#Milwaukee Poem

[crmsnmth]

The Big City

The city smells like exhaust and the rottenness of Lake Michigan I wander the sidewalks Inhaling something I only noticed after this city became a hellscape I swear the world ended I watched it happen Maybe we're all ghosts

If Bruce Willis can do it, who's to say I cant?

The sirens are always wailing in the distance from the middle of the night to the heat of summer days Far off ambulances get chased, and firetrucks scream for you to get the fuck out of the way Cops with laptops in their car Typing my last name to find out I'm safe

Power trips as they direct traffic away from a crash

The alleys, the arteries the streets, the veins this fucking city is breathing so it has to have a heart and if I ever find the thing I swear I'll tear it right the fuck apart I wouldn't mind being the fall I'll start by picketing city hall I'll make up a good reason and get the cool kids to showered

Revolution starts here, in this drunken city

And now the city is on fire the smell of the lake hidden behind thick smoke Those humanity services never had a chance And I'll think of you the flames lick my arms Somebody has to go down with this ship and I've got nothing left to lose

[razorsadness]

Ode to Milwaukee

I want nothing but the empty street

and the wind between buildings, high rise lofts

& cattle lines of twee women at the doorway

to that club down on third street

that everybody hates but they still make enough money to keep

their doors open for a while, it looked bleak for all of us.

I want to go back to the Sydney HIH building

or the razed tanneries that flanked the river.

I want to eat at the closed restaurants my grandparents loved

before steakhouses grew windows in their secret dining rooms.

I want to be blue in a red state and be red with anger

at the dismal array of segregated neighborhoods, blunt racism that

nobody talks enough about, the city feels its weight,

while the people wait quietly for something to change and know—

to have hope is to have lost.

I want to know everything and fear nothing

in the gathering place, by the water, watching ships come in,

busses ship out, train tracks barren outside of Walker's Point,

take a dining car from tavern to tavern, or out of town—

the beginning and the end of the rust belt

is here.

—Sam Pekarske, from Return to the Gathering Place of the Waters (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2017)

[halberdbooks]

Lincoln Memorial Drive by David M. Briggs

Happy 414 Day, I guess.

[datura-literature-journal]

Urtica Lit Blog: Vagrancy by John Grey

Photograph by Thomas Hawk from Flickr

[rextomblr]

fuck man, today sucked. i felt so overwhelmed like the entire world hung on the balance of my time management and let me tell you -- that's not a good thing. nope. the world is doomed if it ever does in fact come to that. but, either way, that's what it felt like and i did my best to keep it from exploding or whatever would happen to it. i feel like i lost. maybe my world blew up instead.

[uwmspeccoll]

Voices of the Land

What better way to celebrate Indigenous Peoples’ Day than to highlight this landmark anthology that commemorates the Indigenous Peoples of North America? When the Light of the World was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through: A Norton Anthology of Native Nations Poetry, edited by Joy Harjo with Leanne Howe, Jennifer Elise Foerster, is a curated collection that features the poetry of 160 poets each showcasing a distinct voice from nearly 100 Indigenous Nations. This is the first edition from 2020, published by W. W. Norton & Company in New York.

The anthology is the first to provide a historically comprehensive collection of Native poetry. The literary traditions of Native Americans, the original poets of this country, date back centuries. The book opens with a blessing from Pulitzer Prize winner American Kiowa/Cherokee N. Scott Momaday (1934-2024) and contains introductions from contributing editors for five geographically organized sections. Each section begins with a poem from traditional oral literature and closes with emerging poets, creating a rich and diverse tapestry of Indigenous voices.

Joy Harjo, a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, is a prominent figure in the literary world. She is known for her work as a poet, musician, playwright, and author. In addition to her contributions to literature, Harjo is also a celebrated performer and has released several albums combining poetry and music. In 2019, she made history by becoming the first Native American United States Poet Laureate and only the second to serve three terms. Throughout her career, Harjo has been a vocal advocate for Indigenous rights and has used her art to shed light on the experiences of Native peoples.

