Saturday, June 25, 2005

one more for the road

Great. I don't even know what a hierophant is (except for what this says -- the Pope? Ewwww!), and this guy is kind of creepy looking. That figures, huh? And am I the only one who sees something, er, inappropriate about those columns?
The Hierophant Card
You are the the Hierophant card. The Hierophant,
called The Pope in some decks, is the preserver
of cultural traditions. After entering The
Emperor's society, The Hierophant teaches us
its wisdom. The Hierophant learns and teaches
our cultural traditions. The discoveries our
ancestors have made influence the present.
Without forces such as The Hierophant who are
able to interpret and communicate traditional
lore, each generation would have to begin to
learn anew. As a force that is concentrated on
our past and our culture, The Hierophant can
sometimes be stubborn and set in his ways. This
is a negative trait he shares with his zodiac
sign, Taurus. But like Taurus he is productive.
His traditional lore can provide a source of
inspiration for the creatively inclined, and
his knowledge provides an excellent foundation
for those who come into their own in the
business world. Image from: Morgan E.
Cauthers-Knox.
http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/loth/m/o/morganc/morganc.html


Which Tarot Card Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


I'm pretty much packed except for the last-minute stuff. In a little bit I'll shut down the laptop and stow it in its bag. Just have to do the last of the housecleaning (i.e. move the piles of laundry and other crap from the living room to on top of the bed and shut the bedroom door, mostly), take out the garbage, stuff like that. This is kind of pathetic, but I'm really going to miss my cats this week. Yes, I'm one of those middle-aged women.

Oh well -- time to stop procrastinating. Two and a half hours from now I gotta be on the road. Ciao!


EDIT: OK. If I change one of my answers, I get this, which I like much better:
The Justice Card
You are the Justice card. Justice preserves the
harmony of the world. Working with opposite
forces, Justice does not seek to criticize or
condemn but rather to accept. The idea behind
the card justice is that opposite forces are
complementary; you could not have good without
evil or light without darkness. Justice's
position is to make sure that if a thing is out
of balance, the weight of its energy is
realigned with its opposite force. This card is
also a card of humour, for it is in pointing
out contrary positions that humour is often
found. The attitude that is found in the
humourous person, being able to shift
perspective and flow with an instinct, is
important in the maintenance of good balance.
Image from The Blue Moon Tarot Deck.
http://www.themysticeye.com/pics/bluemoon.htm

Friday, June 24, 2005

The last loose ends

"Poems are like erections--you can probably call one into being through sheer will. But the best ones happen when you're thinking about something you weren't supposed to be thinking about."
--D.A. Powell at Here Comes Everybody

I can't say I know much about erections, but I love that quote.

Taking tomorrow off work -- the plan is to sleep super late (at least noon), then finish cleaning house, pack, charge the cellphone and the ipod and whatever other little stupid things need to be done, and stay awake until I have to leave my house at (lord help me) 3:15 AM Saturday morning. I've picked out five drafty poems I could potentially throw in for workshopping, made 11 copies of each of those, and will make my final selection of three after I get to P-town, I guess. I actually drafted a new poem tonight -- it's very drafty; I don't know whether it's any good or not, but it's in that stage where I change a word or two every time I look at it, so it might be a good one to work on.

I'll be arriving in the midst of the Portuguese Festival. I hope I can keep my eyes open long enough to catch some of the music going on Saturday night, though after staying up all Friday night I may end up just crashing by 8 or 9 pm. I might make it to the Blessing of the Fleet on Sunday, depending on the weather and what I feel like doing when I get up that morning.

I fully expect to blog at least once or twice from P-town although, much as I love y'all, if it comes down to a choice between blogging or going to the beach, just call me beach bum. I tried to set up Audioblogger but I think it got confused because I had previously set it up to post to my livejournal. So I may be making some phone posts to my livejournal while en route; feel free to check there if you're interested. I'll probably still do a bit of blog-reading in the evenings, but sporadically; I'll catch up when I get back.

Other than that, unless something exciting happens tomorrow, y'all probably won't hear much from me until I get there. Between workplace drama, writing frustration, and just plain craving something new and different in my life, I can't think of a time when I've needed this more -- both the vacation part and the workshop part. Man, just getting out of Indiana for a week is going to feel good -- at this point the workshop is practically gravy. I am so glad I am giving this to myself.

Y'all do something nice for yourselves too this week, okay? You deserve it too. Yes, even you.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Procrastina-a-ation...

...is making me late, is keeping me blo-o-o-ogging... (ok, sorry!)

My reliable, faithful cat sitter sold her business & the new guy is coming over tomorrow to meet the cats, see what's up with the insulin shots, and so on. Originally this was supposed to happen Wednesday evening, so I had one more day to prepare. This means I need to be frantically cleaning house right about now. Obviously, I am not.

One of the problems with having a diabetic cat is that the trustworthiness of one's cat sitter becomes vitally important. My old cat sitter had been visiting the boys since 1996. I'm a bit scared about having to change. I suspect this will be the last time I feel comfortable leaving Mudpuppy (the nearly 18 year old diabetic) for any length of time. I am so nervous about leaving him with somebody new. Sigh.


I'm thinking about this whole blogging-as-writing-genre thing. In my paper journal, I don't come up with a lot of what I would call "good writing" -- a lot of it is just whining and muttering that I need to get out of my system, working things out, processing, and the endless urge just to record one's life. Sometimes (usually with lots of caffeine) I go off on tangents and write something that might be worth coming back to -- but usually, no. But blogging, I'm aware of an audience -- that sometimes if I write something more or less worth reading, I'll actually get a comment, know that someone has enjoyed my work. It is our writing that connects us, here.

I have a bad habit of wanting to save the "good writing" for poems or maybe fiction -- to make something with it, something that's out there, crafted, separate from "me" somehow. As if good writing were somehow in limited supply. (well, mine might be in short supply, who knows?) When I write a bit of something here that I think might be worth something, my tendency is to want to dig at it, poke and tug and squeeze it and somehow extract the poem of it. As if having it on one page and pointing at it and saying "this is a poem" makes it more legitimate somehow. When I was young, in high school and early in undergrad, poetry was just how I experienced the world. It was not unusual for me to write three, four, half a dozen poems in a night. It was my way of engaging, of experiencing, of understanding. Why don't I do that anymore? Why do I now squeeze out a poem a week, if I'm lucky, constipated little turds of poems? (I'm not saying they are crappy -- heh -- poems. Just that they don't exactly flow freely, these days.)

I find myself thinking it's because I don't have much to say, but god/dess knows the poems I wrote and wrote and wrote in high school weren't exactly blazing foundries of deep wisdom. (I probably thought they were, but that's what being that age is all about.) (Do foundries blaze? Fuckit, I'm second-guessing myself again.) Is it because I've spent so much time in workshops, thinking to myself oh I have to have a poem to bring in for the next workshop? Is it because I like publishing, and random blog-blatherings aren't exactly what you send out to editors? (Except random blog-blatherings probably get more readership than most of my actual published poems.) Should I take a break from workshopping, publishing, thoughts of MFA-ing, and try to get back to that "beginner's mind" way of writing?

This may be one of the questions I want to answer for myself in P-town.

Crafting a poem, having this discrete artifact I can point to and name, is surely satisfying. It feels damn good, in fact. But blathering somewhat randomly (but not completely randomly, as I'm always aware that someone may read this, and that the someones who mostly read this are someones who care about & are sensitive to writing & language & poetry) and suddenly finding myself writing something (for lack of a better word) nice -- well, that's satisfying too. If I don't take that and use it somehow, is it worth less?



Whenever I'm about to embark on a summer workshop I try to think, before I go, about what I want to learn from it. If I can articulate this particular blathering a little better, this might be part of what I'm looking for. (Part of it, I think, is "how do I make it easier for myself to write?") That, and "should I try to put together a damn book ms." and "how the hell does one revise." And "should I try to do an MFA and if so how the hell do I expect to pay for it." (And "can I possibly write at least one damn sentence without a damn curse word in it?" Sheesh.)

And, if nothing else, some lovely beach time, the sweet salt air, and if I'm really, really lucky, a bit of a connection with some fellow writers for a few days. And maybe a new little pile of words -- whether they fall into place as poems, or not.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Meow

Because Laurel was amazed at the idea of an 18 lb. cat -- here's a picture of Himself (and that's my hand, not a little kid's or anything). This is why my sister calls him a Kittypotamus.
Image hosted by Photobucket.com

And here are both of the boys together. Mudpuppy is the short-haired one; he will be 18 years old on the first of July and was diagnosed with diabetes in January of 1996 (proof that diabetic cats can live a long and happy life). Honey Bear is the fluffball. You can see what a hard life they have.
Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Friday, June 17, 2005

I bet you didn't know

Tonight some friends and I drove out to the lake for a short, late evening cookout. We made a fire in a grill and cooked hot dogs and sat around at picnic tables and talked. Two of my friends are married and have six-month-old twin girls, with another baby due around Halloween. The other is just entering her mid-twenties and has every expectation of being a wife & mother someday. When we got there a young couple was just finishing up dinner at a nearby table, a single rose in a vase between them; they left after the sun set.

It was a catalog of roads not taken.

Moonlight on the lake, a big messy splat of a bug on the windshield of the van on the way back.

**********

I haven't written much lately but when I let myself sit with it for a while I think it will all come out in an enormous splort of poetry. Maybe it will happen in Provincetown.

