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Confession Tuesday - Wizard edition

Dear Reader:

It's been three poetry drafts, one finished poem, a car breakdown and a car repair since my last confession


This weekend our Mercury Sable broke down on the was home from run out to fetch carryout dinner. I was able to get the car pushed out of the way of traffic and with the help of a very nice man in a pickup with his teenage sons. They then kindly offered a ride home- a distance of maybe three miles. Fortunately I was able to return to the car later and it started and was able to safely return it to the home.

I confess that my future son-in-law who is a wizard with all things mechanical especially cars determined that the problem was the alternator and the next day replaced it with one from a junk yard - thus saving us boo-coup bucks. Okay, he's not like a Harry Potter type wizard but just a cool.

I confess that that this weekend I received word a poem I wrote maybe four years ago found a home. Of course I'm always delighted to get an acceptance letter but this one was special because this is a poem that came so easily and was one I always believed in. It was one of those rare instances that the poem almost writes itself.

I confess that I found myself looking at an e-reader tonight when we were out shopping. I also confess that I like real books better. I do have Kindle and Nook on my PC and while I have used them I have been a very slow accept them. Poetry books I want to hold in my hand.

It's late and I still need to write yet tonight so until next week - be safe...

Mag 121: What I Count On

Still Life, 1670, detail by Jean François de Le Motte

The notes, lists, inventory of thought and miscellaneous,
my refuge for information is all there. I've come to depend
on a singular place; vertical and standing put.  


My mind tends to meander more horizontally
these days and often drifts off path. 


When I need to refer to something important
it is that assemblage of what-not 
stapled to the weathered wall that I count on. 


Michael A. Wells


Mag 121

Saturday in the Park… I think it was the 4th of July

 

No it’s not yet July but for some reason this song has been looping through my mind this morning. Thank you Chicago! I suppose it could be worse, after all I am a big fan of Chicago but I generally don’t like anything to loop through my mind. Certainly that is the case this morning. We have an Ozone alert today so it’s probably not a great day to be at the park anyway.

Instead of the looping, let me turn to my journal and look for a few tid bits from this past week and maybe I can get this out of my head.

• “The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don’t dare reveal.” - Elia Kazan
• “All my life famous people have been dying from a distance/up ahead just over the curvature I see the tops of them on approach/the distance is narrowing”
• “a fan chops the humid air/throwing it back in my face…
• “This free market thing/how is it working for you?/Mowing the lawn is getting pricey”

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The Right Person–The Right Time

                                                                                                

The announcement of the newest poet laureate offers some contrast to many of the past. Natasha Trethewey is by no means the first woman laureate but she joins a rather short list women who have held the post. It is equally noteworthy to me that she is quite young as poet laureates go. At 46 she is actually older then I had thought her to be, still many laureates enter the office in their 70’s or 80’s.

Yet another significant aspect of Tretheway’s selection is the regional flavor her work brings. She is from the South and much of her work is laced in history and people and times in the South. Merwin and Hall for example were poets that had geographical ties but there work could probably be described as more universal.
While universality in poetry is a good thing, some times there are stories to be told that are more parochial. That need to be part of the national dialogue. That without, we as a nation are not whole.Natasha Trethewey is a powerful voice that has been informed by a unique life story.

I’ve read some of her work over the past couple of years and heard much more in her own voice on NPR and the Poetry Hour on PBS. From some of the talk on Facebook I gather she has flown below the radar of more poetry readers then I would have guessed. That being the case, her selection is even more significant because she a voice that is worthy of being heard.


Technorati Tags: Natasha Trethewey,poet laureate

Confession Tuesday

Dear Readers:

It’s been another one other one of them… a week.  So here I am before you to offer my week’s confession. To the box….

I confess that this has been an emotional week. My son’s bulldog Hoss was put down. My daughter’s pet rat Mason was put down.  I confess that I don’t like the words put down. The phrase seems quite ugly to me. 

I confess that I went to see Dark Shadows and found it in some respects charming. The music from the 60’s-70’s period was a walk down memory lane that I really enjoyed.

I confess that I’ve grown tired this week of some people that allow their actions to be governed by egos larger then buildings. Adult bullies are no different than young bullies. In fact, there is something really lacking in them, that they reach adult age and have such an inversion of maturity and ego.

I confess that I returned two library books late.  I always want to sneak in and just leave them when they are late which is so silly because I’m still going to pay a fine for them being overdue. I just feel kind of dirty when I’m at that counter handing late books over to the librarian.

I confess that I’ve had several ideas swimming around in my head that want to be poems and that I really need to honor their wish and try to get them down on paper. 

That’s about it for this week…. till next time, enjoy each day ahead!

For Hoss

If you want to know why a tear is salty—

It‘s because salt is a mineral 

adding weight so tears run down our face

keeping us grounded in times of sorrow.

It’s because salt is a preservative,

a constant reminder what each day

together meant us.

In times of loss, however brave we seem,

the spring within us flows

because it comes from  having known.