The following is an excerpt from Harjo’s introduction to this work:

“The anthology then is a way to pass on the poetry that has emerged from rich traditions of the very diverse cultures of indigenous peoples from these indigenous lands, to share it. Most readers will have no idea that there is or was a single Native poet, let alone the number included in this anthology. Our existence as sentient human beings in the establishment of this country was denied. Our presence is still an afterthought, and fraught with tension, because our continued presence means that the mythic storyline of the founding of this country is inaccurate. The United States is a very young country and has been in existence for only a few hundred years. Indigenous peoples have been here for thousands upon thousands of years and we are still here.”

View other Indigenous Peoples' Day posts.

View other posts from our Native American Literature Collection.

-Melissa (Stockbridge-Munsee), Special Collections Graduate Intern

We acknowledge that in Milwaukee we live and work on traditional Potawatomi, Ho-Chunk, and Menominee homelands along the southwest shores of Michigami, part of North America’s largest system of freshwater lakes, where the Milwaukee, Menominee, and Kinnickinnic rivers meet and the people of Wisconsin’s sovereign Anishinaabe, Ho-Chunk, Menominee, Oneida, and Mohican nations remain present.

[timebegins-onopeningday]

Time Begins On Opening Day 2024: Round Up Post #1

Happy Friday everyone and welcome to Round-Up Post #1! This post includes links to all works posted in the first half of the season + details about First Half Commentfest which begins today and goes through the weekend.

Soft Deadline #1 offers us 20 (20!!) fanworks for five teams and 104 prompts across several teams as well as some broad and open-ended prompts! For a small fandom and only halfway through the season, that's pretty cool. If you're just finding this prompt meme now, or if you didn't finish something you were working on before the deadline, never fear - this prompt runs the entire length of the 2024 season! There is still plenty of time create.

Enjoy the works, slam that kudos button, leave a comment, and enjoy the second half of the MLB season!

Soft Deadline #2 is September 29, the end of the regular season.

🌞 First Half Commentfest 🌞

First Half Commentfest runs this weekend, from Friday July 19 to Sunday July 21. As we catch up with all these amazing works (fic! art! poetry! y’all are amazing!!) my challenge as a mod for us is to get every single one of these works at least five independent comments from five independent readers by the end of the weekend. (So we’re not including creator responses in that comment count!)

Why? Because it’s very easy to feel isolated as a creator – particularly in a small fandom like baseball rpf. We all know how easy it is to hit the kudos button and move on, but in a challenge designed to inspire creators for a very small, very spread out of fandom, a little encouragement can go a long way.

justleaveacommentfest has a list of resources for helping write comments on fic here and hxphaestion wrote some notes on what kind of comments resonate with artists (scroll for reblog) if you’re not sure where to start.

Let’s get all these works some comments!

🌞 Fanworks from the first half of the season 🌞

That we got as many fics as we did in the first half makes your mod SO happy, because we’re already past what we had last year!! This was a pain in the ass to put together because there were so many links and that delighted me. Shout out to you all, you’re all amazing.

I organized these by fanwork type, then grouped works by team and sorted alphabetically by the creator’s name + title (with the exception of one set of works, which are grouped in order of the series). Enjoy the works, bang that kudos button and COMMENT 🥳🥳

Art

Baltimore Orioles

[collage] heat waves by sapplyandherfriend

a celebration of dingers and slug edit: WOOOOOO TONY IS AN ALL STAR

Toronto Blue Jays

[collage] cheer on your team! by idlt

a toronto blue jays collage made on a 6x4 index card with a bunch of junk from the recycling bin

[collage] love song (show elation) by idlt

a vladdy and bo collage made on half of a page of cardstock with a bunch of junk from the recycling bin and a pile of old magazines that I got from someone in my neighbourhood who was going to throw them out, plus a few star stickers and a picture of vlad and bo pasted on top digitally

Poetry

Toronto Blue Jays

come home (the way they need you to) by idlt

A short poem about Vladdy and home and being seen.

Fic

Baltimore Orioles

one warm summer night (fireworks outside) by Settsplitt

Technically, they’re kind of hidden, standing a few steps down the tunnel, with their teammates all turned towards the fluorescent night sky, eyes fixed on the show. But still, Kyle thinks, as Adley tucks his hand under the hem of his pants, slipping his fingers beneath his belt and digging until he finds bare skin, this can’t be a good idea.

