hungry for poetry

Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Passageway Notes: Tea

In Original Poetry, Passageway Notes, Writing on February 20, 2013 at 11:46 AM

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With dunes of dishes to do,

I work only to wash my bird cup

because there are patches over the sun

and water from the sky.

I fill the shell with filtered rain

and wait for its siren to wake,

smoking her screams out,

Wondering if the legends sang in tune

or sounded like this stovetop songstress,

aching as she climbs to uncomfortable scales.

Relieving the broken voice over herbal grounds

Six twists of pepper mill, two shakes of cayenne will

be the expectorant of poetry.

At the bottom of the perched vessel, rocking words to sleep,

the last wave of honey sea mixes with red sand and persuades

the black rocks of a seasoned beach to be washed away.

Passageway Notes: Triggers

In Original Poetry, Passageway Notes, Writing on January 24, 2013 at 1:48 PM

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Your triggering subjects are those that ignite your need for words. When you are honest to your feel­ings, that triggering town chooses you….Your obsessions lead you to your vocabulary.

quote from Richard Hugo, The Triggering Town

This week, my reading led me to this Richard Hugo essay. He discusses the idea of “triggering towns” for poets; towns that are not the writer’s hometown, but ones that ignite her need for language and serve as gateways for her imagination. Read the entire essay for all the interesting details; however, I thought it was apropos for Dream Hour readers to consider their own “triggering towns” which, most likely, are not towns at all. What are the places, subjects, ideals, or images that jolt you out of your every day operation? For my dog, any noise that comes from outside our house is a trigger for her to cock her head and perk her floppy ears up. Her obsession with unidentified noises, leads her often to the low-growl vocabulary of her kind. For me and this poetry thing I do, my triggers are often words or images that standout despite being quite ordinary. Some of my triggers for poetry this week included:

  • the moment when the bun on top of my head released itself suddenly, causing me to nearly spill the hot mocha in my hand;
  • these words spoken by my aunt in the context of two refrigerators full of major comfort food (hot dishes and desserts galore)…”If we run out of food, I can make chili;” and
  • A wind chime hanging from a front yard tree that was silent during a great wind storm because its middle was all tied up in a branch.

So, writing poetry is what I do when I encounter a triggering subject. What do you do? Hugo says these subjects trigger our need for words. He was talking in the context of writing poetry; however, you may be led by passion to speak about your triggers, write a letter, journal, share thoughts on a social media site, text a friend, or inner monologue and carry on. Words, words, all the same!

Final note, I pulled this elk photo from the Dream Hour archives, remembering that this lovely animal triggered a quick poem from me two summers ago.

Passageway Notes: Poeming to Remember

In Passageway Notes, Writing on January 16, 2013 at 10:06 PM

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA“Poetry has always functioned as a way to remember.”

I read the above line this week in The Poet’s Companion (one of my resolution books) and definitely agree with the authors’ assessment of one of poetry’s functions. Certainly, the act of writing in many forms can be a machine for memory: diary writing, recipe writing, memoir writing. Even fictional stories often serve the purpose of capturing true memories of historical periods, people, cultures, or emotions.

This week, I’m remembering a spectrum of things. Some hidden deep behind expired canned goods, some there just under the daily ‘to do’ list. Skiing as a child; last winter in Denver; a regret from this December; and family recipes. Most urgently, I’ve been remembering my grandmother who passed away this week. When I received news that she was gone, my first instinct was to open a new document and start writing down everything I could remember about her in numbered list format. As soon as a person is gone, we can panic that our memories will follow. In an age of ubiquitous photography and personal blogs (including minute by minute accounts of our days), perhaps the fear of forgotten memories fades. However, my grandma didn’t keep a blog and I have significantly less photos of her life (almost 90 years long) than I do of my daughter’s life (only 2 years short). So, I started to panic when the list seemed an inadequate representation of any grandmother, much less my grandmother.

