tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61856152009-02-21T07:42:45.974-05:00AbenaSpot or Meditations on the River NigerMusings on writing, tromboning, education, breathing and other finery...ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-49653534127037751122007-11-12T18:14:00.000-05:002007-11-12T18:17:45.019-05:00Good People,If you have been asked to review Constellation, please go to the link below and answer the six question survey. Thank you for your time and stay tuned for more at AbenaSpot.-AKhttp://FreeOnlineSurveys.com/rendersurvey.asp?sid=gkvui9ev0dnlkqq361767ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1175705160279378332007-04-04T12:42:00.000-04:002007-04-04T12:47:06.076-04:00The poem below, carving, is an experiment in persona poems. I've been fighting the fact that usually when I try to write a persona poem, I end up being the persona. Now instead of fighting it, I've decided maybe there's a little bit of me in the persona's I choose to write about. The poem below, "Carving" is the first of many examples. It's not about me. But I can see me pretty clearly in it's ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1175704881703004512007-04-04T12:37:00.000-04:002007-04-04T12:41:21.716-04:00Carving:abena koomsonEvery year you make the same promiseEvery month it hides in chocolate and at the bottom of sticky potsEvery week another girl that looks like you gets eliminated from America’s Next Top ModelEvery day you breatheEvery hour your tongue turns the clock of your mouth waiting for a kissEvery year you feel the winter slap of your cousin’s death Every month you cut to feelEvery ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1151358414789643692006-06-26T17:45:00.000-04:002006-06-26T17:46:54.806-04:00new poem. the line breaks'll be all jacked up, but it's a sestina.Proposal (for Patrick Rosal)It is too late for the rhythm of her feetto trace the bend of tracksthat railroad into a blueless night.Instead of ride, she has chosen to walk.She paces each step away from himby the smoky drag of the moona 1972’s dusty moonthe flatline of Ghana currency traces the curve of her cheaply sandaled feet.If ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1130244681257690302005-10-25T08:43:00.000-04:002005-10-25T08:51:21.263-04:00EVE DESCENDED, NOW HEAR THIS...So I recently directed a piece entitled Eve Descending that traced the lives of women in the Old Testament through dance, song, drama, and poetry. I commissioned each performer to discover, alone or in collaboration with others a voice for the story that had not been told in the Bible. It was amazing to see what such a group of spiritually diverse people were able ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1126140006608946122005-09-07T19:47:00.000-04:002005-09-07T20:40:06.636-04:00This is Thirty One.Coming down after a fabulous birthday celebration. Back into the swing of school. Trrying to keep my wits about me as Katrina reverberates, Political fufurrah abounds in preparation for the votes, and Barcelona trails behind like shadow. Love in its possibility looms on the horizon, and I beg my heart to slow down and chew its food properly. My friends keep having babies and ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1124980130112171042005-08-25T09:22:00.000-04:002005-08-26T06:40:05.736-04:00Soltera PART IIWhile at a club in Barcelona, I experienced a particular frustration related to my aloneness. (The distinction for me between "loneliness" and "aloneness," which I'm not even sure is a word, but will serve here, is something I may explore later) A man began furiously dancing near me and several other women. He made contact with several women as they walked by or were standing near.ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1124813488768782462005-08-23T11:58:00.000-04:002005-08-25T09:21:35.746-04:00Soltera en BarcelonaIt´s a strange experience, traveling alone. Truly I love it, and must insist upon it every few years. But it is not easy. The alone part is the easy part, the part I enjoy most. But the unsolicited interactions, especially the negative kind, bring out things in me I´m not often forced to confront alone. Usually, if something awful happens on the street or on the subway, I pickak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1124646262335652812005-08-21T13:27:00.000-04:002005-08-23T11:57:54.056-04:00Barcelona: Like I´d Never Seen the Sky Before...Cheesy, but accurate. Among the highlights-· The cab driver who insists I must stay until I find a husband, then move to Andalucia, it´s beautiful out there.· The rudest vendor known to man who insists that America is poor, my bag is too big to not spend money in his store, boasts that his family owns 47 tiendas on the Ramblas (and they do, but who ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1123527320174112302005-08-08T13:44:00.000-04:002005-08-08T14:55:20.196-04:00From the Connecticut Valley...When you last saw our heroine, she was starring as Essie in the play ROBESON produced by ASC/NYC. Since then I lost a few students to graduation, lost one friend to the heavens, taught for three weeks at the best summer camp EVER, (writerscamp.org) produced a show in Hartford (Drink To This 2005!) and will be leaving post haste for Barcelona, Spain. Can you imagine ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1113787025695233602005-04-17T21:12:00.000-04:002005-04-17T21:17:05.696-04:00So here's what matters for the next few weeks:Hello friends and friends of friends. As many of youknow, my current project is a play entitled Robeson by Miriam Jensen HendrixHere's the info. I'm playing his wife, Essie Robeson. (Then I have a favor to ask :)THE INFO: Actors Stock Company NYC presentsROBESONBy Miriam Jensen HendrixDirected by Keith OncaleWHEN:April 15 - May 1Thurs - Sat 8pm, Sun 3ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1100300976060609152004-11-12T18:07:00.000-05:002004-11-12T18:09:36.060-05:00New Poem.
alone in my home # 36
1. cop show
(muh) the brown man
pushes his lips together
(th) creases them with his tongue
(ur) aspirates into a roll
(Fuh) pushes his top teeth to his bottom lip
(kh) sends a burst from his throat to the air
(ur) aspirates, and coyly rolls his tongue
to let the cop know what he thinks of the handcuffs
no one’s mother
should have to be the soul train ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1099411923902743522004-11-02T11:10:00.000-05:002004-11-02T11:12:03.903-05:00New Poem.
