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#ROW80 Plots for Poems
March 19, 2015
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ROW80
Our 80 day writing exercise has flown by quickly for me. I planned to write a poem every day, but have managed to do so about half the time. I am not at all discouraged by this result because I have also managed to expand my repertoire of subjects and formats in my poetry. Last April I wrote daily and all of my poems were inspired by works of art, ekphrastic in nature. This was fun because I visited artist friends and took photos to use as the subjects. When I began this challenge all of my poems were ekphrastic, but I created the art myself rather than finding it. First I tired making the art followed by the words, then I tried it in reverse. It does not seem to matter which way I do it now, which is sort of silly to me. If you are inspired by it, it seems like it should exist before you write…but I am practicing both ways, trying them both to monitor results.
Lately I am happy because I attempted very unusual subjects and did some slightly representational drawing about them. I wrote about a lady who was ditched by her Euro-spy boyfriend in a restaurant. She was presented with a giant plate of raw meat, steak tartare, and a note saying her boyfriend had never existed. Now this might seem macabre or in bad taste, and perhaps it is. What is interesting is that I finally put a character and plot into a poem. My first attempt at this involved a swarm of ladybugs around a cabin. These might not have come up if I had not been following my fiction writing friends who work on plot and character all the time. My desire to make poems from historical figures and history itself lends itself to this practice. If I want to turn my dead ancestors into epic poems I need to employ some of the devices used to flesh out characters and thicken the plot. Since I endeavor to bring dream images into my poetry my technique will now expand to outlining plots and characters, then working on lucid dreaming to give me some vivid imagery with which to work. I can embellish the true stories of my family in my dreams and use the impressions to create poetic versions of historical events.
As the solar eclipse tomorrow brings us a dramatic illustration of light and shadow, I see a metaphor for the known and the unknown. What is obscured from view is often the most important part of the plot, and revealing it is the point of the story. What I do not know about my ancestors leaves room for invention and fancy. Here are some of the real people I think can become interesting poems:
- Elizabeth Langley, who lived through the Civil War near Selma, AL, then moved to Texas after the war
- Anne Dudley Bradstreet, first woman to publish poetry in English is an obvious one
- Sarah Helena Byrne, whose husband was a bigamist, and whose father came from Ireland
I also have a true contemporary story I want the public to hear and remember. The Emperor’s New Neighborhood Watch is a rap poem about city government running amok. If I do this with rhyme and humor it will be more impactful. A good (digital) friend of mine told me this week that hexameter was the form used by Homer in his classic epics, not because it was great language, but so the actors could easily remember it. I have written about just the facts in this case for years, but what this story needs is some memorable rhyming truth. After the solar eclipse I will start outlining these stories for Poetry Month in April. It is a fun new way for me to paint with words. I am grateful to my fellow writers for teaching my some of their process. Check out the diversity of this group here. There is a lot of talent in this creative group of people. Thanks for sharing these 80 days with a beginner. Your support has been very inspirational. I aspire to be like you.
reaching higher
#ROW80 Potential and Poetry
March 15, 2015
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ROW80
We have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but today is overflowing with potential.
Allan Lokos
Through the Flames
This quote by Mr Lokos perfectly describes my current position on my poetic future. By starting to investigate life and learning through poetry I have opened a vast area of artistic and intellectual study that I am just beginning to understand. Turning my attention to it has automatically turned some poets’ attention to me. One or two people post poems on my Facebook wall every day, which adds a social element to the mix. I don’t believe these writers have read any of my poems, but they have decided to share theirs directly to/with me. I follow more poets all the time who blog. Calligraphy with word significance has also come to my attention. This is a wonderful way to make words larger than life and more colorful than just typing. I have not tried it myself but am thinking of doing some writing by hand instead of always on a keyboard. It may stimulate something new.
I have thought about working with my ancestors as characters to create epic poems or stories, and have done a little work in that direction. People work with notes and written outlines, but I have yet to put these to work for me. I still contemplate images in my head for a while before I begin, but think I can benefit from a notebook with handwritten notes and drawings. When this 80 days has come to a full circle I plan to start a notebook and handwriting practice. I want to see if random idea trapping and tracking will help me kill my darlings and move on to deeper subjects. If I start pages for different times in history or branches of my family tree I think I can develop some themes from which to write fiction or poetry. I like mind mapping, but have not employed it to the task of writing. I believe it can unlock a boat load of potential material using this method. I have no idea what I may do with it, but it will be fun to find it.
