Magpie Tales 52 - Poem: It looks inviting but it's just a house.

It looks inviting but it's just a house.
Let me tell you about a house-

Past the curtains into the living room
where white upholstered seating
was primarily for company       while free
to come and go-    those were the days
when we were to be seen
cheeks pinched
bragged about in one form
or another but heavens no
add nothing to the conversation.

Upstairs was the safest place,
a room with a bunk bed I shared
with no one.    My trappings were many
and they were my comfort.
In the back was a window I shared
with the world-   an array of bumper stickers
shouting silently my views.
They were not the same as the management.

The kitchen below was by contrast
the most communal of all the rooms.
Around the table the balance of power
seemed most evident and it was there
I felt as though I was a wedge issue
based upon the parenting being done
and by whom the orders were administered.

There were chilly political discussions
back then Nixon was the one
but he really wasn't.    From time to time
there was the "N" word.  It was during these
times, the off color jokes that I felt most
uncomfortable about and not my posture
which was also a hot topic as well
as if I was finishing my dinner- leaving
a clean plate before I could go.
That was a battle I would eventually win.
Time was on my side.  But there were times
as well when my punishment was to stand back
against the kitchen print on the wall and become
one with it... to solve all my posture problems.
It didn't.

The enclosed back porch, the family room
with bar that was never used as such- 
and only in time for the moon landing
did it become home for our TV-
these rooms were cold, but not the kind
of chill that the kitchen had.

The dining room seemed majestic
at the time with built in china cabinets
I learned had been perfect for hiding
newly arrived letters from paternal grandmother
before their destruction.  Beamed ceiling,
natural oak that had been painted
but brought back to life.

The dining room was for formal
meals and entertaining      and fakery.
Playing normal and enjoying mom's
white yeast rolls and butter.

Thinking back these rooms
fan out to form an array
of memories.  Sometimes
it is better their ornamental
view is closed into one ivory stick.

I left the day after graduation.

2011© Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 52

Strange

At approximately 2:30 a.m. I was awaken and strangely my thoughts were of Sylvia Plath.  At first I thinking how strange this is the anniversary of her death until I realized that it was the morning of the 12th and she died February 11th, a fact that had escaped me yesterday.

Then it dawned on me how strange the poem draft I wrote last night (see below) and the ghosts of writers.

Feeling a little bit of twilight zone here.

Rest in Peace Sylvia...

Ghosts

The gurgle of the washing machine,
the laminate film upon my post dinner
teeth chattering as Friday reverses
itself like a retro jacket
that offers two color options
only I cannot choose;
I only have Friday night
at my disposal-


I have a plate, a fork & spoon,
and two pans to wash
and the whole night ahead.
I am only slightly cloistered.
The TV is there and another
in the living room and still
another in the family room.
And so many channels-
and nothing I want
to watch.


In the end, I will battle
between book and journal.
Read or write.
It is in this solitude
I sense the ghosts
of so many
long gone
writers.

The Month of Love

An afternoon sun is unsuccessful in curtailing my chill that continues. This is so unlike me~  **sigh**   Supposedly it has reached 35 outside. Maybe that's my problem... I'm inside.

I've had a vacation day from the office, reading a book as well as ruminating about the chatter the past couple days of the Claudia Rankine/Tony Hoagland matter.  The latter has my head spinning. 


It's the month of LOVE and if you haven't seen it already there's a series of PDF print and Cut Valentines here  courtesy of the American Academy of Poets.

I've been getting Gretchen Rubin's daily "Happiness Project E-mails" for a while now and the other day I got this one that I just love:

"One of the best and fastest ways of acquiring knowledge is to insist on remaining ignorant about things that aren't worth knowing."

— Sydney Harris

And another thing I picked up from her site was the SIX WORD MEMOIR.   Another version of this - Six Words on Happiness.  A few that were on her site that I liked...

• Reading the last page of "Mockingbird."
• paying toll for the person behind me
• with my six I declare love

Confession Tuesday - belatedly

It's Wednesday and I seem to have sinned again!  Last night I was thinking about my Tuesday Confession at about 11:30 pm but not for long, and so here I am a day late and another flaw to add to my list of confessions. The sin of being lazy, or perhaps it's really rebellious. Anyway, let's get started.

Dear Reader, humbly I confess I've let you down. And as you can likely tell from above, I'm not even certain which is my reason... maybe a little of both. At any rate, this has been the second time recently and I really am going to get myself together next week.

