A New Jersey native, Neal McTighe has been writing poetry for some 15 years. Neal is currently a PhD candidate in Romance Languages and Literatures at UNC-CH, and this November expects to defend his dissertation on the sixteenth-century Italian philosopher and poet, Giordano Bruno. In addition to a few scholarly publications, Neal has also contributed poems to the local online journal, _volutions Magazine. Before coming to UNC, Neal studied and lived in Italy for a combined three years. He has taught Italian at UVA, Clifton High School, and UNC-CH. He is currently writing his first novel, a work of historical fiction set in the turbulent times of seventeenth-century Naples. As Poet Laureate, he plans to complete a collection of poems on Carrboro's history and to promote poetry in local schools. Neal dedicates this poem, "Black and White," to the Town of Carrboro, and to the memory of two of his greatest mentors, Richard Kelly and Donival Brown.

Eleven entries were received for the Carrboro Poet Laureate position. We are very grateful of their interest and hope that they will continue to be involved with our department and the various poetry programs that we offer.

BLACK AND WHITE

"Black and White at the Melba Ray," Whooper bawled.
"Grab your crimson gloves,
we're off to see a picture show!"
1924 and the buildin's gonna burn; spindles 'cross town,
wrapped in cotton picked-marks
woven in time-yarn 'pon a gentry's soul.
"Off to 'berta morrow morn, Jack-Be-Nimble; don't forget your
worker gloves. The rope'sa gonna burn, burn, burn."

"Youngest son-dear Lord-down Maple
find me a ghost! Now, Jack-Be-Quick. She's picking flowers.
Ma' and Pa' ain't got
no time for clownin' 'round, so be off, child. Be off."

Strayhorn's bricks are strong. Fired up and ready;
chimney sweeps, slaves; a bucket o'land for all
to mill; sugar lumps and tea, Queen Bee.

"The picture starts in five, Jack; pianos tuned? Call Mrs. Watts!
Her name we all know to call when the devil's got our soul.
The boys are ready-Shelton, Center, Carr-doors forever open
to love and lust. 'em whistles shan't blow; dawn's so far away."
Carolina winds and wills Chapel Hill-East End of Us. Bel?ved Us.
Ivory's tapped tonight.

"I'm tied to Cross, Jack, I swear I bear. Summa's aching 'pon my soul."
"I've got me a train morrow morn; theater of dreams at the Melba Ray."
Down in ashes, up like phoenix soar-from poplars, myrtles, to grand ol' Oaks.

Catch a hack out west; speckled dust and 'bacco
farmed these fields; o'glory, ghost we go!
Can't read; can't write
a lick, but Ice Road's anear; Fannie Mae.

Your Tops ain't Tin, your soul'sa gold.
Alberta's said our dreams ain't old.
But the Whooper shan't a word this night, shan't a word.
the picture's alls that's told. The picture's all
in Black and White. The picture's all Black and White.

-Neal McTighe

 
 
 

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