Then I can put together a new chapbook: Splorting in P-town.

**********

Ten things you didn't know you knew about me:
[fill in the blank]

**********

To make lists or not to make lists; TMI or not TMI; po-blogging or pub-blogging or describing your own left shoe. I don't care. Sometimes I like reading the most mundane and silly things about people whether I know them or not. Sometimes I love finding out that I'm not the only one who cares about [fill in the blank]. Anything that can make a person feel less alone in this world, any small connection ... that is a gift and a blessing.

**********

I bet you didn't know that sometimes I can't imagine speaking to another living human being, and sometimes I wake from a dream in which there was someone else in my house and for just that flicker of a moment it seems completely inconceivable, unreal, and wrong that the other person isn't really here.

I bet you didn't know that sometimes I sleep when I shouldn't and sometimes I stay up all night.

I bet you didn't know that the half moon over Lake Monroe was laughing at me tonight, and so was a six-month-old girl.

I bet you didn't know that the rabbit never hears the owl that swoops up behind it and gathers its bones and its blood into darkness.

***********

For real: ten years ago this summer I was healing from a broken engagement. Or wasn't healing, really. When I look back on it now I don't remember how it felt -- either the crazy in love part or the crazy after. I don't remember, meaning how it felt is no longer available to me and I can't even imagine how it must have been. Once I decide whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I have every intention of writing about it. I do. I think it will be fiction.

I still think of her sometimes but I don't miss her. But sometimes I miss whoever it was that I was then.

***********

Today I took my 18-pound fluffball of a cat to the vet to have the fur underneath his tail shaved so that it doesn't collect stinky things. He sat on my lap in the waiting room and purred and purred. Cats are the best. I am well on my way to becoming the crazy cat lady librarian in comfortable shoes. And I say that with a smile.

***********

Sometimes there are things I don't know how to say. Sometimes there are things I know perfectly well how to say, but I don't say them. These are the times when I should be writing poems, though a lot of times I don't.

I have ten days to bring myself to the edge of something, and then I'll be out there on that very end of land and words will meet me there -- my own or someone else's.

**********

My own. Or someone else's.

**********

Outside, there are fireflies on all the trees. And mostly I do like my life.

**********

I bet you didn't know how much I love to fly. It's because of the light up there, all that blue and striking light.

**********

Ten things you don't know about your own self. Go.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

A link and some mild amusement

For both the librarian-types and the literary-types: NewPages has a good article on "Why Libraries Should Carry Literary Magazines." (The branch library that I coordinate serves only the School of Library & Information Science and the School of Informatics, so I have no voice in ordering literary stuff. Too bad, because if I did, this article might give me a little backup in doing what I'd want to do anyway.)

Recent searches that have brought people to this blog:
big ass on mammal beach
mammal starting with u (um... unicorn maybe?)
odd sex
"rafael nadal" "hottie"
a woman with a big mammal (well alrighty then!)
On that note, good night.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Good mail and other things

Good mail today: the May 26th issue of the Provincetown Banner (okay, so it's not exactly timely news by the time they mail it to me, but I enjoy reading it all the same), the new issue of Poets & Writers, and my contributor's copies of the new issue of Rattle. Fellow blogger Christine Hamm is also in this issue. Seems like I can't pick up a journal anymore without spotting at least one blogger. Either bloggers are better poets (or publish more, which may not be related to "better"), or else the percentage of bloggers within the population of journal-submitting poets is higher than I give it credit for. Or maybe I'm just picking up all the right journals.

Anyway, it's been quite a while since I got contributor's copies of something, and it's always fun, even though it never fails that seeing a poem in print makes me want to revise it (and seeing my bio in print makes me want to hide in a hole and never come back out). Haven't had a chance to sit down and read the issue yet, but it looks good.

My poetry group met tonight. We were only four; one is laid up with a bad knee (awaiting knee replacement in a couple of weeks), one was not feeling well tonight, and one was out of town. And of the four who showed, only three of us had poems. But they were all poems that were worth spending a bit more time on, so it worked out. We also talked about Tonia's experience at the IU Writers' Conference (she was in Ruth Ellen Kocher's workshop), about the readings that most of us attended that week, and about Patricia's experience at a recent poetry/art festival, the name of which I can't recall offhand, but Robert Bly was the "big name" poet there. It was a very enjoyable and interesting discussion all around, and I think I realized that when I get frustrated with a writing group, it's very often because nobody is bringing in anything writing-related from outside the group. If members of the group (I was going to say "a significant percentage of members" but I don't want to pin it down even quite that much) have no outlet for their writing other than the group, and don't think or talk about writing with people other than within the group, it can start feeling very insular and repetitive. Groups are energized when people bring in poems by other people they like & want to talk about, when people bring in critical work relevant to the concerns of the writers within the group, when people take classes and workshops and go to readings and bring what they've learned back to the group. When enough of that doesn't happen, I find that I feel frustrated and like the group isn't giving me what I want.

It's nice to be able to put a finger on what's been frustrating me.

In other news, apparently there is currently a tsunami warning for the entire west coast. Should this actually turn out to be anything, this post will look really stupid in just a few hours: "Oh by the way thousands of people are swept out to sea; now let's talk about underwear some more." But I have a hunch whoever puts out these warnings is just being over-cautious and there will be at worst a bit of an extra high tide. I hope so, anyway. You west coasterners, I hope you're still here by the time you read this, high and dry. With dry undies, too.

Some of the local young performance-ish poets are apparently organizing a guerrilla reading of sorts in the middle of the local mall. This makes me grin.

I know I had something else I wanted to post about. Something poetry-related, even. I had it in my mind when I sat down on the couch and opened up the laptop, but it ran away. If it comes sniffing back around my ankles I'll let you know.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Choosing drafty poems

Oh god. It just really hit me tonight that I have less than two weeks to pick out the (at least) three poems in draft stage I want to take to Provincetown with me, eleven copies each. On the one hand, I will admit that 'cause I'm only human, I want to take in poems that are already pretty strong because I want to impress the guy. So I don't want to take poems that are a total mess. On the other hand, if I'm going to get the most out of the workshop, I really need to take in poems that I'm willing to completely tear apart and work on a lot. So what I need is strong poems that are a total mess. Yeah, I can do that.... EEK!

Maybe I'll write one or two new ones between now and then. Yeah, 'cause I'm writing so much these days. NOT. (And I have to work five hours on Sunday, so I don't even have a whole entire weekend available between now and the time I leave.)

This momentary moment of workshop-related freakout has been brought to you by the letters D.A. Powell and by the number eleven copies of each.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Monday, Monday (na na, na na na na)

I haven't seen anything on the blogosphere about Richard Eberhart's death. (I feel a bit sheepish about this, but I didn't realize he was still alive! He was 101, after all.)

Got my copy of the Indigo Girls' new album, Rarities, today. It's a bunch of odd cover songs, juvenilia, live tracks, and stuff that didn't make it to a normal album for one reason or another. Included: their cover of the Clash's "Clampdown," Tom Morello's remix of "Shed Your Skin," the Michael Stipe collaboration "I'll Give You My Skin" (originally recorded for a PETA benefit album), a stunning rendition of Sibelius' "Finlandia" featuring Girlyman on harmony vocals, and an Emily song that never made it to CD but has been one of my favorites ever since I first heard it (via bootlegs), "Winthrop." And other stuff. Official release date is tomorrow.

Three people told me today that they heard me on the radio yesterday. That's about how many I usually hear from. One was actually someone I didn't pester about it ahead of time, though, and in fact someone who probably hasn't seen much (if any) of my work, so for him to say I was "doing some interesting stuff" meant a lot. The nice thing about a five minute radio show is that maybe it catches people who are not normally "poetry people" off guard, and they don't change the station because it's only five minutes and they may as well wait it out, and then maybe they actually like the poetry or something.

I've got the first issues of two very interesting new litmags on my "to read asap" pile: Rock & Sling (thanks to Peter for making me aware of this one), which is quite intriguing despite the fact that it's Christian-focused and I'm, well, not; and Ecotone, out of the University of North Carolina-Wilmington, which focuses on work with a "sense of place" and specifically work that explores the transitional zones between places/ecosystems/states of being -- an "ecotone" is just such a transitional zone, ecologically speaking. Rock & Sling is beautifully, even lavishly, printed and includes fine work by such writers as Ellen Bass, Rebecca Loudon, Peter Pereira, and Jeanne Murray Walker as well as of course the Li-Young Lee interview that caught my attention on their website. Ecotone has an interview and some new work by Mark Doty, as well as work by Cynthia Huntington, Philip Levine, Paul Lisicky, Timothy Liu, and others. I have several poems that I think would fit into Ecotone nicely, although (at least) one of them needs drastic revision, and I might even be able to muster up something for Rock & Sling.

I'm holding off on submissions until after Provincetown, though. I'm hoping the revision bug hits me big out there and I really hate it when I send something out and then turn around & revise it and find myself hoping they reject it because the revision is so much better and I never know how to approach an editor with "uh, gee, thanks, but ... can you publish this version instead?" (I suspect that's pretty bad form and annoying to boot.) Anyway, it's exciting to have two brand-new journals that are both so promising.

