Reasons

I have been remiss. Already. And during National Poetry Month, of all months. But…there are reasons. Some positive reasons; some negative; some just…reasons. But I have been writing. I am 18/23 in an attempted 30/30 for April, I have finished two book reviews, and spurred on by a request from a journal I love, finally completed an essay that I have been thinking about writing for months. The poem drafts are stronger than I imagined they would be, assuaging some of my fears about having lost my poetry mojo.

Reading books of poetry has been a big part of my little sabbatical. In no particular order, digging in to these collections has brightened, enriched, and inspired my April.

I am reading aloud a wonderful YA novel in verse called House Arrest to my sixth grade students. They are completely engaged in the short, poetic journal entries that make up Timothy’s story, and it will be a good way to bring us to the end of the school year, which seems ever so near and yet so far away. (Unlike all of my college professor friends, I do NOT finish teaching at the end of the month – June 6 for me. Keep me in your thoughts…)

And this week has brought GPN – good poetry news, for those not in the know. A poem of which I am quite fond is featured in the newest issue of Juxtaprose here. And another poem is in the current issue of Poet Lore, one of the first journals I started to read and aspire to when I came back to writing seriously around 25 years ago. It has been a while since any new work has appeared in print or online for me, so it feels like coming home.

I do have to say it’s a little embarrassing to have other bloggers continuously link back to the post where the Revival Bloggers are listed when I hadn’t posted anything in two weeks. Some ringleader I am.  But this is about writing, right? And I HAVE been doing that.

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FOMO vs. CTSH

I know you’ve all heard of FOMO – fear of missing out. But I’ll bet you haven’t heard of CTSH. That’s because I just made it up.

Thousands of writers this past weekend converged on Tampa, Florida, for the annual AWP conference. Reading all the tweets and posts about the book fair, the readings, and seeing the faces that I usually don’t see except for this conference, there was a little FOMO here, I’m not going to lie. I did feel I was missing out on the biggest writer gathering of the year, but I did not miss the lack of sleep, the crowded panel rooms, the difficulty in getting around to off-site readings.

So there is much to be said for being CTSH – Content To Stay Home. I have been working on being well-rested after a cold/illness that has lasted over three weeks and am forty days into recommitting to a daily yoga practice as a part of my wellness routine. I am starting to write again after a long dry spell.

Kelli Russell Agodon expressed it well in her blog this week:

“As creative people, I think we need to listen to what our bodies and mind needs at all times. Sometimes we need to go big, reach out, interact, tweet, post on Facebook, bloggity-blog-blog. But other times whether it be because of news, our own personal life or families, our own creative work, we need to go smaller and explore less.”

Rather than go to AWP, I went smaller. Explored in a different way. Went for long walks with my dogs, watched movies with my husband. Read. Drafted a few poems. I even went to see former student Tomi Adeyemi on tour with her blockbuster debut YA novel at a local bookstore.

I’m hoping to attend next year’s conference in Portland, Oregon, a city I have never visited. For now, it’s all CTSH. And waiting for spring to finally come to the Midwest.

Some People Want to Fill the World with Silly Love Songs…

…and what’s wrong with that?

Having finally succumbed to the flu/crud/illness that has been sweeping through my school for the past six weeks, I spent most of the weekend tucked under a blanket trying not to cough all over my computer screen. But I did some drafting and revising this week, engaging with poems that address subjects I’ve been exploring in depth for some time: aging, faith, hope. And love. Rather like I Corinthians 13:13 –  “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

Writing love poems isn’t popular. I’m not talking about traditional love poems, as in poems addressed specifically to a lover – but still, they are poems that, at their core, are about love. In an age of dystopias and apocalypses, at a time where confessional poems of trauma and violence and loss and illness shine brilliantly in almost every poetry journal, here I sit, trying to explain how something as ubiquitous as love is what saves me, what nourishes me. Writing these poems reminds me how lucky I am that, among all the bad things in the world, I know love.

However, I wonder if I’m writing these poems only for myself. It seems that, although we need more love in the world, that no one is really interested in more love poems.

