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Monday, January 30, 2017

EPIC Radio Podcasts: Fanny Interviews legendary labor organizer Stewart...

EPIC Radio Podcasts: Fanny Interviews legendary labor organizer Stewart...: Fanny interviews legendary organizer Stewart Acuff Jan 24th, 2017 by democracyroad Storytelling with Fanny Crawford: Fanny elicits a d...

Fwd: Press release

From the Shepherdstown Ministerial Association, Randy Tremba

Please publicize to your congregations. Also, Asbury has requested that each church bring 3-4 dozen cookies for the fellowship time after. Let me know if you can.

January 30, 2017

The Annual Community Festival of Music in honor of the work and witness of Martin Luther King, Jr. will be hosted by Asbury United Methodist Church (4257 Kearneysville Pike, across from Morgan's Grove Park) Sunday, February 12 at 4:30 p.m.

The several churches of Shepherdstown and the Shepherdstown Elementary Drumming group will present a variety of music. The offering will benefit the Shepherd University Multicultural Leadership Team Scholarship Fund. A student recipient will give a brief testimony to its value.

This program is sponsored by the Shepherdstown Ministerial Association. For more information contact Tommy Murray. (304) 876-3112

I see america marching again -- Dan La Botz

I See America Marching Again


by Dan La Botz   January 22, 2017


I see America marching again,
As we have marched so often.
I see America marching again,
Led by the women, by our mothers, our sisters, our daughters,
In all the colors and shades of our country,
Which are all of the colors and shades of the world,
Inheritors of the Seneca Falls Declaration,
Great-granddaughters of the fight for suffrage,
Mothers and daughters of Women’s Liberation,
Knowing that the personal is political,
Angry, proud, unafraid declaring, in our many tongues,
“You will not touch us, you will not touch our rights.
“Listen and understand-we will fight back.”
I see America marching again,
Among the first come the immigrants
from Latin America, Asia, Africa, Europe
In all the colors and shades of our country,
Which are all of the colors and shades of the world,
Unintimidated, unbowed, proud, declaring in our many tongues,
“We offer you our labor, our culture, and our friendship, but understand:
We are here now, this is our country,
We are not going anywhere, and we will fight for our rights.”
I see America marching again,
People of all creeds: Christians, Jews, and Muslims,
Buddhists and Hindus, agnostics, and atheists,
All of them stepping forward to defend their beliefs
And their commitment to a country
Where everyone may believe what she wishes,
And where no creed is favored and no belief is forbidden,
Where no one is persecuted for their faith or their lack of it.
They march as an assertion of their rights:
“Do not dare to desecrate that temple,
Do not dare to touch that woman’s hijab.”
I see America marching again,
Marching under the rainbow banner,
Marching in pride: lesbian and gay,
Bisexual and transgender,
As they have marched to end “don’t ask, don’t tell,”
As they marched for marriage equality,
As they march every year in a thousand American cities and towns
To remind us that they are our
Parents, our siblings, our children and grandchildren,
And that they have the right to love who they will,
As do we all.
I see America marching again,
Our working people:
The garbage collectors, the dishwashers,
The bartenders and the servers,
The farmworkers who plant and harvest our food,
The home care workers who take care of the elderly and the infirm,
The computer programmers and the data-entry workers,
The bicycle messengers and those who deliver the pizza,
The teachers, the professors, and the adjuncts,
The healers: the nurses and the doctors,
The psychologists, and the social workers,
The factory workers, the warehouse workers, and the truck drivers,
The carpenters and the electricians,
The laborers and the stevedores,
The interpreters and the translators,
The artists and designers, the dancers and the singers, and the writers,
Workers all,
Proclaiming, “We must have jobs and we must have living wages,
We will defend our unions and our contracts.”
And they take up the old slogan,
“An injury to one is an injury to all.”
And the women workers take up the old song,
“Our days shall not be sweated from birth until life closes,
Hearts starve as well as bodies, give us bread, but give us roses.”
I see America marching again,
Black Americans, so often the leaders of our fights,
Against slavery, against Jim Crow,
Against racism, against police violence,
The leaders of our fights
For justice, for fairness, for democracy, for equality.
The Black churches, the Black communities,
The Black women and men organizing at the grassroots,
They march to remind us we still fight for civil rights,
To remind us that we still struggle for Black power,
To remind us that that Black Lives Matter,
And that Black Liberation means the liberation of all.
And today once again we sing with them:
“Tell old Pharoah, Let My People Go!”
I see America marching again,
All of those from Latin America,
The Mexicans whose land was taken in the Mexican-American War—
Who never crossed the line, but rather the line crossed them—
And they became American citizens by force,
yet never allowed to be fully Americans.
The Puerto Ricans, whose island passed from Spain to the United States,
Becoming citizens by decree, but never fully citizens.
And all of the other Latin Americans,
The harvest of the American empire,
That took their natural resources,
Exploited their labor and invaded their markets,
That deposed and imposed governments,
And sent in the Marines to restore order,
Until there was so much order that one could
Not make a living or speak one’s mind,
So that they followed the money,
And came here to build communities,
To established their churches, create labor unions,
Crying, “Sí se puede.”,
Enriching us in so many ways,
Though they were often impoverished.
And they have joined us here,
And they too are marching again.
I see American marching again,
As we have marched before,
All of us from everywhere now marching,
For our Mother Earth’s in danger.
The American Indians often the first to cry out,
The scientists too and the environmentalists,
As the ice caps melt, the coral dies,
The fish disappear, and a thousand species are no more.
So now we march, now all together,
For Pachamama, for Mother Earth,
Against carbon fuel, global warming, and climate change,
And not just against climate change,
but for system change,
to change the system that could destroy us all.
I see America marching again,
As we have marched so often,
As we have demonstrated so often,
As we have protested so often,
As we have gone to jail so often,
To build the labor unions,
To fight for equal rights for
To stop militarism and to end wars,
As we have marched so often against a government
Of the rich, of the corporations, and of the military,
Against a string of imperial presidents,
Scoundrels and fools, immoral and evil.
So we march again on January 20
To make America great for once,
To make it what it might be:
Democratic, egalitarian, just, and fair,
A national community
In a world at peace.
We march and know it won’t be the last march,
And marching is just the beginning.
—Dan La Botz
(Thanks and apologies to Walt Whitman.)

