SATURDAY MAR 6TH--the corner of poetry and main
features Rupert Wondolowski and Barbara DeCesare, plus open mic. hosted by cliff lynn| Type: |
| Date: | Saturday, March 6, 2010 |
| Time: | 6:30pm - 9:00pm |
| Location: | Starbucks below the Maryland Inn at the top of Main St. |
| Street: | Main St. |
| City/Town: | Annapolis, MD |
Description
The story of Barbara DeCesare (not her real name) is the history of flight. Or that of the building of walls, followed by deep, long, intoxicating staring at walls. A precocious child, she often beat Teddy Roosevelt at various games of chance and was rumored to have coined the urban phrase “mos def” when she was enchanted with her Uncle Moe’s poor hearing.
Her vivacious nature, blinding smile like a morning field in spring and quick wit have often elicited the response “Surely you are not a poet!” when she is queried about her vocation. Once a week the ghost of Sylvia Plath haunts Barbara’s drainpipe and implores her to at least try to perhaps mewl a little or slunk around in a black turtleneck listening to early Simon and Garfunkel.
DeCesare has had work published in over 45 journals, including the Pulitzer Prize and Edgar Award winning Shattered Wig Review, and one of those pieces starts off with the words “Your urologist”, which I find brave and refreshing.
When critics discuss her work the word “thunder” tends to pop up a lot. She is the author of JigSawEyeSore, was the 98 Rock Poet Laureate and has been featured in hundreds of venues nationwide including the Philadelphia Fringe Festival and the Baltimore Museum of Art, where her lectures on Italian Futurism were met with both nervous languor and amorous disdain.
She somehow also finds time to co-host the reading series Upward Spiral where the readers afterwards are thrown to starving pit bulls, raise three children and work in the field of law, all while wearing scintillating pumps. If it was all left up to her, though, she would probably throw it all over to just kick back and play board games at David Fair’s house.
Although she has no recorded albums - other than a really great spoken word cd, Adrift - the official newsletter of the Holy See, L’Osservatore Romano, called her one of the top ten pop vocalists of the 21st century. If you hear her words and do not feel the deep vibrations of the human condition you probably run around your broke ass house at night wearing the skin of dead people.
Rupert Wondolowski (not his real name) attended University of Art School off and on in the 1980s. When he finally graduated, he was presented with an antique cheese log with magical properties. He has used the log's powers to bring him great literary fortune and find himself a hell of a swell little lady.
Best known for chasing pesky children away from the front of Normals Bookstore in Baltimore, Rupert established himself as a visionary by perfecting the convection method of popping corn and inventing the Soul Patch.
Rupert's writing is a blend of Corso, ouzo, and Groucho. You've heard him on The Signal and you love him at Shattered Wig. He's the author of, most recently, The Origin of Paranoia as a Heated Mole Suit (Publishing Genius, 2009). It's a brilliant book. Did you get one yet? I know! It's great!
Mr. Wondolowski plans to read topless.
Her vivacious nature, blinding smile like a morning field in spring and quick wit have often elicited the response “Surely you are not a poet!” when she is queried about her vocation. Once a week the ghost of Sylvia Plath haunts Barbara’s drainpipe and implores her to at least try to perhaps mewl a little or slunk around in a black turtleneck listening to early Simon and Garfunkel.
DeCesare has had work published in over 45 journals, including the Pulitzer Prize and Edgar Award winning Shattered Wig Review, and one of those pieces starts off with the words “Your urologist”, which I find brave and refreshing.
When critics discuss her work the word “thunder” tends to pop up a lot. She is the author of JigSawEyeSore, was the 98 Rock Poet Laureate and has been featured in hundreds of venues nationwide including the Philadelphia Fringe Festival and the Baltimore Museum of Art, where her lectures on Italian Futurism were met with both nervous languor and amorous disdain.
She somehow also finds time to co-host the reading series Upward Spiral where the readers afterwards are thrown to starving pit bulls, raise three children and work in the field of law, all while wearing scintillating pumps. If it was all left up to her, though, she would probably throw it all over to just kick back and play board games at David Fair’s house.
Although she has no recorded albums - other than a really great spoken word cd, Adrift - the official newsletter of the Holy See, L’Osservatore Romano, called her one of the top ten pop vocalists of the 21st century. If you hear her words and do not feel the deep vibrations of the human condition you probably run around your broke ass house at night wearing the skin of dead people.
Rupert Wondolowski (not his real name) attended University of Art School off and on in the 1980s. When he finally graduated, he was presented with an antique cheese log with magical properties. He has used the log's powers to bring him great literary fortune and find himself a hell of a swell little lady.
Best known for chasing pesky children away from the front of Normals Bookstore in Baltimore, Rupert established himself as a visionary by perfecting the convection method of popping corn and inventing the Soul Patch.
Rupert's writing is a blend of Corso, ouzo, and Groucho. You've heard him on The Signal and you love him at Shattered Wig. He's the author of, most recently, The Origin of Paranoia as a Heated Mole Suit (Publishing Genius, 2009). It's a brilliant book. Did you get one yet? I know! It's great!
Mr. Wondolowski plans to read topless.
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Topless reading? I'm there!
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