The Fifth Binghamton International Poetry Fifth Binghamton International Poetry Festival October 15, 3 ... Coffee Break Emily Skillings, ... and Screenwriting

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<ul><li><p> . </p><p>The Harpur College Deans Office and the Department of Romance Languages at Binghamton University present </p><p>Crossroads </p><p>The Fifth </p><p>Binghamton </p><p> International </p><p>Poetry Festival </p><p>October 15, 3 - 7 p.m. </p><p>The Atrium at the </p><p>Binghamton University </p><p>Downtown Center </p><p> Featuring: </p><p> Funding is provided, in part, by: The Office of the Vice President for Research, and the Convocation Committee at Binghamton University. </p><p>Roberta Borger </p><p>Jessica Femiani </p><p>Peter Fulton Mahmood Karim-Hakak </p><p>Mario Moroni </p><p>Emily Skillings Yvan Tetelbom </p><p>Joe Weil / Emily Vogel </p></li><li><p>Order of Events </p><p> 3 p.m. - Coffee and Pastries served in The Atrium of the Downtown Center </p><p>3 - 4 p.m. Poetry readings by students of the Creative Writing Program at Binghamton University </p><p> Coffee break 4:30 p.m. Poetry performances Peter Fulton, Mahmood Karimi-Hakak, Mario Moroni </p><p> Coffee Break </p><p> Emily Skillings, Yvan Tetelbom, Joe Weil / Emily Vogel </p><p> Our Presenters </p><p>Our Presenters </p><p> ROBERTA BORGER is originally from So Paulo, Brazil, where she studied Filmmaking </p><p>and Screenwriting. After moving to the U.S. in 2008, she earned a second Bachelor's </p><p>degree in Creative Writing from SUNY Purchase, and an M.F.A from Chatham </p><p>University. Borger is currently pursuing her PhD at Binghamton University. Her poems, </p><p>short stories, and photographs have appeared in The Voices Project, On the Rusk, </p><p>Lux, The Acentos Review, K Magazine, and others. </p><p> The Victory </p><p>A traditional tree tries to trespass on a trellis territory with a trifling trot over the transitional </p><p>terrain. But the trimmed trellis is not tranquilized by the trees trivial trajectory, translating the </p><p>intrusion as a type of treachery. And so, she treats the transgression as a troubling threat to </p><p>the treaty for truce the tree and the trellis had traded. With trust trampled over, the tricky </p><p>trellis triggers a tremendous strike, trekking its trained troops over the traitors trunk, until </p><p>tragically, the tree is trounced and traumatized, and the triumphant trellis trods over the trees </p><p>trails. </p><p>The train </p><p>I go </p><p>I go </p><p>I go </p><p>Tunnel </p><p>Now I go </p><p>I really go </p><p>Now I go </p><p>I really go </p><p>I bring joy </p><p>I bring tears </p><p>I bring hope </p><p>And many </p><p>fears </p><p>Every day </p><p>All the way </p><p>A single </p><p>chance </p><p>To take a </p><p>stand </p><p>I fight alone </p><p>All on my own </p><p>Because I </p><p>need </p><p>A lot of soul </p><p>A bunch of </p><p>soul </p><p>Always soul </p><p>Living soul </p><p>Give me soul </p><p>I've got </p><p>Coal </p><p>To think about </p><p>Look around </p><p>Give a shout </p><p>Make it loud </p><p>Make a change </p><p>Make it strange </p><p>Smother rage </p><p>Like the mange </p><p>I fight the gas </p><p>I fight the fog </p><p>I search for light </p><p>Say goodbye </p><p>Say farewell </p><p>See you in </p><p>heaven </p><p>And they in hell </p><p>Down I slow </p><p>With the flow </p><p>Take a guy </p><p>And take a girl </p><p>As I stop </p><p>As I rest </p><p>Pass the town </p><p>Pass the city </p><p>Pass the </p><p>people </p><p>Pass the pity </p><p>On the faces </p><p>Of some races </p><p>On all places </p><p>Where I ride </p><p>Where I slide </p><p>Keep on trying </p><p>Keep on lying </p><p>For the people </p><p>Who keep </p><p>dying </p><p>Yellow stars </p><p>In my cars </p><p>Doesnt matter </p><p>More the </p><p>better </p><p>And so I blow </p><p>So I know </p><p>So I grow </p><p>So I show </p><p>Every one </p><p>Every thing </p><p>Every try </p><p>I can begin </p><p>Moving along </p><p>I take the grief </p><p>With the belief </p><p>I take the sorrow </p><p>And bring the </p><p>morrow </p><p>Peace of mind </p><p>Change of heart </p><p>Steel and iron </p><p>From the start </p><p>As I hope </p><p>For the best </p><p>JESSICA FEMIANI was born in NYC, reared in Rockland County, and headed