Hemingway on words

All my life I've looked at words as though I were seeing them for the first time. ~ Ernest  Hemingway

Poems That Knock Your Socks Off

I've listened to and read quite a few poems this afternoon. In doing so I've decided that I am going to make a concerted effort to acknowledge poems and poets I've read each week that knocked my socks off. 

It's occurred to me that there are many really noteworthy poets and poems that are not widely read. When you consider that many poetry books total sales may range between a few hundred and a few thousand that means even work published is not exposed to a particularly large segment of the population.

With this in mind, I will be starting a weekly post in which I acknowledge poems that really rock.  I think all poets should become cheerleaders for outstanding work when we see it. Pity the lonely poem that a dedicated poet toiled over to create. Perhaps weak in infancy the poet revisited it and revised it over and over and finally sent it out into the cold world to stand for itself. It the entire life of the poem it may be read a a thousand times or so.  I'd like to feel I can expose that poem to a few more people, even it it's only a hundred or so more.

I do abide by copyright laws here, so you will not see me posting poems without permission. .Where I can, I will list titles and authors and link if possible or tell you where you might find the poem in question.

I've always liked the practice at readings of introducing your audience to a poem by someone other then yourself. I see this as one more way to support the work of other poets. Right now I'm thinking of Wednesdays. Poems that Knocked My Socks Off - Wednesday! 

Magpie Tales 90 / Poem: Company

Company

There they all are

together in their aloneness.

I wonder if they relish company?

I mean aside from the cadence

of the occasional passerby.

Michael A. Wells

Magpie 90

11x3

11-11-11   I like the symmetry in the way this sounds. I suppose I should make as wish... can I make more then one? I know, that sounds greedy doesn't it? Anyway, won't reveal wish(es) as that's bad luck which would sort of defeat the karma of 11-11-11.

It's nice having the day off. I suppose there is an irony in having Veteran's Day off seeing how the active Veterans are really never off. But to the active duty and the retired Veterans we all owe then so much. And to their families we are equally indebted. They all make a enormous sacrifice along with the service men and women.

Reading some interesting material these past few days on creating the best lines in your poems some of which is related to line breaks.  I hope to share some more thoughts of this later over the weekend.

I've read quite a few poems on line lately but I've been meaning to mention one that was in the latest Autumn Sky Poetry edition.  If I Must Paint You a Picture by Joannie Stangeland. Joannie has done poetry justice using minimal words - no spare parts. She has captured the moment and made it her own and allowed us to linger in that moment until we are walloped over the head with an incredible ending. My hat is off to her and to Christine Klocek-Lim, Autumn Sky's editor for making a marvelous selection.

Weeks Mail Bag

Nothing new to report through yesterday. Just the run of the mill bills and advertisements, etc. Nothing poetry related **sigh** - same true for email. At least no rejections. I hope to send out more material this weekend. I'll let you know by Sunday night how that goes (my way of accountability).

Off for a morning Chiropractic visit - more later

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader:

It’s that time of the week again; the time when I dig deep into my past week and sometimes yes, even my soul and publically confess something. Sometimes silly, sometimes trivial, sometimes profound, I just never seem to know until I’m done.

During the past week I dug out one of my old journals to find poem draft that is over 5 months old. It’s a draft that I’ve had on my mind off and on since I first scribbled it out in long hand. It’s been one my mind for two reasons. The first because I’ve felt it had the making of a powerful poem. When you have written something like that and yet are not finished with it you tend to think about it over and over in your head even if it is tucked away out of sight. Well, I do anyway and I suppose I can’t speak for others.

There is a second reason I’ve had it on my mind and yet at some distance. Each of us it seems write things at some point that others we know read and automatically think you are writing about yourself. Fiction writers write things all the time and people don’t particularly associate the story with the author in a biographical sense but dear God if a poet writes something people you know will automatically think you’ve just revealed something about yourself they never knew.