Milwaukee Brewers

In Stadium Light & Shadow by TheGlobeLifeBarn 

A thin satellite in orbit of nothing.

Philadelphia Phillies

Pressure Point by caltrain

Bryce fucked up his hammy and he’s being an enormous baby about it.

you think it’s different but it’s always the same by palimpsestic

Florida’s always so fucking humid, even in February—the air is sticky with unshed rain, hangs heavy with anticipation.

Who’s on First by powerblu (bluspirits)

A lot may have changed since Rhys first got called up to the Phillies: the size of the crowds, their record, the fact that they're playing in the World Series. But one thing is exactly the same: Bryce Harper is still there on the other team, annoying the hell out of him.

put some moves on you, babe (i know you need it) by pronoe

Bryson reminds himself to be careful where he sucks his marks on Alec’s skin, with the way he keeps his jerseys half-unbuttoned.

Seattle Mariners

Broken Foot and Cuddles by Anonymous

turns out that record-breaking pitch had actually been “breaking” in more ways than one. Poor Ty, with the foot fracture.

Toronto Blue Jays

Fiber arts for first inning starts by caltrain

There’s a hot guy no one has ever seen before at the softball clinic. He crushes three balls out of the park off of Kevin and pisses Kevin off so bad that Yusei slings an arm around his neck and kisses his cheek. “Can we get him?” he says happily.

5 Times The Blue Jays were Blue Gays: Number 1 Will Shock You! by idlt

George Springer is writing for the first edition of the new Blue Jays newsletter, organized and edited by Davis Schneider. George's first assignment? Clickbait the fuck out of everyone with the most unbelievable listicle ever (except somehow it is actually that gay)! Here's what he wrote, plus what Davis had to say about it.

he said i have bisexual swag! by idlt

An ode to Jordan Romano's short-lived yet glorious septum piercing (in the format of 2 idiots texting)

the grip of artificial chaos by idlt

Davis and Ernie sneak a moment in the dugout as the fireworks go off.

Out of Left Field by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho were rivals playing on opposing baseball teams in high school. Now, ten years later, they are playing on the same team for the Toronto Blue Jays. As they weather the ups and downs of the baseball season, Danny and Daulton find an unexpected companionship in one another. But there is a lot on the line and neither knows if it is safe to indulge these feelings or if they are better left buried in the past.

Cover Your Bases by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Ten years after being high school rivals, Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho started playing baseball on the same team for the Toronto Blue Jays. Their months together brought them closer as teammates, friends, and then something more. Now they need to decide what risks they’re willing to take if they want to make their relationship official.

Swing for the Fences by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Danny Jansen and Daulton Varsho are officially dating. Unfortunately, being public figures in a major league sport makes that anything but simple. They’ve agreed to keep things private until the end of the baseball season but that means Danny and Daulton must balance their blooming relationship and their work while navigating the ever-present media attention.

The Longest Road by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

After their nightly game of Settlers of Catan, Davis has a heart-to-heart with Spencer about his growing feelings for their mutual friend Ernie. Spencer offers some valuable advice and reassurance, which gives Davis the courage to accept when Ernie asks him to forgo the living room couch and share a bed for the night.

Therapy with Daulto Varsho by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Daulton has always been a listener rather than a talker. Whether it’s good news or bad news, he’s there to hear out his teammates. Sometimes, this leads to unexpected revelations.

[whitesinhistory]

On August 7, 1930, a white mob used crowbars and hammers to break into the Grant County jail in Marion, Indiana, to lynch three young Black men who had been arrested earlier that afternoon after being accused of murdering a white man and assaulting a white woman. Thomas Shipp and Abram Smith, both 19, were severely beaten and lynched, and 16-year-old James Cameron was badly beaten but survived.

That afternoon, word of the charges against these young Black men spread, and a growing mob of angry white residents gathered outside the Grant County jail. Around 9:30 pm, the mob attempted to rush the jail and was repelled by tear gas. An hour later, members of the mob successfully barreled past the sheriff and three deputies, grabbed Mr. Shipp and Mr. Smith from their cells as they prayed, and dragged them into the street. By then, the crowd totaled between 5,000 and 10,000 people. While spectators watched and cheered, the mob beat, tortured, and hanged both men from trees in the courthouse yard, brutally murdering them without the benefit of trial or legal proof of guilt.

