Tuesday, March 2, 2010

I know,keep moving

I had so much fun writing those two shorts from those various photo prompts.... bathed in the generous comments,dreamt of a big white cow last night....but it's over...it's now Tuesday....sober up Sue...You are only as good as your next act!  I can't wait!

  I wanted to be a poet. But writing classes,poetry magazines,open mics,academics,and other poets killed that for me. Now I just write poetry for the pure pleasure of expression. Oh it's a hoot when someone actually connects with your poem....but after all these years on earth...I know I have to connect with me, be honest,  write in my own way.
 Ordinary folk don't "get" poetry.....If it doesn't rhyme like a Hallmark card..they stare at you with pitiful eyes.  I understand that. I had to start slow on poetry. Here's how it happened.
My friend invited me to join their writing group...bring a small sample of your writing she says.
Okay...I show up with my 'piece" called, Mrs.Karas. They ask me to read first. As I'm rounding page two of my little story about a woman who thinks an old lady in the grocery store has taken in her cat.....I sense the room's energy has changed. I pause,look up. The leader says 'Continue, Dear."  I finish, they say they like it and then proceed to tell me that this is a poetry group.
This has happened to me before. I once went to a New Age shop for an Artist's Way Group and mistakenly sat in the Shaman from Siberia's group....I'll tell that story some other time.  Anyway, I was so embarrased,but I pledged to write a poem for the following week. Poem-shoem...what did I know from poem. For the next week I read every poem I could get my hands on. My first poem was a rhymer....here it is: (and no snickering)
Family Tree
Searching the graveyard
a date or a clue
maybe a tombstone
a lost name or two
mystery abounds as I
walk 'ore the plots
maybe a kin, maybe a not

What strikes me the most
is we all are the same
families have losses
and families have pain

I find a new kinfolk
an angel carved deep
I take down her info
and leave her to sleep

Now, I was happy with this poem and so was the group. But a monster had been unleashed in me..where had poetry been all my life....I found myself obsessed with poetry. Soon I outgrew this group and went on to a more advanced group. There is no heaven on earth. Where the first group was content with writing ditties....not obsessed with metaphor,similies,enjambment,line break, and such, as I was...The other group....consisted of published poets that obsessed on themselves and their credentials.....they cared only about their work,no one else's..what's the point I wondered. It's poetry...don't you get it...it's mother's milk......they had forgotten.

"It's absurd to think that the only way to tell if a poem is lasting is to wait and see if it lasts. The right reader of a good poem can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken a mortal wound----that he will never get over it. That is to say,permanence in poetry as in love is perceived instantly.
It hasn't to await the test of time"..........Robert Frost

I enjoyed poetry his way.....then I discovered short story, and then flash fiction, and now 140characters...who knew?  I am filled with joy challenging myself..expressing to myself things inside of me that want words.

Life goes on its merry complications and winter is still dragging on, and I still need to lose weight, and my mother needs visiting, and my writing friends want to get together, and my other friends dont' want to be forgotten...and then there's the family...hubby.....shopping,cleaning (yes I clean my own house) bill paying, critter caring......when's a girl going to write or paint or draw....or do anything creative......
She finds a way!
.. I leave you with this:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
----Wendall Berry

  I have taken a mortal wound
and I will never get over it....thank you Mr. Berry.


  1. I know how you feel. Every last word. Really.

  2. how could you read that so fast...I had to edit it again because I misspelled drake...and whamo ..you have commented..how did you do that so fast!

  3. "...the pure pleasure of expression" is what it's really all about! And damned be the academics who try to keep it all to themselves.


  4. so..you know a few?
    thanks for supporting expression
    Cheers...you buying? :)

  5. sigh ..... peace of wild things ..... sigh :)

  6. I love the Wendall Berry line - "And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light."

    I fell in love with poetry at an early age, my father used to sit at the table and scribble for a few minutes then say 'listen to this' and read it aloud, the cadence, the rhythm, the beauty of the words had me hypnotised.

    He then used to screw up the paper and throw it in the bin and I would feel a sense of loss and outrage - why did he throw it away!

    I would often rescue the crumpled paper and keep it, but to him, the moment had gone, he didn't need to keep his words. . . I did.

    I do the same I suppose, sometimes things well up in me - I sit with the feeling and type and it appears on the screen, no longer inside me but out there. instead of crumpling the paper, I press publish and it appears on my blog.

    Technology has a lot to answer for! lol

  7. Susannah...a father who wrote..wow
    I suppose he tossed it because we are our worst critics
    The part of writing every writer must manage for it never goes away
    and indeed if we push on we become better writers.
    I know what you do..I do that too
    especially when I wrote oetry I would sit in front of the computer or sit with paper and pen and then ask myslef "what are you feeling What is welling up in you " and then I'd start writing...
    I so enjoy your writing
    I knew it from the first moment
    Oh I think blogging is a revolution for writers
    the world available to the masses
    Join the magpie and stonyriver writers...have fun

  8. Great reading about your evolving writing and the supportive angels and not so supportive angels you have met along the way. I believe we dig deeper and grow stronger with each encounter. The blog is a supportive place and posting new work for me, is always a step forward. Thank you for Wendall Berry's words.

  9. You are a great lady. I love reading your poetry and thoughts on the merits of poetry. Who cares if others "get it" or not. It is your and yours.


  10. love this bit and the two quotes. I'd never heard the Frost one. but the WB one is a fave.
    Keep on moving, yes.
    But rest too.
    And write for sure.


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