Thunderheads building up tremendously to the southwest -- big, tall, billowy things. The National Weather Service has put us under a severe thunderstorm watch till 11 pm, but for now it's just enormous clouds which should make for a spectacular sunset in a half-hour or so. Outside, thunderheads gathering for a storm; inside, I'm listening to "Winthrop," with the recurring line "for everyone there is someone never coming back."

For everyone there is someone never coming back.

I guess that about sums it up.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Rainy Sunday notes

Haven't been online much this weekend -- the creaky ol' laptop has been thoroughly preoccupied with loading CD's onto my new ipod (thanks to an overly-generous gift card my mom gave me for my b-day). I feel like I've become one of Those People. I also took my laptop in to work with me yesterday (I almost never have to work weekends, but one of my students graduated and got a Real Job and I couldn't find anyone to cover yesterday's shift, so there I was) where I set up and configured my new wireless card. Now I'm all set to blog from the airport (if I choose to pay the rather outrageous price -- maybe on the way back, when I'm stuck in Logan for a good four-plus hours) or from my B&B in Provincetown.

If you haven't checked out Emily's poems over at Three Candles, do so. They're killer.

Rain all day, off and on. Big black crows keep flying through the rain, past my house, through the damp and gray. The green things need it but it's all a bit dreary. Rainy days make me want to move inward, to read and write and nap and contemplate. I have a lot to do before I leave town, though -- two weeks from now I will be there! -- I know my endless anticipation is probably a bit tiresome, but really, I need this trip so much. I need the ocean, and the whales, and the streets of P-town, and my traditional "just got to town and am much too travel-weary to think very hard about what to eat" pizza from Spiritus, and a bathroom that someone else is in charge of cleaning, and the sweet salt air, and oh yes, the workshop. Looking forward to meeting D.A. Powell. Curious what he'll have to say.

Here's an old-ish poem, and one of my favorites to read aloud:


Eight-Bar Solo

Ray Brown is God,
my father used to say,
and for proof he’d put on records
of Ella, of Oscar, Ray Brown on bass,
my father’s fingers walking the bass lines
in the air with a pop and a thump
and a swing. I learned early how the singer
had to listen to the low notes,
how the bass laid down the rhythm
and the root, how much a man could say
with one blue note.

They’re almost all gone now,
all the cats who knew
how to swing so hard even a white boy
from Kansas caught the syncopation,
learned to play. He’s gone now, too,
my father, gone eight years. Today
when I heard Ray Brown was gone
I put on “Blue Monk,” my fingers
walking the rhythm up and down
in the air, the bass line laying down
everything, the bebop heart of it all.

--A.H. 2002; published in A Linen Weave of Bloomington Poets, ed. by Jenny Kander (Wind, 2002)

Friday, June 10, 2005

IUWC readings: Divakaruni, Komunyakaa

First, a quick reminder that you can hear me reading poems on the radio (or online) Sunday morning at 11:45 AM: more info here. (hey, if you don't promote yourself, who will?)

**********

The last night of public readings at the IU Writers' Conference drew the biggest audience, thanks in large part to Yusef Komunyakaa's presence -- he used to be on faculty here and he is quite well-liked in town.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni read first: a short excerpt from Sister of My Heart and then a bit from Queen of Dreams. I haven't read her, though I've heard of her and she's been recommended to me; after hearing her read, I do want to pick up her books. Good stuff. And she has a radiant presence.

Then Yusef Komunyakaa took the stage. Is there any other poet whose presence & performance is at once so unassuming and so completely commanding? He's just such a wonderful reader. He opened with "Anodyne" (a poem he said he usually closes with), and the audience was in the palm of his hand from then on. He read several recent poems, including "The Same Beat" which was written especially to be performed on Def Poetry Jam; he read "Praise Be," written for Galway Kinnell and in recognition of Kinnell's work within the civil rights movement; and "Ode to the Maggot" ("no one gets to heaven / Without going through you first" -- yow!). I'm skipping around here a bit, I think, and missing a few. He read a few Vietnam poems, including the well-known "Facing It" -- I think everyone in the audience knew this poem and just sat there soaking it in -- such stillness in the audience, and a collective release of breath after each poem. (By the way, if you click on the links for those poems, you can read the text and listen to him reading each one.)

There was a brief excerpt from a new long poem called, I think, "Love in a Time of War," marvelous of course, and he closed with a poem he wrote in honor of Neruda's 100th birthday last year (he was invited to Chile to take part in a celebration of same); the poem was "Nighttime Begins with a Line by Pablo Neruda" and apparently it's in The New Republic Online but it's available only to subscribers. Dang. (Neruda's 100th was last year -- one of my first thoughts -- Kunitz is only a year younger than Neruda?!)

The thing about listening to Yusef Komunyakaa read is that with his marvelous deep resonant melodic voice, his marvelous resonant musical language, and his deep sense of rhythm and meter, listening to him read would be mesmerizing even if you did not know the English language. I do believe that he is an important poet, and that he will be read fifty, a hundred years from now. His work is deepening, I think. And he's such a rockstar, captivating and riveting the audience's attention. Good good stuff, and definitely ended the conference readings on a high note.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

IUWC Wednesday night: Stanton, Ardizzone

Maura Stanton began by telling us she was going to read eight poems. I can't recall anyone else ever opening with the poem count and for some reason I found it amusing. Maybe I'm just weird. Anyway, she opened with a great poem about recovering from surgery while the narrator's hospital roommate watches food shows on TV all day -- it nicely captured that sort of half-conscious post-anesthesia state, where everything makes perfect sense and nothing makes sense at all. Her next poem was about cookbooks and the one after that was about milk toast, and I was starting to get really hungry because I hadn't eaten dinner! (There was pizza at the reception later on, thank goodness.) She moved on from the food poems to others, one of which was about "Pride and Prejudice: The Game" (so funny!) and another was a lovely elegy for Donald Justice, who was of course one of her teachers when she was at Iowa. (I want to get my hands on a copy of that one -- it really was lovely.) I thought her selection of work was particularly nice -- a good range of tone and theme -- though she does tend to read with a bit of "poetry voice." Still, an enjoyable reading.

Tony Ardizzone -- who, like Stanton, is a faculty member here at IU -- read a chapter from Whale Chaser, a novel he has "recently completed ... or may still be completing." I find I don't usually have as much to say about the fiction readings. I'm curious to read this when it comes out, as part of it is set in the Pacific Northwest where the main character is a whale-watch guide. The chapters alternate between that and the character's growing-up years in Chicago; what he read us was one of the Chicago chapters.

Tonight will be the last night of readings -- Yusef Komunyakaa and Chitra Divakaruni. I'm not familiar with Divakaruni's work, but I've heard good things. And Komunyakaa of course is a fabulous reader, with that voice of his.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

IUWC readings: Tuesday night

The conference is really in full swing now, and when I get to the small auditorium where the readings are held, there are little clumps of people sitting together talking about their workshops and stuff. I sat with two local friends, one of whom is "doing" the conference (she's in Ruth Ellen Kocher's workshop). The energy from a gathering like this is contagious, and I found myself envying those who are doing the conference all week, & consoling myself with the thought that in less than 3 weeks I will be in Provincetown enjoying a workshop myself.

So, tonight's readers. First David Lazar read an essay called "The Melon Man" and I didn't take too many notes on that.

Then Martha Rhodes read poems from Mother Quiet, which I have not read but am going to have to buy now. She read them straight through with no introductions whatsoever -- in fact, she did not even read the titles, saying that she thinks of them as one book-length sequence and reading the titles would feel like putting on the gas, then letting up, then putting on the gas, etc. I thought it sounded a little odd at first, but once she started reading, I saw that it made perfect sense for these poems. She read very well, not at all monotonous but not shoving the poems at the audience, and some of those poems walloped me so hard they took my breath away. The book is about her mother's long illness and death; she didn't say it, but it sounded like Alzheimer's -- I remember one line to the effect of "her brain has withered to the size of a pea, and we are not in it" -- I'm pretty susceptible to poems like that right now, as my own mother's health has not been the best over the past year, and these just walloped me. (And consider that I hated Sharon Olds' book about her dad's death, because I just felt battered by it, almost abused by the relentless painful intensity. I would have expected to feel the same about these poems, but I didn't at all.) Usually during a reading I'll drift off for a poem or two, but these poems held me all the way through. Just, just, wow. I know Martha Rhodes teaches in Provincetown most summers, and maybe sometime soonish I'll take a workshop with her.

Finally Brian Leung read fiction. I'd forgotten that he got his MFA here at IU a few years back (I knew his name sounded awfully familiar for some reason) and he mentioned that in his intro. Anyhow, he was a tease. He talked about trying to decide what to read tonight, and read the first few paragraphs of one story, then said "But I realized this story was too long to read tonight, so I'm not going to read it." Then he read parts of several other stories (all from his book) and always broke off after a few paragraphs or a couple pages and said why he had decided not to read that one. He said he'd finally settled on a new story, and read that, but then he stopped in the middle and said we'd have to wonder about what happened until it gets published. Tease! To his credit, though, he didn't go overtime.

More tomorrow. Phew! I feel a bit like I'm on reading overload. Many years I don't go to the readings every night, because when I'm working all day it's just tiring, but I'm taking one for the team so I can tell you guys all about all of the readings. It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. ;)

Monday, June 06, 2005

Radio Radio

Attention! Yo! Listen up!

