mermaidcamp
Keeping current in wellness, in and out of the water
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I had a conversation this week with my shiatsu therapist during my dreamy treatment. We discussed the rise of coaching of all kinds and the trend toward using these services. He commented that the sports analogy does not fit for him and is annoying. I had not considered that, but it does conjure up an image of an athletic coach. Why do those with extra cash spend it to be directed and held responsible in their own lives? I think it is very similar to the fad of personal training in the gym that is still popular. I do not argue that teaching and training is a silly idea. We need instruction and explanation. We also need to develop our own system of discipline and practice. I could certainly benefit from some training in writing. For now, I am very happy to be involved in Round of Words in 80 Days because the exchange with other participants functions to hold everyone responsible. We are the coach because we set our goals and track them. It is brilliant!
To create a new habit and stick to it the magic time is 40 days. After 40 days the new practice will be part of a routine that seems natural. I have only skipped one day in my poetry writing because I set my goal publicly and said I would report my progress. I have a vision of angels singing rounds in Latin in a gothic cathedral. The pun, Round of Words, has become a vivid picture of words aloft being sung by a choir…in rounds. The Latin is, no doubt, a bow to word derivation and perhaps to the Roman pantheon. These small and delicate word angels remind me that I must choose some words and make poetry until I am well established in the habit of dwelling on words. I know full well that to master anything from hula hoop to Hebrew, one must first do that thing very badly. It does not matter how bad or how long it takes, the point is that it is impossible to learn a skill you have not practiced.
Since our commitment to the process is scheduled to last twice as long as needed for habit making I expect this to be very effective. I told my therapist about this group and how much I appreciate it. I explained that for me it is like ski school. It feels reassuring to see your fellow students fall, as well as succeed in lessons because it shows that we all need to practice. I also told him how impressed I am with some of the writers who are managing big expectations for various writing projects while finishing a crochet scarf or training for running a marathon. Everyone is basically more ambitious than I am, so I can sincerely praise and look up to those with more difficult goals. I just want to write poetry to get better at it. I have set no number of words or other standards for myself. To those of you who are whipping out thousands of words a day, I salute you. I enjoy learning about your process and am inspired to try some of the stuff you do. I feel successful simply being in a writing group. It may even lead me to take a workshop at the Poetry Center, which couldn’t hurt. Thanks for the words, gentle writers. I appreciate your inspiration.
You probably know about the doomsday preppers, who build bunkers and buy machine guns and prepare to survive Armageddon. This has no interest to me. However, the other popular group of preppers, the ones who prepare food ahead of time to make sure they have healthy meals ready when they want them, are very attractive. I started following this idea in 2015 as a way to branch out of my food habits and try new dishes. I had a bad habit of making too much of one dish and tiring of it before we finished it. This was such a waste of time, energy and money. The remedy is simple. Make exactly the amount you need for each meal, or deal with any excess on the spot. I have not started a good freezer regimen, but I have managed to come out even with prepared food. This was one of the benefits, but not the only one. I decided to make at least two different dishes from each basic staple I cook.
I created a calendar in order to finish all my meal preparation in 4 days in order to leave the kitchen clean and undisturbed for 3 days a week. This is such a great change because it means a lot less clean up for the same amount of food. I make a big specific mess, clear it out, and enjoy the meals in the fridge ready to heat or add dressing. I think I can move toward 4 days out of the kitchen if I concentrate. Most of my fellow preppers do a whole week in one day, so surely I can pick up my pace on this. It does not take that much time, but it does require planning and strategy. The time off feels like I have hired a chef to make all my favorites. The fact that I am the chef does not intrude on this fabulous feeling when I waltz into the clean kitchen to find dinner. There is no drudgery involved because the prep days are very creative with research and invention. The magic chef days are wonderful because I reap the harvest of time as well as the pristine kitchen.