I confess that this second reason on occasion keeps me from doing my job as a writer in the purest way. There are things (though not many) that I tend to try to stay clear of. This self censorship is a detriment to any artist and I’m not happy that I have to admit I am at times guilty of it. Now the poem at issue this past week actually was not of a topic of my so called forbidden zone. Still as I’ve thought about it all these months I’ve considered that some may wonder about the poem and if it is autobiographical.  The possibility of this has troubled me. All that said, I did tackle a rewrite of my draft and settled upon a final draft that I felt good enough to send out. All this to confess that this was a most difficult decision and the process of going through it was not easy.  It also revisits in my mind how disappointed in myself I am that I am able to let such things dictate what I write and what remains unwritten.

I do believe all poems give up something of the poet. Though not always autobiographical I confess that I think we all have grains of ourselves in our work. That they may not tell stories that are our own story but they do uncover a little of the mask that all of us wear daily.

There… that’s my confession this week. May you have a week of crystal clarity.

Just Saying...

Congratulations to Jeannine Hall Gailey - her book She Returns to the Floating World won a Silver Medal in the 2011 Florida Publishers Association Book Awards. A very well deserved accolade.

To name something...

To name something is to wait for it in the place you think it will pass.   ~  Amiri Baraka

Saturday Morning

the bed amiss

sheet and covers at odds
the morning smug
coffee half gone and cold
to-do list full 
neglect

On Happiness~

"THE ONLY TRUE HAPPINESS COMES FROM SQUANDERING OURSELVES FOR A PURPOSE." ~ William Cowper


Got this from Gretchen Rubin's daily e-mail this morning & thought I'd share.

Confession Tuesday on Wednesday...

Dear Reader:

I missed Confession Tuesday. If you are a regular reader you've perhaps realized this already. I confess I have no excuse.

It's raining and dreary here, perhaps it is in your neighborhood as well. I actually think it is quite November. November I think is perhaps the dreariest of the months.  Baseball season is over. The diamonds go dormant for the winter. The sun seem to be creeping out of sight and then weather like today's just adds to the general melancholy. I confess that I'm not much of a November fan.

November is also the month that you write a poem a day. Okay, some people do. I've done it before successfully. I've also started to do it and failed - falling off the wagon two or three weeks down the road. Today is the second day of the month and I don't have two poems. I don't even have the first.  But I will write here in a short while and see what I can do. But let me confess right now, I'm not going to adhere to a poem-a-day routine this month. I'll do my best to pull together 30 poems or drafts -  but what I am not going to do is stress over having a new one come the end of each day. I have more then enough stress in my life currently and I refuse to turn this already downer of a month into something even more dreary.

I confess that I fell over the weekend and I believe I hyper-extended my left knee. It was about a 9.8 on a scale of 10 in terms of pain. I'm doing better but it man did it hurt during the weekend.

If I get one more solicitation cold call on my cell phone someone is seriously going to have to restrain me. This is both a warning and a confession combined.

I'm trying to cut out as many distractions as I can during my writing time. I downloaded a trial copy of a program called Freedom. They make it for both Mac and Windows. You set a predetermined number of minutes you want to work Internet free and it blocks it. If you have the discipline to just not go there - great! Many of us don't. I confess that while I need at times to research something in conjunction with a particular write, I can schedule to do that during off writing time. I confess I should have started this long ago.

That's it for this week. I hope you can all absolve me of my tardiness. Have a great week ahead. See you Tuesday!

Magpie Tales 89 / Poem: The Gritty Facts

The Gritty Facts


There are vague memories
some fond some not
so. Much has changed.

The delete key absolves
a multitude of sins and wasted
paper. I don't miss

purple hands from carbon paper
if you know what I mean.
My youngest daughter doesn't.

When you were wired (old use of the word)
your hands would light up the keyboard.
The sound had its own poetry.

When you were stumped
the silence was killing.
No music to stream in

the background and shores to surf
at your fingertips. Your world cloistered
It was hard work. Dirty work.  



