Cover Story

What She Wanted

CARA FLEMING

What she wanted What she really needed Was not, in fact, a trust fund Thinner thighs, Adoring sycophants Or other improbable things

What she secretly longed for Above all else Was an omniscient narrator To speak for her Caution her Defend her In those lonely moments between better days

A voice that could guide her Comfort her Speak for her In times when her own voice failed And honesty did not come easily Or soon enough To be effective

What she needed Was a giant Booming Orator To scream “NO” In all the moments When she sat on her hands And let her heart break Very quietly So as not to be heard

and poets,” Campiglio said. “Then it was a natural progression to be thinking about let’s pool all of our energies while we’re all together.”

Lukaszevicz, who also attended Worcester State College at the same time as Juarez and Campiglio, was a Noh Place board member since the beginning. Lukaszevicz was a guitarist for The Ghost Shadows, alongside Noh Place core members Juarez, who sang, and Charles Majka and Brian Jyringi, who played bass and drums, respectively. Lukaszevicz also booked most of the musical acts at Noh Place.

“Noh Place was a place where you could practice art with no fear,” Lukaszevicz said. “The spectrum of performance there was astonishing. There was, obviously, the poets and Andres was just connected in such a deep community of poets, guys like Stephen Campiglio and Jonathan Blake but also guys like Etheridge Knight, Jean Lozoraitis and other folks that he would bring in. But the music went from jazz to folk to new age to classical.”

Although she wasn’t a WSC student, Lozoraitis was also on the Noh Place board. She did poetry readings, a painting show, and musical performances there. She also shared the stage with celebrated folk artist Jacob Knight of West Brookfield, who, turns out, was also a poet.

“I was a fiery feminist and to be able to talk about politics under the guise of poetry was a good way to express my feelings and let people know what was going on, in terms of things happening in Great Brook Valley and Main South,” Lozoraitis said. “Noh Place was a real social and cultural outlet. And Noh Place was a place to exchange political ideas and work together, to write new material in workshops. It was really a center of alternative culture in the City of Worcester, for a while, anyways.”

Another key player later on, Bill O’Connell, did a lot of the promotional flyers, did his share of poetry readings and alternated Sundays with Jyringi running the Sunday jazz series. Although he didn’t go to Worcester State, O’Connell sat in and read poetry for the first time at Campiglio’s Tuesday Night Workshop.

“The original idea of Noh Place was to give artistic voice to community artists, i.e., us, but also others that were countered to what the Worcester Poetry County Association was doing, and that wasn’t my thing as much as Stephen and Andres’ thing,” O’Connell said. “They were always trying to be some sort of counter-revolutionaries. Well, they’re (the WCPA are) all stuck up and they have big names. We’re just going to have everyone do what they can do and that was the whole idea, to create a space.”

“The Worcester County Poetry Association was the establishment. They were officious. They had the funding and the big contests. And we were thought of as rebels and renegades,” Campiglio said. “The Worcester Review really wasn’t interested in publishing us. The WCPA didn’t really try to reach out to Noh Place to partner with us for events.”

“The WCPA was not being representative of all the people around in the city and they saw us as a bunch of hooligans,” Blake said. “I think they came to see later that even though we were a bunch of hooligans that we were still serious and that it meant something to us, instead of us just saying, ‘Hey kids, let’s put on a show!’ We’re not Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.”

“The poetry association, after all, was really inspired by professors who were scholars. They taught poetry and I’m sure some of them wrote poetry but, basically, they were academics and that was their approach,” said Merle, who served as the WCPA president for two years. “As far as they were concerned, I was some sort of abomination. But that was back then. They were straight-laced back then. They’re probably a little better now.”

Rodger Martin, the current president of the WCPA, remem-

Why Is My Scalp On Fire?

MICHEL DUNCAN MERLE

I feel watched — that amorphous malaise, reeling in memorabilia, albums of self-incrimination

I raise my eyes enough to see It’s a thing, it’s visible, the head prickly with garlands of empty semi-abstract strands of foreboding

The lightbulb shining behind glycerin tears My armpits hurt as I go drifting through the house

Between sacred and secular windows of opportunity On the ragged edge of disaster I realized that I’d been bitten by oddly memorable explosions and hails of bullets of silvered glass

Bill O’Connell reads poetry.

bers Noh Place well, and takes the historical trash talk in stride, saying there’s always a tension between established arts organizations and new groups, but that he admired how Noh Place pushed the envelope.

“I enjoyed what they did,” said Martin, adding that many Noh Place regulars eventually were published by the Worcester Review and featured in WCPA-sponsored readings. “I think it was an interesting organization, and I enjoyed that they did different things.”