I will be on "The Poets' Weave" on WFIU radio (our local NPR station) this coming Sunday, June 12, and again on July 10 -- 11:45 am Indiana time (aka Eastern Standard or Central Daylight Time, in other words 12:45 pm New York time -- since we don't do daylight saving time here it confuses people). It's only a 5 minute show, so don't blink or you'll miss it.

You can listen online by going to http://wfiu.indiana.edu/ and clicking on the cleverly labeled "Listen Online" link. If you are in or around Bloomington, Indianapolis, or Kokomo, Indiana, you can listen on your good old-fashioned FM radio (103.7, 95.1, 106.1, or 100.7).

Poems for Sunday, June 12:
Door
Sugar Visits the Wine Bar
Sugar's Buddha
Deuce
Sugar Hits the Highway
Sugar Surfs
all introduced by a quote from Lily Tomlin

Poems for Sunday, July 10:
All Hallows'
To Listen By Singing
Winter Travel
introduced by a quote from fellow blogger Erin Bertram

If you listen and you like it, let me know!
(that sounds like "if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands" ... yes, you now have a song virus in your head, you're very welcome)

Monday's IUWC readings

Three readers tonight, and again I have only brief notes.

Carol Bly read an essay called "How Radiation Oncology Nearly Made Me a Conservative." The style and delivery of this was vaguely reminiscent of Garrison Keillor -- and Bly's from Minnesota, so it must be a Minnesota thing.

Mark Axelrod, who's teaching a screenwriting workshop, read two selections from his novel Bombay California -- a novel which is set in the world of Hollywood screenwriting and which apparently incorporates an actual screenplay (though he didn't read any of that). These were pretty amusing in a "boy, Hollywood is a weird and fucked-up place" kind of way. Then he read several short-shorts from his collection Borges' Travel, Hemingway's Garage which were quirky and amusing but I didn't find them as funny as the Hollywood stuff.

Last was Cynie Cory, a very energetic redhead; she read several poems from her first book, American Girl, then two from her sonnet sequence Clink Street (which was just a finalist for the Larry Levis Prize), and finally several 8-line syllabic poems from her new manuscript, which she wrote while very sick and reading Byron in London (lots of references to Byron & also to Bob Dylan). While she wasn't quite my personal cup of tea, she had a lot of energy and some interesting turns of phrase, and I think a lot of my fellow bloggers out there would like her -- she's one of those hot young queer semi-formalists. (I think that means like a tea-length dress rather than the full ballgown, right?) She was quite interesting, really. And cute.

I skipped the reception tonight -- I was just tired enough that even the promise of free food didn't lure me in. Maybe tomorrow.

Tonight's Readings: Leavitt & Kocher

First off, if you haven't yet seen Paul's good news, go check it out. Way cool!

Went to the first night of the IU Writers' Conference readings tonight. I'm afraid I got too busy listening to take good notes, so this will be brief....

David Leavitt: He's got a nonfiction book about Alan Turing coming out -- verrrry interesting! He's just recently back from reading at a festival in Rome, the theme of which was "fear and hope"; he read us the short story he read there, "A Civilized Divorce." It was quite good (about the relationship between a father & his grown son, years after the son's parents divorced) -- funny in places, full of vivid description, and amazingly enough, he didn't read way over the allotted time as so many fiction writers tend to do. He read quite well, too, and though I didn't get a chance to chat with him, he came across as a very laid-back and congenial guy. He said he'd been enjoying the conference so far in the 24 hours he'd been in town and if it kept on being this much fun he might not leave. Heh.

Ruth Ellen Kocher: She was wearing a pair of shoes very much like a pair I have (and love so much I wore 'em out), so she got points right away. *grin* She opened with three poems from the manuscript she's working on, The First Gods; the first poem, "Gabriel in the Kitchen Stirring Onions," completely blew me away and I really want to read it again. Then she read some older poems, including a kick-ass one about red shoes. I actually hadn't been that familiar with her work, but I'm thoroughly sold now. These are poems that make me want to run home and write. She blends intellect and earthiness in a nearly seamless way -- just plain good stuff. Chatted with her for a few minutes at the reception afterwards (hi!) and she seems like a neat person. I'm envious of the people in her workshop this week! A good friend of mine is taking her workshop, so hopefully I will at least get to hear all about it.

I did notice that Yusef Komunyakaa went up to her right after her reading and was probably saying really nice things to her. Cool.

I hung around the reception longer than I'd actually intended to, considering I have a bunch of stuff I need to get done before bedtime tonight -- guess that laundry isn't going to get done after all, whoops. I do need to get my poems prepared for tomorrow's recording session over at the WFIU radio studio, and practice reading them a few times (ahem). Since it's already 11:30 pm, I'd better stop blogging and get cracking.

Friday, June 03, 2005

Random notes

One of the librarians I work with told me this morning that he plays tennis with Brigit Pegeen Kelly's sister. That may be as close as I'm going to get to a "brush with fame" this week.

Last night I dreamed my chapbook ms. was one of four finalists in some contest or other. For some reason I picked up my mail in a room full of people, saw the envelope, and knew I had to be by myself when I opened it, so I went into another room. When I saw that I was a finalist I jumped up in the air and said "I knew that was a good manuscript!"

I'm now trying to explain to my dream-self that if I'm going to dream about success I really should make the effort to dream big. Get a book published by Norton and have gorgeous brilliant women -- hell, gorgeous brilliant anybody, it's a dream, I don't have to be picky -- lined up on my doorstep begging for my attention. Or get a nice big cash prize. At least freakin' WIN the chapbook contest! Even my dreams embrace mediocrity these days. Good grief.

Speaking of winning, congratulations to Beverly Burch and Luis Cernuda, winners of Lambda Literary Awards in the lesbian and gay men's poetry departments. (I'm now imagining an old-style department store with an elevator whose operator nasally announces, "Third floor, lesbian poetry and lingerie.") Other winners of note included Alison Smith for her terrific memoir Name All the Animals, which I read a month or two ago, and Alexis de Veaux for her biography of Audre Lorde. Doesn't look like the Foundation has updated its website with winners yet, so if you'd like me to forward you the complete list, backchannel me (ahaines at gmail dot com).

I'm watching tennis. I love watching tennis. The French Open finishes up this weekend, and ESPN2 is currently showing the semifinal match between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. Even I can appreciate the grace and, well, hotness of these two players. The match took place earlier today and I already know Nadal won, but it's lovely to watch them all the same. If I could write a line of poetry with the arc and power of Federer's forehand, I would be a happy woman.

I wish I'd written this.

It Being A Free Country

Yesterday, swimming with you
arm over arm straight
to the center of the lake,
it occurred to me
that what I really wanted to do
was to swim up behind you,
run my hands across your back down round
to your belly.
I wanted to turn you around,
feel your mouth on mine--
the water was its own
free country, opening
smooth and clean
around my body,
but I did nothing. I turned over,
floated on my back, said a word
or two to the blank
blue above me--
Later in the day, I was out
in the field, bare-breasted,
on my knees, picking blueberries.
The heat from the hill kept rising steady
and constant into my body. I was distracted
watching my breasts extend their roses,
their promises, their don't you want to touch us
down to the berries
ripening at the roots of the grass.
There on the hill where the berries
grew freely, I bent into the blue fruit
staining my knees, my mouth,
my lips . . . I let the sun-warmed berries
open themselves in my mouth, and considered
what I wanted to say to you--
how I wanted to touch you--
what I would do after that.

Carol Potter
from Before We Were Born (Cambridge, MA: Alice James Books, 1990)

Thursday, June 02, 2005

readings are afoot!

The IU Writers' Conference is next week and I plan to make it to most of the evening readings -- I'll try to blog about the ones I get to. Here's the lineup:

Sunday: David Leavitt and Ruth Ellen Kocher
Monday: Mark Axelrod, Cynie Cory, and Carol Bly
Tuesday: Brian Leung, David Lazar, and Martha Rhodes
Wednesday: Tony Ardizzone and Maura Stanton
Thursday: Yusef Komunyakaa and Chitra Divakaruni

I'm looking forward to some good readings and to getting together with Jenni again. I may get to one or two of the post-reading receptions, depending on how energetic I feel -- staying out late on weeknights is, at my advanced *ahem* age, harder than it used to be! (Witness tonight; I had to work from noon to 9 pm as I had nobody to cover the front desk for the evening shift, and even though I'm a night person, getting home that late felt difficult.) They always have free food at the receptions though, which is certainly an enticement.

The Fine Arts Work Center has also posted their reading schedule for this summer, and looks like I get to go to some good ones the week I'm there:

Sunday, June 26: Mark Doty (yay! he's not teaching there this summer so this is a nice bonus)
Monday, June 27: reading by Dan Mueller & slide talk by Sue Miller
Tuesday, June 28: readings by Katherine Vaz & Olga Broumas & slide talk by Joel Janowitz
Wednesday, June 29: reading by Robin Becker (yay!) & slide talk by Paul Bowen
Thursday, June 30: I think they have student readings that night
Friday, July 1: Sonia Sanchez & D.A. Powell (yay!)

This may be more readings than I've ever been to in one month. Should be fun. I often run home & write after a reading, so maybe I will get some poems out of all this.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

blink and you might miss this one

so rough I haven't even gone back to read this one yet. I may not leave this up...