But I’ll keep writing them. And I’ll let Ewan McGregor try to convince you to join me:

Rough Week…

I resolved in January that I would post once a week, but this week is kicking my butt. So, instead of investing much brain power in a long post, I will maintain my resolution by presenting a brief (mostly literary) highlight reel:

  • Tuesday, I got to accompany our 7th graders to Chicago Shakespeare Theater for a performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Any day with Shakespeare is a good day!
  • Thursday night at our school district’s Young Writers’ Night, I worked with student and parent writers on revising poems, & my seventh grade students ran an Austin Kleon-inspired blackout activity table. Bonus: When we tweeted him a picture of the busy table, he responded! Definitely worth the 14-hour day.
  • I actually drafted a new poem (which hasn’t happened in a while) inspired by watching Blue Planet 2. Ocean bottom creatures are creepy, but penguins and sea lions are adorable.
  • Reading list for this week: Terrible Blooms by Melissa Stein, Oceanic by Aimee Nezhukumatathil, the new Poetry magazine, & an almost insurmountable stack of student writing. (More on those collections when I am more coherent…)
  • I indulged in two of my favorite TV guilty (or not-so-guilty) pleasures – Project Runway: All-Stars and America’s Next Top Model. (I know nothing about fashion AT ALL, so I don’t know why I love these shows, but I do.)
  • I am currently fighting a terrible cold, so I am heading off to bed. Hopefully stay tuned for something more interesting next week.

Fear of Hibernation

As I write this, there’s a fire crackling in the fireplace. The dogs lounge sleepily on the floor, and my husband sits next to me. The incredibly gorgeous (but exceedingly creepy) Blue Planet is on the television. (Seriously, ocean creatures, why must you be so nightmare-inducing?) I spent a few hours with a good friend today catching up on life. I will get to spend another few hours with another good friend tomorrow writing and hanging out. The snow from last week’s storm has diminished but is again looking lovely after a fresh coat from a smaller flurry yesterday. Perfect conditions for hibernation.

Hibernation is defined as “the condition or period of an animal or plant spending the winter in a dormant state.” Yes, it is winter. And yes, I have been dormant. The dormancy above has been relaxing, down time that I treasure. But my writing brain has been dormant as well, and this is troublesome to me.

Usually winter is a productive creative time for me- the weather is not tempting me outdoors, and the long drag of school days without breaks usually leaves me very eager to think about other things at home. Any other things. But not this winter.

After the poetry writing I did in January at the conference I attended, every bit of writing I’ve done since has been non-poetry related – this blog, reviews of other poets, proposals and lessons for work, etc. The poems are dormant.

I am hopeful that they are dormant in the same way the iris bulbs in front of my house are dormant – sleeping safe beneath the soil of everyday “stuff” but ready and able to push through and bloom when the weather dictates. But there is a nagging fear that, this time, the poems are dormant the way a volcano can be dormant – seething beneath the surface for years and years and years, roiling and alive but never surfacing. And this is a little scary.

Why? I will be retiring from 36 years of K-12 public school teaching in 2020. It has always been my dream that writing would become my everyday job, that I would devote the time and energy to it that I never could while teaching full-time all of these years. But what if the well is dry? What if, when finally faced with the time to write, I have nothing to say?

For now, I cannot answer that question. I am still curled on the couch; the fire is still burning. Somewhere inside, I hope the lava is not destroying the blooms.

 

First Reads: Like A Fat Gold Watch

I have a confession to make: I have not read much of Sylvia Plath. I remember reading The Bell Jar in high school, but as a poet, I have not spent much time with her work other than the “famous” poems. Not because I don’t  like what I do know – on the contrary. I have taught and treasured “The Mirror” for years, and the sounds in “Mushrooms” have been a textbook on sonics for me.

But in reading the new anthology Like a Fat Gold Watch: Meditations On Sylvia Plath and Living, I realized how much of Plath’s work and life I do NOT know. This new anthology, edited by Christine Hamm, is a digest of response to and literary conversation about Plath’s poems that both introduced me to Plath in a new way and also to new writers. As I did in my initial First Reads post, I will not seek here to intellectually dissect the anthology but to give my impressions upon first read: what jumped out at me, what I enjoyed, what I will want to return to again.

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The Big Picture: In her introduction editor Hamm writes, “Plath’s work is a rebellion against the rigid prison of femininity identity–she writes about ugly, impossible, unpleasant, threatening things. The ugly female body, its scars, its blood, its hunger.” This sets up the scope of the anthology as well as pushes against the vision of Plath as “the saint of emo teenage girls and self-harming woman,” preparing the reader for multiple contexts in which the contributors have experienced and responded to Plath’s work.

