You're Doing Just Fine: God Said So!

Day 3 of Wordwoman's Springtime Parade of Poetry

This is a great example of a poem that can be interpreted and appreciated on several different levels; I think it would be a terrific discussion starter for a youth group or Sunday School class.

Jesus Told Me I’m Just Fine
by
Charles Ries

I sat in the rear pew of The Parroquia, the grand church off
San Miguel Allende’s city center called the Jardin. It was early
on Holy Thursday morning and the church was empty except
for the volunteers who were mopping the floor and dusting off
Jesus, who will be carried through the streets later that day on
the backs of twelve believers.
I was there to think, having argued with my brother the night
before over who loved our mother more. This is always a
delicate debate and unwinnable, unless complete and absolute
fidelity is declared to her memory. My love for her is deep,
but not so complete. My brother worries that the memoir I
am writing will not do justice to her memory. I tell him “It’s
a fictionalized memoir. All memoirs live more in the author’s
mind than reality,” but he was very drunk and would not listen.
The youngest is often such a gate-keeper.
So there I sat, eyes closed, listening for some message from
God. I often pray in this way, having a “My Own Personal
Jesus” moment in which the supplicant (that’s me), acts as if He
(God) is listening, pausing to consider my question, and then
stating, loudly and infallibly, (in my mind) the correct answer.
I’m quite certain that many dictators, demigods, and serial killers
have used this same conversational technique with a wide and
surprising host of replies, but I’m a simple man (today) and keep
my questions basic. “How am I doing, Jesus?” I think in my mind.
“Why, you’re doing just fine.” I hear His reply in a lexicon that is
surprisingly like my own (he’s a very personal God).
I leave the church grateful to God for taking time out of His busy
schedule to speak to me, and continue my work of fictionalizing my past.

© by Charles P. Ries
Used with the author’s permission.

The Color of Day is Green!

Winter drab, begone! 'Tis time for tulip pink, hyacinth yellow, and new leaf green!

My daughter laughed
by
Katrin Talbot

My daughter laughed
and said
she could only hear
her boots
but couldn’t you hear
it too?
The prairie swelling,
the dark and trembling crescendo in
the thawing earth
as the bilateral state
begins to unfurl
towards
away
and I begin
to remember
the shock value

of

green

© by Katrin Talbot.
Used with the author's permission.

It's National Poetry Month!

I know April 1st means April Fool's Day to many...or two weeks till taxes are due...or perhaps the advent of spring cleaning. But for me, April 1st means the beginning of National Poetry Month. I've celebrated for the past eight years by sending out a poem a day to anyone who wanted one. But last year's "Poetry Parade" gave birth to a daily poetry venture--a website called http://www.yourdailypoem.com/. A new poem is posted on the website each day, and subscribers enjoy a bit of private commentary which never appears on the site. I've been delighted and astounded at the support the site has found. Now, in this ninth year of my Springtime Parade of Poems, I've decided to post the selections here on my blog as well to allow for some discussion. I always get a ton of comments on the parade selections (ranging from "That's the dumbest poem I ever read!" to "I want this on my tombstone!") and some have suggested it would be fun if everyone got to see those comments and respond with their own, so we'll see how it goes.

I'm not an early riser, so don't expect to find anything to comment on before 9 AM!

Here's the kick-off for the parade this year--a very funny, very clever piece from Wisconsin poet Bruce Dethlefsen:

Mineral Expectations by Bruce Dethlefsen

limestone awfully lonesome since my father’s gone and miss our little talcs and conversations how I marbled at the strength of this good man a grocer who would sandstone much all day that he developed varicosities in both his legs and never once complained even though I took his love for granite I can still recoal his exact words and sediments it slate for him he’d say too late but you shale mica difference in this world he’d point at me and shake his finger of quartz he understood and wished for me not just the same old schist but a future that pyrites would be mined and mined alone (Something Near the Dance Floor, Marsh River Editions, 2003) Used with the author's permission. To see the full posting, go here. Comments, anyone?

