“We are back up in Sheffield now after one of the best weekends in this chorus’ history. We’ve been absolutely overwhelmed with the messages of love and support that we have received over the last couple of days. The British barbershop community is a truly wonderful thing and we are so proud to be part of it. There are far too many groups and individuals to thank but to everyone that has helped us on our journey, to everyone who stopped one of our members at convention to say congratulations and to everyone that has taken the time to send us a message since the weekend; we are eternally grateful and hugely humbled.” Hallmark of Harmony
We’re proud of and absolutely delighted for our friend and member of The BeZine core team, John Anstie (My Poetry Library and 42), and his friends and colleagues in Sheffield’s Hallmark of Harmony (HH) , a premier men’s barbershop, a cappella chorus in Britain.
Hallmark of Harmony logo (posted under Fair Use)
As part of a British Association of of Barbershop Singers 2019 Chorus of Champions Competition, HH just achieved best score of 83.2% under the musical direction of Tim Briggs.
John Anstie
Here is a sampling of HH in action. If you are viewing this from an email subscription, you’ll probably need to link through to the site to view the entire post. John is the gentleman on your left, second row, with hand over heart. The Hallmark of Harmony website is HERE.
A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press,The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.
“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton
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what’s seen and what remains unrelated. time an error sign warning. nothing falls loudly in snowfall. pronouns lock up favor in a room filled with promises. the most beautiful numbered in group of tens. synthesis sewn into bunches of colored thread. to list brings forth a kind of living. tongue tied along with arms and legs. to find a modicum of stability. happiness a terrorist slogan. unless children playing. the anonymity that accompanies sorrow. never trails in the fresh snow covering. bound backwards in an unintentional circuitous pleasures. enlighten in a beyond what’s meant. intention a rousing crowd noises.
a conversation moves across the boundaries of years
no. those interruptions are part of it. how abstraction innervates the painting. when sets of eyes follow from several heights and distances. why imagine their clothing marked by unexamined biology. or agreed upon genitalia. not everyone stands the same height. or the strength of mobility weakens. how an other coughs and pukes in the alley. privacy a construct of entitlement. they already. get over it. as the lover refuses birthed name. notorious in a broad circle of strangers. the gun used in a high school shooting belongs to someone. carries with it the fatality of not looking back. according to community standards. which is another private property sign. who but those intimates will even stop to grieve. and the hot water’s off once again.
a serious question then. what to do with the excessive immediacy inundating consciousness. as easy as turning on and skimming surfaces. locked within screen time. along side an apparent necessity to for once gain notoriety. be finally seen. how simply breathing exercises little in the way of memorable. of more importance is being noticed by an unexpected glance. how not to be impressed by such a shocking occurrence. flattery imbibes a momentary elevated sensibility. or when hiding under books to avoid gunfire. often there’s a thoughtless need to protect others. concern then reverts to counter intuitive action. walk out. displace. argue over semantics. over noun and pronoun choices. volume as sound resists capture and redistribution.
the intimacy of a shared cigarette or gin on rocks. lock lips within narrow boundaries. again indentation separates one body from another. impossible to get close enough to be a part of individual insights. and the rising sound of surrounding voices turn into a storm of thunder. and violence. quite naturally possessions belong to the outside others. heavy base lines a snow speckled fence. guaranteed to keep what’s original outside the boundaries demarcating one from another. or the many flooding the town violently. arguing about every perceived errancy. waiting word from someone for days. then forgetting that time itself companions. repetition may be a sure sign of pleasurable moments entwined.
headlines useful only to reduce the size of turmoil
bodies dumped in a winter ocean. color barriers and marching drums. dozens of missed opportunities vanish in the ether. beauty is when faced reflection. some appear so comfortable in their bodies. while many others resist the encampment of pronouns. lighten the barriers to authenticity. stiffening neck in refusal. while rubbish shredded an alley away. break out into flailing body parts. such rapid departures within a single cellular event. all the while identities reside within frequent arguments. arms and legs painted red swelling. held in the collective unexamined violence. among the fear of hurt feelings. of pronouncing certainties.
when temperature is below zero chill grows customary. even when framed otherwise transparent entitlement rules. few see themselves as inherently wrong. through fault lines another image unfolds. pronouns aren’t a recognized sport. yet listen to the bullying exchange. threat level perceived as high for the one committed to thought of how it’s always been. not on our watch the chorus disrupts. have gun will travel bravely. synchronized blame game. where tickets are distributed freely. whether sought after or not. the negative rising to a height witnessed as governing. actions retreat into a darkened room. where light cannot penetrate. deep in the refuse of the closed minded. where choice of colors might have liberated. each contradiction its own typo.
Preorder HERE. [Recommended] Ships August 2019MICHAEL DICKEL a poet, fiction writer, and photographer, has taught at various colleges and universities in Israel and the United States. Dickel’s writing, art, and photographs appear in print and online. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. His chapbook, Breakfast at the End of Capitalism came out from Locofo Chaps in 2017. Is a Rose Press released his most recent full-length book (flash fiction), The Palm Reading after The Toad’s Garden, in 2016. Previous books: War Surrounds Us, Midwest / Mid-East, and The World Behind It, Chaos…He co-edited Voices Israel Volume 36(2010). He was managing editor for arc-23 and arc-24. With producer / director David Fisher, he received an NEH grant to write a film script about Yiddish theatre. He is the former chair of the Israel Association of Writers in English. Meta/ Phor(e) /Play is Michael’s blogZine. Michael on Social Media: Twitter | FaceBook Page | Instagram | Academia
A homebound writer, poet, and former columnist and associate editor to a regional employment newspaper, my work has been featured widely in print and digital publications including: Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature, Connotation Press,The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, I Am Not a Silent Poet, The Compass Rose and California Woman. I run The Poet by Day, an info hub for poets and writers and am the founding/managing editor of The BeZine.
“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.