Tonight I'm cold. Cold I tell you and that's really something for me. I'm the one in the office who gets cranky when they bump the heat up in the building. At home, I'm the first to want the A/C on and the last to want to furnace on. I confess, my body temperature setting is evidently different than must people. When I finish here I can tell you I'm headed for the bed and will burrow under the blanket for warmth.

For three days truing this past week my Blackberry was not syncing mail and I was unable to get feeds (twitter, facebook updates) or reach the Internet.  Phone calls and text messages worked fine.  During this time I really fell out of the "know" so to speak. I missed news flashes. I confess it was a very strange three days. Everything is working fine again. I did survive but it was a strange feeling by the third day and I was growing weary.

That's my week... hope yours ahead is a good one. I'll see you back here next Tuesday... promise!

an advent of sense

A poem conveys not a message so much as the provenance of a message, an advent of sense. ~ Thomas Harrison

Let it Be

Words of Wisdom

The sun and the wind spoke briefly
of the day behind them
making light of irregularities
fostered by man-

"these things are to be
expected," one said to the other
and both agreed.   The clouds
heard this-

when the wind and the sun spoke
they never whispered
due to the distance between them
but the clouds ushered in their view

and it was agreed that the natural order
was far better suited      for everydayness
and the wind could be heard    even by man
singing "let it be, let it be..."


2011 ©  Michael A. Wells

Revisiting AWP

Given my Tuesday Confession post, I laughed my ass off reading Jeannine Hall Gailey's blog post for Tuesday.  The post titled How to Survive Not Going to AWP DC.

Just to get a taste of her post:

"Throw some dirty snow on yourself. Maybe roll around in it. Stand outside in whatever inclement weather your neighborhood provides. Make sure you’re carrying something heavy, like a bag full of books."

Go read the whole post for a good laugh.  Thanks Jeannine, I feel better already~

Magpie Tales 51 / Poem: Our Strength

Our Strength

Darkness descends

and we are together

tight as mortar and bricks.

A family, snug

we hardly notice the light

foot traffic—

Morning arrives with haste

of duties; so many people

so many places, each of us

feels the pressures of travel,

of heat, of friction

rolling over us

an anxiety— of the grit of life

churned out and spread over us

like we are plowed earth

and seeded discouragement

that it might take hold.

Some of it will root

between us. It will grow

and it may threaten

but tightly grouted

and stronger for our numbers

we will keep our ground.

 
2011 © Michael A. Wells


Magpie Tales 51

Confession Tuesday - Snow Day Edition

Dear Reader:  It's been one week, a lot of wind and too many inches of snow since my last confession. 

Let's get started...

Today I've spent most of the day inside.  I've driven my car all of about 6 blocks.  My boss called this morning after I had cleared off the car and said that we were not opening the office, that he would likely only be sending us back home within a couple of hours based upon how the storm was advancing.  I confess that I am not disappointed. Yes the day off means my project plans will be behind, but thought of facing I-70 in the condition that was anticipated was not something I was looking forward too.  I understand late today there was a multi-car pile up on the Interstate between here and the city - I'm thankful we were not on the road.  Thankful too that no one was seriously injured. The question now remains what will tomorrow look like?

While on my laptop today someone take the "lap" part seriously and believes that he has to occupy mine. Klaus (our minpin) comes over and under the desk and stretches out to pull himself up on my lap. I confess this practice of his is both cute and annoying at the same time. He's been on my lap like this at the computer three different times today. One in which he fell asleep in my arms.  It wasn't that long ago that Klaus' fate was in question. Regular readers may recall that he was paralyzed in an attack by another dog and his rehabilitation was a slow process. He still has residual issues but his overall condition seems miraculous compared to where he had to come from. It was during this period that Klaus really started to take to me. I confess, I think I've become his favorite. (Don't tell Shannon)

Every year for the past maybe three years, I read about writers running off to AWP like it's a religious pilgrimage. At first I had no idea what the heck it was... Association of Warped personalities...  Americans with Psychosis...  Annual Whoopee Party?  But I've grown the wiser reading of all the writerly/publisherly interactions and so I confess that this time of year, when so many are running off to (this year DC) I feel I'm somehow a subterranean writer, doing my work just below the radar.  I know that this is silly. There must be plenty of serious writers who are sitting at home reading about all the workshops and functions going on and the goodie bags, etc. With this in mind, I pledge that I will learn to get over this... or in the alternative one day go to the event.

Until next week, everyone be safe and happy!

Do You Care?

