May 30: The Catalyst Project

Writers, make your words tangible. 

Art becomes an agent of change in Maxon Hall. Join other artists in creating an exhibition in Carroll University’s aged science building before demolition. Carroll is looking for artists to create site-specific, temporary installations. Here are the details:

  • Each artist can be assured of 6′ of wall space. More might be possible.
  • Supplies will NOT be provided.
  • Artists will have up to two and a half days to work in their space (May 28 – midday May 30.)
  • The event culminates in a festive opening for all on May 30 from 5-9 pm and will be widely publicized in the Waukesha/Milwaukee area.
  • Admission to the event is free. Food provided. Cash bar.

All writers are artists, but not every artist is a writer. Register here.


The Answer
by Robert Creeley
favored by Jenna Villanova

Will we speak to each other
making the grass bend as if
a wind were before us, will our

way be as graceful, as
substantial as the movement
of something moving so gently.

We break things into pieces like
walls we break ourselves into
hearing them fall just to hear it.

April 10: Convo event with film expert Barbara Scharres

Barbara Scharres, Director of Programming at the Gene Siskel Center for the Study of Film at the Art Institute of Chicago, will present “Iranian Cinema: Women on Both Sides of the Camera.” Come to the Oak Room this Thursday, April 10, at 6:30 pm and learn about her experience as a regularly invited attendee at Iranian film events. 

Scharres is an internationally known expert on film. Among her assignments, she regularly attends the festival in Cannes and contributes stories to the Sun Times. Convo points are available to all attendees. Read more about Scharres’s film contributions here

Student publication success

Congratulations to Taylor Hamann. Her poem, “At the Camp for the Mentally Disabled,” was recently accepted for publication in Red Cedar, UW-Barron County’s literary magazine.

Share your publication success with us. Comment below or message us on our Facebook page, the Carroll University Writing Program.

Lady Lazarus

by Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it–

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?–

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot–
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart–
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash–
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there–

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

I Knew a Woman

by Theodore Roethke

favored by Dr. Lori Kelly 

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I’m martyr to a motion not my own;
What’s freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways.)