As the bodies of Mr. Shipp and Mr. Smith remained suspended above the crowd, members of the mob re-entered the jail and grabbed 16-year-old James Cameron, another Black youth accused of being involved in the crime. The mob beat the teenager severely and was preparing to hang him alongside the others, but when a member of the crowd intervened and said he was innocent, James was released. 

The brutalized bodies of Mr. Shipp and Mr. Smith were hanged from trees in the courthouse yard and kept there for hours as a crowd of white men, women, and children grew by the thousands. Public spectacle lynchings, in which large crowds of white people, often numbering in the thousands, gathered to witness and participate in pre-planned heinous killings that featured prolonged torture, mutilation, dismemberment and/or burning of the victim, were common during this time. When the sheriff eventually cut the ropes off the corpses, the crowd rushed forward to take parts of the men's bodies as "souvenirs" before finally dispersing.

Enraged by the lynching, the NAACP traveled to Marion to investigate and later provided the U.S. attorney general with the names of 27 people believed to have participated. Though the lynching was photographed and spectators were clearly visible, local residents claimed not to recognize anyone pictured. Charges were finally brought against the leaders of the mob, but all-white juries acquitted them despite this overwhelming evidence. In contrast, James Cameron, the Black teenager who survived, was tried for murder, convicted of being an accessory, and served four years in prison. The alleged assault victim, Mary Ball, later testified that she had not been raped.

After his release, James Cameron founded four NAACP chapters in Indiana, authored hundreds of essays on civil rights and a 1982 memoir, and on Juneteenth 1988 opened America’s Black Holocaust Museum in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to document the African American Struggle. “I can forgive but I can never forget,” he was quoted as saying. “That’s why I started this museum.” Mr. Cameron was pardoned by the state of Indiana in 1993 and died in 2006.

A photograph of Mr. Shipp’s and Mr. Smith’s battered corpses hanging lifeless from a tree, with white spectators proudly standing below, remains one of the most iconic and infamous photographs of an American lynching. In 1937, an encounter with the photo inspired New York schoolteacher Abel Meeropol to write “Strange Fruit,” a haunting poem about lynching that later became a famous song recorded by Billie Holiday.

[beanbagbuddies4life]

Gracie the Swan

via

Born June 17, 1996

As a duckling, she was confused, Birds on the lake were quite amused. Poking fun until she would cry, Now the most beautiful swan at Ty!

In 1998, Gracie got a special feature on this Mark Grace baseball card. According to eBay seller crazy-amy-baby Gracie was "given out at the september 13, 1998 Cubsbaseball game against the Milwaukee Brewers in Chicago at Wrigley Field."

via

In 2014 the Chicago Cubs revived the promotion and Gracie was released again with a special tag!

via BBPG

In 2019 she was totally redesigned with a new birthday and poem.

via

Born March 30

Once I was an ugly duckling Afraid to show my face Now I am a snow white swan Beautiful and full of grace.

2019 Gracie pairs up with Odette the pink swan!

via

OG Gracie has so many trading cards.

[uwmarchives]

Why don't people trust an eclipse? Because it's shady!

Today, April 8th, is the day of the 2024 Solar Eclipse, and our Spaights Plaza is full of people attempting to view this scientific wonder. It's no surprise that the eclipse is all the rage--millions of people are posting about it on social media, new stations are broadcasting live, and there are events inviting people to participate in fun activities related to the eclipse.

The eclipse has also sparked many conspiracy theories about an imminent apocalypse. For example, the 4.8 magnitude earthquake that was felt in New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Connecticut led people to believe the end times are near.

Read this article from the Guardian to find out more about conspiracy theories: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2024/apr/07/solar-eclipse-memes-conspiracy-theories

Two hundred and sixty-five years ago, people were feeling the same way when Halley's Comet was sighted over New England. This poem from the Sherman Booth Papers shows the apocalyptic anxiety present after Halley's Comet passed through the sky. One part of the poem states,

"The might God to Judgement comes In his majestic Power; Comets and fearful Sights more brief Then ever yet have been, More frequently and commonly Would in the World be seen, And are not we now Witnesses, Let all our Fathers say, If ever God before them past In such an awful Way."

