Poem by Misha Agunos, Grade 8

Portals
acquired from various shops,
as gifts,
ordered
it matters not where they came from
but where they take me
some oft used
others, roads less traveled
All my favorite

Exploring the countless realms
since before my public education
leading me to another world
not only telling,
but showing
Narration
accompanied by continuous acting
stripping away all earthly ties
with but a few sentences
spiriting me away
past the worries of man
to a benign, alien haven
past the simple,
day-to-day commonness
making me ride
side-by-side the characters
on the very same
rollercoaster of emotions
in the park of the story
each event a curve
or loop
or stomach-wrenching drop
every phrase painting a new scene

through the brushes of suspense, romance, horror and countless others every setting whole, fully thorough down to the individual grains of sand or single blades of grass devouring chapters in the light of the midnight oil with the same curious passion that compels astronomers, archaeologists,
and treasure hunters
to make the planetarium their dwelling for days on end
to spend weeks in the depths of the middle of nowhere
to endure months in sweltering jungles swarming with exotic, deadly beings satisfying my voracious hunger for complexity pure ecstasy nourishing my exhausted mind as it dives into the sea of words feeling waves of content as its waters gently lap at the shores of my |
intellect
and become immersed in the ocean between its covers
engulfed in fires of is pages
enveloped in the pockets of temporary, fictional bliss

THIS
is my ode
my thanks
to the indulgence
of books

When Phoebe Rusch, 17, submitted her play "3/4 of a Mass for St. Vivian" for consideration in the VSA Playwright Discovery Award last year, she probably never dreamed that she would be selected as a top winner or that she'd find herself in Washington DC this summer ... overseeing the production of her play at the venerable Kennedy Center.

All things are possible, especially if you have talent on your side.

A soon-to-be senior at the Interlochen Arts Academy in Michigan, Phoebe's play is based upon the stories her mother told her about her youth and friendships. It is a true story about "two wildly different and tenacious young women fighting to answer the most infinite of life's questions: How do you explain why we love? Why we die? Why we need to believe? Set against the backdrop of the tumultuous early 1970's, their philosophies unite and collide as they develop a lifelong friendship."

Critics and audiences are saying "wow." In an article published in last week's Washington Post, Phoebe's director, Paul-Douglas Michnewicz, was quoted as saying "I should say that I think Phoebe will be one of the great playwrights of the next generation."

And, a review in today's Post calls "3/4 of a Mass" a "fully realized new work."

If you're in Washington DC, try to check out the production at Theater Alliance at the H Street Playhouse 866-811-4111 Through Sept. 3

 

The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

IDAHO

Real quick drive through. Nothing happened. We ate no potatoes.

MONTANA

Pretty much the same. Quote of the trip is worth mentioning here: "Any day out of Fulford is a good day." Amen.

WYOMING

Yellowstone National Park
When you think of Yellowstone National Park, what comes to mind? For me, it was always this far off, fantastical place that I would never visit. Not anymore, baby!

I have trouble with the size of things. The only way I can relate this to you is by saying that you could probably fit 20 Central Parks in Yellowstone with plenty of room to spare. Dang, this place was big!

We arrived late (what else is new?), around 4 or so. Once you're inside the park, you still have to drive about 100 miles to get to the other end. Seriously. We stopped to see some stinky sulfur pits… again. And we laughed at the mud swamps that blurped all over the surface like lackadaisical bullfrogs on a coffee break. Or something.

Driving through the park, we encountered a ton of elk and bison! Some were even in the road! There are signs everywhere saying not to approach the wildlife. Well, don’t worry about that, partner. I wasn't going near these beasts. Well, I did get near enough to take pictures. Luckily, they did not charge me and I did not get gouged. Yay!

