Confession Tuesday - Saint Monica of the Console Edition

It's that time again. Yes, it's been a week since my last confession. A week in which I laughed at Father's lame jokes during Mass, cleaned the dog-do off my wife's tennis shoes and swore life was too short to let other people's crap bring me down, and then I promptly let it. Now for the record, the crap I'm referring to was not what I scraped off my wife's shoes. Now to the confessional....



Dear Reader:

I confess that I'm worn slick by the drama of others. I've looked for ways to shake the negative drama dust off me but it seems to blow back with the wind. It gets all over other people, even people in our household, people you love just carry in (not wanting too) it just comes in on their shoes, in their hair, on their shoulders like it were dandruff. There is no shampoo for it, and this stuff ain't magic glitter!



And who swiped my creativity? I confess I've gone through a week of such lousy writing that this morning I wanted to post lost posters on poles asking if anyone has seen my missing creativity. I confess that I suspect a linkage between the drama dust and the absence of my creativity. It may also have been responsible for burnt corn dogs and the shocking escalation in grocery prices at Hy-Vee.



None of these things I've confessed are personal failings mind you, but I have another confession. The confession of a sneaky poet, a conniving poet, but a well meaning poet just the same. There is no one in my family who shares my appreciation or love of poetry. I'm not sure any of them suffer from metrophobia, that's quite severe, but they are clearly lacking the poetry DNA in their blood.



So this morning as we were driving into the city for work I carried out to the car my copy of Saint Monica (chapbook by Mary Biddinger) and strategically placed it on the faux turtle shell console between my place on the driver’s side and the passenger seat that would soon be occupied by my wife. I've done this before... a sneaky way of putting poetry out there within her reach. This time, I stopped at Quick Trip for my 52oz Diet Coke (what else?) and upon returning to the car, she was caught! Red handed! There she was reading, Saint Monica! She had finished one poem.... Saint Monica's Sweet Sixteen. I'm not sure but she may be scared.



Tomorrow is our 37^th wedding anniversary. I confess I’d like a do over. The deal is I want all the same players for the repeat 37 years. Same awesome woman… the same children.  I just want to relive those years again with them!



That’s it for today. Until next week, shake off all the negative dust!

Fathers

"It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters

 who I remember he was."   — Anne Sexton

Confession Tuesday - Where is my book edition?

It's been one crazy fantasy baseball week since my last confession. My team worked it's was to 4th place briefly and tumbled back to 8th place out of 12 teams.

Dear Reader-

Patience is not one of  my strong points. Oh I can be patient about some things... actually many things, but never when I've ordered a book.

It's one of the reasons I often order from Amazon. They tend to get be relatively quick to ship. I guess I  had a soft spot and ordered direct from a publisher recently.  I thought hey, let's support the small publisher.  I confess I am however sitting here tonight thinking, where's my book!  And yes, I did check my mail box first thing.  Ok, I admit I was wanting my book a hour after ordering. I know I'm unrealistic. It's a sickness I have when I want a book.  I won't even suggest that I'll try to be more patient in the future. I swear on a stack of poetry books I cannot lie.

~0~

As you can see from the intro to this post my fantasy league baseball team has been on roller coaster ride. It's a new week and my team goes head to head against another team.  I'm reminding myself the academic lesson of baseball managing in real life and fantasy league. The season is too long to get hung up on highs and lows. Things change. I confess I've been repeating this over and over all weekend.

~0~

I saw a poem on a poetry site recently that I had written several years ago, I confess that while I recognized the title and my name appeared attributed to it but it read better then I remembered it.  I actually had to go back and find a copy of it I had save just to make sure it wasn't another Michael Wells that had authored it.  Boy do I feel silly.

~0~

I confess that I'm all confessed out.  Thanks for stopping by - See you next week!  Be safe & have a good week!

Poetry Helps Us Connect

[I received this as an e-mail today - passing along]

by Michelle Obama, U.S. First Lady

When I was young, I was a passionate creative writer and sort of a poet. That's how I would release myself. Whenever I was struggling in school, or didn't want to go outside and deal with the nonsense of the neighborhood, I would write and write and write and write. I think it was my writing that sort of prepared me for so much of what I've had to do in my life as an adult.

Robert Frost once wrote, "A poem begins as a lump in the throat." In writing poetry, you all put words into that kind of emotion. You give voice to your hopes, your dreams, your worries and your fears. And when you do that, when you share yourself that way, and make yourself vulnerable like that, you're taking a risk. And that's brave.       Read more

Let me recommend a blog...

If you have a spare moment this weekend and you have not already seen this blog, I recommend it.  For several weeks now I've been reading Writing with Celia.  Her Friday post was really a good reminder of things I should know and need to keep reminding myself.  The post Poetry Revision 101, Lesson Four: Do I Sound Fat in This Poem?  As the title implies she has been doing a series of these poetry revision posts.


On another note... weather turned out fine for last reading last night in Excelsior Springs.

Bubble Wrapped Morning

When I started the day it looked like the near future had rain in store for us. Suddenly the sky got the green light and the rain came. 

Tonight I am supposed to be in Excelsior Springs for a reading. North of Kansas City - more small townish than urban and what seems to be a somewhat well beaten path for sever storms that pass north of Kansas City.

