Yes, it's true, it rains a lot in Washington--
Another wet Tuesday. The Northwest is Noah's stomping grounds this month. Rivers overflow, salmon escape to the roadways. I hardly recognize my neighbors under their hats. Occasionally, we find ourselves running from falling trees, the soil to wet to hold their roots. Ah, it must November! We just need one more good windstorm so I can pick up evergreen swags for my front door and the mantel.
Paper paper--
I'm finishing up a good first draft of my critical paper on contemporary women poets who use humor in their work. It feels good to be so far along. I want to finish it for one reason only-- it seems the left and right sides of brain don't work so well together. Yes, I haven't been writing poems. I haven't been revising poems. Poetry is my second cousin I don't see very much.
And I've tried. I wrote a few odd lines in a bookstore coffeeshop, but if you asked me how to begin a poem, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I'm not even sure I know where they live, they are a mysterious tribe somewhere in the mountains of Bhutan. They are nowhere near my desk and I will call for them soon. After the MLA guide has been tossed into the sea and my "work cited" list has become a paper airplane for fruitflies.
My Own Version of the Late Wife--
But I am thinking about poetry. I have the book LATE WIFE on my desk begging for me to open it. No. I'm holding out. My poetry books are my Sunday morning ritual--a fire, chai tea, my delicious toasty afghan wrapped around me. The white and green art glass lamp turned on. The light from the window on the pages of my book. Family members is various states of disarray. Golden retriever chasing the cat. Windstorm. Rainstorm. The world falling apart outside this neighborhood, but for the morning, it's quiet in my book. There could be thunder in the kitchen, shattering glass, an earthquake of drama, but it has better be good, a major catastrophe, a meteor aimed for our backyard, otherwise, you know where to find me. Book in hand. Warm fire. Cozy afghan. Favorite sofa.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
What's So Funny About Peace, Love, & Understanding?
I'm a sick girl. I've started listening to Christmas music already. There is a local station that plays it 24 hours a day starting yesterday. I can't help it. I love the Christmas season. We buy our tree the first Saturday after Thanksgiving and decorate. I already have tickets to the Nutcracker, reservations to make a gingerbread house at a local farm/bakery, an ornament for the ornament party, plans for an Island Country Christmas complete with free pony rides for the kids, a cookie exchange party, a holiday poets/writers party, and a mammogram scheduled. Okay, that last one doesn't fit, but it's on my December calendar.
What's interesting is that all this happens in the first two weeks of December, but from 17-31st, I have absolutely nothing planned except for our traditional Christmas eve & of course, Christmas with the fam.
What I want for Christmas? Snow. Or peace. Sadly, I think we have a better chance of getting snow.
But enough of this holiday talk as I know some of you still have pumpkins (and rotting pumpkins) on your doorstep.
Let's talk about something in the news that made my stomach twist this morning. Kramer from Seinfeld (aka Michael Richards) went off on some hecklers at the comedy club with a series of racial slurs and as the article called it "angry outbursts." Someone remind me what year it is. I don't know why I'm always so shocked about these types of things, but I am. It makes me crazy when people resort to slamming someone based on race. Honestly, we're all born into our own skin, deal with it.
I made the mistake of going to TMZ to see the video myself and it was actually worse than the article suggested. If I were in the audience I would have left. Even the so-called hecklers were saying "That's uncalled for." And it completely was. It was as if he'd forgotten his words and once he went down that racist road, he couldn't turn back. I think everyone knows when something isn't funny or right. I haven't seen that Borat movie, but what I'm believing more and more is that Americans have been taught to be too polite and need to speak up when something isn't right. Instead of not wanting to make someone feel uncomfortable, sometimes people don't say anything and I think that can ultimately been seen as "acceptance" or "approval."
As poets and writers I think we need to be the response. Not all the time, or in every poem, but we need to respond to whatever we feel isn't right. In our own gut, we know the issues that bother us and issues we want to change. Maybe this week, choose your favorite cause, passion, issue, and write about it...deeply. Marvin Bell said that anyone can write a poem that says "war is wrong," he looks at a poem as says, "Tell me something I don't know." Basically, change the reader.
I'm teaching a class in April called Not a Vacation Planet: Writing Poems that Matter. Do that this week, write a poem that matters. And if you get a good one, email it to me with a paragraph of why this poem matters to you, why it's important to the reader and I'll include it in the packet I'm handing out ot the class.
Until then, love your neighbor and your neighbor's neighbor, and the country or countries you think you hate.
What's interesting is that all this happens in the first two weeks of December, but from 17-31st, I have absolutely nothing planned except for our traditional Christmas eve & of course, Christmas with the fam.
What I want for Christmas? Snow. Or peace. Sadly, I think we have a better chance of getting snow.
But enough of this holiday talk as I know some of you still have pumpkins (and rotting pumpkins) on your doorstep.
Let's talk about something in the news that made my stomach twist this morning. Kramer from Seinfeld (aka Michael Richards) went off on some hecklers at the comedy club with a series of racial slurs and as the article called it "angry outbursts." Someone remind me what year it is. I don't know why I'm always so shocked about these types of things, but I am. It makes me crazy when people resort to slamming someone based on race. Honestly, we're all born into our own skin, deal with it.
I made the mistake of going to TMZ to see the video myself and it was actually worse than the article suggested. If I were in the audience I would have left. Even the so-called hecklers were saying "That's uncalled for." And it completely was. It was as if he'd forgotten his words and once he went down that racist road, he couldn't turn back. I think everyone knows when something isn't funny or right. I haven't seen that Borat movie, but what I'm believing more and more is that Americans have been taught to be too polite and need to speak up when something isn't right. Instead of not wanting to make someone feel uncomfortable, sometimes people don't say anything and I think that can ultimately been seen as "acceptance" or "approval."
As poets and writers I think we need to be the response. Not all the time, or in every poem, but we need to respond to whatever we feel isn't right. In our own gut, we know the issues that bother us and issues we want to change. Maybe this week, choose your favorite cause, passion, issue, and write about it...deeply. Marvin Bell said that anyone can write a poem that says "war is wrong," he looks at a poem as says, "Tell me something I don't know." Basically, change the reader.
I'm teaching a class in April called Not a Vacation Planet: Writing Poems that Matter. Do that this week, write a poem that matters. And if you get a good one, email it to me with a paragraph of why this poem matters to you, why it's important to the reader and I'll include it in the packet I'm handing out ot the class.
Until then, love your neighbor and your neighbor's neighbor, and the country or countries you think you hate.
