Showing posts with label jenn mccreary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jenn mccreary. Show all posts
December 6, 2015
December 13, 2013
DECEMBER 13 * JENN McCREARY * ADRIENNE RICH *
JENN McCREARY READS ADRIENNE RICH'S, The Burning of Paper Instead of Children.
(May 16, 1929 – March 27, 2012) was an American poet, essayist and feminist. She was called "one of the most widely read and influential poets of the second half of the 20th century", and was credited with bringing "the oppression of women and lesbians to the forefront of poetic discourse." (from Wiki)
JENN McCREARY is a Philadelphia poet & the author of several books & chapbooks, most recently &now my feet are maps (Dusie Press), brand spanking new & now available! She lives in fashionable East Passyunk with her twin sons, their pet snake, a bitey cat, & Chris McCreary, with whom she co-edits ixnay press.February 21, 2013
"Blood & Guts in High School: Ginger Snaps" by Jenn McCreary
We meet death-obsessed teen sisters Brigitte and Ginger (aged fifteen & sixteen respectively, but in the same grade due to brainy Brigitte having been skipped) as self-identified social outcasts who revel in their lack of status. Skulking in baggy pants and oversized jackets, smoking during gym class, and mocking the jocks and mean girls who backfill their high school in pop-culture shorthand, they spend their time staging elaborate & gorgeous death tableaus for an undefined school project. They are all inside jokes and private exchanges; they drip with sarcasm & condescension for anyone outside their circle of two. They make Winona Ryder’s Lydia and/or Veronica look like Mary Fucking Sunshine. Their bond—& their pact made at age eight, out by sixteen, or dead in the scene, together forever—is the emotional core of the film, a Canadian horror flick that’s kind of about werewolves, but really about girls, sisters, of female bonds and how they break.
December 6, 2010
December 6th: Jenn McCreary
6 January
psalt. shoes. dates & honey. pomegranate in hand, throatful of thistles & thorns, all celebrated with like devotion.
La Befana was approached by the magi & asked for directions to where the infant Jesus was, as they had seen his star. She provided them shelter & the magi invited her to join them on the journey to find the babe, but she declined, stating she was too busy with her housework. Later, Befana had a change of heart & tried to search out the astrologers; she was not able to find them & is still searching. She leaves all the good children toys & candy/carmelle, while the bad children get coal/carbone & garlic.
or
La Befana was an ordinary woman, with a child whom she very greatly loved who died, & her resulting grief maddened her. Upon hearing news of Jesus being born, she set out to find him, delusional that he was her own dead son, returned to her. She presented the infant Jesus with her child's toys, which she'd wrapped & carried on her back, & the babe was delighted, & gave Befana a gift in return: she would be the mother of every child in Italy.
& so on.
In any story, there is a Befana, who is always lost.
There is a broomstick for sweeping & riding, a bundle carried on stooped back, & shoes to be filled with candy or coal.
There are little hats in the manner of the Romans, careful slices of treasure cake & a hidden king.
There is incense & coal in the stable, figs & hay on the altar— another sweeping epic & technicolor epiphanies, exposed.
psalt. shoes. dates & honey. pomegranate in hand, throatful of thistles & thorns, all celebrated with like devotion.
La Befana was approached by the magi & asked for directions to where the infant Jesus was, as they had seen his star. She provided them shelter & the magi invited her to join them on the journey to find the babe, but she declined, stating she was too busy with her housework. Later, Befana had a change of heart & tried to search out the astrologers; she was not able to find them & is still searching. She leaves all the good children toys & candy/carmelle, while the bad children get coal/carbone & garlic.
or
La Befana was an ordinary woman, with a child whom she very greatly loved who died, & her resulting grief maddened her. Upon hearing news of Jesus being born, she set out to find him, delusional that he was her own dead son, returned to her. She presented the infant Jesus with her child's toys, which she'd wrapped & carried on her back, & the babe was delighted, & gave Befana a gift in return: she would be the mother of every child in Italy.
& so on.
In any story, there is a Befana, who is always lost.
There is a broomstick for sweeping & riding, a bundle carried on stooped back, & shoes to be filled with candy or coal.
There are little hats in the manner of the Romans, careful slices of treasure cake & a hidden king.
There is incense & coal in the stable, figs & hay on the altar— another sweeping epic & technicolor epiphanies, exposed.
December 10, 2009
Day 10: Jenn McCreary

Jenn McCreary is the author of :ab ovo:, published by Dusie Press in the spring of 2009. She is also the author of two chapbooks: errata stigmata (Potes & Poets Press), and four o’clock pocket chiming (Beautiful Swimmer Press); the e-chapbook :Maps & Legends: (Scantily Clad Press) and a doctrine of signatures (Singing Horse Press).
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