a studio in Rhode Island and Nova Scotia, Canada, for more on her work visit: earthinform.com

Schultz Box

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Poetry box by Susan Schultz

A Human Error

by Nancy Willard

 

All alone on the sand it stood.

 

A moon snail, big as a peach,

shining as if the sea lit it

to give the drowned a decent burial.

I admired its chalky armor, a house

for an anchorite polisted with prayers,

or a slim girl tucked into a tower.

 

When the firest wave covered it,

I thought of the tide, of moon snails broken

and tossed aside. I thought

of their corridors without footfalls,

of their turrets without pennants

cracked open to shadowns and voices.

I thought of the morning light opening

and closing, and the stars rising.

 

I watched the sea place ist beautiful coffing

on the dark page of the sand.

When the waves pulled back,

I sprang forward. I grabbed the moon snail.

The dark mushroom of its body

spilled into my hand like a velvet sleeve.

Its frilly flesh grasped mine. I threw it down.

Safe now, It tried to refold itself.

 

Uncrinkling its pleats, disordered by fear,

it sank, disheveled and blind, into dand,

as if through a trapdoor on a bare stage.

Does the taint of my hand haunt it?

Does its muschel remember me? Baffled

by light, by sweat, by a shape not its own,

does it go on smoothing itself like laundry

washing me out of its simple body?

 
Poetry box by Susan Schultz, born in Springfield, Illinois, she received a B.F.A. from the College of the Dayton Art Institute. She lives and works in Stonington, Connecticut and Westport, Massachusetts, small coastal towns. Her daily walks, and what she collects along the shoreline influence her work.
She is the past recipient of a University of Rhode Island Visual Arts Sea Grant and a Connecticut Commission on the Arts Individual Artist Fellowship. She has participated in artist residencies in the US, France, and Italy. Recent solo exhibitions include the Ogunquit Museum of Art, and the University of Connecticut.
Susan’s current work relates to the ocean and the environment. She visited European and eastern U.S. beaches and collected natural and man-made objects. She transformed these objects, using porcelain, into three dimensional still lives, specific to a time and place.
Poem by Nancy Willard an award-winning, versatile author of dozens of volumes of children's fiction and poetry, as well as novels, poetry, short stories, and literary criticism for adults. The first recipient of a Newbery Medal for a volume of poetry, Willard mingles the "magical and the mundane" in a technique that "requires a leap of faith on the part of the reader," according to Sybil Steinberg in a Publishers Weekly interview with the author. As E. Charles Vousden and Laura Ingram pointed out in their Dictionary of Literary Biography entry: "Everything [Willard] writes affirms her belief in the 'magic view of life;' that is, a view of life that incorporates the imagination and stresses the appropriateness of things meant to be taken metaphorically." She recently retired from Vassar College, where she was professor then lecturer, so she could focus more on her writing.
 

Neruda Box

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Poetry box by Julia Pavone

Here
by Pablo Neruda

I came here to count the bells
that live upon the surface of the sea,
that sound over the sea,
within the sea.


So, here I live.



Poetry box by Julia Pavone, co-founder and Curator/Director of the Alexey von Schlippe Gallery of Art, at the University of Connecticut’s Avery Point Campus for the past 21 years. She has taught courses in Studio Art and Art History at UConn over the past 24 years. Julia has continued her own work as a painter, over the last 35 years, creating large abstract and mixed media paintings and most recently working in Encaustics and found object paintings. Her work has been in numerous exhibitions in galleries regionally as well as New York City, Boston, and Bulgaria.

Poem by Pablo Neruda.

Madacsi Box

David Madasci opening up his Bouy box

Poetry box by David Madasci

Rising waters churn,

Tenuous moorings straining...

Oblivious storm.

Poetry box and poem by David Madacsi. Following a full academic career in the discipline of physics, University of Connecticut professor emeritus David Madacsi has spent the last ten years actively pursuing an encore career in the visual arts. His creative work, including photography, found object assemblage, and environmental installation, is often informed by his insight into the workings of the physical world. He also writes and lectures on the subject of “the interconnectedness of light, art, and place.” David is the co-founder (1993) and associate curator of the Alexey von Schlippe Gallery of Art at UConn Avery Point. He is an elected artist member of both the Mystic Arts Center and of the Connecticut Academy of Fine Arts, and is a fellow of the I-Park Artists’ Enclave. He has benefited from numerous artist residencies, most recently a month as a resident artist at the Cill Rialaig Project in Ballinskelligs, County Kerry, Ireland--where he experienced and attempted to photograph “the soft light of Ireland.”

David Madacsi davidmadacsi.com