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.

Sarah WebbDr. Sarah Webb will be reading from her newly published poetry collection, Black, (Virtual Artists Collective) at Second Sunday Poetry in The Depot, 200 S. Jones, Norman, beginning at 2:00 pm on June 8.  

Poet, essayist and teacher, Sarah Webb co-edits the magazine Just This which explores the Zen arts. For twelve years, Webb was poetry and fiction editor for Crosstimbers, the multicultural interdisciplinary journal of the University of Science and Arts of Oklahoma, where she is professor emerita in English. 

Black is Webb’s first full collection of poetry but her essays and poems have been published in a wide array of publications including the Apalachee Quarterly, Zen Gong, The Enigmatist and Westview among others.

The Oklahoma Center for the Book recently announced that Black was a finalist for the 2014 Oklahoma Book Award in the category of poetry.  “The book’s poems deal with the core issues of religious and mythological traditions from around the world.” Webb says.  “My aim in all of it was to find the root beneath the hints and stories.  What is it that we all share, that we sense beneath the surface?” 

Copies of Black will be available for purchase at the event and Webb will be on hand to sign copies and answer questions about her work.  Second Sunday Poetry, a program of The Depot, is free and open to the public.  Phone 405-307-9320 for further information.

Here is a poem from Black.  It was first  published in Blue Hole in 2012.

The People Who Live Here
Some people want this desert land:
the low mesquite, yellowed grass,
cottonwood, yucca, prickly pear.
They live in the tin-roofed houses, trailers,
drive the tractors with dust
pouring up and around them,
wave at our train.
Some wait bitter for the school bus,
plan lives in faraway Tempe, Phoenix,
but beside them stand cousins
who gaze out over the rangeland
to hills dotted with juniper
and taste that long look.
These are people who want
the way cloud shadows move over the scrub.
They want the rain stinks
of mud and sagebrush and cows.
They do not mind the dusts
or the glitter in the air.
They stand beside the dry sand of the river
and feel something moving under it.