The Poetry of Mark Gibbons

We've Moved to a New Site

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Please check out our new website: http://gibbonspoetry.com/

Premier Reading of "Mauvaises Herbes"

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 13:50:00 +0000

“Mauvaises Herbes” (2009, Propos2Editions), a bilingual (French/English) edition, encompasses the first half of “Connemara Moonshine” (2002, Camphorweed Press) by Montana poet Mark Gibbons. The premier reading took place on January 8, 2010, at Shakespeare & Co. in Missoula, MT. “Connemara Moonshine” was translated into French by Mark’s son Sean Gibbons, in collaboration with University of Montana professor Michel Valentin and French poet and linguist Claude Held. Listen to the reading at Mark's new podcast Web blog: http://markgibbons.podbean.com/

Translation Publication

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 10:56:00 +0000

This September's issue of the University of Montana's International Programs newsletter "Expanding Horizons" includes an article by Sean Gibbons on page 7, which describes the translation of Mark Gibbons's book Connemara Moon...shine into French and the subsiquent publication of that translation in France. Check it out!
http://www.umt.edu/ip/newsevents/newsletter.html

Montana Irish Festival

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 15:51:00 +0000

Irish American poet Mark Gibbons will read a selection of poems at the Montana Irish Festival in Butte, America.
The reading will take place from 2-3PM, Saturday August 8th, at the Butte Public Library, 226 W. Broadway, Butte, MT.
For more information, please visit the Montana Gaelic Cultural Society's web page: http://www.mtgaelic.org/Festival1.html

Northern Arizona Book Festival 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 19:06:00 +0000

Mark Gibbons will be a featured author at the 2009 Norther Arizona Book Festival, in Flagstaff, Arizona. He will read along with Robert Bly, Bruce Aiken, Jennifer Nez Denetdale, Diana Gabaldon and others. Visit the website for more information: http://www.nazbookfest.com/new/authors

Here's what the website has to say about Mark:
Mark Gibbons is a Montana poet. A lifelong resident of the Big Sky state, he lives with his wife in Missoula where he writes and teaches poetry for the Missoula Writing Collaborative, the Montana Arts Council, and Very Special Arts Montana. He has also worked most of the physical labor jobs available to blue-collar descendants determined to stay in Montana at all costs. For the last decade Gibbons has driven truck and moved furniture to make ends meet. He received a MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Montana where he studied with Greg Pape and Jack Gilbert. Influenced by the Beats, Bukowski, and rock and roll, Gibbons’ poems strive for music in plain spoken language. His poems have appeared in numerous journals around the country. His first collection, a chapbook Something Inside Us, appeared in 1995. A second chapbook, Circling Home, won the Scattered Cairns Press chapbook competition in 2000. Gibbons’ first full length collection of poems, Connemara Moonshine, was published by Two Dogs Press in 2002. blue horizon, also from Two Dogs Press, appeared in 2007. War, Madness, & Love, a joint collection of poems with Appalachian poet Michael Revere came out in December of 2008 from R & R Publishing. An abridged bilingual edition of Connemara Moonshine is being negotiated with a French publisher for release in 2009 or 2010. A new collection, Forgotten Dreams, is looking for a publisher.

The Salish poet, Jennifer Greene, says: “Mark Gibbons is a real Montana writer. He is a person deeply moved and shaped by this place, but his work is an authentic reflection of who he is as a person. He is not, in any way, writing about stereotypes about this place or about life in the West. In that way, his work is honest, authentic and universal.”

Ed Lahey, 2008 winner of the Governor’s Arts Award for a lifetime achievement in Literature, says: “Mark Gibbons is titanically gifted. He knows the hidden secret of love is mortality. Though his work is black ass dark and often violent, it is essentially spiritual if not religious, coming from the heart of a church without walls.”

Poet/songwriter Paul Zarzyski says: “blue horizon, Gibbons’ second book, reads more like a selected works choreographed from a dozen books written over a 50-year career. I wish I could let the poetry reading world know about this otherworldly lumper-poet living in obscurity in Missoula, where Dick Hugo, were he still with us, would most certainly be screaming Gibbons’ praises from the roof of the Liberal Arts building. Or better yet, Harold’s Milltown Bar & Laundromat. These poems speak my lingo to my ticker in spades!”