My fingers are crossed that the weather isn't cause for people staying away from the event. 

Of Ponderance and Brain Freeze

Great questions posed by Jeannine - Relative Success, Relative Failure - Life as a Poet.  Lots of food for thought.  No easy answers to these questions. Also the dialogue Nic Sebastian has been having on exposure for poetry - (see her post at Want Poetry Readers? Publish in multiple formats - some free) gives poets a lot to think about.  Then I read an article today... The author as entrepreneur, and the dangers it poses.  The author talks about a program similar to Kiskstarter but specifically for writers.

There are just so many things for writers to ponder today.

Everyday Saint

 After absorbing the Mary Biddinger interview that appeared Febuary at The Fine Delight - Catholicism in Literature the newly receased chapbook has moved on my radar from want to read to must read!

It seemed to me upon reading the interview that (the idea) Saint Monica came to Mary in almost a casual way and I find it fasinating - the transformation from this inception into a series poems bringing the saint into the everydayness.

I've only read one of the poems at this point but have seen the titles of a number of them this has been enough to hook me. That and the cultural aspect of Catholicism and poetry molded together.  The book just came out on June 1st and is available at: Black Lawrence Press  or Amazon.

Confession Tuesday - Daydreaming Edition

Dear Reader...

It's been a week since my last confession and I'm back to lay everything out in the open.

I confess that as I was driving this evening after work I was daydreaming.( For the record, this was before I picked my wife up. She thinks I can't drive and do anything else safely.)  At the right you will see the Center for Preforming Arts here in Kansas City that is under construction.  This morning as I passed it I wished I had taken a picture of it so tonight I did.  And as I proceeded to drive I thought about what a cool place if will be to attend the Symphony Orchestra. Then a funny thing happened. I suddenly got to thinking about the building filled to capacity for an event. Actually it was an unlikely event. Yes, I pictured thousands of people, myself included attending a poetry reading at the new facility. Can you picture this? Wouldn't it be awesome?

I'm not sure what brought this on. Maybe it's because I've had readings on my mind lately. But I admit it would be cool to see a packed house in a building this size taking in poetry.  I understand that in Russia they have filled stadiums for poetry readings.  I confess I wish more people valued poetry in America they way they do in many other countries.

On a side note I have been in a pretty good sized theater for a Mary Oliver reading that was packed. Nothing the size of the Center for Preforming arts though.

What am I Doing this Week?

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.  ~ Anais Nin



It's a new week.  I'm thinking about Anais Nin's words.  I'm thinking about the difference between writing and writing that is meaningful. Note to self... Step back and look at what you write and revise this week. Even if it is about the familiar, how does it offer a fresh perspective, a different view or image. Am I writing or is this meaningful. If it is not meaningful can I call it art?

Influence

The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt. ~  Frederick Buechner


Reading Frederick Buechner's words above struck me tonight in many different ways. While Buechner may well have been thinking more in terms of the example our life leaves for others, I was also thinking about how far our influence goes in other areas such as art. Our own tastes in art. Our own creations in art. The influence of one's creativity on others. Really any influence we have on others can ultimately travel far. When we write a poem - paint a picture or create a song don't we really hope that it touches someone else?  The more someones the better.

Stepping Out

Unfolding before me
an accordion of dark.

Leaving behind
incandescence,
hope, italicized security.

Each step grayer
in doubt than the last.

Each footing more
to the dark side

a narrowing aperture
a pinhole possibility.

2011 © Michael A. Wells

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader:

It's been one week since my last confession. One week that was shifter to create a 3 day weekend.  Let me start by confessing that yes I think all weekends should be 3 days long.

To the right is a picture taken recently of Barry on a walk with me. It's not a great photo but it's a family photo. This brings me to my first confession tonight. Okay, it's really my second for admitting what should be the obvious... 3 day weekends rule!  But back to the photo thingy.  All my life I've been fond of photos. During my teenage years I started a practice that continued for years. I would shot a roll of film (you remember rolls?) and pitch it in a drawer. This would be repeated many times. Seldom did I unload the camera and run to have it developed. We wouldn't want to do anything rash!

So periodically I would reach in a drawer - usually under some entirely different pretense, but pull out a roll and get it off to process. The beauty of this approach is you were often totally surprised at what you got. Sometimes pictures 4 to 7 years old. Yep! I was that bad.

Imagine how excited I was with digital photography. The only problem is that I recently though about it and I have not been good about pulling all these photo files into a singular location. I'm sure I've lost some on computer drives I no longer have available to me. Or phones... though I think most of them recently I've been able to back up.  But this whole worry over photos came about as I was reminiscing recently over photos we shot as the kids were growing up. I confess that I not only want to pull all the digital stuff together, I'd like to (cough!) get hard copies of many of them printed and organized in an album.

~0~

While I've fallen the last 45 days off the submission wagon (this is a confession) - I began my rebound over the weekend.  And I've already received a rejection!  I think it hit me in the but when I turned around.  Alas, I will be sending more this week!

~0~

I spent some time this weekend cleaning out e-mail. Yes, I admit I am an e-mail hog! I confess that I keep e-mail I should delete and it grows overnight in my inbox. I swear it reproduces!  Every once and a while I will do a tidy up - but I admit, I would do well to delete daily.  Sometimes I just think I may need to go back to something so I don't immediately deal with it. I think it's disease.