I have been a vegetarian for 65 years, so I am not planning to implement any new phase. I am fine as a lacto-ovo vegetarian eater. I have no desire to be gluten free or vegan, but I do really appreciate all the available recipes in those categories. I go very light on wheat, eggs and dairy, so many treats I enjoy are raw, vegan, and gluten free. I also happen to have a kosher home, but I go to no extra effort. This week we came into a giant harvest of cherry tomatoes. I am drying them, roasting them, marinating them, and next I plan to make a salad dressing from some of the roasted ones. I also saw a good looking focaccia recipe with cherry tomatoes and olives on top..That will be a new way to use them. If you have interest in trying these methods or learning about the food prep movement, find everything you might want to know on Pinterest. Happy prepping, gentle readers.
My adventure into poetry continues, and the plot thickens. I learn about the lives of poets from my podcasts and reading. I am highly encouraged by the diversity found in the population. Any and every kind of person has written poetry in the past, and the platform only expands now. There were people who worked in mundane industry who took up writing after retirement and found smashing success. There are prisoners, idealists, and students working diligently to create verse and other written art forms. Many of my fellow writers involved in #ROW80 have years of experience and much more instruction under their belts as poets. This feels like a good place to learn from those who have already mastered and shared words carefully placed and edited, intended to express something beyond what the reader can see. I notice that I might be better instructed by poems that do not suit my fancy than by those I instantly like. I also notice my subject matter is similar every time I work on my poetry. I am like Claude Monet and the water lilies, just can’t stop.
I see merit in making series or building on a theme, but in a couple of weeks of daily poetic practice I seemed to be pleasantly slipping into a rut. My drawings are mostly stylized butterflies, and the poems related dream images and psyche flying around the world bringing messages to daytime consciousness. I did say I was not entering this practice to be self critical, but I did need to nudge myself to move beyond the butterflies and tell some kind of poetic story. All the poems I hear and read show contrast and variety, while mine are running flat in a straight line, going nowhere. I aspire to be like Monty Python and Dorothy Parker, yet my current offerings look like rorschach tests with brief captions in explanation of my personality. I do hope we can improve on that.
I made an attempt to write a witty little ditty about the execution of my famous poet ancestor as a story. This truly haunted my dreams and daily life for a couple of days after I learned about the incident in history. We know details of his life and death because he was an aristocrat. We even have several portraits of him. Reading his work and imagining his last 6 days in the Tower of London in January freaked me out to the bone. I skipped a day of poetry writing because I could not come up with any angle from which to create this story. I know I dreamed about him, and developed sympathy for his plight, but nothing carried over into my writing. I found that my boundaries restrict my creative muse. My desire to capture emotions was not as great as my will to make a statement and be done. I finally wrote a short poem with him in mind, but it was not the big leap I wanted to take. I have decided to keep Henry Howard with me as my ancestral muse. I will confer with him before and after I write. I think that by reading more of his work and keeping his memory alive in my dreams I have a chance of expanding beyond my comfort zone as it is now.
I am grateful to all the writers in the #ROW80 challenge for showing me that all of us have similar issues, both helpful and obstructive to our process. The support and sharing within the group is a great incentive to keep the faith. Thanks to all who check in on Sundays and Wednesdays on this adventure of ours. I appreciate knowing we are in this as a team. I have high hopes for all of us.
If we were meeting for coffee we would use our teleporting cloaks to visit different parts of the world. This is a weekend to take an imaginary trip to a Paris coffee house. The pace of current events has been swift and frightening. Sophisticated cosmopolitan citizens are shaken. Let us sit in the corner with scarves drinking dark roast coffee with hot frothy milk. At this moment let’s take in the vibe of our fellow customers and feel the anxiety flowing through the waiter, and into the pastries on the counter. Our conversation is hushed and our gazes are focused on each other. I feel a refuge in the stories you tell me about your week, your writing, your will to survive in grace and beauty. We are comfortable gently criticizing or joking about our private lives, but are concerned about public life. This is a propitious time in history.