A couple days later, I looked at the list with calmer eyes and could see it, not for its length or completeness, but as small things that happily remind me of my grandparent. More timid memories will present themselves on their own terms I’m sure. And of course outside of poetry, my family’s collective memory will contribute much to the continued process of getting to know someone even after her death. At the most local level of my grief and celebration, however, poeming will play an important role. While currently I have a list – rough and chilly, I know some of it will transform into poems, or that pieces will fit into the puzzle of other poems — poems not about my grandmother, but some how related.

To share just a little, here are a few things I remember about my grandma:

  1. She made amazing Monster Cookies — AH-mazing. The texture and balance of sweetness was perfection. Seriously, it was really difficult to share a batch of these.
  2. She enjoyed, and took very seriously, card-playing. Some of her fingers wouldn’t straighten all the way, so this made declaring her bids for tricks interesting.
  3. She always wanted to know if I’d been playing the piano, even when I was thirty and had not taken a lesson since I was twelve.
  4. She signed her letters “MN Grandma.” Even on the phone, she’d say, “Jessie? Hi, it’s Minnesota Grandma.”

What memories could a poem bring to life for you this week? Shy about poeming? — try starting with a bulleted list!

Updates on 2013 Writing Resolutions

  1. WRITE – Complete happy draft of full length poetry collection (Current Status: WIP A Confusing Season. This week, began note section on individual Growly pages to start tracking recurrent themes; revised and added a few new poem drafts)
  2. SUBMIT – Submit original poetry at least 12 times this year. (Current Status: Second submission sent to Third Coast Poetry Contest).
  3. EXPLORE & REFLECT – Read and complete exercises from 1) The Poet’s Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry and 2) The Portable MFA in Creative Writing (Current Status: Beginning Chapter 7 in The Poet’s Companion, feeling excited to see how the context and suggestions provided in this book affect my poetry).

Favorite WIP line to date: “He’s gone, popping away/under the pressure of a tiny man.

Refill Sunday: Poe for Halloween

In Pursuing Dreams, Refill Sundays on October 28, 2012 at 10:00 AM

From childhood’s hour I have not been/As others were–I have not seen/As others saw–I could not bring/My passions from a common spring.*

At a Halloween party last night, I walked the hallway of a church campus and encountered a young person dressed in a long coat and pants, high laced up boots, a make-up mustache, and a rounded hat. This character stood, back straight, reading a book. As I passed her (dressed in my comparatively lame bumble bee costume), she nodded and said ‘evening.’ With that one word, she made me want to follow her around all night. For a few minutes, I did eavesdrop on her conversations with other teens. She walked into the room of families eating potluck grub, followed by a couple other strangely-dressed teens, reciting lines from Annabel Lee and The Raven. She had her own glass potion bottle to drink from (so as not to break character by holding a paper, pumpkin-adorned dixie cup). Her friend asked, “What should we do next?” and Miss (Mr.) Poe replied, “Speak Latin. English is such a bore.” Oh my heart was overjoyed by this young person’s commitment to her character and by the surprising costumes of the young women at this party — they were literary figures and dark angels and musketeers. Not the usual site of too much skin and too little skirt that I often see at my door on Halloween. Seeing these young, smart, funny young women exploring confidence, character and authenticity made me feel hopeful for the world. So, dreamers, let’s take a cue from Miss (Mr.) Poe and be who we want to be this Halloween and thereafter evermore, evermore.

*from “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

Passageway Notes: Water and Poetry

In Passageway Notes, Writing on October 25, 2012 at 8:00 AM

A story is fluid. In the same hour, it exists as a puddle, an ocean, a waterfall, and a kitchen faucet. Its words sent afloat by storytellers. Its meaning flavored by time and emotion. Storytellers cross over, the remainders drift to distant shorelines and sewer lines. And it is for the new vessels, that we bottle a tale. To share a cool glass of history.