War, Madness, & Love

noreply@blogger.com (mark) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 23:21:00 +0000

Book Release party for War, Madness, & Love, poems by Mark Gibbons and Michael Revere, is sponsored by the University of Montana Students for Peace and Justice at the University Center Theater on Wednesday, January 28, 2009, at 7:00 pm. Mark and Michael will read from their joint collection and sign copies of their new book.

Mark Gibbons - Translation Reading

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Sun, 19 Oct 2008 22:59:00 +0000

2008 Montana Festival of the Book

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 23:01:00 +0000

Mark Gibbons will read new poems, along with Ed Lahey and David Thomas, in the Montana Boardroom of the Holiday Inn in Missoula, Montana, on October 24th at 2:30PM. This event is sponsored by the Montana Festival of the Book. Don't miss it!!

War, Madness and Love

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 14:18:00 +0000

Here's a preview of a new collaboration between Mark Gibbons and Michael Revere that's due out sometime this fall.

THE FOREIGN POLICY OF OZ

I cough into my hand a palm-full
of maggots, blow my nose
and flying ants fill the room. My white
handkerchief is a nest of trouble.
I’m sweating. I know something
is wrong with me.
Systematically
my army is putting bullets
into the backs of civilians’
heads—Chilean, Panamanian,
Nicaraguan citizens—their hands bound
behind them. My army is driving
over soupy Iraqi children
in my tanks. Our soldiers
are testing fire, cutting-edge
laser weaponry, on brown skin
because they can, and they need to
prove it will work on flesh (just because
it cuts cars in half doesn’t show
what it will do to a man). Can-do, my army
follows orders, entertains the detained
press corps uptown with Bloody
Marys at the Marriott Hotel.
The barrio makes a better testing ground.
My country ‘tis of thee and the rockets
red glare. Our land of the free,
this home of the brave, houses the greatest
terrorists in the world today.

That’s why we’re winning
the War on Terror. We call it collateral
damage: if you get your ducks in line,
there will be minimal collateral damage.
Don’t worry, my army will
root out all the evil-doers
with bunker busters and cruise
missiles. My army’s smart bombs
know their way. They will get every last
one of the buggers, the vermin;
every brown-skinned socialist, banana-republic-
pest; every rag-headed, twin-
towered, Koran-spoutin’ tempest;
and every reinvigorated Pinko-
Rooskie added to the script. Orwell
would be proud . . . and so ashamed.
Interventions and preemptive strikes
are a matter of national (and global)
security. My army will establish
and insure for generations (this
brand of corporate) democracy
and freedom for the world.

I sneeze and the flying ants
turn into flying monkeys.
I cough and the maggots hatch
into high school boys ready to serve,
ready to follow, ready to win one
for the team, and ready to prove
above all they’re men. Maybe
these maggots weren’t the kids
who staked cats to railroad tracks.
Maybe these maggots didn’t
throw a pig in the river
just to watch it die, watch it
try to swim and cut its own throat.
But before they’re through
taking orders from those fucking
monkeys, they’ll wire Toto’s
testicles to a car battery
and take a pair of dykes to the Tin Man’s
chest—determined to add
his ticking heart to their collection
of shriveled ears. What you don’t want
to hear, what you fear more than
death, is that by the time they finish
with Dorothy, none of us will
ever find our way . . . back home.

Mark Gibbons
April 2008

Le Clair de Lune de Connemara

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 02:35:00 +0000

Translating Montana Poetry into French:
UM Senior Sean Gibbons will present his honors thesis project: the
translation of Connemara Moonshine (Le Clair de Lune de Connemara), by
Mark Gibbons, from English into French.

Mark & Sean Gibbons will read alternating selections, English &
French, of poems from Connemara Moonshine. Refreshments.

When: Sunday, April 27 at 1:00 PM
Where: Shakespeare & Company, 103 S. 3rd St. W. Missoula, MT 59801

POETS FOR PEACE

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 17:55:00 +0000

The Jeannette Rankin Peace Center (JRPC), the UM Students for Peace and Justice (SPJ), the UM Excellence Fund and the Associated Students of the University of Montana present: POETS FOR PEACE, an evening of music and readings from the heart for peace in the world, March 19, 2008 at 7:00 PM in the Wilma Theater.