I often think about history because of my study of my family tree. This hobby/obsession has improved my knowledge and sense of history by revealing the stories of my ancestors. I frequently notice the differences as well as the similarities between my ancestors alive at the same time. This week I have done research on two topics that have given me superb insights into historical events. I learned that my 15th great-grandfather was a famous poet who was executed by Henry VIII on 19 Jan., 1547 at the Tower of London. I read and listened to his poetry, which I admire and like. I decided to write a poem in honor of his beheading. I hoped to create a Monty Python or Dorothy Parker style witty ditty about Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey to commemorate the 1468th anniversary of his death. Nothing rhymes with beheading. Howard and Surrey both summon up a set of unflattering words that are not very funny at all. This comedy execution poem haunted me for a couple of days before I gave up the limerick format. I wrote one today, but it contains no humor.
The other subject of my genealogy research this week has been my own Confederate soldier ancestors and the ownership of slaves. I have searched through census records before the Civil War and learned that my 3rd great-grandmother owned land before the war in Old Cahawba, Alabama. This is now suburban Selma. Her husband died young and she had a patent on119.91 acres of land in the old capital of Dallas County. Her family lived with her until after the war, when they all moved to Texas. The family arrived in Texas by oxcart and bought land with gold. Her son and grandson both served the Confederacy, but there is no sign that this family ever owned slaves. I looked back in time until I did find slaves in Mississippi on the maternal side, but the Taylors were too poor or morally opposed to the idea. When they moved to Texas they started a church and deeded part of their property to the church. I have wondered a lot about the journey and the gold, but now that I know how difficult story poems are to write, have not dedicated myself to telling this history in a poem.
Thanks for hanging out this weekend in our imaginary coffee house. I look forward to hearing your stories and finding out how you are feeling this week. I appreciate sharing this delicious time with you, gentle reader.
This week in #ROW80 I found a world of information and poetry in apps and podcasts. This vast free library of poems and poets would keep me occupied forever, but I have started a new ritual that is intended to create an atmosphere conducive to creating poetry. I now listen to my daily podcast poems while I draw my first art piece of the day. I am also, for an unrelated reason, soaking my feet in hot water with epsom salts for about an hour while I drink tea and coffee. I am not sure which element is most important, but I am enjoying the soaking in both hot water and poetic streams first thing in the morning. The Poetry Foundation features information about poets’ lives. I was curious to find Frances DeVere, wife of Henry Howard, in the data base. She is missing, but he is a very big figure in the history of poetry. I started to read his work and study the details of his life. His maternal grandfather was beheaded before him in the Tower. His father narrowly escaped death because the king died the day before his scheduled execution. This non-fiction story is full of twists. There is shocking drama in this real history of my DNA.
In the court of Henry VIII life could be very opulent, but all that could turn in the blink of an eye. Henry was capricious to say the least. The most famous of all the English monarchs wielded power with great vigor. In the year 1547 my was charged with treason. He was beheaded on Tower Hill after a one day trial. When he was under house arrest he wrote poetry. When he was sentenced to die, he wrote poetry and translated the Bible. He was a real troubadour in Tudor England. Some scholars believe he created the sonnet and was first to use free verse in English. His wife Frances was also a poet, but I have not found any of her work. I think the double whammy of dualing poets in the Tudor court should be a big advantage to me. I should be able to make some poems about them, or somehow inspired by their lives. During the next week I plan to make some stabs at this idea. The anniversary of his beheading is in 5 days. Maybe I can come up with a tribute of sorts.
