Author Archives: Tony Brown

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details.

Before you head out tonight…

It’s Not All Poetry Slam, Poetry Slam, Poetry Slam, you know.

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Come hear reasoned, careful and sensible criticism and commentary (HA!!!) on a variety of topics both poetic and otherwise here:

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/onword

Here’s the skinny, direct from ocvictor

Winter weather is here, so this Friday night you should cozy up by the fire and listen to two of my absolute favorite poets and people to hang with.

That’s right, Friday’s guests on The Eclectic Word will be none other than poets Tony Brown and Regie Gibson.

If anyone was waiting for this show to set the world on fire, this would be the installment. Turn on the Internet, cozy up to someone you love, and hold on for dear life.

7:00 tonight (Friday, Dec. 7). Be there. There will be laughter, kvetching, and as Regie said when we set this up…”let’s get ready to GRRRRUMMMMMMBLE….”

It’ll also be available as a podcast later on, too…so you can take the love with you.


Scattershot

It’s cold. It’s snowing off and on.

It’s winter in New England. Time for dark, and cold, and more night than day.

I’ve been running around crazy getting ready for a business trip, working at home, etc. Errands and such. Never made it to the Poets’ Asylum Craft Sale. I feel down and blue about this and many other things.

I dislike summer, but there are times when winter makes me more profoundly sad. This is one of those times.


Strangely Poetic

In 2007, radioactiveart resolves to…

Ask my boss for an apache.
Overcome my secret fear of leftist politics.
Cut down to ten punk esthetics a day.
Take evening classes in fugazi.
Go to the old guitars every month.
Spend more time with my fighting knives.

Get your own New Year’s Resolutions:


badgaryhas a painting up in his journal that I’m in love with.


guess who got

a Pushcart Prize nomination?

http://ocvictor.livejournal.com/606408.html

Honored, humbled, and…wow, the company I’m in…


Duende? Not tonight…or last night, for that matter…

Well, the Duende show turned into a Tony solo show last night…due to a bartender at the Vernon who decided to be a hardass and who wasn’t informed about the fact that bars with entertainment licenses in MA are allowed to have performers under 21 if they don’t drink. She tossed Faro out unceremoniously without an apology or chance of appeal AFTER we’d set up all the equipment.

Bobby, the host, was mortified. I had talked to him about Faro’s age earlier when we set up the gig, of course, and we assumed the usual rules would apply (never had this problem anywhere else), but this was a new bartender and not amenable to discourse.

We consulted outside. My first reaction was to simply cancel — no Faro, no Tony — and if we had been anywhere else but a mile away from home, we would have. But Bobby’s assured us that we can get the situation remedied and come back in the future, so we mutually decided to not bail on the gig entirely and take care of the reading (which is slowly building steam) and the audience with me solo, while Faro and Capri and Missy and Chris went back home and hung out playing guitars and such.

In retrospect, I think it was the right decision for this gig and this gig alone because of the circumstances — but in the future, if someone books us and then has an issue at the gig itself, it’s a cancelled gig.

The old school audience got an old-school set — I skipped all the material we do as Duende (with the exception of “Chrysler” which I perform solo on “Americanized” and which was requested) and for most of the set I went WAY back for poems I haven’t done regularly in years:

Why I Killed The Buddha
Poem For Eddie (these two are from REALLY old chapbooks, and date back more than ten years)
Punk/Seafoam Green (I still do “Punk” often, but rarely include the companion piece anymore)
Jazz Under The Nazis
Chrysler
Light and Glass
First Letter Home
6AM, Hell’s Ditch, USA
Aunt Mary’s Family
Radioactive Artist (something I still do regularly, but a traditional closer)

Good times. At the Ship reading, you get paid “stripper style” — money in the belt, on the stage, between the man-boobs (or woman-boobs if that’s whatcha got) and it was a decent payday. Add in Bobby giving some money to Faro for gas and sorrow, and we ended up OK money wise when all was said and done.

It’s a shame we didn’t get to do the set we’d planned — we were going to do “Jim’s Fall” start to finish and then toss in some other stuff including some likely improv work — but all in all it was OK. I still feel bad about the mixup, but now this makes it IMPERATIVE that you come see us on December 14 at Storytellers, of course, where we’ll be doing the Worcester premiere of “Americanized” in its entirety with a few choice bits added.

Onward, Duende…


Duende tonight!!!

Come to Ze Ship, he said…the Ship at the Hotel Vernon, of course…and see the wonders of the world! Long Bar! Cheap, cold beer!! A Parrot!!!!

