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1300 EL PASEO ROAD #G 308
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LAS CRUCES, NM 88001
US
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Phone:
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(575) 621 - 9694
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beatlickjoe@yahoo.com
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| Objectives |
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Winter snowfall: Organ Mountains, NM by Michael Elliot BEATLICK NEWSA Poetry & Art Newsletter with Chronicles of the ultimate "urban camping" experience Published by the Beatlicks: Pamela Hirst & Joe Speer
MORE LINKS AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS SCREEN:
UPDATES: FEATURE REPORTS ON SLAB CITY & NEW ORLEANS!!! Winter Issue Volumne III, Issue 2 FRONT PAGE: Frugal Film Festival Features Movies by Beatlick Joe Speer For years folks have been encouraging us to put something on YouTube, but we have been far too lazy to figure all that stuff out. Now playwright Chuck Reuben, of Albuquerque, NM, has done all the work for us bringing to the little screen of the internet: The Frugal Film Festival featuring “The Three Body Problem“ and “Old Albuquerque High,” collaborations between Joe and Chuck back in the 80s.
Joe originally produced the two 30-minute films for Public Access Channel 27 in Albuquerque. You can find them at chucksville.org. Also included in the Frugal Film Festival is “Pyrrhic Victory.”
Chuck Reuben’s website chucksville.org is loaded with intriguing features, we highly encourage you to check it out. LIVE FOR ART
By Beatlick Pamela Hirst This November marked one year on the road for the Beatlicks. Our van, blessed officially by the Ukranian Orthodox Church, has been terrific. We have become true VW van owners now, we bought a second van just for spare parts. A young couple set out from St. Augustine, FL, in a van just like mine. They had quit their jobs, sold their vehicles, and hit the road loaded with surfboards headed for the West Coast. They furnished it with a $400 hemp canvas top, great cabinet works, new paint job, great tires, everything but a good motor. They didn’t make it past the desert. My mechanic and I bought the whole thing for $500. I put them on a bus bound for Califonia; they’ll have to start all over. But as always, someone’s bad fortune is someone else’s good fortune.
My other good fortune is the healing of my relationship with my son. He didn’t speak to me for five years. Last summer we had a few civil meetings while I was back in Nashville. Yesterday was his birthday. I was barely eighteen when I gave birth. I had been to Indiana and Florida. That was the extent of my world view. I mailed him a card and present. The text message he sent me in return said, “Thanks, I love you.” As I journey forward my world has become so much happier, fuller. God bless us one and all.
BEATLICK PAMELA HIRST, LAS CRUCES, NM
PAGE 2: FEEDBACK:
Dear Joe & Pamela,
I enjoyed reading The Rag—loved your ode to your old English teacher. My most memorable teacher was Sandra who taught physics, trigonometry, geometry, and algebra. This was in an academic high school, where we were expected to perform whether we were left-brain-dominant or not. Besides our class was composed of “language-oriented” people. She was a spinster, dressed in dark, dull clothes, hair pulled back to a tight bun. Her shoes were probably from the 1800s. In addition, she was very sarcastic, making snide remarks to those who were not inspired by her logarithms. I said Sandra was the most memorable, not my favorite. SEIJA TAFOYA
ANAHEIM, CA Dear Pamela and Joe,
Thanks for publishing two of my poems in Beatlick News. I thoroughly enjoyed Vol. III, Issue 1, and I congratulate you in attracting fine writers. The reviews keep an eye on important, often neglected, producers of high-quality work. ROBERT SCHULER
MENOMONIE, WI Hey Joe, Going to see Robert Bly for a weekend poetry workshop men’s gathering on the far end of Signal Mountain where it runs down into Alabama. That should be fun. Haven’t done much travel this year but got to be in NYC a few weeks ago and saw an exhibit of Blake’s art in the Morgan Library. They own lots of Blake’s works and only bring them out every twenty years so that was lucky, that along with a Kadinsky show at the Guggenheim so I got my art fix, at least for a while. Otherwise was published in Parabola earlier this year with a book review about non conceptual logic, weird shit, translated from a text written in the eighth century CE. With this logic truth is measured by its relation to a category of being called “unbounded wholeness”. The closer you get to that the closer you are to the truth, which can’t be seen from a limited perspective?
