Al Black and Randy Spencer are effervescent poets, speakers who refuse to hold back or look away from what asks to be gazed upon. In their work, readers are taken on a journey of intertwining rivers where you learn about their histories, intimate parts of yourself, and the spaces and places in which we dwell. Keep reading to learn more about Piccolo Spoleto’s Sundown Poetry Series and Black and Spencer—and discover two poems from the artists.
Former Charleston Mayor Joe Riley launched Piccolo Spoleto in 1979, two years after Italian composer Gian Carlo Menotti founded Spoleto Festival USA. Piccolo, alluding to the smallest woodwind and thus the smaller festival within the larger Spoleto, has reflected the City of Charleston’s desire to showcase local art and artists.
The Sundown Poetry Series is one of the oldest events in Piccolo history, with the goal of featuring a select number of local poets. The current selection committee consists of Ed Gold, Katherine Williams, and Curtis Derrick. According to Derrick, the application process for poets parallels the process for all Piccolo Spoleto artists and is based on a submission of work. At times, however, the selection committee directly invites applications from poets who have “achieved particular notoriety or had recent book publications.”
The original venue for the Sundown Series was the courtyard at the Dock Street Theater—so drama patrons could enjoy poetry as an art “appetizer” before a performance—but this year Sundown is being held in the Lenhardt Garden of the Gibbes Museum of Art to accommodate more efficient social distancing.
Eight poets are being featured this year, one per evening, in the following order: Al Black, Valerie Nieman, H.R. “Randy” Spencer, Lola Haskins, Dr. David B. Axelrod, Kwoya Fagin Maples, Grace C. Ocasio, and Ren Ruggiero—two of the poets, Black and Spencer, are Columbia-based.
Al Black has published two poetry collections: I Only Left for Tea (2014) and Man with Two Shadows (2018), both with Muddy Ford Press. He co-edited Hand in Hand, Poets Respond to Race (2017) and has been published in several anthologies, journals, periodicals, and blogs. He hosts various arts events, co-founded the Poets Respond to Race Initiative, and was Jasper Project’s 2017 Literary Artist of the Year.
Black expresses anticipation for the reading—while often not the type to seek out readings and more so the one to host them, he deeply enjoys being a part of them. Derrick reached out to Black in 2019 and asked if he would be interested in reading for Sundown, and Black accepted and was slated for 2020, but when the festival was cancelled due to COVID-19, the poets were moved to 2021.
Spencer was also originally slated to read in 2020 and is looking forward to reading this week. H.R. “Randy” Spencer is the author of several chapbooks, and his first full collection, The Color After Green, was published in 2019 by Finishing Line Press. As stated on Piccolo Spoleto’s Facebook, “Recently featured on SCETV’s By the River, this collection of contemporary nature poems is both personal and reaches for larger concerns around climate and ecological changes, sometimes set in the South Carolina Lowcountry.”
Spencer previously read as part of the Sundown Series in 2012 and had such a positive experience that, after the required waiting period between reapplying, he immediately applied to read again. “I don’t do many readings, and my favorite are small groups where we can sit and talk,” he divulges, “I’m looking forward to sharing my work with whoever comes.”
Spencer says that he will start off the reading with poems from his collection but will mix up what he reads to fit this event. “I change it up due to where I am,” he shares, “Since it’s in Charleston, I’ll do more poems that have to do with the coast and the low country and traveling.”
He will also read outside the book, reading some books from a chapbook of poems about the COVID-19 pandemic. He also recently wrote a poem in the Gullah language as a means to preserve and honor the lyrical language, and he hopes to read it during the event as well.
Black also likes to switch readings up based on where he is performing. He will have the time it takes to read a work at the top of each poem’s page to ensure he fits within the time limit—each reading is approximately 40-45 minutes with time for a Q&A after.
“I never have a set list of poems to read—I’ll have 2-3 poems in my head that I might open the night with, but I’ll walk in and try to get a feel for the night,” Black intimates, “based on people’s reactions I may end up reading a poem I’ve never read before.”