AND…of course, me ‘n’ Faro doin’ our thing.

Show up early, stay late, read poems, drink beers, and suchlike. Throw money at the stage (fer real, cause that’s how we get paid unless you buy our stuff). Wheeee!!! Avast, Esteban…!!! Belay that. I have no idea what I’m talking about. Come anyway!!!


Once again…

A fine and exciting night of poetry and music last night at GP Live.

Faro took on sole backup duties last night on both guitar and bass, and rocked the place. Some real standout performances including Adam (from behind the counter) ripping up an excellent rhythmic poem, dkeali_i doing his oracle piece and another fine cover by an Hawaiian poet whose name escapes me, and Michel’s harrowing addiction piece.

Faro and I had some fun with our parts of the show last night, opening the evening with an improv poem over a guitar line, doing “Americanized” to close the first half, and then (by request) creating an impromptu bass/vocal version of “Conspiracy” to end the night’s poetry, following which he laid down a massive solo of tapped harmonics and all that good stuff.

And, thanks to the mad skillz of John Powers ( johnpowers ), we Webcast the whole thing, which is likely to be a feature of the reading in the future. Video was saved. I’ll let you know if it becomes available. (It was a spur of the moment attempt, so we didn’t make a prior announcement of it — there weren’t a lot of viewers from what I understand, although I hear brags2bitches made it for most of the show.)

For her and anyone else who was listening/watching, I’d like to personally apologize for the octopus joke…but you should blame theryk for telling me the joke in the first place, so direct any real ire his way. I merely channel the Master.

Next week, it’s new poem night and a feature by Chris Chandler.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duende will be at the Ship (Hotel Vernon) in Worcester on Thursday! We’re planning a loose but interesting set — some old stuff (possibly even a full performance of the “Jim’s Fall” suite) — and perhaps more of the improv stuff we did last night, in prep for future recording…our next project is looming on the horizon, a CD of poems and music where we switch up the usual process and Faro takes the lead, writing a set of music I’ll then write poems to.

We’ll also be doing the full “Americanized” album, front to back, for only the second time live on December 14 when we feature at the Storytellers reading at the Village Arts Center in Worcester. Not to be missed.

At the moment, we’ve only got one other gig planned in the near future, but it’s gonna be good — February 18 as part of Richard Cambridge’s Poets’ Theater series at Club Passim in Cambridge, as a guest of urbanitus when he features there. We’ll be doing a short set, 20-30 minutes or so.

If anyone is interested in having us feature, let me know — we’re probably sticking close to home for the winter, but after that we’ll see what’s what. (NYC is definitely on the prospect list for winter “close to home” if anyone’s interested down there, by the way.)

More later, maybe…till then, happy trails…


Great Duende Pic…

Faro had this on his Myspace…it might be my favorite picture of the two of us.

Not bad, eh? Thank god he’s the eye candy in the act…


texts (next draft)

I finally got a “third hook” for this at Thanksgiving. Changed some lines, shifted emphasis, etc. Comments welcome and needed.

” In a 1971 magazine piece about women’s liberation, Mailer compared the dehumanization of technology to the effect of feminists, who he said were abolishing the “mystery, romance” and “blind, goat-kicking lust from sex,”
— from an Associated Press obituary of Norman Mailer, November 10, 2007

on the Friday night
before Norman Mailer died
at age 84
in a New York City hospital

a 17 year old boy was dragged
to a women’s poetry reading
in a bookstore
300 miles away

finding himself for the first time in his life
outnumbered and rendered
apparently irrelevant
by hundreds of women of all kinds

openly being
all kinds of
woman
all he could think of to do

was text a friend
a couple of times
first to say
lol they’re singing lesbo songs

then
after more time
and more poems
had passed

norming
what is maler
he
typed

wtf
i feel mad weird
some of these girlz
r manlier than me

did he really mean to say
i feel mad    romance
mad    blind
goat-kicking lust

or
some of
these girlz r    
abolishing the mystery

Norman Mailer died a few hours later
unaware of all this
still pugnacious right down
to his failed kidneys

he who once stabbed his wife
loathed feminism
boxed everything
typed incessantly

thumbs flying

two weeks later
women at a holiday table
are sitting around discussing
the scars on their arms and fingers

gotten at work
on machine presses
from hot grease
and kitchen knives

all of them say
worker’s comp told them
the amount of money they were owed
for the wounds

depended entirely
on how pretty they were
before the cutting
and burning began

that boy got up
and left a world
of women behind
without hearing a thing

norman mailer
died with his last thoughts
twitching in his own blunt
fingers

poets
take their cut
at fashioning
new armies of the night

but not all of us
are prone to mutter
when something
is picking at our scars

some just get back up
their handsome faces set
pushing their bodies through
their hands open in spite of the script

but do not mistake that for acceptance
remember
these girlz r
mad


Upcoming shows

Just some notes to plan by…

Tuesday, Nov. 27: It’s the second of our “Music and Poetry Nights” at Gotpoetry Live in Providence, where we put together music with poetry. Faro’s stopping by as house bassist for the night, and folks are welcome to bring other instruments as well. The last one kicked butt.