MICHAEL WHITE
BRUSH CREEK, TN Dear Joe Speer,
The issues continue to be interesting reads. Starting to see more names I know. A.D. Winans was good enough to include me in some issues of his SF magazines, and anthologies, decades ago now. Showed me hospitality and generosity I really appreciated.
I know I’ve been in a number of magazines with Simon Perchik. But then, who hasn’t. Methinks he’s running Lyn Lifshin a close second for sheer quantity. And he’s an attorney, as well? What kind of law does he practice? My guess would be “lots of.”
The name, Neal Whitman, Pacific Grove, means we’re both here on the Monterey Peninsula on the Central California coast. Maybe my wife said something about losing an email from him. Not sure. Not sure about anything to do with computers. Never trust electricity. I’m very old school.
What was especially interesting to me, were the two Egypt photos from James Gay. Makes perfect sense, actually. “Desert.” They did something particularly for me, as I am years, years into a novel set in Ancient Egypt. I publish bits of it, and poems inspired by it, around. I believe my notes show I’ve sent you a couple of these “Egyptian poems.
Again, many thx for your hospitality and generous interest in my work. I send many good wishes to you both, and continued good work with Beatlick News. DENNIS SALEH
SEASIDE, CA
Beatlicks,
Tweaked beers are welcome when the town is brick-brown and stodgophonic...I mean “going over the top” in a most eerie way, means BEWARE OF DOG & DIVINE SPIRIT (in that order): Wet towns will always sop your head. If everything is proven by its absence, where are all the missing pink blankies at the technology incubator? Meanwhile the lake looms by, pure blue blind thought. BARRY ALFONSO
PITTSBURGH, PA
PAGE 3:
Borderline Coincidence There is a point in the finiteness of consciousness where dreams and reality overlap and become indistinguishable one from the other. This is where the coincidence, which I am about to relate, took place. But is anything ever coincidental? What factor determines dream from reality? Each experience is its own reality. Until it goes to memory, where everything is real: nothing is real.
It would never have come to light had there not been a picture accompanying the death notice. But there was a picture. It was announced that visitation would be at a certain funereal home on April 7th, at 6:30 PM with services to follow. Three days from the time the notice appeared in our local newspaper.
I found it both strange and amusing. For one thing ‘John Does’ don’t usually have services at funeral homes… with visitation. Secondly the picture, that cost money, too. And thirdly how could a corpse be a ‘John Doe’ with a job, a home, driver’s license, social security number, a family and many friends? I determined I would go to the services as I was curious to see who would be there to pay their last respects and mourn the loss of this ‘Mr. Doe’.
There was one person who would be there for sure, George. I’ve never known George’s last name, but everybody who has ever gone to a funeral in our town has seen him, sitting in the back of the room, perpetual smile on his face, whispering to himself.
George goes to every funeral. Such a constant fixture at those functions the ladies don’t cut their eyes at him anymore. I guess going to funerals is his hobby. Some people play golf; some people collect coins; George goes to funerals.
I’ve never seen him talk to anyone but himself, though I have seen him nod to people. As a matter of fact the last funeral I attended several months ago, a childhood friend who had passed away of natural causes, George nodded to me. The services had ended and I was leaving. Rather distracted by my grief I nearly bumped into him. He sidestepped, nodded to me and went his way.
For an instant we had been in very close proximity and I remember realizing that what I had always thought was a smile on his face wasn’t a smile at all, but a characteristic; the way his face was structured. I thought to myself, ‘Mild mental retardation’. And the smile on my face, which was an automatic response to what I had assumed was his smile, faded.
