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Full Circle of Faith

“Inheriting My Grandmother’s Nightmare” by Anne Stevenson, recently published in the May 2007 issue of Poetry magazine, comes full circle from a grandmother’s struggles with aging to a grand-daughter’s similar experiences. The journey starts with an open drawer of heirlooms gazed upon and the memories they spill forth of an aging matriarch. “She who was always a climate in herself,/who refused to vanish.” A resilient woman ignored as she aged and time marched onward. The admiration for the narrator’s grandmother is obvious. The final lines of the poem circle the reader back to the beginning, only with the grand-daughter drowning and fading behind the smoke and the noise.

Another poem in the May 2007 Poetry magazine issue that struck me with its unique perspective and image twists was Maurice Manning’s “A Blasphemy.” The story begins with a man outside societal norms worshipping, generating faith, and praying for others’ happiness. “and calling God/the Elder Sweet Potato, shucks,/that’s pretty funny, and kind of sad.” The concise images help demonstrate the simple man, who seems to be the subject of the poem. Rereading the language, the poem seems to dig at the crux of religion in terms of its arbitrary idols and symbols, though not intentionally dragging the idea of faith through the mud.

These two poems depict the different struggles humans go through in their lives and how they can overcome them to prosper and beat the odds, still living happy lives. I like to think of these poems as a sort of redemption for the reader. The poems also highlight the darker underbelly of human interactions, particularly within families and in society as a whole. To treat an aging matriarch with such disdain and disrespect is unfathomable to me. Reflecting upon the idols and names revered by religions are interchangeable between forms of faith, and yet to outsiders, some of these names can be viewed unfavorably by those not in the same circles.

Coney Island Hot Dogs

I know, I know…I haven’t posted any literary activity in a long while. Sorry about all that. I have posted on my other blog about mundane activities if you are interested in those.

Today’s post is about a book of poetry, which many people have probably already read or at least should have read some of the poems in various journals by now. Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s “A Coney Island of the Mind,” instantly brought me back to my days in Worcester, Mass., and its Coney Island hot dog restaurant/stand. Yes, the title is the instant memory recaller for me, not so much the poems. The title reminded me of pre-college and the first couple years of college when friends and I would stop by and get cheap hot dogs with mustard and other condiments and the giant dill pickles for $1. We stuffed ourselves silly, only to be hungry again later.

Enough of my reminiscing, let’s get back to the poetry.

One of my favorite poems in this volume is “Dog.” As a dog owner, who often personifies her pet, I can completely see my dog acting in the same way the dog in the poem does. For instance, “The dog trots freely in the street/and sees reality/and the things he sees/are his reality.” However, this is not just a dog, but a metaphor on some level for the working man, though Ferlinghetti does not make this abundantly clear to the reader until the latter portion of the poem. “He’s afraid of Coit’s Tower/but he’s not afraid of Congressman Doyle/although what he hears is very discouraging, ” and “He will not be muzzeled/Congressman Doyle is just another/fire hydrant/to him.” I like the simple language the poet uses to set the scene of a dog walking down the street and what he sees, but it is how he views the world that intrigues the reader.

Another of my favorite poems in the volume is “9,” with its amusing language to accurately pinpoint the reality of drunken encounters. Many of the other poems in the book are explicit in their depiction of adolescent fumbling in love and lust, but the language often has a lighter tone to prevent the reader from believing the poet or poem lectures them about human interaction. In fact, the lighter language helps to alleviate anxieties about sexual situations and human interactions to display the more amusing side of these encounters. In poem “9,” Ferlinghetti writes “but then this dame/comes up behind me see/and says/you and me could really exist/wow I says/only the next day/she has bad teeth.”

Also unique in this volume are several poems, which the author specifies should be spoken to jazz accompaniment, rather than merely read on a printed page. One of them, titled “Autobiography,”contains the song-like language: “I rest/I have travelled./I have seen goof city./I have seen the mass mess./I have heard Kid Ory cry./I have heard a trombone preach./I have heard Debussy/strained thru a sheet.”

I highly recommend this poetry volume to anyone interested in amusing language and human interaction commentary. I love the imagery of these poems as well.

Your Writing Space…

I was reading the August 2007 Writer’s Digest article, “The Write Space,” about what kinds of spaces writers prefer for their careers and writing projects. The article inspired me before I even finished reading it. I’ve been thinking about what my ideal writing space would look like, if I had a big enough house and enough money to create it. The conclusions I came to were that my space would have to be open, allow breezes from the outdoors to carry floral smells into my room, and the walls would be red.