Click this link to see a facsimile of the same poem from the Library of Congress: https://www.loc.gov/resource/rbpe.03502600/

The original poem (see photograph) is located in Milwaukee Manuscript Collection BB, Box 7, Folder 6. Come by the UWM Archives to check it out!

[crmsnmth]

The Milwaukee River

I find peace on the polluted edges of the Milwaukee river. The place of washed up needles and cans the shore under the bridge is that of a trash dump and it makes me think of you

The water smells awful and the view is just as bad I've slept under this bridge this last few nights swapping stories with others who live their lives by barrel fires my room at home is cold and quiet

My roommates haven't seen me in days

it's quiet here, and you were never here and I need a place to go where you haven't tasted You taint this city, and I see your face everywhere I go except for here, you were never here you were never in these shoes, and I'm grateful for that

You wouldn't have survived how dark it can get outside

I'm using this water on a burned spoon I wouldn't drink it, but I'll spike it in my veins I boiled it in the spoon, it should be fine And no one watching judges me at all what have i let my life become?

I'm not sure I want the answer to that

Please don't take this away from me go have fun with your new old boyfriend And tell me that you didn't plan that out We could've stayed friends, I wish we would've I hate seeing my life without you in any way I've hated living without you And I'm going to hate the next ten years without

I'll forever keep you in mind when I'm picking up trash on the shores of the Milwaukee River Remember how we saw that shopping cart off the bridge? I got it back for you, if you want it

[razorsadness]

Is this what I was made for? Is the world that fits Like what I feel when I wake up each morning? Steamclouds    Hovering over the lake, and smoke ascending from ten thousand chimneys As in a picture on a calendar, in a frieze of ordinary days?    Beneath a sky of oatmeal gray, the land slides downwards from a Kmart parking lot Into a distance lined with bungalows, and then a vague horizon.    Higher and higher, until its gaze becomes a part of what it sees,    The mind ascends through layers of immobility into an unfamiliar atmosphere Where nothing lives, and with a sense of finally breaking free    Attains its kingdom: a constructed space, or an imaginary city    Bordered all around by darkness; or a city gradually sinking into age,    Dominated by a television tower whose blue light warns the traveler away.

People change, or drift away, or die. It used to be a country    Bounded by possibility, from which the restless could embark And then come home to, and where the soul could find an emblem of itself. Some days I feel a momentary lightness, but then the density returns,    The salt-encrusted cars drive by the factory where a clock tower    Overlooks the highway, and the third shift ends. And then softly,    The way the future used to sing to me when I was ten years old,    I start to hear the murmur of a voice that isn’t mine at all,    Formless and indistinct, the music of a world that holds no place for me; And then an image starts to gather in my mind—a picture of a room Where someone lingers at a window, staring at a nearly empty street    Bordered by freight yards and abandoned tanneries. And then the bus stops And a man gets off, and stands still, and then walks away.

—John Koethe, from "Early Morning in Milwaukee"

[bluejaysandblackbats]

into the silent land

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Willis Todd is arrested before he can cheat Two-Face and be murdered in this AU. He regains custody of his twelve-year-old son, Jason, and they rebuild their relationship. Can Willis make up for his mistakes, or is he doomed to repeat history?

(The title comes from a line in the poem, Remember, by Christina Rossetti).

Chapters: 9/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Willis Todd, Original Character(s), Faye “Ma” Gunn

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergent AU, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Willis Todd, Willis Todd Redemption, Mentioned Sheila Haywood

Chapter Nine: Holiday Plans

Jason crossed his arms, quietly trying to withhold his objections until Willis noted he hadn’t moved from the bedroom doorway. “I lived in Melissa’s house when I was a teenager. I left my mom’s house, and I moved in with Melissa. That was back when Amber’s dad was alive. Danny Vreeland—.” Willis noticed the stony expression on Jason’s face and sighed. “I know you’re not dumb… You’ve never been dumb or naive or anything—. Jason, I want you to speak your mind… I won’t lie to you.” 