~0~

I was at a similar today so I've actually been out of the office since Friday.  I confess tomorrow looms intimidatingly close. (sigh)


Thanks for stopping by. Have a great week and may your e-mail be under control!

Journal Bits May 8th to May 29th

An overdue sampling from my journal:

• May 7: "The summer sun ray/shifts through a suspicious tree,/though I walk through the valley of the shadow/it sucks the air /and looks around for me" from Noon Walk on the Asylum Lawn - Anne Sexton
• May 15: The evening feels like it is sagging under some melancholy weight. I think about pictures of our past. Pictures in the dining room on Baltimore of Cath and the kids making chocolate candies in the molds.
• May 15: I want sidewalks of ribboned parchment where people stop to take note of thoughts. - I want a big dark riped Black Diamond watermelon for a buck ninety-eight.
• May 17: I confess I'd like to do a writing residency but I don't see that happening anytime soon. ...I would surely be a basket case being away from home.
• May 17: His sigh became mine/in this we found common ground/mine was round and hollow/ringing true to the exasperation...
• May 21: Listing a few words that I'd like to incorporate into writing soon- pollen / flicks / abrasive /preens / condense / peril / khaki /muzzle
• May 22: there was a browning/of mountains that/marched downward...
• May 25: There isn't time to percolate/there's calamity in the cosmos/we should walk it off/crying is for sissies
• May 29: We followed the almanac/in the night sky   except/for the ten days we could see/nothing but overcast smokers//breath...

Capturing that Childlike Wonder

"It would not hurt that we live our lives with childlike wonder. Have you asked yourself lately: "When was the last time I saw something for the first time?" ~ Cecilia Borromeo

A Place to Kill Some Time. You Won't Regret It!

If you are looking for some awesome poetry to read / listen to - I have just the recommendation. Today I settled in and took in Nic Sebastian's Forever Will End on Thursday .  Just as Nic had done with the audio of poems by many others, she delighted me with her readings.  The writing is strong, the reading is captivating. I've heard so few people even come close to adding such a positive dimension to any one's work orally. Some people are more into spoken word poetry. I don't considered myself one of them. While I personally do enjoy giving readings and going to readings-- if I had to choose between the written word and spoken word I would choose written hands down. I'm pretty visual about poetry in that I like to see how it fills the page. That said, Nic has the ability to make the words on a page mystical.

By the way, one of my favorites among her poems as part of the link above is Oboe. In the Poems II section there are three poems that are titled  Places of Happiness (followed by three different places) each of these have such a bright lyrical quality.  I can't really do any of these poems justice here... go and listen for yourself!  Which ones speak to you?

An Editor's View

We sometimes received - and I would read - 200 manuscripts a week. Some of them were wonderful, some were terrible; most were mediocre. It was like the gifts of the good and bad fairies. ~ Marilyn Hacker

Magpie Tales 67 / Poem: Dangerous Liaison

just past the hour of lunacy

I made love on my Mandolin

melody riper then the grapes missed

on the vines

bread  broken and settled

the talk fallen to slumber

women seriously quiet

music all there was between us

fools we were drunk on our own

magical creations

2011 © Michael A. Wells






Magpie Tales 67

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader:

It's been one week since my last confession. One week of monstrous tornadoes. Here I am tripping over the clock to make it to the confessional before midnight.

I confess that I have the people of Joplin, Missouri on my mind. And those in Oklahoma, Kansas, Arkansas and anywhere else that have been faced with loss of life and property due to the mammoth sized tornadoes that have struck this week - more even tonight.  I've spent my entire life living in tornado alley so I'm not unaccustomed to tornado watches and warnings.  While these were not a threat to our immediate area, when you live in the the states of Missouri, Kansas, Arkansas and Oklahoma you never take your safety from such storms for granted.  A good part of Joplin, Missouri was just decimated and the death toll is something around 120 and people are still unaccounted for.  Shocking and sad.

I have to admit I've fallen of the submission wagon. After a really good start to this year I confess I just seem to have fallen and can't get up. Considering I had really good response to my early flurry of submissions it seems like you would think I would learn that submissions are the key to successful publication where as those who don't submit don't publish. Hitting myself over the head - well duh! I confess I need like a week long campaign to get back up to speed. I think I will plan to start that over memorial weekend.

With that affirmation of a plan to do better - I'll call this confession a wrap.

May your week be a safe and productive one.

Under The Influence...

There is a boundary to men's passions when they act from feelings; but none when they are under the influence of imagination.  ~    Edmund Burke
I'm thinking I need to write more often under the influence...

Dead Poet Mentor Series Part 3 - Censoring Yourself

This week Anne seems to be reinforcing a notion that is not new to me but one that I still neglect (perhaps intentionally) to adhere to often enough in my writing.