That is the opening paragraph for my WIP project. The draft is as close to completion as it has ever been (thumbs up for not moving backwards!). Finally broke free of the five year curse of one step forward, seven leaps back. Writing and rewriting; visioning and re-envisioning; loving and hating. Two trusty friends saved this uphill battle from defeat: 1) the water metaphor in the opening and  2) poetry! While I never let the absence of a good opening stop me from moving forward with writing, I’m never in the best groove until I have an opening that I am happy about. So, thank you, thank you — water so obvious and fitting, but I’ll drink obvious and fitting all day at this point!

And thank you to the poetry. At some point this week, I decided to insert selections of poems (by other authors) at the beginning of each section of the WIP. A common device for starting a chapter, but common doesn’t always occur to the tired-minded writer. The stanzas I chose tie together the meaning of a section for me and add a little art where I was seeing too much cement.

Here are the lines I chose for the first chapter:

“What can I give to you?/I do not know/Perhaps my words/Perhaps the way I look at you/Perhaps my memory/when I am no longer with you” -from I Love You People by Michael P. McKinley

On a roll and blessed with some unusual writing time this week!

Ejected Prayer

In Original Poetry, Pursuing Dreams, Writing on September 13, 2012 at 10:32 PM

There was an hour I spent once

in a town that became cool at sunset

with oak tree cashiers and sun ray solicitors,

a shoeless hour

on the last day before waking.

The dark hours I spend now appear usual, but

the flashlight shows me

the dismembered body of a stranger

and a white horse silently warning me to run.

Or is it to turn around?

Forgetting how to read and how to type,

I miss a flight with friends.

Regressing to that incompetent awake being

An ejected prayer from dreaming.

Poetry for a Birthday Girl

In Original Poetry, Writing on July 16, 2012 at 7:45 AM

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I see Africa today in a puddle on the courtyard where we said goodbye once.

I miss a song we sang in the back, back seat of a van we rode in to California.

I miss the cows mooing on a ranch we don’t remember in Montana.

I miss a story we tell about a cousin we don’t know anymore in Minnesota.

I miss a pizza restaurant that was only mediocre in Colorado.

A river in Wyoming, a camp site in Arizona, an apartment on the red line.

A musical in London, a dizzy day in Santorini, a ferris wheel in Germany.

A pose in Hawaii, a booth in North Carolina, a hill on the way to Vegas.

I see Africa today in a puddle on the courtyard where we’ve said goodbye many times.

I miss you.

An Exercise in Attentive Writing (Tag Line Love, Part I)

In Change, Pursuing Dreams, Writing on April 16, 2012 at 9:36 PM

“Promoting attentive writing and aggressive dreaming”

When I started using the above tag line on my Facebook and Twitter profiles, I didn’t know what I meant by the phrases “attentive writing” and “aggressive dreaming.” At the time, I just knew that I really liked both word pairings. A handful of people (of the Twitter variety) have commented on liking one or both of these ideas. Time to figure out what I mean by these phrases in case someone comes looking for a definition. Today, I’m tackling an exercise in “attentive writing” and will post a follow-up session on “aggressive dreaming” soon.

Attentive writing. Paying attention. Paying attention to the world. Paying attention to your writing. Paying attention to the world and writing about it. Hm, we seem a little caught up in the circle of “attention.” What does it mean to write attentively?

THE WARM UP (10 minutes of light definition)

  1. A state of awareness uncluttered by intent.
  2. A quality of truth unclouded by desire to be loved.
  3. Words because you feel them, not because you think them.

THE WORK OUT (20 minutes of intense word lifting)

The poetries, the mysteries, the power that be’s in words.
Sound. Sound. Soouuuund. Sowwwwwnd.
Sound wound up and yo yo yo’d down to the ground.
To get out of the brain. Then rebound. Up!
Sound ground rebound.
Somewhere around these words is a clue.
Looking for clues today.

THE COOL DOWN (5 minutes of Disney song parody)

She wants to be where the poems are. She wants to hear, wants to hear them spoken. Dancing around with those, what do they call them?…Oh, words!….

The definition-hunters are getting closer, I can hear the gallop of their winged horses. We’ll have to split up. You – leave a trail of well-formed sentences; you – take flight on form; I’ll head to the river with metaphors.

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