Important Announcement

The Depot Gallery and office will be closed until at least the end of May, 2020. We will reassess at that time. Phone messages will be checked regularly and calls returned. We do this out of an abundance of caution and concern for the health of our community.
Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Karen Holt will be the featured poet at the Performing Arts Studio Second Sunday Poetry Reading on November 11 at 2:00 PM.  There is no admission charge for the reading, which will be held in the Norman Depot, 200 South Jones Avenue.  The public is invited to attend.

In her twenty-first year of teaching English, humanities and philosophy at Rose State College, poet Karen Holt has also taught poetry writing classes and conducted writing workshops, as well as served as faculty editor of PEGASUS, the Rose State College literary and art annual anthology.

Holt has occasionally published her poetry, and encouraged her students to attend as well as participate in area poetry readings.  She has furthered her own poetic efforts by attending workshops at the Fall Writers' Institute at Quartz Mountain and won the Sister Madeleine Kisner prize in poetry from Newman University.  Her poems read at the annual Poetry at Rose evening at Rose State College have always found an enthusiastic reception from audiences.

Light refreshments will be served at the reading.  Those attending can also view the paintings of Norma Brown and photographs by Nathan Brown, both on exhibit in the Depot Gallery.

Second Sunday Poetry Readings are hosted by past Oklahoma Poet Laureate and current Oklahoma Book Award winner Carl Sennhenn. 

For additional information, call the PAS at 307-9320.

The Gift of Moon, Night, You
Already I am remembering this night
which has not yet begun to pass.
Already I know in my future
I will dream the moonlight on your face
and hear the cottonwoods rustling,
aspen-like and green.
I will return to this expanse of dirt,
try to carry it in my mouth
so I can recall the songs
of windbell and tinkling glass.
Even now I sit to memorize
deafening wind that shudders
like stormed pacific water.
The moon’s blue petticoat
slips through tree branches,
divining rods of mid-spring night.
Already I know I would love this more
if the memory of it would not bring
such pain, if I had faith
those divining rods could reach me
and not let you forget.

                  Karen Young Holt