Eastern Panhandle Independent Community (EPIC) Radio: Eastern Panhandle Independent Community (EPIC) Rad...

Eastern Panhandle Independent Community (EPIC) Radio: Eastern Panhandle Independent Community (EPIC) Rad...: Eastern Panhandle Independent Community (EPIC) Radio: EPIC Calendar : The First Draft of the First EPIC Programming Calendar!! Check it ...

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Eastern Panhandle Independent Community (EPIC) Radio: EPIC Calendar

Eastern Panhandle Independent Community (EPIC) Radio: EPIC Calendar: The First Draft of the First EPIC Programming Calendar!! Check it Frequently, because it changes!

Fwd: Monday's poet is Carol Ann Duffy, poet laureate of the United Kingdom

The Poetry Show on EPIC Radio, 7:30 -- 9:00 AM, Monday, Jan 30, 207


Here is our call in number: 304-885-0708

This week's featured poet is Dame Carol Ann Duffy


Current poet laureate of the United Kingdom, Dame Carol Ann Duffy was born on December 23, 1955 in Glasgow, Scotland, the oldest of five children. The family moved to Stafford in the West Midlands of England when Duffy was six years old. When she was 16 years old, she met the poet and painter Adrian Henri, with whom she subsequently formed a more than decade long relationship. She attended the University of Liverpool, earning a degree in philosophy. At the time of her graduation in 1977, she has already published two poetry collections; however, she gained greater recognition when she won the National Poetry Competition in 1983. Her poetry collections for adults include Standing Female Nude (Anvil Poetry Press, 1985), Selling Manhattan (Anvil Poetry Press, 1987), The Other Country (Anvil Poetry Press, 1990), and The World's Wife (Anvil Poetry Press, 1999). Picador has recently brought out her Collected Poems (Picador, 1995), which includes these collections and four subsequent ones. She has also written seven collections of poetry for children, four plays, and edited numerous anthologies. Her work is enormously popular in the United Kingdom, and it has been reported that teenagers entering British universities to study English chose her poetry as second only to Shakespeare's. Appointed as poet laureate in 2009, she has set up new prizes, promoted festivals, and in general worked to increase the audience for and recognition of poetry and poets. For further information, she her website, www.carolannduffy.co.uk

Although it is a couple of weeks early, this week's featured poem is "Valentine," from Mean Time (Anvil Poetry Press, 1993), reprinted in her Collected Poems (Picador, 2015). This poem is an unconventional look at a gift for Valentine's Day, humorous, but with a bite. 

VALENTINE

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.
Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.


Saturday, January 28, 2017

Poets and Mechanics Meeting for Worship: Jan 29, 2017, Four seasons books

Poets and Mechanics Meeting for Worship: Jan 29, 2017, Four seasons books

The Poets and Mechanics Worship Group will meet Sunday, Jan 29, 8:30 AM, in the second floor reading room of Four Seasons Books, 114 German St, Shepherdstown, WV.