Thursday, Nov. 29th: Duende will be the feature at the Kelly Square Slam Club, AKA the Hotel Vernon, AKA the Ship, in Kelly Square in Worcester. Bobby Gibbs runs this new and growing reading, and the Vernon’s got the coldest beer in Worcester. Come pay us stripper style, as is the custom here — toss money at us, or tuck it into Faro’s belt (mine’s too necessary to loosen enough to put money in).

Friday, Dec. 14: We’ll be featuring at Storytellers at the Village Arts Club in Worcester, doing the second full performance of “Americanized.” Come see the album in its entirety! Come see Faro do “Carol of the Bells” on the bass, solo, with all the parts!

Love to see you…c’mon down.


Orangeday

It’s an orange day
rage or warmth
could go either way

and that indigo
behind my eyes
is waiting to see what’s next

waiting to change
or remain the same
in the face of ambiguous blaze

there are people
(so I’m told)
who can steady themselves

with little effort
naming their colors
as they desire

such choice is a deity
I fear I’ll never be able
to worship

without a wet offering
on sun-hot stones reddening
then drying to brown

rust across the surface
of a mundane altar —
all I have to go on is that

the way I play on an orange day
leads me by the eyes
toward night or dawn

and I don’t ever know
what I’ll see because
I don’t know whether I’ll end there


Affluence and its discontents

you try to live a life
that will let you sleep
on a stormy night.

do whatever you will
to be comfortable
and something will still
poke into your back
through the mattress
as you lie awake at night
wondering,

what was that sound?

roll over,
slip your hand
under the pillow —
what’s there
and how long has it
been yours? where did it
come from?

do you think you’d use it
if you had to?

you’re positive
that someone’s looking for it.
you fear a lot
from both the haves
and have-nots,
but the most dangerous people
in any society
are the built-upons
and the used-to-haves.

so —

which are you?
are you either?
are you neither?
are you both?
are you a danger to anyone?
would everyone seeing you
agree? and —

what are you building?
what are you building it with?
who will you let through the door
when you’re done?

no matter the answers,
you’re always gonna wonder
about that sound.

lock up.


I will likely be unpleasant

for several days.

Every year, I get to read indignant letters about Thanksgiving on my various mailing lists and friends’ lists from my liberal and lefty friends regarding their disdain for the holiday because of the American genocide. I only hear about that disdain and concern then, of course, because November (and to some extent October, for Columbus Day) are the official designated months for Caring About The Native Plight, which is usually framed within some sort of reference to Sandy Creek, Wounded Knee, and a host of other historical tragedies. In tone, these letters and posts sound kinda like they’re lamenting the extinction of the dodo bird, except of course the dodo bird is actually extinct.

I also receive letters in my inbox from folks who exhort me to buy nothing today, consuming oil resources and cash money on electronic communications over boxes filled with heavy metals and toxins to urge me to save the environment through righteous non-consumption.

It’s cold in the Northeast today. I hope they have their heat off — all the way off.

I’m sorry if this comes off as mean-spirited and reactionary (trust me, o lefty brothers and sisters, I’m still Down For The Cause even if I call you occasionally on your inconsistencies). But flavor of the month bullshit makes me angry. It makes me sad and bitter.

It makes me crazy.


As a person with significant Native background, I just wanted to say that I had a great time yesterday among friends. In my eyes, what something is now may no longer reflect how it started. That’s how I treat Thanksgiving.

I know there were some folks on my friends’ list who posted about the Native genocide as a reason to not celebrate the holiday. That’s fine. I understand the impulse and honor the outrage — trust me when I say that I share it.

But I’m just curious as to the nature of outrage as I question why no one responded at all to my post a day or two ago about a current bit of Native oppression along the Texas/Mexico border:

http://radioactiveart.livejournal.com/659075.html

It’s not just about the past. It’s about the here and now, too.

With respect,
T