Robert Frost's enduring vigor: Readings, songs and lectures offer new insights

Through the years, I've been to countless poetry readings by novices and literary titans alike, reciting original work and classics, from personal narratives in hushed bookstore corners and traditional iambic pentameter in venerated halls to haiku in Japanese gardens and hip-hop/slam events in smoky, low-lit clubs.

Regardless of style or setting, poetry readings always feel far more intimate to me than other types of public presentations. Unlike other literary forms, poetry is the distillation of innermost thoughts, inventive concepts and heartfelt observations down to their essential armature, with verses meticulously shaped and woven together into a hopefully potent, evocative series of moments, tones and images.

Poetry readings are most often straightforward affairs, with a body of work read in succession followed by polite applause from an appreciative audience. Unless one is formally studying poetry and can enjoy in-depth analysis by experts, we poetry lovers rarely get a peek into the mind of the writer beyond a brief introduction or quick post-reading Q&A. Understanding a poet's intentions, motivations and challenges, however, can transform the impact of a poem by investing it with far more meaning and weight than can emerge from ink and paper.

On a few occasions, I've reaped the benefits of such contextualization. Years ago, when award-winning poet Cole Swenson was a newly published Bay Area author, it was wonderfully enlightening to hear her describe how the experience of living near the Seine for a summer and her love of rivers in general had greatly informed her latest poems. Each time I read them now, they've got yet more life in them, thanks to those informative conversations.

Likewise, we can immerse ourselves in the lives and muses of our favorite poets through colorful biographies and erudite analyses. Ever since reading "Homage to Frank O'Hara" — a collection of essays, correspondence, notes, photos and poems about the celebrated urban author, published in 1980 after his untimely death at age 40 — his poems have had even greater impact.

Having taken a few poetry classes in college, I've enjoyed enthusiastic albeit general discussions of various well-known poets, but it wasn't until recently that I was fortunate enough to hear a lecture devoted in its entirety to the examination and illumination of one single poem, thoroughly and thoughtfully, line by line.

Last month, my friend, Dr. Mark Richardson, an eminent Robert Frost scholar who teaches at Doshisha University in Kyoto, spoke at the Stone House in South Shaftsbury, where Frost lived from 1920 to 1929. Part of the "Sunday Afternoons with Robert Frost" lecture series put on by the Friends of Frost, who transformed the Stone House into a museum during the past few years, Richardson's talk centered on "Home Burial," a profoundly moving poem first published in Frost's collection "North of Boston" in 1915.

Here doing research for his latest book on New England's honorary native son (Frost was born in San Francisco), Richardson shed light not only on the literary significance and personal roots of the poem, but on its intended cadence, voice and delivery.

It is one thing to read poems in the pages of a book, but altogether another to hear them interpreted by someone who has been long-immersed in researching the work, life and times of a single author.

Richardson's most recent book on his subject, "The Collected Prose of Robert Frost," which came out last year from Harvard Press, shows sides of Frost most of us didn't learn about in grade school when reciting "Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening." Frost was a charismatic man whose robust, wry sense of humor and decided aplomb permeated everything from magazine and newspaper articles to personal correspondence. Credos such as "No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader," reveal the rigor and focus of everything he wrote, particularly poems such as "Home Burial."

Frost's breadth of emotional force came through in Richardson's powerful reading of it, in unexpected ways that had us all enrapt and reconsidering every stanza from beginning to end.

Describing a tense conversation by a husband and wife who have just lost a child, Frost presents the full gamut of raw emotion that is particular to times of acute mourning, from anguish and tenderness to anger and rage. And yet it was the live interpretation of the poem that infused Frost's words with the humanity and vigor he intended, and which is impossible to extract from mere printed words.

The gentle pleading of these lines were particularly poignant:

She moved the latch a little. "Don't — don't go.
Don't carry it to someone else this time.
Tell me about it if it's something human.
Let me into your grief. I'm not so much
Unlike other folks as your standing there
Apart would make me out. Give me my chance ...."

But with volume and intensity, Richardson revealed the wife's incredulity at her husband's depth of grief and the husband's exasperation at being misunderstood.

"There you go sneering now!"
"I'm not, I'm not!
You make me angry. I'll come down to you.
God, what a woman! And it's come to this,
A man can't speak of his own child that's dead."

Stopping to decipher phrasing and analyze Frost's methodologies throughout the reading, Richardson deconstructed the poem with the literary scalpel of a surgeon and magnification of a loupe. In light of the enthusiastic comments and questions afterward, it was clear that this nuanced presentation of "Home Burial" had transformed its impact for everyone in the room.

Previous speakers in the "Sunday Afternoons with Robert Frost" series have included Frost's grandson, John Cone Jr. and Carol Thompson, founder and director of the museum, and two more events this year promise to be equally fascinating.

On Sept. 21, in the Little Red Barn behind the Stone House, Dr. Robert Bernard Hass, author of "Going by Contraries: Robert Frost's Conflict with Science" and a poet in his own right, will read from his newly published first book of poems, "Counting Thunder." This year's series concludes in November when Franklin D. Reeve, Russian literary historian and scholar who accompanied Frost to Russia in 1962, will read 24 of his own poems in a performance piece entitled "The Blue Cat Walks the Earth," accompanied by a jazz combo, at Bennington College.

Further Frost-specific events take place Saturday at the Town Hall Theater in Middlebury, starting with "Frostiana," in which seven of Frost's poems are set to music composed by Randall Thompson in 1959, performed by Middlebury Community Chorus. Author Natalie Bober will also read from her engaging book about Frost — written for ages 10 and older and boasting 44 photographs — "A Restless Spirit: the Story of Robert Frost," followed by Q&A with Bober and Robin Hudnut, Robert Frost's granddaughter.

Online: www.frostfriends.org
www.henrysheldonmuseum.org
Annie: www.annieguyoncommunications.com

The powerful presence of authors: Rousing readings inform and inspire

My first brush with a celebrity was not typical. Though I was only 15, it did not involve swooning, squealing or gushing in any way and yet the experience left me in a giddy stupor that remains unmatched. It was better than shaking Sting's hand after a concert, better than Mikhail Baryshnikov handing me a martini at a bar and better than sitting across the table from Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson at a dinner party.

It was a reading by an author at a bookstore. The writer was Midge Mackenzie, a militant feminist and human rights activist who had earned my devoted attention as the writer of "Shoulder To Shoulder," a comprehensive, richly rendered history of the British suffragette movement, by which I'd been riveted since first learning that a relative in England had been a card-carrying member.

MacKenzie approached the podium, gazed out at the crowd from under a big, floppy brown hat and opened her oversized book with fingers heavily bejeweled by silver rings. I sat enrapt in the front row, my dog-eared volume at the ready for her to sign.

With a resonant, London-smoked voice, she brought the fearlessness and mettle of the Women's Social and Political Union to life, as well as the sorrows with which their courage was duly colored.

She told the story of Emmeline Pankhurst, the indefatigable leader of the movement, reading passages written in potent first-person. "The hunger-strike I have described as a dreadful ordeal, but it is a mild experience compared with the thirst-strike, which is from beginning to end simple and unmitigated torture."

She went on to describe Annie Kenney's sensational public derision of Winston Churchill when he ignored questions about votes for women during a Liberal Party rally and Emily Wilding Davison's ultimate sacrifice when she threw herself under King George V's horse at the 1913 Derby. I never forgot MacKenzie's stern recitation of Davison's epitaph: "Deeds Not Words."