back to </p><p>NYC after college. She lives in upstate New York, is pursuing a Ph.D. in English and </p><p>Creative Writing at SUNY Binghamton, and reads aloud to whomever, whenever and </p><p>wherever. </p></li><li><p>Our Presenters Our Presenters </p><p> PETER FULTON is a Massachusetts poet. His first hearing Dylan Thomas perform Under </p><p>Milk Wood inspired Peter to write and perform a verse drama entitled Death of a Worn </p><p>Man. This was followed by a collection of poems entitled Boulders in Ice; a novella with </p><p>original songs entitled Silicon in Sand; a book of poems and photographs in collaboration </p><p>with sculptor McAlister Coleman entitled Figures; and a chapbook and CD entitled How </p><p>to Carve an Angel - with original compositions by four outstanding musicians. How to </p><p>Carve an Angel was premiered at the International Poetry Festival in Swansea, Wales in </p><p>the Dylan Thomas Theatre in June 2011. Peters latest work is an interactive multimedia </p><p>ebook entitled flying stones that can be enjoyed without charge or obligation at </p><p> </p><p>MAHMOOD KARIMI-HAKAK, President of Festival Cinema </p><p>Invisible, is a poet, author, translator and film and theatre artist who </p><p>has created over 60 stage and screenplays in the U.S., Europe and his native Iran. He is a </p><p>recipient of four international awards including Raymond C. Kennedy 2005 and Fulbright </p><p>2009-10. Mahmoods literary credits include six plays, four books of poetry, several </p><p>translations from and into Persian and numerous articles and interviews in both English </p><p>and Persian. Dr. Karimi-Hakak has taught at Towson, Southern Methodists and New York </p><p>City universities as well as universities in Antwerp, Tilburg, Tel Aviv and Tehran. Presently </p><p>he serves as Professor of Creative Arts at Siena College in New York. </p><p>being Wright </p><p> you must know what Bernoulli knew - </p><p>Bernoulli who, with mathematical gifts, </p><p>drew from thin air the lift through wind </p><p>on wing to levitation otherwise, </p><p>you should have died from the sheer weight </p><p>of medical benediction, awaiting your time </p><p>to expire when predicted so many years ago. </p><p> instead you float as a bright star </p><p>draped in a black tux onto the stage </p><p>for us to recognize your lifes work - </p><p>your robes concealing your frail </p><p>resistance to tumors creeping through. </p><p> surely Bernoulli would have been </p><p>so honored too, just before the orchestra </p><p>played its cue for him to end </p><p>his thank you and depart, </p><p>leaving us to question the probable </p><p>how and why </p><p>in our uncertain heart of hearts. </p><p> sometimes its better not to be right </p><p>but just to believe: even stones can fly. </p><p> 2011 Peter Fulton </p><p> from flying stones at mediafusionarts. </p><p> </p><p>Courtesy of The Seventh Quarry Poetry Press; </p><p>Peter Thabit Jones, Editor </p><p>If my world in my control! </p><p> If the world </p><p>in my control! </p><p>Days begin with sunrise </p><p>end with sunset. </p><p>Nights born in moontide </p><p>die in moondusk </p><p>No light prisms </p><p>the sun and </p><p>the moon. </p><p>*** </p><p>If the world </p><p>In my control! </p><p>People breathe peace! </p><p>Fire is honored </p><p>and water too. </p><p>Earth is worshiped </p><p>and creatures on earth, </p><p>and winds, </p><p>and rains, </p><p>and stars. *** </p><p>If the world </p><p>in my control! </p><p>Colors are shown </p><p>as they are </p><p>Grass, green. </p><p>Sky, blue. </p><p>Blood, red. </p><p>Blood, maroon. </p><p>Blood, red. </p><p> If the world </p><p>in my control </p><p>Everyone lives for a reason </p><p>and dies for a cause. </p><p> And death </p><p>wont be </p><p>the end of all. </p><p>he living speak language </p><p>understood by death </p><p>(claimed, and </p><p>unclaimed) </p><p> If the world in my </p><p>control. Beauty is </p><p>caressed and </p><p>justice is just. </p><p> Decision </p><p>evolves </p><p>deed. </p><p> If the world </p><p>in my control </p><p>Woman, man </p><p>create </p><p>god. </p><p> Mahmood Karimi-Hakak, 1991 </p><p>*** </p></li><li><p>Our Presenters Our Presenters </p><p> MARIO MORONI was born in Italy. He moved to the United States in 1989. He has taught at </p><p>Yale University, the University of Memphis, Colby College, he currently teaches Italian at </p><p>Binghamton University. Mario Moroni has published eight volumes of poetry and one of </p><p>poetic prose. In 1989 he was awarded the Lorenzo Montano prize for poetry. His poems </p><p>have been published in numerous journals and anthologies. As a critic, Mario Moroni </p><p>has published Essere e fare (Luis, 1991), La presenza complessa (Longo, 1998), and Al </p><p>limite (Le Monnier, 2007). He has co-edited three collections of essays: Italian Modernism with L. Somigli (U. of Toronto Press, 2004), From Eugenio Montale to Amelia Rossellii, with </p><p>J. Butcher (Troubador Press, 2004), and Neoavanguardia, with P. Chirumbolo and </p><p>L.Somigli (U. of Toronto Press, 2010). In 2006 he released Reflections on Icarus Lands, a </p><p>DVD of poetry, music, and images in collaboration with composerJon Hallstrom. He has </p><p>performed his poem Reciting the Ashes with piano music by composer David Gaita in </p><p>various venues in the US and Europe. </p><p>EMILY SKILLINGS is the author of two chapbooks: Backchannel (Poor Claudia) and Linnaeus: </p><p>The 26 Sexual Practices of Plants (No, Dear/ Small Anchor Press). Her first full-length </p><p>collection of poetry, Fort Not, will be published by The Song Cave in 2017. Recent poems can </p><p>be found/are forthcoming in Brooklyn Rail, BOMB, Hyperallergic, LitHub, jubilat, Pleiades, </p><p>Phantom Limb, and Washington Square. Formally trained in ballet and modern dance, she has </p><p>performed with The Commons Choir (Dara Fan and Robert Kocik) and the A.O. Movement </p><p>Collective and her choreography has been presented at Dixon Place, Triskelion Arts, Spoke </p><p>the Hub and The New School. She lives in Brooklyn, where she is a member of the </p><p>Belladonna* Collaborative, a feminist poetry collective and event series. Skillings is an MFA </p><p>candidate at Columbia University and runs the Earshot reading series with Allyson Paty. She </p><p>is the recipient of a 2017 Pushcart Prize</p><p>The Hour of Rest </p><p>End of the flood, of the great rains. </p><p>End of the journey, </p><p>of the miles counted over the years. </p><p>Until there is even an end to the endless self-obsession, </p><p>Of the vacillating mirror hung daily. </p><p>Canary I held my canary out for you when you said your canary felt a little droopy. Your canary was a ruby drop in my frosty glass of canary. The canary between us grew for many days. I wanted to fight the canary, but you held me back. </p><p>The officer shot the unarmed canary on a canary I used to walk down every day. When you touched the canary underneath my knee a balloon filled with canary in an eastern corner. The sound of unmarked canaries overhead frightened the rural hospital. The president has never commented publicly on the controversial canary program. </p><p>Can you remember where that canary was that we tried so many years ago? Oh, that canary feels so goodjust like that. The canaries carry electricity to our houses in even smaller canaries. When the activists passed out yellow canaries I took one and read it. A canary is born every 8 seconds. </p><p>I log onto the large canary to check how my canary is faring. When I go to the supermarket, I check the codes on the canaries to make sure they are not genetically modified canaries. Many canaries suffer. </p><p>She pressed a thumb into my muscle and all the canary was released into me. When I went outside I saw the sky, it was filled with canary. You held the canary up to my face. You vibrated the canary at a new frequency. You said the best time for canaries was 11:30 am. </p></li><li><p>Our Presenters Our Presenters </p><p> Basement Delivery </p><p>Having lived so long without one, we forgot </p><p>what a basement felt likehow it seemed </p><p>to the carriers, to the inhabitants, </p><p>the structures, that there was an underneathness </p><p>to all that daily interaction and exchange </p><p>i.e. an empty teacup hovering just above a pool. </p><p>On the day the basement was delivered </p><p>pink air made its way underneath the canopy. </p><p>Ten strong women arrived to pump it through the ground, </p><p>evicting domestic earthworms, telepathic moss </p><p>and scarce minerals. An important rivulet was