Friday, May 30, 2014

“I think you’re a really great guy, but I’m just not that into you.”

A few months ago I sent poems to 6 X 6, a poetry magazine published by Ugly Duckling Presse in Brooklyn. Today came this:
Thank you so much for your submission! We really enjoyed your work - it had some truly amazing moments; however, we did not find it a good fit for 6 X 6. We wish you all the best - happy writing!

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Glenn Ingersoll - January 5 reading at Redwood Cafe, Cotati

Glenn Ingersoll will be reading poetry with Alan Bern in Cotati at the Redwood Cafe on January 5, 5-7pm.

musical guests: Steve Shain, bass; Nick Alvan; songs, bass/guitar

Redwood Cafe First Sundays Series
at Redwood Cafe
8240 Old Redwood Hwy, Cotati

Glenn Ingersoll has had work in magazines (Exquisite Corpse, Carolina Quarterly) and ezines (Cortland Review, Shampoo), and has published two chapbooks, "City Walks" (1999) and "Fact" (2013). He was one of the coordinators of Poetry & Pizza in San Francisco, a reading series benefiting nonprofits. He works for the Berkeley Public Library. erkeley Public Library.

Alan Bern has published two volumes of poetry with Fithian Press: No no the saddest (2004) and Waterwalking in Berkeley (2007). He is currently at work on two books: one based on the theme of Sacred Mountains and the other dedicated to his parents. Alan is a storyteller and performer working with the dancer, Lucinda Weaver, as PACES: dance & poetry fit to the space. PACES has performed stage-piece collaborations in Italy and Switzerland; and they have performed as well in local libraries, museums, and bookstores. Alan is also a printer and designer, and collaborates with the artist Robert Woods: they work together under the imprint of Lines & Faces, http://linesandfaces.com/. They produce illustrated broadsides and in 2014 will be printing and publishing the book dedicated to his parents, even greater distances. Alan has worked in public libraries in the East Bay Area for 20 years in a variety of jobs and is currently a Children’s Librarian at Berkeley Public’s Central Library.

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Whitman-Stein Poetry Fest in San Francisco, Nov 24

Glenn Ingersoll will be reading as part of the Whitman-Stein Poetry Fest in San Francisco, Sunday, November 24, 2-4pm at the AWE Gallery, 678 Portola. No admission fee.

The Whitman-Stein Poetry Fest was founded by Ron Alexander and happens each spring in Santa Barbara. Sunday's Whitman-Stein is a reunion of Bay Area poets who have read down south.

Ron Alexander created the event to bring poetry to the contemporary LGBT community so named it after two famous American poets, one gay and one lesbian. We're here already, we've been queer a long time, get with it.

To help connect us to our history, poets & listeners alike, Ron asked the poets to read at least one poem by an older gay, lesbian, transgender or bisexual poet before reading their own poems. When I read in Santa Barbara in the spring I read a poem by my mentor the pioneering gay publisher, Paul Mariah. I will be reading the same poem in San Francisco.

The other poets:

Nixson Borah (Atascadero) reads Robert Peters

Giovanna Capone (Oakland) reads Pamela Sneed

Marc Hofstadter (Walnut Creek) reads James Schuyler

Tobey Kaplan (Oakland) reads Djuna Barnes

Kit Kennedy (San Francisco) reads Sappho

Jan Steckel (Oakland) reads Gabriela Mistral

more about the venue:
AWE: A Woman’s Eye Gallery
678 Portola Drive
San Francisco, CA
across from Tower Market
in Miraloma Park
free parking at the adjacent Ebenezer/herchurch Lutheran - PURPLE church
(415) 265-8237
http://www.awegallery.com/

more about the Whitman-Stein Poetry Fest:
http://whitman-stein.org

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

help from mother earth

1:10 a.m., in bed, tired of having Sundy, the shorthair, stomp over my pillow, I'm staring at the ceiling, hand on Sutra, the fat fluffy cat who snores, when there's a thump and a ripple passes under the bed. The cats tore outta there. Hm, earthquake, I said to myself. Now maybe I can get to sleep cat-free.

Monday, September 09, 2013

Glenn Ingersoll - September 2013 readings

Sept 13, Friday, 7pm
with Rebecca Radner
and an open mic
at Caffe Nefeli
1854 Euclid Ave, Berkeley
between Hearst and Ridge, at UCB's Northgate

Sept 15, Sunday, 12noon
with Jamie Asaye FitzGerald and Kathleen Winter
part of the Petaluma Poetry Walk
at Riverfront Art Gallery
132 Petaluma Blvd N, Petaluma
between Western and Washington, downtown

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

blue sky and gentle breezes

A comfortable day in Berkeley. I'm in flip-flops. Just finished a tuna sandwich here at Bel Forno, where I'm using the wifi, a few sips to go on my mocha.

I wrote in my diary. I have some books to read, will probably get thru a few pages.

Browsing accommodations on Oahu as Kent & I are thinking of visiting his nephew who has a boat there. Randall and his biz partner are running scuba and snorkel trips under the name Hawaiian Diving Adventures. I've never worn a scuba mask and I'd like to give it a go.

