NaPoWriMo 2010 Begins!

I have a horrible track record when it comes to any kind of regular writing, and teaching school the past two years has only exacerbated the situation. Nevertheless, better to try than not to try. At least, that's the line I feed my students. I don't have time for revision, however--at least not now. You'll have to settle for rough drafts splattered down on the page.

Let the scrawls begin!

Orchids

Fat buds wing into full bloom and float
in arcs above my monitor. Students drop
their shove and scuffle, stoop to touch trembling
petals, one slow finger at a time. I've watered them
for months, watched them stretch
new growth and now, although their roots
still tangle, gnarled amid dead wood
and sphagnum, they are opening
along their lengths, lifting
fragile faces toward the light.

Friday Quote: On Poetry and Plastic Flowers

"The cloning of humans is on most of the lists of things to worry about from Science, along with behaviour control, genetic engineering, transplanted heads, computer poetry and the unrestrained growth of plastic flowers."

---Lewis Thomas

A Review: Goblin Fruit Winter 08

So many of the poems in this issue were excellent in either storytelling or wordplay, and so many excelled in both, that I hardly know where to begin in letting you know what I like. Where to start?

JoSelle Vanderhooft's two pieces were, as hers always seem to be, strong. I very much liked "The Explorer's Daughter," but it was "Death Enters a Mother's Service" that had me crouched in front of the monitor scrolling up and down and up again to read and reread. Elements there of Walter de la Mare and Rosetti, strong images and rhythms, heartbreak and beauty. Lovely work.

Robert Borski's "The Bashful Young Swain at the Ogre's Cotillion" made me raise my eyebrows and laugh aloud with pleasure.

Sophanny Marin's "The Choke-Damp"...ah, what a poem. This is definitely one of my favorites, and I need to find a way to let her know. I think that by which I am most struck in this poem is her adeptness in bringing the world of faerie and the modern world into such graceful, frightening and heartbreaking juxtaposition. Well done.

Maureen McQuerry's "Selkie" is a study in wonderful line breaks (always tricky and potentially awkward!) and language that sings in both sound and sense. McQuerry is someone whose work I will be watching in the future. If all her poems are as well crafted as "Selkie" and "Chesire" (another poem I loved in this issue), I can't wait to read her books.

Jennifer Crow's "Twelve Swans" also was exquisite and exceptionally wonderful technically as well as lyrically and narratively. She has a skill in poetic construction that shines as she spins the familiar tale of the twelve swan brothers into a new poetic form with each section. Brava!

And finally, I couldn't comment on Goblin Fruit's Winter 08 issue without mentioning "Revisiting the Maiden's Tower" by Stacy Cowley, a piece that gave--and continues to give--me chills, with its images both beautiful and horrific.

These were probably my favorite pieces, but the other poems were wonderful as well and deserve a read, especially by anyone with an appreciation for mythopoetic literature. Old fairy tales spun in new directions, silk kimonos, ravens, seals, cherries and snow and a saint... It is easy to become lost here. Tie a string to your wrist as you enter, to be sure of finding your way back out.

Publication: Goblin Fruit

This morning a wonderful email waited impatiently in my inbox to be discovered. The Winter '08 issue of Goblin Fruit (which I wrote about earlier) is out at last, and in it, "Night Augur", a poem of my "own pure brain." To my surprise and deep pleasure, the Editors Who Shall Be Adored have even used it as a prologue to the issue, may-their-names-be-praised-forever.

Seriously, I am very happy and very grateful.

(There's even audio!)

Friday Quote: On Poetic Cultivation

“Travel broadens the mind, but great poetry is often the product of narrow obsession, the neurotic cultivation of a tiny plot.”

--Stephen Moss

Friday Quote: On Courage and Poets

"The courage of the poets is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness."

--Christopher Morley

Goblin Fruit

An online poetry webzine, Goblin Fruit specializes in poetry '"of the fantastical", poetry that treats mythic, surreal, fantasy and folkloric themes, or approaches other themes in a fantastical way.' Working from three different continents, editors Amal El-Mohtar, Jessica P. Wick and Oliver Hunter (who is also responsible for Goblin Fruit's wonderful artwork) have put together a quarterly web publication that made me cry and laugh at once in a surprised sort of painful joy when I stumbled across it.

"Find your own images," a much loved mentor told me once, "and write them." My public personal images have been rural and home based--trees, field grasses, birds, garden flowers, cups, my daughters' hair--and these I've woven into poem and essay as I was taught, finding meaning in the ordinary, making the commonplace new. What I have been careful to keep out of any writing I intended for publication, though, is the mystical, the fantastic, hints of deeper and often darker things that even as a child I knew lay beneath the ordinary. This summer I began giving myself reading permission to return to my first literary love: speculative fiction. By July I was searching for mythopoetic markets, which is when I found Goblin Fruit through a link at Endicott Redux. I've found several other markets that I like, but none quite so well as Goblin Fruit. If you've got a few moments, an interest in poetry and a secret fairy tale fascination, go check it out. I do not think you will be disappointed.