With a board made up of visual artists, musicians, performers and poets, Noh Place epitomized an open-door policy. It was a welcoming, inviting stage where poetry, music, performance, theater and gallery hung art could find a home together, whether it came from an accomplished creative voice, aspir

DENISE CAMPIGLIO

ing novice or collaboration of both. From the get-go, Noh Place had a bi-weekly poetry series, a Sunday jazz series, performances on Friday and Saturdays, wall space for artists on a rotating schedule and a variety of special events as well.

“We purposely set up to welcome people,” Juarez said. “We set up to be an open stage and not to be critical. We purposely set up to make sure we had a place for artistic expression. We wanted folks to do their best.”

In the beginning, Noh Place was certainly a labor of love, with emphasis on labor. The board members constructed all the tables and benches out of donated lumber and put a fresh coat of paint on the walls. They also paid the rent out of their collective pockets. Then again, making money was never a big concern for the Noh Place crew.

“The hammerheads that we were, I remember once we threw a benefit and forgot to collect money at the door. We were just having a good time. When the night was over, we were like, ‘Did any of us collect any money?’” Campiglio recalled. “We, obviously, weren’t in it for the money. Your calling as an artist doesn’t follow any kind of monetary enumeration because it’s your vocation. You get in it for the long haul.”

Noh Place had its last Lovell Street performance on May 29, 1988. After a six-month hiatus, Noh Place reopened on the second floor of an abandoned printer building at 88 Webster St. on Dec. 10, 1988. Noh Place’s last scheduled event was June 25, 1989. Noh Place existed roughly 14 months on Lovell Street and six months on Webster Street (with six months off in between).

Still, in its short existence, Noh Place had its share of memorable poetry readings and performances.

In 1968, Etheridge Knight saw early parole for armed robbery and his first collection of poetry, “Poems from Prison,” published. A major poet in the Black Arts Movement, Knight moved to Worcester and began the Free People’s Poetry Workshop. Although he was living in Boston at the time, Knight returned to Worcester on Jan. 9, 1988, to do a workshop during the day at Noh Place, followed by a reading at night.

“Etheridge did a reading and there was a performance with a couple of jazz musicians that got up,” Blake recalled. “We had no idea it would turn into the drumming and music and transcendent reading it did. Etheridge was on

Blowing Glass (for my brother Tom)

BILL O’CONNELL

The glass blower

fingers his trumpet,

nimble hands curling neck arched back

sucking in a firestorm

crushing his lungs, heart, blood

pumping as he blows and blows

like Miles, like

Sunday dawn jam cutting solos, blow

blossoming out of blow,

neck craning muscles glistening in the heat flaming

woman bulging from her dress scorched man

bulging also, blowing out like Dizzy

cheeks so sweat-hog foul

his shirt reeks

and the glass breast swells,

is blown — a penis, an eye,

a fist clenching, supple lips,

is the climax, sweet breath

and melting glass

thrust down

into the flames again

The back of a flyer for “Cara’s Poetry Reading.”

Flyer for the Stranger Meets the Ghost Shadows show.

‘…for poets and dandelions fly with without wings’

JEAN LOZORAITIS

to all the loves, foolish and otherwiseto all the mornings I have risen in joyto all the lessons I have learned about what it is to be human. I am grateful for the freedom to create something from nothing -even if it was a lie to get me through the day.

drunk. But, before he got really drunk, I asked him to read one of my favorite poems of his, ‘Feeling (Expletive) Up,’” Juarez said before reciting lines from the poem from memory. “‘(Expletive) god Jesus and all the disciples (expletive) fanon Nixon/and Malcolm (expletive) the revolution (expletive) freedom (expletive)/the whole mutha- (expletive) thing/all I want is my woman back/so my soul can sing.’ I always loved that. And he did it.”

“I just remember Etheridge being such a presence and his poetry was a discovery in itself, just that like Etheridge reading there was a

