Confession Tuesday - #poetparty edition

Dear Reader: It's been one anxiety ridden doctor's check-up, 3/4 of a lawn mowed, a visit from one of my out of town children and one more #poetparty since my last confession.

Sunday I actually made it on time to #poetparty (on Twitter) for what I confess is probably the first time. So that may well taint my representative view of what #poetparty offers, but one thing it usually delivers to me is frustration.

I love the concept of #poetparty (which aside from an occasional virtual piece of cake or glass of wine) isn't really much of a party. What I like about it is that it is a co-mingling of poets from anywhere a poet wants to come from, all assembled in bombarding tweets into smart phones, onto laptops and desktop computers all over the United States if not the world.

Collin Kelley and Deborah Ager of 32 Poems co-host the event. They have effectively drawn together a wide range of poets with various levels of proficiency in the art. I must confess however that I am relatively inept at staying up with the tweets. Yes, I confess that I am guilty of coming late and even at times leaving early, but it is frustrating to me because it seems that so much (or at least to me) is lost by the format. For example there have been Internet meeting rooms/chat rooms etc available for years now and it seems to me they would be so much easier to keep up with. Plush there is that darned hashtag(#). It is sometimes hard to remember that if you don't have the #poetparty in your tweet it just goes out there into twitterland and is lost from the actual party.

If you haven't been to one of these, there are usually a series of questions along a topic line and people respond individually and then there is often some give and take in the conversation. I admit it is a little easier to follow on a computer then on the twitter application on my blackberry. But even within a twitter application like Tweet Deck on my laptop it is no picnic.

So even though Twitter is the newer medium, it seems to me that something as "old School" as an online meeting room might be less confusing. At least to this old poet.

There you have it... I confess I'm inept at something. Shocker!  ;)

Hope everyone has a great week. Stay out of the heat and be safe!

In an Age of Information Overload or...

Things I learned yesterday...

• You don't have to get Crabs if you eat at Joe's Crab Shack
• Kansas City made the 40 Worst Dressed Cities List coming in at #37
• Price Chopper on 291 has  watermellon slightly smaller the a football for $7 - making their filet mignon appear to be a steal
• If your dog keeps burping just after he ate his food might soon be found on the floor
• If given a choice between two things, a kid will make the "non-adult" choice
• Patience pays dividends
• You cannot write your way out of being alone

Going to Poetry the Bigger Picture

The other day I posted a quotation that I came across via a tweet by Terresa that struck me profoundly.  The quote I posted here on Thursday.  I posed the question - why do you go to poetry and so far there has  been not a soul come forward to share their response.  But the quote is worthy of more then just a retweet or reposting. It is worthy because it opens up my mind to larger questions.  So to start with... here is the quote again:

"The reason we go to poetry is not for wisdom, but for the dismantling of wisdom." - Jacques Lacan


Over the years there have been any number of essayists that have tackled questions about to what degree if any that poetry can make a difference in one's life.  I don't imagine what I am going to say is groundbreaking, but the degree to which one approaches the reading of poetry I believe can inform one's perspective on some of the more philosophical questions involving life today.  

Take the business world... Author Tom Ehrenfield writes, "entrepreneurs, like poets, invent new ways to connect people, ideas, and organizations."  It is the inventiveness, the creative approach to things that is perhaps the most important things man has going for him.

Today's economic issues could use some inventiveness.  When certain people believe that the current debt crisis can be simply approached by not increasing the debt ceiling and to cut spending and then think others "stupid" because they cannot see what is so simple to them they fail because the problem is more complex then that and their solution ignores so many factors. These people are probably the first to run from a poem holding hands over their ears chanting loudly I don't want to hear it, don't read it. Considering the many factors in such an issue requires more thought commitment then they are willing to out into the equation.

As a people we have achieved much over the history of man by reason of our creativity. Our willingness to look at things differently then that first one dimensional approach.