[sorry, you blinked. if you missed it and want to see it, comment or backchannel --]

Crankiness and a book meme

Acquired today: one parking ticket (which I'm 95% certain I should be able to successfully appeal, but still) and two rejection slips (no ink nor nothin') for what I thought -- still think, really -- are pretty strong poems. If you need me I'll be over here in the cranky corner.

Sarah tagged me so here you go:

1. Total number of books I own:
You have got to be kidding me. Um, one of these days I'm going to get out the measuring tape and post how many feet of bookshelves are in my house. Suffice it to say there are lots of bookshelves and they are not empty. And there are various piles here and there. I could retire tomorrow and never buy another book again and on the day I died I'd still be plowing through what I've got. How many books? Um, thousands, I'm sure. And I don't even have the decency to be embarrassed about it.

2. Last book I bought:
I'm not sure what was the very most recent, but I think these were the most recent:
Rosie O'Donnell, Find Me (snagged in the $1 department at Target, of all places)
Patricia Fargnoli, Duties of the Spirit
Ilya Kaminsky, Dancing in Odessa
And these were birthday gifts:
Don Saliers & Emily Saliers, A Song To Sing, A Life To Live: Reflections on Music as Spiritual Practice (copy signed by Emily Saliers, which is awesome)
The Boston Women's Health Book Collective, Our Bodies, Ourselves (brand-new edition)

3. Last book(s) I read:
Rosie O'Donnell, Find Me
Sherman Alexie, Reservation Blues
Brian Teare, The Room Where I Was Born
Patricia Fargnoli, Duties of the Spirit
A. Loudermilk, The Daughterliest Son
Tora Johnson, Entanglements: The Intertwined Fates of Whales and Fishermen
Mark Doty, School of the Arts
Alison Smith, Name All The Animals
And currently reading:
Mary Oliver, Long Life
D.A. Powell, Cocktails

4. 5 books that mean a lot to me:
Louise Fitzhugh, Harriet the Spy
Adrienne Rich, The Dream of a Common Language
Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones
Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird
Taro Gomi, Everyone Poops

5. Tag 5 people and ask them to fill this out on their blogs.
Oh hell. I get in trouble when I do this. If you want to do it, do it; if I read your blog (and I read a buttload of them), I'd be curious to see your answers to this.

Monday, May 30, 2005

Midlife

There are things that are mine to write about. I'm forty-four years old now -- "midlife" by any definition; given my family history in which hardly anyone makes it past about 70 years old (and the ones who make it that far are in the minority), I'm probably well past the middle of my life. Tonight my mom and I watched a documentary about the violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg, who is just about my age. She talked about her devotion to her work, and about her suicide attempt at one low point when -- it was implied -- her work, her art, was not enough to overcome loneliness and loss. I don't have her intensity and sometimes I wish I did. But would I go where she went, would I willingly go there even if it meant I would write with as much genius as she pours into her playing? Last night Mom and I watched a Bobby McFerrin concert on DVD. He's a freakin' genius too -- the man embodies music, apparently has a red telephone hotwired directly to the muse. But he seems to have so much joy. It's an intensity, but a very different one from Nadja's.

Do I have any of that intensity, either the painful passion or the joyous kind? Am I mired in middle-aged mediocrity? When I'm dying -- whenever that happens -- will I wish I'd taken the standard route and put my energies into finding a partner, having a family? Has what I've done with my life so far been enough to justify not taking that route? It's too late for many things now -- so where do I go with this?

There are things that are mine to write about, and some of them I've barely touched so far. Some of them I may never touch even though they're mine. Some of them belong in dark rooms and silence. Some of them don't.

In my life, I am mostly happy. Content. Is contentedness enough? It is if you're a cat, but for a woman?

There are things that are mine to write about, and things that are not.

All day today I've had a stunning headache. I've barely been online while I've been here at my mom's, which makes me realize how much this online world serves to fill the gaps when I have no actual human voices around me. And poetry, what gaps does that fill? The ones that will always be there no matter what?

Back tomorrow night. Probably won't catch up on comments or email until Tuesday night. Be kind to yourselves, friends -- be kind.

Friday, May 27, 2005

No chapbook love

Just got my rejection from the Flume Press chapbook contest. They actually give a couple pararaphs of critique, which is nice. They seemed to think the title was good ("Breach contains powerful imagery, especially in reference to the collection title") -- I like the title myself, so it's nice to get a little validation there -- and they picked out one poem they especially liked. And they picked out some stuff they didn't like so much, which I will think about. Anyway, they had 188 submissions; the winner was Sharon Charde, whoever she is -- Sharon, if you're out there, congratulations. (Congrats also to Christopher Buckley, Don Colburn, and Richard Spilman, who were finalists.)

Oh, and I get a copy of the winning chapbook -- Bad Girl at the Altar Rail, which is a cool title, isn't it? -- when it comes out. That's why I entered this particular contest -- getting a bit of critique & a copy of the winner makes the entry fee seem a lot more worthwhile.

I have another ms. currently out to a chapbook contest. I'd kind of like to revise Breach so that it doesn't duplicate any of the poems in Landlocked Luck, and send them both around for a while. Maybe that's a good goal for this summer. I think this will be the Summer of Revision. I don't feel like I have a whole lot new to say these days, so maybe revising the stuff I've got is the best plan. And god knows a lot of it needs it.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Next week on an all-new episode of Land Mammal...

Tonight and tomorrow: house cleaning, packing, errand running, and so forth. Tomorrow night: drive up to Mom's (about a 4.5 hour drive, including the fun of wading through Indianapolis 500 traffic). Saturday: my 44th birthday; dinner with Mom and her boyfriend. Sunday: brunch with Mom at Tippecanoe Place (followed shortly by a rather comatose state -- they serve a HUGE, wonderful brunch). Monday: drive back home. Don't expect a whole lot of blogging till I get back.

Next week: need to write up two ultra-short bio notes, find two appropriate quotations with which to open, and select two 4.5-minute groups of poems to record for "The Poets Weave" with Jenny Kander on WFIU, our local NPR station. These will air on July 24 and August 7 at 11:45 am Indiana time, and you can listen online -- I'll post reminders closer to the date! I actually think I know more or less what poems I'm going to read (Jenni - you'll like that one of the programs will be mostly Sugar poems) and I've written up the bios, but finding appropriate quotes is going to take some poking around. I always enjoy reading on the radio, though I can never quite bear to listen to the sound of my own voice.

Then I'll have the weekend to practice reading those poems and (gasp) do some writing, I hope. The IU Writers' Conference begins that Sunday (June 5th) and I'll be attending most of the evening readings, which should be fun. Monday the 6th I'll troop over to WFIU in the late afternoon to record poems. It's neat that I'm doing that in the midst of the conference energy -- the readings are usually a lot of fun and get me excited about poetry, and I'm glad they are open to the public so I can attend even in years when I don't spend money/vacation time on the conference itself.

The next 3 weeks or so are really busy at work though -- I'll be covering some odd shifts, working an evening or two and a couple of weekend days, which is unusual for me, and training a new student worker. I suspect the month between now and my D.A. Powell workshop is going to fly right by. Hooray!

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Too Cranky for Poetry: A List

  1. Realized today that with the way Northwest Airlines has changed my schedule on me (they cancelled the sweet nonstop flight I originally had), my trip to Provincetown is being cut short by what feels like almost a full day -- I will have to catch the 11 am ferry back to Boston in order to make my 5:48 pm flight. That is the latest flight of the day on Northwest, and the next later ferry would get me to the airport without enough time to safely make the plane. I'd hoped to spend the morning/early afternoon on the beach or on a whale-watch boat and catch the 3:00 ferry; under the original schedule that would have gotten me to the airport about 90 minutes before my flight. (It's 90 minutes on the ferry, plus allow about a half-hour to get across the harbor via water taxi & catch the bus to the airport proper.) I will investigate flying via Cape Air, but I think that will be too expensive to consider. I am bummed about this hijacking of the last few hours of my vacation. On the other hand, I may be able to meet up with some Boston friends for lunch at the airport, since I'll be there for over four hours.
  2. Took my car to get the oil changed today and found out that my brake lights are completely out. Since I don't have a garage to park in, I don't really have any way to see my own brake lights (picture a 1991 Toyota Corolla craning itself around to check out its own butt), so no idea how long this has been the case, and I'm quite surprised I have not been pulled over. The bulbs are apparently fine, so they suspect it is the switch. I drove across the street to the Marathon with the decent garage, but they were unable to look at it today. So first thing tomorrow morning, instead of getting to work on time, I have to take the car to the shop. I can't drive around without brake lights!
  3. On top of all that, our e-reserves server at work was apparently down today, and it was like pulling teeth to get anyone to give me any information about it. Sure hope it's back tomorrow.
  4. So overall, I am just plain cranky today. Too cranky for poetry.
  5. Two good things: [5a] In three days, I turn forty-four years old. [5b] And in one month, I will be able to get sand between my toes and salt water on my lips. I'll spend my mornings by the water, my afternoons talking about poetry, and my evenings going to readings & coming back to my little room to write. I cannot imagine any better vacation. (Well, okay, having class in the morning so I could have my beach time in the afternoons would be a little better. But that's okay. I'm counting the days anyhow.)

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Blogoview Question of the Week

Charlie asks: "If you could turn any room or building in the world into your writing studio, what would you choose and why?"

Take a look at these cottages ... one of these (preferably the Beach Cottage, though I'll take any of 'em) comes pretty darn close to my answer. At least at this moment. This is like asking what's my favorite book -- I suspect I'll have a different answer if you ask me in a month.