“Why don’t you go inside Auntie Melissa’s house? And why do I have to go?” Jason asked. 

“I don’t go inside because I feel guilty about the way I left… And you have to go, so my nightmares won’t keep you from getting a full night of sleep. It’s just for a few days while I work through this. I don’t want you to be tired at school. I’ll take you for pizza at the arcade on Friday after the open house thing at your school. Okay?” Willis offered. 

Jason chewed his lip. “Did I do something wrong?” Jason asked. The mask melted away, and Willis could see the tearful anxiety written all over Jason’s face. He kneeled, quickly pulling Jason into his arms. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. You are my everything, Pete. Oh, I’m so sorry I made you feel like you did something wrong,” Willis whispered. Jason quietly started to cry while Willis rubbed his back. “You can hug me back, Bubba. It’s okay.” Willis kissed Jason’s temple, and Jason wrapped his arms around Willis’ neck. 

“Is it gonna be every week?” Jason mumbled. 

“No… Not every week. Just two days this time. Next week, I want you here with me… And maybe Dilly could spend a few days here with us. I—.” Willis pulled away and wiped the tears from Jason’s face. 

“Dad, I don’t want you to be by yourself,” Jason frowned. 

“Would it make you feel better if I called Grandpa Pete and asked him to stay over?” Willis questioned. Jason nodded. Willis smiled. 

“Okay. Finish packing, and I’ll call Grandpa Pete,” Willis whispered. 

**

When Jason arrived at Melissa’s house, Dillon took him straight to his room to do their homework. Melissa went to the kitchen to check on Amber and dinner.  “Jason’s staying over tonight and tomorrow night,” Melissa whispered, “I think he’s a little nervous… Let’s try to make him feel at home. Okay?” 

“Gotcha... Is something wrong at home?” Amber questioned. 

Melissa shook her head. “Billy’s swamped at work,” Melissa lied. “How are you, Lovey?”

“I’m good. Oh, Olivia mailed us all the cutest mugs. I washed them and put them on the counter. I told her about Jason and Uncle Billy. She said she’ll finish her finals a little earlier than expected, so she can fly out for the holidays… Are we having Uncle Billy and Jason over for the holidays? I wanna know how much cake to bake. Also, who’s still dating? Amber replied. 

“Gavin is dating Jewel… Who I assume is coming with him... Gabriel said he’s not dating anyone right now because he’s focused on school. Sarah is with Filip, who can’t go home for the holidays, so I assume he’ll be here. Olivia is with April, but April’s going to her parents’ house in Milwaukee,” Melissa answered. 

“Are we still not telling Dilly what Jewel does for a living?” Amber questioned. Melissa tapped her arm. 

Dillon and Jason came out of the room. “Amber, Jason’s gonna sleep in my room tonight,” Dillon smiled. 

“Yeah, and tomorrow night, too,” Amber grinned as she pulled him into a hug, “Gav, Gabe, Livvy, and April are coming for Christmas… Jason, when you see Uncle Billy on Friday, can you ask him if he can come over for Christmas dinner?” 

Jason lit up and nodded. “Okay, I will… Hey, Amber? Can I ask you something?” Jason questioned. Amber nodded. “If we can come for Christmas, can I help cook?” 

“Of course you can. If Uncle Billy says it’s okay, I’ll pick you up, and you can help me bake the pies,” Amber smiled as she tapped his nose. “That’s Dilly’s favorite part.” 

Dillon went into the fridge and grabbed a water bottle for himself and another for Jason. “Mom lets us watch a scary movie on Christmas. Amber has a collection, and we all vote on which one we want to watch together,” Dillon grinned, “Mom says Uncle Billy and Amber’s dad started that tradition.” 

**

When the boys went to bed, Melisssa called Pete. “Hi, Pumpkin,” Pete greeted her warmly, “I’m over at Billy’s tonight. He said you have Jason.”

“Yeah… Daddy, is—? Is Billy okay?” Melissa questioned. 

“He took a sleeping pill, but he’s fine. I’m only here because Jason made him promise to call me. He didn’t want Billy to be alone… Are you okay?” Pete replied.