The bookstore is closed at that time. So, enter the private entrance to the left facing the store, go back halfway down the building and climb the stairs to the second floor landing toward the front. Enter the EPIC Radio Studio, through the kitchen, to the second floor reading room!

Reflection Poem

How do you know when you are called? How do you know when you are going to die?


Making a Fist

BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE


For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,

clenching and opening one small hand.


--
John Case
Harpers Ferry, WV

The Winners and Losers Radio Show
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Meeting for Worship: Jan 29, 2017, Four seasons books

The Poets and Mechanics Worship Group will meet Sunday, Jan 29, 8:30 AM, in the second floor reading room of Four Seasons Books, 114 German St, Shepherdstown, WV.

The bookstore is closed at that time. So, enter the private entrance to the left facing the store, go back halfway down the building and climb the stairs to the second floor landing toward the front. Enter the EPIC Radio Studio, through the kitchen, to the second floor reading room!

Reflection Poem

How do you know when you are called? How do you know when you are going to die?


Making a Fist

BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE


For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

“How do you know if you are going to die?”
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
“When you can no longer make a fist.”

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,

clenching and opening one small hand.



Sunday, January 22, 2017

Fwd: Monday's poet is Zeina Hashem Beck

The Poetry Show -- Jan 23, 2017 on EPIC Radio
With Janet Harrison and John Case



Our call in line is: 304-885-0708

Today's Featured Poet is Zeina Hashem Beck


Zeina Hashem Beck was born in Tripoli, Lebanon, and attended American University in Beirut, from which she received her Bachelor and Master of Arts degrees. As an adolescent she wrote poetry in French and Arabic, but has written in English since attending University, although she is experimenting with some Arabic verse. Her English poems incorporate some French and Arabic words. She has published two award-winning chapbooks and one full length poetry collection: There Was and How Much There Was (Smith/Doorstop, 2016) was a Laureate's Choice chapbook, chosen by Carol Ann Duffy; 3arabi Song (Rattle, 2016) was chosen from over 1700 entries for the Rattle chapbook prize; and To Live in Autumn (Backwters Press, 2013), a book that took seven years to complete, won the 2013 Backwater Prize. A second full length collection, Louder than Hearts, won the 2016 May Sarton New Hampshire Poetry Prize and is forthcoming in April 2017. Currently, Zeina Hashem Beck lives in Dubai with her husband and two children. For further information, see her website, www.zeinahashembeck.com

This week's featured poem is a ghazal, a form that has roots in 7th century Arabia, but was popularized in 13th and 14th century Persia by poets Rumi and Hafiz. It is written in couplets, with each thematically independent couplet ending in the same word. Published in 3arabi Song (Rattle, 2016), "Ghazal: This Hijra" sensitively addresses issues of war and exile. The poet's note to this poem is as follows: "Hijra literally translates as 'migration' and is used here to mean 'displacement.' In an Islamic context, Hijra is a reference to the journey the prophet Mohammad made from Mecca to Medina, because he was being persecuted. | The poem is dedicated to thousands of Yazidis and Christians who fled their Iraqi hometowns of Sinjar and Mosul in the summer of 2014, in fear of being killed by ISIS. | the expression 'Ya Sayyab' is a reference to Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab, Iraqi poet, and his famous poem, 'Rain Song.'" 

GHAZAL: THIS HIJRA
             for Mosul and Sinjar, 2014

The little girls have eyes that will forever weave this hirja
On mountains and in villages, people eat their homes and leave—this, hirja

My father once told me about a spider that spun a web across a cave
where the Prophet hid. He said, "The spider saved him. Believe this hirja."

Take the blankets and put the children in the trunk of the Toyota. 
Tell them about the kites they will fly to cleave this hirja

I have been sold twenty-two times. Every time I desert my body
I remind myself the Tigris and Euphrates will meet to grieve this hirja

In this heat, we imagine angels with airplane wings, and water.
We call, "Ya Sayyab! Sing us the song of rain, of this eve, this hirja

The old man has stayed in his house. He walks from room to room, names
kettle, chair, mattress. He knows they're coming, but he can't conceive this: hirja

The spider's spun a pattern that resembles a fire escape. "Run," it says, "zig zag
your way through. No web big enough here, no cave to deceive. This—hirja. 

Baba insisted on my Arabic name. People suggested, "More modern, more
Western." But he said, "This, too, is parting (I'm Mustafa, not Steve). This, hirja." 




Friday, January 20, 2017

Poets and Mechanics Friends Worship Group Meets Sunday 8:30 AM atop Four Seasons Books

We've relocated back to Shepherdstown!
Atop the Four Seasons Bookstore (114 German St).