POETS FOR PEACE will be a fundraiser for the Montana Military Family Relief Fund (see below for details). Tickets will be $5.00 at the door.

Music from Singer-songwriter Amy Martin and musician John Floridis will start off the event. 30 Montana poets will read their work, including: Greg Pape (Poet Laureate of Montana and University of Montana Professor) and Ed Lahey (2008 winner of the Governor’s Award for a lifetime achievement in literature). The other POETS FOR PEACE are:

Judy Blunt
Vic Charlo
Sandra Alcosser
Marnie Prange
Chris Dombrowski
Joanna Klink
Brandon Shimoda
Prageeta Sharma
Rob Schlegel
Sheryl Noethe
Mandy Smoker
Zan Bockes
Melissa Kwasny
Robert Lee
Mark Gibbons
Michael Revere
David E. Thomas
Janet Zupan
Mary Jane Nealon
Jennifer Greene
John Holbrook
Joe McGeshick
Deborah Slicer
Roger Dunsmore
Casey Charles
Philip Burgess
David Dale
Heather Cahoon

The Montana Military Family Relief Fund (MMFRF), signed into law in 2007 by Governor Brian Schweitzer provides monetary grants (see below) to families of Montana National Guard and Reserve Component members who on or after April 28, 2007, are on active duty for federal service in a contingency operation.
MMFRF grants are intended to help Montana families defray the costs of food, housing, utilities, medical services, and other expenses that become difficult to afford when a wage-earner has temporarily left civilian employment to be placed on active military duty.
http://dma.mt.gov/familyrelieffund.asp

Contacts:

Sean Gibbons, organizer, coordinating council member for the JRPC and president of the SPJ
sean.gibbons@umontana.edu
Phone: (406) 721-4166

Greg Pape, organizer, Poet Laureate of Montana
greg.pape@mso.umt.edu
Phone: (406) 243-4563

Sheryl Noethe, organizer, poet
snoethe@montana.com
Phone: (406) 721-5856

Mark Gibbons, organizer, poet
marcogibbo@yahoo.com
Phone: (406) 721-4166

Super Bowl Sunday Poetry Blitz

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 20:06:00 +0000

Mark Gibbons, Michael Revere, W. John Denham and Kurt Sobolik will read poetry at 1:00 PM at Shakespear & Co. on Sunday, February 3rd.

Shakespeare & Co. is located at 103 S. 3rd St. W.
Missoula, Montana

Indian Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Sat, 13 Oct 2007 22:17:00 +0000

-Pink Ribbon by Greg Keeler

INDIAN SUMMER

the kind of day
that’s so clear
you can see the color
of God’s eyes shining
through waving treetops
a striking lucidity
flashing branches & tails
where jerky squirrels chatter
& ratty crows mumble
like muttering old men
coughing up
cat calls & chicken talk
spasmodic songs
full-bodied contortions
in your skunk dug yard

a pair of eagles circle
around a whistling osprey
& the not-so-fat cat snores
curled sunny in tall grass
by the rhubarb alley
hound dogs whelp out a duet
yodeling jailhouse blues
from separate pens
blocks apart & sluggish
bald faced hornets
consider you ain’t nothin’
drowning in beer

red tumbles yellow
in the blue fall breeze
& our green scribe
eyes this sweet summer lie
youth wanting to articulate age
hope & fear counting on next year
trying to make sense of grubs
love worms & death
science poetry TV or meth
trying to communicate
what he thinks he knows
what he sees & believes
that this is it
& damn ain’t it grand
on days like this

-Mark Gibbons

The Festival of the Book 2007

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 17:06:00 +0000

The 2007 Montana Festival of the Book--September 13-15 in Missoula--will feature scores of the region’s writers in a variety of readings, panels, exhibits, demonstrations, signings, workshops, entertainments, receptions, and other events. More than 6,000 visitors from across the state, the nation, and Europe are expected to attend. The Festival is presented by Humanities Montana, in association with numerous other national, state and local organizations and businesses.

