Monday, April 6, 2015

Poem: Washington DC to Hartford

I decided to write a poem of NaPoWriMo's poetry prompt for and aubade. If you want to write your own response, you can go here.

Here's my response...


Washington DC to Hartford

12am
We drive through New York
George Washington Bridge
And $14 less.

Our wheels
Succumb penniless
To pothole highway
To mourn the grief
This Monday
Of bridges
And tolls.

An ode
To arrive home
At 2am.

All is dark
And urgent,
A bladder full
And clumsy
Up the back stairs. 

Relief
And then sleep.
 
Short, but no more.
 
Upon Monday sun

I dream awake.

Washington DC and Poetry

My husband in front of the Lincoln Memorial
Early in the morning, around 2am, we rolled into our driveway exhausted and both of us running to the bathroom at the same time! Our Washington DC trip officially ended and now we’re back to work bright and early at 8am just six hours later. I’m sunburned and tired but it was all worth it.
 
I can never say no to an opportunity to travel to an unknown city with no plans but to discover what it has to offer. There’s something romantic about it and spontaneous and that is how my husband and I like to lead our life.

When you don’t have plans, you don’t restrain yourself with expectations of the place. The only thing we did plan on seeing was the Whitehouse and we ended up so disappointed. We always thought it was bigger…right? Not the case.
But the best part of the trip? Free admission to all Smithsonian Museums. How great is that?

However, the highlights of our trip were the Lincoln Memorial, the MLK Memorial, the Air and Space Museum, the Natural History Museum, and the National Gallery (West).

But enough about me.
How did you spend your weekend? With family for Easter? Or are you celebrating Passover? Any which way you spent the weekend, did you write or read any poetry?
If you need inspiration or ideas, write a poem about a time when someone exceeded your expectations or when someone let you down.

I hope that everyone shares a poem of their own in the comment’s section below.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Poetry Prompt Saturdays - Spring

Cherry blossoms in full bloom outside of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial.
Wikipedia.org

My husband and I are in Washington DC this weekend and spring is in full swing here. We have seen magnolias in bloom and a few cherry trees, but not the famous cherry trees gifted from the Japanese Mayor of Tokyo City in 1912. Unfortunately, our long weekend didn’t fall on the Cherry Blossom Festival in March and we’ll miss the full blossoming of the cherries by just a week or so, but our weekend has been a success. It’s been a warm, sunny and historical filled trip.

Hyacinths and tulips are popping up out of the ground in DC and I actually got a sunburn. An actual sunburn! I never knew I would be so happy to actually have a sunburn. 

And why? 

It’s a sign. A sign that spring has finally come. Winter’s grip is loosening. The frosts are thawing and the lakes are breaking ice.

It’s been a long winter, full of negative degree weather, boilers breaking down, snow shovels and deicer. I’m done with it all, and I was never happier when the first couple of days of warm weather (high 40s) started coming around in Connecticut a couple of weeks ago.

And every year it's the same. When I finally realize that spring is wiggling its way in, I always smell it first. That wonderful earthy smell. The smell of long frozen dirt and leaves unthawing and sweetly rotting. It’s a smell that grabs you and whispers in your ear, “I’m back.” 

So on that note, I thought that our Saturday writing prompt should be in honor of spring.


Write poetry or prose, any form that you wish to choose on the following prompt.


What are the signs that tell you spring has arrived? Do they excite one particular sense? Taste, smell, touch, sight or sound, or all five? 

Friday, April 3, 2015

Ezra Pound's "Francesca"



Francesca

Ezra Pound

You came in out of the night
 And there were flowers in your hands,
 Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
 Out of a turmoil of speech about you.

 I who have seen you amid the primal things
 Was angry when they spoke your name
 In ordinary places.
 I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,
 And that the world should dry as a dead leaf,
 Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away,
 So that I might find you again,
 Alone.

I wanted to start the weekend off with a poem containing strong images.

I’ve read this poem many times and yet each successive reading feels like I’m reading it fresh. The lines “dry as a dead leaf,/ Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away” are so specific but elegant that they allow me to form an image in my mind of the world drying and crumbling as an autumn leaf.