Henry Howard (1517 – 1547)
is my 15th great grandfather
Thomas Howard (1536 – 1572)
son of Henry Howard
Margaret Howard (1561 – 1591)
daughter of Thomas Howard
Lady Ann Dorset (1552 – 1680)
daughter of Margaret Howard
Robert Lewis (1574 – 1645)
son of Lady Ann Dorset
Robert Lewis (1607 – 1644)
son of Robert Lewis
Ann Lewis (1633 – 1686)
daughter of Robert Lewis
Joshua Morse (1669 – 1753)
son of Ann Lewis
Joseph Morse (1692 – 1759)
son of Joshua Morse
Joseph Morse (1721 – 1776)
son of Joseph Morse
Joseph Morse III (1752 – 1835)
son of Joseph Morse
John Henry Morse (1775 – 1864)
son of Joseph Morse III
Abner Morse (1808 – 1838)
son of John Henry Morse
Daniel Rowland Morse (1838 – 1910)
son of Abner Morse
Jason A Morse (1862 – 1932)
son of Daniel Rowland Morse
Ernest Abner Morse (1890 – 1965)
son of Jason A Morse
Richard Arden Morse (1920 – 2004)
son of Ernest Abner Morse
Pamela Morse
I am the daughter of Richard Arden Morse
On this day in history, the 19th January 1547, the poet, courtier and soldier Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey and son of Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk, was executed by beheading on Tower Hill. He was laid to rest at All Hallows-by-the-Tower (All Hallows Barking) but was moved in 1614 by his son Henry, Earl of Northampton, to a beautiful tomb in the family church, St Michael’s at Framlingham.
He had been found guilty of treason on the 13th January 1547 at a common inquest at Guildhall, where evidence was given “which concerned overt conspiracy as well as the usurpation of the royal arms”1. It was alleged that “he had on 7 October 1546 at Kenninghall displayed in his own heraldry the royal arms and insignia, with three labels silver, thereby threatening the king’s title to the throne and the prince’s inheritance”2, yet when he had been arrested in December the questions had focused on “his determination for the rule of the prince; his procuring his sister to be the royal mistress; his slandering of the royal council; and his plans to flee the realm”3, not his use of the royal arms and insignia. His trial lasted a day and he gave a spirited defence but it was no good, he was found guilty and sentenced to death.
Historian Susan Brigden writes of how Surrey spent his last days in the Tower writing, paraphrasing Psalms 55, 73 and 88, “the prayers of the psalmist abandoned and betrayed, thinking upon death and judgment”4. His work showed not only his sense of betrayal but also his evangelical religious beliefs.
He was executed on Tower Hill on the 19th January 1547 but his father, the Duke of Norfolk, who had also been setenced to death for treason, escaped execution because Henry VIII died before his scheduled execution. Norfolk was released and pardoned by Mary I in 1553 and died naturally on 25th August 1554.
Susan Brigden writes of how Surrey was “the first poet in English to explore what might be said without rhyme” and he is viewed as one of the founders of English Renaissance poetry and “Father of the English Sonnet”, along with Thomas Wyatt and, I believe, George Boleyn. You can find Surrey’s poetry and also his paraphrases of Psalms 55 and 88 at Luminarium: Anthology of English Literature5. I’ll leave you with one if his poems:-
Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green…
Set me whereas the sun doth parch the greenOr where his beams do not dissolve the ice,
In temperate heat where he is felt and seen;
In presence prest of people, mad or wise;
Set me in high or yet in low degree,
In longest night or in the shortest day,
In clearest sky or where clouds thickest be,
In lusty youth or when my hairs are gray.
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell;
In hill, or dale, or in the foaming flood;
Thrall or at large, alive whereso I dwell,
Sick or in health, in evil fame or good:
Hers will I be, and only with this thought Content myself although my chance be nought.
Notes and Sources
Susan Brigden, ‘Howard, Henry, earl of Surrey (1516/17–1547)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004
Luminarium: Anthology of English Literature
Bird Cafe in Japan…Adorable!!
My 16th great-grandfather was beheaded for listening to prophecies of Henry VIII’s death. The king was personally involved in convicting him.