Resisting the temptation to call the paper and tell them of the error, that not only did their ‘John Doe’ have an identity; he was alive and well, I waited. After all, I didn’t want to spoil it.
The wait was made difficult by the fact that I was on leave of absence from work and had nothing pressing to do. I used the time catching up on my reading and working crossword puzzles.
When I entered the funeral parlor I was surprised to see so many people. Some of them looked vaguely familiar, especially the lady and several young adults and children weeping on the front row, but I didn’t know any of them.
It was obvious from the number of mourners and the atmosphere that the error had been corrected. I hadn’t bothered to go out to get a paper after that first day, so I was very curious as to who actually occupied the coffin.
I stood before that coffin looking down upon the paltry caricature inside for a long time. When I turned back to the mourners I saw George. He was sitting on the back row smil… no, not smiling; looking at me. I went back and sat beside him. He turned to me and whispered, ”Yes.” There was a long silence; then he said, “I am here to serve as your guide.” JAMES C. FLOYD
NASHVILLE, TN
Moment #12
contemplating
his wild
and wicked accusations
I wonder
why I would
ever want to
bring such darkness
into my life
my initial mistake
20 years ago
could be blamed
on the booze
but this time
there was no booze involved
and so I could see
more and more clearly
what a detestable creature
he had become
and possibly always was GREG EVASON
TORONTO, CANADA
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| Employment/Experience Summary |
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PAGE 4: Two reviews by Gary Brower
THEIR BACKS TO THE SEA BY MARGARET RANDALL
When I was in high school, decades ago, I read Thor Heyerdahl’s "Kon Tiki," which proposed a theory about human migration and involved Rapa Nui (Easter Island).
Then last year, I read Jared Diamond’s "Collapse," a chapter of which discusses the ecological collapse of the Polynesian culture on Rapa Nui. But the most recent book by Albuquerque poet Margaret Randall, (who has published more than 80 books of poetry and prose, lived in Mexico, Cuba and Nicaragua, and was a founder-editor of "The Plumed Horn/El Corno Emplumado," a seminal literary magazine), has put excellent photos and poetry together from a trip to Rapa Nui in her latest book. "Their Backs to the Sea," issued recently by Wings Press of San Antonio, TX, is a volume that includes personal, political and travel poems, including a long poem about Rapa Nui, in segments, that runs to some 40 pages, with photos. This poem is one of personal involvement in where she is but it also brings in culture, history, myth, religion. To me it is reminiscent of other “poems of place” such as Neruda’s "Heights of Macchu Picchu," or Ginsberg's "Angkor Wat" (which also includes photos).
Other poems in this excellent tome include a lengthy biographical work called “Storyline”; a poem about another journey called “Surprising Burma”; “Feet still run” relating her personal experience of the massacre at Tlaltelolco in Mexico City (1968), when the Mexican government killed hundreds (or even more, the number is not certain) of their own citizens (many were university students) protesting the holding of the Olympics in Mexico, ie, spending millions on sports while many of the poor starved.
It is, in other words, a work with a diversity of poems together with a wonderful long work about a place few have traveled to, and fewer know much about. The entire book is a journey you will enjoy. ($16, paper). 114 pgs. 2009
Wings Press
627 E Guenther
San Antonio, TX 78210
wingspress.com SKETCHES BY
MAISHA BATON
This new chapbook by Albuquerque poet Maisha Baton is an excellent follow-up to her previous volumes: "Sound of her voice;" "Dancing Shadows;" and, "Flight Time." Baton, who recently retired as a professor in the African-American Studies program at the University of New Mexico, is not only a poet but also a playwright. Two dramas, "Mitote" and "Kate’s Sister," have been produced, both presenting aspects of the history of African Americans in New Mexico, a topic which is one of her specialties. She was also a close friend of the late playwright August Wilson. Both were from Pittsburgh, Pa., where they were members of the same critique group early on in their careers. (The book’s dedication is to this group). Not many know that Wilson began as a poet before turning to drama and she gave many lectures on this topic.