In Memoriam: Madeleine L'Engle

November 29, 1918 ---September 6, 2007

A great light has gone out of this world.

Workspaces: Donald Hall--a Slide Show

This past week has been...wearing. Tonight, exhausted, I should have been long ago in bed, but I ran across this slide show of 13 pictures taken at the farm of Donald Hall and have been smiling contentedly at my computer ever since.

Procrastination Aid: Online Magnetic Poetry

Oh, the fun! Magnetic Poetry now offers online composition. What's more, you can pick from ten differently themed collections of words, including "Shakespeare", "Genius" and "Artist" kits. Woo! Woo!

My favorite, though, is the "Inuendo" kit.

Friday Quote: On the Coupling of Words

"Every new poem is like finding a new bride. Words are so erotic, they never tire of their coupling. How do they renew themselves? In their inexhaustible desire for combinations and recombinations."

--Stanley Kunitz

I'd never thought of words as lovemaking when they join their separate meanings together in order to make a new one that is, nevertheless, derivative of each of their own. Of course, the metaphor breaks down if carried too far, but still, how beautiful.

Friday Quote: On Poetry and Enticement

"What enticed me about poetry was being able to hold in my hands and in my heart these small pieces of meticulous and beautiful meaning. It was like reclaiming the soul, or giving the soul a voice."

--Joy Harjo

NaPo(RoDra)WriMo

Write a poem a day for the month of April (National Poetry Month). Madness. Sheer madness.

All right. I'll do it.

I do have terms, though.

I don't write poems in a day. I take--literally--years with each poem before I consider it ready for publication. Therefore, I personally will undertake NaPoRoDraWriMo (National Poetry Rough Draft Writing Month).

Furthermore, I am not crazed about the idea of posting online all the nonsense that will erupt from such a frantic pace. I do, however, recognize my need for accountability. If you desire to subject yourself to a LuPoRoDra (Lucindy Poetry Rough Draft) a day, drop me an email, and I'll fire off a daily group update. I'll be grateful for the impetus to hold to my goal in semi-privacy , and you...well, we all have a little bit of the masochist in us; this should indulge it for you.

(I would be thrilled, BTW, to recieve similar updates form other NaPo(RoDra)WriMo attemptees. There's nothing like thrashing around in the mire of creativity in company.)

Friday Quote: On Poetry and Cat Concerts

"Poetry proves again and again that any single overall theory of anything doesn't work. Poetry is always the cat concert under the window of the room in which the official version of reality is being written."

--Charles Simic

Looking for Relief?

In the sidebar to the right, you will find some buttons describing a brand new Christian literary journal, Relief, and linking to its website. I first heard of Relief last fall when Jennifer of Wonderfully Ill-Composed mentioned it at dinner. Relief's first issue came out in November last year and contained poetry by Scott Cairns and an essay by poet Luci Shaw, among other intriguing goodies. Poet Kristin Mulhern Noblin, for example, is someone to watch. Right now she's evidently teaching middle school English in Portland, OR, but the woman can write and write well.

Relief is new, yes, and I get the impression it's finding its voice, as I expect any new lit mag must do in the beginning. Still, I'm very impressed with the enthusiasm and approachability of its editors, with their passion for literature and their insistence on and pursuit of human authenticity over prettiness and pat answers. The text links will take you to the main page. The graphic button will deliver you to the store where the first issue can be purchased.

I might add that Relief will be publishing two of my own poems next month. Torn between whether to purchase the first issue for Cairns/Shaw/Noblin or the second one for Lawson? Go ahead and get them both. You know you want to.

Poetry Meme for an Icy Day

The day continues. . . I found this meme at Of Books and Bicycles. Go tell Dorthy hello.

1. The first poem I remember reading/hearing/reacting to was....Nursery rhymes were the first poems I heard. My mother used to read me a lot of nursery rhymes from a large anthology of varied children’s literature. These memories go back as far as I can recall—two years old, maybe eighteen months old. Always she emphasized the rhythm as she read, often singing them. I suspect this is a large part of why I now have an instinctive feel for rhythm and rhyme.

The first poem that struck me with an appreciable emotional impact was Mary Oliver’s “The Swimming Lesson”. I felt stunned after reading it, as though someone had struck me and knocked away my breath. It very much spoke to the reality in which I was living at the time.

2. I was forced to memorize (name of poem) in school and........Joyce Kilmer's ”I think that I shall never see/ a poem as lovely as a tree...” Three other children and I were dressed up in colonial costumes and performed our poems in the county courtroom, for a bicentennial program of some kind. I remember being faintly irritated at having to perform in public and fairly relieved that I didn’t have trouble pronouncing any words, unlike one of my friends who repeatedly stumbled over the word “sinewy” in his poem, “The Village Blacksmith”. We were eight years old.

