Poetry Palooza continued (National Poetry Month!)

 
Today is a lovely spring day here in Seattle so some Emily Dickinson seems apropos....for our Earth---Celebrating EARTH DAY every day!

A little Madness in the Spring (1333)

By Emily Dickinson

A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown---

Who ponders this tremendous scene---
This whole Experiment of Green---
As if it were his own!

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this poem--although written in the 1800's---to me speaks of Earth love, environmentalism & preservation....how can we think we "own" our Earth? if we revered her properly, we would not be mistreating her so. So far much of our Earth stewardship has not been the best, I hope the tide is turning in favor of more care and real concern for the mess we have made of her.

I took these photos one spring in Alaska...where I learned to love and revere our green Earth.

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Poetry-palooza # 5 for National Poetry Month

Sometimes

by Sheenagh Pugh

Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down green frost, green thrives, the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people will sometimes step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we all do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

Note: above drawing by me --- a tessalation!

Nature's Holy Plan

Lines Written in Early Spring

by William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sate reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran;

And much it grieved my heart to think

What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And ’tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure:—

But the least motion which they made

It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature’s holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

Ah! how long ago was this written? before 1850--since Wordsworth died then. And yet --his lament--"what man has made of man?" seems too much apropos today with the mess we have made of our Mother Earth, and how we are killing others in senseless wars. And now the Earth rumbles with Earthquakes, and still we fiddle and fumble; but spring brings new hope that those us us who care and are sane will prevail and justice and peace and love of our planet will win out.

April is NATIONAL POETRY MONTH--please feel free to leave your favorite poem here in the comments....

April is National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month here in the USA--and I like to honor poems and the poets by featuring some here throughout the month...here is one by African American poet Nikki Giovanni....a wonderful poem I think is in keeping with the current theme on my blog ---my reflections on my recent trip to Ghana.

They Clapped

by Nikki Giovanni

they clapped when we landed

thinking africa was just an extension

of the black world

they smiled as we taxied home to be met

black to black face not understanding africans lack

color prejudice

they rushed to declare

cigarettes, money, allegiance to the mother land

not knowing despite having read fanon and davenport

hearing all of j.h. clarke’s lectures, supporting

nkrumah in ghana and nigeria in the war that there was once

a tribe called afro-americans that populated the whole

of africa

they stopped running when they learned the packages

on the women’s heads were heavy and that babies didn’t

cry and disease is uncomfortable and that villages are fun

only because you knew the feel of good leather on good

pavement

they cried when they saw mercedes benz were as common

in lagos as volkswagens are in berlin

they shook their heads when they understood there was no

difference between the french and the english and the americans

and the afro-americans or the tribe next door or the country

across the border

they were exasperated when they heard sly and the family stone

in francophone africa and they finally smiled when little boys

who spoke no western tongue said “james brown” with reverence

they brought out their cameras and bought out africa’s drums

when they finally realized that they are strangers all over

and love is only and always about the lover not the beloved

they marveled at the beauty of the people and the richness

of the land knowing they could never possess either

they clapped when they took off

for home despite the dead

dream they saw a free future

Source: The Collected Poems of Nikki Giovanni (2003)

WATER week

WATER WEEK : I worked for over 20 years on the ocean on commercial fishing boats in Alaska; one does not spend that much time on the sea without developing a very healthy respect for the power of the oceans and water. I have been in storms at sea where the waves were towering over our 65 foot boat, and I feared for our survival. I learned to think of the ocean as a living being which we must treat with proper respect in order to survive our travels upon her. I have great concern and care for our Earth's oceans and the way we are currently mistreating them; for we "will not survive a dieing sea." For me, water week is all about my long relationship with salt water and the sea....

I like the concept of Soul Coaching : Day 9

Going to the Source of Meaning: " You cannot always choose the circumstances of your life, but you can choose the meaning that you give those events."

