I am back from my self-imposed disappearance. Goddard’s low residency MFA Program which I began in 2014 grabbed me by the collar and I forgot the world of Verse Alive. Goddard was an adventure that is dream-like now. All those who were near and dear are now far. Though not forgotten they are blurred as is in words that have a film over them. I see my friends in photos and read their blogs and Facebook comments but.. I miss them
After Goddard I began a journey into myself. It has been an adventure of travel visiting family and friends in Massachusetts, Maryland, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Florida where I am now sheltered from the cold of the North and writing and reading to my heart’s delight.
This is the first time that I have had the opportunity to live alone with few responsibilities or obligations and enough time to relax, exercise, and have a freedom that I have never known. Though to some great extent I’m living here like I live at home in New England, the nights are easier. If I wake in the middle of the night, I am able to get up read, cook, write, and enjoy…it’s just too darn cold to get out of bed in the winter in my home in Massachusetts. And here I take a nap anytime I need one.
Some of the books I’ve read: Bittersweet, Brooklyn, The Expected One, Shire Summer, Slow Motion, Sleep, etc etc including a number of poetry volumes. I’ve been submitting poems, writing poems and essays and generally having mild days and nights. I love it!
My husband returns to visit tomorrow and I am looking forward to a week of drifting in the everglades, dining, and sight-seeing. I feel very fortunate to be married to a man who loves me and understands my needs. I’ll write again after he returns to our home up North…
Mid-May 2015. Tornadoes rage, storms whirl, rain, hail. That’s me, the weather, and my writing – little happens at times and then a raging flow spews out.
I’ve nearly completed the third semester of the Goddard MFAW program. I’ve discovered much this semester and one great discovery is my love for haibun poetry. I’m able to find my stories in the prose section and then write a haiku as the finish. For some of us, who write poems, this is a way to keep on writing. This structure pushes me further.
Practice, practice, practice must be my mantra if I want to move forward.
Thoughts spill out of me willy-nilly creating all that I need, all that I want.
What a year, birth, death the usual/unusual drama in my life. Tears/laughter. Struggles to say good-bye inch by square by inch. One whole year gone from my time at Goddard College. Will I find myself in my manuscript, will I contribute to anyone’s well-being?
December’s poetry workshop a love affair of words and meetings — creating new friends and old friends more precious than ever as looking back becomes a joy in reliving. The poetry fills my life/ life fills my poetry. The return of being totally here – each moment filled with the innocence of the un-ripened and the stories of the seasoned. I’m bursting with all things human.
Today I visited a church I hadn’t been in for many years — the perfect place for meditating on poetry. The hymns, the litanies, the holy statues, the stations of the cross, the stained glass windows all focused toward going deeper into myself to create from my past. Focus being my need as I am so easily deterred from writing by bings and dings from phones and screens and door-bells.
The Nor’easter washed most of the colorful leaves off the trees. They mat on the sidewalk and street ready to catch any wind when they dry off. We are steaming towards the darkest time of the year and the best time to stay indoors and write. Next month is November, NaNoWriMo month. Prepare so that when the first arrives you will have thoughts in your head to start writing “The Great American Novel.”
Or write a poem every day to keep your metaphors going. Write a novel in verse like Vikram Seth did, “The Golden Gate.”
Beginning December 3, 2014 I am offering a number of workshops on the pleasures of poetry at the Lunenburg, MA Library at 6pm. Older teens and adults are welcome-free of charge, but a commitment to the workshops is requested.
Call or visit the Library for more information.
September cannot decide whether it wants to be cool or warm. I’ll take warm – all the days that can be warm should be warm. How am I going to make it through winter? The writing will help. A poem a day perhaps? That’s certainly a challenge, but I’ll look at that when official winter arrives.
I’m reading Wislawa Szymborska poems. They could be real downers if you let them, full of dark thoughts about the void. When the days begin to shorten and the afternoons grow dim, its time to implant the joy of different seasons not the dark side of life.
I’ve looked back at my posts and see that I’m missing more and more months of writing in this spot. I’ll blame my husband’s retirement. He’s pulled me in a web of different directions and I’m scrambling to keep up. Okay, Okay, I shouldn’t blame him, after all I’ve just returned from a vacation in Hawaii – well …. there was a hurricane (first one in twenty years) that touched down on the big island, and there was an earthquake, and cold, and searing heat — a great place for unexpected adventure, but I wouldn’t want to write there. And the vacation at Lake Winnipesaukee that was an energetic time — five granddaughters leading us to paddle boarding, kayaking, swimming out beyond the comfort zone. Not to mention house guests – ah – never a dull moment. I seem to recall my grandparents sitting on the porch having a relaxing time playing games with the smallest children – mmm – times have sped up.
Well any way I do have notes, and ramblings, and of course photos, to use as jumping off points for poems. Here’s a modified haiku I sent to the family while I was away: Caught in Hurricane / different experiences / expectations dashed.
Try a haiku today!
Books were read like the Book of Knowing and Worth by Paul Selig, the Indian Givers by Jack Weatherford and The Making of a Poet leading up to my second semester at Goddard College in Vermont. Workshops of and about poetry filled the ten days in Vermont and prepared me to spend the next few months reading fifteen books from Constantine Cavafy to James Arlington Wright.
Sunshine and warm days, summers best, washed over us, left us too soon.