3. I read/don't read poetry because....I read poetry because it surprises and reassures me I am not alone. I read poetry because of my ongoing love affair with words and the beauty and meaning they can carry when they are well-placed. I read poetry because very often it says what I most long to hear and am most afraid of hearing; it speaks to a deeper part of myself than I am comfortable with, a part that cannot be denied, regardless of discomfort.

4. A poem I'm likely to think about when asked about a favorite poem is .......Mary Oliver’s “The Kingfisher” or “The Kookaburras”; Job chapters 38-41 or Psalm 104; Jane Kenyon’s “Let Evening Come”: Michael Burn’s “For my Son, Who Wants to Know What I Think About God”; Kathleen Norris’s “Afterward”; Naomi Shihab Nye’s “Why I Could Not Accept Your Invitation” or “The Art of Disappearing”.

5. I write/don't write poetry, but..............I write poetry, but I don’t feel comfortable calling myself a poet. I do sometimes, for the sake of simplicity, but it is always with a certain amount of uneasiness, as though I am claiming for myself something much bigger than I could ever understand, let alone be. In her book The Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris draws a parallel between the poet and the prophet, a parallel deemed uncannily applicable by that inner voice which speaks the authoritative “Yes” or “No” without my having much say in the matter. Writing poetry is rarely a completely willing activity on my part; it is more like breathing when inhalation is painful.

6. My experience with reading poetry differs from my experience with reading other types of literature.....Poetry takes me deeper much faster. It is less entertaining, for the most part, and more demanding.

7. I find poetry......everywhere, in nearly everything, although sometimes I have to purposefully look for it, and I may not always like what it’s saying. Always, though, I find poetry worthwhile, although this doesn’t apply to ALL poetry. I’m picky. The good stuff, though, is continually speaking, whether in words or in images or life.

8. The last time I heard poetry....was last night. The Older Daughter read her latest creation to us at the table. The latest draft of her latest creation, I should say. I would love to go to more (or any!) official poetry readings, but getting out at night is difficult when Great Scott doesn’t get home until 7 or 8, and we live an hour away from the nearest quality readings (in good weather). I pine.

9. I think poetry is like....a shining net woven of words. If done skillfully enough, it catches and holds meaning within it, something magical and mystical and at the same time very practical.

I'm tagging anyone who'd like to tackle this, but especially Julie and Michael and Beth.

Thanksgiving News

Over Thanksgiving, Michael Wells, editor of Rogue Poetry Review, announced that he was nominating one of my poems, "Mania", for inclusion in the 2006 Pushcart Prize Anthology. I'm honored for "Mania" to have been chosen, of course, as some of you know, since I emailed you to share the rejoicing.

One of you sent back a response that made me laugh aloud at the keyboard, probably because it so accurately captured how I felt, myself: "WAHOO! PUSHCART NOMINATION! AFFIRMATION, BABY!"

"Now that," said Great Scott, who had come to investigate my outburst, "is a man who understands!" Indeed.

If you follow the link from Rogue Poetry Review to read "Mania", I'd like to explain that it was written about the manic phase of bipolar disorder, a state often characterized by high energy, restlessness, sleeplessness, pressurized thoughts and speech and sometimes by rhyming "clanging" word association, and irritability capable of escalating into violent or other self-destructive behavior before crashing into depression. The mockingbird in the poem is the manic phase itself. Bipolar disorder is also sometimes associated with heightened states of creativity/production, and some people with the disorder are reluctant or refuse to take medication for fear no longer being able to create as fluidly and profusely as before--or even not at all.

A second note: I really, really DO like mockingbirds. A lot.

Aaaaaarrgghh!!

Great Scott was sitting on the floor flipping through the teacher’s guide of his literature textbook when his eye caught the phrase “endstopped line” in the back. At first he was pleased. Then I heard him say grimly, “Wait a minute. This is listed under the Index of Skills.”

Under the Index of Skills?!?!?

Can you hear the screaming from there?

On Writing Sonnets

Last week a very dear friend sent me a gift in the mail: Mark Jarman's Unholy Sonnets. I've been reading through these with a great deal of admiration. Sonnets--well done sonnets--fascinate and impress me. Personally, I very much enjoy writing sonnets, but am entirely unable to write serious ones. There is something about the form that for me invites absurdity in the act of composition. It's very sad. Truly.


Raining Cats and Frogs

When angels weep and startled toads descend
from out the cloud-veiled heavens in a burst
of rain, I strain in efforts to defend
my brain from overload. Unless we’re cursed
with Egypt’s ancient plagues I can’t see how
amphibians can shower from above.
And why not larger beasts (perhaps a cow)
the cherubs out of heaven thus might shove?
Still, since these frogs are croaking ‘round my feet
the best of it I set myself to make.
T’refuse angelic bounty is not meet,
so I will set aside my taste for steak
and, putting to good use what hast been given,
will glut on frog-legs lightning-fried in heaven.

Poetry Portal: Arteroids

Poetry can take you into whole new dimensions. Here's positive proof.

(Link gleefully borrowed from Traveller in an Antique Land.)