I have never thought about the various events in my life quite this way. For some reason, this notion made me think of this poem by one of my favorite poets--Mary Oliver.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Today's Quote:
"Life is now in session. Are you present?" --B. Copeland

Poem for the Election

I Hear America Singing
by Walt Whitman
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs. VOTE NOW! or vote on November 4th but VOTE! Thomas Jefferson: A politician looks forward only to the next election. A statesman looks forward to the next generation.

37 days to wake up

I had been blogging here about a year or so when I stumbled on Patti Digh's wonderful soulful blog: 37 DAYS. Patti posed this question on her blog: "What would you be doing today if you only had 37 days to live? The death of her stepfather just 37 days after being diagnosed with cancer woke Patti Digh up, scared her, and made her examine her own life..." One result was her blog--37 DAYS--where she has touched thousands of readers lives with her inspiring life stories---and recipes for "living without regrets, no matter how many days you have left."

Now Patti has created a book--LIFE IS A VERB--- from her many inspirational blog posts. In the process of writing and creating her book she also invited her blog readers to contribute the art work for the book. Inspired by an artist trading card that blog reader Donna B. Miller sent her--she posted an invitation on her blog for others to create art---in the same artist trading card format---for various essays in the book. She received over 120 pieces of art in 2 weeks.

I was one of those artists who responded to Patti's invitation and created 2 illustrations--which I am proud to say are in this book (pp. 22 & 49).

Rather than explain the images and words I used in these two illustrations---I am instead urging you to buy Patti's book--LIFE IS A VERB--- and read the two essays that these accompany. This is one book you will never be sorry you purchased--one you will want to read over and over and write in the margins and dog-ear as it accompanies you through your life. Thanks Patti! for such a wonderful gift to us all and for being you.

Women's History Month : Authors and WIP

My friend Ms. Godsey at Bibliophile Bullpen has another great blog --- Literary Stamps, which is part of the inspiration for this post.

Poet Edna St Vincent Millay was born in Rockland, Maine in 1892. Millay's life always fascinated me---since she was an early "Bohemian"---and a women not afraid to go against the norms of what was expected of women of her time.

Nancy Mitford has written an excellent biography of Millay titled Savage Beauty



which I read and enjoyed immensely. Mitford captured her life and spirit, as well as the times she lived in ....

Souvenir
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
(from The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems, 1923 edition)
Just a rainy day or two
In a windy tower,
That was all I had of you----
Saving half an hour

Marred by greeting passing groups
In a cinder walk,
Near some naked blackberry hoops
Dim with purple chalk.

I remember three or four
Things you said in spite,
And an ugly coat you wore,
Plaided black and white.

Just a rainy day or two
And a bitter word.
Why do I remember you
as a singing bird?

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on another note---WIP: I am currently knitting squares for a healing blanket or small afghan for a friend who is quite ill--something cuddly for him to wrap himself in when he is sitting, or when is he is cold....several knitting friends are also contributing to this project.


so far, I have five 8" x 8" squares done and another one on the needles--I am having fun trying out new stitches for some squares...this is turning out to be a nice way to swatch and experiment with new stitch ideas, plus use up some miscellaneous wools I have in my stash.

Winter Holiday Children's Books

I think the Holiday Season should be a magical time for children---and this should include reading some books to the children in your life. I also have a fondness for lovely children's picture books about winter, Christmas, and the holiday season. Here are some of my favorites---they are good reads an all wonderfully illustrated.

I'm starting with my current favorite---I discovered this book when the author, Daniel Pinkwater, read this book aloud on NPR a few holiday seasons ago--the reading was so entrancing--I promptly went out a bought a copy. The illustrations by the author's wife, Jill Pinkwater, really enhance the story.


Next is the nicely illustrated rendition of Robert Frost's famous winter poem....


Third on my list is this endearing story by an Alaskan author and a well known Alaskan artist...


next, this classic--originally published in the Ladies Home Journal in 1958....


And then we have the pop-ups!





These are just few highlights from my small collection of holiday books---guess I will save some for next year! I recommend any of these if you are looking for a child's gift for the Holidaze.

More Cookies!