Allan Lokos was in a plane that crashed and burned leaving him injured. His book was written to help others find compassion and patience in the face of challenging circumstances. His attitude about potential is key because every day is full of potential. Many of our lives contain too much repetition, little true bliss, and a lack of compassion. We are all recovering from something, although normally nothing so severe as an airplane crash. Honoring potential today by writing is a tribute to collective creativity. Rarely do plans for tomorrow work out exactly as we imagined. Writing creates a trail of breadcrumbs for the soul to trace its’ way. Poetry celebrates the way each of us is gifted with our own set of talents and perspectives. Leaving our stories and thoughts recorded for others to read may turn out to be uplifting or helpful to someone. This journey has contributed greatly to my ability to tap into the overflowing potential all around us. I appreciate the chance to interact with magic, words, and power. Cheers, gentle readers!
cocktail that wants to be a poem
Irish Soda Bread with Whiskey Butter in Honor of St. Patrick’s Day
March 15, 2015
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A tasty way to commemorate the day
Irish Soda Bread with Whiskey Butter
Growing up, we had a little book of Irish toasts and poems sitting in our living room. My maternal grandmother, seeing that the strength of the Irish was growing too strong, came over one day very briefly and went into the living room. When she left, we found an Italian book sitting next to the Irish one so her grandchildren wouldn’t forget their mother’s roots. It is with great irony and a big smile that I remember one of the Irish poems, which I read so many times that I have now have memorized it:
Soaking raisins in Whiskey for Irish Soda Bread
St. Patrick was a gentleman
Who through strategy and stealth
Drove all the snakes from Ireland
Here’s a toasting to his health
But not too many toastings
Lest you lose yourself
And forget good St. Patrick
and see all those snakes again.
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#Weekendcoffeeshare, Carolina on My Mind
March 14, 2015
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This week I want to invite you to use the transporter cloaks to travel back in time to Edgefield, South Carolina in 1798. I want you to help me solve a history mystery. My 2nd great grandfather, John Samuel Taylor, was born May 1, 1798 in Edgefield County, South Carolina. He died Mar.11, 1873 in Edgefield County, South Carolina. The town was founded in 1785, and I imagine John’s parents could have been involved. I have not found solid evidence of his birth or his parents, so I am here to find out exactly what happened. Having the name John Taylor is a serious problem in research because there were so many other people with the same name. I might despair of ever finding the truth about which John Taylor’s parents are mine but for a lucky break. Fortunately Edgefield has taken the historical heritage of the area very seriously and probably has the answer.
My life as an ancestry detective was rudely interrupted this week by a claim by my first cousin. Some of you know I do research all the time to learn about my family tree. I have found errors in the past which have caused me to start over from that point. This is painful, like tearing out your knitting. The funny part about it is the attachment I have to these people. For a while after removing some phantom limbs in the past I have missed those people terribly in addition to being vexed at having spent so much time on the wrong trail of data. I had an idea of who they were and how my DNA was built, but I was wrong, all wrong. If my cousin is right, and all the rest of the people on Ancestry.com are mistaken I have done a massive amount of research based on specious evidence. She thinks that John Taylor has a different set of parents than I do. She has no proof, but I don’t either. One of us is correct, and I just have to know which one.
The Southern Studies Showcase is an event that celebrates the history of the town. Prohibition is the theme for the next Showcase in September, and will feature moonshiners, model A cars, and period costuming. The genealogical society is the largest in the state, and prides itself on keeping excellent records. I would have a very good time dressing up in a flapper dress I already own and going to a big history party, so I think I can kill two birds with one stone in September, 2015. I can discover just who the parents of my John Taylor are, and visit a historically significant place that cherishes it’s past. I went to the Somerset, PA Historical Society to do research. I even bought a membership. When I arrived in person I was shunned. Nobody would help me and I had never been in an archive like that, so I found nothing. I had paid them to do some research for me, but that never happened either. I don’t think that will happen in the deep South. I think a trip to The Gateway to Southern History would be highly educational as well as enjoyable. I can solve this ancestry mystery and party at the same time.
The timing for me is intriguing because I recently went to a performance by the Steep Canyon Rangers here in Tucson. They play modern bluegrass music. I became very homesick for North Carolina hearing it. I lived there when I was young, and had a very good time. I bought a couple of their albums and have binged on bluegrass for weeks now. Now I have a really good reason to go to the source. So I hope you will enjoy this visit to the historical South where they do have coffee, tea, lemonade, and RC Cola ( Moon Pies and more). I am going to suggest that this week, since it is digital, we all just pass this jar of moonshine around the table while we sit and tell our tales. I am interested to hear about your week, gentle reader. I sincerely hope you have not discovered possible flaws in your research. If so, not to fret..tomorrow is another day.
