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.
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!
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
Robert Frost’s great-grandson’s cattle
February 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
Two roads diverge in the U.S. beef industry. Americans are buying more alternatively raised meat — organic, natural, grass-fed and the like – but most large-scale cattle producers in the Midwest are not cashing in on the trend.
Prescott Frost, however, owns a 6,000-acre operation in the sand hills of northern Nebraska, and he’s betting on alternatively raised beef. Frost is a former stock broker from Connecticut who sold his family’s farmland in Illinois two years ago to come to Nebraska and raise certified organic grass-fed beef. He has about 600 cattle.
The link for the rest of the article is below. I caution you to ignore the comment about change needing to come from “educated people from the city.” I disagree. While I understand what he’s getting at, this is the kind of overgeneralization that smacks of inaccuracy and quite honestly, offends. Still, the rest of the piece is worth a read. Robert Frost wasn’t all that joyful a farmer, but farming appears to have stayed in the genes.
Taking the grass-fed road less traveled | Harvest Public Media.
A January poem
January 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
twinkling
snow: still and white.
beyond the roar and slush of the street,
past the fence, a pasture. blanketed.
four chocolate black horses
bend their necks to nuzzle for grass.
the sky grows night blue behind them.
and in a moment I am not in
this car, not post-holiday gray,
but brushing wet velvet noses,
a little girl with periwinkle mittens
who knows, after all, that
something so beautiful
must be fraught with magic.
A Lake Superior Poem
December 19, 2011 § 2 Comments
My graduate school and poet friend Amy just chased her heart north, to the North Shore of Lake Superior. I am so glad for her, especially because this place is one of my homes, too – never a place I have lived, but I place I have known myself to belong to, to be somehow intangibly (and yet, so very tangibly) connected to, smitten with, inspired by. It is a place I crave.
The summer after I graduated from high school, my family took a trip up to the Lake of the Woods, into Canada, and down along the North Shore Drive. When we reached the lake we had been in the van bickering and bored for too long, and then we’d gotten out at a rest stop and stumbled upon a trail. Suddenly we were all in better tempers, as the water reached blue into the distance and the breeze whisked its way around us.
And there was a moment when I stood on the rocky shore and felt my chest fill so terribly, wonderfully full. And I felt my heart know I belong here. For a long while I outlined my plans for the small house I would have where the waves rush and fall against the rocks and the pines.
I have since then known that same feeling in other places, though not so many as to make this one decrease in significance. Instead I am glad to find them, to gather them like precious stones. A few years ago three friends and I went up to ski at Lutsen, and I got to see my lake in winter. Several weeks later I wrote this poem.
—–
askance
at winter’s edge of shoreline, Lake Superior breaks into glass,
shards that creak and clink when we step softly across.
white-blue sky reaches down to the distant blue-black
where ice gives way and water moves free. now and then,
a rumble and groan. we keep close to shore. hold a stillness.
listening, it is, for beginners. only common sense in asking
the lake if we might cross its cracks and heaves, if
we might find the rare structures of winter on water.
—–
Thankful
November 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
Periodically I’ve sought to cultivate gratitude by making daily lists of things to be thankful for. To make a practice of counting my blessings. I start with the best of intentions, and eventually fall out of the habit. And how easy it is to look around and unconsciously count reasons for discontent.
Each day of the month of November, my friend Amy has been posting something for which she is thankful. Can I just say how refreshing this has been? Facebook frequently becomes so rampant with complaints, questionable and controversial political or ideological statements, and (at least in my circles) details of parenting frustrations and bliss that I can hardly stand it, and wonder why I continue to log in and scroll through. Amy’s posts have made me stop and feel glad for at least a few seconds of each day. (Thanks, Amy – I’m thankful for you and your November postings!)