After the reading, when I made my way to the table where she sat scribbling her flowery signature into book after book, I made myself squeak out that my Great Auntie Polly had been a suffragette and had given the money she earned at a silk factory to the movement. I don't remember exactly what MacKenzie said in response as she signed my copy of "Shoulder To Shoulder," but her words at the top of the title page remain inspiring now. "We expect great things from you in the tradition of … "

I came away from that lecture on a sort of intellectual, wannabe-writer high, for not only had I heard Midge MacKenzie's melodious, confidant voice, but I'd seen her face, talked to her briefly and shaken her hand, the hand that wrote and signed the book that I held tightly in my arm as I made my way home on my clunky old Raleigh.

I've been inspired by so many authors' readings over the years — poets, novelists, art columnists, rock-climber journalists, etc. — and they've all inspired me immensely, in their own distinctive ways.

A couple of years ago I went to hear J.R. Moehringer read from his novel, "The Tender Bar," at Northshire Books in Manchester. Having just finished the book, a memoir heavily populated with the kindly relatives and colorful barflies who shaped him during an atypical childhood on Long Island, I was eager to hear updates on how everyone was doing. Hearing and seeing the 30-something version of the boy over whom I'd come to feel completely maternally protective as I'd read the book, it was as if he had sprung from the pages, suddenly grown-up, not to mention the winner of a Pulitzer Prize for his feature writing at the Los Angeles Times. After listening to his first-hand tales of Cager, Uncle Charlie, Joey D. and Colt, I started reading the book all over again and it was even more satisfying the second time through because of his reading.

With a bevy of independent bookstores in southern Vermont, most of which hold regular readings, there is great inspiration, if not giddiness, on the offing throughout the year.

Just last week, an enthusiastic crowd of supportive literary fans filled an entire theater to hear Brattleboro's Peter Gould read from his new novel, "Write Naked." The book — which I reviewed in the Herald's Sunday Magazine last weekend — is about a boy living in a small Vermont town, whose distinct perspective is shaped by unique emotional, cultural and environmental influences.

With so many writers in Vermont, it's no surprise that local authors make regular appearances at bookstores and there are several compelling readings coming up celebrating new releases of some terrific tomes.

From 1 to 2 p.m. Saturday, Village Square Booksellers in Bellows Falls will host Vermont poet Linda Aldrich, whose poem "Woman-without-Arms" won the Emily Dickinson Award 2000 from Universities West Press. She will read from her new chapbook, "Foothold."

At 7 p.m. Tuesday, at the Bennington Museum, Allen Shawn, the Bennington College faculty member, composer and pianist, reads from his recent memoir, "Wish I Could Be There," and from his well-received biography of composer Arnold Schoenberg.

At 7 p.m. June 20, Jennifer McMahon appears at VSB, reading from "Island of Lost Girls," her new novel about a young girl who is abducted from a Vermont gas station, an event which leads the girl's mother to explore another abduction that took place during her own childhood that could be directly linked to the loss of her daughter.

The following night, June 21, brings author Tracey Medeiros to Northshire Books with her new cookbook, "Dishing Up Vermont," which offers 145 recipes celebrating the state's hearty culinary heritage. Favorites from farmers, brewers, beekeepers and B&B owners honor the diverse range of noble artisan cheeses, organic produce, locally raised livestock and rich maple syrups, with dozens of vibrant new innovations as well.

Pat Fowler, who, with her husband Alan, owns Village Square Booksellers, says they average 30 readings a year, with varying visual aids, audible elements, topics and turnouts. "Some of our author readings have attracted over a hundred attendees, others only two or three," she said. "Some of our authors, like Archer Mayor, come to Bellows Falls annually and the same people attend; it's part of their Fall 'things to do.' We've had authors, illustrators and photographers who've brought in pieces of their original art work that were used in creating the books. We've also had musical accompaniment for children's books and poetry."

Readings are informative, fulfilling events for the literary crowd and offer writers valuable support and feedback from their audience as well. They augment the experience of reading and, in this fertile literary ground, can ultimately serve to influence entire career paths. As Midge MacKenzie's powerful presence and encouraging words taught me so long ago, author appearances are the best context for celebrity worship and, here in Vermont, we've got a lot of writer stars to make us swoon.

Online
www.mvbooks.com
www.northshire.com
www.villagesquarebooks.com
Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com

Woman on a mission: The seasoned verve of author Elayne Clift

It was called "Love Letters To Vermont" and it was the first book I'd ever opened in the sole Vermont bookstore I'd ever browsed through during the exploratory trip that my family and I made here years ago when we were considering moving to New England.

Insightful, bold, graceful and captivating, author Elayne Clift had put into sharp focus the place I'd heard so much about and that I have since come to cherish. From seasons to cemeteries, people to pastimes, her descriptions of life in Vermont — written from the perspective of a fellow urban refugee — were enticing, endearing and humorously blunt.

Also on the shelf was a book of Clift's poems, "Other People, Other Lands." Upon opening it, my eyes instantly fell upon a quintessentially northeast topic.

The good news is: It's mud season.
The copious sooted snow
banked against the side of the road for months now;
will soon melt into the warming earth.

The poem went on to exquisitely elucidate the budding of spring and then when I saw that the next stanza opened with "The bad news is: It's mud season," that clinched it — Vermont was for me. That singular amalgam of wry wit, staunch pragmatism and abiding tenderness was more than charming — it felt like home. And I already had a favorite local writer.

As serendipity would have it and in the spirit of full disclosure, Elayne Clift and I are now in a book group together and have become good friends. Her robust joie de vivre, rich intellect and glorious command of the English language never fail to inspire me, as a writer and a woman. Clift is not only a prolific author, she is also a forward-thinking feminist who constantly utilizes the immense wisdom she gained while on front lines of the first wave in order to champion the smartest choices for girls and women now. She is an eclectic, indefatigable powerhouse with an expansive, compassionate and refreshingly feisty perspective, who — per the unspoken Law of Tenacity in Vermont — wears many professional hats and has accomplished much.

In no particular order, she has degrees in English, psychology and health communications; taught at numerous distinguished academic institutions, including Yale, George Washington University and Emerson College; traveled the globe, lived on three continents and written about all of it; produced more than a dozen books of short stories, memoirs, poetry and nonfiction; been a guest expert for various media outlets, such as MacNeil/Lehrer and NPR; and contributed reportorial and opinion pieces to a long roster of publications, from The Washington Post to The Christian Science Monitor. She has also been happily married for 36 years and has two adult children.

When we sat down to talk about her work, my first quest was to find out what motivates her to accomplish so very much — and where I can get some of that mojo.

"The two philosophies that have guided me," she reflected, "are 'Change is the only reality' and 'To thine own self be true.'" Greek philosopher Heraclites and trusty W. S. would surely be proud to note that she has evinced their wisdom many times over.

On the topic of change, well, it has to be said, she wrote the book. Raised in New Jersey by Russian Jewish immigrants, Clift has endured great hardship and enjoyed hard-earned success, from caring for her gravely ill mother throughout her childhood and then working as a medical secretary to becoming program director at the National Women's Health Network in Washington, D.C., being appointed to the FDA Consumer Consortium, testifying before Congress and serving as a Vermont humanities scholar.

Throughout all of it, one aspect of Clift's life hasn't changed and that's writing, which became a steady drive early on and has guided her unquenchable thirst for new, meaningful experiences ever since.

"I've always written," she attests. "When I was about 7, I remember going to a five-and-dime store in Woodbury, New Jersey, and telling the clerk 'I want the biggest tablet you have … because I'm going to write a book.'"

Gloria Steinem once said "Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else." Clift concurs.

"I used to love term papers, to deconstruct how to write a paper, that's how seriously writing appealed to me. The first thing I ever submitted was a poem to the Saturday Evening Post when I was 13. It got rejected." With a hearty chuckle, she adds, "But I still think it's a good poem."