K & I prefer a walk in the woods to a walk in the mall and Waikiki, as a seething mass of bodies, does not appeal, so we've never thought much of Honolulu as a destination. But the more I read about the island the more it seems a lot of it is rural. Plus it's not big. From one end of the island to the other travel takes about an hour, according to Google maps.

I'd be fine with a day at museums.

Monday, January 28, 2013

FACT, a book of poems by Glenn Ingersoll



FACT

50 short poem poems

by Glenn Ingersoll

The poems are philosophical, humorous, and often conscious of themselves. The book is small enough to slip into a pocket, handy for those moments stolen for contemplation or distraction.

sample poem:

I am trying to think up
a good poem. I would like it to be good
to make up for all the offenses
of bad poems. Though I suspect that's
too much to demand from my simple skills.
Even a really good poem would be able to atone
for little of the intolerance, torture, and warfare
conducted in the name of poetry.

poems from Fact have appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Lilliput Review, Shampoo, Fish Drum, and Fish Dance, and other places.

Go to Alba for four Fact poems.
Go to Shampoo for seven Fact poems.

You can read Steve Masover's response to Fact at his One Finger Typing.

price: $5 from the publisher
$6 from me - it's signed & includes a thank you card (while supplies last)

Avantacular Press
Andrew Topel, publisher
1239 6th St
Orange City FL 32763

you may also direct inquiries to the author
lovesettlement@yahoo.com

or send him your six dollars via the good old post office (while it lasts!); cash is keen:
Glenn Ingersoll
2015 Cedar St
Berkeley CA 94709

Monday, January 21, 2013

Thousand: Thousand

thou. Sand castle, sandpaper. Let me find you, says the wind. The dog lifts her head, ears pricked, nostrils twitching. What did she hear? Something transdimensional? A worm turning? At one end of the world a bell rings; at the other someone waits, listening for an answer. We made it to the top of the mountain. To get any higher, hail an angel. Or a cyclone. Thank you, days, months, years, for counting. There’s not a minute to lose, yet here they are, all over the ground. How many have you squirreled away? Three two-minute segments, one five-minute, one one.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine

body is waiting, no one in it. Will it let the breath in? The body’s not sure. Sometimes you have to say no. The breath could go back to searching. It’s always been a seeker, anyway. There are grains of sand to check under again. The telephone rings in the house. The only guest picks it up. “No,” he says. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” When he hangs up the phone he feels bad. He goes back to his room. “You and me,” thinks the woman standing over the dog. She’s not intending to take the dog in. I and

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety-Eight

knack. You know how you can be so good at something it doesn’t take any thought? Typing, playing the piano, executing somersaults. When you started working on the task it was difficult, maybe seemed impossible, but you kept at it. At some point it became effortless. Your body no longer needed you to think out each step in the process. Perhaps her husband got lost. Finding a good night’s sleep had been impossible. He took a wrong turn. His breath returns to his body having not found him in the dust and ash, having searched the sands without luck. The

Friday, January 18, 2013

Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety-Seven

goat stew. The woman smiles at the dignified swing of the dog’s approving tail. The scrapings drop out of the pot into a washtub that long ago split down one side, some of the stew in burnt chunks and two bones thick as a fist. The pup ducks under his mother’s chin to snatch one and lope off for a lone and satisfying gnaw. The dog pretends she didn’t notice. The woman laughs. It’s her first laugh of the day. Earlier she was listening to her husband breathe. Breath didn’t seem at home in him anymore. Or he’d lost the

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety-Six

If the dog knew she was really a princess, having been enchanted into this form by a vindictive fairy, she betrayed no hint of it. Her second litter was weaned by this time, though the most teat-addled of her sons still had to be bitten once or twice a day. He didn’t hold it against her and would curl up at her feet while she slept. This sunny but chilly afternoon the dog trots around to the back of the guesthouse, and finds the proprietress, serving spoon in one hand, pot to be scraped out in the other. Smells like

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety-Five

When a car or a donkey cart needed by, the dog would get to her feet, yawn, and move aside, doing this favor purely, you could tell, out of the goodness of her heart. With the traveler past she would return to the otherwise restful spot as it made sense to. She kept up daily rounds, reviewing the usual dumping places, keeping tabs on the comings and goings of other dogs and engaging in the occasional exchange over hierarchy, enjoying the infrequent scratch behind the ear by a friendly hand or dodging the less pleasant boot. She didn’t bark much.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety-Four

I can only reply: You have beautiful lips. I love to see them move. They open, they close, they purse, they spread. You make fine noises. Such a variety of noises! I can feel their atmosphere, the conforming of air to your purpose. It’s a local, ephemeral sculpture. Paint it. Make a mold. Let it go. Once upon a time there was a dog. The dog had no name. None had been given to her. Other dogs recognized her by her smell, by the way she moved, the sounds she made, her shape and attitude. She slept in the street.