Michael A. Wells


Magpie

Magpie Tales 88 / Poem: Espresso Spoiled

Espresso Spoiled


So many angles to consider.
Some within others

and building blocks
to something

bigger down the way
something maybe broken

or maybe just a portion
what we have discovered
of ourselves;

windows to see
what is real
what is fantasy
but the lines
blurred.

Einstein said—  "Reality
is merely an illusion,
just a very persistent one."

If the linear stuff is raised
or lowered on one end
what is the story line then?

You drove me into the city
today for something daring—

my two shots of espresso spoiled
with talk of your stained childhood

even if it wasn't so
I wanted to hear crisp clean lines.





Michael A. Wells


magpie88

My Top 10 Living Poets Crush List~

So yesterday I announced a new poet (new to me) to teeter on that threshold of my current favorite poets list. Admittedly it's a list new that is somewhat in flux due to my changing experiences,  mood, exposure to new poetry material and poets. Sometimes poets may move on or off the list in a slow subtle fashion than at other times the shift may be more swift and dramatic.

So I've thought about his yesterday off and on - even between pitches during the World Series.  What constitutes my say top ten poet crushes currently. Crush being defined here as poets whose work rises to a heightened level of admiration that exceeds the normal limits one expects of most other poets.  A person on the poet crush list is someone you would drive miles out of your way to get to a reading.  You likely own multiple titles of their work or would if you could. You would prefer a hard copy to that is signed then some impersonal ebook pdf. You would love to have lunch with them and pick their brain about anything poetry related. A copy of their work could likely be found on your night stand. -That my friend, is my definition of a poet crush.  Perhaps you would use different criteria - I'd be interested to know your criteria.

With that in mind I give you my current top 10 Living Poets Crush List ( in no particular order):

1. W. S. Merwin
2. Sharon Olds
3. Beth Ann Fennelly
4. Ruth Stone
5. Charles Simic
6. Kelli Russell Agodon
7. Donald Hall
8. John Ashbery
9. Ada Limon
10. Katrina Vandenberg

Yes... Limon I have decided has made my top 10 list.  There you have it! Any thoughts about what this list says about my poetry tastes? So, who is on your Poet Crush List?

* NOTE~ As I look over this list I'm wondering just how many years of writing experience these 10 poets have accumulated?

Discovering a new poet that you really can appreciate is an incredibly exciting thing. For me, it has a physical and mental component that sort of comes together all at once and is kind of like the euphoric rush of endorphin in your brain from chocolate (with a little more staying power). 

The last couple of days I've  had my chocolate fix from the poetry of one Ada Limon.  She is an increasable talented poet who I heard interviewed on an Arts & Letters podcast by Angelia Elem which then sent me looking for more of her work online. With each read the find seemed to be getting better and better.

Still, there is a disappointing component to this story. I realized yesterday that Limon  was in Kansas City reading at one of our libraries in the middle of last month and it slipped past me. Augh!

She is the author of three poetry books, Lucky Wreck, This Big Fake World, and Sharks in the Rivers. Of the poems I've found by Limon, some of my favorite are the title poem of the latter book Sharks in the Rivers, Crush, Miles Per Hour, The Weather Reported and The Firemen are Dancing.


I'm actually thinking that Limon may be a candidate for my favorite poet list.  I probably should read some more of her work but she is definitely teetering on the edge of my list.  Her work has substance to it. I don't feel it's dumbed down. So far it  all seems to be fresh and not a mess of already hashed over stuff. I feel too that each of these poems are part of a journey that I was allowed to go on with her like she sometimes is discovering something for the first time and I'm important enough to be on that same trip with her. How could your better build an audience as a writer then to create that kind of environment? Wow! 




 

We are limited...

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.” 

 Sylvia Plath  - October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963

If you build a shiny new performing-arts center, will the creative class come?

The headline question above is asked by The Atlantic about the new Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts in my hometown of Kansas City.  Read what Hampton Stevens has to say about the expensive gamble by civic and corporate minds that has produced a one of a kind venue for preforming arts. Their may be no better place to hear music and it's here in Kansas City.