Elayne didn't let the rejection stop her and has an abundance of tomes to prove it, with fascinating titles such as "Telling It Like It Is: Reflections of a Not So Radical Feminist," "To New Jersey, With Love and Apologies," "Women, Philanthropy and Social Change: Visions For a Just Society," "The Limits of Love" and "Demons Dancing In My Head." They all reveal the breadth and depth of a remarkably varied life that is as diverse as ever these days.

Her latest book, "Achan: A Year of Teaching in Thailand," describes in buoyant, nuanced and candid detail her experience living in Chiang Mai in the north while teaching courses on creative writing, oral presentation and gender issues at Payap University. Clift is clearly one of those travelers who squeezes all she can out of every adventure and who chronicles them with minute and broad strokes to convey the full flavor of a place.

"Achan" — which means teacher in Thai — is a resonant, satiating and intimate homage to the complexities and beauty of Thai culture, from her small flat with its outdoor kitchen and the constant tapestry of sounds wafting in from a bustling neighborhood to excursions through the lush, vibrant countryside outside Chiang Mai, all of which she diligently recorded throughout her stay.

"As we drive on, we see 'the real Thailand.' The hills are planted with corn and other crops, poinsettias grow wild, trees with yellow and red blossoms dot the winding road, villagers trudge up the hills in colorful tribal dress. Lanna-style houses built of teak wobble on their stilts and chickens, goats, and dogs congregate beneath them. Children with shiny black hair and ready smiles gaze curiously at the three strange women in the black car."

In discussing Thailand, Clift is as impassioned about the philosophy as the inhabitants and landscape. "I was always attracted to the whole notion of impermanence and I really embraced that in Thailand," she explains. "It's like a deep meditation and really living in the moment and being able to let go, because nothing is permanent. I knew it wasn't going to last forever, so I lived for the day, not in an excited, conscious way, but I just lived."

I asked if she was able to bring those sensibilities back to Vermont with her. "To a certain extent, it has stuck with me, but I had a difficult adjustment because when you have an experience like that, living in a different culture, it's really hard to come back. Same thing happened when I returned from working in England. I couldn't adjust at first."

That tough reentry hasn't stopped Clift from revisiting what has become a sacred place where she forged precious friendships and a deep sense of belonging. She leaves for Thailand in a few weeks, where she will again become "Achan."

Having read galleys of her first full novel, "Hester's Daughters," which is under review by publishers, I'm an even more avid fan of the engaging lucidity with which all her edifying observations are infused, whether in the form of creative nonfiction, sublime poetry, astute commentaries or vividly crafted fiction.

Clift is a woman with a great deal to say and, as far back as she can remember, she's been opinionated and vocal. "In junior high, we had to take home ec and sewing and I hated sewing and couldn't do it, so I got sent to the principal," she laughs. "I'm outspoken, decidedly feminist and I refuse to be silenced or marginalized or have other women silenced or marginalized. I truly have always had a social justice thing. I have always been a crusader."

Online: www.elayneclift.com

Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com

Springtime summit for the literary crowd: Manchester hunts down muse, means and the next great novel

My favorite New Yorker cartoon, by Lee Lorenz, depicts a haggard man leaning against a wall during a party while a chipper, cocktail-wielding gentleman chimes, "A writer? Terrific. I wish I had time to write."

That image, for all its sardonic mirth, is an all-too accurate if not painful summation of a mindset most writers encounter at one time or another. Writing is an oft-misunderstood, sometimes stigmatized vocation and, because it is a solitary endeavor as well, it can sometimes seem as if we're each on our own deserted, computer-equipped island launching painstakingly crafted verbiage out into the ether, hoping someone's going to read it and take it seriously.

Even in a place like Vermont, which is purported to have the highest population of writers per capita than any other state, writing can be a mighty lonely business. When a deadline looms and the kids are at school and calls are being screened, the only sound rattling through this big house is my fingers tapping the keyboard, an occasional "meow" from Dudley the cat and the kettle boiling every couple of hours.

Author Jessamyn West said, "Writing is a solitary occupation. Family, friends, and society are the natural enemies of the writer. He must be alone, uninterrupted and slightly savage if he is to sustain and complete an undertaking."

Okay, but can't we get together every once in a while despite our apparent savagery?

Thanks to the folks at the Greater Manchester Arts Council, the answer is a resounding "yes." From April 25 to April 27, the first Poets and Writers Weekend will take place in various locations throughout Manchester and the impressive agenda is vibrant and varied.

Though this year's focus is The Emerging Writer, authors of every rank and genre — established novelists, young poets and mid-career journalists alike — will find professional succor and creative sanctuary in the weekend's well-rounded roster of celebrated scholars, esteemed authors, self-publishing entrepreneurs and organizational leaders in the literary arts.

One needn't be a writer to attend and, in fact, readers are heartily encouraged to take in the colorful spectrum of lectures, workshops, discussions and readings as well, all of which promise to offer rare insights into the experiences, motivations and muses of writers, from various viewpoints.

Commencing the proceedings is a talk by Dr. Peter Stanlish — author of "Robert Frost: The Poet as Philosopher" and longtime friend of the man himself — who will discuss his book and the promise he made to Frost in 1944 to write it. The next day offers workshops by writers such as poet Elena Giorgiou, novelist Jon Katz and eco-writer William Shutkin, who will explore the writer's experience through a number of lenses, whether it's finding your distinctive voice, a reputable publisher or a reliable source of that elusive well-spring of all things creative: inspiration.

From the perspectives of both avid reader and ardent writer, I find myself most intrigued and sometimes confounded by this latter notion and, upon doing a little digging, found I'm not alone. It would seem that, simply by definition, writers are an opinionated lot and not only in the context of literary output but also in terms of personal methodologies and attendant advice to peers.

Somerset Maugham, for instance, once said, "The professional writer creates the mood. He has his inspiration too, but he controls and subdues it to his bidding by setting himself regular hours of work." Italian author Alberto Moravia was of a similar mindset when he said, "I trust in inspiration, which sometimes comes and sometimes doesn't. But I don't sit back waiting for it. I work every day."

Pearl S. Buck concurred, "I don't wait for moods. You accomplish nothing if you do that. Your mind must know it has got to get down to work." And Jack London had a rather more aggressive approach when he insisted, "You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."

I find Flannery O'Connor's credo particularly comforting, which is, "Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days."

Of course, then there's Lillian Hellman, whose philosophy is decidedly rich and prickly in this inverted oxymoron. "If I had to give young writers advice, I would say don't listen to writers talking about writing or themselves."

No disrespect but I beg to differ. As a writer, I find the wisdom, camaraderie and — let's be honest — commiseration of fellow writers singularly invigorating and validating. My friend Elayne Clift, a prolific Vermont writer who has authored more than a dozen books of fiction, non-fiction and poetry, is one of several cherished sounding-boards who keeps me on course, fielding my frustrations, hopes and triumphs with equal acuity and warmth. Her input is like gold to me, whether it's her fearless aplomb on the topic of agents and publishers, her openness about the writing process itself or her helpful comments on my work in particular.

According to Beth Meachem, executive director of GMAC, the programs planned for the Poets and Writers' Weekend are geared to offer the same type of support, with lively discourse and innovative writing exercises as well.

"They're very interactive events," she said during a recent conversation, "and the benefit for emerging writers is to be able to work in small groups and have access to more established writers. It's also for people who just enjoy the spoken or written word. The more the merrier. The more dialogue, the more participants, the more fun."

When I asked about the community's support of the venture, she was enthusiastic on all fronts. "The response has been really good and I see this growing in years to come. We have great sponsors and that's how we get a program out there that's accessible to everybody."