In this poem, Pound leaves enough to the reader’s imagination and leads just enough to guide us to the end with simple straightforward language. Maybe that’s why this is one of the few poems that I like from him. Of all of his works, this is the only one that sticks with me, the only one that I feel close to.

Many of his other poems feel to me like a science classroom readying to dissect a frog. Everyone wants to do it, but at the same time no one wants to do it. Pound is one of the most famous poets, so as a student of poetry, I should read and love his poetry. So like a good student, I read his poems, but each new one read brought new disappointment until it was like dissecting a frog. I wanted to read more so I could learn why everyone loves his poetry and so I could learn from his technique, but reading his poetry was like a chore, something I didn't want to do. It turned into something I found revolting.

However, one day I stumbled upon "Francesca" and it's simple but beautiful message of love and possession captured my interest. And from this discovery, I realized that every poet, even if my tastes and style don't align with theirs, have at least one work or poem that redeams them. I love it when poets surprise me.

I hope everyone is enjoying Good Friday. I have today off and my husband and I are taking our three day weekend in Washington DC. Smithsonian, Whitehouse, and Library of Congress here we come!!!!

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Poetry Prompt Thursdays

I am beginning a new tradition of poetry prompt Thursdays where I will list a poetry prompt for anyone to use and respond to. This is a great way to promote daily writing practice.

Writing even a couple of paragraphs each day can help organize your thoughts and concerns and help you start afresh and focused for the day’s work.

After the prompt, I will write my own response to get the ball rolling and hopefully coax anybody out of their shell.

In regards to your own response, feel free to use any form you wish, whether it be poetry or prose and don’t feel pressured to share your work. I encourage sharing, but everyone has their own comfort level and I respect that. Please keep your response between 0 to 500 words; a little more that 500 is ok.

If you choose to post your response, please remember, this is a judgment free zone. I encourage discussion about each other’s response, but I expect positive support from everyone who comments. No haters, flamers, etc.

Please be respectful of each other.

Writing Time


Write about a place that quieted your soul. A place that made you feel small and made you feel a part of something bigger than yourself.

I decided to write about the time I was in India. I was in my husband’s home town Gwalior and he and his sister took me to the Sikh temple near Gwalior Fort. The sun had set and yet the white marble temple shone like a beacon in the night. A refuge of quiet amid the chaos of Gwalior.


Sikh Temple in Gwalior India. 123rf.com



A line of bronze oil lamps
Flicker obscure
Over red carpet
Leading into the mouth
Of the temple.
Outside the line of light
All is loud and dark.
I reach for you beside me,
But you are not there.
Your dark hand not present
Among the sacred marble.
I turn to you, there behind
The water moat among the shadows.
You stand by the line of empty shoes
Your feet fully clad in the
Day’s toil and grind.
Hands interlaced
Cradle your black hair
Behind your head.
The space between your arms
Sharp triangles of night.
Your eyes search
For answers among
The budding stars
Outside this temple
No longer yours.
Star by star
No wish whispered,
Instead every fiber of you
Reaches for answers to
The whys and hows
Formed on your lips,
But silence shimmers down
Cold as marble below your feet.

Thank you for writing, reading and responding. If you are interested in more prompts or daily writing practice, I also subscribe to the Poets and Writers free and weekly newsletter “The Time is Now.” They send out a weekly email with three writing prompts one poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction. They also give book recommendations and inspiration.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Walt Whitman


Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

-Leaves of Grass,

Book III Song of Myself,

Walt Whitman


Everyone in the US has heard of him. Some may know the name, but not his occupation. But even the name Whitman rings a bell with people who do not know his poetry. Walt Whitman was a witness to his times, and his writings and poetry are the vehicle of his history and the people of that time’s history. People who’ve read his work could say it is superfluous and long winded, but I disagree.

His poetry exists for praise. He praises the living and the dead. He praises the rich and poor, the virtuous and the criminal, prostitutes and virgins. He leaves no one out. He showers love and attention on everyone, indiscriminately, and accepts everyone just as he accepts his own body, his faults, and his own inevitable death. For him, no topic was off limits. He wrote about God, the soul, sex, foreign countries, and equality for all sexes and races.