I could give you a long list of things I wish I had, things I wish I’d done differently, things I feel I rather deserve after working my bum off throughout college . . . and high school . . . and middle school . . . heck, even elementary. Life does not seem fair at times and it isn’t. But then, there are people suffering from much greater injustices than mine, and there is much that I have and perceive as “normal” that is really a privilege. So. This is the day before Thanksgiving, and I am not home with family, and I am not hosting anyone, and I am not following around darling babies wearing booties I made for them. But I can be glad, and grateful.
And here are some of the reasons:
1. I have wonderful family members who love each other. I speak to all of them at least once a week. With my mother, almost daily. And all of them put up with my big ideas, my joyous hopes, my disappointments, my ramblings that dissolve into tears. What a fortunate thing it is to have a father who lets you cry in front of him, a mother who counsels you through despair and encourages your dreams, a sister who gets excited about various projects and ideas and often jumps in, a brother who can fix anything and doesn’t mind just talking when you’re lonely, and another brother who is so happy to hear your voice he just has to keep telling you how much he likes having you as his sister.
2. My sweet dog. I can’t tell you how many times I am stroking her soft ears and looking at her face and thinking what a good girl she is, and how much she has gone through with me. She is my constant friend. She goes where I go. She runs with me. She sits close to me on dark nights. I am so glad I didn’t listen to everyone who said it wasn’t wise to get a dog when you were in graduate school and you weren’t settled. Especially a big dog. This dog was meant to be mine, this happy, triangle-eyed, tennis-ball-obsessed golden retriever.
3. New things to learn. Thank you to all the people who have encouraged me to look at the world with curiosity, and to try out what it had to offer, and even to look beyond what was to see the possibilities of what could be.
4. Good food! And the people who are dedicated to it. Farmers, chefs, single guys and girls in apartments, dads and moms feeding little ones. Those working at food banks, soup kitchens, and community gardens. This national excitement about food is, I think, about to significantly change our society. I can feel it. I believe in it.
5. Nonprofits. Isn’t it great that there are places that can employ us to do good things?
6. Horses. They’re just beautiful. And I get to visit them, handle them, appreciate them almost every day.
7. My friends! Did I really wait till Number 7 to think of this? How lucky I have been to have gathered dear friends almost every place that I have lived, and how lucky that many of them have kept in touch, despite the different directions our lives have taken. I appreciate you guys! Thanks for sharing your lives with me. (And especially thanks to Amanda and Tyler and Tyler’s family this Thanksgiving, who are inviting me into their circle so I won’t be alone on this day of feasting.)
8. Co-workers that I like and get along with. This can’t be overlooked! I find it makes such a difference in daily life.
9. Clothes to wear. Kinda cute ones, even. It seems silly, but it isn’t.
10. Poetry & art. Keep spinning those words, writers. Keep snapping those stunning photos, photographers. Keep painting and stitching and scrapbooking and doing whatever you all do to make something expressive and gorgeous for those who know you, and those who are lucky enough to discover you.
11. And finally, most importantly, my faith. I know it isn’t something everyone will share, and I wouldn’t presume to make anyone feel they ought to. Belief in anything is so personal, and everyone must work out what they believe in their own time and in their own way. But I can’t help mentioning how glad I am for grace, and for a God whose primary purpose is to love us and teach us to love each other.
So then. Thank you, world. It feels now like the natural and right thing to do is help give other people reason to be thankful. Doesn’t it?
Feast well, friends. Love even better.
Happy Thanksgiving.
A November poem
November 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
Here’s one I wrote a couple years ago, back home in Iowa.
early november
the corn tilts
in the garden.
the dog bites at
empty shucks,
pulls them toward
her until a light
crack breaks the stalk.
I glance over from
where I am digging
the last of the carrots,
the soil wet as clay,
the snappy orange and
purple roots still smelling
fresh as spring.
.
she tosses her head,
tears open those crisp
tawny husks to find
a crumbling white
core. noses and huffs
at the chaff. only
leftover failures.
all the sweet corn
has been savored.
all the colored popcorn
lines the windowsills.