In reading some of Sexton's poems from her book Transformations again, I see a poet (artist) stretching her work in what I must presume to be beyond a comfort level. Sexton is not at this point in her life new to taking her work into what would surely be uncomfortable zones for most people, but for example in Rapunzel she approaches the poem in what for 1970 must surely have been a most difficult light to offer to the general public to read. She writes:

"A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young...
they would play rummy / or lie on the couch / and touch and touch / old breast against young breast"

In a September 22, 1970 letter to her agent Claire Degener, Anne speaks of two of the Transformation poems (Rapunzel and Sleeping Beauty) as her best. She tells Claire they have been turned down by the New Yorker. Of course I could only be surmising if I suggested the New Yorker found the poems to have pushed the envelope a little too far for the time.  There could have been any of a number of other reasons that they were not picked up by the magazine, but Sexton was no stranger to them. Sexton had no less they 21 poems published by them making her a bit of a New Yorker hog!

Transformations was published the following year - 1971.  Even a writer familiar with and critical of the work prior to publication came around and decided he had over reacted to it.  Transformations went on to become highly acclaimed in spite of taboo subjects.

Was Sexton brave or simply not at all concerned about public perception?  Did she truly have the discipline as a writer to not self censor?  Whatever the answer is, the fact remains that her body of work exhibits a willingness to take her writing to places that most would intentionally back away from.  And to her credit, Sexton has to be viewed as a significantly influential poet of her time.
Her lesson here... You've heard if form others coaching you.. don't let fear dictate what you might have written, move past your comfort zone.

Dead Poet Mentoring Series:

Part One - My Selection

Part Two - Anne Sexton From Beyond

Magpie 66 / Poem: Timeline

birth

transformative

thoughts to ink

ink to page

page after page

after page

pressed

bound

catalogued

2011 © Michael A. Wells







Magpie Tales 66

Confession Tuesday - Taco Plate Edition

It's that time again.  Time to head to the confessional...   Dear Reader~  It's been one week since my last confession. One week more work then I care to recount, so much rain that I could hear my grass growing, nights with the furnace on followed by air conditioning... it's all very exasperating.

Looking back on the week I must confess that I was not one who was surprised by Donald Trump's decision not to run for President. I also confess that I'm a tiny bit disappointed but mostly because I would like for him to reach the public realization that he's not all that! If this is mean spirited then I confess to being that too.

Today my wife and I had lunch together at this little authentic Mexican restaurant. The place could politely be described as rustic. Cathy had already eaten there and had been talking it up so I decided to treat her to lunch together so I could experience it with her. I confess that I only needed three tacos but I pigged out with five. That is the actual platter above. She was right - there tacos are awesome.  I also confess that I tried two of their sauces and wished that I had brought my own. Would I be tacky next time to bring a bottle with my own taco sauce?

I confess lately I've had writing residencies on my mind.  I've though about what experiencing one would be like and yet I don't see the prospect of one anytime soon. The other thing that comes to my mind when I think about a residency is that if I was on one for any extended period of time I'd probably be a basket case being away from home. None of this even seems like it is worthy of my time to think about it but that has never stopped me from thinking about things in the past.

I'm about all confessed out for the night... here's hope that your week all that you wish it to be!

Poetry Out Loud and With Distance

 A strange alchemy happens when the poem is read aloud that allows the writer to perceive it more purely, with more distance.  ~ Beth Ann Fennelly

Magpie Tales 65 - Poem: The Origin

Where do the winds of Assisi

that sweep birds aloft,

dash butterflies gently off course

originate? Winds that kissed

the bearded face of St. Francis

that brought stillness to all creatures

around him. Their assemblage

replete with order.

Is there a beginning of such grace?

Does it start of nowhere and become?

Is it thrown swiftly underhand

by God himself?

And when it settles—   where

does it go?




2011© Michael A. Wells



Magpie Tales 65

Confession Tuesday

Tuesday brings me to the confessional once again.

Dear Reader:

It's been one office baseball day and another official work sanctioned holiday since my last confession.

No wonder last week seemed to go by fast. Admittedly the perception of how fast the week is going by can have an impact on my general disposition. It's true. For example since we had Monday off it made the weekend a three day weekend form me and this coupled with being out of the office most of the day Thursday for our office Royals baseball event really has impacted my view of both last week and the week. I confess this is however not all good, It make the week seem to go quickly which I love. It can also add pressure to get more done in less time. It's the price you pay for the added value of time away from the office.

Friday night after work I attended the second exhibition of Jennifer Rivera's work at the Apex Art Space in the Crossroads District. This is the exhibition that combined poetry and painting and included two of my own poems along with the artist's painting.  This was an art date for me. A time to spend in communion with art and just take it in. To breath and experience. The first exhibition had many of my friends in attendance and I tried to spend time with each of them. It was and awesome experience but did not give me quite the ability to experience as much of the work. I confess the attention from the first night was nice, but the more reflective nature of this second experience was nice too.  I confess that I need to experience more art dates.

May your week go fast and you find some art in the world to experience!

Hungry Baby

The hungry baby pictured to the right is a baby robin nesting upon the light fixture between our two garage doors. I've been watching the mother for over a week now but this us the first time I've seen the baby. Mom has been especially tolerant of our coming and going in the car and other movement out front - though she draws the line with the garage doors themselves.

It seems we've had a bumper crop of birds this spring. Wrens, sparrows, robins, blackbirds.  Over the winter months there were both cardinals and blue jays. I'm fascinated with birds.  While I've used them on occasion in poems I've written, I don't recall going overboard with them in my writing or particularly writing specifically about them other the the geese that frequent our neighborhood during two periods each year.