Edward Richard Buckingham Stafford (1479 – 1521)
is my 16th great grandfather
Elizabeth Dutchess Norfolk Stafford Howard (1497 – 1558)
daughter of Edward Richard Buckingham Stafford
Lady Katherine Howard Duchess Bridgewater (1495 – 1554)
daughter of Elizabeth Dutchess Norfolk Stafford Howard
William ApRhys (1522 – 1588)
son of Lady Katherine Howard Duchess Bridgewater
Henry Rice (1555 – 1621)
son of William ApRhys
Edmund Rice (1594 – 1663)
son of Henry Rice
Edward Rice (1622 – 1712)
son of Edmund Rice
Lydia Rice (1649 – 1723)
daughter of Edward Rice
Lydia Woods (1672 – 1738)
daughter of Lydia Rice
Lydia Eager (1696 – 1735)
daughter of Lydia Woods
Mary Thomas (1729 – 1801)
daughter of Lydia Eager
Joseph Morse III (1752 – 1835)
son of Mary Thomas
John Henry Morse (1775 – 1864)
son of Joseph Morse III
Abner Morse (1808 – 1838)
son of John Henry Morse
Daniel Rowland Morse (1838 – 1910)
son of Abner Morse
Jason A Morse (1862 – 1932)
son of Daniel Rowland Morse
Ernest Abner Morse (1890 – 1965)
son of Jason A Morse
Richard Arden Morse (1920 – 2004)
son of Ernest Abner Morse
Pamela Morse
I am the daughter of Richard Arden Morse

Died
17 May 1521 (aged 43)
Tower Hill
Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham, KG (3 February 1478 – 17 May 1521) was an English nobleman. He was the son of Henry Stafford, 2nd Duke of Buckingham, and Katherine Woodville, whose sister, Queen Elizabeth Woodville, was the wife of King Edward IV. He was convicted of treason, and executed on 17 May 1521.
Edward Stafford, born 3 February 1478 at Brecon Castle in Wales, was the eldest son of Henry Stafford, 2nd Duke of Buckingham, and Katherine Woodville, the daughter of Richard Woodville, 1st Earl Rivers, by Jacquetta of Luxembourg, daughter of Pierre de Luxembourg, Count of St. Pol, and was thus a nephew of Elizabeth Woodville, queen consort of King Edward IV.
By his father’s marriage to Katherine Woodville, Stafford had a younger brother, Henry Stafford, 1st Earl of Wiltshire, and two sisters, Elizabeth, who married Robert Radcliffe, 1st Earl of Sussex, and Anne, who married firstly, Sir Walter Herbert (d. 16 September 1507), an illegitimate son of William Herbert, 1st Earl of Pembroke, and secondly, George Hastings, 1st Earl of Huntingdon.
After the execution of the 2nd Duke of Buckingham, his widow, Katherine Woodville, married Jasper Tudor, second son of Owen Tudor and King Henry V’s widow, Catherine of Valois. After Jasper Tudor’s death on 21 December 1495, Katherine Woodville married Sir Richard Wingfield (d. 22 July 1525). Katherine Woodville died 18 May 1497. After her death, Sir Richard Wingfield married Bridget Wiltshire, daughter and heiress of Sir John Wiltshire of Stone, Kent.
In October 1483 Stafford’s father participated in a rebellion against King Richard III. He was beheaded without trial on 2 November 1483, whereby all his honours were forfeited. Stafford is said to have been hidden in various houses in Herefordshire at the time of the rebellion, and perhaps for the remainder of Richard III’s reign. However after Richard III’s defeat at Bosworth on 22 August 1485, and King Henry VII’s accession to the crown, Stafford was made a Knight of the Order of the Bath on 29 October 1485 as Duke of Buckingham, and attended Henry VII’s coronation the following day, although his father’s attainder was not formally reversed by Parliament until November. The young Duke’s wardship and lands were granted, on 3 August 1486, along with the wardship of his younger brother, Henry Stafford, to the King’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, and according to Davies it is likely Buckingham was educated in her various households.
Buckingham was in attendance at court at the creation of Henry VII’s second son, the future King Henry VIII, as Duke of York, on 9 November 1494, and was made a Knight of the Order of the Garter in 1495. In September 1497 he was a captain in the forces sent to quell a rebellion in Cornwall.
According to Davies, as a young man Buckingham played a conspicuous part in royal weddings and the reception of ambassadors and foreign princes, ‘dazzling observers by his sartorial splendour’. At the wedding of Henry VII’s then eldest son and heir Arthur, Prince of Wales, and Catherine of Aragon in 1501, he is said to have worn a gown worth £1500. He was the chief challenger at the tournament held the following day.
