Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Steven in Town

     Steven Schroeder came to town bearing the gift of poetry. His daughter, Regina, brought a gift, too, of lessons in paper-making. I would not miss a minute of any of it.
     Schroeder named the event "from page to poem, with music," presented by the Wichita Falls Literature and Art Review. Antuan Simmons, Sheri Sutton, James Hoggard, and Kenny Hada also contributed to the event. The Dutchess provided food and wine for the audience.


The two-day event began with Regina's paper-making workshop.

Sift the cotton in the frame, gently, firmly, until it looks glassy.

Lay the paper on felt to dry overnight.

Regina Schroeder, from the Boston Paper Collective, shows the different kinds of paper she makes.

     I arrived quite late, having enjoyed a pleasant lunch visit with Claudia, John, and Jesse. Jesse treated us to chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Normally, I do not eat sweet foods or desserts of any kind, but out of politeness I discovered a world of taste I had missed by denying myself before . . . the chocolate chip cookie. My first bite made a discovery which I know I will remember for a long time. I ate the whole cookie, then, and decided to treat MyMrMallory with one later in the week.


    I could hardly wait to draw and paint a chocolate chip cookie, relishing the memory of its taste -- AND the memory of a pleasant, relaxing lunch with some fine people. 
     My relaxed feelings slipped off my back as I hopped on my bike to rush to the Forum, having missed two hours of Regina's paper-making workshop. No worries, she indicated, "Come up to my studio in Boston any time." I admired her calm demeanor.
     After plunging my hands in the water to swirl the cotton fibres, I scooped them up in her frame. I felt the cotton, the water, the heavy wooden frame, and the copper that held it together, and felt convinced that I would indeed travel to her studio in Boston to experience more in depth the endeavor of making paper. 

    In the evening, Antuan Simmons read his work first. I have noted his work to uplift the spirit of the reader. Simmons contributes to our world with a new website BlackmobileTV for smartphones, and Black History Films in the online version. 

Simmons read at the event from page to poem, with music.



Sheri Sutton and James Hoggard read their work as Kenny Hada accompanied them with guitar music.

    The next day, Schroeder held a poetry workshop, also at the Dutchess. Students sipped coffee and tea. Since we celebrated Ellen's birthday the day before, and I had left my share of the cake there, she sliced it in several pieces to share with the students. That was the second time in two days that I learned that denying myself sweet foods had kept my taste buds from reveling in life.

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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.