Why here? Because the thought of being able to look up from writing and see the ocean makes me sigh dreamily. I do a lot of staring into space when I'm writing, and the constant-yet-constantly-changing view of the water would, I think, be perfect. Enough change and movement to stimulate me, but not so much that I'd get distracted and watch instead of writing. Also, I could step out the door and walk on the beach when I needed to get some air, or sit outside and write on nice days. Having lived all my life in the Midwest, the thought of being next to the ocean (okay, the bay, but close enough) makes me all swoony. My two favorite vacation places (Provincetown and Maui) are both ocean-y places, and the smell of salt air makes me feel so awake.

Someday maybe I'll get a little grant and I can rent a place like this for a month and have a little writing retreat. (I daydream of a month-long writing retreat -- that's probably the longest I could manage to get off work -- but it won't happen as long as I have a geriatric, diabetic cat to take care of. After he's gone, mind you I'm in no hurry for that to happen, I might be able to take the other cat to my mom's for a month of being spoiled & playing with her other cats while I zip off to a writing retreat somewhere. But even then, a place like these cottages will be out of reach financially ... but there are a lot of wonderful retreats I could try to get into. It's a favorite dream of mine right now.)

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Thanks and welcome

First, my thanks to the generous souls who agreed to take a look at the poem I was stuck on. You guys rock! (Please know that there's no hurry, though -- I doubt I'll have time to work on the thing until after Memorial Day. Sigh.)

Second, welcome to any readers picking me up via the feed at slisblogs.com. I feel like I should watch my mouth now, or something. ;) Y'all should know that I don't talk about SLIS stuff much here, or much library stuff at all, really -- this blog is devoted primarily to nattering about writing, or writing about nattering, as the case may be, with a side dish of dithering and blathering. If you are interested in contemporary poetry & poetics, click through to my blog and check out my links to many other (much more interesting) poet-bloggers.

(For those non-SLIS folks who are now scratching their heads, SLIS is the School of Library & Information Science here at Indiana U., and the SLIS Library is where I work & how I pay the bills that poetry refuses to look at. Damn poetry. Someday it's gonna take me out to lunch and pick up the check, I swear to god, or else it's getting kicked out of this house. Poetry is such a moocher.)



It is just over a month now till I head out to Provincetown for a week-long poetry workshop on "Vision and Revision" with D.A. Powell at the Fine Arts Work Center. I can't decide whether I'm looking forward to it more for the workshop itself or for just getting the heck out of Indiana for a few days. Both, I guess. P-town is one of my favorite places on the planet, but it feels even better to be going there with a purpose this time -- like I'm not just another tourist. Silly, I know. And I know I will learn a ton from D.A. Powell; I'm rereading Cocktails now and his use of language is just, well, wow. And it will be good to spend a few days studying with someone whose voice is so very different from my own. Hopefully that will help me to step outside my own work a bit and understand how to revise it -- not just editing, but re/vision, seeing it again with new eyes and different understandings. I plan to take a little stack of poems I feel more or less stuck on. Hopefully I'll make some headway.

Patty Larkin is on E-Town on the radio right now. Oh, this is so nice. I listen to someone like her and I wish I were a musician instead of a poet. There are things that can be said in the bend of a note that can't be said in whole volumes filled with words. Sometimes I think my poetry wishes it could be music the way a barking dog chasing geese into the air wishes she could fly.

Saturday, May 21, 2005

Two funnies and a request

The best laugh I've had all week: Emily has a great post at her blog about "poetry face" -- and Robin points out that "The cat deliberately mistakes poetry face for cat-ass-mirror. Cats like to edit, though."

CAT-ASS-MIRROR! I am still giggling over that one.

**********

Some searches that have led people to my blog in the last month or so:
national hairball awareness day
strange mammal
cheating poems
duck manuscripting
find the mammal donut whole
"adam eve and steve"
poems about librarians
picture of hairball

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Would anyone be willing to take a look at a somewhat long-ass poem I'm wrestling with? It's about two and a half pages right now, fairly narrative, and it feels terribly unfocused -- I'm afraid that I am too wedded to the "true story" and haven't yet unearthed the actual truth of the poem. I don't need extensive critique at this point, just a sense of direction, maybe -- nobody's read it yet and it feels like time. You can comment here or backchannel me (ahaines at gmail dot com) and I can fire it off to you, with much gratitude.

(No pressure, mind. I can always bring it in to my poetry group for a little feedback, so don't feel that someone must pipe up here.)

**********

I did get my new laptop power cord yesterday, and we had a joyous little reunion last night. Let there be power!

Friday, May 20, 2005

Haven't fallen off the face of the earth...

...I'm just dealing with Technical Difficulties. The power cord for my laptop died a few days ago, and my desktop machine is so slow I get fed up after a few minutes -- so my home connectivity has been limited. And I don't like to blog from work very much. I actually ordered a new power cord before the old one completely died, but I should've ordered it sooner, I guess.

There is no phrase sweeter than "out for delivery" on the UPS website. Hopefully I'll be back in action sometime tonight.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Biding my time

I haven't been writing much for the past couple-three weeks. Oddly, I feel fairly OK with this. I did draft a sortakinda poem a few days ago, in a voice that's fairly different for me -- I may pull it out later and see if it's worth working on, but I suspect that part of what's happening is that I do want to try working in some new ways/new voices and I can't quite just plunge directly from the familiar patterns into new ones. I have a sneaking suspicion that sometime in the next month -- or for sure, sometime during my D.A. Powell workshop in P-town -- a poem will come out of me that will make me say "what the HELL?" but in a good way. You know, sometimes you can write a poem, and you look at it afterwards and it doesn't seem like a part of you, it seems like a poem someone else would have written -- but you really like it and it occurs to you that because of this poem, there are others you can write now.

So I'm biding my time, blogging here and there (but not a whole lot of that as I feel awfully boring lately), reading poems and fiction (just finished Sherman Alexie's Reservation Blues, which is marvelous) and other stuff, using this time to fire off a lot of submissions, trying to maintain the condition of being OK with this not-writing-at-the-moment thing. If I don't keep part of my mind connected to poetry, it will be easy to fall into the trap of thinking I have nothing of any importance to say, nothing to write about. But I am reading (poetry and blogs and poetry blogs and other stuff), and I am doing a good job of keeping a bunch of submission packets out at all times; I do not feel like I have stepped away from poetry, as I have at times in the past. I'm still there with it, just keeping silent for a bit. This is different from not having anything to say -- this is knowing I have something to say, but not quite knowing what yet, or in what language or in what form.

Something in there's percolating. Drip drip drip brewing, steam still not quite visible but beginning to rise. I'll try not to be too impatient with it. And before too long, it will be soup. I mean poetry. It's so hard to tell the difference sometimes, isn't it?


(This coming weekend is busy: intensive housecleaning, as I am off to my mom's the following weekend -- Memorial Day weekend -- to celebrate my b-day, and although I'm the least picky housekeeper on the planet, I do need to have the place at least tidy enough for the cat sitter to find the cats. And maybe have a place for her to sit down, too. And only the smaller dust bunnies should be allowed to stay, not the ones that might attack her and chew her to smithereens. So that's two weekends without much writing time. After getting back from Mom's, I suspect I will hit the writing with renewed vigor. ...I hope so, anyway.)

Friday, May 13, 2005

quick before it storms

The comments on my writers' group posts have me thinking about other aspects of the writers' group experience I want to blog about, though not tonight. The question of when -- and whether -- to open an existing group to new members is a tricky thing that's caused tensions, both good and bad, in both of the groups I've belonged to. It can feel as easy as hiring the perfect candidate for a job, or as emotionally challenging as opening up a previously-monogamous marriage. (Not that I have any experience with the latter.)

Diane K. Martin has a group that's been together for 18 years. That deserves notice, and probably applause.

Welcome to the blogosphere: Garbo! Garbo was a long-time member of Source, my first writers' group, until she moved away from Bloomington. She is an amazing fiction writer, and I never regretted that the group was mixed-genre because it was so cool to read her work as it evolved, plus she was always a good poetry reader/critiquer. Sometimes I get my best critique from fiction writers, oddly enough (this was the case in the class I took from Cathy Bowman as well). I could tell you about the time that Source went on a weekend camping retreat and a mole popped up under Garbo's tent in the middle of the night and scared the crap out of her by whispering in her ear, but I'll save her the embarrassment.

Uh, oops. :)

Also stumbled across E. Ethelbert Miller's blog, which is worth a read, and which I don't believe I have seen mentioned anywhere.

Spent the afternoon training a new staff member, so I'm pooped and brain-dead, so no further profundities from me tonight.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

One important rule and two tidbits

Two rejection slips this week (so far). One had a scribbled "sorry" with the editor's name, which isn't as encouraging as "we liked this but" or "try us again" but I choose to be encouraged by it, dammit. Especially since it came from a relatively prestigious mag. Also in the mail today: an oversized postcard from the Fine Arts Work Center advertising their summer gallery schedule. In honor of the exhibit "Stanley Kunitz / The Wild Braid: A Celebration of Stanley's 100th Birthday," the front of the postcard is a lovely photograph of Kunitz in his garden, seen through a haze of unfocused leaves. I assume this photo is by Marnie Crawford Samuelson, whose exhibit it is. Too bad that exhibit doesn't open until three weeks after I'll be there. It's a neat photograph -- I may try to find a little frame that fits it, and hang it in my study. I was fortunate enough to hear Kunitz speak (it wasn't exactly a reading, more like a talk with some poems in it) two years ago in Provincetown. It was such an event -- the buzz in the room before he entered was palpable, and his energy/spirit was absolutely incredible. I thought, here's a man who has loved his life. And I realized that one of my own goals is for people to be able to say that about me, someday.