Without stretching our mind, penicillin is never discovered. The Wright brothers are grounded indefinitely.  There is no moon landing. Cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer's will never be cured.

I have read that more and more Fortune 500 companies a looking for qualified employees that have experience/interest in poetry and literature.  It's not because they, the CEO's are looking for someone with such interests to chew the fat with over lunch, but because such people are adept at creating solutions to problems and not just adding 2+2 to equal 4.

So when someone asks you if poetry really matters... if it can save you, the long answer may just be yes!

I submit that the solution to our many environmental challenges, finding cures for many incurable illnesses, solving our economic woes, feeding the world hungry, and living a peaceful coexistence with people people from different cultures around the world all involve the poetics of creativity. Personal enjoyment aside (which I consider one very good reason to go to poetry) its model may very well our very salvation as a people.

Magpie Tales-73 : Poem: Citizen Athlete

White cap waves
Atlantic in origin
breed man's self-indulgence
from biceps digging 
in the waters to full
blown sails pushing waterline
the nonchalant splash and slap
or power about breast
strokes their propulsion.
On the shore the fun
spills over - flat hand paddles
bang out points over
makeshift netting.
By night Martha's Vineyard
crawls with crab meat and oysters
soothing the hunger pangs
of the citizen athlete. 

2011© Michael A. Wells

 Magpie Tales -73

*photo credit: People of Chilmark, Thomas Hart Benton, 1920

Why we go to poetry

"The reason we go to poetry is not for wisdom, but for the dismantiling of wisdom."  - Jacques Lacan



Thanks to Terresa who lead me to the quote!



Why do you Go to poetry?

Confession Tuesday - Time Edition

Yes, it's that time again. Another Tuesday and here i am at the confessional.  Let's hurry along, I'm not sure how much time I have.


Dear Reader:  It's been another whole week and a whole bunch of emotion since my last confession.


One way or another time has been doing a number on me. I must confess that I have never considered time to be my friend. When I was young it seemed like time would drag on in an eternally slow crawl.  As a kid I was oh so anxious to grow up and decried the cruelty of how long my childhood was taking. 


Somewhere between then and now something changed and time began to move with  breakneck speed.  Like the cautious adage, it to good to be careful what one wishes for. I grew up and have been fighting time every since. Time seems to inform a lot of what I write about.  I confess that too often time creeps into my poetry riding the backs of other topics it will almost always find safe passage past my internal censor. This past week especially, I've thought a lot about time.


The past has been just one aspect of this time obsession.  It has been a series of recent events that has reminded me all too well of a part of my childhood that I was anxious to leave behind.  I confess that I was not prepared and may never be prepared to deal with the combined feelings of anger and hurt that I am reminded of.  This is something I had fairly well buried, walled off and stepped back from.


The surprise recurrence of these feelings manifests itself in several ways.  Anxiety, lower self-esteem, and anger are just a few of the readily identifiable ways it has impacted me. I confess that a big part of the frustration is that  I seemed unable to control how any of this unfolded. 


I confess that this resurgence of residual feelings from childhood at this time clearly means that growing up is not an escape route.  Two other things that have plagued me because of this, battling to keep writing recently from sounding like teenage angst, and speculating every day how old I will live to be.  Both which seem to fail the test of proactive ways to spend time.


But enough of this! Tonight is the All-Star game.  I'm ready for the National League to win! 


May each of you have a winning week too!

Wanted - A Radio Station in Kasnas City

Seriously folks, when KUDL 98.1 disappeared from the radio airways early this year - a long tradition of adult contemporary music was lost and the station became 99.7 THE POINT[less] KC lost more then a radio station... it lost a cross-generational entertainment media. What has taken the place of KUDL is a variety of no-name, and lesser-name performers that may or may not be remembered 5 - 10 years  I've tried The Point[less] several times since the change over and  it hasn't gotten any better. We NEED a new station with the old format that was big name music spanning the 1970's through 1990's & contemporary hits as well.