Melissa rocked in her chair by the fire while the news played in the background. “I’m fine… Christine can’t come for Christmas, right?” 

“She usually doesn’t come, so I never expect her… I talked to her a few weeks ago, and she sounded busy—.” 

“Christi’s always busy. When Amber was born, she had a country club dance or something. Then, she said she couldn’t face Billy… When Amber transitioned, she said it wasn’t a good time for her career—.” 

“I’m gonna talk to her—.”

“Wait until after Christmas. I didn’t get her anything,” Melissa half-joked. Pete laughed. Jason crept out of the room with tears in his eyes, startling Melissa. “Hold on, Daddy.” She set the phone aside and opened her arms to Jason.

“What’s wrong with my dad? Is he sick?” Jason cried. Melissa shook her head as she pulled him into a hug. 

“No, honey. Billy’s fine… He’s just worried about keeping you awake at night. That’s all. Oh, sweetheart… I promise he isn’t sick. He’s just having a hard time sleeping. It’ll be alright in a few days,” Melissa reassured him, “Come on, there’s enough space up here for you. I’m on the phone with Pappy Pete. Do you want to talk to him?” Jason nodded.

“Daddy, I’m putting you on speaker. Jason’s here,” Melissa announced as she rocked harder in the chair. 

“Hi, Jason. You’re up late, buddy,” Pete whispered.

“Hi, Grandpa. Did Dad call you like I asked him to?” Jason peeped. 

Melissa kissed the top of his head. “Yeah, I’m here tonight. Your dad’s fast asleep right now, and you should be, too. Why aren’t you asleep, young man?” Pete asked. 

Jason looked up at Melissa, and she nodded. “I had a nightmare… And I was worried about Dad,” Jason confessed. 

“He’s been asleep for two hours. I haven’t heard a peep from him since. Jason, it’s alright. Let Lissy put you back to bed… Goodnight, Lissy. Goodnight, Jason. I love you both,” Pete replied.

“Okay… I love you, Grandpa,” Jason whispered, already half asleep while Melissa rocked quickly back and forth in her chair. 

“Night, Daddy. Love you,” Melissa whispered before hanging up. “Are you ready to go back to bed, honey?” Jason nodded, and she took his hand, leading him to his twin bed in Dillon’s room. Dillon stirred, and Melissa rubbed his back, gently shushing him back to sleep. “I love you, Jason… Get some sleep.”

[rustbeltjessie]

—salted snow turned slush on the streets of Kenosha —telephone calls from Chicago, Blue Ridge Summit; later, Istanbul, NYC —rum in the railyard, the —hats (see also: scally, fedora, pork pie) —Sinatra, Frank —Presley, Elvis —Costello, Elvis —Waits, Tom —Terricloth, Jack —marimba, bone (I am always using that phrase)

Dear You. When you reach my age, which seems impossibly far away these days (and is in truth both much farther away and much sooner than you think), you'll wonder why you're still writing these things. You thought once you could be done with it, but it is impossible because that year (this year, still, for you) is so full. So impossibly full.

—Bride of Frankenstein (see also: "I hope her bones are firm!") —boys in your bed; boys in vans and motel rooms —door number 30 —trains over bridges, tunnels through mountains, rain and rivers —diners where the fries are too salty and the coffee tastes of blood —Nighthawks (at the...) —Nighthawks (painting by Edward Hopper)

Dear You. By god it's too much. You once thought you could be done with this year but at other times you're afraid that by writing it so often, it will disappear. Like each memory is a coin and by putting it down on paper, you are spending it. But each coin returns to your pocket, eventually. Maybe a little dull, a little tarnished, but still valid currency. And then the coins, the memories, that you'd forgotten! So many, like they're newly minted.

—a half-stolen switchblade —a hostel on Bank Street —M. riding shotgun, rolling cigarettes, while that road marimba... —Baltimore's rats and broken roses —Cincinnati cicadas —Ohio fireflies —"In Ohio On Some Steps" (the trumpet vines, the heat and heartache) —Milwaukee girls —a red dress

Dear You. You will think, sometimes, that part of you is trapped in that year. Like the year is a late-night diner with no visible exit, and you are one of the lonesome souls sitting under the yellow globes of light, staring into your coffee, and all now-you can do is stand on the street outside, looking in, hoping for some way to enter just like past-you wishes they could exit (though they're not making much of an attempt). And maybe that's partly true. (For this was the year of learning that so much impossible stuff was at least partly true.) But the you-outside will have to go on, spending these ever-replenishing memory coins. Writing these never-ending lists. They are the currency, and the index, of your becoming.

