Kim Rosen’s book, Saved by a Poem is a marvelous way to explore poetry — and explore it deeply. I didn’t have to memorize any poetry growing up. I’m a little envious of those who did, for they have it with them now. The problem is that most of them had to memorize poems that had no meaning for them: “Charge of the Light Brigade” or such. Of course that left a bad taste in their mouth.

Kim recommends you find a poem that really means something to you, one that touches you, one that you’ll be able to call on later. She provides many examples in her book, along with a CD of spoken poems. Some of the poems are spoken by the poets themselves and some are spoken by her friends.

I decided to start out with a short poem mostly because I had little faith in my memorization ability. I chose Gwendolyn Brooks’ “The Egg Boiler.”

THE EGG BOILER

Being you, you cut your poetry from wood.
The boiling of an egg is heavy art.
You come upon it as an artist should,
With rich-eyed passion, and with straining heart.
We fools, we cut our poems out of air.
Night color, wind soprano, and such stuff.
And sometimes weightlessness is much to bear.
You mock it, though, you name it Not Enough.
The egg, spooned gently to the avid pan,
And left the strict three minute, or the four,
Is your Enough and art for any man.
We fools give courteous ear—-then cut some more,
Shaping a gorgeous Nothingness from cloud.
You watch us, eat your egg, and laugh aloud.

I’ve been working on it for a couple weeks now, off and on. I still don’t have it down completely, but what I’m enjoing most about the exercise is the depth of learning that’s come from repeating each line. The Deep Dive sessions Kim holds (described on her website) sound terribly intriguing.

Get the book or visit Kim’s website to learn more.

I just received a check for a poem.  Hee! 

Now I am a professional writer.

Being published is almost easy compared to being paid. The bottom line is you just have to keep writing and keep submitting.

The first poem I ever wrote has been published on the Avatar Journal website.

http://avatarjournal.com/en/home/26-other-articles/1792-i-decide.html 

Synchronistic forces in the universe have been at work lately. This phrase, “a big life,” keeps showing up. It’s the kind of phrase that I have an idea of, but not from first-hand experience, I think. Well, maybe to some others I have a big life. My friend, Jan, says it means living fully and allowing the experience of the moment to envelope you. This includes joy as well as sorrow, frustration and fear, too. Everything.
I think it means expanding beyond your internal life as much as you can. Internal life always takes you to the past or to the future. I think it means doing all the things you want to do — crossing off items on your big to-do list.
Intestingly, there’s not much out there to be googled on the subject, except (ironically) a blog enty about the lack of google hits on living a big life. There was a blog called, “Live a Big Life,” but it’s gone now except for the internet’s amazing memory. (I clicked on it, so that will help keep it around a while longer.)

At the beginning of Robert Bly’s book, “Morning Glory,” he had a version of Basho’s short poem, Morning Glory.  Interesting how the different translators view it:

The Morning Glory also
The morning glory also
turns out
not be my friend
translated by Robert Hass

The Morning Glory
Ah! the morning-glory!
‘Tis not my friend, either.
translator unknown

The Morning Glory
Another thing
that will never
be my friend.
translated by Robert Bly

I’m watching out my office window where my neighbor is doing some very early spring cleanup:  picking up branches, raking winter leaves… he’s dressed in his hunting gear, though.  I don’t know if it’s any particular season, though; maybe he just wanted to be camouflaged in his front yard.  I’ve been lazy at writing lately, but I’ve been energetic at remodeling.  The ugly wallpaper in the basement is gone and I’ve scraped half of the backing paper away.  A little more money saved and I’ll have new hardwood floors.

I’ve been working on a poem about Medusa but mostly struggling.  I read a book of Robert Bly’s prose poems, “Morning Glory,” which made me think of re-working the poem into a prose format.  I’ve never written in that style before, but maybe it’ll break the log-jam I’ve been in with it.  I just hate it when I can’t get to the feeling I want with a poem.  I just keep dancing near it…

I guess if it was easy everyone would do it.

Ok, it’s still under 20 overnight, but it’s starting to feel like spring to me.  No smell of spring yet (which, to me smells like mud), but my reading student agrees with me.  And, since he’s older, and an avid camper, I give him a lot of credibility.  This winter has been taken up with long days working — at work and remodeling.  I have to get most of the interior done before spring; once spring hits I’ll be in the garden re-landscaping. 

I found a folder of short stories from college that I’ve been retyping.  Is that accurate?  I’ve been entering them into files and doing a little editing at the same time.  Some of them were actually typed on a typewriter.  I know I had an electric typewriter in college.  Some of them were printed on a dot matix printer (I think even before what Jan used to call a “Buddy Epson” printer).  You can see the teeth from the page joins.  Remember that? 

Some of the stories are absolute tripe and emblematic of my youth (god, at least I hope they’re that bad because of my naivete.), so I tossed those.  I think some have potential and are a good exercise to expand beyond poetry.   

I’m proud I threw a lot of stuff away.  I finally broke down and trashed my grade cards from college.  Yes, we know you got A’s, Pat.  Let it go…

I was thinking about the phrase, “in your wildest dreams…” and realized my wildest dreams are pretty damn tame. Something to work on for 2010.

Recently, someone accused me of being deliberately misleading, saying that I couldn’t be trusted.  He was calling me a liar. That accusation shocked and hurt me. I spent most of that evening and the next day with my attention bouncing between outrage, the desire for vengeance, then vindication. 

What I realized after digging into my feelings was that, although this time (the incident he specifically referenced) I was not lying, I have certainly lied in the past — to many people, about many things.  It’s hard to identify to oneself as a liar; most of us self-identify as honest, trustworthy. 

Being honest to myself, dropping the ego and admitting my transgressions is very difficult.  I can see now what he saw.  No overt lie, but acts that were never true to myself.

Liar, Liar, pants on fire!” – paraphrased William Blake, “The Liar.”

I’ve been a poet for only about a year, so I’m not sure yet if introspection is good — or bad — for the craft.  I tend to think it’s bad, since it pulls all of your attention inward and all you end up with a self-indulgent, whining poem. 

Today I’ve been thinking about my age and the year it is now (geez!  2010!).   I remember many very old people saying things like, “I never thought I’d see that as long as I lived!”  They were referring to events like the first man on the moon, Obama being president, etc.  I’ve been trying to think of some things that would cause me to say that and I can’t come with any (yet).  Maybe I’m just optimistic or read too much fiction. 

I don’t think my lifetime has had any really mind-blowing technological jumps (yet).  We’re overdue I’m sure.  I just don’t want to be the kind of person who can’t see the sliverest of possibilities. There are plenty of things I would love to see, though, that have some measure of improbability:

World peace: no one hungry; no one hating another because of his idea of that other; more flowers; random dancing; group singing; no acne; no tooth decay (we can put the dentists to work as maybe scupltors); even easier travel — maybe teleportation! Oh, yeah, and finally my own jet-pack!