R.M. ENGELHARDT
Poet Writer Author Albany NY
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So Here We Are In Troy, NY:
After years of creating & promoting events, poets, benefits and making poetry readings happen in Albany, NY as well as in Maine & The Florida Keys we’ve finally made it to Troy, NY and we’re happy to call it home.
And we are calling our new home for poets & poetry O’Brien’s Public House, 43 Third Street Troy, NY held on the Last Wednesday evening of each month.
Why?
Because this is an amazing place and not just because I’m Irish and they have great food & drink. Don & Terry’s Pub is a beautiful place that has a lot of history& class and for the first time in quite awhile I’m looking forward to creating a monthly event that will be something new and exciting. And it’s going be just that.
It’s time.
With a nod to all the friends & poets who came before us –
To all the wordsmiths from the streets
To all the professors & their students
To all the ladies with words to speak
I welcome you all & officially invite you to the 1st
Troy Poetry Mission Poetry Open Mic At O’Brien’s Public House
On WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 28th 2016
43 Third Street Troy, NY held on the last Wednesday evening of each month.
7pm Sign Up~7:30pm Start Time
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*The Troy Poetry Mission is an open mic for poets, writers old & new alike with a featured poet monthly.
$3.00 Donation requested
Hosted By R.M. Engelhardt
Meet You At The Bar
21+ Event
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“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”
— Henry Miller
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In a thousand years
Time shall
Change you
Into a small animal
Who shall be eaten
By a larger animal
That a thousand years
Before his birth
Was the unwashed homeless guy
That you with your
Money, car and 3 piece
Suit ignored walking past
The corner of Church & 7th
Street as you drank your
Starbuck’s Cafe Latte as he
Asked if you could spare
25 cents so he could buy a
Cheaper cup of coffee
3 blocks away at the convenience
Store in a shitty, crappy urban
NeighborhoodAnd just like when
You responded to his
Plea a thousand years before
He shall quietly
And without words
Simply respond back
By slightly
Shaking his head
And attempting to
Dislodge an annoying piece
Of meatFrom his
TeethShare this:
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“Not as we are but as we must appear,
contractual ghosts of pity; not as we
desire life, but as they would have us live,
set apart in timeless colloquy.
So it is required; so we bear witness,
despite ourselves, to what is beyond us,
each distant sphere of harmony forever
poised, unanswerable. It is without
consequence when we vaunt and suffer,
or if it is not, all echoes are the same
in such eternity. Then tell me, love,
how that should comfort us-or anyone
dragged half-unnerved out of this worldly place
crying to the end ”I have not finished.”From ‘Funeral Music”
~ Geoffrey Hill, Collected PoemsShare this:
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This is the best time of the day the dawn
The final cleansing breath unsullied yet
By acrid fume or death’s cacophony
The rank refuse of unchained ambition
And pray, deny me not but know me now
Your faithful retainer stands resolute
To serve his liege Lord without recompense
Perchance to fall and perish namelessly
No flag draped bier or muffled drum to set
The cadence for a final dress parade
But it was not always thus remember
Once you worshipped me and named me a God
In many tongues and made offering lest
I exact too terrible a tribute
Take heed for I am weary, ancient
And decrepit now and my time grows short
There are no honourable frays to join
Only mean death dealt out in dibs and dabs
Or horror unleashed from across oceans
Assail me not with noble policy
For I care not at all for platitude
And surrender such tedious detail
To greater minds than mine and nimbler tongues
Singular in their purpose and resolve
And presuming to speak for every man
Oh, for another time, a distant field
And there a mortal warrior’s lonely grave
But duty charges me remain until
The end the last battle of the last war
Until that tomorrow render unto me
That which is mine my stipend well deserved
The fairest flower of your progeny
Your sons, your daughters your hopes and your dreams
The cruel consequence of your conceit~ Steve Earle
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