rerouted. </p><p>The sub-story attached and crystallized like in that dream. </p><p>The whole procedure only took a few minutes. </p><p>In the presence of a basement, our history was whisked, </p><p>indexed into a ladder, roped downour kidneys and lungs </p><p>wrung out. We stood around slowly. We were cooled </p><p>and stored. In the parlor, at first blush of waking, </p><p>our usual words and arrangements seemed normal enough, </p><p>but then that lower sound, that kept air, funneled up to us. </p><p>A collection freed itself. It was again again. Leave no stone </p><p>already. </p><p>YVAN TETELBOM was born in Algeria (Kabylia) in Port - Gueydon (Azzefoun) in 1947. His </p><p>family spoke Yiddish mixed Kabyle (an Amasigh langage) and French. He had a carefree </p><p>upbringing in a kabyle village on the Mediterranean in spite of the war between Algeria and </p><p>France. Tetelbom moved to France in 1962, after the Algerian independence. He then </p><p>discovered a passion for the French language. At the age of sixteen, he attended a poetry </p><p>recital by Jean Marc Tennberg at the Municipal Theater of Orleans It was a revelation, his </p><p>vocation for poetry was born. Tatelbom is an author of SACEM (Society of Authors </p><p>Composers and Publishers of Music) and the SACD (Society of Dramatic Authors and </p><p>Composers). He studied as a comedian at the Ren Simon school in Paris and sang his </p><p>own songs in public places. In 1985 he decided to perform as an actor-poet, reciting his own </p><p>poems with just his naked voice on stages in France and abroad . Among thousands of </p><p>shows : the tour in Israel and the Palestinian territories, Paris, Rome, London, Genve, </p><p>Budapest, Brussels, Geneva, Istanbul, Algiers and many others. Tetelbom usually performs </p><p>his poetry at national and international literary festivals and events in a variety of venues and </p><p>countries. He experiments with the slam and many other forms of interpretation. For all his </p><p>life he has worked in prisons, schools, universities, and very recently at Sciences Po , a </p><p>great school for future politicians, where he talked about poetry to initiate the youth to think </p><p>differently. Tetelbom especially likes these words written for him by </p><p>Alessandro Gebreziabiher, an organizer of a festival in Rome : "I </p><p>appreciated very much your energy, I love revolutionary forces. In my </p><p>modest opinion, art must always to be revolutionary, if it is not, then it's not </p><p>art." He organized many poetry events in France and in the world, including </p><p>the International Poetry Festival in Paris. </p><p>He published : Damour et de rvolte , Je reviens en Algrie chercher </p><p>les fragments manquants , Les migrants . </p><p>Identit </p><p>Comment dfinir </p><p>lorigine de la vie </p><p>le mystre de la mort </p><p>lattrait de linfini </p><p>lenvie dtre plus fort </p><p>entre ce qui sefface </p><p>et ce qui va venir </p><p>pour crer son espace </p><p>pour mieux se dfinir </p><p>Identity </p><p>How to apprehend </p><p> Life form's Origins? </p><p>Death Mysteries ? </p><p>Attraction to the infinity? </p><p>The compulsion to be stronger </p><p>Between what is fading away </p><p>And what is to come </p><p>To create One's own space </p><p>To become a better expression of Self Realisation </p><p>Naplouse </p><p>Je me prparais au feu et au sang </p><p>au combat de rues sous le ciel rebelle </p><p> la passion de vivre au got de pierres </p><p>je croyais que je vivrais en enfer </p><p>dans le hurlement des fuites en avant </p><p>je mattendais la misre partout </p><p>jai vu Naplouse au milieu des toiles </p><p>mme les coqs chantaient des pomes damour </p><p>Naplouse, Naplouse, jai arrach ton voile </p><p>et te voilnue et viergesoudain </p><p>Naplouse </p><p>I got ready for fire and blood </p><p>street battle under the rebel sky, </p><p>the passion to live with a stony taste </p><p>I believed my life would be Hell </p><p>in the howl of escapes forward </p><p>I expected misery everywhere </p><p>I saw Naplouse amongst the stars </p><p>even cockerels sang love Poems, </p><p>Naplouse, Naplouse, I tore off your veil </p><p>and, suddenly, you are here naked and virgin </p><p>Translated by: Christine Maffei </p></li><li><p>Our Present...</p></li></ul>