#Weekendcoffeeshare
Carolina Moonshine
#ROW80 Subject Matters
March 9, 2015
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ROW80
This week I bought a book of poetry that has been created by illiterate women in Pakistan and Afghanistan. These cultural specialties of the Pashtun tribe are biting commentary on life. Since they live in a war-torn state, to say the least, and their rights are severely limited because they are female, their point of view contains irony and stinging truth about love, war, grief, homeland, and separation. They tackle these subjects with depth and witty metaphor which they have learned from other women. The special right to express themselves is frequently withdrawn if the males in a family learn about it. The book I am reading, I am the Beggar of the World, was inspired by a young girl’s suicide when she was forbidden to create landays and share them on a telephone hot line in Kabul. The journalists who composed the images and couplets are veteran reporters who had been in the area during years of war, covering just the facts. They were emotionally and creatively blown away by the density and artfulness of this pastime/folk literature. The Poetry Foundation helped fund the expedition and Poetry magazine published some of the works. The response from the magazine’s readers was overwhelming. People want to see more of this kind of primal undiscovered poetry that is hidden and unknown to outsiders. It has touched me deeply and makes excellent meditation material.
As a writer I am taking on new subjects. My poems are still simplistic, but I am stretching to find subjects, characters, and perhaps real events that spark my imagination. I have considered how fresh and essential the landays are because of the restrictions of illiteracy and the need to remain anonymous. They are wisecracks, jokes, and political farce all rolled into a few words, like a comic distillation of the concept. Like the work of Dorothy Parker which I am reading, admire, and want to emulate, these jokes are intricate and require some practice to make them work. They pack a lot of editorial punch into 22 syllables, as Mrs. Parker did in her short witty quips. Subjects that are taboo can be handled with humor in such a way as to make emphatic points without confronting issues directly. The discovery of landays and the women who create them leads me to want to take on more difficult subjects. Politics, art and poetry overlap in any era, and the result can be revealing. I am working to develop some good cosmic jokes that resonate with my gentle readers on many levels.
As a practice writing poems is revealing and confidence building. I take zero risks typing away on my iPad saying anything that pops into my mind. In comparison to the Pashtun ladies I suffer very little for my art. I can publish it, tweet it, change it, illustrate it, and it is free to travel wherever people care to read it. I am starting to have an appreciation of the opportunity as well as the responsibility that situation creates. I wonder if I can say something funny and profound that has the power to stick in the mind and change it. For me the ROW80 challenge continues to be more about what I read and learn than it is about what I am writing now. The stepping stones to better work are contained in the works of other poets. They inspire me to look for subjects that matter.
poppy
#Weekendcoffeeshare Time Travel
March 9, 2015
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This weekend the transporter cloaks are outfitted with time travel capabilities. We are able to zoom through both space and time at will now. I figured once we had warmed up,why not go on an excellent adventure with these cloaks? I spend a lot of time studying my family tree. It is a fascination of mine that teaches me history as well as how my own family members were acting at various times. I have started to think beyond what I know, beyond the facts that have been recorded, in each of the personal dramas of my ancestors. I have been thinking about the role that Selma, Alabama played in my mother’s ancestry. Her ancestors lived there and some fought for the Confederacy in the Civil War. They were a religious group who founded a Baptist church in Texas after the war. I keep contemplating how religious people could believe in slavery. I can come up with no logic for that situation. If we were having coffee this weekend I am afraid we would have to take up some heavy subjects like racism and liberation.
I grew up in Pittsburgh and was living in Venezuela when the first march on Selma took place 50 years ago. My own exposure to racism and class divisions was played out in the petroleum camp where I lived in South America. I lived a privileged life of an imperialistic overlord, and was enthusiastically in favor of it because I was 13 years old. I now believe that immature societies take advantage of weakness and corruption rather than building up the core strength of the population. Dictators and now terrorists make it a goal to dominate, control, and torture others. I am not sure if this is relatively new, or if people have always used power to harm others.
