• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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readings & workshops
November 19

Poetry Reading: Santee Frazier & Franklin K.R. Cline

readings & workshops
November 21

Offsite Talk: Native American Identity & the Politics of the Poetic Image 

readings & workshops
December 3

Ultimate Truth Poetry Reading and Book Release

readings & workshops
December 6

Heddy Keith author of Through it All

readings & workshops
December 9

Poetry Reading: Tonya M. Foster & Samiya Bashir

performances
December 10

Alternating Currents Live presents Nicole Mitchell Quartet

special events
January 27 -28

24th Annual Poetry Marathon & Benefit

Drew Blanchard

Drew Blanchard holds a BA in Journalism from the University of Iowa and an MFA in poetry from The Ohio State University. He is currently a PhD candidate in English at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee where he has twice been awarded The Academy of American Poets Prize. In January of 2009 he received a university research grant to work with the novelist Iván Thays in Lima, Peru and in the summer of 2010 he was a graduate student scholar at the National University of Ireland, Maynooth, a scholarship provided by the International Association for the Study of Irish Literatures. His writing has appeared in Best New Poets, Notre Dame Review, Guernica / a magazine of art & politics, Blackbird,Meridian and elsewhere. Winter Dogs (Salmon Poetry, 2011) is his debut collection.

Selected Poems

Not January Outtake


Drew Blanchard

 

In April it didn't rain and you
          called it blood-month.
                    You mouthed the words
          bone-balloon and I drew
                                stick figures of zoo animals.
                     You wrote questions on steamy
                                          bathroom mirrors
                               about relativity, about time and then
                                                    answered your questions
                                            in octagons and absence.
                               In July you pointed to my stick
                       figure animals, said that I forgot
                                 faux-rock caves for bears, monkey bars,
                                           designated smoking areas.
                                  I thought of empty corners and unused
                       spaces in abandoned barns. I said something
                                   about leaving
                       doors unlocked and the awful
                                  shape of silos.
                                             January now and you
                                  talk of sandstorms, make
                                              lists of animals and plants
                                  you've never touched. I raise
                                              an eyebrow and play,
                                  for three days straight,
                                              happy birthday
                                                         on my new piano.
 


For Your Horse


Drew Blanchard

 

In Toronto sleep with Batman
nightlights in every dark room;
your nightgown will shine
like the evaporated
sheen on the coat of your
draft horse. Offer mud to everyone
near the jungle gym, offer sage
advice to the swings,
jump ropes, flagpoles
and lawyers. In your endless will
leave almost everything
to yourself, but leave
carrots, shotguns, and history
for your horse. Mornings alone,
eat chocolate cake
wearing nothing
but hairpins.
Picture pumpkin
tornadoes, cornless
summers, become an official
counter for the counties'
annual blade of grass
counting championship.
Leave your homework,
finished, at the bank.
Picture your tombstone
on the Isle of Capri.
Then drive through
town real slow-like,
waving to everyone,
your crooked glasses,
silver hair, shining
in midday sun.