During this past week I ran across the newly released Code Of Best Practices In Fair Use For Poetry. I don't even recall what lead me to the link at the Poetry Foundation, but I promptly printed off the some 25 plus pages of copy and have actually read through it though I will not pretend to have absorbed enough of it to be highly authoritative on the subject. After reading through it I recall wondering just how big a splash this was going to make on the poetry scene. Will there be a period of discussion by poets on line? Will many poets actually read it? Will many even care?

Dave Bonta, a poet and literary magazine editor blogged on the subject yesterday - 'Code of Best Practices in Fair Use for Poetry: a vital first step.' Bonta expresses some cautions positives about the document though "... a little uneasy at the way in which these new standards were generated without any popular input, any attempt to poll or crowd-source among poets and fans of poetry."  Even Bonta acknowledges we poets can be an acrimonious group and broader input into the process of drafting such a document may have been difficult at best.

A cursory look at google told me what I had suspected. Buzz about this document up to this point was no bee swarm. Most in fact were general mentions of the existence of the document. There were a few expressions of opinion. Carl Bettis,  is a fellow local poet
had some fun with the document - mostly at the idea that poetry could be a profession and the conceptualization of a consensus of poets.

So I'm interested in your thoughts? Have you seen the document? What do you think? Do you care? Do you respect the intellectual property rights of other artists? Do you care if anyone gives a rat's ass about your intellectual property rights?

Some Recent Whale Sound Poems I Love

Posting a few of my recent favorites from Whale Sound - hope you like them too!

‘Rhode Island’ by Amy Miller
 
‘First Anniversary: Reading Russian Literature’ by Pamela Johnson Parker
 
‘Honeybees on Holiday’ by Kristin Berkey-Abbott

The Internet Kill Switch - Can it happen here?

What can an undemocratic government  do to control its people? If tear gas and rubber bullets don't work, take away their Twitter and Facebook access, of course. And if the people still don't fall into line, cut off their Internet and mobile phone access entirely. That's exactly what the Egyptian government did today when confronted with citizenry taking to the streets and demanding regime change. The surprising thing isn't that a corrupt, authoritarian regime would launch this kind of state-sponsored denial off service attack on its own citizens. Nor that it is willing to jeopardize its economy by cutting its businesses off from world markets. No, the thing that surprises me is that the U.S. government has plans for its own Internet Kill Switch.







The legislation was first introduced last summer by Sens. Joseph Lieberman (I-Conn.) and Susan Collins (R-Maine), and the former has promised to bring it to the floor again in 2011. It isn't called anything as obvious as the Internet Kill Switch, of course. It is called the "Protecting Cyberspace as a National Asset Act." Who could be against that? Anyone who's watching the news on TV today, that's who.






The proposal calls for the Department of Homeland Security to establish and maintain a list of systems or assets that constitute critical cyber-infrastructure. The President would be able to be able to control those systems. He or she would have ability to turn them off. The kicker: none of this would be subject to judicial review. This is just a proposal, mind you, but it certainly warrants concern. Particularly given the heavy-handed example being provided by Egypt

Confession Tuesday

Four more poems sent out into the world, no new rejections, $3.00 gas and nearly a week since my last confession.  Let's get started.

Dear Reader:

I'm feeling a little in between right now. In between the winter that surrounds us and the anticipation of the coming baseball spring training. Pitchers and catchers report to camp in about three weeks.  It's a schizophrenic sort of place to be. Living in the present and that future at the same time. It's not quite right. It's out of balance.

Just today I was reading Terresa Wellborn's blog post with the Guy Davenport quote about the pace and rhythm of nature and inevitably mankind, and she posed the question What is your pace of things? I confess that thinking about this question hit me as being very much out of balance. My actual was:

"My pace right now is that of a person just learning to drive. The jerky starts - followed by acceleration and then the sudden stop where you are kissing the windshield.
There is little or no harmony here presently, yet it is harmony that I crave. I could use a Zen moment. No wait, moments I have... if I could string several together, that would be an improvement."

                                                        ~0~

When it comes to my writing I go in waves where I become hyper critical of anything I write. I think a certain amount of self criticism is beneficial but I confess I can be self critical to an almost unhealthy point. I confess I'm in such a phase at this moment.

                                                       ~0~

I confess that I am addicted to episodes of Everybody loves Raymond. Patricia Heaton (Debra) is by far the best actress/actor on the show. Her emotion, response, etc. is so realistic. I can be pretty picky about the TV I watch, this may be my biggest TV vice.


That's about it for the week.... everyone be safe and happy!

