Driftwood collage
March 16, 2012 § 2 Comments
Here’s a snapshot of a section of a driftwood collage by Minnesota artist George Morrison (1919-2000). He drew his materials – and his inspiration – from the shores of Lake Superior. The full collage is on display at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. (I kind of want it.)
Embracing the Sky
March 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
Reader-friends. I’ve been remiss in not telling you about my older brother and his amazing book. So here’s the story.
My brother Craig is a young man, college graduate, and remarkable poet. His body challenges him with the trappings of autism and mild cerebral palsy, but his mind is just as sharp as yours and mine. In 2000, he took a year off between high school and college to write a book of poems. (I get to claim a little credit here since I was the one to suggest he do so!) And not long into the following year – his first year of college – Jessica Kingsley Publishers in London, England, picked it up. I still remember that phone call from my mother: “Someone’s publishing Craig’s book!”
For a guy like Craig, who struggles to communicate with speech but sails forward in writing poems and papers by typing, with support, on a computer keyboard, having a book get published is a major victory – and a chance for the rest of the world to hear him as he really is. These are poems beyond disability because they allow readers to see not the outside guy but the reflective artist inside.
Having completed his degree in English literature, he’s hard at work on a second collection of poems these days. I’ve been spending time with him during these at-home days and listening to the new ones come forth. Remembering that voice. And realizing how some of you have yet to discover it!
So, let me encourage you to have a look. Here’s a link: Embracing the Sky by Craig Romkema.
Perspective
March 12, 2012 § Leave a comment
But then we did not think of ourselves as poor. We did not accept it. We thought we were superior people and other people that we looked down on and rightly mistrusted were rich.
-Ernest Hemingway, “A False Spring,” A Moveable Feast
Mosaic
March 7, 2012 § Leave a comment
On Saturday, my family and I went to the Minneapolis Institute of Art. This mosaic, which hangs in a hallway and which we almost sauntered right past, was created in Syria around 4 or 5 A.D. In another room we saw a statue from several centuries B.C. I have been to many museums and marveled at much art. Still these things sort of stop me in my tracks. First: it is amazing that they are so very old, and have somehow managed to last until today, and even found homes in the Midwestern United States. Second: it is a wonderful thing that art in itself is so timeless, so instinctive, and so intrinsic to humanity. That in all times and cultures it has sprung forth. Yes. Art matters.
A little novel excerpt
March 6, 2012 § Leave a comment
My book proof for Riding the Neighbors’ Horses is sitting on a shelf in my (temporary) bedroom. I’m sorry to say that in paging through it I found mistakes noticeable enough that I can’t overlook them, so we’re a few steps back in the editing/reviewing process. I’m hoping the book will be available in the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile, it is the funniest feeling to have a physical copy of this novel in my hands. I finished the first draft almost seven years ago. Followed up with lots of off-and-on revisions. Ignored it completely. Decided to do something about it. The book looks shiny and professional and it has my name on the front. Wheee!
For now, here is a small excerpt. Our narrator and protagonist, Susan Abbot, is about to get her first riding lesson from her neighbor, and new friend, Nan Whiting.
Horse’s hooves clopped against wood as Nan led a tall bay from its stall. “This is Bet,” she said. “The first time I rode her I was two, or probably even younger. Hold this a second.” Nan dropped a line of rope in my hand and darted around the corner before I could protest. I toyed with the end of the rope, following its white weave up to the halter of the horse. Bet stood near enough that I could feel the heat from her body and smell her scent—a blend of hay and wood, earth and sweat. She studied me with eyes so dark I couldn’t tell where the pupil ended and the iris began, and I wondered what I might read in those eyes if only I knew how.
The Meal: an international food-art project
February 24, 2012 § Leave a comment
The project: anyone who wanted to participate took a photo of themselves and what they happened to be eating at 12 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, February 24th, and sent it to the folks at Art House Coop.
I missed being able to participate by 1 hour and 45 minutes!
Apparently my head has been too deep into my own book to catch the food news, but at least I can still engage as an observer and a food-and-art enthusiast! And so can you. Check back to this site to see an exhibition of these meal self-portraits: Art House Coop
What a great way to get a slice of what is happening, of how people are participating in their local, regional, and global food systems, all around the world, in one moment of time.
Here is a photo of what I am eating right now, just for you all. And just to make me feel better. (I decided to leave out myself in my lazy Friday sweats.) Gingerbread in February. I see no problem with that!
Paradelle
February 22, 2012 § 2 Comments
Have you heard of this form? Poet Billy Collins made it up, to parody strict structured forms of poetry, with a footnote following his “Paradelle for Susan” that explains the rules for this (hardy-har-har) “French fixed form . . . of the eleventh century.”
I read the poem without at first realizing that he had made it intentionally awkward, though I did wonder about those dangling prepositions – because even while poetry lets you bend most grammatical rules, this was a bit much. I pointed these out to my mother (also a writer) and said, “Only Billy Collins could get away with that!”
I read the poem again and thought, How unnecessarily difficult!
And then I thought, I need to try it. I have liked writing sestinas, after all.
It turns out that while Collins proposed this form as a joke, subsequent poets have (a) not realized it and/or (b) decided to work with it, anyway. Red Hen Press has even published an anthology of paradelles that I’m curious to page through. So even if the revered Mr. Collins thinks this sort of thing is silly, the word nerd in me enjoys the puzzle, the playing with language.
Here’s some more info about the paradelle story and structure, and some examples: Paradelle, POA.
And here is my first attempt (feel free to give it the good ol’ workshop critique!):
—–
A Paradelle for Change
Where the bluebells end
Where the bluebells end
We come to the edge, laughing.
We come to the edge, laughing.
The end edge where we come
To the laughing bluebells
Is jagged, steep, a mile above
Is jagged, steep, a mile above
The river’s bending path.
The river’s bending path.
Above the jagged path,
Bending river, is a steep mile.
We fear not the gap. Hands hold
We fear not the gap. Hands hold
Together. We unfold our wings.
Together. We unfold our wings.
Our wings unfold, not fear. We, together.
The gap. We hold hands.
Where is the edge? The laughing
River’s mile gap above fear? We come,
We to the blubells, together.
A jagged,steep path. Not the end.
Hands bending, we unfold.
Our wings hold.
—–
Anyone else want to have a go? Send or link me to yours!
Roads ought to wind
February 21, 2012 § 2 Comments
At least a little. It allows us surprises.
Do you know what I found beyond this turn? A view reaching across open green hills. Warm sunshine. A bookstore.
Poem for a Monday of wind and sleet
February 20, 2012 § 1 Comment
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As a friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
-William Shakespeare, As You Like It
Herding dog
February 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
Meet Muñeca.
Muñeca is my friend Mae Rose’s canine companion at the ranch when she goes out to see to the sheep. The 8-month-old border collie could scarcely hold herself back as we approached the herd – though, good girl, she stayed with us on the four-wheeler until bid otherwise. This is the look she gets on her face: sheer determination. To her, sheep must be herded, and by golly, she is the one who should do it.
Want to see her at work?
Kinds of Honey 