I invite you for coffee in 1865 in Selma, Alabama at Elizabeth Langley, my 3rd great-grandmother’s house. Maybe she can answer some of the questions many of us must have about slavery and emancipation. I hope she will help us make sense of the seeming contradiction between Christian faith and the Confederacy. I want to ask her about the day 100 years before the 1965 march with Dr. Martin Luther King, when General James Wilson was followed by the liberated slaves on the exact same route followed in 1965. I want her to tell us what it was like to hear about black men marching behind the army that freed them. I am sure Elizabeth will whip up a mean batch of biscuits for all who are hungry. Her southern hospitality will not fail to make us feel at home, I am sure. There will be rocking chairs out on the porch for rest and conversation before we cloak back to this century. I look forward to hearing about your week and your take on life in 1865. Thanks, as always, for your company.
#Weekendcoffeeshare
What is Landay? Pure Poetry
March 6, 2015
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- book cover
The book I am the Beggar of the World is a collaborative effort by Eliza Griswold and Seamus Murphy. Last night at the U of A Poetry Center Seamus was present for the opening of an exhibit on the book. He spoke to the audience about the process they had followed to find the landays in the book. He explained the cultural significance and historical tradition of these spoken couplets specific to Pashtun women in Pakistan and Afghanistan. The two journalists had served in the region as reporters. They wanted to bring a deeper insight into culture and life than they could offer in a news story. Their investigative trip involved finding women who know the poems and convincing them to share them. Ms. Griswold handled the interview tasks while Mr Murphy shot photos and video footage of the region. They did not attempt to shoot the women reciting themselves for various reasons. This poetry is spoken, forbidden, and often critical. Any image of the women identified with landay might cause them great danger.
There are about 40,000 landays in use at any given time. They are 22 syllables, 9 in the first line, and 13 in the second. They are general statements on life from a woman’s point of view. They remind me of the Mexican dicho, a short philosophical statement that explains the situation at hand. My favorite dicho (saying) is, “Cuando hay dinero baila el perro.” When there is money the dog dances (anything is possible). Landays do sometimes contain great humor, but in general I think they are more haunting and pithy than dichos. Here is one example translated into English: “When sisters sit together, they always praise their brothers. When brothers sit together they sell their sisters to others.” The repression of women is a theme, since this real problem plagues family life. The landay is a way to express emotions as well as outrage at the political systems that are unfair to women.
One of my favorite poets, Piet Hein, wrote short works like these called Grooks. He started in Danish, and worked his way into English. The reception last night was catered with beautiful food and wine for the guests. They had outrageously ripe strawberries and chunks of fresh pineapple, which I enjoyed immensely while standing in line to purchase a copy of the book. I was reminded of what may be my favorite poem of all time, a Grook. “Love is like a pineapple, sweet and undefinable.” I had amazing dreams in my sleep last night. I was wandering around in some other ethnic zone searching for poets, just like in the book. I found some and there was great dreamy party about saving the poems and being anthropologically correct. I was in a fancy tent with a spread that look suspiciously like the food at the reception. I woke up with no pineapple, but a distinct taste of liberation in my mouth. I have my copy of the book to savor and enjoy. I would recommend it to anyone. This is a story of inspiration from history and daily life. The most important thing to remember about them is that their authors are illiterate. This sentiment is shot straight from the heart with no filter, publisher, or even permission. This is the birthplace of all poetry. Edited over centuries, these couplets reflect an accurate and poignant view of Pashtun women and their culture. I believe any reader would enjoy the book.
book cover
Real Writer, Simon Ortiz, #ROW80
March 2, 2015
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- signing my book
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- seer
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- comic
My week has been graced by the presence of a real writer. I went to hear the poet Simon Ortiz who was in Tucson for a reading of his work. I was deeply moved and highly impressed with his writing, which he delivered with lavish explanations about his process. He is now writing an epic poem, an idea he joked about by saying there is no real rule about exactly how long an epic has to be. He will include within the epic some of his older works, which he shared with the group who had come to the U of A Poetry Center to listen to him. I purchased his book, Sand Creek, which he signed for me after the reading. I told him how much I loved hearing him and he responded that he really loved reading to us. His genuine joy in sharing his work was evident. We were all truly blessed to be there. Some of his poems are funny, and some carry tragic stories from history, like Sand Creek.
The Poetics and Politics of Water series has evolved. Dr. Ofelia Zepeda is a poet and professor who collaborates to put together this very special program of Native American writers. She and her colleague Larry Evers introduced Politics and Poetics in 1992. I look forward to the next reading which will be given by Dr. Zepeda herself. She uses her native language from this region, Tohono O’odham, to welcome the visitors to her land and bless the participants. It is beautiful. She translates the traditional greeting in to English when she is done.