It's a warn sunny day today, I have the day off work due to the birthday of Harry S Truman. I've been tackling a number of things today which fits right along with Kelli Agodon's post today. I loved it when Kelli fields questions from her readers. This post is titled: How DO You Get So Much Done?
Check it out!

Anyway, I've got more stuff to do, just checking in for now. Likely will post again much later.

Another First Friday Opportunity - Synesthesia - Poetry and Painting Exhibit Tomorrow Night

In case you missed it last month - or just want to take it in again, tomorrow is First Friday in the crossroads art district and Jennifer Rivera's Exhibition titled Synesthesia is open at Apex Art Space -  1819 Wyandotte - Kansas City, Missouri  from 6 - 9 PM. Synesthesia combines the art of poetry and painting. Jennifer has 37 paintings on display along with the poetry which inspired her creation. Two of my poems and her paintings are among them.  Music - Painting - Poetry all make for a fun night.  Hope to see you there!

A Rilke Moment

He reproduced himself with so much humble objectivity, with the unquestioning, matter of fact interest of a dog who sees himself in a mirror and thinks: there's another dog.  ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Confession Tuesday - My Cheese edition

It’s been one office move (my wife’s), lots of road construction and an end to National Poetry Month since my last confession.

Dear Reader:

Someone has moved my cheese. There was a book (author’s name escapes me) that came out in the 90’s or maybe it was even the 80’s titled Who Moved My Cheese and it dealt with how people handle change or disruption.

During this past week my wife’s office relocated. The new location is actually closer to my own office and my initial thoughts were this is a good thing. But even changes that are good can sometimes be stressful or disrupt the normal order of things. Some people do better than others with such changes. I confess that I am not one of them. There may be a lot of disorder in my life but it’s my disorder and I am accustomed to it.

The biggest issue with the move really has more to do with orange barrels then anything else. I don’t know about other states but in Missouri orange barrels and road construction are synonymous. Rather then driving in towards town, exiting before we hit downtown and dropping my wife and the proceeding through city streets I’ve driven for years it means we take the highway all the way into downtown. This involves portions of highway that are down to two lanes. It’s slower and sometime akin to a highway parking lot. I confess that right now I see a long summer of Interstate-70 delays.

This last week has also seen a disruption in my writing. Actually two weeks now, I really need to discipline myself better. I feel right now I’m teetering on the verge of being unbalanced and falling. I confess this and my cheese being moved has gotten to me.

Magpie Tales - 64 Poem: Mother

Mountains I remember.
The rocky earth
not that distant
from our splintered cabin
but there is a dearth
of mother in my memories.

I'm told as a baby
I was held a fixture
in her arms, took from her
breast and was lavished
with attention.


A hushed woman
but one to hold
her place
in the rustic life
she was given
until she vanished
from all but the faint
recall of people.

2011 @ Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 64

**sigh**

It has occurred to me that I have a growing number of early drafts in journal and saved in various places that I need to get organized better so that I can actually go to them to work on them.

For a while I was really good about organizing these but it's gotten out of hand.

Anne Sexton from Beyond - Part Two in my Dead Poet Mentor Series

This week I've continued to be in communication with my dead poet mentor. Our communication has taken on several forms. The most common has been to speak to me through her poems. Let me explain what this has looked like. As I've read through various of Sexton's works this week some have been worthwhile reads but have not  elicited any remarkable internal reactions. On other occasions however, I've been prompted to consider fresh ideas on which to draw from in writing. I'm not talking about writing on the same subject as the poem in question, but rather drawing upon an image I'm finding within her words or seeing something that has taken me back to some experience of my own from the past that I'm seeing - unfold in some freshly developing language that I believe will carry over at some point into my writing.

Another way that Anne has been communicating with me is through her letters. Anne Sexton, like many poets of this same period was a prolific letter writer.  It's pretty easy to get inside Anne's head in these writings. I say this because these letters leave her quite vulnerable to anyone who would read them.  I've spent a good deal of time and energy studying Sylvia Plath and there is a stark difference between Sexton's letters and those in Plath's published, "Letters Home."

If one compares Sylvia's "Letters Home" and her Journals side-by-side, it becomes clear that what Sylvia was saying to her mother and what she was journaling  were often quite different. If one did not know any better you might even conclude these were not written by the same person.  Plath were out of her way to paint a picture for her mother's benefit that was about controlling the message. Her journals seem on the contrary to be a much more honest assessment of the authentic Plath.  This too is how Anne appears in her letters, authentic to a fault.  I'll have more to say about Anne's letters at a later time, but the point I am making now is they are quite revealing.

The last aspect of Anne's communication is through biographical material.  While Biographers may sometimes extrapolate on certain facts to reach differing conclusions, we can come to learns some things about a person that seem to be indisputable. When we learn some important truths about a person's life - it can help us to understand how these thing come to inform that person's writing.

So you have a bit of the "how" part of of my mentoring under a dead poet. Later in this series I'll talk more in depth about what Anne has actually been conveying to me.

 Part One - My Selection

Many Making Their Own Reality - Donald Trump Only Encourages This

If I may deviate from poetry for a moment... my apology to readers but it seems we in this country have deviated from very pressing matters to engage in at a minimum silliness and arguably a very blatant hate bating. 