The door to the room would have to have screens, be cordoned off with sheer curtains, and a doorway that leads to a brick-layered patio. On the patio would be a hammock and fluffy pillow with a silk case and a small bistro table with a couple of iron chairs and red seat cushions (kind of like what I have now on the apt. porch, minus the hammock). My favorite part of the patio is the Koi pond at the far end surrounded by rocks and moss. It would serve as inspiration, along with the waterfall at the back of the pond to ensure the water does not stagnate. You might think the room I am describing is the patio?! That’s probably because that is where I write best–outdoors. I guess I would call the room leading out to the patio my workroom.

The Workroom would contain my dream desk, Pottery Barn’s Bedford Project Table in mahogany with its cubby holes for numerous books and writing notebooks. I also love the little stools, which fit nicely underneath the desk, but the stools in the catalog are not my cup of tea. I prefer stools with cushy seats, much like those you find in upscale pubs, though no beer would be spilt on the ones in my workroom. The desk in the red room would house my laptop, hard drive, printer, and other technological gadgets.

The walls of the red room would not be completely covered, but there would definitely be some of my favorite photos on one wall from top to bottom,


a second wall would have a white board with dry erase markers and a dry erase calendar to help me keep track of ideas and appointments, and the third wall would be just red.

Anyone who knows me, knows I hate carpet, especially wall-to-wall carpet. So the floor would be mahogany stained wood flooring, with a couple of fluffy area rugs to bury my toes in. Not to mention, I might need the cushy rug in front of my long red couch when I hit those roadblocks in my writing. The rugs are expected to be either red or neutral colors. Ah, it’s good to dream.

What would your dream room look like?

Off Topic, Yet Spot On

I wanted to alert all readers that I recently created a storefront at Cafe Press for this blog. It is still in the beginning stages of development, but I hope to add more products related to the content on this page as time goes on. For now here is a link to the shop.

Shop on! I’m also hoping to con someone else into this venture.

Grammar Lesson…I Think Not!

Previously, I discussed how poets can turn readers onto another perspective regarding a given topic. The poem I selected from Poet Lore’s Summer 2007 issue highlights another quality of poetry–the imagination.

“On the Origin of Punctuation Marks” by Elizabeth Klise von Zerneck, the poet postulates how punctuation came to be as we know it. As a writer, I fully understand the power of words, but without punctuation, much of each word’s emphasis could be lost in breath. Klise von Zerneck suggests these punctuation marks fell from trees, like branches, bark, or acorns would, and bent or rolled upon hitting the ground.

As the poet discusses the random ways in which these marks are shaped by the environment into which they fell, the reader can picture the periods, question marks, and exclamation points as much more than grammatical elements. “The bent twigs paused, and wavered, caught against/” and “pods burrowed deep, and deeper, then reversed/ and grew up toward the sky…some straight as reeds/” Too many of us forget the beauty of punctuation, not only as a means to provide meaning and power behind our words, but also as aesthetic adornment on the page.

So ends my grammar lesson.

The Nuances of Spoons

Poets have a unique job to highlight the beauty of the mundane, the grotesque, and the world in general. However, many view poets as the keepers of emotion and profound insight, which may or may not be true. As part of my new poetic strategy to keep up on contemporary poetry, I have subscribed to several literary journals. In the Summer 2007 issue of Poet Lore, published by the Writer’s Center in Bethesda, Md, “Spoons, An Appreciation” by Tim Barnes caught my eye.

In the lines, “but to spoon is to make love, cuddle together” and “but spoons are the shapes of breasts and buttocks” Barnes forces the reader to check the utensil drawer, pick up a spoon, and view it with a different perspective. To make the sensuality of a spoon more clear, he sharply contrasts spoons with knives and forks. He illustrates how knives and forks, poke, jab, and sever meat and vegetables, while spoons covet, cup, and hold food gently in an embrace, like a lover.

The light-hearted poem reminds me how powerful words can be, especially in changing readers’ minds about various subjects, whether it be a spoon or war. I think too often these days, readers and writers are reliant upon cliche and fail to view the world afresh.

TeenBlips & BookBlips

I wonder if this will help TeenBlips find my site?

I wonder if this will help BookBlips find my site?

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I have no idea if this is going to help Google find my site.