At the accession of King Henry VIII, Buckingham was appointed on 23 June 1509, for the day of the coronation only, Lord High Constable, an office which he claimed by hereditary right. He also served as Lord High Steward at the coronation, and bearer of the crown. In 1509 he was made a member of the King’s Privy Council. On 9 July 1510 he had licence to crenellate his manor of Thornbury, Gloucestershire, and according to Davies rebuilt the manor house as ‘an impressively towered castle’ with ‘huge oriel windows in the living-quarters in the inner court’.
In 1510 Buckingham was involved in a scandal concerning his sister, Anne. After hearing rumours concerning Anne and Sir William Compton, Buckingham found Compton in Anne’s room. Compton was forced to take the sacrament to prove that he and Anne had not committed adultery, and Anne’s husband, George Hastings, 1st Earl of Huntingdon, sent Anne away to a convent 60 miles distant from the court. There is no extant evidence establishing that Anne and Sir William Compton were guilty of adultery. However in 1523 Compton took the unusual step of bequeathing land to Anne in his will, and directing his executors to include her in the prayers for his kin for which he had made provision in his will.
From June to October 1513 Buckingham served as a captain during Henry VIII’s invasion of France, commanding 500 men in the ‘middle ward’. About 1517 he was one of twelve challengers chosen to tilt against the King and his companions, but excused himself on the ground that he feared to run against the King’s person. He and his wife, Eleanor, attended the Field of the Cloth of Gold in 1520.
Although Buckingham was appointed to commissions of the peace in 1514 and charged, together with other marcher lords, with responsibility for keeping order in south Wales, he was rebuked by the King in 1518 for failing to achieve the desired results. According to Davies, in general Buckingham exercised little direct political influence, and was never a member of the King’s inner circle.
Buckingham fell out dramatically with the King in 1510, when he discovered that the King was having an affair with the Countess of Huntingdon, the Duke’s sister and wife of the 1st Earl of Huntingdon. She was taken to a convent sixty miles away. There are some suggestions that the affair continued until 1513. However, he returned to the King’s graces, being present at the marriage of Henry’s sister, served in Parliament and being present at negotiations with Francis I of France and Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor.
Buckingham was one of few peers with substantial Plantagenet blood and maintained numerous connections, often among his extended family, with the rest of the upper aristocracy, which activities attracted Henry’s suspicion. During 1520, Buckingham became suspected of potentially treasonous actions and Henry VIII authorised an investigation. The King personally examined witnesses against him, gathering enough evidence for a trial. The Duke was finally summoned to Court in April 1521 and arrested and placed in the Tower. He was tried before a panel of 17 peers, being accused of listening to prophecies of the King’s death and intending to kill the King. He was executed on Tower Hill on 17 May. Buckingham was posthumously attainted by Act of Parliament on 31 July 1523, disinheriting most of his wealth from his children.
Guy (1988) concludes this was one of the few executions of high personages under Henry VIII in which the accused was “almost certainly guilty”. However Sir Thomas More complained that the key evidence from servants was hearsay.
Buckingham’s literary patronage included two translations, a printed translation of Helyas, Knyghte of the Swanne, which he commissioned in 1512, and A Lytell Cronicle, a translation of an account of the Middle East which he may have commissioned in 1520 in connection with his proposed pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
In 1488 Henry VII had suggested a marriage between Buckingham and Anne of Brittany, but in December 1489 the executors of Henry Percy, 4th Earl of Northumberland, paid the King £4000 for Buckingham’s marriage to Percy’s eldest daughter Eleanor (d. 1530). They had a son and three daughters:
Lord Henry Stafford, 1st Baron Stafford (18 September 1501 – 30 April 1563), who married Ursula Pole, daughter of Sir Richard Pole by his second wife, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, daughter of George, Duke of Clarence.