Now that the packages are in the mail...it is time to bake cookies...here is another of the cookie recipes I bake every year --this one came to me from my (Great) Aunt Esther. Aunt Esther was my Grandma's sister---and in their later years (after my Grandfather died) Grandma and Aunt Esther lived together---it was like having 2 grandmas in the same house and they lived about a block away from us, so I saw them often. They both baked the best cookies ---and my Grandma had an old cookie jar on her kitchen counter--which ALWAYS had homemade cookies in it (just like her purse always had Chicklet gum for us kids).

Orange Crispie Cookies

2 cups sugar
2 eggs beaten
1 cup butter
1 teaspoon baking powder
4 cups flour
5 tablespoons frozen concentrated orange juice
grated rind of 2 organic oranges

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream butter and sugar, beat in eggs. Add flour, baking powder, orange juice and grated peel--mix well. Chill dough. Make the dough into small balls, place on a well greased cookie sheet, and flatten each small ball of dough with a glass dipped in soft butter, then sugar. Bake at 350 degrees about 8-10 minutes, until cookies just begin to brown on the edges.

Someday, Perhaps

It begins long before the first frost -
Somewhere between memory and reality.
It touches us with compassion
and whispers to us of hope.
It tiptoes into our hearts with elation
and opens our souls to faith.

Its name is Christmas and we have yet to learn
How to keep it close for more than
this one brief, shining moment.
Someday, perhaps... with love.

------Judith A. Lindberg

Giving Thanks...

The year has turned its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest all is gathered in
And chilly north winds blow.

Orchards have shared their treasures,
The fields, their yellow grain,
So open wide the doorway ---
Thanksgiving comes again!



THANKSGIVING
Count your blessings instead of your crosses;
Count your gains instead of your losses.
Count your joys instead of your woes;
Count your friends instead of your foes.
Count your smiles instead of your tears;
Count your courage instead of your fears.
Count your full years instead of your lean;
Count your kind deeds instead of your mean.
Count your health instead of your wealth;
Count on Spirit instead of yourself.

For me Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on the changes---to remember that we, too, grow and change from one season of life to another. Let us remember the true meaning of Thanksgiving and let us give thanks in our hearts.

Poetic Knitting

Somehow, this poem made me think of my knitting. The socks (or the beginning of socks) here are a nice mix of hemp and cotton, the hat all cotton; both are lovely yarns to knit with. The hat is destined for an Alaskan fisherman's head, and match the hat I knit for his new baby boy.

EXPERIENCE

by Emily Dickinson

I stepped from Plank to Plank
A slow and cautious way
The Stars about my Head I felt
About my feet the sea.
I know not but the next
Would be my final inch---
This gave me that precarious Gait
Some call Experience.




Quote for today:
"Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save."----Will Rogers

Doodle Flowers or Patterns of Life

Since I was a small child, I have loved patterns--patterns in nature, and human made patterns--which are mostly derived from the natural world. The noted anthropologist Angeles Arrien says in her book THE SIGNS OF LIFE, Five Universal Shapes and How to Use Them, "I discovered that five basic shapes appear in the art of all cultures: the circle, the square, the triangle, the cross, and the spiral...the study [she conducted] also confirmed that people in different cultures do give similar meaning to these shapes. The circle symbolizes wholeness, the square indicates stability, the triangle represents goals and dreams, the cross stands for relationship, and the spiral means growth. It also became evident to me that the meaning attributed to each shape stands for a process of human growth, and the shape carries this process within itself."

Thus--patterns I am attracted to carry cultural meanings--which most of the time, I don't even think about or consider. Today I wandered around our house, snapping photos of a few of the patterns we are surrounded with.





Perhaps that is also why I am drawn to poetry---since poetry tends to arrange language and words into patterns much of the time.

I will speak to you in stone-language
(Answer with a green syllable)
I will speak to you in snow-language
(Answer with a fan of bees)
I will speak to you in water-language
(Answer with a canoe of lightening)
I will speak to you in blood-language
(Answer with a tower of birds)
----Octavio Paz



Arrien's book has a process to use the five universal shapes "as an effective tool that can be used to determine the connection between a person's preference for certain shapes and the same person's inner, subjective states." For example, if you are drawn toward circles and triangles--what does this say about you and your cultural world view?