Black intends to start “edgy,” potentially touching on racism and/or women’s issues. He will likely start with his first book (I Only Left for Tea), then move to the book about his father (Man with Two Shadows), then various publications, then a book about his mother—which he is currently prepping for publication—before ending with new work.
Both Spencer and Black look forward to sharing work new and old in a fresh space. In that vein, both poets have offered a poem for the audiences of this blog. Spencer’s poem is from The Color After Green, and he feels it is a companion piece to the Gullah poem he may read at the event. Black’s poem is a recent one he was compelled to write after watching an ad card fall from a magazine.
Beatitudes
Blessed is the morning.
Blessed is the coffee.
Blessed is the sun before the rain.
Blessed are the birds
that dampen traffic noise.
Blessed is the train that wails
and the siren song that fades.
Blessed is the drone of the plane that stays aloft.
Blessed are the dog walkers, the couples,
the skateboarders, the bike riders,
the joggers, the mommies pushing strollers,
and the daddies carrying daughters on shoulders.
Blessed are the lonely.
Blessed is the greening tree.
Blessed are the flowers that grow wild.
Blessed is the broken fence rail
I step over to enter the park.
Blessed is the cat that chases the squirrel
and the dog that scares the cat.
Blessed is the silent leaf blower
when the neighbor takes a break.
Blessed is the moss that fills
the empty spaces with color.
Blessed is the blue recycling bin
that sits outside our kitchen door.
Blessed is the card stock magazine ad
that falls at my feet
for it shall become a bookmark.
— Al Black, 2021
Wind
September 23, 1989:
I can still feel it. The wind last night
sucked the breath out of me, flung it screaming
over the live oak and limbless pine.
Then the water swelling, some deep voice
sliding up to us, a dark face, its white woolen beard
spilling over us, straining the ballast
that kept our house rooted like a stiff barnacle
to some tether in the sand
My ears still roar like a seashell.
The ominous calm coming next. That calm
without even the random rustle of life,
birds appearing, silent in the dead air.
When the eye came, I walked outside.
There was a hole straight up
through all that darkness, like a tunnel,
starlight like pinhole punctures in a black screen.
I could barely see the pines, stunted, still straight,
but snapped off midway up, all clipped
the same height, bodiless legs
left planted in clay boots. I could see
cuts opened up in hardwoods, limbs broken
from live oaks, shrubs uprooted, scattered, terrifying.
It came back worse than before,
blowing oppositely, humming its tune
differently over the stringed forest. Inside,
when I could fall sleep I dreamed my ankle
braceletted by a whirl of rope leaping overboard
after an anchor, dragging me after it,
dreams of fish flying, their silver pancaked scales
covering my eyes, cutting into me like razors.
Then, this morning. Coming out
seeing sailboats piled like cordwood,
battered and strewn over the marsh,
masts stepped vertically yesterday
laying over now, angled north
as if they were still carrying sail,
reduced to sundials marking shadows in the morning sun,
birds blown north, vagrants, wounded, dazed,
Shells everywhere, freshly gutted open,
still slick with gristle or beaten white
and smooth, broken on some rock,
then carried inland, a whelk settled in a cowshed,
a purplish clam in a seaside garden
where chrysanthemums should be in bloom,
with my neighbors empty house half lifted
from its foundation and nesting in spartina grass,
on an ordinary autumn day
with bright sunshine, mild sea breezes, soft breakers.
— H.R. Spencer, from The Color After Green (in reference to Hurricane Hugo)
If you’re interested in potentially hearing these poems out loud and in hearing more from these poets, both readings occur in the coming days in Charleston. Black opens the Sundown Series tomorrow, June 1st, and Spencer reads Thursday, June 3rd. Both events begin at 6:30pm.
Spencer’s collection can be purchased at larger retailers or directly from the publishing house, Finishing Line Press: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-color-after-green-by-h-r-spencer/
Black’s books can also be purchased at larger retailers or the publishing house, Muddy Ford Press: https://www.amazon.com/Man-Two-Shadows-Al-Black/dp/1942081162
-Christina Xan