In "Sketches," Baton gives the reader a series of poems each of which portrays a different person, but these are real people--often from difficult circumstances: a prostitute, a transient, a daughter who follows the bad habits of her father. And many of the poems are in dialect, easy to understand but expressing the realism of common speech on the street.
All of these outsiders are made interesting by Baton’s words with which she deftly sketches, to use the book’s title, each individual. In many poems these individuals become involved in various problematic situations relating to sex, violence, poverty, desperation, as in “Her voice is like saxophones,” or “Alice: Queen of the secondhand dream,” and the lengthy “Where does the mind go?”
There are also poems about family, two about Baton’s grandchildren. And there is a poem about Billy Holliday and another about artist Romeare Bearden. African American society and various members within that society form a mosaic in these poems which together present a picture which you can see if you stand back a little, just as they do in the dramatic pieces of the poet’s late friend, August Wilson. Both are excellent writers. $11.95.
51 pgs
West End Press
PO Box 27334
Albuquerque, NM 87125 (2009)
westendpress.org
GARY BROWER
PLACITAS, NM
PAGE 5: A BILL PEACH ESSAY: Secular Ethics
and Religious Ethics In Chapter 3 of Politics, Preaching & Philosophy, I relate a story of an exchange I had with the professor of an Ethical Theory class at Lipscomb University. We discussed whether secular ethics (is or are) stronger than religious ethics in today’s culture. I proposed, and he agreed, that most people see religious ethics, based on a Divine Command Theory, as a list of “thou shalt” and “thou shalt not” commands consistent with a literal interpretation of biblical writings. As such, religious ethics are more likely to establish a rigid standard of acceptability in a pass or fail Judgment Day grading system.
In contrast, secular ethics are founded upon one or more theories based on intellect, utility, duty, or virtue. Much the current religious emphasis is on faith and the worshipful expression thereof, rather than the admonitions of human relations as recorded in the Gospels.. I do not propose “salvation by works” of course, but surely God had a purpose to shape the compassion and charity of humankind. You don’t give the thirsty person a drink of water because it is God’s command, but rather because God gave us the knowledge of thirst and the gift of water. Christianity, as I knew it in my younger days, was different from the Christianity I see and hear today.
I am finding an angry people, in all media. I tend to think of Christianity (or secular ethics) as a philosophy of attitude without anger. I sat at the feet of a grandmother (the primary character of The South Side of Boston) who never had an angry thought, who never wished ill for anyone.. It was from her that I found my interpretation of ethical or moral behavior. It was Christian, because that was who she was, but it was defined by standards that exceeded Bible verses and pulpit rhetoric....
We have become an angry people. Some of us are still angry about our invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan and Pakistan. Some of us are angry about the Troubled Assets Recovery Program. Some of us are angry about bailouts and government stimulus packages. Some of us are angry about health care reform, the need for, or the resistance to it. Some of us are angry at Democrats; some of us are angry at Republicans; at Liberals or Conservatives or whoever it was who took us to the brink of ruin, or who threatens our freedoms or Constitution, or Democracy or family values or whatever we think we are losing. I understand the frustration that causes anger.
My concern is that those who are the angriest, the most fearful, are those most likely to associate their political views with their interpretation of religious ethics. They are the most likely to preface their anger with a Bible verse, with an avowal of their faith, and submission to God’s will.
In my moments of anger, I came to realize—it was my anger. I did not see it as God’s anger. It was about war and bigotry and denial of human rights, and I was driven by my interpretation of ethical behavior and politics.. I did occasionally quote Solomon, and Jesus, and Thomas Jefferson to validate my thoughts but I never knew if my thoughts had Divine sanction. I still don’t. Not always knowing the will of God in things political and cultural, I usually relegate those to secular standards and rational interpretation. I envy persons who find comfort and certainty in religious ethics. I quote from my friend Will Campbell who said he always followed God’s will, but couldn’t always know which will was God’s and which was his own.