With many of the events are free of charge and others very affordable for a literary convergence of this caliber, the entire enterprise seems like the perfect fit for a region that supports an abundant creative economy, including a strong literary scene.

With Middlebury's renowned Bread Loaf Writers' Conference in the summer and the Brattleboro Literary Festival in the fall, spring was ripe for just this type of event and I asked Meachem about the evolution of the concept. "Clemma Dawsen is a writer who's on the GMAC Board and she felt we should try to address all the arts and bring the literary arts to greater visibility."

An award-winning nonfiction writer, Dawsen is teaching the workshop I could use most, entitled "Keeping That Appointment With Your Desk: The Writers' Daily Practice."

While I have no problem meeting other people's deadlines, such my editor at this fine paper, that "book" I've been "writing" since before the millennium is definitely getting the short shrift in the sea of other obligations like kids, clients and clutter that inundates my life. Having written more grocery lists than fiction over the last decade, I could use a little nudge to break out of the "procrastinate, procrastinate, panic and produce" methodology that I fine-tuned so well in college and, instead, make a daily date with my novel.

On that note, I encourage all hungry readers and emerging, established and closet writers to explore next week's inaugural of what is likely to be another outstanding, long-lived cultural tradition in this most literary of states.

Remember what Albert Camus said, "The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself." And the world needs all the help it can get right about now but hey, no pressure.

Online: www.greatermanchesterarts.org
Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com

Astute performances from future leaders: Volume of Our Voices puts humanity in the spotlight

On the wall behind my computer hangs a bulletin board that's layered with colorful flotsam and jetsam from the past few decades, including postcards from around the globe, a Scottish pound note, my Japanese I.D. card, a Zippy gem, photos of friends and sundry ticket stubs from concerts by The Who, The Stones, the Pretenders and Nada Surf.

In amongst this visual cacophony are buttons I've collected over the years, with slogans ranging from "ERA Yes" and "Iggy Pop Fan Club" to "Question Authority" and a cow thinking "No Nukes," along with a row of badges from SF AIDS Walks.

At the center of it all is a large, faded button that reads "Feminism Is Humanism."

Of everything tacked to my vertical scrapbook, this particular specimen holds the most meaning for me, perhaps because it's the first political anything I ever acquired, launching a lifetime of buttons, bumper stickers, activism and awareness.

I got it in 1978 when my dear friend Daphne and I went to our first N.O.W. rally, held on the Stanford campus across the street from our high school. I remember the intriguing phrase — "Feminism Is Humanism" — standing out from all the other buttons, T-shirts and signs, knowing that it captured my particular philosophy more accurately than anything else.

As readers here learned last year when I wrote about the Brattleboro Women's Film Festival, I'm not your average feminist. I'm the kind who thinks our collective might becomes far more abundant, effective and lasting when attained through more inclusive means, particularly when those means fit under the aegis of art.

Though it's often felt like swimming upstream, I still believe feminism is humanism and that we serve the greater good by welcoming everyone to the discussion, with no labels, monikers or categories that might risk dissuading potential supporters from becoming involved.

During this, the final weekend of Women's History Month, a group of diverse and multitalented students and faculty members at World Learning's SIT Graduate School in Brattleboro are sharing a stage in precisely that type of event.

On Friday and Saturday night, more than two dozen performers will express their views through song, movement and spoken word, in "Volume of Our Voices," an evening of creative expression on the topics of gender, identity and sexuality, benefiting the Women's Crisis Center in Brattleboro.

Original monologues, poems, dances, music and even martial arts will illustrate stories that are personal, if not intimate, yet universal in relevance to the larger human experience and the common societal messages that can misrepresent, misinform, isolate and stereotype different factions of society.

In speaking with a few of the students participating — all of whom are working toward master's degrees in SIT's renowned international education program — I was impressed by the breadth of their experiences and the unique challenges each will voice in their respective performances.

Jon Woods, an organization management candidate, will be exploring issues of race, belonging and disenfranchisement through poetry, song and the martial art known as Capoeira, a muscular type of competitive dance that originated in Angola and found larger cultural roots in Brazil centuries ago within the slave community.

Naming his piece, "If I Had Wings I Could Fly," after a line from the song "Regulate" by rappers Warren G. and Nate Dogg, Woods takes us on his journey from anguish to understanding with remarkable perspicuity and grace.

"The poem itself goes from despair, hopelessness and rage to being lost and then trying to find guidance as a black man," he explained. "It touches on the issue that in black culture there's a disconnection between parenthood and the next generation, a prevalence of no role models existing and having to look at historical references and not necessarily in your household, whether it's a book or music that you respond to."

Though Woods' personal and intellectual path has been paved by the work of legends such as Malcolm X, Martin Luther King and civil rights activist and scholar, W.E.B. Du Bois, he also absorbed profound life lessons much closer to home.

"I learned a lot from my father and his struggle in the corporate world," reflected Woods. "Being a black manager he had to deal with a lot of conflict, internal mainly, and the struggle to assimilate but also be himself."

"When I wrote my poem, I was having a really bad day," he confided. "I'm the only black man at SIT and that's fine because I'm used to white schools but sometimes I just want to talk to someone I can connect with on that.

"The way that Capoeira is incorporated is a release of energy; if you're angry sometimes the tension just needs to be released. It's a martial art that's powerful but you play it against yourself."

For Cole Kovac, who is working toward a master of art in teaching, an equally formidable frustration with society emerges in his monologue titled, "Pushing Boundaries: One Man's Reality," which challenges the widely accepted pejorative term that often pigeonholes people like him as having a "gender identity disorder."

As a person born female but who identifies male, Kovac investigates his own perspective from several compelling angles.

"The first part of the monologue is about the medical world's view of transgendered people," he explains. "The second half is about my story and feelings and struggles and why I'm on stage."

When I asked him about this latter question, he replied, "At this point I'm the only transgendered person on campus and I felt like my voice needed to be heard, especially since the performance isn't geared only towards women. And SIT is a very supportive community — it's a good place to be."

Conflict transformation major Rachel Unkovic possesses a similar wealth of wisdom, particularly having learned in her studies that peace-building is more productive than conflict management or resolution.

"It's the idea that conflict never goes away and that it can open the door to dialogue and new ideas," she asserted. "It can be changed from violence into something more productive."

In "Magic Mirror," which includes inventive vignettes such as "Sleeping Beau," Unkovic and classmates Scarlett Shaffer and Victoria Der use shadow puppets to retell classic fairy tales. "We explore old stories that we're all told growing up and the impact those messages have on kids. We're looking at the idea of gender roles and roles that you're forced to take."

That the show is a benefit for one of the region's most crucial social service organizations — providing shelter along with emotional, legal and crisis support for survivors of abuse — is all the more reason to come out and support these visionary young people who are working hard to create a future that is informed by expansive, global perspectives and a reverence for the power of the human spirit.

The Women's Crisis Center views these issues through a similarly humanistic lens, as evidenced in their thanks to SIT for donating proceeds from the show to their cause: "It takes a dynamic, unified force to address the war waged on the bodies of women and children every day in this community and all over the world. Women still live with the daily reality of physical and sexual violence, still live with the systems which protect them imperfectly, at best, and sometimes not at all. We both honor and rely on our allies in ending men's violence against women and children."

The unified force behind "Volume of Our Voices" exemplifies this inclusive approach to solving the global scourge of discrimination, disrespect and brutality. As Woods' commanding poem implores, "Let your voice be heard, preach the word, because no matter your gender or race, the struggle always continues."

Or, as Kovac puts it, with equal sagacity, "Our identities are always evolving."

Move over Martha, Angelica's in town: Savvy 18th C. painter pre-saged feminism

Most of us assume that super stardom is a phenomenon of the last century, a product of the mass media catapulting actors, musicians, writers and other creative types into the public arena via branding through television, film, the Internet and tabloid-gorged pop culture. Though we're regularly bombarded with the ventures and visages of contemporary idols, both ersatz and authentic, and it all seems singularly moderne and cutting edge, it's not.

If we consider such ubiquitous marketing tactics to be the hallmark of post-industrial revolution communications, how then do we explain 18th-century neo-classical painting sensation and cultural über-icon, Angelica Kauffman, who had a similarly diverse and widespread impact on European society that women like Madonna, Oprah and Di have had on ours?

Though her fame wasn't manifest in the form of music videos, magazines, haute couture or talk shows, in the context of the late 1700s, Kauffman was, for all intents and purposes, Fortune 500, rock-star royalty. Her intellect and charisma was renowned and her imagery infiltrated elite echelons and everyday life in the form of lampshades, fans, calendars, architectural design, interior décor and teacups, which is all to say, she was an omni-mediated Martha Stewart in her own time.

Quoting an engraver of the day who was overwhelmed with orders for Kauffman prints, Dartmouth art history professor and Kauffman scholar, Angela Rosenthal, attests that, "The whole world was Angelica-mad." And Rosenthal — who will be delivering what is sure to be an absorbing presentation on Kauffman Wednesday at Brooks Memorial Library in Brattleboro — is the person to ask.

With a new, handsome 350-page book out — "Angelica Kauffman: Art and Sensibility," which just won this year's Historians of British Art prize in the pre-1800 category — Rosenthal is a fountain of details, personal and professional, about her subject, as well as captivating contextual insights that illuminate the academic and social climate in which Kauffman's star rose so dramatically.

When we spoke earlier this week, I was curious as to how it was possible that a woman born in 1741 could have possibly enjoyed such a successful career — which included painting portraits of kings and queens and establishing the Royal College of Art in London — when 150 years later women still were not being admitted to the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris.

Apparently, it pertained more to a serendipitous and somewhat esoteric shift in socio-cultural ideals than a sudden wave of progressive thinking. "This age of sensibility was associated with private, feminine virtues, emotionality and the language of the heart," explained Rosenthal. "Women were considered the experts of these virtues in that time and Kauffman was a skilled artist, a great businesswoman and very sociable. When people sat for her, they also wanted to talk to her."

Born in Switzerland, Kauffman lost her mother at age 16, and thereafter followed her Austrian father, a traveling painter, back to Italy, where she'd already spent much of her childhood studying ancient Greek statuary and masters of the Renaissance. She eventually fell in with the English "grand tour" crowd and, soon after being welcomed into Rome's Academy of St. Luke at age 22, she moved to London, where her reputation as an extraordinarily skilled painter and sublime conversationalist preceded her.

"She had already painted leading Shakespeare interpreter, mega-celebrity of the day, David Garrick," said Rosenthal. "She was known as 'the painter of Garrick.'" In those days, such accolades that linked artists to beloved figures of the stage or throne heralded immediate almost rabid adoration by the teeming masses

As one critic phrased it, Kauffman "burst upon the hemisphere of painting as a luminous wonder," with her widely celebrated romantic aesthetic, whose glowing palette and romantic subject matter seemed to intoxicate the viewing public, including royalty.

Her faithful reinterpretations of classical figures, grouped together using ancient devices of composition, poses and gesture, were set against verdant backgrounds and incorporated symbolic elements such as lyres, lambs and scrolls (the arts, innocence and education, respectively).

Kauffman's soft, peaceful portraits were not simply poetic odes to beauty and nature, they reflected the aesthetics and values of the period in pivotal ways that served to challenge the perception of gender roles and relations.

"Later in the 18th century, we had 'men of feeling,'" expounds Rosenthal. "It was a sentimental culture when the female voice appeared in literature with Samuel Richardson's novel "Pamela: or, Virtue Rewarded" and it transformed rough masculinity. Toughness and violence did not reign but, instead, emotional depth."

Even in light of this cultural swell toward the feminine perspective, Kauffman's monumental academic and professional accomplishments remain remarkable today when one considers that it was an age when few women achieved great success or distinction.

Rosenthal finds the evolution and impact of Kauffman's achievements entirely pertinent to societal obstacles and inner messages with which women continue to wrestle today. "If it is held to be somehow something that women don't do, then women themselves hold this mores. It is a mentality of the time that we enforce — not just men who prohibit women from doing what they want to do, but the whole patriarchal culture. Certainly, Kauffman tried to negotiate this, she was trying to please and the ideal of femininity was regarded of the arbiter of this taste."

"German poet Johann Gottfried von Herder called Kauffman 'the most cultivated person in Europe,'" continued Rosenthal. "So if she had intelligent people sitting for portraits, she had to be polished, speak different languages, be charming and flattering without being too submissive. In portraiture you're on equal footing because the sitter is vulnerable in the hands of the artist and that equation was loaded in the 18th century."

Considering the stature of Kauffman's subjects, this dynamic must have been particularly thrilling for her and propelled her career forward at an unprecedented clip, into uncharted territory. "When Queen Charlotte sat for Kauffman," affirmed Rosenthal, "her patronage instantly went up."

Kauffman was at the center of a vibrant intellectual milieu populated not only by wealthy patrons and monarchs, but by fellow female achievers of the day. "She cultivated relationships with a fantastic series of creative women and she made monumental portraits, almost female Temples of the Muses, or Parnassus. Women would sit for Kauffman because she was this cultured woman with a heightened sensibility."

Eighteenth-century English painter James Northcote encapsulated Kauffman's influence more than 200 years ago in a letter he wrote to her dearest friend and colleague, Sir Joshua Reynolds, in which he said Kauffman had become synonymous with successful women in the arts.

Rosenthal considers the lessons in Kauffman's remarkable professional trajectory to be entirely germane to the continuing need for contemporary girls and women to be inspired and challenged. "It's important for 21st-century women to know about women of the past," she said. "It's great to see powerful, creative women who succeeded and contributed fundamentally to the culture."

At last year's bicentennial commemoration of her death, Kauffman's achievements were once again lauded when Austria went all out to honor its favorite female artisan and Rosenthal was clearly moved by the enthusiasm accorded her longtime academic subject.

"At the opening celebration, there were 800 invited guests, plus a documentary film about her and they put her portrait on the Austrian shilling and a new stamp," marveled Rosenthal, who delivered a talk at the event. "She's a national hero there."

In describing the festivities, Rosenthal reflected candidly on her own joy at seeing Kauffman so deservingly lionized. "Sometimes scholarship is a lonely endeavor between you and the work of art, so this was astonishing for me."

Angelica Kauffman's achievements are astonishing to anyone who explores them, as is Rosenthal's wisdom and zeal on the topic. Take advantage of her remarkable expertise by heading to Brooks Library on Wednesday — and bring your daughters.

Online: www.brooks.lib.vt.us

Giving voice to what we believe: NPR producer explores universal notion

On the first day of fifth grade, circa 1972, my classmates and I were instructed to write a one-page essay on what we believed in — no mean feat for a 10-year-old who spent most of the time fretting that her nose was too elfin or with said protuberance buried in Enid Blyton books or Betty and Veronica comics.

Looking back on where my priorities lay at that age, my essay was probably a rambling jumble of unfinished thoughts about how I believed that kids should not leave homework until the last minute, that older sisters should not bully younger sisters and that rice pudding was really gross. In other words, it was likely a whingy roster of average pre-adolescent obsessions about foibles, siblings and general daily trials such as unappetizing dishes at dinnertime.

Lucky for me, that myopia was soon ripped open by a trio of groovy, newbie teachers who, in the "combined classroom" setting popular in those days, did their darndest to get about 60 kids to reconsider their world from new and, to use the lexicon of the day, radical angles.

There was Mr. Berry, who addressed us as if we, too, were 30-ish political activists who cared deeply about things like the Vietnam war, littering and Jungian psychology; Mr. Lindbergh who, with dulcet tones and gentle manner, ended each day reading aloud to us from books such as "Where the Red Fern Grows" or "Travels With Charley;" and Ms. Ayling who taught us about Bella Abzug, the women's' rights movement and how the birth control pill heralded a social revolution.

And yet it wasn't only school that kept me steeped in thought-provoking ideas and sensibilities. With working-class parents who recalled the terror of buzz bombs during WWII, an atheist grandmother who regularly disparaged Nixon, my older sister canvassing for the McGovern-Shriver campaign after school every day and perpetual familial fears that my brother might be drafted, I already had some fairly strong opinions about the world. It was just that no one had ever asked for them.

Plenty of folks go through life keeping their beliefs largely to themselves, for one reason or another, although given the right opportunity even the quietest voices can rise and be heard.

"This I Believe: The Personal Philosophies of Remarkable Men and Women," a collection of 80 absorbing essays based on the NPR show of the same name, gives voice to private citizens and public figures. Based on eminent journalist Edward R. Murrow's venerated 1950s-era "This I Believe" radio show, the book contains views from present day luminaries such as Gloria Steinem, Colin Powell and Eve Ensler, as well as those who were in Murrow's original broadcasts, including Helen Keller, Albert Einstein and Oscar Hammerstein.

Some are simple and moving, others complex and bold, but all are fearless, forthright and timeless.

A few entries paint social observations with a broad philosophical brush, such as Mr. Hammerstein, who declared: "I am a man who believes he is happy. What makes it unusual is that a man who is happy seldom tells anyone. The unhappy man is more communicative. He is eager to recite what is wrong with the world, and he seems to have a talent for gathering a large audience. It is a modern tragedy that despair has so many spokesmen, and hope so few."

Likewise, the words of Sir Muhammad Zafrulla Khan, who was the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Pakistan, brim with an egalitarian celebration of humanity: "I believe in the brotherhood and equality of man. I recognize no division or privilege based on race, color, family or wealth. The only badge of honor and nobility that I recognize is the purity and righteousness of a man's life."

At 7 p.m. Saturday, Jay Allison, who co-edited the book and co-produces the radio show with fellow NPR reporter Dan Gediman, will speak at Northshire Books along with Casey Murrow, the son of Edward R. Murrow.

With the immense popularity of the radio shows and the book, the breadth of their contributors and the journalistic brilliance of the founder himself, "This I Believe" is an ever-pertinent source of insight and connection in which a core impulse of human nature is eloquently and mightily manifest.

Edward R. Murrow once said, "The newest computer can merely compound, at speed, the oldest problem in the relations between human beings, and in the end the communicator will be confronted with the old problem, of what to say and how to say it."

Respectfully expanding upon Mr. Murrow's discerning observation, Allison and Gediman also created "This I Believe," the Web site and nonprofit organization, "to promote the free and respectful exchange of ideas." Giving anyone and everyone an opportunity to express his or her personal philosophies via an online database of personal essays from around the globe, the site invites regular folks like you and me to tell the world what we believe.

A remarkably intimate peek into the achievements, hardships, regrets and revelations of people from more than 70 countries, the site is an expansive example of the computer at its best, making the world seem smaller by sewing the experience of humanity together across the ether.

"This I Believe" asks all of us to look within and express our innermost credos, though it's not the first such publication to do so. Way back in 1941, a book called "Vermont Is Where You Find It" by Keith Warren Jennison asked the same thing, in so many words. Pairing stark portraits of Vermonters with wry questions and observations, one page asks "What do you know today … for sure?"

Go to the "This I Believe" Web site and you'll see just what 241 fellow Vermonters know for sure. They believe in a great many things, including the power of goodness, of laughter and of working together. They believe that everyday life is filled with profound moments, that creatures should not suffer because of human greed and that toddlers can be our teachers. They believe in the right to dignity, in giving oneself the gift of time and in hope. One woman even believes in soil and expounds upon her conviction as passionately and powerfully as her online kin.

The sum of these varied versions of "This I Believe" — the book, the old and new radio show and now this visionary database of personal principles — is a wealth of wisdom and compassion that serves to edify, inspire and galvanize us all.

It is particularly striking to note how many of the essays from the original show are germane to our present-day socio-political climate. Pearl S. Buck, who recorded her thoughts for Murrow's show in 1951, seems to have presaged the current state of international affairs.

"I believe that the normal human heart is born good. That is, it's born sensitive and feeling, eager to be approved and to approve, hungry for simple happiness and the chance to live. It neither wishes to be killed, nor to kill. If through circumstances, it is overcome by evil, it never becomes entirely evil. There remain in it elements of good, however recessive, which continue to hold the possibility of restoration."

One of the "This I Believe" online entries, from a man in Vermont, decisively synopsizes Murrow, Allison and Gediman's collective motivation: He believes there is a person inside all of us who needs to be heard.

Say what you have to say on the "This I Believe" Web site and head to Northshire Books for what is sure to be an enthralling evening built around one of the airwaves' most consistently meaningful shows.

Online: www.thisibelieve.org

www.northshire.com

Beatnik Cafe: Evolution of a revolution

It's not every day that a small metal sphere orbiting the earth sparks a term that defines an entire swath of a politically astute, intellectually engaged and artistically bold generation.

On April 2, 1958, journalist Herb Caen — during his 50-year-long career writing a daily column for the San Francisco Chronicle — casually coined the term "beatnik" in a line about Look magazine having hosted a party for "250 bearded cats." Unwitting representatives of the already-infamous beat generation and their peers, by the time the city had had slurped down its collective cup o' joe the next morning, had been duly anointed with a label that played on the name of the former Soviet Union's unmanned spacecraft, Sputnik, which had taken its virgin loop around the globe only months before.

When I knew him in the 1980s, Caen told me that when he'd pounded out that nickname on his loyal Royal manual typewriter, it was at a time when a great many buzzwords were being spawned simply by adding the "nik" suffix. "Neatnik," "peacenik" and "no-goodnik" entered the lexicon, not to mention "Muttnik" for the poor pooch that was chosen to be the first living creature launched into space, on Sputnik 3.

Caen certainly had no idea the name would become an internationally known brand for the cultural gumbo of bebop musicians, trailblazing poets, avant-garde artists and system-bucking anarchists but, as someone at the epicenter of the movement who regularly hung out with modern musicians such as Brubeck, Basie, Armstrong, Fitzgerald and Shearing, there was no better wordsmith for the task.

At 7 p.m. Saturday, the great Sheila Jordan, one of bebop's legendary voices — along with a powerful posse of seasoned jazz musicians and a vibrant troupe of singers, dancers and actors — will bring this eccentric era to life in "Beatnik Café: A Musical Revue" at Brattleboro's downtown theater, The Church.

Written by the Vermont poet Namaya, this unconventional cabaret is part homage, part history lesson and part pop-culture "happening," weaving renowned gems such as Brubeck's "Take Five" and Monk's "Round Midnight" into the socio-political fabric of Ginsburg's "Howl," Burroughs' "Naked Lunch" and more mainstream iconography such as James Dean and Dobie Gillis.

Taking the audience from the Beat era's big band beginnings in the 1940s through quirky 1950s TV hits and into smoky New York City clubs, Moroccan opium dens and the teeming North Beach poetry scene of the '60s, Beatnik Café is an engaging timeline of the musical, literary and trend-setting luminaries.