Somebody... anybody - are listening?

Journal Bits

I'm overdue for my Journal bits post, so here goes...

• June 23 - "you asked how I felt/about the aggregate-/I tell you that is quite a sum/a lot of cookies/I feel overwhelmed"
• June 25 - "clouds speak endlessly in a limited vocabulary"
• June 28 -"I'm stuck at 22 likes on my Facebook writers page - three away from what I need."
• June 29 -"it's my desire to scream right now..."
• July 1 - "I would like to have gone to First Friday at the Crossroads but the heat is oppressive."
• July 3 - "It is the summer of discontent/thick with verbiage that subsides/rolling back in white foam/a quiet lace that always predicts /another round of roaring waves."
• July 6 - "...I have last weeks register receipts/for no particular reason..."
• July 8 - "Lunch with an untruth/gimme a stiff drink/should have ordered takeout..."

Alone

Against a wall wet with past
she leans- the musty memory
soaks her cloak    and lingers-
days to nights to days
the acherontics shuffles between
them and there is no deviation
nothing tangible to separate
one from the other -
darkness like the husk
of a walnut shell    encases her.
Who will crack the shell?
Can anyone?

2011 © Michael A. Wells

photo credit -  Amanda Slater


Magpie Tales 72 - Poem untitled

Wheat Field with Rising Sun, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

Torrents of amber and goldenrod
highlights wave to the wind
under blistered sky

grasshoppers fleeing
ahead of us the field
ripe for a day of toil

tomorrow it will be
combines and us
against the fever

2011 © Michael A. Wells

Magpie Tales 72

Confession Tuesday - Strange Correlation Edition.

Tuesday again. It seems like only yesterday. So let's get going to the confessional.

Dear Reader:

It's been one week since my last confession and a weekend of minor explosions in the neighborhood followed by barking. Oh the joys of the 4th of July.

Today, when I returned home from work,  I found my copy of She Returns to the Floating World  by Jeannine Hall Gailey waiting for me in the mail. This was a treat because I had earlier received an e-mail rejection letter so I had a little good to compensate for the bad.

When I went to Duotrope (which I use as a submission tracker) and reported my latest rejection the control panel has a percentage figure of your acceptances in the last 12 months. Following my % number was the following... Congratulations! Your overall acceptance ratio is higher than the average for users who have submitted to the same markets. I confess this amazes me more then it encourages me. And then my mind began to correlate writing to baseball. In baseball a hitter who is batting .300 is someone who reaches base safely roughly three out of every ten times they come to the plate. Such a batting average is considered above average. A good player. Assuming he has other skills, defensive, power or speed, he may be better than good. But flip this around and think about it... that same player fails 7 out of every 10 times he comes to the plate. It almost seems absurd to think that someone who fails 7 out of 10 times is a success, but in baseball, it is just that! Writing it seems is quite the same. I confess it may be in part that chase... that battle with the odds that I actually like.

Well, it’s late and I want to read some tonight in my new book before I hit the sack.  Have a good week.

Reflection on the 4th of July

July 4th is an air born holiday. Fireworks like fireflies dot the night sky and the smell of sulfur permeates the air, strong enough at times to get choked up.

It's a day in which we will often go outside into that summer heat and start the grill and burn burgers and brats, etc. and  hep our plats and dig in. A day families gather and there are so many smells on this day.

Less tangible but more important are the freedoms that we have. Freedoms that have come and continue to be protected at a very high price.

The freedom to express ourselves creativity in all forms of art. The freedom of the press... perhaps the most critical cornerstone of the success of our democracy.

In many places around the world people are not free to practice journalism without fear for their families or themselves.  A free press is a paramount checks and balance to democracy. It's something to celebrate and not take for granted. 

