Ladies and Gentlemen...

Rachael Hip-Flores and Bill Galarno in Two Gents

Congrats to Piscataway's own Rachael Hip-Flores who appeared in the Judith Shakespeare Company's recent production of Two Gentlemen onf Verona.  Rachael is back from her engagin role in Anyone But Me, for which she won a Best Female Actor in a Drama Series "Streamy" award for her role as Vivian.

Rachael and her Streamy

The diversity of opportunities for actors is immense, and theperformance venue, though still a challenge certainly, takes many forms. Sometimes great acting appears on this little screen in front of us right now. As a performer, Rachael is a gender chameleon and a bit of a medium-bender, too.  There are lots of new shapes out there that challenge us to bend along with them.

A bit of Jersey writing before we sign off today...


THE cold passed reluctantly from the earth,


and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched

out on the hills, resting. As the landscape

changed from brown to green, the army awak-

ened, and began to tremble with eagerness at the

noise of rumors. It cast its eyes upon the roads,

which were growing from long troughs of liquid

mud to proper thoroughfares. A river, amber-

tinted in the shadow of its banks, purled at the

army's feet; and at night, when the stream had

become of a sorrowful blackness, one could see

across it the red, eyelike gleam of hostile camp-

fires set in the low brows of distant hills.

...From The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane, Newark/Asbury Park

Keep reading and writing,

Maureen

Back after a Summer Blog-Break...

Sorry for the extended break, readers.  I have been awash in a sea of anti-education waves here in the Garden State, one with a very strong undertow.  Nonetheless, I have now washed up on the shore somewhere between the old Casino building in Asbury and the Kohr's stand on the Casino Pier in Seaside.  I'm ready to resume the writes of summer.
Lots going on with great Jersey writers and artists from the complete domination of the New Yorker magazine to Jersey guys Doug and Mike Starn's  "Big Bambu" exhibit on the top of MOMA.  As much as I have avoided any contact with the Jersey Shore reprobates, even I experienced a "sighting" on the boards of two long-haired babes from the cast. (Just lucky, I guess!)

I've been enjoying Mark Diionno's color pieces on Jersey towns and people, but I feel that he's better at writing insight articles for the front page. (just sayin')  Joe Weil has been growing a "garden of verses" near the SUNY Binghampton campus.  We are all waiting for the Dodge Festival in Newark this October, too.

A new spin?  Let's roll with Jerseylicious and Jersey Housewives and all the other nonsense.  It's all silly and insubstantial.  Two weeks ago I had to laugh at the line near the Cake Boss bakery in Hoboken.  (I was told by a local that it's part of the Ellis Island, Statue of Liberty loop for NJ tourists.)  Let's have some fun with all this stuff.  For those of us that are not Italian-American and from New Jersey, let's hold our own, too.  Fist-pump for us, my Irish peeps!
Read some stuff.  Have some fun.  Don't stop writing.
Maureen

Remember Them All on Memorial Day...

From today's Star-Ledger...

"The House of Representatives this afternoon passed a suicide-prevention measure named for a New Jersey soldier who took his own life after serving two tours of duty in Iraq.


The legislation would require military counselors to remain in touch with Iraq and Afghanistan veterans who are in the Individual Ready Reserve, a pool of tens of thousands of service members who have returned to civilian life but who remain available for call-up.


IRR members, living off-base and isolated from their buddies, typically don’t have access to the same support services as active-duty and National Guard troops, something the bill’s sponsor, Rep. Rush Holt (D-12th Dist.), has called a critical void in the military’s suicide-prevention efforts.


Under the measure, counselors must call IRR members and other isolated service members every 90 days to assess their well-being. The legislation is named for Army Sgt. Coleman Bean, an East Brunswick native who committed suicide in September 2008 at age 25.

Bean parachuted into northern Iraq during the 2003 invasion and served a second tour in 2007. Diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, he struggled to rebuild his life and had difficulty getting help from both the Army and the Department of Veterans Affairs.

The Senate has yet to take up the bill."

Two years ago, I took a group of Boy Scouts from Troop 223 to Coleman's funeral in Milltown.  The scouts were very affected by what they saw and heard at the church service, especially by the close relationship between Coleman and his brothers.  They were just regular guys from our regular town, but war reached out its greedy hand and snatched Coleman, even when everyone thought he was safe at home.

