Judith M. Ferrara writes and
paints in Worcester, Massachusetts. She began teaching in 1964 and
received her Doctor of Philosophy from the University of New Hampshire
in 1994. She has published books and articles in the field of Language
Arts/English education and peer mediation, as well as poetry.
Judith’s poetry has appeared
in The Black Fly Review, The Leaflet, Worcester Magazine,
The
Issue and The Longfellow Journal. “Questions” earned Honorable
Mention in the Worcester County Poetry Association’s Year 2000 Contest.
Several of her poems have been selected as finalists and semi-finalists
in Worcester Magazine Poetry Contests, as well as placing as semi-finalists
in the 1998 Discovery/The Nation Poetry Competition.
Her first book of poems, Gestures of Tress, is published by the Mellen Poetry Press.
Judith has been the featured reader at The Poetry Oasis (Sahara Restaurant, Worcester), Poets’ Parlor (Sturbridge), Lawrence Public Library (Pepperell), Tatnuck Booksellers (Worcester) and Border’s Bookstore (Shrewsbury). She also hosts the monthly poetry workshop at Border’s in Shrewsbury.
Visit Judith Ferrara's website for more information and sample poems.
A sample of the poet’s work:
DendrochronologyIn December 1942, I was born and
Enrico Fermi
dropped another plumb line
for destruction. What of it?
Anne Frank already had wondered
if anyone, besides herself, would read her letters.
Yet, the phoenix of her diary would tear open the curtain
of heaven. Picasso had finished Guernica.
The voice of Ishi had risen from the rusted pool of his soul
after the Yana Nation had been erased.
The English had cut out the tongues of Scots
caught speaking their language. (Listen to storytellers
as they rip tapestries from castle walls
to keep themselves warm.)I remember seeing my father’s war souvenirs:
not only the photo of a shy, smiling, pregnant woman,
(I don’t know what my half brother or sister looks like)
but the snapshot of a Japanese soldier
lying on a bed of reeds,
head thrown back, eyes and jaw sculpted open,
my first death.
In 1959, standing in front of Guernica,
I saw that soldier again. It was
my haunting. Not only the dead soldier,
but my father straddling him
with a box camera.
Click here
for an image of Picasso's Guernica, or try one of these:
Picasso's
Guernica Unveiled
Guernica:
Testimony of War
The
Picasso Conspiracy
Galerie
/ Guernica
Back to the OpenMike Poetry homepage