John Sinclair, Flint ‘poet/pot activist,’ dead at 82
In honor of Flint-born marijuana activist, poet, and music producer John Sinclair’s passing, we’re republishing one of our favorite stories on the incredibly storied man: ‘Poet/pot activist John Sinclair comes briefly home, still paying dues in ‘Trumpville,” by Jan Worth-Nelson — originally published on April 3, 2017. Sinclair died of congestive heart failure on Tuesday, April 2, 2024, in Detroit, Mich....
Review: Riveting Semaj Brown “bleeds fire” at Mott Warsh Gallery performance
By Jan Worth-Nelson Facing lies, atrocities and daily affronts to self-love and spiritual peace, “we have to tap that eternal spring of regenerative light,” Flint poet, artist, musician, scientist and activist Semaj Brown implored a rapt audience Aug. 21 at the Mott-Warsh Gallery, 815 Saginaw St. Brown, who moved to Flint from her hometown Detroit in 2003 after marrying local family physician James Brown, combined...
EVM staffer, poet Jeffery L Carey Jr launches new book Saturday at Totem
By Jan Worth-Nelson Jeffery L Carey Jr, a poet, artist, and staff writer at East Village Magazine, launches his fifth book of poetry, Estranged Union, at a reading and signing from 3-5 p.m. Saturday, May 11 at Totem Books, 620 W. Court St. Carey said each purchase of the book will include a discount at the Totem Cafe. The book has a specific and historically significant format. Written in the classic “haibun” style of...
Poem: Lexicon for a Tyrant
Lexicon for a Tyrant By Teddy Robertson You may wonder why I need a phrase book he travels to us, after all— unbidden on the screen. He comes with simple words, monosyllables from happy times with little ones huge great bad good win smart weak tough Soon come the chants— paroxytones of schoolyard taunts stupid crazy moron loser And last the epithets, engravers of memory (as bards knew well) He tests each smear,...
Restoring a duck decoy
Restoring a duck decoy By Grayce Scholt I touch acrylic paint to neck, to wing following my father’s curve of knife, of brush; I daub an even falser life on this that sixty years before bobbed Judas-like on a Lake Erie bay and living wings would swoop to join the silent flock– Bang! My father’s gun would spit, and dying wings would drop into that split between two worlds. When he came home, his jacket bulging with his prize,...
The Latest Edition of East Village Magazine Is Available For Download Here (pdf)