Birtrhers have for half of a presidency continued to question the legitimacy of Obama's Presidency on the basis of his nationality. They have done so in spite of the existence of birth records. This craziness has continued and many prominent Republicans have encouraged it with half backed responses when questioned. "Well, I take him at his word," is only an encouragement for others to continue to question

Enter Donald Trump... his nearly daily questioning and insistence on the president producing a long form certificate brought this story into the mainstream media. His circus atmosphere came with sweeping accusations that he has had people on the ground to flush out the truth, that truth he insinuates is that the president is a fake, a fraud!

Of course Trump - who threatens that he (Trump) is the last person Obama wants to run against, has provided no evidence contrary. He has not produced these people "on the ground." Words, all words. And words don not truth make. 

Now that Obama has released the long form certificate, Trump says he is glad he got the president to do something no one else could. And he adds he hopes it is authentic, but says it's too early to say. Meanwhile Trump has started another question to Obama's integrity. He now says that he has talked to many people who have informed him that Obama was not a very good student. And Trump has many friends who should have been able to get into Harvard but didn't... so, how is it that Obama got in? This is where Trump plays the race card. After all, how could Obama possibly have been qualified for Harvard Law School? 

Lies! Trump is a blatant liar! He throws out this stuff as if fact, knowing full well that an unbelievable large segment of the population is gullible enough to believe it without any foundation of truth offered simply because they want to believe it.

Will Trump really run for president? Maybe... but I'm not counting on it. I think he has two objectives in mind. First, to boost his ego and ratings on his TV series and second, to play the bad guy... to be the hammer that pounds away at Obama to try and bring his numbers down in the poll. He never has to run, in fact will be accountable for much less if he never actually enters the race. 

He's the tough talking guy that fires people on a TV reality show. Reality show? Trumps view of reality is whatever he wants it to be. Much the same as every other birther.

Confession Tuesday

It's Tuesday again and I find myself at the virtual confessional.

Dear Reader-

It's been one mowed lawn and lots of rain since my last confession. I confess I'm fearful how high it will be by the time it is dry enough to mow.

This week I am dog sitting so it is later then normal by the time I settle in for the night.  Looking after these two dogs, it is still much quieter then at home.  I had expectations of getting a lot of writing done in the evenings this week but so far I've brought office work home with me every night. I confess that I'm conflicted by this. On one hand I want to walk way from the office clean and not have to think about it till the next day.  At the same time, getting a bit of work done in the evening makes the next day not quite so overwhelming.

While driving an listening to  NPR this week I heard a story about the two remaining (long running) soap operas coming to an end soon.  I confess I felt a bit sad and I'm not a consumer of their programing.  The thing is that recalling the women in my life, most if  not all at one time or another were dedicated watchers.  I realize this is the end of an era. Grandmothers to daughters to granddaughters passed down this practice and in many cases obsession.  In a way, soap operas were sort of the social media of yester-year. You couldn't text but many people probably spent more time then they should have watching them and then everywhere women gathered they talked about the characters like real people in their lives.

I confess that I've been living on the edge these past couple of days.  Sunday we had a flat and I put the donut (spare) on and have been driving with it since.  That of course means I'm now driving with no spare. And another confession...the other three tires are at the end of  their life as well. I've replaced all four this afternoon and I confess I will feel better driving tonight.

Lately I have been more focused while working on a manuscript.  I'm starting to see threads that pull a number of poems together and this is both scary and exciting at the same time.  I just hope this is not a case of the Monkey House as Kelli puts it.

I give you the images I know...

“I cannot promise very much.

I give you the images I know.

Lie still with me and watch.

We laugh and we touch.

I promise you love. Time will not take that away.”

 

~Anne Sexton

 

The images I know tonight...

 

• A sofa of zig-zagged pillows.
• An asphalt road that curves right - forever. 
• A bird nest driven into a tree by tornadic winds.
• The river running rampant outside its banks.
• A starless sky adrift upon ceiling.
• Tired brown eyes - like no other,

Magpie Tales - 62 - Poem: Gemini Sunrise

A Gemini sunrise
medium, split open—
the morning
bread was broken
the day began

 
 

2011 © Michael A. Wells

 
Magpie Tales 62

Cats & Writers

A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys. ~Barbara Holland


Photo: Evie -  whiteboard

Thursday Thought - Charles Simic

"Here in the United States, we speak with reverence of authentic experience. We write poems about our daddies taking us fishing and breaking our hearts by making us throw the little fish back into the river. We even tell the reader the kind of car we were driving, the year and the model, to give the impression that it’s all true. It’s because we think of ourselves as journalists of a kind. Like them, we’ll go anywhere for a story. Don’t believe a word of it. As any poet can tell you, one often sees better with eyes closed than with eyes wide open."    — Charles Simic



In the darkness of my mind
it's cobwebbed cold
strings flap in the current
that blows       grease are frozen
in flight        and still against the hope
that dawn brings a thaw
and wisps of interest that is lacking
as the stars are silent

© 2011 - Michael A. Wells



Closing your eyes... what do you see?