BILL PEACH
FRANKLIN, TN
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VW Vans For Sale!!! Has your home recently been foreclosed? Or are you behind on your rent and don't know what to do next? Maybe it's time for you to move into your own VW bus and hit the open road. Don't walk away; drive away! Six choices: buses & campers: 1967-1979 GERMAN AUTO germancars@q.com or 575-382-9705 ASK FOR HANS!!!
PAGE 6: The Value of Money in 1870
an eleven year old child of some German immigrants
living on Indian lands in what is now Texas
was captured by a roving band of Apache
after incredible hardships
he was adopted into the tribe
and became a trusted warrior
an amazing first hand account of his experiences
was published in 1927
in it he tells a story
when at age seventeen
which is considered an adult
in Apache society
he was in a raiding party
when they rode up on four men leading a pack mule
they charged and killed all the men
and found a large quantity of money
cash
sliver
and gold
in the packs on the mule
they tore up all the green backs
but saved the silver and gold coins
to make into ornaments MICHAEL WHITE
BRUSH CREEK, TN Instructions for playing
russian rou
lette first
put the
bullet in
an empty
chamber
spin the
cylinder
3 times
quickly
cock the
hammer
back lick
it off for
luck & the
black taste
of death
then point
the pistol
at yr head
take a
very deep
breath ex
hale slowly
& let yr
finger fall
in love w/
the trigger
the way
that maya
kovsky’s
did the
shock of
the click
cd kill
You after the crow ate
the earth
it realized
there was
no place
for him
to go
so he
had to
spit it
back up
except
that now
every
where the
crow
looked
there were
Shadows TODD MOORE
ALBUQUERQUE, NM War Gives Life The shoot-out fathers its spray. Crud bears cold fingers, hatching worms. CHRISTOPHER BARNES,
JESMOND, NEWCASTLE, UK
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PAGE 7: haiku hoedown
Winter Call:
A Writer's Quintet
letter from a friend
his black mood in charge
ticking leaves
handwritten note
"My typewriter refuses to type."
rambling
my notebook open
# 2 pencil sharpened
the dead of winter
blood drops
his fountain pen
now capped
midnight recipe:
single malt + one splash
= bagpipe music
NEAL WHITMAN
PACIFIC GROVE, CA
The Undead closeted ghouls slip
through key holes, perch like sullen
vultures on my bed
The Recession wall street gamblers lose
my shirt as their paper house
explodes-confetti!
Michael Jackson childhood arrested-
dad, the heartless cop, handcuffed
pop’s prince, tossed the key craved white powder’s kiss,
lips already powder-white,
dreamed of snowhereland Sopapillas god Sopapilla
stuffed the universe into
a golden pillow
CAROL MOSCRIP
(Traditional haikus consist of three lines—first line has five syllables, second line seven syllables, and the third line reverts back to five syllables. Give it a try and submit to BEATLICK NEWS!)
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Forgiveness in
Advance
with so many
public infidelities
and embarrassable
admissions of hanky-panky
perhaps it is time to initiate
a forgive me in advance clause
into the marriage license like a prenuptial addendum
this legal document
will pardon a one time
sexual excursion
with a member
of either sex
and cover limited acts
of buggery for an extra fee
protection for
multiple acts of
wayward concupiscence
is available
for a top dollar investment
one can secure
a lifetime of protection
like a handgun
loaded against home invasion this forgiving insurance
will hopefully never
be needed but
if the opportunity pops up
one can enjoy a fling
guilt free and prepaid
JOE SPEER
LAS CRUCES, NM
Hendrix T-shirts Jimi nods his head in exuberant rhythm
his image emblazoned forever on my chest
smiling mischievously
as if he is about to set his guitar on fire.