Directions: Since meeting settles before the bookstore opens, enter through the "private entrance" gate to the left of the store. Follow path to stairway. Take stairs to second floor and enter through the EPIC Radio Studio to the bookstore's second floor reading room.


This week's poetical query for reflection, a barnyard koan.


A Single Note of Folly,
or,
a Barnyard Koan featuring Rooster and Hound Dog

After Rooster, the Celestial Mechanic, repaired the President’s car, and also the President’s brother’s NASCAR winner, the President’s  Mother’s farm equipment; after he had them in what his partner Hound Dog described as “ready for  space travel…” condition; after he had been feted, and thanked, and rewarded, and praised for his celestial-mechanical talents, he disappeared -- and no one except Hound Dog knew what became of him for years..

Rooster lived in a mountain. Whenever people found him and asked him to teach his philosophy he would mumble  a few polite words, and introduce them to Hound Dog, who could talk a chicken into tenders. But soon Rooster and Hound Dog, escaping fame and harassment,  would move to another, deeper, part of the mountain where they could be found less easily.

Rooster was the first American, and only the second since Shakespeare in the world to master folly. He understood every joke, and its essence, which included a share of every serious thought. From this, he composed a philosophy of the primary elements: hammers, nails, woods, sands, wind and fire,  of which Hound Dog provided a steady supply. These elements were ground and refined to distinguish appearance from reality, intent from consequences.  For years, Rooster meditated loudly upon them, incessantly, until contradictions were resolved, and materialized and re-materialized as an evolution of ever more exquisite tools, born again, each generation of tools quieter than the ones before, until a perfect silence of creation remained, refined to a single note.

A succeeding President heard about Rooster and sent a message asking him to travel to the capitol and explain his philosophy, for his own edification and that of the public at large.

Rooster sent Hound Dog, who stood before the president in silence. He then produced a flute, carved with more grace, and mystery, than Ray Bradbury’s Illustrated Man,  from his jacket, and blew the single note of creation.

Whereupon he completely disappeared.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Poets and Mechanics Meet at the Follie this Sunday, 8:30

The Poets and Mechanics Worship Group

in the manner of Quakers on a Mission

We Meet this week in the Wood Shop at the Follie
Please drive slowly!

Map of Folly Ln, Shepherdstown, WV 25443

8:30 AM, Jan 15, 2017

Bring your own folding chair!

This week a further meditation on darkness and light in the forms of despair and hope is offered for reflection.

The following text from the King James version of the Gospel of John[16:20-22] takes place near the end of the narrative of Jesus' life. He tells his disciples he will be taken from them, and they despair.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, That ye shall weep and lament, but the world shall rejoice: and ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy. 21A woman when she is in travail [childbirth labor] hath sorrow, because her hour is come: but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world. 22And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.

The promise of new life and new hope goes a long way back. All the way back, perhaps, to Adam, and Eve, as Rainer Maria Rilke saw them, on the Rheims Cathedral in 1908, and contemplates their act of creation, its costs, and its shadow.



ADAM

High above he stands, beside the many
saintly figures fronting the cathedral's
gothic tympanum, close by the window
called the rose, and looks astonished at his

own deification which placed him there.
Erect and proud he smiles, and quite enjoys
this feat of his survival, willed by choice.

As laborer in the fields he made his start
and through his efforts brought to full fruition
the garden God named Eden. But where was the hidden path
that led to the New Earth?

God would not listen to his endless pleas.
Instead, He threatened him that he shall die.
Yet Adam stood his ground: Eve shall give birth.


EVE

Simply she stands at the cathedral’s
great ascent, close to the rose window,
with the apple in the apple-pose,
guiltless-guilty once and for all

of the growing she gave birth to
since, form the circle of eternities
loving she went forth, to struggle through
her way throughout the earth like a young year.

Ah, gladly yet a little in that land
Would she have lingered, heeding the harmony
And understanding of the animals.

But since she found the man determined,
She went with him, aspiring after death,
And God had barely noticed her anyway.


Friday, January 6, 2017

Meeting for Worship: 8:30 AM, Bolivar, West Virginia: Jan 8, 206

The Poets and Mechanics Worship Group


Query for First Day:

 What is the Light's relation to Darkness? Is there a testimony of Darkness?


The Light of the Body: King James Bible: Luke: Chap 11

33  No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light. 34  The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil, thy body also is full of darkness. 35  Take heed therefore that the light which is in thee be not darkness. 36  If thy whole body therefore be full of light, having no part dark, the whole shall be full of light, as when the bright shining of a candle doth give thee light.

A Testimony of Darkness: Rainer Maria Rilke


You, darkness, that I come from
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything-
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! -
powers and people-

and it is possible a great presence is moving near me.

I have faith in nights.