Well, not so much the "man" part. You know.

**********

Today's newspaper, in the "weekend" tabloid section, has a nice article on poet Kevin Young. When he started winning prizes right and left a couple years ago, I predicted he wouldn't stick around Indiana much longer, and sure enough, I was right -- he's packing up and moving to Atlanta to teach at Emory. As I recall, Komunyakaa left right after he started scooping up prizes too. Go figure. I wonder who they'll recruit to replace Young -- if nothing else, this probably means there will be several worthwhile readings next academic year, since they always have their two or three top candidates do a public reading when they come in for interviews.

I may pick up his new book, Black Maria -- at least check it out from the library. I liked Jelly Roll quite a bit.

**********

In my post about writers' groups last night, I forgot to write about one of the most important rules we had in Source. The rule was, "Do not apologize for your work." Which means: Don't bring a poem to a meeting saying, "Well, this isn't very good, but..." If you really don't think it's any good, don't bring it in. And don't be afraid to own the goodness of your work. It can be really hard -- especially for women, who are taught to be self-effacing -- to say yes, I'm a writer, what I write is worth reading and worth the effort I put into it. It can be hard to do, but it's important to learn how to do it. It's important to learn to believe in your own work.

This doesn't mean you can't bring in a poem to the group and say "look, this is just a first draft, don't spend our workshop time picking on misspellings and comma faults." Because, sure, you can do that. Sometimes you have a piece that's a first draft and all you really need to know is whether it's worth working on or not, where its energy is, whether it makes any sense whatsoever. Sometimes you have a piece that's particularly difficult for you, whether it's because you're working with difficult content or whether you're trying out a new voice or whatever, and over-workshopping it will be damaging. It's important to be aware of this, and if you're in a group that's okay with this, to let them know. In Source we talked about "heart" and "craft" and sometimes we'd ask for just a "heart critique" -- trusting the writer to go back and polish the craft later on. I don't think the two can be separated quite as easily as this makes it seem, but I think there's validity in recognizing those two aspects of writing and honoring both of them. I've been in workshops that focused heavily on craft and never stepped back to say, "hey, what you're writing about here is important material" or "look, you're writing about this relationship you had, but howcome the other person never shows up in the poems?" You can skate dangerously close to therapy, and the dynamic of that is different in an academic workshop vs. the "chosen-family" feeling of a writers' group that has been together for years, but it is still valid to spend workshop time talking about what we write about in addition to talking about how we write about it.

Anyway. Don't apologize for your work. Don't say "This sucks. Please read it." Because, I mean, that's kind of like saying, "Here, taste this. I think it's spoiled." It's just not nice, either to you or to your reader(s). Just bring the work to the table and put it out there. Give your own work that much respect. That's all.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

On writers' groups

First, my own history with writers' groups. In 1985, I founded a group called Source: Women Writers. That group met every week for nearly ten years, met sporadically for a few years after that, and still gets together on occasion. For much of that first ten years we put together public readings once or twice a year; we put out two self-published chapbooks, led a bunch of workshops, and got a couple of grants from the Kentucky Foundation for Women to do some workshops. This group was (as you might have guessed from the name of the group) all women, and had a specifically feminist (not specifically lesbian, though we were about half-and-half) orientation, and it was a mixed poetry/fiction group -- with the occasional song, essay, or other bit of writing thrown in for fun.

In 2001, I joined a group that had already been in existence for quite a while, Five Women Poets. (That group just celebrated its 30th anniversary last year -- two of the founding members are still in the group.) This group is all women and all poets (I know that comes as a great shock, because of the name) -- we don't necessarily have five members at any given time, though. Hey, we're poets, not mathematicians. We do a reading once a year; before I joined, the group had put out two chapbooks, and last year we put out a CD.

The dynamic involved in joining an existing group vs. starting a new one is pretty different, and here I'm going to focus primarily on my experiences with Source, although my experiences with Five Women Poets will enter in as well, I'm sure.

Anyway, I got a lot of my initial "how to do it" ideas from an essay by Marge Piercy, in her book Parti-Colored Blocks for a Quilt (U. of Michigan Poets on Poetry series). If I'm not mistaken, this essay also appeared in the Feminist Writers' Guild handbook, Words In Our Pockets (which looks to be out of print). This essay suggested such things as having food at each meeting and having the leadership/chairpersonship of the group rotate, so that everyone has a turn at being "in charge" -- both ideas I subscribe to wholeheartedly. I also got some of my ideas from the undergraduate creative writing workshops I'd been in.

When I decided to start a writers' group, I knew I wanted it to be an all-women's group; that's just where I was at the time and what worked for me. I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be just poetry or both poetry & fiction, so I figured I'd just put up some flyers and see who called me. If too many women were interested, I'd limit it to poetry. As it turned out, I had about seven serious contacts, which was a nice size group, and a couple of them were more interested in fiction, so I went with the mixed group. For this particular group, that worked really well.

So how to find people to start a group? Five Women Poets was founded when Tonia & Helen (and several other poets) took a workshop from Sandra Gilbert and wanted to continue meeting after the semester was over. Drawing from an existing class or workshop, whether that's a university class, a summer workshop, or something at a local writers' center or arts center, is a very good way to find interested & compatible writers to meet with. You can also talk up the idea at local poetry readings or book groups -- libraries & bookstores often know about these.

When I went to start a writers' group, I just put up a crapload of flyers. I put them up in the English department on campus (nary a bit of interest from there), on bulletin boards in bookstores & grocery stores & the public library, and pretty much everywhere I could think of. Don't limit yourself to "literary" establishments only; I got two members from one flyer I'd offhandedly slapped up in a laundromat!

People will start to call you (hopefully), and when that happens you will want to know what to say to them. Although the group will take on its own character as it develops, and you probably don't want to be a benevolent (or otherwise) dictator, so you may be reluctant to set up rules in advance. However, if you reach this stage of the process with an "eh, whatever" attitude, you will wind up with an "eh, whatever" group. So think about what you want from a group. Are you a serious writer looking to produce polished, publishable work? Do you want a group because it will provide you with a certain amount of pressure to come up with a poem to workshop on a weekly basis? Do you want to spend most of your time on peer critique/workshopping, or would you rather do writing exercises together? (You can have a combination of these things, but you should think about what will be most useful to you.) Do you mainly just want to hang out with other writers, talking about writing and gossiping about who wrote nasty letters to Poetry this month and going to readings together sometimes? This is a perfectly valid sort of group to have, but if you want a serious workshoppy group and others in the group want to hang out and drink wine & chatter, someone's not going to get what they want.

And finally -- & maybe the most sticky, in a way -- what sort of people do you want in your group? I encourage you not to be overly picky about credentials: someone who's written very little poetry but who spends a lot of time reading the stuff can give terrific critique, and watching their own work evolve and improve can be ridiculously gratifying. Good questions to ask are: Have you been in a writing workshop before? (If they haven't, it can be fine, but you will want to talk about expectations and guidelines pretty carefully with them.) What poets/writers do you enjoy reading? Are you interested in publishing your work? Are you interested in giving readings?

The answers to questions like these will give you some idea of what sort of person and what sort of writer this is who's called you to inquire. I'm not going to tell you there is a right or wrong answer, but if you really want the group to give readings a couple times a year, you probably want the other group members to be at least persuadable in this direction. And while being published doesn't necessarily mean someone is a better writer than someone who's not published, to have made the effort to send stuff out tells you something about that writer's seriousness and intention.

So. Know what you want, but be flexible. You may want a group of seven very serious avant-garde poets who have all completed first book manuscripts and prefer to drink red Spanish wines while critiquing, but depending on where you live, you may not get to be that picky. But by asking the right questions, you should be able to weed out the Hallmark-card poets or the fifteen-year-old angsty goth poets, anyway. But do be flexible. If everyone keeps an open mind, there's no reason why you can't have a 60-year-old Mary Oliver fanatic and a 25-year-old avant-gardener in the same group. Really.

At the first meeting, I recommend that you do not plan on workshopping. I suggest having each person bring a finished piece of theirs which they feel introduces them, and spend the first meeting introducing yourselves and talking about where you want the group to go. Talk about workshop experiences: what's worked for people? what have been their bad experiences? Some of us who have been in a lot of workshops sort of take for granted that the person whose work is being discussed shuts up and listens, and then has time at the end to ask questions -- but someone who's never been in a workshop may not understand this. Talk about the ground rules. (I'm not saying, incidentally, that the "person being discussed shuts up" routine is the only way to run a workshop -- but I think most of the time it's a good practice.) Will you meet weekly, biweekly, monthly, quarterly? Will you meet in various people's houses, or do you have a meeting room on campus or at the public library or can you take over a cafe? Who brings food? Who brings the group to order? What if someone doesn't bring in work every meeting -- is someone kicked out of the group if they go several meetings without bringing in work? What if someone can't make a meeting? I strongly recommend requiring group members to let someone know if they're not going to be there, so you don't sit around waiting for them. What if someone can't make several meetings? Are the members OK with having sort of a "drop-in" membership, or is it important to know that most or all of the group members will be there ready to talk about the poem you worked so hard on? Will you meet at a specified time (every third Thursday at 8, the night of the full moon, the 10th of every month) or will you take time at each meeting to get out your calendars and schedule the next meeting? Source met every Thursday at 6:30; Five Women Poets plans month-by-month because we have a couple of members whose schedules are pretty wacky and unpredictable.