Above right an extior view of the center

left and below are interior views.


Read The Atlantic article here

Confession Tuesday

It's Tuesday and that means confession time. For some strange reason I feel really confessy today. Let's get down to business.

Dear Reader~

It's been a week since my last confession and I have to say sometimes I struggle with what to confess. I have no idea where this is going but I don't feel that way tonight.  I'm like a champagne bottle about to pop!  So you've been warned...

I woke up this morning realizing from my smart phone that I had a follow up eye appointment.  I gave it no thought all day yesterday and I anticipated getting to work and digging right in on several projects and the the smart-assed phone said something different. I confess that I did not want to go. I didn't want to go because I didn't want to pay another $50 co-pay. I didn't want to go because I had more then plenty of work to do and didn't want to be away from the office. I also confess that my self examination of my eye told me it was doing ok. I know,  I'm not an eye doctor but I did stay at Red Roof Inn last night. Ok, the last part is a fib. I was at home all night.  I used the first and the last excuse on my wife but she would not buy into my arguments so I went. Sigh!

My eye is doing much better. Healing is they way the doctor put it, but she also said I had debris in my eyes. Now when I heard that I thought of lumber... 2x4s and broken pieces of drywall. I confess this didn't sound good but she informed me that it is not unusual. She recommended that I flush it with artificial tears 4 x per day and use a damp compress on my closed eyes in the evening.  At any rate with the news my eye was healing fine I didn't feel any better about the copay.

My wife invited me to do lunch with her and a co-worker today and I confess I was thrilled at the invite, but I had to decline for which I was sad. It was really sweet if her to include me. I confess that even with the disappointment if having to decline - just being asked was an awesome feeling.

On another positive note, the mother-in-law's tongue was been evicted from out bathroom. It is safe to enter again. If you don't know what I'm talking about  read here. I confess I don't want to explain it again.

I confess that after last night's World Series game, in the unlikely event I ever become the GM of a baseball team I will not be hiring Albert Pujols to manage my team. Did he really call for a hit and run under the circumstances?

Another less then admirable side of me showed it's ugly face today. I became annoyed. At least twice that I can recall. Once because for some reason when I am driving and have a passenger in the car they are very often on the cell phone between 90 and 100% of the trip. I don't mind people getting calls or making calls but when you are driving for 20 to 30 minutes of more and they are continually on the cell I feel like a Taxi and dammit I don't even get a tip!

And the second annoyance came when I left the room to check on dinner cooking and came back to find that the TV program I was watching had been changed to some slash and dash vampite or scary show. Said party had just come home and decided to take up camp in my room.  I should have simply put the offender out but no, I tiptoed and let my annoyance grow. Maybe I've learned a lession. Time will tell.

Lastly, I confess that thanks to Governor Rick Perry I have a pretty good idea what desperation looks like.

Hope that wasn't too scary.  Until next week - I'm confessed out! 

Though for the Day

Life itself still remains a very effective therapist. ~Karen Horney

Space Reservations

And will they

                         have to

reserve space ahead of time

                there

in some future outpost

          dodging oblique junk

                                    no one picks up.


            Ever.

This weeks Mail-Bag

Aside from the various assortment of advertisements, insurance EOB's, etc., arrived two poetry related items in my snail mail box.  One a a brochure from the Arts and Letters department at Rockhurst University announcing a number of items including Michelle Boisseau reading December 1 at the Midwest Poets Series, and the call for submissions for the Rockhurst Review - their annual fine arts journal. 

The Rockhurst Review has had some really exciting material in the past.  I had a piece accepted in it  several years ago and I suppose I should look through my material and submit. 

The other poetry related item was a contributor's copy of the fall issue of WestWard Quarterly with  my poem Foxtrot.  At some future point I'll add it to my published items in the tabbed section but for now it is only available in their print edition.

A ton of poetry related e-mails arrived this week as well. No new acceptances or rejections to report