—Jessie Lynn McMains (from an unfinished essay-poem hybrid thing inspired by a prompt that suggested to write your own 'letters to a young poet,' so I started writing one to my younger self circa 2004, because everything I write is about that year; written summer 2023)

[april-is]

April 15, 2023: Dutch Elm Disease, Valencia Robin

Dutch Elm Disease Valencia Robin When Danny Johnson's big brother was killed in Vietnam, Danny ran around the block five times. I counted. Ran as if when he stopped his brother would be back in their driveway washing his car. But nobody knew anything about time travel back then, Star Trek hadn't even come out, Lieutenant Uhura still on Broadway doing Blues for Mr. Charlie. And even if Danny did understand the space-time continuum, his parents weren't having it, his mother on the porch yelling his name, his father tackling him on the front lawn, all us kids, the whole block standing there on pause. Which didn't exist either. No fast forward, no reverse. We weren't even Black yet. Was Milwaukee even Milwaukee? Is the Lincoln Park Bridge still there, do boys like Danny still climb over the rail, hug their bony knees to their narrow chests and plop into the river as if there's no way his parents could lose two children? Which is all I know about Vietnam, that and the way the sun hung in the faded sky as Danny ran around and around and held the air hostage, that and the way the thick August air ignored the leaves of all our doomed elm trees and let itself be held hostage. The streets were like ghosts when they cut down those trees.

--

Also:  // On Being Asked To Write A Poem Against The War In Vietnam, Hayden Carruth // An Ordinary Composure, James L. White // Paralysis, Peter Boyle // Things That Have Changed Since You Died, Laura Kasischke

Today in: 

2022: More Bang for Your Buck Running Scared, Brennan Bestwick 2021: Rain, Peter Everwine 2020: Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale, Dan Albergotti 2019: Prayer, Galway Kinnell 2018: Egg, C.G. Hanzlicek 2017: Well Water, Randall Jarrell 2016: For Desire, Kim Addonizio 2015: The Coming of Light, Mark Strand 2014: Flying Low, Stephen Dunn 2013: The Envoy, Jane Hirshfield 2012: Red Wand, Sandra Simonds 2011: Trying to Raise the Dead, Dorianne Laux 2010: Asking for Directions, Linda Gregg 2009: A Blessing, James Wright 2008: New York, New York, David Berman 2007: Waste Land Limericks, Wendy Cope 2006: There Are Two Worlds, Larry Levis 2005: America, Allen Ginsberg

[uwmspeccoll]

Typography Tuesday

PRINTING WITH WOOD TYPE!

Every semester, when we finally get to the invention of letterpress printing in Europe in my History of Books & Printing course, we all head over to a local print shop to set type and print a collaborative broadside. Last week we did just that and went over to Adam Beadel's Team Nerd Letterpress in the Walker's Point neighborhood of Milwaukee.

Usually, we compose in metal type, as that is what the students just learned about, but Adam recently received a huge influx of foundry type that wasn't set up yet, so we had to use wood type instead. Even though we wouldn't learn about the invention of production wood type for a few weeks, we were game because wood type is the best!

Each student was assigned to come up with a 3-5-word phrase based on the theme of "Transitions." They set their own phrase in wood type, I arranged the phrases into an exquisite corpse poem, we locked up the type on the bed of a poster press, and pulled a proof in blue ink (second to last image). Everyone was satisfied with the results, and with only a couple of adjustments, the students went on a tear, inking up the type in a rainbow of colors (last image), and pulling 15 more prints. Everyone went home exhausted and happy.

There are few things more thrilling than making your own letterpress prints. Thanks Adam!!!

View another letterpress post from a previous book history session.

View other posts on wood type.

View our other Typography Tuesday posts.

-- MAX, Head, Special Collections