“The room was packed,” Campiglio said. “That night, I did remember to collect the money.” And there was Merle’s absurdist performance piece about aluminum. “I was in an aluminum foil costume and a big headdress and I had a script on the back of some signs that I was holding up,” Merle recalled. “The signs had to do with the manufacturing of aluminum and it was very technical.” “I don’t know if it was part of the show or the audience improvised with the show but we all started chanting aluminum,” Campiglio Stephen Campiglio (with mask) performs at Noh Place. that at certain points which Michel was on stage, the audience would ROGER GORDY go, ‘Aluminum!’” fire, as were the musicians. Their (the musician’s) participation was not planned but just happened, spontaneity. Noh at its best.” “After the workshop, we took a break for dinner. And, then, Etheridge came out and did a read ing that night. And, afterwards, it turned into a full-blown party,” Campiglio recalled. “He (Knight) crashed in my living room that night (on a pull-out mattress) … I have a poem I wrote that finishes with ‘Etheridge sleeping on my mattress.’” “Etheridge Knight got really “Chris Gilbert was one of the few black voices I knew of in Worcester,” O’Connell said. “He was also such a kind, generous person who just loved poetry and art and wanted people to be able to do what they wanted to do.” Another successful Noh Place event was “The Stranger Meets The Ghost Shadows” on June 19 and 20, 1987. “Michel (Merle), absolutely one of the most talented guys and nicest guys I have ever met, is also one of those high-class poets that couldn’t be beat. And, he had this In April 1989, “Exit One Door to Enter Another,” a performance poetry piece with Campiglio, guitarist Jim Capone and horn player Dan Stearns, was also a memorable show. “That is when I started getting into improvisation, reading poetry with musicians,” Campiglio said. “Straight readings are fine but we can spruce things up with readings with musicians too.” Noh Place even successfully put on a “Saturday Night Live”-inspired “Comedy Night” show, written by Lukaszevicz and Jeff Till.

you could write like that from that experience,” O’Connell said. Thought Balloons performs at Noh Place. “I know Stephen and Andres felt SCREEN SHOT MICHAEL LUKASZEVICZ/VIDEO RECORDING MICHEL DUNCAN MERLE said. “That’s indelible in my brain validation of what they were trying persona that would live in a lot of to do. Just the fact that he showed his poems called ‘The Stranger,’” “We had a host and a guy (Ernie up gave us a sense of ‘Wow, we’re Lukaszevicz said. “The Ghost ShadGrennon) playing piano between connecting with someone.’” ows were playing music behind the acts,” Lukaszevicz said. “It was

Christopher Gilbert, the 1983 a scrim and Michel was up front song and dance, a few different winner of the Walt Whitman doing Stranger pieces. And, then, skits and a two-act play at the end. Award in Poetry, read on Sept. 24, at the end, the scrim came down Again, people could try anything 1987. Gilbert, who received a Ph.D. and The Ghost Shadows started there.” in psychology from Clark Univerplaying Ghost Shadows songs and Another interesting pairing was sity, was another nationally known it turned into a big dance party at Blake and O’Connell for a jazz popoet with strong ties to Worcester. the end.” etry show called “In America.”

An ode to those who question

ANDRES JUAREZ

(for my mother who taught me to question and for Stephen Hawking, whose book “A Brief History of Time” reminded me of the importance of questioning.)

I.

The sky is clear and the moon is crescent. A hot summer wind blows. I’ve come to sit alone, to clear my mind of thoughts which spin and weave, shuffle and stray, and say nothing. I think of the billions of stars, out there, In the known universe. My mind is fragmented and fills its self with thoughts of Mayan Astronomers and inter-stellar Voyages of the Zapotec ThoughtsofNewton’sdiscoveryofthespectrumof color found in a prism, of Hubbell’s notion of the expanding universe, of Einstein — that Zionist gift to humanity. Of Thelonious Monk, and Duke Ellington, and Raymond Duncan, folks to shook things and questioned. My thoughts boil and steam, clatter and squeak until the image of Stephen Hawking appears. Professor Hawking, sitting in his wheelchair, deformed, pained, struggling with speech, exploring, searching, living his life, writing his “A Brief History of Time.” His life full of meaning and significance, celebrating questioning, becoming part of the continuum covering the globe we call earth kin to the Chinese and their knowledge of rocketry and to those Arabic thinkers who gave us those powerful numerals we count. Hawking, contributing; challenging; powerful. The clear sky leads me towards the desert horizon, I’ve often called home I walk towards the horizon, “My mother is dead, she taught me to question,” I say to the stars as I tip an imaginary hat to those who have asked, “How those it work, this universe of ours?”

II.

From top, The Ghost Shadows, comprising, from left, bassist Charles Majka, singer Andres Juarez, drummer Brian Jyringi and guitarist Michael Lukaszevicz, perform at Noh Place; Jean Lozoraitis and Jacob Knight join forces for a poetry reading at Noh Place; Stephen Campiglio performs at Noh Place.

“The idea was that we had musicians with a rhythm section and we, the poets, were the soloists,” O’Connell recalled. “Each poem was like a solo of some sort and they (the musicians) were keeping the rhythm for us. And we were playing back and forth between the two voices. It was a Kerouac-ian type of thing.”