Magpie Tales 49 - POEM: A Day Out

A Day Out

A trio of women

blades slung over shoulders,

slug their way to the pond,

their trails in the banks

of quiet white mark

their pilgrimage-

No socks to mend

no laundry, no meals

to be accounted for-

their voices clamoring

escape         they will

upon arrival  -  in

their most unlady-like fashion

cut loose on their secret mirror

under a cloudy sky;

skating, frolicking and acting

like the daughters

they would chastise

for such behavior

on any other day.

2011 © Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 49



Thoughts on Family History

With everyone else out of the house today, I cleaned some and then listened to a podcast of an interview with Maxine Hong Kingston as she confronts aging in her book I Love A Broad Margin To My Life. She's a remarkable person to listen to. Kingston took the title of her book from the quote by Henry David Thoreau.  Her view of being an elder and living against the backdrop of mortality is fastening.  Listening to her causes me to think about genealogy (even though I've had it on my mind) in a different sort of way. Not just from a personal interest but in the context of a responsibility to collect and pass that information to those in the family younger then yourself.  Creating a history of heritage is an elder's responsibility and it seems to me that it is more than simply collecting a genealogy history, but seeing where we've come from so often helps define who we are.

It really seems quite natural to me that poets would feel such a responsibility quite natural in the same way we do story telling. What do you think?

Poets & Feelings

One of my daughters distributed this among all our immediate family. Is she trying to tell me something?

Confession Tuesday - Rebellious Late Edition

It’s been a snow, the threat of a bigger snow, one more group of submissions, a lot of new “very rough” drafts and a week and a day since my last confession.

To the Confessional~

Dear Reader:

Yes, I must confess that last night I came home, made dinner for my sweetheart and promptly crashed. I didn’t turn on my laptop, did not read, write, and obviously did not do my Tuesday confession. And I confess that it was not a matter of forgetting, but willful neglect, maybe even rebellion as I two or three times (at least) thought of getting up to do it.

It seems there is a bit of rebelliousness that seems to be running through my veins these last few days. I have as suspicion as to the reason, but I will leave it at that for now. I choose to honestly confess on this point, not openly speculate on the causation. (I’m not my own therapist) ;)

While I’m not deep into astrology… for example I don’t read my horoscope daily – and when I do, it’s more for the entertainment value than anything else; I do take stock in the fact that the personality traits that are generally ascribed Capricorns fit me well. I’ve often felt comfort in this. It’s sort like being a part of a certain Irish clan. It’s the brotherhood of Capricorns – and all of our (better) traits that make it feel special. So along comes a thirteenth zodiac sign and butts into the calendar and moves all the days around and – WTF? Now I’m a Sagittarius? I confess I do not like this. Not one bit!

Was this brought to us by the same people who de-planetized Pluto? And thirteen? That’s not divisible by even numbers, it’s an unlucky number, it’s more than the number of months in a year, it’s…. you get the picture. It’s just not kosher.

So there you have it. My confession, a day late and a little put out.

Hope you and your week are properly aligned to an even number of stars.

Passing on a little advise....

Some great advise from Robert Peake's workshop - “Tactics for Sneaky Poets” posted on his site.

Some of my favorite advise:

• Use constraints. Use word groups, poetic forms, made-up assignments from friends. Constraints spark creative freedom.
• Write briefly and often. Robert Hass said, “You can do your life’s work in forty minutes per day.” Write often enough to stay “in the game,” usually several times per week. Set a time limit. You can go over if needed.
• Write bad. Try to write a “bad” poem. It gets you wild and free. Sometimes the harder you try to be bad, the better it gets.
• Keep a scroll. In addition to keeping going on a poem, try keeping one big document of poems and poem-snippets, so you’re never at the beginning, just in the flow. Pick up wherever you last left off, write in the date, and just go.

By the way, a collection of Robert's poems will appear in the Lost Horse Press-New Poets Short Books Series, edited by Marvin Bell.  The book is scheduled for publication in February 2011. Sign up on Robert's e-mail list to be notified when the book becomes available for pre-order.

Poetry Trailers

It's amazing the way trailers have moved into the world poetry.  Not long ago these were generally associated with the release of film, but no longer. Audio visuals are being done more routinely as trailers for poetry books.  Just today I saw on the poet Diane Lockward's blog site titled Blogalicious a video of one of here poems put to music. The poem, Eve's Confession is from her collection of poems titled Eve's Red Dress.  Go to her site here and experience it for yourself. She actually has some other trailers on this site you can check out. Look at the tab links under the header to find these.