Wow. I just. Wow.

It's been some time, my friends. I won't stop thinking or talking about poetry, but my time is precious these days, and most of it goes to my kids. I'm OK with that. I was searching for the perfect poem to introduce my three month-old son to you. I think I found it. It's so moving that I cannot say anything about it. It should speak for itself.

LOVE SONG by MAGGIE DIETZ

Community

Tonight, I saw U.P. poet laureate, Andrea Scarpino, read her poetry at Finlandia University in Hancock, Michigan. Andrea's poem, "Widow Window," appeared in Issue 2 of damselfly press (that little online mag for which I am co-founder/co-editor). After the reading, I went up to introduce myself. I was so excited; I kind of bumbled my way through praise of her work (wonderful stuff - please check it out: Once, Then from Red Hen Press 2014 and an upcoming book, too!), and then we met another damselfly poet, Laura Smyth (Issue 21), whose beautiful chapbook, Wandering in My Mind, which she designed, was recently published by Finishing Line Press - I can't wait to read it! I was so happy to meet not only past contributers but fellow poets! Really good poets, too! We talked about how hard it can be to find a writing community, especially in small towns and, for me, away from academia. 

We often think of writing as a solitary endeavor, but community, as in most aspects of life, is essential and wonderful and special and often lacking in our lives. Many of us just don't know how to find each other! Have faith, fellow poets! Go to whatever readings and events you can, introduce yourself, and if all else fails, look to the Internet. Start a conversation. Join one. Join me.

More Poetry, Please

Poetry has been sadly lacking in my life these last several months. Life got busy, and some of my favorite things (poetry, yoga, sleep) were set aside, along with the dishes. Lots of dirty dishes here.

It's now to the point where I no longer think "Hmm, I'd like to read a poem today" and click on the Writer's Almanac link on my toolbar to see what gem awaits. Instead, my whole body is screaming, "Give me all the poetry, stat!" Who am I to disobey?

My goal is to read more poetry books, and I'm aiming for one a month. The Internet is great for reading poems everyday, 'tis true, but there's nothing like immersing yourself in a book of poems. They go together. They fit. They tell a story. The form a feeling. The make you forget what you went to the store for, stuck in your interior contemplation.

I'm beginning with Blue Horses by Mary Oliver (The Penguin Press, New York, 2014). Here's one of the early poems:

What I Can Do

The television has two instruments that control it.

I get confused.

The washer asks me, do you want regular or delicate?

Honestly, I just want clean.

Everything is like that.

I won't even mention cell phones.

I can turn on the light of the lamp beside my chair

where a book is waiting, but that's about it.

Oh yes, and I can strike a match and make fire.

I suspect there is some commentary on age going on here, but regardless of age, I think this poem is relatable to everyone, to the human experience. I often think about all these choices we have, all these technologies, and the overwhelming desire to simplify my life. So what if you can't figure out how to work the Roku! You are alive. You can do what humans did millions of years ago, start a fire. Create life, love, art, cook dinner. What else do you need?

Magic Words

Whether you love poetry or appreciate it or don't really like it all, I hope you have or will read at least one poem in your life that feels like magic. The words will open up a special place inside you, and you'll never be the same. Let today be the day. Pick a poem and carry it with you, in your pocket and in your heart.

Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day 2015!

Here are the poems my family and I are carrying around today.

N's poem (he's 4):

Magic Words to Feel better

after Nakasuk, translated by Edward Field

INUIT SONG

SEA GULL

who flaps his wings

over my head

                      in the blue air,

you GULL up there

dive down

                 come here

take me with you

                            in the air!

Wings flash by

my mind's eye

and I'm up there sailing

in the cool air,

                        a-a-a-a-a-ah,

                                             in the air.

K's poem:

One Day

by Robert Creeley

One day after another--

perfect.

They all fit.

My poem:

The First Book

by Rita Dove

Open it.

Go ahead, it won't bite.

Well . . . maybe a little.

More a nip, like. A tingle.

It's pleasurable, really.

You see, it keeps on opening.

You may fall in.

Sure, it's hard to get started;

remember learning to use

knife and fork? Dig in:

You'll never reach bottom.

It's not like it's the end of the world--

just the world as you think

you know it.

Extraordinary Ordinariness

A lot of poets make this mistake - melodrama. Whether exalted or rife with despair, lines full of people staring at the night sky, spilling their souls out, do not make for good poems. We've all done it. We all want to do it. When I looked at the full moon last night, my heart felt like bursting, but if I wrote that down (and I was tempted), yikes, that would make a sucky, cliched poem. It may not be fair, but it's true. A good poem is mostly ordinary. It does not over-emotionalize. It is understated and restrained. In that way, it speaks to true emotion in a subtle and beautiful way.

I didn't have a particular poem in mind while writing this, but here is one of millions that we can read and feel the emotion without being slapped over the head with it. It's a beautiful poem that makes us feel young and old, makes us feel the magic of this time of year, makes us chuckle and sigh, feel both a touch of joy and pain. 

"Holiday Concert" by Maryann Corbett

Slow Down

As an editor, I read a lot of poems. It's a huge privilege. Most of the poems I read are rejected. There are so many reasons for this, and you shouldn't take it personally. Many of the rejected poems have such immense potential or an amazing line or stanza. They excite me and make me want more, and I hope their writers keep writing and revising and submitting.

What I've noticed most lately is that some poems are really several poems in one. They cover myriad topics and images. They can be heavy and overwhelming. Yet, each topic and image separately is interesting and should be given more space. So my number one rule of advice to other poets (and to myself - editing is an amazing learning tool) is to slow down.

If you have a poem that is more than a page long, mentions all your family members, describes more than a handful of objects, or moves through a few decades of time...you may have many poems trapped in there. Sure, sometimes these things work but not often. For now, stick to the Slow Down Rule. It's probably the most important rule of writing.

Focus on one moment. One person. One object. One metaphor. You can always add more in later, but, as in life, the richness that comes from giving one thing your full attention is truly rewarding.

Lastly, for example, I always think of Jane Kenyon, a poet who could fill so much emotion into short, focused poems, like:

What Came to Me

The Shirt

If You Want to Be a Poet, Hang Out with Words

I was watching an Academy of American Poets documentary with Anthony Hecht the other night, and he mentioned something simple and brilliant that W.H. Auden had once said (never mind the male-centric terminology here; it was a long time ago!). A quick Internet search turned this up: 

 “W. H. Auden was once asked what advice he would give to a young man who wished to become a poet. Auden replied that he would ask the young man why he wanted to write poetry. If the answer was ‘because I have something important to say,’ Auden would conclude that there was no hope for the young man as a poet. If on the other hand the answer was something like ‘because I like to hang around words and overhear them talking to one another,’ then that young man was at least interested in a fundamental part of the poetic process and and there was hope for him.” 

- John Ciardi in How Does a Poem Mean? (Houghton Mifflin, 1959). Part Three of An Introduction to Literature by Herbert Barrows, Hubert Heffner, John Ciardi and Wallace Douglas.