Magpie Tales 71 - Poem: String Bikinis



String Bikinis

pantylines air brushed
into the night
blush Clorox bright


2011 © Michael A. Wells






Magpie Tales 71





Confesson Tuesday - Size Matters Edition

Dear Reader:

It's been one week, one more anniversary, a blissful piece of Italian Wedding Cake and finally watermelon since my last confession.

Growing up and visiting my grandparents often in the green hills of north central Missouri I tasted some of the best watermelon. I confess a weakness for watermelon that has not diminished as the years have passed. But, I'm telling you that last year something happened to all the watermelons that made it to our stores.  Evidently some disease stunted their growth. Further, their price was inverted to their size.
It's been the same this year.

We actually now have bought two that were on sale at HyVee and for their sale price and size I'd say the two were almost a good fit.  Now I confess these two melons were to die for.

So last night I'm back at HyVee but the price is back to $7 bucks for a melon that might be good for three servings. I kid you not!  I passed on them. Where are all the normal melons?

~0~

My Facebook Writer/Poet page is stalled three "Likes" from becoming an official page.  I confess that you can make this poet happy by going here and "Like" the page if you have not already.  If you already did....  Thank you - Thank you!

That's it for this week...thanks for stopping by - may all your watermelons be big, juicy, and withing your budget!

The Whole Poem Experiance or the Poetics of Location

Some recent chatter about the "multi delivery system" of poetry has me thinking not only about the topic but broadening the spectrum even more. I mean I guess I never thought a lot about the idea of the poetic experience very much until the conversation.  I mean even before the advent of a multi delivery approach to poetry there were varying delivery systems.


Of course newer on the scene is the e-reader but we sometimes read individual poems in a journal and later find them in a published manuscript by the author. Or we may find them published in an anthology. How do I feel about the impact on the source of the poem I'm reading? 


Another question that could be asked is how much credibility, artistry, etc. can be transferred to a poem by where it is found. What can such transfer if any add or detract from the overall experience of the poem. 


Examples could be  Filter Literary Journal - see here and here.  Such craftsmanship and individual artistry are something a traditional publisher doesn't match.  Then of course there is the difference between a very well established Journal like Paris Review, Missouri Review, Rattle as opposed to say a new Journal or one one to three years old.  Who else in in that same Journal, can that make a difference? Reading a poem in Norton's Anthology surely must seem antiseptic compared a Journal or The New Yorker. Then there is a well strung together manuscript or one of those same poems in a book of the author's collected works 1972-1998 surely this experiance is different.


I'm guessing that in reading a poem as well as my observation of many thhings, I am enfluenced by the sideshows more then I think. With this in mind, the whole discussion that Nic Sebastian has sparked is not a new issue, just a different version of the one above. One that I've never really explored till now.

Hey Dad.... let's go for a walk?

The humidity is pretty overwhelming here today. Barry and I went for a walk a while ago and I was jealous of the people at the Disk Golf course playing. I've never seen so many in spite of the fact that it's I'm a killer day to go walking up some of those greens. Still, I haven't played for a while and I had been thinking about it several weeks ago so of course it brings it back to the forefront of my mind. 

I've been doing some office work I brought home and was ready to take a break and write some, but the idea of some exercise won over. I do need to write after while.

Kudos to Kelli Agodon for yet another award for her book Letters from The Emily Dickinson Room. I knew when I read this book that it was no ordinary book of poetry.

This is just a quickie - I've got to pick up my wife. I have several other things to blog about today but they will have to wait till later.

My Facebook Poet's Page

This week I set up a separate Facebook Writer's page. I say separate because it differs from regular Facebook format because it is intended for individuals who are especially interested in poetry in general and what I'm up to . Announcements about readings, newly published items, recommendations of other poets and books I think are worthy of mention.  If this sounds like information you'd like me to share with you then by visiting the page and clicking on the LIKE button you will there be kept abreast of  my world of poetry.  You must have a Facebook account to do this.  You can make this poet a happy poet by going here and clicking on the "like" this page button. 

Thanks in advance!

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!