Mark Gibbons will be reading from his new publication, "Blue Horizon". Stay tuned for details.

Poems Across the Big Sky

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 16:57:00 +0000

An Evening of Poetry
August 16, 2007 - 6 pm to 8pm at the Hockaday Museum of Art in Kalispell, Montana

Join Montana poets Lowell Jaeger (Kalispell), Roger Dunsmore (Dillon) and Mark Gibbons (Missoula) for an evening of poetry reading and book signing. An evening with this award-winning trio packs a triple bonus. Dunsmore and Gibbons are currently among nine Montana poets working with Jaeger to edit "Poems Across the Big Sky", an anthology of more than 100 poets from all corners of the state.

Blue Horizon

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 23:14:00 +0000

Mark Gibbons' newest book is now available:
http://twodogspress.com/zen/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=7

Here are some quotes off of the back cover:

Sturdy as fresh-built head frames, or trestles, or 5-wire-fences, these poems .each adorned with a gritty thumbprint as its coat of arms- are the work, the labors of love and loss, of one of the Last Best Place's finest poets. Mark Gibbons, like Hugo, teaches us how the blue-collar heart, punching in each day for another poetic triple shift, works up an honest sweat.
-- Paul Zarzyski

Mark Gibbons is titanically gifted. He knows the hidden secret of love is mortality. Connemara Moonshine is illuminated by love and light, as rich and intoxicating as its title.
-- Ed Lahey

There's lightning in these poems, and you cannot remain the same when it strikes.
-- Sheryl Noethe

Missoulian Article

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Wed, 30 May 2007 20:13:00 +0000

http://www.missoulian.com/articles/2007/05/28/territory/ter63.txt

New: Translated into French

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Tue, 23 Jan 2007 03:37:00 +0000

"Connemara Moonshine" is now being translated into French.
Here is the poem "Undercover Cowboy" in Enlish, followed by a French translation for all of you francophones:

Undercover Cowboy

Up to my chin in bucking horses,
cowboys, rope and corrals, I snuggle
down deep under heavy wool blankets,
rustle and kick to warm cold
sheets. I peek at the whirling,
dancing shadows thrown dusty across
my bedroom floor in a shaft of light
below the door, crazy as a matador
rodeo clown -- my mother slipping
into her robe. She's tucked me in,
won't be back. My dad's already in bed.
I hear her slippers scraping the tiles
like hooves in a barn wood stall.

A bullwhip cough cracks my ear,
and I hear the rasp of my father's rough thumbs
turning pages of a hardback book.
I study the panicked mustang on
my western bedspread: rearing,
nostrils flared, desperate to be free
but held down by two lariats. Then wildfire
erupts in a stick match flash
and tobacco hisses to life.
Fresh smoke dusts the arena again
where punchers die and rarely win like Hoppy
or Rory Calhoun. My dad gets up,
makes his final pass at the toilet, kills the light.
No saloons tonight. No chute gates bang.
No cow bells clang. No thundering
battle dance, just bedsprings
settling to silence. Still.
All that's left is sheeted dark.

-Mark Gibbons

"Cow-boy sous couverture"

Plongé jusqu’au cou parmi les ruades de chevaux,
les cow-boys, les corde et les corrals, je me blottis
profondément sous les lourdes couvertures de laine,
ruant de droite à gauche pour réchauffer les draps
glacés. Couché, je regarde les ombres
tournoyantes, dansantes, projetées sur le
plancher de ma chambre par un long rayon de lumière poussiéreux
venant de dessous la porte, fou comme un
clown de rodéo matador – ma mère enfile
sa robe de chambre. Elle m’a bordé, et
ne reviendra pas. Mon père est déjà au lit.
J’entends le frottement des pantoufles de ma mère sur les carreaux
comme des pattes de biche sur une stalle de bois.

