“READING, WRITING & TALKING WAR”
Coming up on Friday, November 8th, at 8:00 p.m., in FIT’s Katie Murphy Amphitheatre in NYC.
Check out the exciting writers participating below!
Scaled ticketing available: $10, $15, $25 (open seating).
Free tickets available for veterans and students, and reserved comp tickets on request.
For any complimentary ticketing, please contact…
Stories act as a powerful bridge between civilians and veteran experience. On November 8th, through the readings and panel in “Reading, Writing & Talking War,” literary discussions will intersect with veteran discussions – an occasion for readers and writers, civilians and veterans.
Illustrious writer Roxana Robinson, author of deeply engaged and affecting novels like Cost, about a family facing a son’s heroin addiction, and her new work Sparta, drawing us into the life of a soldier just returned from Iraq, will be reading alongside four amazing writers who are veterans.
Maurice Decaul served in Iraq and went on to get a B.A. in History from Columbia and is now pursuing his MFA in Poetry at NYU. In addition to being a powerful poet, he is a major contributor to Vijay Iyer (2013 MacArthur winner) and Mike Ladd’s new album, Holding It Down: The Veterans’ Dreams Project, an intoxicating fusion of jazz and hip-hop.
Mariette Kalinowski, completing her MFA at Hunter and instructing a new crop of writers, is a probing writer of short fiction, on display in her story “The Train,” included in the anthology Fire and Forget: Short Stories from the Long War. She deployed twice to Iraq and is at work on what will surely be an amazing novel, illuminating the female veteran experience.
J.A. Moad II, a former Air Force pilot, who continues to fly commercially from his home base in Minnesota, has been a professor of war literature, educating fellow soldiers and veterans in the power of literature to enlighten and inform. While at work on an exciting novel, he also serves as fiction editor with War, Literature and the Arts, actively engaged in presenting new voices on the complicated subject of war.
Jacob Siegel, a veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, who continues to serve in the National Guard, is editor of The Hero Project at The Daily Beast, a singular and important voice for dialogue on veterans, national politics, heroes and literature. His own prose, tightly crafted and powerful in its evocation of veteran experience, will be on display in his novel-in-progress, and has already appeared in national publications and in the story “Smile, There are IEDs Everywhere” in Fire and Forget, which he co-edited. Jake co-teaches Voices from War, a writing workshop for veterans, with writer and educator…
…Kara Krauze, who will be moderating the discussion with these five diverse voices during our evening of “Reading, Writing & Talking War.”
Follow this link to go straight to online details and ticketing:
Be sure to check out the full week of events, veteran-focused and arts-focused, during the Veteran Artist Program’s Arts & Service Celebration, November 2nd – 9th:
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Don’t miss the stories. Don’t miss the dialogue.
If you are a veteran, and want to work on your own stories…
REGISTER for Voices from War’s Writing Workshop for Veterans, team-taught by Kara Krauze and Jake Siegel.
Come work on your story in a supportive community of fellow vets.
Today, a poem from Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000), which encapsulates transitions from childhood to war to the pain of after, ending on a note of possibility:
- My father built over me a worry big as a shipyard
- and I left it once, before I was finished,
- and he remained there with his big, empty worry.
- and my mother was like a tree on the shore
- between her arms that stretched out toward me.
- And in ’31 my hands were joyous and small
- and in ’41 they learned to use a gun
- and when I first fell in love
- my thoughts were like a bunch of colored balloons
- and the girl’s white hand held them all
- by a thin string—then let them fly away.
- And in ’51 the motion of my life
- was like the motion of many slaves chained to a ship,
- and my father’s face like the headlight on the front of a train
- growing smaller and smaller in the distance,
- and my mother closed all the many clouds inside her brown closet,
- and as I walked up my street
- the twentieth century was the blood in my veins,
- blood that wanted to get out in many wars
- and through many openings,
- that’s why it knocks against my head from the inside
- and reaches my heart in angry waves.
- But now, in the spring of ’52, I see
- that more birds have returned than left last winter.
- And I walk back down the hill to my house.
- And in my room: the woman, whose body is heavy
- and filled with time.
From The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai, ©1986, 1996
Translated by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell