THE NEW YORK ST.ATE WATERWAYS PROJECT grew out of a desire to present to New :York resident.

s the artistry of the word ina novel settzLng. The waterways caught our imaginations from a concern for aesthetics and the ecology of New. York rivers and lakes. We thank the South StE-eet Seaport Museurn, the National Maritime Histori cal Socie.ty. the New York Harbor Festi vaL and the Department of Ports and Terminals for their cooperat.ionand reconunendations. Payments to poets were made possible by g,rant.s from Poets 6: Writers and The New York State Council on the Arts. Additional employment of poets was made possible through t.he CETA programs of the American Jewish Congress' M.artin Steinberg Center and the CuI cural Council Foundation whose pa.rticipating poets were funded under grants from the US Department of Labor and the NYC Department of Employment CETA Title VI.

The 1978 schedule of events included exhibitions and readings at the South Street Seaport Museum on July 4th: at Pier 13

in Staten Island on July 21st; on Pier 84 at West 44th Street r in Manhattan on July 29; at the pie.r at 44th Drive in Long Island City on August 12; at the North River Bulkhead in Greenwich Village (West Street and Bank Street) on August

19th; at the Fulton Ferl!Y Landing. Hrooklyn on Auqus t; 25th

and August 26th; and in Kingston at Roundout Creek on September 8th and September 9 t.h, Each fair site was marked by

the publication of a. dated Waterways chapbook that included one poem from each of the participating poets. The Waterways Project wi.ll continue document.:Lng the activities of poets working in New York State during the 'off-season' by publishing a bi-monthly series of waterways Ma.gazine.s that will bring. to the reading public materials from poets writing in unusual workshop locat.ions. The srna Ll, press exhibitions and poetry reaaings will be resumed at waterways locati.ons as

soon in 1980 as the weather permits. Membership of presses

in the NYS Waterways Project is welcomed throughout the year and individual subscribers to the publishing prog.ram are also encouraged. SubscriptiLon and membership information can be found on the last page of this issue.

© 19'6U', TE~ PENNY PLAYERS INC.

- -

; , :J.-' -

NYS Wa:lteFways PJ?ojec-t Magazine

Vol. 2/ No. l'February 1980

Tille arts - music I t:heatre, dance, pa-i!nting, sculpt-une, li 1ze!r'a::tuI'e - arse oUI:" history and lifelines in the n0W and to the :fu.tu.re. With this theme I Lifelines I in mind we have pu.t iGogeithertih.e Fl.eeruary ;i.ssue.

Section I contains maiterialli eJlici'fea by l=1ae~ MadeiiBe

Tiger Bass auring a poe-E!I'Y residency at the Day Hospi-tal

€If 'tme Hunterdan Geunty Medica2ll Oente'L, ME;mtath HealtF! , Cente!I:" (Under a granll f!I'om t:he New Je'rsey .Arts Goun€ii~. SeG!tion I] inclludes poe t.ey cr-ea.t.ad a:ti t;he Bel1eW1Ue HOS'lDital Act.£vitIi!es Thera:py IDepartmen>E and BbFeB'sic Psychiatry Servdioes under -Ehe p:r;oj e cts dei!Fect.ien OE p0et RonaJ:1il €lilr;itst. Sectien [Iris pa!I't af our p'oe~s in- Pu'bli.c ReadiB§"s series and :pre~ents four of the poets who read at the mammoth

New Y0.Ek :CsBoOK C(:mntFY fia.i.r' hela 1fhis past Sept.em'Ser.

Bri€lgiBg tnese sections are ID@ems ;i?ram Bi!] r'1arsh whGlse material :is particlllllal?iI!.y apt ~0r this issue. Mr. Mar:sh

i:? editor/publisheF 0'£ Bramw:eII~Marsfu, GIBe of the membez; presses of ;Ene Waterways P;reject. His material ev:olveGl from his work as nurse, couBselor, and,teaeher at a Staten illsiand nurs,ing hame.

The w.at.e.rways Pro~ ectMagazine willI con t Lnue to docUInea:t the WGPK of paets writir.J.g, publishing, declaiming, primariilly i:,n New ~ork State wit.h forays ta neighbor.ingst"ates a's material aplf?ropriate t'o our project: is offered to us . The April ~SSiUe. wil] be pu1:>;rishee. on .April 4th and will feature some a-r t'ibe peets reading :April 4tn,5th, and 6th at the New Y0J!K »o0'k Fai:r;-1'lEiich :will be .belld tliis ;y;ea:t a-t. -the llioeb seudencE Cent.er o,f New York Nnivers:!-€y,.

is- edited and desi,~e.d - Bar:bara Fisher & Richard Alan Spiege!L of Bea~rice Auste~.

witih :the Ii>:t:'od~c;t1hon ass,Ilstance

Uirhe project aceept..s no res:g0ns±bili-Ey for ulil,so:I.ic±ted

II)arnuseFillpts. Aill ri(21hcJis ceB'Errllbl!lJ'EGrs

am'Ee,r ptlbJ:ieat:ton.

ISS N @ 119 5 - '7 a 8'J\\:

10036, publishing

pulDli.shing poet:ry

The Waterways Prolleet has been made

We wish to acknowledge with thanks a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts which will be used towards making pos-

!!~!!_~~r_lr~J!~~~~_!~~Q_~r!~r~T~ _

'I'he Waterways PF0j'ect Magazine is pliblished .in February.: I April, Jiune, 3-t:.imes in July, 3-times in AUg1l.l,st, Oet:.ober, and De cernbeer ,

MaF€h 2, MalJrch lli6, amd Ma!lrch 30 we w:ilLl be presenting

I American Pepl!111i!st Poetry I a'E. Bowne & CQ, ~ 2ibl Water Street) at the So~tfu StFeet Seap0E~ Museum (5:@0-7:00 pm) . Works of Herman MelvilllJ.e,iEm:ilily Dickinson, and Paul Laurance Dunbar willi.. be reae om ~espe~t1ive evemings and wH!.1L be contrast.ecil. to materiaits p!l?ese.ated by cOIltemporary poets readiru;!JPFom ~Reir 0Wll wrli~ings. $2.50 admission.

tElay HQsp:i! ta:ill, Hum tlera.<Cln 00urnty New Jersey, 08822.

~® BE @ONT,~NUED,' P.®. Box 139, staten Island NY ~0306.

,

... Then he said to the man, I Stretch out your hand. I He stretched it out and his hand was better, as sound as the other one.

Matthew, 12:14

* * *

It is unimportant when or where I am

when I invite another to reach out. What matters is my trusting

and finding the courage and the faith to reach out,

to invite reaching, simply open to the power of the human touch.

The palm of peace

unfolds from a fisted hand,

and all of the inner world echoes in the timidity, the warmth,

the tremor, the fluid grace,

and that echo resounds

to be heard in the smiles

that appear upon both persons' faces.

Tenderness, compassion, both expressed.

The hopes and longings, silent pleas,

trust reassured by contact in the gentlest of ways, as hands that clasp encounter,

speak,

play,

build bridges, share,

and heal

with awesome power, hurts that humans know.

Bill Marsh

-~ I

1

Madeline Tiger Bass directed Poetry Workshops at the Day Hospital of the Hunterdon County Medical Center during May, June and July of

1979. The following exerpt is from one of

her logs written at the completion of the July assignment.

Funds were made available through the New Jersey Arts

Council.' The simple objective was certainly met:

interest was aroused in the language I games I I brought to our workshops, and the participants became - each in his or own way - more and more willing to !play! with words, to compose them,to make up pieces, to exchange stories and stanzas, to become more fluent andin some cases - more daring, and - in almost all cases more communicative.

Interest was definitely aroused.

I could never assert, however, that anybody learned much about the serious craft of poetry. The poem, for itself, for its own form and value, for the inhe.rent excitement of its presentation - the poem as such was not really in the spotlight. Something else was center-stage:. the process, the exchange, the energy going round in our circles, the

I touching I through words and gestures and listening and encouraging and attending. I can't say it was I therapy, I though the staff may disagree; but I can't call it something so focused and tecnnical, and it's important for me, for my ego as artist-person, not to focus that way. lid rather say that the artistic process went on', that the energy was aroused and flowing, and that new efforts with language were riding on that flow, expressing that flow, and keeping it going.

This process felt good: we all felt good together, the staff felt good objectively, to see what was happening in the dynamic of the group and in the separate processes between me and some of t.he individual patients; and of course I felt good about my success, no matter whCit its definition.

Some wonderful things happened, and we are all pleased; we have some attractive products, and we are all proud; we have some closer feelings about each other, and each of us who participated feels ,less isolated. OUR HANDS are the image 'for the experience. We touch. We urge each other to speech; we enj oy and savour the novelty of what each one' says, and the universality of what we are saying; we help each other; we find some beauty and,some humor and some delight. We want more such experiences, all of us do. The energy circling makes us all feel more alive; it's good. Stephen Dunn, the poet at Stockton, has written effectively about this 'something different' that happens and is good in its own special way and for its own reasons. But it 'does not have

a lot to do with the singer gathering the lore of his folk and giving rise to songi it does not have a lot to do with the artist sitting alone in his room and going deep in in

in to his own center, his own isolation, the spring of his own language, and therefrom carving out his carefully arranged lines. It is not like the process I must enforce when I teach writing among people whose educations have

been rich and can serve them well. Often I was editing and selecting and guiding the process so that I had my hand/ voice/mind'in as the product took shape. It was more sharing and playing together than e-ducation (leading out). I only mean to raise the questions we must all face, whether or not we can ever answer them; these are the questions about what the educational role really is for the artistas-teacher, considering his or her students' sakes and his/ her own sake. Are we craftspeople? Are we energizers? Are we meant to bring people together? Or to t.hemae Lve aj' How

do we pursue art for itself, its purity ... the urn, the melody, the perfect line. I don't know how often these projects should be done; and I know that our sQciety has to find many ways of using its artists and experiencing its arts. And I'm very glad I was there when something special began to happen in the Day Hospital.

OUR HAND

My hana is scarred.

lrt lis just sca'Ered a little At the feot ef the hand hn.ere is a sca;!"

where the knife stuck

and where it went up my hand. It was sere but not for long.

My hands are red and rough for in the working

I pull weeds with my hands I put my thumb in my mouth

all the time

My hands are heavy

My hand is black My hand is white See my hand

Soft. like a rose

My fuanGis a.r;e ::weaching for you, all friends friends fr.iends

I

My hana is big and strong -- but I wish it looked .like a lady's.

My left hand has a long line in it My Tight hand has arthritis in it .and it is very hard to use it.

When I hold someone's hand I feel wealth

and friendship

I have a shape of an 1M' that means money maybe some day I will be a rich person and own my own house.

I have a little Burn on my thumb.

I bit my nails.

My hands are rough.

My hands have some callouses.

My hands are getting stronger from climbing.

When I was at work one time I cut my hand.

My.hand is soft.

That line in my hand

it donlt mean anything.

A hand can

Fondle a loved one

Caress in a sympathetic manner Make a fist and strike in bate Earn your daily bread

Scratch an itch

Catch a ball

Two hands .can

Applaud something you like Make snowballs

Mold clay.

. My hands are red and rough for in the working.

This is a group poem written by: 0, P, F, E, B, C, R, H, 5, M, B, R, M & N

MY HANDS ALWAYS BUSY KW

Work in the garden with plants and water them, Pulled the weeds, Trim the hedge

I cleaned my bedroom with dust mop, dustrag the furniture and stair steps. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom mowed grass. When we farm, feed pigs, cows, chickens, Billy goat,

Baked and cooked.

Work up the Hotel in kitchen at Ri verville, New' Jersey. Ride the big boat.

': I went to school to learn.

Ride the bicyc:lJe oc.cas Lona.Ll.y ,{So shopping

~leaning the garage

clean t.he swimming pooL,

[

1

ABSTRACT FROM MADELINE TIGER BASS~ LOG

This P.M. I dared a new experiment ~ using abstraction and color, line and picture before allowing words in at all. Searching for connections from the visual and linear - into the verbal, and back again; and bridging without literal connections; and combining words and line images on the papers, to make patterns with the words --- the words becoming part of the pattern above and beyond their representational meaning, denotative & connotative; their visual arrangements being also important.

I believe I talked first, a bit about the two lines of the development of poetry: aural and visual, the song and the hieroglyph ...

(then Ms. Bass r~ad Paul Eluard's poem 'We Have Made the Darkness Ours')

I had asked everybody to do abstract line drawings while

I showed a photograph. Then I passed around a series of pictures (news clippings, postcards, all sorts of things).

I asked for words now, to be randomly arranged on the line drawings; suggested repetition of words. And I asked them

to 'steal' phrases from the Eluard poem, to use them repeatedly in their designs. I read the poem over and over. Urged random, pleasing arrangements. Each person held up his/her design, and we looked around the circle, one at a time, first taking in the patterns; then we had each one read his/her poem (bits/pieces, whatever one would call them) out loud; 'some, I read with melodrama~

There w~s, in almost all cases, a fittingness between the images provoked by the words and the images in the lines & patterns. Amazing~ Solacing. Satisfying. Delighting.

Doesn't this have to mean that the workers had given themselves over to the images and rhythms and 'vibrations' in the elements with which they were being stimUlated, and the elements from within themselves as well ... all of which were being used to funnel into the artifacts: the works.

~ot',..

MA3"UnCi

:STc •. M~ .J)AfltICJoIl.S:S %N "O&' AC.1'1Vt" OUT.'",

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tMPTI' ~N~LJ~LSS 'T°lbi ""A.r SPIlIHbn",t, .UI6'r' O('LAH$ "wAif ONe, SlOe.

TIf t oTllVl S/Dt,. 6hUU.~,."SS

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I'

r

THE THINGS -- I WILL NEVER FORGET G.G.

I remember the washboiler on the kitchen coal stove. r can even remember the smell of the clothes bo~ling.

I remember the taste and smell of my mother's chili sauce.

I remember the roses on a trellis in the back yard. also the hydrangeas -- and the hollyhocks that grew up against the metal clothes pole.

I remember the sandbox my girls played. in

and remember helping them to find four leaf clovers in the grass.

C. G.

LOST DAY

Pulling the weeds in the hot sun your back wracked with pain The insects chewing away and then there I s no rain.

When do you ever, find pleasure in a garden?

tt

I

"It

'r

c.

In the hollow of my hand there was a small squashy pea.

If I could travel I would sail the ocean blue.

The dimple in my face.

The lion in the street was fierce and furious.

Through "the snow I see a winter scene of towns burning.

Jump up and down for joy.

Through the snow I see a winter scene Towns burning~

J. E.

Buttercups dancing frivolously in a field. Olives crushed to pour forth their oil. Carrots munched at lunch

Tomatoes growing in a jungle

Food for thought. Buttercups for beauty.

Extract from a Hospital Incident Report: 'The attendant was cleaning the drawer of the patient's stand. A brown paper bag containing a rock that weighed 1 1/2 pounds was removed and placed in the Nurses Station closet. The patient became angry an argumentative. The incident was reported properly. The patient will be seen by the staff psychiatrist.

A REASON NOT BELIEVABLE

Thousands of yesterdays ago we walked together

on a coastal beach at dawn.

We played at skipping discus stones across the tops of waves ...

saying one word tal each other

with each scaled stone

stretching out time.

I wanted to give her a ring with a Mexican-blue gem stone. She wouldn't hear of it

not yet ... not yet.

I could feel it in my pocket, hurting.

silver

She laughed at my arrogance

following the stone that skipped six times ... then she scooped the large, smooth rock for me, from the sand at waters edge.

We were happy ...

she teasing me to try

and toss that one across the bay.

Then the two of us were quiet ..• and I guess she began to cry because under that morning sun and gull and surf sound

neither of us could think of a way to make' that day last ... forever.

We didn't talk about it,

but both of us knew I'd take that rock home, along with the Mexican-blue gem stone .,'. the nearest I could ever come

to keeping near mei

a piece of our time together.

Bill Marsh

Two years ago, Dorothy Pelicto, an activity therapist at t.he Bellevue Hospital Center, and I began a writing project on the psychiatric prison ward. I didn'1;, intend to teach poetry but soon leaJ;:~~,9' :t;l;~t "poetry" is what many of the men call writing that matters to them--with the exception of letters to a relative, lawyer or judge. Almost none of the prisoner-patients can write cursively: they never got that far in school. Some can barely hold a pencil because .they shake so from medicinal side-effects. Others can't read or write because their vision is poor and they have no glasses. A few can't put their name on paper, and many can't read or write in their native Spanish either. Most have travelled so far into the space of their visions and the sound of their voices and the gloom df their troubles that theY'don't care to communicate with us, or 'even acknowledge the setting we are in.

More often than not a session consists of teaching a man part of the alphabet or steadying his hand as he grapples with a pencil in order to form, for the first time. the letters that spell "Dear Mother". But sometimes a man is bursting with things to say and the way he wants to say them. These writers usually cling to rhyme or some basic repetition--the more mechanical the more appreciated. Rhyme is as tangible as the pencils. paper they beg. Almost anything seems worth having since they have almost nothing of their own, and rhyme is that solid.

Whether the work they produce is poetry or art is not important. In a room where the trash can read PSYCHO, where the ceiling (until its recent repainting) erupted in greasy blotches from the pats of butter hurled at it, where a despairing mouse crept from the doorway through which the food carts rolled, where a therapist cautioned me against taking a drink of water because "The guys drink from that fountain," where the TV and stereo blared simultaneously, I learned again how any kind of making that matte.rs. is poiesis, is creation as the Greek tells us.

So we worked to publish some of the writing and drawing. With the aid o~ a grant from Chase Manhattan Bank, the donated design services of Lumen, Inc., as well as the co-operation of the Department of Correction. the Activity Therapy Department, the psychiatrists and nurses. we began to issue TO BE CONTINUED. The first response from some of the patients and staff was unexpected: "The guys didn't do this." But they did, and now some of them, during their brief stay at Bellevue, try to outdo what others have done and we have extended the project to some of the civilian wards as well. 1'>1hat the project ultimately develops into is literally a story to be continued.

} )

RONALD CHRIST

I 1

~

MADRE MIA

L. c.

Madre, yo S6 que tu has sufrido por mi pero quiero que recuerdes que soy tu

hijo.

Espero que me perdones

si en algo te he .o£endido porque soy tu hijo.

ZQue madre no perdona a su hijo?

Hay momentos muy terribles que hasta yo mismo no puedo comprenderlosi

e1 si1encio y la soledad son las Unicas esperanzas

que me han acompanCido.

Sin ti soy como un pajaro sin nido pero sigo adelante

~sperando ser 1iberado.

,~

-------<- -,

MOTHER

!

I

i

"

Mother, I ,know that you have suffered for me

but I want you to remember that I am

. your son.

I hope you will forgive me

if I have offended you some way because I am your son.

What mother does not forgive her son?

There are such terrible moments that even I do not understand t~emi silence and loneliness are the only

prospects that accompany me.

Without you I am like 'a bird without a nest,

but I fly on,

waiting to· be free.

SPRAY POEM

K. T.

D

If I had a spray can that could spray words,

I'd spray my name allover the wall,

I'd spray clouds

and make it rain on my name.

If I had a spray gun that could spray people, I'd spray a robot on the wall

I'd spray rays

and make him dance on the wall.

If I had a spray gun that sprqyed paint, I'd spray pretty colors allover the wall, I'd spray a rainbow

that would make everything shine.

But I don't.have a spray gun

and I don't have a spray can,

but on the moon I could have one and in my poem Ilve got one.

I

I

FORMAL FUN

I attended N.Y.U. for poetry classes. Everyone was having formal fun.

We said in the black community I'm called sick. In the white community they say I'ni. just an unhealthy person.

And in the, Chinese co~unity they simply tell me to sit down and eat.

BELLE VUE

L. S •

La femme heureuse,

all the dark ladies, the beat generation: they storm the streets.

Later on the street, easy street, the eightball blossoms,

cherry blossoms, rose bushes

et nous allons a la vert.

M.S.

I

TEENAGE YEARS

There is a t:ime called teenage years

when all your pressure is among your peers. They say you1re cool when you quit school and you soon find out you were only a fool. You drink, you smoke

a little bit'of coke,

you do some ups and maybe some downs

and sooner or later you'll be in the ground.

You take your gimmick and shove it into your arm. The pain. lasts a minute but now it's gone.

Your body is tingling and your head starts to spin, then you notice things are getting dim.

Your body is shaking and trembling with fear because you know the end is here.

Now you1re dead, buried and gone,

leaving your gimmick for someone else's arm.

I

I

BEAR IT AND GRIN

The Englishman have an expression: "Grin and bear it."

When an Englishman is undergoing a crisis, he flashes a small smile or a grin to those around him. With this grin or smile, he attempts to deal with or alleviate the pain and sorrow in his heart.

Another example of using the grin to cope with pain and sorrow is the smiling Buddha. He smiles or grins not for the reasons people think he is smiling. He smiles in order to hide the sorrow he feels for all the misery and suffering he sees all around him: the starvation, the hunger, the disease.

Human beings have a number of ways of expressing emotion with their faces. What usually takes place is that the facial expression matches the emotion within the person's heart or mind.

However, there are some people whose expressions on their faces do not match the emotions withih their hearts.

Those people who are said to be a good judge of characrt.e'r are people who can see the pain, the sorrow I the bitter past behind the facial muscles, behind

the grin or the smile.

I have given this essay the title "Bear It and Grin II for a definite reason. It is the pain and the urge

to weep that come first, and the grin that comes afterward. Thus, "grin and bear itll is not correct. The correct expression should be: Bear It and Grin.

J . M.

J.M.

i

I

After several writing workshops, a patient asked if he could direct a session himself. What follows are his instructions, which he wrote for the group, and the first composition to be completed under his direction.

HOW TO WRITE IN ONE EASY LESSON

I :

While in high school, I discovered the secret of writing. All you need is to put one word or one sentence on paper and you are all set.

Heretswhat I mean. Letts start with an easy

example: Mary had a little lamb.

After you have one sentence, you ask the following questions: Why? Who? How? What? When?

Let's take I why'. Mary lost most of her lambs in a robbery.

After that, you ask, 'Who?' Mary is the sister of a rich landowner.

After that you ask, 'How?' The robber put a spell on Mary.

Does the· reader see how easy it is to ·write?

You just keep asking: How? Who? Why? etc.

LESSON # I

Cat rat spat spats. This is the song of Chicago. Why not here in New York? The invasion

of beautiful homes takes its toll. So if they stop building, we take to the fields. We love the eternal beauty of the earth.

L.S.

POEM FOR A FRIEND IN LATE WINTER Virginia Scott

what is your source

have you tapped a transcendent spring sometimes i'think it was easy for you

for me i am lazy at the effort ahead of me to do to let you be

in my life to ma~e the training necessary for the leap into the new spirit

yet desolation has its little place

at montauk you said see the grasses

in the sand they hold on

on that empty wind blown beach in late winter

~hat have you gone through to reach that knowledge to know i need it to care to offer it to me

to find and to express the helpful tactful image

Daniel Lusk

it anyone'wants me

he must take this road

between white-collared trees that would touch my mother deeply,

turn right at the grey rock

that is most assuredly covered still with ice,

and proceed over the meadow

where holes the size of men's heads fall into the road.

A big house

is there, my father's place, maybe, but it is not my place. Keep on

until you see crows waiting. Shifting their weight

from one foot to the other

as if something hidden for a long time could now resurrect.

Do not ask the crows where I am,

but wait with the crows.

Wait, cluck your tongue impatiently, and be ready when

the earth herself spills me forth. whole,

into your mouth.

Ellen Marie Bissert

'II

'II,

TANGLEWOOD

i find a sadness the same now .

as 5 years ago .

& again i play the records you bou9ht me treading them like paths worn thru a forest Rachmaninoffis Etudes Chopin's Preludes Brahms' B-Flat Piano Concerto

& breathe the skin

that held me

only to be pushed away yet again

& again to approach that music

persistent as cycles of blood & breathing needing silence to be heard

needing you to listen

needing you

we traveled to hear the birds together

as in a wish

we walked & walked

to hear a bird sing with Brahms' cello & .journeyed

away

I

I

.-

-

CANTICLE

Joseph Bruchac

Let others speak of harps and heavenly choirs

I've made my decision to remain here

with the Earth

if the old grey poet

felt he could turn and live with the animals

why should I be too good to stay and die with them

and the great road of the Milky Way, that Sky Trail my Abnaki ancestors strode to the last Happy Home

does not answer my dreams

I do not believe

we go up to the sky unless it is

to fall again

with the rain

.'

CURRENTS

Yes, I wou.Ld ,like an individual suQscrd.ption to t.he Magazine ..

]I nave enclose<3. Ji)aymeat. of $Hi. (j)(j)

I wouil!.d ILike to become a Small Press MembeF and have enclosed payment ef $20.00.

] w0uld like to b~corne a Commercial Press Memmer exhibiting cur tloet:r¥ Lis·t only and have enclosed payrnen:E of $15.0.

:Er;).diiviGi.ual sl1sscri'P<tiilons teD tlile Warterwatys Project. Maqazine

a@e $lL~ for III IT:ssl'les. Wf.ten Wa-ce:tways B00k Fairs & H0ehry ReaEiings aoe scheduiLeel fot" acilcil.i"Eiona] t.Lme.s, than a su:~plement to ~he Magazine Gr: speciaiL cpapb00k phlblicatiou will be issnea. As 'tifJ.ese wit!l be p\:1blisheo at irregl;llar intervalls theY' wil];

r;).0t Be 0!E~ered at this time by s·l1pscript.ion, bWE willI be sold. lLndi vicil;uaihly at the book fairs OF 'thF0ugh mail order. fi3ubsc:::ribeps to tfleMagazine will be no,\:;ii..fied of addirt1t0Bai Jilublicat.i0Fls.

Noncommerca.:ai small Jpress liiteraqr publLishers are ,in'Vit.ed to be come active mernbe ns 0 fthe Wa te nv;ays Pro j eat ithroug.h a

$20 annual membe nsbssp fee (.$"7.50 of which is appil.iea t.owa:r:ds the subscription of tone Ma~a.zine). Commerc:d..al pumlishe:rs 'arne invited to beoame G::orperate Members (ex};],ibitd.ng peet.ry hloGks snlLy) fOI? a $150 annual rneml:Dership fee.. Membersai~ en'Ei t.Le.s the press t.o a di·s'~OULlted rate fo,r table space at the book fairs or part..ic.ipa.;kioIil iN. the comlliined sook e,xiflilbi t attached 1:0 e.aoh faillE. Membe!r"s il?ecei vevcopd.e s 'of all supplements 'Eo the wateq-ays PilSojeck Ma.gazine.

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WateFw,ays ills a 1'H?ogram of Ten Penny: P]aye!r"s, ]inc, a 1'lot-for-!p1'?ofi t eeucati0nal and La t..erary; organizatidn specializing in new edJIlCatj,0na& me'Ehods aFl.d ways -to bril\l.~ ithe arrt:s, ceo ~ihe ailtt.en iG:ion ed! une :Rublic. Make pay:me~f to - Ten Pemny Pll.a;ye'.Fs,

'l99 Greenw;i<;:bi S-gpe'et:, NY NiY J00:t4.

AESOPUS 27 Oriole Drive, Woodstock NY 12498, Poetry.

MEMBER PRESSES

ABRAHAM MARINOFF BOOKS 400 Argyle Road, Brooklyn,. NY 11218. works f01: and by Senior Citizens.

AMERICAN BOOK REVIEW PO Box 188, Coope.r Union sta., NYC 10003 Literary criticism and essays.

I

~. SH@UT IN THE STREET English Dept .. , Queens College, Flushing, NY 1.l!367. Lit.eratu.re and poetry ..

BARD PRESS 799 Greenwich st!r"eet, N"YiC 10014. Poetry and graphic works.

BRAMWELL-MARSH PUBLISHERS PO Box 385, Staten Island NY 10302 Poetry ..

BROOKLYN FERRY POETS 741 President Stneet, Brooklyn NY 11215, Poetry.

CONTACT I I 50 Broadway, NYC 10004 (Fourth Floor) . Li terary criticism, .reviews of small pr es s , poetry.

CROSS-CULTURAL COMMUNICATIONS 239 Wynsum Ave., Merrick NY 1][566. :Language, literary, and media puplications.

FULL TRACK PRESS PO Box 55, Planetarium Station, NYC 10024. 'Unmendably Integral: an audio cassette quarterly of the arts.

GLASSWORKS PO Box 163 Rosebank Sta., Staten Island NY 10305 Established and. newwrit.ers/a"rtlsts.

GHEENFI ElO REVIEW PO Box 80, Greenfield Center NY 12833 Poet.ry

HELEN REV lEW 2039 Mill Ave., Brooklyn NY 11234 .. Poetry and Prose.

HOME PLANET NEWS PO Box. 415, Stuyvesan"t Sta., NYC 10009 Literary criticism, reviews, pbetry, fiction

ITHACA HOUSE 108 N. Plain st., Ithaca NY 14850. Poetry. fine letterpress printi.ng

NAMBATI PRESS, 1157 Third Avenue, NY 100211 poetry. NEW SCRIBESI 1223 Newkirk Avenue., Brooklyn NY 11230. Open co-op of writers/ poets.

N.YS SMALL PRESS ASSOCIATION, PO Box 1264, Radio City sta .. NYC 10019. Small press distributor.

NOK PUBLISHERS. ISO Fifth Ave., NYC 10011 African studies in various disciplines.

POETRY IN PUBU C PLACES, 799 Greenwich st., NYC 10014. Poetry cards.

QUEENS COUNCIL ON THE .ARTS' 161-04 Jamaica Ave., Jamaica NY 11432. publishing SOURCE, literary magazine

RED Dust, PO Box 630, Gracie Sta .. NYC 10028 Poetry, fiction.

SHAMAL BOOKS, GPO Box 2218, NYC 1000l. Poetry/prose that pain-Ls/feels/speaks.

STRAWBERRY PRESS, PO Box 451, Bowling Green Sta .• NYC 10004. Publishes the poet.ry of Native. American Indians.

SUNBURY PRESS, Box 274 Jerome Ave. Sta., Bronx, NY 1.a4iS Poetry from workers, women and the Third World Community.

SWAMP PRESS • 4 Bugbee Road, oneorrt.a , NY 13820.

Poetry handset Let.t.e r-p re as on fine papers.

SZ/PRESS, 321 W. 94th St., NYC 10025. Primarily experimental poetry/prose.

TEN PENNY PLAYERS, 799 Greenwich SL, NYC 10014. Literature/ poetry books for and by children.

THE SMITH. 5 Beekman St .. , NYC 10038.

Literary criticism, small press news, essays.

13TH MOON, PO Box, 31 Inwood sta.1 NYC 10034. Publishing Women: poetry, fiction, graphies. essays .. ,

T I RES I AS PRESS. 2039 ,Mill Ave OJ Brooklyn NY 11234. Poetry and prose.