Jo Ann read sestinas; long-lined ones, I guess, as the repetitions of words seemed to come few and far between. The ones she read were, I gathered, mostly about the death of her mother. She also read from a new long poem called "John's America."
Kathleen read from a poem about being among Italians at Easter, which has been published as a chapbook, lyric poems that form part of a larger new prose piece she is working on, and work from her new book, "Discrete Categories Forced Into Coupling." I distinctly recall her talking about the blue lines in a notebook forming "continous blue horizons below which I can sink, above which I can rise." I think I remember them because I work out of a blue-lined notebook. I spend a lot of time writing sideways, against the lines, though.
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