Due to the Bolton Hall's Centennial Celebrations, the Village Poets Monthly Reading for the month of April will be moved to the McGroarty Arts Center (7570 McGroarty Terrace, Tujunga, CA 91042). The reading will be held at the Center which is a former residence of John Steven McGroarty, California Poet Laureate in the 1930s and 1940s. The event will present as the Featured Poet Neil McCarthy from Ireland.
Instead of meeting as has been our tradition on a Sunday afternoon, the Village Poets Reading will be held on SATURDAY, April 27, at 4:30 p.m. An open mike and refreshments will compliment the program. George Harris's hat will be passed around for donations, this time to support the wonderful arts programs at the McGroarty Arts Center.
In 2013, the Bolton Hall Museum is celebrating its 100th anniversary. The Museum is the City of Los Angeles's Historical Monument No. 2.
The anniversary events are listed on the website for the Little Landers Historical Society and include:
|Marker for Bolton Hall - Historic Cultural Monument No. 2 of Los Angeles.|
Neil McCarthy is an Irish poet from Cork now living in Los Angeles. He is the author of three chapbooks of poetry, with his poems appearing in over 30 international journals, including The New York Quarterly, The SHOp (Ireland), Magma (UK), and Poetry Salzburg Review (Austria) to name a few. He is a regular feature on the reading circuit and has performed a guest speaker in bookstores, cafes, embassies, bars and universities, in cities such as New York, LA, Denver, Dublin, Krakow, Budapest, Vienna and Melbourne. Earlier this year, he released a CD of spoken word recorded live in Vienna. He can be found at www.neilmccarthypoetry.com
North from Laguna Beach
It feels a lot longer in kilometres; the metric system making
everything seem a lot faster, further away, more expensive.
And here we are again: making a mockery of geography,
wishing our recent air miles could be ascribed to one company.
Driving north from Laguna Beach, the Pacific struggles to
sleep in the glare of the marauding metropolis around the corner:
It is Halicarnassus during a siege, abraded sketches of victors
and the dead; the colour of Antelope Valley in April; your
Lithuanian skin where the sun screen missed, or my cheeks
ablaze with guilt the first time we kissed in Vienna.
I was Orson Welles skulking in the shadows and you Alida Valli;
our time measured like footsteps advancing on Gethsemane.
I have been drawing a window sill of basil, rosemary and chive,
painting over the blu-tack marks on the bedroom wall, watching
you time and time again, learning your habits, your sleep patterns,
imagining your stomach extend by its nine monthly chapters.
I have been nailing Hollywood signs to buildings we wish to claim,
masquerading as a local on streets where angry men lash out at
invisible foes to the amusement of children and the horror of mothers.
You are there every time, safe in my hand, holding on to me as
I hold on to you, my arm across the divide driving north from Laguna
Beach. Outside, the tableau of images read like a contents page
to a book written with every metric mile; and the burning sky above
Los Angeles just gets brighter and brighter and brighter.
(c) by Neil McCarthy
|Mountain View from the McGroarty Arts Center, Tujunga.|