.
and certainly, this is not
the fat golden field corn
that she and our other
dogs steal from
the neighbors, to sit
down with the bright
yellow between their
paws, to chew off each
dry, dented kernel with
a hunter’s satisfaction.
So long, September
September 30, 2011 § 3 Comments
I will send September out in high style this Friday night, with a long bath and Country Living, re-warmed homemade chicken soup with rice, and an early bedtime.
But first, here is the John Keats poem I feel the need to re-read and remind everyone of this time of year. You may want to put on your literary thinking cap since it’s all old language and meter and rhyme, but it’s a gorgeous piece and worth the time. Can’t you just imagine England in the fall? I was there in the gloomy winter/spring, but I can imagine. And I’m remembering so many pastoral paintings, hanging on the walls of European museums, by artists whose names I wrote down on scraps of paper, and shoved in my pockets, and inevitably lost.
—–
To Autumn
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Delays & anticipation
September 29, 2011 § Leave a comment
Well. It is the second-to-last day of September and I am a brooding a bit for several reasons:
1. I love September. It’s my favorite month and it’s almost over. A whole year of waiting for it again . . . it feels kind of like finishing a favorite book. Satisfying, except you’re not ready to be done with it yet. (This is of course referring back to the days when I read books.)
2. I set many goals over the last few weeks – and shared them – and have not even come close to reaching them! Such as getting up early to walk the dog, biking to work, and reading through The Vegetable Garden Problem Solver (re-set that goal: if I’m through the book by next February I can be content). Am I lazy? Or am I asking too much of myself? Grr, me.
3. The exciting September News that I hinted at earlier has to be pushed to . . . October, maybe. Stalling on my own part has something to do with this, but there are other factors. Sometimes things have to take on their own life and timeline, and that’s sort of what this is. So – hang in there, me and you.
Still. I can shake myself out of this brood (a little). Because on this second-to-last day of September I also have some very good things to look forward to:
1. We’re having a party at the farm! A potluck-style crawfish bash thanks to my boss and her Southern roots. This Saturday night. (I’d better take a nap between the farmers’ market and the party, come to think of it.) If you’re my friend and you live here and you want to come, let me know – the more the merrier!
2. I am happy to announce that I will be attending and blogging for/about the Carolina Farm Stewardship Associaton’s Sustainable Ag Conference in Durham, NC! It’s taking place November 12-13, but I’ll get there early to check out the area and participate in some pre-conference activities. More details on that later, but if any readers are in the area and/or attending the conference I’d love to know.
3. Change comes with the seasons, when you work on a farm. It scares me but I also need to acknowledge how lucky I am to mix up my schedule and my life; to have new experiences and opportunities for learning; to make new friends and new discoveries. Come November my world is going to shift, and I don’t know how far – it could be very far, or not far at all – but I get to ride out that shift. And write it out. (Thanks for reading!)
4. There will be more time set aside for writing books. I may not be reading about vegetables as I should, but book ideas have been be coming out of my ears lately. So it seems weird to look forward to this, but I am excited about jotting down the thoughts and the plots. I’ve already started, and it’s only going to get better. Winter seems to be more of my writing season, especially poetry and fiction, and I can’t help but feel glad about dark quiet nights by the fireplace, shutting out the buzz and hum of everything else so that the imagination can do its thing.
5. And finally: baby brother is getting married. I love/hate weddings but the love part of them is what I aim to focus on. The event planner in me wants to know all the details. The budding photographer in me can hardly wait to capture all the gorgeous moments that will be had. At first the news came as a surprise but now the idea is getting more and more fun. I am hoping for the utmost of happiness for them.
So then. There are delays and disappointments and the passing of time, and there are joys and excitements in the passing of the time.
It’s life, eh?
And here is a delicious Etsy blog post I wanted to share, to sweeten this slightly moody post of my own: How to Make Chocolates. Check out the deal you can get on the cookbook! Yum. We are moving into the season of decadence.
Kinds of Honey 