This Memorial Day, let's remember that not all war wounds are the same and that some are easier to see than others are.  Let's make sure that all our soldiers get the support they need to remain whole.

Keep reading and writing,

Maureen

RU?

Just a short one today for all you Ray Rice fans out there!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5UM1jBcUpA

Keep reading, writing, and Rutgers,

Maureen

Day 30 of National/NJ Poetry Month: Looks like we made it...

Look how they stagger from their sleep,


As if the morning were a river

Against which they contend.


This is not sentiment

filled with the disdain

of human pity.

They turn in the mind

they turn

beyond the human order


One scratches his head and yawns.

Another rakes a hand

Through slick mats of thinning hair.

They blink and the street litter moves

its slow liturgical way.

A third falls back

bracing himself on an arm.


At river's edge, the deer stand poised.

One breaks the spell of his reflection

with a hoof, and, struggling,

begins to cross.


...Morning at Elizabeth Arch by Joe Weil, Elizabeth in What Remains
 
I wanted to finish up this month with a poem that I have returned to a number of times (well, not as many times as Leaves of Grass, but many times!) because it is New Jersey, and simple, and beautiful.  Joe is a friend and a voice that I listen to because he is like us most of the time, though his words can be somewhat more ethereal.
When I was a kid and had no money, I used to take the bus into the City and sit on the steps of St. Pat's Cathedral and just watch people go by.  I would attend the noon Mass, grab a slice and then go back home to Weehawken.  I just loved the people because they were so interesting and varied.  Joe Weil, like Robert Frost who had a "lover's quarrel with the world," loves people, too.  The love is there, even when it is a struggle.
I hope that whoever read these pieces for National Poetry Month enjoyed them and connected once in a while.  We have a lot to be proud of in New Jersey.
 
Keep reading and writing,
 
Maureen

Day 29 of NJ/National Poetry Month: August in the Meadowlands...

How much meat moves


Into the city each night

The decks of its bridges tremble

In the liquefaction of sodium light

And the moon a chemical orange



Semitrailers strain their axles

Shivering as they take the long curve

Over warehouses and lofts

The wilderness of streets below

The mesh of it

With Joe on the front stoop smoking

And Louise on the phone with her mother



Out of the haze of industrial meadows

They arrive, numberless

Hauling tons of dead lamb

Bone and flesh and offal

Miles to the ports and channels

Of the city's shimmering membrane

A giant breathing cell

Exhaling its waste

From the stacks by the river

And feeding through the night

...Meat by August Kleinzhaler, Jersey City and Fort Lee
 
I chose this poem for the unusual use of the word liquefaction.  I've only heard it once before in the movie Julia with Lynn Redgrave, Jason Robards, and Jane Fonda.  Kleinzhaler is a real Jersey voice, though some contend that his gruff is a bluff.
 
Keep reading and writing,
 
Maureen

Day 28 of NJ/National Poetry Month: Judith Viorst and Stuff to Worry About...

My pants could maybe fall down when I dive off the diving board.

My nose could maybe keep growing and never quit.

Miss Brearly could ask me to spell words like stomach and special.

(Stumick and speshul?)

I could play tag all day and always be "it."

Jay Spievack, who's fourteen feet tall, could want to fight me.

My mom and my dad--like Ted's--could want a divorce.

Miss Brearly could ask me a question about Afghanistan.

(Who's Afghanistan?)

Somebody maybe could make me ride a horse.

My mother could maybe decide that I needed more liver.

My dad could decide that I needed less TV.

Miss Brearly could say that I have to write script and stop printing.

(I'm better at printing.)

Chris could decide to stop being friends with me.



The world could maybe come to an end on next Tuesday.

The ceiling could maybe come crashing on my head.

I maybe could run out of things for me to worry about.

And then I'd have to do my homework instead.

...Fifteen, Maybe Sixteen Things to Worry About by Judith Viorst, Newark

A great poem for kids, espcially during the NJASK! Sharpen those pencils and respond to those open-ended questions, guys. Judith Viorst knows what it's like to have a "terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day."

Keep reading and writing,

Maureen