I realized the other day that I have more Jimi Hendrix T-shirts
than Jimi Hendrix music albums.
It all started one day
when my jazz and poetry band
was getting ready to do a live show
on the local radio station
and my mom bought me a new shirt
so I would look good on the radio.
I am not making that up,
my mom bought me a new shirt
so I would look good on the radio
(the cover of the Let It Be album
with John, Paul, George and Ringo smiling away)
and so many people told her what a cool T-shirt it was
that now she buys me lots of rock and roll apparel
for every holiday, birthday, Christmas, and sometimes no reason at all
Beatles, Rolling Stones, Hendrix, Lennon, and Doors,
Even though I am certain if she ever heard a Jimi Hendrix song
she would wrinkle her nose in disgust. That live show at the local radio worked out well,
broadcast on a half hour delay,
except by the time we recorded it
I had moved to another town.
I remember listening to the concert
as I drove away from my old home
until at last the radio signal faded.
It was sort of sad like an old Hank Williams song,
or maybe like Hank Williams himself
performing a show
and then hitting the road for the next town
before the applause could die down
and suddenly I realize,
I don’t own any Hank Williams T-shirts.
GARY EVERY
SEDONA AZ
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PAGE 9: SPEER PRESENTS
For The Wild Horses of Placitas And Other Equine Poems
By Gary L. Brower. When Richard Wright wrote Native Son and Black Boy he used literature as a weapon to combat prejudice in America. This 60 page book of poems is not incendiary but it has a didactic intent, to protect the small herds of wild horses in the open space near Placitas, NM. Gary traces the history of equines from the Paleolithic paintings at Altamira Cave in Spain to the Uffington White Horse cut out of a hillside in England to Comanche the brave horse, the only Seventh Cavalry survivor at Little Big Horn. We used horses to plow the fields, traverse the continent, to bet on at post time, and to ride the broncos in the rodeo. Horses have served us in war and peace. Now with most people living in urban areas, we don’t need them and some people would begrudge them a space to run free. With their usefulness ended we can haul them off to the glue factory like Boxer in Animal Farm. This book reminds us that protecting the wild is protecting ourselves. “Let the wild horses run and live as far and as fast as they can for in some small way they are an indication of our willingness to live in a world of diversity, a living remnant of history, an index of freedom that connects to our survival.” (GLB)
El Caballo Press, Placitas, NM 2009 $10. The book can be ordered at: www.createspace.com/3380774 Crazy Cock By Henry Miller. Written in the late 1920s but not published until after 1961 when the U.S. bans were lifted on his books. At this point he was a celebrity and his early writing efforts seemed unimportant. Crazy is a run-of-the- mill traditional novel form but it does reveal Miller’s talent with language and his descriptive flourishes. It gives a telling account of how his literary aspirations were viewed in New York. His mother called his writing scribbling. “You’re leading a loafer’s life,” she said, “you drift from one thing to another, you have no money, nothing. You’re going to regret it someday.” Greenwich Village viewed him as a penniless bum. He felt humiliated. He moved to Paris in 1930 and left this manuscript behind. In Paris he still had no money but he became “the happiest man alive”. He met Anais Nin and she helped bolster his confidence. He writes of Nin: “It is your vision of me that keeps me powerfully together. I have realized I am a man of value. It is not believing this which almost led to my self-destruction.” Crazy Cock is a book mostly of interest for Miller scholars. The casual reader is better off delving into the Tropics or the Rosy Crucifixion trilogy. Camelot Kid’s
Triggertopia By David S. Pointer. A passport size chapbook of hard hitting political poems. His CEO job description includes: “must wear an
overexpression of
innocence when answering
questions”
Reading Pointer is like mining for gold, it requires some effort. The poems are dense and laden with gems. I read some titles several times to extract the wealth. David includes photographs of his parents, of himself as an infant, and pictures of his daughters which gives the book a warm generational family connection. Published by Alternating Current
PO Box 398058
Cambridge, MA 02139
2009. $5 plus $2 shipping.