Ofelia Zepeda introduction
I have written and read some this week with mixed results. I believe the most profound thing that happened to set my poetic self on the path was my chance to hear Mr Ortiz. He said prose and poetry are all the same, and in the end, all language is poetry. He certainly was all poetic in every part of his being. He talked about his own recovery from alcoholism, and his father’s inability to recover from it. His identity as Acoma with deep religious and cultural heritage is important to him. His father exposed Simon to sorrow through addiction, but he also taught him his traditional language and mystical history. The last poem he read to us was about his father’s death. It was sung as a song, a chant, a rhythmic tribute to the spirit of his father and all he had inherited. It was a wonderful way to show his talent and end on a solemn, serious, meaningful note.
Kachinas, Spirit Beings
March 1, 2015
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Alex Seotewa was our guide to the mission church he had painted in Zuni pueblo. We had driven there to see the interior of the mission church with the spectacular kachina murals which I had seen once briefly with a Catholic priest. My fascination with this epic work of art started when I saw a television special, maybe even the program above, about Zuni, kachinas, and Alex. I convinced my erstwhile father-in-law to land his private plane in Zuni to see the mural. At that time the church was locked and there was a heavy smell of smoke damage because there had been a fire in the building. I guess that was about 1988. A priest had the key and showed us the inside of church for about 10 minutes, with no background information. There were buffalo heads on sides of the altar. It struck me as not only amazing art but a highly sacred place. It was obviously not in use, and the priest did not expect it would be used in the future.
I tried to see it once again, while driving back to Tucson from a ski trip in Colorado. I jumped out of the car in my pink fluffy ski jumpsuit and asked the people at the convenience store at the turn off for Zuni on the highway for directions to get to the church to see the interior. They insisted there was no church with kachinas. I was adamant that I had been to it. They became highly annoyed with me. I finally got the message that I had behaved badly in that culture and was not welcome. I was confused, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. The mystery of the access to the kachinas in that mission church continued to intrigue me. On my third visit the kachinas themselves must have arranged special treats for us. We had a loft bedroom at a small hotel run by a French guy who runs the general store. We arrived in the late evening. At the tourist office in town I asked the young woman at the desk how I could see the kachina mural in the mission church. She said she had never seen it, so I had little chance of being so lucky. This was a real surprise, since she was a member of the tribe about 20 years old. I wondered why it was so difficult.
In the morning I headed downstairs for coffee and encountered fellow residents gearing up to go hunting with a Zuni guide. They were eating breakfast, so I joined them for a cup of coffee. The group had flown in from Atlanta for the privilege of hunting there. They were all excited because they would be in the company of the local expert, which one of them had done previously. I asked this hunting guide if he had any idea how I could arrange to see the inside of the mission, since that was our mission. He made a phone call to his wife and arranged for his father, Alex Seotewa, to meet us at the church and give us a tour. He left us a phone number to reach his father later, since it was only about 6 am, then took the happy hunters off in his truck. I knew this intervention had to be a special reward for holding the images of the kachinas in my mind for so many years. They must have answered my desire to see them again.
Alex was in poor health, but obviously enjoyed telling the story of his art work, his tribal culture, and his calling to preserve his traditional heritage. He spent about an hour with us answering questions and telling us about his life and work. I will cherish the time we spent in his presence because the kachinas came to life with his explanations. There has been controversy and dissent within the community between Catholic and traditional use of the mission. When Alex’s father was a child the church was in disrepair, but it had punitive kachinas painted on the walls. An agreement was made to restore the images between Alex and a priest who thought it was a good idea. Subsequent Catholic clerics have not been as enthusiastic about preserving Zuni religious practice within, or consecutively with their own practices. Alex stopped attending services held by Catholics, but continued to feel his work depicting the kachinas was eucharistic, and a gift given from above. He was a buffalo dancer in ceremony. He described choosing the buffalo to kill and creating the heavy mask he wore for hours. He told us what the importance of the buffalo was to his people, and why it was his responsibility not just to wear that mask, but to become a buffalo in spirit to keep his religion alive. I have a strong memory of the authenticity of his thinking, his truly welcoming appreciation of our visit, and of the moment he showed us his spirit as a buffalo. The old man turned his head away from us then slowly brought his upper body to face us with a steady, fierce gaze. This was not an impersonation of an animal spirit…it was the spirit inside the man. It was touched and grateful to be given the special gift. I consider our time with Alex to be a kind of miracle. Have you ever had an experience of an extraordinary spiritual nature?
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