One of the most ambitious projects Noh Place ever did was holding its “Jazz in Worcester” festival on Feb. 7, 1988, the same day Jazz Worcester scheduled a jazz festival.

“Jazz Worcester was doing a jazz festival but there was no representation of any Worcester jazz artists,” Blake recalled. “So we said, (expletive) that! And we did a twoday thing of rotating jazz musicians in and around the city.”

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Cara-jean Cosenza’s and myself co-headlining a reading on Sept. 10, 1987. It was the first featured reading for both of us Worcester State College alums.

“There was a great camaraderie at Noh Place. It was a community. It was a place that when you went there, you knew you would be entertained and, in some way, forced to think or feel something,” Consenza (now Cara Fleming), said. “People were listening to you and you got to have your feelings heard.”

Other musicians who performed at Noh Place included Matthew Ardizzone, Jim Barclay, Roy Barrows, Michael Bierylo, Michael Boudreau, Ron Carlson, Dick Chase, Chuck and Mud, Alexandra Coates, Charles Coe, Carlos Colon, Ted Conna, The Confuzers, the Dagnello Quartet, the Rich Falco Quartet, Marcia Fluet, Food, Phone, Gas, & Lodging, Forbidden Poets, Jane Garrett, Richard Goulis, Paul Gwiazdowski, The Heffernan Fortune Quartet ( featuring Jim Heffernan on keyboards and Lydia Fortune on vocals), Holiday Clocks, Michael Hurley, Bob Jordan, Joyce Kegeles, Marianne Kreitlow, Frank Lawrence, Fred Levine, Fred Lilienkamp, John McGann, Charles “Reverend” Majka, David Majka, Ray Mason, Meatballs/Fluxus, Jane Miller, Bill O’Connell, Anne O’Connor, The Porch Exchange, Virginia Rubino, Andrea Saussman, Robin Scott, Scott Smith, The Thought Balloons, T.S. Blackstone, Jeffrey “Slick” Wadworth, James White, Jerry Wilfong, Michael Wingfield, the Steve Young Trio, and John Zaganiacz.

Other poets and storytellers that performed there included Geoff Bain, Nancy Bain, Sarah Bennett, Brother Blue, Jonathan Crowe, Ken Dowen, Terry Farish, Ken Gibbs, Scott Hayman, Ralph A. Hughes, Gary Jacobik, Andre Juarez, Jennifer Justice, Tim Mason, Laura Jehn Menides, Patrick Murphy, Oak and Stone Storytellers, Fran Quinn, Eve Rifka, Bill Ryan, Cheryl Savageau and David Williams.

“We were always open, even to the people who didn’t like us,” Juarez said.

When they became “a phantom renegade group” without a physical space, Worcester’s premiere artists’ collective of the ’80s became “Noh Place in Time,” putting on random shows at host venues that included the like-minded Worcester Artists Group (which is a story for another day).

“We didn’t have the space,” Campiglio said. “But, we still had the players.”

A Modest Bid

(a song)

MICHAEL LUKASZEVICZ

The sun is goin’ down very quickly today, but still my life is left undone The leaves are goin’ yellow in their temporary death But I long for just one day alone. Just one day alone

It’s a warm and misty evening, the last before the snow As I hurry from one commitment to the next. The hills call out it’s time, but the leaves they seem to shrug They know I’m behind on the rent. The gas, the phone, and the rent.

And if I find my way out of this rotten, dirty hallway I’ll break out to the land, and dance out my dream A vision holding power to save my little nation A modest bid for immortality. A modest bid ...

Tell me a story that I’ve heard before. The one that makes me feel safe The world, it has no use, for learning something new. And the truth is too hard to face. The truth is too hard to face

The night seeps in. The leaves they cling to blackened silhouettes. Scared of their final fall. But they crumble and they drop, with withered dignity And maybe that’s courage after all. Yeah — give me some courage for the fall

And if I find my way out of this rotten, dirty hallway I’ll break out to the land, and dance out my dream A vision holding power to save my little nation A modest bid for immortality. A modest bid …

And it’s all goin’ so quickly now. But that’s just the way of a dream Best not to think of all you could have done. And the ones that you left along the way. Left along the way.

And don’t question why me. ‘Cuz it’s the dream that chooses you.

Just follow its song and be kind along the way. And remember, you are your own judge. Yes you — are your own judge And if I find my way out of this rotten, dirty hallway I’ll break out to the land, and dance out my dream A vision holding power to save my little nation A modest bid for immortality. A modest bid for immortality. A modest bid for immortality. A modest bid …