Silverton Poetry

Silverton Poetry The mission of the Silverton Poetry Association is to celebrate and further the art of poetry by spo Reception beforehand at 7:00 pm.

Latino poetry with Germán Rizo, Efraín Díaz Horna, and Juan Cervantes at the Milagro Theater, Portland, Oregon, June 30, 2017, from 7:30 to 9:30pm. Sponsored by the Silverton Poetry Association and Espiral Publishing.

Silverton Poetry fest
02/11/2020

Silverton Poetry fest

01/07/2019
Silverton poetry 2018
02/26/2018

Silverton poetry 2018

Sunday February 25, tamales and poetry at Mt. Angel Abbey Library
02/25/2018

Sunday February 25, tamales and poetry at Mt. Angel Abbey Library

02/14/2018

Song of Myself (1892 version)
BY WALT WHITMAN
1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

2
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

PoeFest 18  Feb 23-24-25
02/13/2018

PoeFest 18
Feb 23-24-25

Some pictures from our William Stafford Event
01/23/2018

Some pictures from our William Stafford Event

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Silverton, OR

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