Broken Ritual
I woke up this morning
with a rope around my neck
It was my own hand
new fingers had grown
woven their stranglethreads taut
pulse of handveins
tremble of throat
rhythm of a dark hymn
This is no simple noose
I will not be hanged
nor will my feet find the trembleswing like Judas
nor will I be found sisterfruit
swung from the poplar
in the army air of dawn
I ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1097268630837926452004-10-08T16:43:00.000-04:002004-10-08T16:50:30.836-04:00Monkella's Mood:
I just can't put the Dodge Poetry Festival into words. I'm speechless. Maybe at some other point, I'll have the umf to do it. In other news, I'm slightly overwhelmed, eerily liberated and feeling adventurous these days. It's the glow of thirty, I tell you. It makes me want to tell the truth more often. And of course, Fall is my favorite season. The best time in the world to letak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1096200064683198362004-09-26T08:00:00.000-04:002004-09-26T08:01:04.683-04:00Take the Quiz. You know you want to...
http://monkella.friendtest.comak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1095448290287255542004-09-17T13:00:00.000-04:002004-09-17T15:11:30.286-04:0030... was eagerly awaiting my arrival.
Exactly two weeks from my birthday, and I am blown away at the difference. It was like walking through a portal! Or getting the new prescription you didn't realize you needed, oh the clarity! This feels like a beginning and thank God. Thanks to the some of you the helped me celebrate in such a special way, especially my best friend Debbie. My sisters ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1093935530315568962004-08-31T02:55:00.000-04:002004-08-31T02:58:50.316-04:00New poem:
Hunted Hymn
(For Jesse Washington)
You stop breathing.
You are alive on a smoking breath between God’s fingers.
You choke.
You scream on stolen air from someone else.
There is nothing left to explore but that which thunders another's pain.
They did not want you to discover flight, or shimmering air
They did not want you to kiss heaven, or God above the mountain.
They did not want ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1093374539130629282004-08-24T14:54:00.000-04:002004-08-24T15:08:59.130-04:00New Poem
"Luna,
luna llena...
luna llena."
The moon moves between her dress
and my sheets
Questions blush cratered skin above her chest
buzhumming me
Between breaths she trembles
I am stretch of her bottom
she pulls, skin shivers
she touches my fundamental until it vibrates
making the skin above my lips
water, trickle, simmer
I am jealous of the moon's
unclothed fervor
She has run naked
ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1092759042150187202004-08-17T11:25:00.000-04:002004-08-17T12:10:42.150-04:00So It's Come to This: an Abena Slam Clip Show...
So things got real slam busy these last few weeks. We did all those regional appearances around the city. And finally we made our way to St. Louis, Missouri the gateway to the west. Rather than map out the entire experience, here are the clips:
-I show up to the airport wearing my "Jesus is my homeboy" t-shirt. Fellow teammate Michael Cirelli ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1090306163686869752004-07-20T02:20:00.000-04:002004-07-20T02:49:23.686-04:00So I'm walking into Union Square with my friend, who is legitmately dressed in Army gear. The square is quiet, a few skateboarders, but not the hum of protest, and I think of how ironic this is. I'd almost bought an anti-Bush t-shirt in that very spot hours ago. He is full fleshhearted River Niger-style poet/philosopher and dressed for war. People stare, having no intelligence regarding his ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1089874058826365052004-07-15T01:38:00.000-04:002004-07-15T02:47:38.826-04:00I can't even begin to tell you why it's been 3 weeks instead of one.
(And I have no idea why this entry has line breaks:)
Truthfully, I'm so anxious
I can't write about the things that are making me anxious.
But when the storm blows over, prayfully the house built upon a rock will still be standing,
and I'll have a few more stories to tell.
Oh, nationals.
Oh moving.
Oh unrequited love.ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1087820835101383462004-06-21T08:25:00.000-04:002004-06-21T08:27:15.100-04:00I
am
on
vacation.
c u next week.ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1086904840561702092004-06-10T17:55:00.000-04:002004-06-10T18:02:10.706-04:00Weapons of Mass InFUNKtion!
Weapons of Mass InFUNKtion!!
Weapons of Mass InFUNKtion!!!
Be there...
Friday, June 11th
The Wright Bros. Band
CLUB GROOVE
West 3rd & McDougal (take A,B,C,D,E,F to West 4th)
$10
Doors @ 8:30pm
Vocals: Richard & Abena
Keys: Dan
Guitar: Anthony
Bass: Brian
and on Drums, the one and only: Rob Wright.ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1086841075050738052004-06-09T23:47:00.000-04:002004-06-10T17:54:12.226-04:001. (You can tell, schools almost out, cuz I been postin' like a flagpole...more and more time on my hands)
2. Rich, congrats muchacho, you ROCK. The koans were my favorite. boomBOOM!
3. I am reading "God's Trombones" by James Weldon Johnson.
There are some poetic voices that seem so entrenched in their time... that it's easy to get critical if one is not careful.
His voice is one of them. ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6185615.post-1086762210815248912004-06-09T02:21:00.000-04:002004-06-09T11:00:11.250-04:00Tonight, there are ghosts. These are their conversations.
-I am looking for the part of my sadness that is connected to real things.
-I cannot replace my sadness with you. Your intentions, at best…unreliable.
-I love the dark cloudy night and that special brand of peach- colored streetlight. Now there are two of me and I can share loss and imagined loss.
-Recommendation for acute sadness: ak-47http://www.blogger.com/profile/17411020678475839732noreply@blogger.com