Dan saw a bear run into the woods on the side of the road but it took off before I caught a glimpse. I was so disappointed! Argh! But wait… what's this? About 20 miles up the road there were 10 or so cars parked haphazardly all over the place. "What's going on here?" I whipped out my camera and got out of the car. There, minding his own business and eating leaves was a young bear cub. Wow. I kept my distance and snapped a few shots. He looked straight at me for one picture. Check him out! -->

I stood in awe for about 5 minutes and then felt guilty for intruding on his lifestyle. He's used to it, I'm sure… but still. ... See you later, bear. Live well.

Shortly after 6:00 we arrived at Old Faithful. The geyser you can set your watch by. Apparently, that's a myth. It erupts approximately every 92 minutes or so. Of course we got there right after it went, so we hung around the gift shop and I purchased a few things for the fam. Then, we took a quick hike around the grounds and came back to Old Faithful. There was a Park Ranger giving a little talk about volcanic rocks and ash and the general history of Yellowstone. 200,000 years ago, a volcano erupted and created this gigantic hole in the earth. That's where we stood. Whoa.

At 7:43, Old Faithful began showing off. She bubbled for a minute and then spouted a few teasers before WHOOOSH!!! Yah! U.S.A.! U.S.A! Hee hee. We live on an untamed, beautiful planet, my friends. Rock and roll.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Goodbye Wyoming
It took us quite a while to get out of Wyoming. As we were driving through the mountain ranges of the west, we stopped at an overlook to get one last view. We got more than that.

Our timing couldn't have been more perfect. When we pulled off to the lookout point, there was this dude standing there on the cliff with a great, big para-glider strapped to his back. "I think that guy's gonna jump."

He had two friends with him and they helped him straighten out his para-glider behind him. The wind caught it and he ran to the edge of the cliff. "See yaaaaa!" He yelled as his feet left the ground.

I applauded and watched the dude glide down through the sky for a couple of minutes and then we got back in the car and lamely drove down the mountain. "He's crazy." Dan said. I wasn't so sure. It looked like a lot of fun.

One Last Wyoming Thing
We came upon Crazy Woman Creek, Wyoming today. We stopped by and saw all my ex-girlfriends. They live together in a big crazy house on a hill.

Next stop ... South Dakota.

TODAY ONLY!!!

Did you stumble across our blog today? Lucky you! For one day only (well, actually it was yesterday, too, but alas, that ship has sailed) you can watch streaming video of An Evening With Harry, Carrie, & Garp, taped at Radio City Music Hall last week.

Get there quick to watch Stephen King, John Irving, and J.K. Rowling read from their novels and answer questions from the audience.

Today, August 11, 2006 is the only day you can do this! Hurry!

Check it out by clicking here.

The following is a short story inspired from the first line of the poem Valentine for Ernest Mann by Naomi Shihab Nye.

You can't order a poem like you order a taco. I know from experience that this is true. It was April. Cold and hungry I made a run for the border. On the radio, the DJ was making a strange announcement.

"That was Little Chainsaws by Exposed Eyeball. You're listening to KEWL, kewl radio all the time. This just in: it's National Poetry Month! Have yourself a poem, why don't ya? Go on, have one!"

I turned him off. I wasn't very interested in his bizarre antics, though I was intrigued by the notion of a National Poetry month. As I pulled up to the large, obnoxious menu board outside of Taco Bell, I tried to focus my mind on the task at hand.

"Welcome to Taco Bell, can I take your order?"

"Yes, I'd like to hear Allen Ginsberg's Howl please." Apparently, my mind was otherwise focused. The voice at the other end was unimpressed and silent. "Hello?" I asked.

"I'm sorry sir, but we seem to be all out of Howl today."

A wiseguy, eh? Very well, I thought. I'd continue to play along. "How about a Shakespearean sonnet then?"

"No."

"Walt Whitman?"

"Sorry."

"Keats?"

"Not today sir."

"E.E. Cummings?"

"cert-Ainly !nOt!"

My stomach rumbled. I gave up the game. "All right, just gimme a Chalupa."