Inhabiting a colorful cast of fictional characters, including the ghost of Jack Kerouac, Dr. Sax, Queen B-Bop and Bongo D, performers will read poems, perform skits, scat slogans and croon ballads on various heady topics that filled the headlines during that period, from the A-bomb and socialist ideals to hobo angst and the "I Love Lucy" show.

Namaya's personal immersion in the chronology of this charged period in American history is evident in the depth of research that he conducted while creating the show.

"I'm always interested in historical themes in literature and writing, so I was curious how … bebop, hard-bop and atonal jazz developed," he said recently after a rehearsal. "And what were the social forces at play like civil rights, the heroin epidemic and major cultural changes like rock 'n' roll and the intersection of jazz?"

In addition to a song list peppered with various demi-gods of the period, including Dizzy Gillespie, Nina Simone, Miles Davis and Big Joe Turner, Namaya has written a few songs of his own to comprehensively propel the chronology.

"I've written a few numbers for the show, like "Heroin Blues," a ballad of loss and disintegration and Charlie Parker's destruction with addiction," he explains.

Namaya has also integrated Jordan's personal stories into the program, infusing skits and songs with her vivid firsthand recollections. "Sheila remembers going with her friend Charlie Parker in 1949 to Birdland — the famous club named after Parker himself — but she said they wouldn't let him in because he had no jacket."

Then there the more scandalous tales about Parker and his fellow musicians unapologetically demonstrating that the Beat era was the height of hedonism, on numerous fronts, particularly with regard to illicit substances of one kind or another.

Art Blakey has been credited with saying, "Jazz began in a gin tub, mellowed in marijuana and is being killed by heroin."

When one delves into some of the songs that were being written back then, it appears he was an incisive social commentator.

It's hard to visualize the artistic thread that links innocent swing tunes such as "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" to darker melodies, such as Monk's "Straight, No Chaser" or the very early 1936 reefer song, "If You're a Viper," with its ominous, descending bass lines prowling through fairly dastardly lyrics. But bebop, jazz and beat music evolved out of the weighty sequence of events between post-WWII euphoria to anti-establishment rejection of the Vietnam war.

With the earnest reverence of a cultural archaeologist, Namaya's obsession with the artistic symbolism and progression of this era is obvious. When we got on the topic of "hip" vs. "hep," he explained that the roots of both go back to the African Wolof language, in which "hepi" means "to see" and "hipi" refers to "opening one's eyes." Ergo, monikers such as "hep cat" and "hippie," which began to populate the vernacular back then and are still around today, have a mighty positive etymology — news that will surely change the minds of uptight squares everywhere.

Namaya and his energetic, hard-working comrades have constructed an evening that's guaranteed to be edifying and multi-dimensional, offering as its centerpiece a rare opportunity to hear Sheila Jordan's bright, agile, honeyed tones.

Jordan is backed up by top jazz musicians such as consummate saxophonist Scott Mullett, director of the Vermont Jazz Center, versatile percussionist Bob Weiner, who's toured with Harry Belafonte and Betty Buckley, veteran bass player George Kay and innovative pianist Miro Sprague. And behind that impressive delegation is the effervescent presence and mellifluously dynamic voice of Samirah Evans, of New Orleans, along with local songstresses Carol Smith and Cindy Hellman scatting their way down bebop memory lane.

Sitting in on a rehearsal last week — in which musicians and singers shifted deftly between charts and improvisation, with a collective joie de bebop and friendly banter injecting the room further with palpable sizzle — I was impressed by the wealth of expertise these accomplished performers bring to this collaboration. It's an artistic simpatico that's tough to cultivate in a multimedia ensemble piece of such complexity.

This is one tight, intuitive band with a lush, resonant sound and, anchored by Jordan's elegant phrasing and the historical import of Namaya's narrative arc, "Beatnik Café" is sure to be one hip, high-caliber theatrical event.

You dig, Daddy-O?

Online: www.brattleborotix.com

Wizards, mysteries and big words: Reading and related events inspire kids all summer

With summer half over and many families returning from vacations with kids who promptly display post-camping-beach-road trip-Disneyland-Europe boredom, the next six-week stretch of no school can look awfully ominous to parents like me who don't usually enroll our kids in camps and classes.

Even if we haven't left home at all, filling the days with stimulating activities can be a challenge, particularly if a flock of fun visitors has recently departed.

Last week, our friends and family from England and California headed back home and the daytrips we'd been making around the region began to be replaced by regular pastimes like walking to the market for Popsicles or playing chess on the porch. Fortunately, my kids' default diversion is portable and helps to keep mid-summer monotony at bay.

In the car en route to potlucks, kayaking excursions, baseball games and swimming holes, and in between barbecues, skateboarding and hide-and-seek at home, they're more often than not found immersed in books.

Both have, in fact, been rereading all the Harry Potter books in preparation for next week's release of the final tome in the series, so I thought I'd check into local celebrations of the highly-anticipated event.

Thus far, I've found no less than five locations in southern Vermont where families can gather for a bewitching few hours leading up to the moment when the book will go on sale at midnight July 20.

Northshire Books in Manchester, the Book Cellar in Brattleboro and the Boys & Girls Club, the Rockingham Public Library and Village Square Booksellers in Bellows Falls are all rolling out the J.K. Rowling carpet, with everything from costume contests and dastardly divinations to Hogwarts d'oeurves and Horcrux scavenger hunts. Northshire Books goes all out, with herbology lessons by Professor Sprout, a Quidditch broomstick for photo-ops and Dumbledore's Army followed by a swarm of Dementors descending the staircase to herald the distribution of the books when the clock strikes 12.

Upon further investigation, I also came across a great many ongoing children's programs and special events at libraries and bookshops that offer author readings, morning story times for youngsters and interactive afternoon programs for older kids. Rockingham Public Library is an exceptional year-round resource for young people, with weekly meetings of its Detective Club for kids 8 and up, and AnimeNiacs and Dungeons & Dragons for over-13s.

Libraries, in general, are always a great place to bring the kids during the summer, as are local indie bookstores.

Whether it's 100 degrees or pouring outside, or when playing badminton has lost the luster it had in early June, getting lost in the land of delightfully implausible plotlines inhabited by brilliant, charming kids, unlikely heroes and deliciously repugnant villains is a splendid way to wile away the hours.

Though I like to think my kids got the reading bug because I starting reciting things like "Big Red Barn," "Goodnight Moon" and "Pokey Little Puppy" to them a bazillion times a day when they were about a week old, I also know that it is in large part because of the vibrant libraries they frequent, as well as a terrific reading program at their school.

The Reading Challenge, conceived several years ago by a parent and facilitated by hard-working members of the PTO, is a truly inspired incentive program whose periodic presentations of calligraphic certificates and cool tchotchkes help propel kids along the way to becoming avid readers as they pursue the 50,000-page goal.

Though I'm one of those moms who cringes at the obsession that has so many parents rewarding little Johnny each time he blows his nose or insisting that every pee-wee player gets a trophy — whatever happened to healthy, Darwinian competition? — I must say that, within the realm of academia, when kids are moved to read simply by visions of small prizes dancing in their heads, well, it's all good. The joy on my son's face when the principal presented him with a plaque upon completion of the Reading Challenge last year was worth every minute of title-jotting and page-tallying.

Nevertheless, it's not all down to handsome diplomas and Day-Glo pencils. As a journalist, I was curious about the reading bug in and of itself and why it bites some kids so very deeply, so the other day I grabbed my tape recorder and arranged to interview two eminent local experts on the topic: the ones I often find draped over each end of my couch, which for weeks now has been strewn with dog-eared paperbacks emblazoned with the words "Harry Potter and the 'Something Something.'"