Dead Poem Mentor Series - Part One: My Selection

As I have mentioned before, while mentoring under another poet it was recommended to me that I select a dead poet mentor; a concept that seemed a bit odd at first but grew on me as I came to visualize the possible benefit. With so many dead poets (you know how most people think they all are dead) I had quite a field to choose from.

I’ve read (and own) an extensive collection of biographical martial, poetry and letters on Sylvia Plath a as well as Ted Hughes. I know Plath well enough already that I will sometimes read little things that I instantly know to be at odds with most biographical material and I therefore passed on Plath for the simple reason I have already become well acquainted with her and I want my dead poet mentor to be able to reveal new things to me. 

In the end, it would be Anne Sexton that I would choose for a couple of reasons but the priority in this selection was placed upon the fact that Anne was not schooled in poetry in the traditional manner. No MFA or anything close to the academic equivalent for those times. Yes she took some classes and workshops from the likes of Lowell and other well known poets but her formal education was limited. She came to poetry initially as a form of therapy but in the end her work progressed to the point that she was able to carve out an acceptance among the academics of her time. Her reputation would ultimately earn her teaching positions at several universities. In a way I view Anne Sexton as the patron saint of the “self made” poets. She was able to elicit help from others, but she found her own way to the success she achieved as an enormously significant voice among 20th century poets.

So at least for the time being, Anne Sexton is my choice for a dead poet mentor. To learn as much as I can about her, about her work, to be able discern her particular voice. To turn to her at times for inspiration and to get past writing blocks and at moments of need, to ask the question, “What would Anne do?”


And the great thing is she can’t say no to me.


* Series continues.

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader-

It's been 6 says since my "late" non-confession confession. 

In the past week it has occurred to me that I've done very little for the sake of National Poetry Month this year.  Normally I do a very nicely printed - special edition - numbered broadside. I elected not to do it this year, or my budget sort of made that decision for me.  I decided not to do a-poem-a day either. I confess that I'm not especially disappointed on the latter but I do regret I don't have the broadsides to distribute.

I've never been a big fan of the hiaku.  I've written a few and occasionally I hear one that I like but I'm just not a big fan for the from. A poetry friend recently gave me a book entirely of baseball hiaku.  I confess that I've been enjoying these bits that seem to roll of the page like a seeing eye single that slips through the infield for a hit.  Golden little gems.

I had another rejection letter today and I confess I should be busy sending out more work tonight but I'm tired and maybe tomorrow night.  Definately tomorrow night.

That's it for this week. A little boring perhaps - but hey, I'm on time!

Have a graet week!  

Monday Morning Disclaimer

I did a bit of a makeover on Stickpoet this weekend... I'm contemplating a few other changes but they should be minimal. I hope the background is agreeable to readers. While I liked my old color scheme some had indicated the background art made it difficult to read.

My "Dead Poet Mentor" series which was to have started over the weekend has been delayed in part to get the Terresa Wellborn Interview up and to make the aesthetic changes to the blog site. Look for the Series to start on Wednesday.

Double Excitement

It's always exciting to have one of your pieces of work appear in a venue that you've never apeared in before.  It's double exciting if that Journal is Rose and Thorn! 

The Spring Issue is out and I have a poem titled House Arrest that is appearing in it.  Check out the Spring Issue by clicking here!

Today I'm in two places at once...

A Thanks to Terresa Wellborn at The Chocolate Chip Waffle for featuring me today as her visiting poet.

Terresa will actually be featured here soon as we have been working on an interview. She is an incredible writer and a source of great creative inspiration.  I often go to her site whenever I stymied in front of a page just to recall how potent we can be with words when we open ourselves up and not self censor.

WWAD?

"Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone." ~ Anne Sexton

What Would Anne Do?  -  Starting this weekend I will begin writing on my encounters with the dead poet Anne Sexton. I'm not having a seance, or toying with an Ouija board. It's nothing quite that dramatic.  But sometime back I was urged to select a dead poet mentor and Anne Sexton was the choice.  This weekend learn why I chose Anne and what I'm doing to figure out how she can help me with my poetry as I star a series of posts on What Would Anne Do?

Confession Tuesday and spending time with my dead poet mentor

I was struck today by the realization that I missed Confession Tuesday.  Not struck by  the realization - like oh yeah... I meant to do that and forgot. No I realized very late today that on man it wasn't even on my my radar! As such, I'm not even going to stumble through a late one because I really haven't thought about the past week that much. In fact if I was going to confess anything it would be that I've been living in the present so much this week that I can't really think back or ahead that much. So I guess I just confessed and I wasn't going to.

I have spent some time the past few days with my dead poet mentor. I'll have more to say about this over the weekend. So stay tuned if you want to know more about my relationship with a dead poet.

Please...

Tell me again why they don't just know to show up?

Laps around the track and Internet - or What you might have missed

With Barry aboard, I set out for the track this morning.  The weather was springlike and forecasts for a high in the 90's today are certainly believable.


We did two miles around the quarter mile loop. For Barry's little legs it must have seemed like ten.  Over night showers left standing puddles amid the grassy areas.  The wooded area seemed alive with fowl. That I could identify - both male and female robins and a male cardinal. There were many others that I was uncertain about but it was soothing to hear the chirping and feel the wind on my face. I of course will likely pay later for sinus allergies.