Une toux claque comme un fouet à mon oreille,
et j’entends le frottement des gros pouces rugueux de mon père
tournant les pages d’un livre cartonné.
J’examine le mustang paniqué sur
mon couvre-lit western : se cabrant,
les naseaux frémissant, fou de liberté
mais retenu par deux lassos. Et puis un feu sauvage
explose dans un éclat d’allumette
et le tabac grésille de vie.
La fumée fraîche saupoudre l’arène encore une fois,
où les boxeurs meurent et ne gagnent pas, contrairement à Hoppy
ou Rory Calhoun. Mon père se lève pour
faire sa dernière visite à la toilette, éteint la lumière.
Pas de saloons ce soir. Pas de bruit de chute-gates1.
Pas de bruit métallique de cloche. Pas de danse
de bataille orageuse, seulement les ressorts du sommier
qui se tassent en silence. Calme.
Tout ce qui reste est drapé de noir.

1-Le grille d’entrée du bétail dans l’arène du rodéo.

-Mark Gibbons
(traduit par Sean Gibbons)

Connemara: Lessons in Dirt

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Sat, 16 Sep 2006 23:53:00 +0000

Lessons in Dirt

The shovel, strong
under my weight, cuts
sharply through the grass.
Its smooth handle promises
leverage I need to snap roots
and dislodge stones. I peal
back the sod and set it aside,
expose worms and loam to sky.
Let the digging begin.
Sculpture of a ditch. The rhythm
of torso, hands and feet drive
the words I mouth to dance
with breath and sweat. Blood,
like bars and picks, knows
the temperament of soil, teaches
secrets hidden in muscle
and bone - what's under
the tongue. I carve, shape the trench
behind, burrow ahead with
badger arms that know this work
leads home. Down here
in sweet-musty air, the mind
follows the body. When I stop,
recline in the cushioned earth,
cool clay drugs my skin.
This soil is rich, brown-black
as the woman who walks
through my dreams. When I
close my eyes, she beckons me
to join her on the alder shaded ground -
submerged in the aroma of leaves.

-Mark Gibbons

Connemara Moonshine

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 21:28:00 +0000

Dynamic, vibrant poetry from one of Montana's most prolific poets, Connemara Moonshine is Mark Gibbons first full-length book with Camphorweed Press. Born and raised in Montana, of Irish heritage, Gibbons has taught high school and worked most of the physical labor jobs available to blue collar descendants determined to stay in Montana at all costs. His poetry is working class, rural, focused on family, yet at the same time speaks to universal themes and invites readers from all walks of life to join in for a listen.

"Mark Gibbons is titanically gifted. He knows the hidden secret of love is mortality. Though his work is black ass dark and often violent, it is essentially spiritual if not religious, coming from the heart of a church with no walls. Buy this book. You can't afford not to. You will find yourself in it. Connemara Moonshine is illuminated by love and light, as rich and intoxicating as the title."
-Ed Lahey, author of The Blind Horses and Still More Poems

"Sturdy as fresh-built head frames, or trestles, or 5-wire-fences, these poems--each adorned with a gritty thumbprint as its coat of arms--are the work, the labors of love and loss, of one of The Last Best Place's finest poets. Reading Connemara Moonshine time-machines me back twenty-five years to Hugo's big round oak kitchen table, Dick eager to deliver aloud a new "pistol" he'd just discovered by, say, Philip Levine. Mark Gibbons, like Hugo, teaches us how the blue-collar heart, punching in each day for another poetic triple shift, works up an honest sweat."
-Paul Zarzyski, author of Words Growing Wild--a JRP Records CD

"Here are the songs of a man's life: funny, sad, desperate yet resolute."
-David E. Thomas, author of Fossil Fuel and Buck's Last Wreck

"Poetry is the life of a place, of the people and creatures who live there. Mark Gibbons has this life living in him. It is inked onto these pieces of paper, these boiled trees. Honor it."
-Roger Dunsmore, author of Earth's Mind: Essays in Native American Literature

For ordering information go to:
http://www.razorcake.com/gorskypress/ordering/connemara.htm#
or
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0972299718/ref=sr_11_1/102-7771419-7694536?ie=UTF8

Gumball Poetry 1999

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 21:17:00 +0000

Nothing Right or Left

Curtains replaced by a nailed blanket,
Jesus snapped off at the wrists
and ankles, her grandmother's plastic crucifix,
each echo, You worthless son of a bitch.
You did it this time. She's gone.