Structure: The anthology has each author’s bio and a brief statement about their included work as a preface to the work itself. I enjoyed this structure as it allowed me to know a little about the writers and how they had engaged with Plath before I read. I had never seen this before–author notes and bios usually are placed at the end of an anthology –but this structure was interesting to me, especially since I didn’t know some of the Plath references. Many of the contributors are Plath scholars, and this intense scrutiny of her work has inspired me to be a better student of poetry in general.

The Variety of Responses: I had imagined that the anthology would be all poems, but it is not. Poems are here, yes, and good ones (I’ll mention some favorites later), but there are also essays, short stories, visual art, & explications of Plath poems. The poems themselves take several different forms from free verse to a sonnet crown to complicated collage work. The variety made the anthology well-paced and engaging.

 

The Quality of the Work:  There is much to love here, and I cannot quote every piece, but I will highlight a few pieces to which I know I will return. Tasha R. Cotter’s essay “Explication of Three Ariel Poems” was both intelligent and interesting, something hard to find in critical essay. I will now attend to these three poems with Cotter’s essay as a guide and a touchstone for my own opinions. Lisa Cole’s poem “The Truth Pulled From Her Mouth” is lovely, ominous and hopeful all at once, ending with “To become that which hurts us/is to thrive, to conquer.”  J. Hope Stein’s poem “Ted & Sylvia” offers a glimpse both into the relationship between Plath and Hughes and into the speaker’s relationship and desire to be Sylvia: “When we first met,/you asked me to be Ted./& I said to myself, come on,/what would Sylvia do?/When I say SPRING I mean SPRING.” Angela Veronica Wong’s “In Spring” provides masterful line breaks and stunning lines like “My crabheart scuttles like a nightmare.” And Sarah Busse’s “Four Letters to Sylvia” are both homages to the poet and their own universes of words: “Dear genius, dead girl, what can I tell you of sea/or moon, more than you know?”

A good anthology not only draws a thread thematically but allows each individual piece its own space to create a world. Like a Fat Gold Watch does this quite well, giving each piece the opportunity to shine on its own merits as well as enter a larger conversation with a poet who most people know of, but now will want to know more deeply.  I recommend this anthology not only to anyone who already has a relationship with Plath’s work, but also to Plath “novices” like myself. I guarantee that you will enjoy this collection either way.

 

 

 

When the Writing Gets Tough…

the tough:

  1. get going
  2. do what they can
  3. give up

Honestly, I can relate to all three of these answers over the past couple of weeks.  Let’s begin with Answer C. I swear that everything I have tried to start over the past week has turned into a steaming page of trash. I came upon a John Dos Passos quote that seemed to speak to how I have been feeling when I try to draft new work:

“Trying to write –God! I have a brain like a peanut… Found a peanut, found a peanut echoes in my head, the insane song.”

Yep. That sounds about right. Peanut brain. Racing in 900 directions, none of them helping with what should be growing into a poem. Anxieties and daily frustrations creeping into every spare thought. So I gave up on trying new work & began focusing on other things.

Which leads us to Answer B. Doing what one can. Which for me were those other things mentioned above – revision, reading, and taking notes for a review. I revised some promising work from late last year, took notes on a new anthology I am hoping to review, and I read. I am teaching Twelfth Night to my 7th graders right now, so I found solace in Shakespeare, which I often do. I am also reading Colin Meloy’s delightful Wildwood aloud to my 6th graders, and his language is just as rich and clever in this YA fantasy as it is in his songwriting for The Decemberists. I read the new issue of Tinderbox Poetry, which is, well, go read it yourself, especially this beauty by Michael Schmeltzer.

Which leads us to Answer A. Get going. Feeling better, I began to prepare some older poems that, after revision, seem ready for submission. I kept to my writing plans for the week, even if the drafts are awful and my notes for the review are not making much sense at this point. I kept moving forward.

And I’m looking ahead – to using my newly-completed home office as a quiet writing space; to an upcoming poetry day scheduled with my good friend and fabulous poet Kristin LaTour; to taking my 7th graders to Chicago Shakespeare Theater for a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, for most of them their first live Shakespeare performance; to dinners and quiet nights with my husband; to the snow that is forecast for tomorrow.

I’m eager for whatever words may come in the next few weeks, even if I have to look for them. And I’ll have this Neruda quote (purchased at a visit to his home in Santiago)  over my desk to remember that I am not alone:
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