I Teach, Therefore I Inspire

Don't you wish that were the motto of every instructor we encounter during the course of our and our children's lives? It's not, of course; I can name a lot more boring and mediocre teachers than I can inspiring ones in the nearly fifty years I've spent in my own and my sons' classrooms. Isn't that sad? On the other hand, the good ones are so life-changing that they almost make the dull teachers worth enduring.

This week on my Your Daily Poem website, I featured a poem by Edwin Romond, who taught English in Wisconsin and New Jersey for 32 years before retiring. The first time I read it, when Edwin submitted it to YDP for consideration along with several others, I cried. I cried because the impact and sweetness of his memory are so profound. I cried because this poem brought to mind my own life-changing moments in school--passing blips of activity or conversation, seemingly insignificant at the time, that nonetheless buried themselves in my brain and still resonate half a century later. I cried because I fear today's students are missing out on these moments because teachers are so burdened with covering what's on THE TEST (pick one; they seem to be endless) that they can't spare an unscripted, serendipitous hour to gush over the gossamer art of butterfly wings or discuss why a rainy day makes us feel so melancholy. They certainly wouldn't derail the day's syllabus to sing beautiful ethnic ballads; most schools don't even have music class anymore and if they're lucky enough to still have a music teacher, there's probably some law in place by now that says you can't sing ethnic songs because it might offend somebody. . .or if you sing one ethnic ballad, you have to sing them all. (But then, chances are, today's students don't know any ethnic ballads anyway because their music education is coming from iPods and "American Idol," but I think that's a blog for another day.)

In any case, I wanted to share Edwin's wonderful poem with you (see link below). And I want to encourage you to appreciate those teachers in your life who give inspiration along with information; if you have any pull with legislators, please remind them that the classroom should be a place for learning, not memorization, and certainly not simply for prepping to pass a test. Being well educated encompasses soooooo much more than being able to diagram a sentence, dissect an earthworm, or determine a square root. It's being able to identify and savor special moments in life, connect with and care for our fellow man, spawn new ideas and create works of art born of nothing more than ingenuity.

Here's a suggestion: next time you need to give a teacher a gift (and June is just around the corner), instead of the ubiquitous Starbucks gift card, give Edwin Romond's wonderful book, Dream Teaching. Poetry book not your style? Here are some other wonderful books that recognize and celebrate extraordinary teachers:

• Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt
• The Thread that Runs So True: A Mountain School Teacher Tells His Story, by Jesse Stuart
• The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life, by Parker Palmer
• Mentors, Masters, and Mrs. McGregor, by Jane Bluestein
• Extraordinary Teachers, by Fred Stephenson, Jr.

It's important that we reward outstanding teachers--by buying their books, praising them to their superiors, giving them thoughtful gifts, thanking them--frequently--and recalling their magic long after their tenure has ended. And remember: it's never to late to tell a teacher how he or she made a difference in your life.

Here's a review of Edwin's book by George Mason University instructor Erica Jacobs, and here is Edwin's beautiful poem, "Everything About Egypt." (If you cry when you read it, it's okay; you're one of many!)

Want to share a life-changing classroom moment of your own? I'd love to hear about it here!

Saying Goodbye to Lucille Clifton

My heart, and that of many others, is aching today over the death of poet Lucille Clifton. I received a poem from Wisconsin poet Bruce Dethlefsen Saturday night that made me gasp and think, "No! Not Lucille!" but couldn't find any news headlines to validate my fears. Today, however, her death has been confirmed and I share Bruce's poem with you in tribute to this wonderful woman who gave birth to six children, twenty children's books, and eleven poetry collections during her lifetime.

Tiptoes
(for Lucille Clifton)
by
Bruce Dethlefsen

I’m not here to speak louder
you’re here to listen harder

someone asks the windows open
so the overflow can hear

black faces white
stretched above the sills
brown heads rest
their cheeks along the ledge

she reads
I hear my mother speak
the church breathes in and out
each sound each word
a coo a hurricane inside my ear

a threat of rain
the father with the black umbrella bends
to kiss his daughter on the lips

the daughter slumps
her water breaks
when she hears her mother’s dead

she reads
my eyes are shut and with permission wet
we lean against the church

the soft applause
and then it’s done

I raise my head from my mother’s lap
I rise to stand
with the listeners on tiptoes at the windows
to stand until miss clifton passes

From Breather (Fireweed Press, 2009)
Used here with the author's permission. (Thank you, Bruce!)
Written after hearing Lucille read in the old church at
the Dodge Poetry Festival, on a very hot day)

I have two favorite Lucille Clifton poems. The first is "Homage to My Hips," which, to me, offers up a prime example of her wit and sass. The second, "Sisters," packs so much in its lines and flat out nails the sister relationship.