He pours the rest of the gin on ice,
lights a joint on the electric range,
draws smoke deep, clamps back a cough.
No guts for suicide. He can't shake
the figure of a woman's nude corpse
stretched out on the bedroom floor -
nylons knotted around her neck.

How long has it been since she left him
to sicken and fend for himself?
He picks the scab on the back of his hand.
Blood spatters the counter, his socks,
the floor as he rifles through empty kitchen
drawers for towels he cannot find.

Slumped on a frayed armchair, he becomes
the hum of the refrigerator -
empty as beer bottles at his feet.
Out front a vehicle rolls to a stop.
Gravel pops him upright in his chair.
Dogs bark; a car door squeaks and slams;
sacks crackle in somebody's arms. Spike
heels tap out hope and alarm,
then fade down the sidewalk and are gone.

-Mark Gibbons

For more: http://www.gumballpoetry.com/poetry/gibbons2.html

War Poem

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 21:01:00 +0000

High Noon

For President Bush

Walking the leaf covered street I pause
At the sound of a chopper
In the distance flying fast & low,
Wok-a, wok-a, wok-a, search the sky
For the Life Flight helicopter

I cannot find. Echoing louder & louder, it
Surrounds me: wok-a, wok-a, wok-a.
I see a Huey headed straight for me,
Then another & another, five

Camouflaged choppers, a vee
Flying in perfect formation
About a hundred feet above the trees.
Wok-a, wok-a, wok-a. Overhead,
I consider their payload

As the wing passes, hair rises
On the back of my neck, & in that moment
I'm an Iraqi girl, standing here alone,
& relieved as they move on to their target,
The screaming crowd, wok-a, wok-a, wok-a,

Twenty thousand kick-ass fans, kickoff-ready
To rumble. I know their mission; I've been in that
Stadium, but today I feel lucky to be here
At terror's pre-game show: wok-a, wok-a, wok-a.
If only our machines could save us.

-Mark Gibbons

Gumball Poetry 2002

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 02:16:00 +0000

Larva

I.
They hang in the dark
corner of a room, three black
duffel bag sized sacks
like giant eggplants, upside down,
wrapped in a woven membrane
like a nylon sock. The face
pressed in the bottom of one pouch,
eyelids closed, is a girl I knew
from high school, her hands
still puffy, clammy & cold.
Though always small in stature,
she is the largest of these
intruders, slick bat-like larvae
who wait with me this night to be born.
Lazily she unfolds her almond eyes.
I can't decide if she recognizes me.

II.
My mother has come to visit, now
eighty-three. She wears the winter
coat I remember from the fifties,
carries her snap-lock pocket book
over one wrist, & a Kleenex in her hand
that she uses to dab at her nose.
She looks tired & old as she fights
back tears. When I ask what's wrong,
her voice cracks to a whine.
Her mother's gone. She watched
her die. Slowly & gently
I pull her into me, hold her softly
& rub her back. I kiss her hair
to soothe us, to open our eyes,
so we can bear the uncertainty
of form, our ongoing metamorphosis.

-Mark Gibbons

For more poems see:
http://www.gumballpoetry.com/poetry0210/poetry.php?poe=10368

Drumlummon Views

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 02:02:00 +0000

All My Stories Are Here: Four Montana Poets Ed Lahey, Vic Charlo, Mark Gibbons, and Dave Thomas
by Roger Dunsmore
...Four poets, Ed Lahey, Vic Charlo, Mark Gibbons, and Dave Thomas, all have been here for three generations or more (a thousand generations, at least, in Charlo'’s case), and been here in elemental ways. Their identities are not separate from the place. In Mark Gibbons' words...

For more go to: http://www.drumlummon.org/html/toc.html

Montana Heritage Project

noreply@blogger.com (Sean Gibbons) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 01:47:00 +0000

Connemara Moonshine, Mark Gibbons’ first full-length collection, was published by Camphorweed Press in 2002. His earlier collection of poems, Circling Home, won the Scattered Cairns Press chapbook contest. His first collection of poems, published in 1995, was entitled Something Inside Us. His poems have appeared in CutBank, Talking River Review, The Midwest Quarterly, The Comstock Review and Rattle...

For full text see: http://www.montanaheritageproject.org/index.php/institute/mark-gibbons-places-and-their-poetry/