"So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies." ~ William Shakespeare
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Current: Danbury, CT, United States
Welcome! A few years ago, I discovered an application that artists employ in their works to bring cultural awareness to their audiences. Having discerned this semiotic theory that applies to literature, music, art, film, and the media, I have devoted the blog, "Theory of Iconic Realism" to explore this theory. The link to the publisher of my book is below. If you or your university would like a copy of this book for your library or if you would like to review it for a scholarly journal, please contact the Edwin Mellen Press at the link listed below. Looking forward to hearing from you!


I will present or have presented research on Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) or my semiotic theory of iconic realism at the following location(s):

April, 2022: American Conference for Irish Studies, virtual event: "It’s in the Air: James Joyce’s Demonstration of Cognitive Dissonance through Iconic Realism in His Novel, Ulysses"

October, 2021: Sacred Heart University, Fairfield, CT: "Sydney Owenson’s use of sociolinguistics and iconic realism to defend marginalized communities in 19th century Ireland"

March, 2021: Lenoir-Rhyne University, Hickory, North Carolina: "Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan): A Nineteenth Century Advocate for Positive Change through Creative Vision"

October, 2019: Elms College, Chicopee, Massachusetts: "A Declaration of Independence: Dissolving Sociolinguistic Borders in the Literature of Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan)"

10 February, 2011

Poetry Bus: Genesis

This week's Poetry Bus is driven by the disappearing Dana Bug. She gave us a few options, and I chose the photo with the frozen sofa. 

A frozen flash memoir: 
It was one long, snow-ful winter, and this sofa just had to go. The trash company promised to pick up  the old worn out sofa... no problem... same time, too! Now, trash day arrived, and it was a balmy 45º. It seemed that everyone and their kin decided to take a stroll past the house with an old couch strategically placed on top of the piled snow right at the edge of the street. Hours passed slowly. That particular day, the trash truck didn't arrive until very late in the afternoon, yet each walker, runner, bike rider craned his/her neck to get a good view of this ugly piece of furniture, shifting as the snow pile  melted. Ugh! An entire day of sheer embarrassment! 

And  here's a poem... but on another perception of the sofa in snow: 

Another one of those days!
But now she is home;
it would all be better.
Except it wouldn’t -
cold, ice cold, here, there.
Her thoughts darken:
nothing familiar about
their contrived door
through which she’d never
be granted permission to enter.
So she lay down her head
weary of the insanity
surrounded by frigid cruelty.
Even her warm tears,
now icicles crudely formed,
dangle precariously
from her drifting mind.
Then, a warmth envelops her
as she dies to surrender.

Jeanne I. Lakatos  2011