Or go to alt-current.com
Cover artwork and inside artwork by Leah Angstman.
Alternating Current prints chapbooks on recycled paper for a prettier Earth.
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PAGE 10
ANIMAL LIBERATION When the rats were released from laboratory cages
they were immediately detained on terrorism charges
for their part in spreading the bubonic plague
Same with monkeys used for research-released
then detained on suspicion of biowarfare
in that their scatalogy caused disease
Wolf, before being released to the wild
was cautioned not to stray into human perimeters
same with bison on prairies-fences cut them
off from their ancestral trails, and
shotguns awaited them should they breed too much
Debeaked turkeys factory farmed for Thanksgiving
envied wild turkeys thin and starving but free and flying
away from tables piled with dead animal meats
Chicken coops relabeled FREE RANGE
were still laying eggs upon demand
and we who control the fate of animals
paid butchers and research scientists to autopsy
why swine flu did not come from pigs, nor avian flu from birds
and why human flu makes animals die
Perhaps we were/are animals
Perhaps we should be factory farmed
Maybe we are THOM MOON 10
AUSTIN, TX
Succor
after the Egyptian hieroglyphic
Hush thee
Put from thee
all discord And make no violence
upon the gods’ regard
Behold
They hath made thee
Thou art the design
of immortality
For in all time
what is there that
shall be otherwise What could be greater
than what Ra
hath wrought
DENNIS SALEH
SEASIDE, CA
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| Education |
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PAGE 11: THE CAMEL CAN’T SEE
THE EYE OF THE NEEDLE “It is easier for a camel to pass
through the eye of a needle than
for a rich man to enter the Kingdom
of God.” Matthew, 19:24.
Too small to be seen from his height,
a camel can’t find a needle in a haystack,
look it in the eye.
He fills his hump with holy water
when rain floods
crossroads
of parable and miracle,
spits in the eye of the selfish,
ascends to the zoo of heaven
upon death.
When a rich man arrives
at the Gates of Paradise
money rattling
inside the piggy bank
of his head,
he always has too many coins on his eyelids,
as if he had wept money. Denied entry because his greed
outweighs a herd of camels,
angry he can’t buy the future,
he wants to trick his way in
with the flip of a coin:
“Heads I win, tails you lose.” Instead: He falls to the ground,
blinded by the shine of Saint Avarice. GARY BROWER
PLACITAS, NM
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| Skills |
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BEATLICK CALENDAR Feb 27 Saturday. For the Love of Lit Branigan Cultural Center, 500 South Main St., Las Cruces, NM 11 AM—1 PM Every 3rd Tuesday. El Palacio Bar 2600 Avenida De Mesilla open mic sigh up 7:30 PM start 8 PM. Tuesday Open Mic: La Nueva Babel, 224 Porfirio Diaz, Oaxaca, Oaxaca, Mexico. Music & Poetry
9 pm -? Spanish, English, Zapotec. 2nd & 4th Sunday of every month. Black Cat Books & Coffee 128 Broadway, T or C, NM 1pm read or listen. Free. Contact Rhonda Brittan
575-894-7070
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| Personal Interest |
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MISSION STATEMENT The mission of BEATLICK NEWS Poetry & Arts Newsletter is to network writers around the world. We publish poetry, an events calendar, essays, short stories and reviews.
Find BEATLICK NEWS archived in special collections libraries at: SUNY at Buffalo, NY; UW at Madison, WI; TSU in Nashville, TN; Linebaugh Public Library, Murfreesboro, TN; NMSU in Las Cruces, NM; Brown U., Providence, RI; plus Coas Bookstore & Branigan Library in Las Cruces, NM; and Poets House, NYC.
Click on the POETRY page below for more BEATLICK NEWS!
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