When I asked my 8-year old daughter, Ellie, what she likes about reading, an earnest look came over her face and she explained thusly: "I like to read because it's interesting, happy, sad, scary, mysterious and adventurous and I learn lots of big words like 'independence,' 'absurd,' 'indignant' and …'pondered.'"

Her brother, Timmy, couldn't wait for his interview to start and blurted excitedly, "Yeah and you never know what's going to happen so sometimes you're thunderstruck with sadness or amazement or any kind of emotion, like in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," I was really dumbstruck when Dumbledore died, but with Eragon I pretty much knew that Eragon and Saphira were going to get to the Varden safely!" Well, all righty then.

Experts say a child's love of reading, like all habits good or bad, begins at home. Having been raised by a woman whose vocabulary was positively Oxfordian, I might be a tad heavy-handed in pushing this particular pursuit, not to mention the Queen's English, upon my kids. Still, they seemed enrapt when I recently regaled them with Conan Doyle's "Stories For Boys," a 1938 gem full of expressions that now — much to my amusement — pepper their own lexicon. The other day during a game of Uno, Timmy exulted, "Hey, when I guessed the card before I picked it, it 'suited the action to the word,' just like when Sherlock Holmes said one of the white pills would kill the dog and it did!"

Not that it's all formal and flowery at our house; there are plenty of "cools," "awesomes" and "yos" in the midst of any verdant vocabulary. That being said, the vernacular at Hogwarts has done much to elevate the caliber of speech in young adult literature on the whole and, for that, plenty of parents — and, I'm guessing, a lot of teachers, too — are thankful.

If you're after a multimedia über-HP experience on the 20th, head to Bellows Falls where the new Harry Potter film plays at the Bellows Falls Opera House prior to the three nearby book release celebrations. Please note that all aforementioned HP events are free except at Village Square Booksellers, which requires prepaid book orders for those wishing to attend.

Also, for little ones who won't make it to midnight, local artist Donald Saaf will be at VSB from 4 to 6 p.m. that afternoon to read aloud and sing a few songs in celebration of "Skinny Brown Dog," the most recent of more than 12 wondrously whimsical books that he has illustrated with his richly hued, beautifully rendered paintings.

Check out local libraries and bookstores and you'll find a steady stream of entertaining events for young folks through September — enough to make that kayak look mighty tantalizing again, right about Labor Day.

www.northshire.com

www.bookcellarvt.com

www.villagesquarebooks.com

www.youseemore.com/rockingham

Break out the bubbly: First Anniversary of Sover Scene

According to tradition, the proper first-anniversary gift is paper, which is apt, as today heralds (pun unavoidable) a full year of reporting all the Southern Vermont arts that'll fit into 30 or so weekly columnar inches of this fine paper.

Before I started the Sover Scene, I knew Vermont had a thriving cultural infrastructure, with its numerous galleries, museums, bookshops, theaters, concert venues and festivals. Still, I assumed I'd need to do at least a tiny bit of digging each week in order to find truly exceptional events upon which to expound.

The delicious reality, however, is that I'm more often than not hard-pressed to decide what not to write about. Sounds like an ill-conceived BBC series, but, honestly, come Friday each week I already have a vat of ideas for next week's column percolating in my head and not because of any shrewd investigative effort on my part. Outstanding visual, literary, musical and theatrical art happenings are simply ubiquitous around here, like moss on boulders and weathervanes on barns.

And since I'm one of those people who'd rather go deep into one topic than skim the surface of many, the end of each week usually has my brow furled as I attempt to settle on one theme. Hmmm … the lecture on Steinbeck in East Dover or the Tibetan documentary screening in Saxtons River? The exhibit in Jamaica of photos from Kyoto or the Nigerian dance performance in Bellows Falls? The Winslow Homer sketches in Bennington or the Britpop band in Brattleboro?

Without question, Southern Vermont is a voluminous feast for us culture vultures and, unless every Vermont resident who loves or creates art is suddenly abducted by aliens, I will never run out of ideas.

It's a terribly nice problem to have, though sometimes it really is a tough call. Case in point, there are two compelling events taking place on June 7, both of which I'd love to cover in depth next week but, alas, I must resist. My editors already have a hard enough time reigning in my verbosity on one topic without having to crack the whip on two.

For lack of a better term, the "first runner-up" is a talk on Gertrude Stein during which Barbara Will, associate professor of English at Dartmouth, will be discussing the Mother of Modernism's illustrious Left Bank salon, which included 20th-century heavyweights such as Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Manet, Picasso and Cezanne.

Anyone who's read more than a couple of these columns can attest that I could easily write thousands of words on this kind of event. Not only does my academic background in art history make me giddy at the thought of all those Titans of the painting world milling around the Stein-Toklas' Parisian parlor, but such a pivotal time in literary history is like a smorgasbord to those of us with stalagmites of books cluttering our floors. So, despite my urge to spotlight this absorbing event as well — 7 p.m., June 7, Brooks Memorial Library in Brattleboro — I just can't.

The topic that elbowed out Gertrude and her posse is a worthy opponent, as you'll see in the first of Sover Scene's second year, next week!

And to think that when I moved here six years ago, some of the friends I was leaving behind in San Francisco were concerned that I'd have constant culture cravings and that my intellectual life would be drastically narrowed to things like maple candy competitions and lectures on the art of sheep shearing.

Well, for one thing, I love maple candy and very much appreciate that all things aggie embody a crucial slice of Vermont's incredibly rich cultural history. But the truth of the matter is — and this is what got this flatlander here in the first place — Vermont has more artistic mojo per capita than most places on the planet and writing this column reaffirms that, every week.

As a matter of fact, it was art that got me here. In early 2000, my former husband and I were considering moving to New England from the Bay Area and had just come back from a reconnaissance road trip around Maine, where I'd spent a lot of time as a kid with relatives. A few friends and acquaintances that heard about our trip made a point of advising us to check out Vermont before we made any decision, attesting that it's an incomparable place with a rare appreciation for creativity and independent thought.

Like every self-respecting business-owner and mother considering moving with her family across the country, I Googled the words crucial to any well-researched, prudent relocation venture: "art," "literature" and "Vermont." The first listing was RAMP, the Rockingham Arts and Museum Project in Bellows Falls. I think my husband must have thought I'd spiked my tea because I came squealing out of our office as if I'd found Nirvana — not the band, we already had that CD.

I was thrilled to have discovered such a thriving arts organization in the middle of New England and guessed, correctly, that it was a testament to the vibrancy and pluck of the community in general. A year later, we'd bought a house just outside Bellows Falls and knew it was the best move we ever made, particularly for our children. I'm quite sure they're exposed to far more kultchah here than they would have been in San Francisco because most art events and venues there are prohibitive and, almost more to the point, there's never any bloody parking, which dissuades even the most committed of us "museum-moms" from teaching little Johnny about things like post-modernism or the Fauvists.

By now RAMP's founder, Robert McBride, has heard my moving — in every sense of the word — tale so many times he can recite it verbatim, but if it weren't for Robert and the Internet — thank you, Al Gore — I wouldn't have found this extraordinary corner of the world, much less this outstanding publication.

The experience of learning more and more about the bustling southern Vermont art world by writing the Sover Scene each week has been extraordinarily positive, as has the response. E-mails from readers who connect with something they see herein or who offer informative tidbits about favorite topics are frosting on an already delectable cake.

Add to it that the editors with whom I work are as astute, congenial, respectful and intrepid as any I have ever encountered in my two decades of writing, and this first year of working with a family-owned, conglomerate-eschewing paper of such admirable integrity has been a true joy.

As the cards say, here's to many more!

Contact Annie Guyon at [email protected].