In my exploration of Leaves of Grass, I found that his writing is meant to be cherished and savored. The slower I read his writing, the more inspiration and appreciation I have for his detailed work. His work has brought new inspiration to my own life and has introduced new topics and broken down boundaries and preconceived notions that I never realized I had. He has forced me to look at myself and my writing and love every detail and every flaw. He has given me the courage to improve. So many of his poems and passages exhibit such simple but profound observations of his world and of human nature. And now that I have read his work, I feel that I understand more of the world that I live in.

So without any hesitation, I dedicate my first April post to Whitman and I will proceed with a few excerpts from Leaves of Grass that I enjoyed the most.

As Adam Early in the Morning

  As Adam early in the morning,

  Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep,

  Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach,

  Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass,

  Be not afraid of my body.


The fact that the subject of the poem is Adam, most like the Adam from Eden, his first thoughts when he fell from God’s graces was shame of his body. In embarrassment, he reaches for a fig leaf to cover his nakedness and hide what makes him human.


However, Whitman praises the body. Many passages throughout the book describe in great deal the touching and feeling of faces and limbs and of the beauty of movement while people work, play or have sex. And the last line of this excerpt shows that most people are afraid of others and afraid of their own body. Afraid of the unknown and afraid to break free from what they are taught. The narrator implores almost tries to persuade and seduce Adam to touch him. In a way, Adam is being tempted away from his shame and embarrassment.




Book VI, Salut au Monde! (Praise the World!)

All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent

      of place!

  All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagoes of the sea!

  And you of centuries hence when you listen to me!

  And you each and everywhere whom I specify not, but include just the same!

  Health to you! good will to you all, from me and America sent!


  Each of us inevitable,

  Each of us limitless—each of us with his or her right upon the earth,

  Each of us allow'd the eternal purports of the earth,

  Each of us here as divinely as any is here.


This passage is self-explanatory, but it sums up much of what Whitman tries to explain in his writing. He describes that no one is greater or better than another, no God, person, or animal. All are divine and beautiful. All have a purpose and a right to the Earth. I love this piece because the last stanza clarifies what he wishes to impart on his readers. He is upfront and unapologetic and one must remember the age when he wrote Leaves of Grass. Stating that everyone is divine would be considered blasphemy in the eyes of 1800s America immersed in a religious awakening.




Book III, Song of Myself

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through

      the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,

  You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

  You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.


In such eloquent words, he states don’t believe anything anyone says, not even what he says. Only listen and then decide what you believe and decide who you are without the influence of others. For me, this passage closely speaks to writing style and the topic of concern for many writers; the fear of sounding like their favorite authors. Whitman implores you to look at the world through your own eyes and see it, observe it, and experience it so that you can fully become yourself. His advice holds true for the writer. As long as we stay true to our experiences, we will stay true to our unique styles and bring forth original and engaging work.

If you're interested in reading Leaves of Grass, you can read it for free here on Project Gutenberg.

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

National Poetry Month Starts Tomorrow

 
It’s been a looong while since I posted here, but since April is National Poetry Month, I couldn’t resist having a series of posts in honor of all of the poets out there, alive or dead. I will post poems ranging from centuries old to recently released; along with my reactions. In addition, I will post some of my own poems as well as posts about poetry news, videos, writing prompts, writing tips, as well as links to great podcasts and recordings. To learn more about National Poetry Month or to get a free NPM poster, you can visit the official NPM website.

And as the April tradition of NaPoWriMo, I will link my blog to the official National Poetry Writing Month website and hope to meet a community of fellow poets and poetry enthusiasts. On the official website, they list all participating websites as well as post poetry writing prompts each day. If you’re unfamiliar with NaPoWriMo, it began with a woman who wanted the poetry equivalent of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

If you want to participate, the goal is to write one poem a day starting on April 1st and ending on April 30th. You can post it on your own blog, or I invite you to use the comments section of this blog. I would love to share and read everyone’s work and I look forward to this month of poetic awesomeness. See everyone bright and early tomorrow!