Since I could draw--as a young child--I have drawn and doodled repetitive patterns, and now--in my fabric design classes, I am learning to create repetitive patterns---from these universal shapes, or from nature.

I call this "pattern" I designed DOODLE FLOWERS.

Poetry Transforms Despair

The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry

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 my 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.

I awoke this morning feeling great sadness and despair for people's inhumanity to fellow beings. My response was to put on some soothing music and read poetry. The photo above I took on my trip to Alaska last summer---throughout my life I have found refuge in the woods and wilderness---which the poet Wendell Berry expresses beautifully here.

In light of the event that has occurred today at Virginia Tech, I am posting this poem. I am holding the families involved in the light, and praying for them.


And Death Shall Have No Dominion
by Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.


ACTUALLY, GUNS DO KILL PEOPLE
List of anti-gun companies, groups, organizations and people
(with thanks to the blog Bibliophile Bullpen)

Two Butterflies went out at Noon— (533)
by Emily Dickinson

Two Butterflies went out at Noon—
And waltzed above a Farm—
Then stepped straight through the Firmament
And rested on a Beam—

And then—together bore away
Upon a shining Sea—
Though never yet, in any Port—
Their coming mentioned—be—

If spoken by the distant Bird—
If met in Ether Sea
By Frigate, or by Merchantman—
No notice—was—to me—

Art Explained

Why I Am Not a Painter
by Frank O’Hara

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
“Sit down and have a drink” he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. “You have SARDINES in it.”
“Yes, it needed something there.”
“Oh.” I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. “Where’s SARDINES?”
All that’s left is just
letters, “It was too much,” Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven’t mentioned
orange yet. It’s twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike’s painting, called SARDINES.


I think I was attracted to this poem because I struggle most of the time to "title" my own artwork--usually after the work is done. For me, much of the time, an artwork's title provides some clue to the artist's intent--but shouldn't the artwork do this without words?

Spring Gratitudes

While out riding my bike last weekend in the early morning sun, I was suddenly overcome by the beauty of spring, and then flooded with gratitude for our Mother Earth---and the spring cycles of rebirth and resurrection---which feeds our souls. So, here is a poem from Gary Snyder which celebrates Mother Earth.

PRAYER FOR THE GREAT FAMILY
Gratitude to Mother Earth, sailing through night and day---
and to her soil: rich, rare, and sweet
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Plants, the sun-facing light-changing leaf
and fine root-hairs; standing still through wind
and rain; their dance is in the flowing spiral grain
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Air, bearing the soaring Swift and the silent
Owl at dawn. Breath of our song
clear spirit breeze
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Wild Beings, our brothers, teaching secrets,
freedoms, and ways; who share with us their milk;
self-complete, brave, and aware
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Water: clouds, lakes, rivers, glaciers;
holding and releasing; streaming through all
our bodies salty seas
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through
trunks of trees, through mists, warming caves where
bears and snakes sleep--he who wakes us--
in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Great Sky
who holds billions of stars--and goes beyond that--
beyond all powers, and thoughts
and yet is within us--
Grandfather space,
The Mind is his Wife.
so be it.

after a Mohawk Prayer





This is my Perpetual Calendar--which celebrates the seasons and "the Great Family" of Earth. The outer layer (with the months) turns, so the viewer may choose which animal to place at each month of the year. I used archival museum board, pen and ink, watercolors, gouache, and prisma colored pencils to create this calendar.

April Easter Poem

A RITUAL TO READ TO EACH OTHER
by William Stafford

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there are many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dike.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we fool each other, we should consider----
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe---
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

Another poem for April Poetry Month

How hard is this? a poem a day for National Poetry Month? (just a nice short one today...) the heart quilt square here created recently by my daughter--with my help-- for a friendship quilt.

I MAY, I MIGHT, I MUST
by Marianne Moore

If you will tell me why the fen
appears impassable, I then
will tell you why I think that I
can get across if I try.