No breakfast before I left.  Came home and made one lonely waffle and had sugar-free Log Cabin syrup atop it.


Before I settle in for a bit of Saturday writing, I have a few items from around the Internet this week worth mentioning.  It seems to have been an especially good week in terms of blog content for many of the blogs I read routinely.  A few items I'd like to direct readers to in the event you've overlooked or otherwise missed:

• After the Artist's Way - Portrait of a Sometimes Poet - Bird Flight Studied and Simulated  I found this video fascinating!
• Advise to Young Writers - an interview with Susan Rich for The Writers Connection. Like her take on dead poet mentors.
• Jeannine Hall Gailey's Things I'd Wish I'd Known When I Was a Younger Writer.  I would add to her list, I wish I had started writing at a younger age!
• An earlier voice of Kelli Russell Agodon at Mediterranean Poetry
• Red Shoes by Terresea Wellborn.   Love this poem!
• Global Words For Change - Diane Lockward
• Bringing a little research to your poetry - Kelli Russell Agodon

Trump: I have 'real doubts' that Obama was born in the US

Guess What:   I have real doubts that Trump's hair is his birth hair.

A poem showcases itself

A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else.  A poem points to nothing but itself. - E. M. Forster

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader: It’s been one 90 degree day, one fabulous First Friday Art exhibit, one front lawn mowed (already) and gas over three and a half bucks since my last confession.

The weather has been typical Missouri. Cold one day and hot the next and you guessed it, cold again. Mark Twain used to say if you don’t like the weather in Missouri then stick around, it will change. I confess I like the concept of changing of seasons but I really like weather that is between upper sixties to mid-seventies. This schizophrenic a/c one day and heat the next is not my favorite thing.

-0-

I confess that I was surprised how many of my friends came out to see the Jennifer Rivera Synesthesia Exhibition at the Apex Art Space on Friday. I confess that I was completely overwhelmed that my son purchased one of the two paintings that Jennifer did in response to poetry I had written. I really enjoyed seeing the art work and could easily become a First Friday Addict.

-0-

My Giants have dropped three games of a four game series to the Dodgers – winning only one game – 10 to 0 and I confess that I am disappointed but not freaking out. The beauty of baseball is that it’s a long season and you can’t let successes get you too high or losses too low. A new series starts tonight! 

-0-

My fantasy baseball team is at that stage that I am obsessing about it. I readily confess that I am aware of this – and it usually starts out that way until things shake out a bit and then I can just let it ride and do my best to manage it well.

-0-

It seems like I had something else on my mind earlier for I confess it has escaped me for the time being so I guess this confession has sputtered to its conclusion. Till next week, be safe – be happy!

Picture Perfect Night

When I left work on Friday I was greeted by a picture perfect spring afternoon. The clouds were large and surreal in the blight blue sky - against the backdrop of the the downtown skyline they looked as though they were from a Norman Rockwell painting.


I met up with other family members and headed to the Crossroads Arts District for First Friday. For those outside the metropolitan area, in Kansas City on First Friday people sort of caravan through the various different gallery showings throughout the area.


While I would love to have spent the night checking out other places as well, I was glued to the Apex Art Space where abstract artist Jennifer Rivera had 37 pieces of art that were created in response to various poems chosen by her to work with.  Two poems I had written were among those that were used to prompt her work.


The crowd was especially pulled into to Jennifer's work.  At almost any moment and any direction you could find multiple groupings of onlookers engaged in conversation over the canvasses and poems before them.  Jennifer reports that over 1200 people came through the Gallery and I have no doubt. The stream of traffic was constant.


I'm very indebted to the many of my own friends and family who came to see the work and spending time chatting with each was important to me. I do plan to make a more leisurely look at the exhibit  soon as I want to give each the same kind of attention I would normally afford a new poem I am reading.

The two that were connected to my own poems both indulged my mind in ways that was particularly drawn to.  The smaller of the two was titled titled Anchored and the texture and tone created a very earthy atmosphere that was easy to get lost in.  A central portion of the picture almost had a hologram feel to it.  In the larger painting  I was drawn to the feeling of dissonance that seemed to emulate from it. I like this because in spite of a very peaceful aspect of the poem, there really is an unresolved aspect of it and I feel this captured within this painting.

There were many pictures I really loved from their visual appeal but like I said, I really want to walk through and take in each one with the poems as well.

To the left - Dangling  which was painted in response to my poem Dangling Thoughts.














Below -  Anchored  - in response to my poem titled Dream - Part Two.                     Jennifer and I below right.
                                                                                       

I hope to get some better shots to post, but these are what I have for now.

Oh, and least I forget - great music by Karim Memi & Beau Bledsoe!

Synesthesia - Poetry and Painting Exhibit Tonight

Abstract artist JENNIFER RIVERA will be showing work starting at tonight's opening at the Apex Art Space 1819 Wyandotte - Kansas City, Missouri.   The exhibition will feature poetry inspired painting  - some 30 works will be on display along with the poetry.

An artist reception from 6-9 pm and you are welcome to view the works and enjoy the music of Karim Memi & Beau Bledsoe from 6:30-8:30.

Two of my own poetry works will be among the selected works that Jennifer used to inspire her paintings.

Hope to see you there!