Will you send out your work ahead of time (much easier now that most everyone's got email), or will you pass out copies at the beginning of the meeting and spend the first half-hour or so reading & making notes, or do you prefer to critique "cold"? I prefer to have work ahead of time, but in a smaller group, taking time to read (and eat) at the beginning of the meeting can work well too. If you want work submitted ahead of time, agree on a deadline, so that someone doesn't email out a poem at 5:00 when you have a 7:00 meeting.

I do really recommend having food at meetings. It helps relax people, and if you meet in the evenings, a lot of times we working folks don't have time to get home from work and eat a proper dinner before zipping across town for a 6:30 or 7:00 meeting. Either have everyone bring something small every week, or take turns providing food. In Source, the member who was the designated "futon" (they would have been the "chair," see, except in the apartment I had at the time, I didn't have any chairs in the living room, only a futon...) was responsible for bringing food and convening the group/keeping us all in line. In Five Women Poets, everyone brings a little something and whoever is hosting that month's meeting in her home provides beverages.

I recommend against serving alcohol at the meetings, by the way. Some people don't drink, and some just plain shouldn't; it can be an ice-breaker, but it also turns the meeting into much more of a social event than a working session. You can break out the booze after the meeting, if you're so inclined.

How many to have in the group? If you have only three, you'd better all be there every single time, or else you're not going to get much feedback on your work. If you have twelve, it's hard to workshop everybody at every meeting. (Which isn't a requirement -- especially for fiction writers, you may want to plan on everyone getting workshopped once every two or three meetings -- but you want to make sure everyone does get a chance.) I recommend five to eight.

Also: Make sure everyone speaks up and feels comfortable doing so. In Source, at one point, we realized we were so much in the habit of interrupting each other that we finally got some little trinket or other and only the person holding that object was permitted to speak. That was a bit of a crutch, and we got past it, but it helped for a while.

Okay, so that's your first meeting. :) I'll talk more about workshopping and peer critique in another post, I think. Most people reading this blog probably have a fair amount of workshop experience, though there are some differences between a workshop led by a teacher and a peer-critique group, and I'd like to talk about that a bit. But later.

Here are a few things you can kick around for the future of your group, just to get you excited:
  • Public readings
  • Chapbook publication
  • Making a CD
  • Leading community workshops
  • Pooling your funds and bringing in a "name" poet to give you a private workshop now and then
  • Attending readings together
  • Sharing work by writers you enjoy, either reading to one another or bringing in books to pass around and borrow
  • Weekend (or longer) retreats -- you can go camping, rent a cabin, spend an afternoon at someone's house writing like crazy, have a sleepover, rent a van and drive to the coast!
  • Doing writing exercises together now & then if you normally spend your time workshopping, or vice-versa
  • Getting leather jackets & chains & starting a poetry motorcycle gang! OK, just kidding. Maybe.
That's it for now. More later. It's thunderstorming and I'd really better unplug the modem before lightning hits my laptop.

Monday, May 09, 2005

1974 is alive and well...

A while back I posted about some cool library book sale finds, including several old issues of Poetry. I mentioned that the 1974 issue I found had cover art that, well, placed it pretty firmly in the 1970s. I finally had a chance to scan the thing. Check this out:

Poetry, August 1974

Saturday, May 07, 2005

05-07-05

Someone said the date
oh five, oh seven, oh five
should be haiku day.
(I ganked that from someone on livejournal and now I forget who.)

Happy Haiku Day!
Today all blogging should be
Done in haiku form.

Five, seven, and five --
There are more rules to haiku
But that would be hard.

So go for it, y'all.
Five, seven, five for your blogs
To honor this day.

Friday, May 06, 2005

My First Time...

Peter and some other folks have been posting their first published poems this week. After some hemming and hawing (what the hell is "hemming and hawing" anyway? Hemming should be shortening one's pants, and "hawing" -- ?) I'm joining in. I wrote this when I was, um, probably 12 years old. Unbeknownst to me, my mother submitted it to a local literary journal, the Michiana Poetry Review, and they accepted it. (I suspect they liked its "childlike simplicity" or some such thing. They put a cute little pen-and-ink drawing of a little girl in big rain boots carrying a cute umbrella next to it on the page.) They had a little celebratory reading in a coffeehouse and I went with my parents, feeling all artsy and poetic and grown-up and stuff. I don't remember for sure, but I probably wore black. Heh.

Rain

Rain comes down softly,
Or quickly
And thickly.
Rain.

-A.H., published in Michiana Poetry Review, 1973

Yep, that's it, that's all there is. Even shorter than "Door." Hah! I submitted several poems (doing it myself this time, not leaving it to my mom) for their next issue, and they sent me a rejection letter that said "we do not have a children's page." I was a tiny bit crushed, but apparently I got over it.

Okay, that one sort of doesn't count. There was the usual string of publications in high school and college literary mags, and then this was my first poem in a journal that was not published in my own state (I still kinda like this one):

Reception

Your face, radioactive blue
in late television light.
The sound blurred, magnetic
waves through a storm.
Upper atmosphere
disturbance, I think,
watching your eyes
flicker, not really seeing
the late, late show.
It crosses my mind
to say something, but you
don't know I'm here, standing
in the doorway, watching you.
I tiptoe upstairs
in the dark, in the subliminal,
fluorescent hum
as the storm comes closer
lightning on the horizon
cutting through the static
the bright, unsteady glow
of the all-night station.

-A.H. 1985, published in Images, 1988

That publication kicked off a string of about five years in which I got published fairly regularly, something I found I enjoyed a great deal -- got into some pretty good journals, had a few chapbook mss. named as finalists in pretty good contests, etc. -- then around early '94 I stopped writing & submitting for a few years. I guess I'm back in the thick of it now, though, and it feels good. I suppose it's a "guilty pleasure" because I know publishing isn't the point of it all, and I'm certain that it's highly uncool to admit this, but damn, I like getting published. It's fun.

Come on, admit it. If you send stuff out for publication, it's because you like it, too. It's not like we are in this for the money. :)


P.S. Added a handful of new links over there --------->

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Amy Lowell

The current issue of Bloom has a nice interview with Honor Moore (by Joan Larkin), about the new American Poets Project edition of Amy Lowell's selected poems, which Moore edited. Interesting stuff. Like many people, I suspect, I was only slightly familiar with Lowell's work -- but along with the interview there are a couple of her poems in Bloom, and one of them, "The Weather-Cock Points South," had me practically fanning myself. Oh my. I know "labia-as-flower" is the biggest cliche in the Big Book of Lesbian Cliches, but the detail and specificity in this poem and the lovely unhurried rhythm of it fully redeem it from cliche-land, as far as this reader is concerned.

I've just read it again, and I think I need to go be alone for a while. Good night.

Monday, May 02, 2005

The little poem that could

A couple of years ago I wrote a teeny tiny little poem called "Door." Seven short lines. (In fact, I was taking a workshop with Cathy Bowman at the time, just for the heck of it -- the only graduate-level workshop one can take at IU without being in the MFA program -- and wrote the poem as an assignment for that class. The assignment? "Write a short poem." Cathy's response? "Wow, that's really short." Muahaha.)

I decided it wasn't a bad little poem, and sent it out. Lo and behold, it got accepted the first time out (which hardly ever happens) and appeared in issue 9 of Poetry Midwest. A bit later, my poetry group, Five Women Poets, decided to record a CD to celebrate the group's thirtieth anniversary. (No, I haven't been with the group for 30 years -- I would have had to join when I was 13, and hoo boy did my poems suck then. We do still have two of the original founding members, though.) I selected "Door" as one of the poems I wanted to record.

A couple of months later, I received an email from a local composer, who was working on setting a bunch of poems by Bloomington poets. He'd read a bunch of my poems and listened to our CD. The poem he wanted to set to music? "Door." Of course I said yes; I've heard the piece once so far, and it's really cool, partly because it's very different from anything I would have imagined for it -- it's fascinating to get a glimpse into how someone else hears my words. He's continuing to work on this project and sometime next fall, I think, there will be a performance and possibly a CD. He is quite a good composer with a lovely baritone voice, and his partner is a faculty member in the IU School of Music -- one of the best music schools in the country -- so you can imagine his work has a bit of Serious Music Cred.

I ran into him at a reading not long ago, and he said that he'd submitted some samples of this project to a state agency in an effort to obtain a grant. They'd given him some feedback, and the piece they most especially liked? Yep, "Door."

For a teeny tiny little short poem, this puppy's racking up a lot of mileage. I am quite amused. It's far from the best poem I have ever written, but my goodness, how can I not be fond of a poem that makes such good things happen? It's my lovable-runt-of-the-litter poem. It's the little poem that could.

Door

I often stand in doorways
between one room and the next
looking in, looking out.
It isn’t indecision
that keeps me here
but the moment of passage,
the opening, the frame.

-A.H. 2003; first published in Poetry Midwest