Lady Elizabeth Stafford, Duchess of Norfolk (c. 1497 – 30 November 1558), who married, as his second wife, before 8 January 1513, Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk.
Lady Katherine Stafford (c. 1499 – 14 May 1555), who married Ralph Neville, 4th Earl of Westmorland.
Lady Mary Stafford, the youngest daughter, who married, about June 1519, as his third wife, George Neville, 5th Baron Bergavenny.
Buckingham is also said to have had three illegitimate children: George Stafford, Henry Stafford, Margaret Stafford (c. 1511 – 25 May 1537), whom Buckingham married to his ward, Thomas Fitzgerald of Leixlip, half-brother to the Earl of Kildare.
The Round of Words in 80 Days challenge is a wonderful new experience for me. I joined last week by setting goals I intend to accomplish during the following 80 days. By joining this group I am entering a zone designed to support and entertain writers looking to learn new skills as well as improve on old ones. In the few and far between workshops I have taken in creative writing I did learn from my fellow students in many ways. First, it is comforting to see that many share the exact same creative obstacles and follies. Once we see that writing has certain difficult passages we feel less isolated. It cheers us up to find out others get stuck around the same places that we do. Many of the participants have much more experience and education, which does reflect in the way they put their words together to express themselves. It matters little how large your vocabulary is, or how much you know about crafting dialog for a story if you are out of ideas. We all have to go to the well of creativity and draw water to keep our writing alive. In #ROW80 we share this mutual idea of renewing our source of inspiration. The group is much more powerful than the sum of its parts.
My new devotion to write, read and immerse myself in poetry stems from my ancestry. I have some famous poets in my family tree. This, more than any other accomplishment of my ancestors, has made me think about my own creative legacy. I don’t care to be famous, but think it is very cool to read the handwritten poems of my famous 9th great-grandmother. They are the work of a religious Pilgrim in America, not exactly my cup of tea. I still treasure the poems because they have a life of their own, staying in publication for hundreds of years. I can hear her “voice” because she recorded it (as best she could in the 1600s). She inspires me to refine, discover, and expand my own poetic voice.
I have done the ground work I agreed to do by publishing a poem daily. This is starting to be natural. Usually I do the drawing and poem first thing in the morning, which makes me feel good. I don’t get too critical of the work, I just make an attempt to prime the pump and get a constant flow of words. I will be happy when I become more fluent and need to edit with more thought and specificity. For the present I am pleased just to keep that daily beat. I stay with the images as well as the words while I do my daily routine. I think pondering the colors and the words I have used works to inspire the next day’s creation.
My goal to expose myself to the work of poets with whom I am not familiar is made incredibly easy by the fabulous podcasts and poetry apps available at little or no cost. I have also downloaded a couple of apps that help you create poems, and even record your work. There are many good options to read and to hear. These are a just a few of the new resources for poets and poetry fans:
I am using these and a few other mobile apps to make it easy to find and lean about poets. I particularly like the translated work because the reading is done first in English, followed by the poem in the language in which it was written. I like to hear the sounds and the cadence of the original language after I know what it means. I have been pleasantly surprised by how easy and fun it is to discover poets and enjoy a variety of styles. I like the funny subjects the best.
I skipped the reading last week at the U of A Poetry Center. The schedule arrived in the mail for all the readings, events, classes and workshops to be presented in the spring semester. There is a series called the Poetics and Politics of Water which is very interesting to me. I have marked my calendar to be ready to attend all four parts of this collaboration with the American Indian Studies Program. I am also looking forward to an exhibition of photos from Afghanistan to accompany a presentation on oral folk poetry of the women of the Pashtun tribe, living on the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan. There is tremendous technical excellence built into all the work done at the Poetry Center. I cherish to the academic and aesthetic rewards of living very close to this special institution. It is my hope that with the inspiration of my dead poet ancestors and the living poets right around the corner I will be staking a claim to an identity as a writer. A lot can happen in 80 days!!
