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.