In the early 1990’s I founded, edited and published several issues of a poetry zine entitled poetsfeet.  Begun in Los Angeles, it moved with me to New York City and at first, featured poets from my circle of friends, and then gradually expanded to include open submissions.  I wanted to include everyone. My own experience of trying to get my poetry published was frustrating, so instead of just putting out a chapbook of my work, I took hundreds of other poets with me.  I paid for it with what I earned working at law firms at the time.

Recently I unpacked boxes of VHS tapes recording the readings that celebrated each issue of poetsfeet, on both coasts.  It has taken me a while to be able to transfer all this archival material, and attempt to salvage the quickly deteriorating tapes.  Viewing them I was struck by the profound need of voices to be heard, despite the beautiful vulnerability that every poet seemed to experience reading her or his material.  They did not hide under #names, nor while anonymously pecking away behind computer screens.  They were bold because they spoke their own words in their own voices, in front of other poets and listeners.

And what incredible voices! It was a thrill to rediscover some of my favorites, and discover so many brilliant insights I had missed, even as editor and producer of these readings over the decade. Steve Abee’s love song to L.A.,Tommasina Gabriele’s quietly powerful observations on watching the changes that death brings, the raw, spasmatic words tumbling from Eric Brown’s frenetic delivery, Anna Garduno’s wry portrayals of the seduction game in the image industry, the surreal dream songs of Nicole Dillenberg, unpacking Ron Frank’s cleverly witty rhyming social commentaries, an extensive lecture on Korean poetry by Walter Lew, anything by Tony Torn who always managed to be vividly precise about his surroundings while being pulled by a hundred threads of history, personal loss and love at the same time, Nancy Agabian or Julia Brothers using words to slice through the brutality of being a woman. I  also watched the phases of my own poetry, some feel detached now (like the love poems), yet other pieces have withstood the test of time, so far.

And then there the moments of seeing poet friends who have passed: John Pingree (Zeke) attempting an epic study of sexuality and politics of the times; Merilene M. Murphy’s hauntingly complex sound ruminations on race, art, culture. Perhaps others also whom I have not not been in touch with, but whose voices are now preserved.

I would like to think that I spent my hard-earned money well, supporting poetry, even now, as a record of what we said, and why, then. I would like to believe it still speaks to us, now. Behind our computers, pausing our pecking or swiping, to listen deeply, even if the images are blurred, perhaps thinking we too can be this brave and offer our voices to someone who will be listening in the future.

Below are the links to the four readings I’ve posted. If you go to the poetsfeet YouTube channel, you can click on the individual poet’s name and see their specific reading instead of scrolling through the entire tape. Many of the poets appeared several times, both in LA and NY.

-with gratitude, and for your enjoyment