This week I decided to try this fad about which I have heard so much..butter in black coffee. The admirers think this produces a perfect high. Some people have told me about using coconut oil in black coffee, but I decided to go with dairy butter for my taste test. I began with a very small dab of butter, slightly afraid of what it might do. It was hardly perceivable, so I used about a tablespoon total in a cup. I was hankering after the taste that was described in the literature by the proponents. The taste of dark rye toast with butter, dipped in coffee was, more or less, the flavor of the drink. It felt greasy, but I think cream in coffee too slick and thick, so that was similar. It was rich, but not in a way I appreciated. For me, this was something I could do without for the rest of my life. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. When both butter and coconut oil are added this drink is called bulletproof coffee. People are going wild for it.
The morning at my desk produced two different reasons to call my banks..somehow both of them had issues on line the same day. Both issues with both banks took much longer to resolve on the phone than I had expected. My cranky attitude swelled as I listened to too much phone hold music for dummies. I noticed that I was full of angst at these trivial problems. I wondered if this high level of anxiety had something to do with that wonder coffee. My gut feeling was distinctly unpleasant waiting for the bankers to take care of my accounts. I was in no real danger, but had a high level freak out in mind and body.
I recently declared patience to be one of my three words for 2015. The assault to test my patience began as soon as I made the statement. Events aligned to make me wait for everything, not just this banking. The high performance bulletproof life is a conflict of interest with my patient, persistent, poetic self. I have returned to sipping small cups of coffee and milk that I keep nearby in a thermos all morning. I like the light, steady dose of tasty hot richness for hours. I do not aspire to be bulletproof in any way. I leave that to those who want to take off like rockets and feel invincible in the morning. Invincibility is just not poetic.
I was lucky to find an apartment to rent in Paris in Montmartre. The landlord lived in Belgium, and the local woman who managed and cleaned the flat lived in the same block. This was long before Air bnb, but I found the place to be perfect for me. My block was a highly Arabic space, including an Egyptian convenience mart on the main floor of my building. I shopped there first, finding all kinds of delights and basic grocery items. All the merchants, particularly the Egyptian grocer, were helpful and ultra polite. My metro stop was Barbès – Rochechouart, right in front of a large Tati store. Tati is a Parisian version of a low price emporium. Since they are French, rather than have a giant “big box” arrangement, they have zillions of tiny specific departments, from which you must pay and check out before proceeding. I had a hysterical incident at that Tati store when I tried to buy paper plates from a Chinese guy who spoke French about as well as I did (pas bien). I was using the word plate, which he translated into prepared dish of food . He told me many times they did not have what I wanted, but I persisted. Finally he showed me plastic replicas of food, toys for kids. This showed me what had gone wrong and I managed to score those paper plates. I never felt threatened or out-of-place in my neighborhood, although I was experiencing the rare feeling of being a minority. I always heard French people were snooty, but I did not notice any of that. They even seemed to like to speak English when they had the chance.
When I think of the city of lights in the current state of shock I know I would be afraid to be there now. In fact, the last time I had reserved that Montmartre flat for a holiday I canceled and forfeited my rent because 9/11 had occurred and I felt uncertain about being single and American in my old neighborhood. My French had not improved and I did not see the reason to risk arriving and feeling unsafe. Like other cities where I had created beautiful and lasting memories I let it Paris go as a destination. I remain attached to the places and the experiences, even to the people whose names I never learned. Paris stays in my heart as sophisticated, artful, cosmopolitan, highly civilized and full of history. Recent events leave La France in trauma, in need of healing. I can’t say I feel the pain of the French people, but I do feel terrible loss. Parisians had managed to live in harmony with all kinds of ethnic and cultural deviations. Their cosmopolitan way of seeing the world served as a foundation for tolerance. The city has lost an innocence that can’t be replaced. The world grieves. Cartoonists reach into their deepest wells of talent and art to express outrage. The next New Yorker cover will depict the Eiffel Tower with a pencil top to show defiance. France has elevated the meaning of art for centuries. Freedom of expression is essential to the regular French citizen. This may be a time when art and politics merge for the better. In the words of Jean Paul Sartre, “There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.”