PROGRAM CLOUDBURST COUNCIL 2014

PROGRAM CLOUDBURST 2014 

Fri. May 9, 2014

noon-2:00     Early Bird Registration (enjoy the site)

2:00-3:00      Pilgrimage To Stream Source with Stephen Lewandowski and Alan Casline

                       (an outdoor visit to source of small stream that runs through Gell Center)

3:00-6:00      Registration ongoing in Main Lodge

3:30-4:00      Beginning Poetry Circle (one poem from each poet)

4:00-4:15       Maril Nowak, poetry reading

5:00-6:00       Light Dinner Served (soup, bread, green salad)

 6:00-6:10      Alan Casline: Welcome

6:10-6:25       poet Ryki Zuckerman

6:25-6:40       poet  Martin Willitts,Jr.

6:40-7:30      Panel – Pilgrimage, Relics, Symbols, Rituals (John Roche, Craig Czury, Alifare Skebe)

 7:30-7:45    Michael Czarnecki, poetry reading

 7:45-8:00     John Roche: Cloudburst thoughts and evening wrap-up

 8:00  Party 

 Sat. May 10, 2014

 8:30 Breakfast Served  (oatmeal, cereal, fruit, bagels, eggs, etc.)

         Breakfast will be continuously served.

 10-11:15 -  Panel- Charles Olson, Topicality and a Sense of Place (Stephen Baraban, Robert McDonough,  

                               Martha Treichler )

11:15-11:30  poet  Howard Nelson

11:30-11:45  poet  Linda Griggs

11:45-12:00  poet  Marge Merrill

12:00-12.15  poet  Patricia Roth  Schwartz

 12:15- 1:15 Panel –Exploring Pathways (Alan Casline, Claudia M. Stanek, Mark W. O’Brien)

 1:15  Lunch Served (cold sandwiches bag lunch)

 Open Time 1:15 – 3:45

Tour to Burning Spring Finger Lakes Watershed with Steve Lewandowski (optional)

Steven Lewandowski will lead an expedition to the Burning Springs, where LaSalle was taken for the show in 1654. A bit of poetry will be in the offering (each poet bring one poem to read)

 Papermaking Workshop: For those not on The Burning Springs exploration in the same time slot Ryki Zuckerman is doing a papermaking making workshop in the main lodge (optional)

4:00-4:15                poet  Judith Kerman

 4:15-5:00  Panel –Using Sacred Materials (Stephen Lewandowski, Jane Sadowski, Leah Zazulyer)

5:00-5:15  poet        poet Charlie Rossiter

5:15-5:30  poet        poet Edie Abrams

 5:30 - 7 Dinner (hot vegetarian etc.)

 7-10 - Open Mic hosted by John Roche (by sign-up, those not otherwise slotted during conference to go first)

 10-10:10 Wrap-up Helen Ruggieri

 10:11- 12:00 Campfire Party “night of two fires” one in lodge fireplace one outside at our firepit

12:00-?  Midnight open mic until we run out of poems

 Sunday May11, 2014

 9:30-11 Brunch (like Saturday Breakfast )

 9:30-11 Trade Fair

 11:10-12:40 Panel:  Make It New (Helen Ruggieri, Martha Deed, Dwain Wilder, Paulette Swartzfager,  David Landrey)

 12:40 – 1:00  Further

CLOUDBURST POSTER 2014

Jane Sadowsky poem for CLOUDBURST

Bighorn Mountain Medicine Wheel

The clouds in Wyoming are wild horses, churning up dust,

their proud noses pointing west.

We exit the van amid excited chatter.

The road upward is long, but wide,

and we must walk from here.

I take a breath, slowing my heartbeat,

separating from the bustle around me.

In silence, I turn inwards.

I carry my village with me,

all those I know and love.

I see their faces before me as I walk;

I feel the weight of their needs.

To my left, a sliver of rainbow on the face of a cloud,

a sideways burst of color, shimmering.

I smile;

Grandfather is blessing our journey.

Farther upslope, a tiny creature barks a greeting from the rocks.

It’s a pika, little rabbit-relative with round ears and no tail,

that I collected once, on a postage stamp.

He delivers his message imperiously, then

scampers down and away, disappearing into a cleft in the rock. 

We crest the hill.

The Medicine Wheel spreads out before us.

Twenty-eight stone spokes reach outward from a center cairn,

like the rays of the sun,

stretching to touch an outer circle, eighty feet across.

The outer ring is encircled again by wooden poles strung with rope,

on which flutter prayer ties and prayer flags in the colors of the Directions,

the colors of all peoples, the colors of earth and sky.

Eight hundred years old, the Wheel is still holding prayers.

Six outer cairns entice us with their mystery.

We walk sun-wise around the Wheel, adding our own ties, our own prayers,

the needs of our loved ones, to the hoop,

trusting in this power that surpasses generations.

Little Jemma throws her pacifier into the circle, a gift for the “baby ghosts,”

then cries when she can’t duck under the rope to get it back.

Don gathers us together and sings a Lakhota prayer to the Four Directions. 

Everyone around the Wheel joins us, moving to face each direction in turn,

seekers and tourists alike,

honoring the old ways.

Outside the Wheel, I find a tiny, tiny stone, amid thousands of pebbles,

drop it, and it comes to hand again, so I know it is the one.

When no one is looking,

I slip it into my pocket to send to Uncle Manny.

Maybe this tiny touch of the Wheel will cure his small-cell cancer.

He knows the power of Stone People medicine.

I turn back toward the Wheel alone,

a sudden breeze lifting my hair,

and the Wheel turns.

I drop back in time,

no fences, no signs,

no chatter of crowds.

I feel the power of the Wheel, the presence of the Ancestors.

I can almost see them, moving on the paths.

A hawk scrills overhead, its voice crossing the centuries.

Someone calls my name, and I return.

We head back down the mountain

Even now, I hold this journey in my heart.

   -- Jane Sadowsky

Alan Casline poem in case you get lost on path to CLOUDBURST

THE FALSE PATH

What’s difficult is there is a path.

Lots of people have gone wrong this way.

You are on the trail

when suddenly it peters out, disappears,

there’s brush, there’s wilderness,

there’s no way ahead.

What happened?

Easy if it is just a trip to the watering hole

or a view not to be missed,

The trail will lead back

but sometimes it is determined, stupid people,

set on a way that “must be”

then panic, they’re lost, the way is lost.

If you’re with other people,

tell them to just stop for a minute.

By yourself do the same.

This is what I say

I’m not lost. I am just off the trail.

That’s all.

It is fairly simple, turn around,

retrace your steps,

go back the way you came

and before too long

there’s the path,

there’s your way

get going on it.

                                                                  Alan Casline

                                                                                September 12 , 2007

                                                               Blue Mountain Lake, New York

Martha Treichler Poem for CLOUDBURST

Enjoyed the poems on the Cloudburst blog! And I would like to submit this poem from my new book from FootHills Publishing. One of my favorite pilgrimages is into pre-history.
                                                                                                         ---Martha Treichle





















Finding Adam and Eve

Have you seen how Adam and Eve recede from us?
How decade by decade they fade into the past?
Two hundred thousand
five hundred thousand years
and still further?

Even so we can find them
in the scanty leavings 
of those do-gooders 
who gave their souls to wipe out old evil
and in the doing, wiped out the past.

Among the bones and tools
we find a toy
a flute, a bead, paint
that tells us there was
music, dance
play, laughter.

What a world it was 
when we were all young
taking the first greedy bites from the fruit!


               --Martha Treicher

Marge Merrill poem for CLOUDBURST

There's Nothing Here

A road trip to P A

opportunity to connect

places I heard about ad nauseum

at the dinner table.

Motion sickness braved

to see the house

(there were many houses)

next to the crick

the crick that flooded in oh-two.

Uncle Ott was killed in the Big Three mine.

As was your Grandfather.

Uncle Harry and Uncle Christopher

slaved above ground in the oil fields

a salad of names worked the earth.

Farms, floods people that sort of

looked like those unsmiling, stiff folks

from the shoebox photos.

A dime as strangers pass the Presbyterian plate,

thank God, I know why they left everything

but their roots.

There’s nothing here.

Postcard Poetry Fest

August 2013

# 20

8/15/13

Marge Merrill