Homage to My Hips
by
Lucille Clifton

these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!

From Good Woman (BOA Editions, Ltd., 1987)

Sisters
by
Lucille Clifton

me and you be sisters.
we be the same.
me and you
coming from the same place.
me and you
be greasing our legs
touching up our edges.
me and you
be scared of rats
be stepping on roaches.
me and you
come running high down purdy street one time
and mama laugh and shake her head at
me and you.
me and you
got babies
got thirty-five
got black
let our hair go back
be loving ourselves
be loving ourselves
be sisters.
only where you sing
i poet.

From Good Woman (BOA Editions, Ltd., 1987)

If you know Lucille's work, I leave you this to mourn her loss with a smile. And if you don't know her work, I hope it will inspire you to find to go find one of her books before this day ends!

Lucille reciting "Homage to My Hips"

gO Canada!

Kudos to Canada for including poetry in their celebration of the 2010 Olympic Games! Shane Koyczan did an outstanding job cataloging his country's sundry qualities in his poem, "We Are More," a piece he wrote for the Canadian Tourism Commission back in 2007. Not as dignified a performance as some might have liked, not as lofty a poem as others might have written (Canada abounds in excellent poets), but I thought the presentation was hip and from the heart and exactly right for the the occasion--which had more warmth than most of the opening ceremonies I've watched. Unlike a song, where the music gets in the way, and unlike visual art, which lacks the words to define the moment, poetry marks an occasion like no other art form. My hat is off to whoever deserves credit for making a noble occasion truly memorable.

In case you want to know more about Shane and his poetry--and I hope you do--check out his website.

Time to Swing the Bat!

WHERE did the last decade go? No matter; I won't miss it. There were some good things--watching my sons grow into men...publication of two new books and new editions of two older ones...reuniting with a couple of cherished old friends...getting to know several new ones--but there was a lot of loss and sadness in the past ten years, and a heap of struggling. I welcome 2010 with open arms and high expectations, and hope you do the same!

Here's an opportunity to get this new decade off to a great start: The Tennessee Women's Theatre Project is accepting submissions for "Women's Work," their annual festival and celebration featuring the work of women playwrights, poets, musicians, essayists, painters, filmmakers, dancers, and photographers from across the country. For three weekends in May (May 7 through May 23), Women’s Work will showcase the talents of creative women at Nashville’s Z. Alexander Looby Theater; submissions are being accepted now through April 5th, but why wait? If this is the year you're determined to get back in touch with your creative self, or acknowledge the creative self you've been ignoring or trying to deny, this is a terrific way to dive in. Get out that camera, dust off your oboe, belly up to the barre, or dig out that manuscript from the bottom drawer: it's SHOWTIME! Click here for details about TWTP's big event, and check my blog often because I'll be posting other opportunities to celebrate your fabulous self as I come across them.

Because here's the deal: life is short and every day counts. Don't miss out on the joy (and there is joy in every day)because you're too busy, too shy, too modest, too broke, too embarrassed, too fat, too short, too clumsy, too disorganized, too overwhelmed, or whatever other excuse you keep using to keep you from becoming the Woman You Were Meant To Be. Grab this year by the horns and go after what you want! As somebody once said (and if you know who deserves credit for this quote, please let me know!), "You can't hit the ball if you never swing the bat," so START SWINGING!

P.S. Attention momwriters and wannabe momwriters: this just in! Katherine Hauswirth (http://www.katherinehauswirth.com/) is offering an "Hour of Solidarity" writing challenge on January 10th--a perfect opportunity to stop talking about writing and actually DO it! Sign up and get details here.