Final Thursday Reading Series

FINAL THURSDAY READING SERIES

Thursday, March 27, 2008
Bought again Books
(downstairs from Vibe)
Cedar Falls

Featured Reader: Vince Gotera

Thursday, April 24: frje echeverria (reading & art display)

Signup for the open mic begins @ 7 p.m. on a first come, first served basis. Limited slots are available, so readers are encouraged to sign up early to read your best five minutes of poetry, fiction, or creative non-fiction. Singer-songwriters are also welcome. The open mic begins at 7:30 p.m. The featured reader takes the stage between 8:00 and 8:30 (depending on how many open mic readers there are). After the reading, there will be a brief question and answer session. Vibe Coffee House (upstairs from Bought again Books) will be open for coffee and treats.

Vince Gotera is the author of the recent poetry collection, Fighting Kite (Pecan Grove Press). A recipient of the 2004 Global Filipino Award for Poetry, he is also the author of the poetry collections Ghost Wars (Final Thursday Press) and Dragonfly (Pecan Grove Press), as well as the critical work Radical Visions: Poetry by Vietnam Veterans (University of Georgia Press). Gotera is a professor of English Language and Literature at the University of Northern Iowa and an editor of the North American Review. You can read a sample of his work below.

Vibe is located at 909 W. 23rd St. in Cedar Falls on the second floor of Bought again Books. Persons needing access accommodation should call 266-7115 by the day before the event. For more information, contact Jim O'Loughlin.

Read Work By Featured Readers

Chaveevah Banks Ferguson

Eula Biss

John Bresland

Scott Cawelti
Bill Chene

Catherine A. F. MacGillivray

Nate McKeen
Aaron McNally

Pierre-Damien Mvuyekure

Cherie "Chillin'" Nelson

"Greased Pole"
by Vince Gotera

1931, although a drought year, still brings
the feast of San Martin, turning Pasig's
main street into a river: colors strung
from windows, a marching band in homespun.

The market blooms religious relics, red and green
papier-mache toys, in the church plaza. Little boys
in yellow kerchiefs chase a greased pig in and out
among buyers, competing for a purse of centavos.

At sunset, the streets scintillate with candles,
wisps of flame escorting the dark-skinned Virgin
in gold and vermilion on hardy shoulders.
Banks of townspeople singing hymns are led

by Simeon, the cantor. The finale
at full dark, the zarzuela stage show: all day
grandmothers hinting about a "special appearance"
tonight, perhaps a famous singer from Manila.

But before all that, in the musky heat of early
afternoon, my father is tying a sack of ashes
behind his back, slung from his waist
as he shinnies up a pole slick with pork fat.

At the top, 25 feet above the hooting crowd,
a pouch of pesos. The younger boys unable to reach,
the older ones get a turn. "You're 10, right?"
the parish priest asks my father. "You go first."

Sweat stings his eyes. My father climbs 6 feet,
starts to slip. The crowd chants, "Martin! Martin!"
Slow like a cat, he stretches right hand then
left into the sack. Fingers dipping in ash.

Almost there, almost there. This is his life.

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