photo by marie c lecrivain
In August 2015 Alan Britt was invited by the Ecuadorian House of Culture Benjamín Carrión in Quito, Ecuador for the first cultural exchange of poets between Ecuador and the United States. During his visit he did TV, radio and newspaper interviews, gave presentations and read poetry in Quito, Otavalo, Ambatto, Guayaquil, and Guaranda, plus the international literary conference sponsored by La hermandad de las palabras 2015 in Babahoyo. He served as judge for the 2013 The Bitter Oleander Press Library of Poetry Book Award. He read poetry and presented the “Modern Trends in U.S. Poetry” at the VII International Writers’ Festival in Val-David, Canada, May 2013. Recent readings include the Biblioteca Comunal at the Ecuadorian Consulate in Queens, Long Island City, NY, November 2015, the 6x3 Exhibition at the Jadite Gallery in Hell’s Kitchen/Manhattan in December 2014, the Fountain Street Fine Art Gallery in Framingham, MA in June 2014, and the Union City Museum of Art/William V. Musto Cultural Center in Union City, NJ sponsored by LaRuche Arts Contemporary Consortium (LRACC) in May, 2014. His interview at The Library of Congress for The Poet and the Poem aired on Pacifica Radio, January 2013. New interviews for Lake City Lights and Schuylkill Valley Journal are available at http://lakecitypoets.com/AlanBritt.html and www.svjlit.com/aninterviewwithalanbritt.
He has published 15 books of poetry, his latest include Violin Smoke (bilingual English/Hungarian): 2015; Lost Among the Hours: 2015, Parabola Dreams (with Silvia Scheibli): 2013 and Alone with the Terrible Universe: 2011. He teaches English/Creative Writing at Towson University.
(After Bob Dylan)
Green iguana gill mantis sheen.
Veins & South American rivers
mapping Australian longnecks
rattling the conveyor.
Claw, unintentional, instinctual,
digs in; something's amiss;
something's about to burst
into Chinese fireworks just before
it's about to happen.
Saddle your filthy paint.
Jimmy the lock for leverage.
Over, that's the ticket.
Under wouldn't do.
Over’s the answer today;
over & not so much under
the hood of your discharged
without a license '34 Ford coupe
or '48 Plymouth with me trapped beneath
you & Roger Lyle entering
the Skydrome Drive-in via the exit,
alien speakers ripped from aluminum pods
& streaking Military Trail like fireworks
from the Palm Beach County Fair.
What's wrong with that?
I play mostly songs
between the hits;
it's not I don't appreciate
an occasional hit or three, it's just
I don't feel obliged
to Gorilla Glue® myself to the ghost
of Jack the Ripper® or any other fool
enough to declare rock star status
during our downturned economy.
What's this, now, Daddy's in the alley,
he's looking for food, but I stumble
from a shoe, a patent leather strapless get-up
for a night out with Pagliacci's best friend,
& I'm in the kitchen with a Bouvier flooze
sniffing & eyeing her AAA food,
filtered water every 4 hours
or so, & here we are, again;
though we swore we'd never meet
this way again; here we are.