Aspiring to Inspire Anthology: Read My Five Poems!

Five of my poems will appear in the Aspiring to Inspire Anthology published by Durham Editing and E-Books.  In all the years I've been submitting my work for publication, this is the first time that editors have taken all the poems I sent!  So this is a very exciting even for me.  





Two of the poems, Sunrise with Mountain and Hike to Box Canyon, New Mexico were inspired by my time at the AROHO writing retreats in 2011 and 2013, so the theme of inspiration from women in my life is particularly appropriate. 

The anthology will be available online, so check back here for a link to the e-book.  There will be an official Facebook Launch Party this Saturday, March 22nd.  
Join in if you can. You know I'll be there!

Celebrating International Women's Day: In the Name of Malala

This year I will finally celebrate International Women's Day.  I have always wanted to commemorate this day, but never have.  I'm not sure what makes today different from the past.  Perhaps it is the fact that my niece Felicity is growing up, and I want a better world for her as she becomes a young woman.  Perhaps it is because I am fed up with the many politicians trying to erode women's rights in our country right now.  Whatever the reason, this is the year.

I had always believed International Women's Day to be a modern invention, but discovered it had its beginnings in 1908.  I was amazed - and proud - to find out that it all started with women marching through the streets of New York City to demand shorter work hours, better pay and the right to vote (http://www.internationalwomensday.com). That I didn't know this embarrasses me. After all, I spent quite a few weekends in the 1970's marching for women's rights. Having prided myself on my knowledge of the history of women in our country, obviously I still have a great deal more to learn.  But first I need to get back into action after many years.

How appropriate it is that for my celebration I had already planned to march in San Francisco this afternoon. Once again, women will take to the streets to protest for their rights.  And this time I'll join them. I love this event even more because of the name of the group organizing the march:  WORD.  What writer could resist that?  Not this one.  I want to be there just because of that!

Adding to this synchronicity, I have been reading an anthology of poetry titled Malala: Poems for Malala Yousafzai.  Published by FutureCycle Press, it contains poems written in response to the horrendous shooting in October, 2012 which made Malala a household name as a defender of girl's and women's rights.  The editors Joseph Hutchison and Andrea L. Watson have compiled  an inspiring collection of poems sparked by Malala's courage in the face of brutality.

This beautiful book contains many poems illuminated by too many powerful lines to mention.  However, here are a few that particularly struck me.  Such as these from Ode by Judith Terzi:  "She is a luminous lagoon./She is our hands, our pen".  Or "Malala, there is music in your name/and something bitter between your teeth/that, swallowed, turns sweet" in Letter of Intent to Adopt by Barbara Rockman.  And this from A Young Girl by Ed Baker: "no easy way to gain the freedom/to explore-/a young woman bravely goes"  

Isn't that what makes Malala's story so poignant to us all?  Few of us would have the extraordinary courage of that young school girl.  We only can feel awe that she was brave enough to do what we fear we couldn't have.  

All proceeds from the sale of this book are donated to the Malala Fund, an organization dedicated to fighting for girls' education around the world.  As Joseph Hutchinson asks in his foreward, "Is it possible, too, that one poet, one pen, and one poem can change the world?" I believe such change can happen. The poems in this book are proof. I'm glad I bought it.

So today, as a poet and a teacher and a woman who hopes for the freedom to travel the world, I am marching for Malala.  And for all the young women she represents.  It is the least I can do.  Happy International Women's Day!

“One child, one teacher, one book and one pen

can change the world.”

—

MALALA YOUSAFZAI

“Malala Day” speech to the United Nations

July 12, 2013

Post AWP Re-entry Was Not Easy

I played teacher-hooky last Thursday and Friday to fly to Seattle for AWP 2014.   Thus began four wonderful days  surrounded by more writers and books too numerous to count.  

Never seeing more of the Space Needle than a little blip over the rooftops, I was nevertheless one happy writerwoman content to stay within the confines of the conference center.

 




A real highlight of the entire trip was visiting and dining with the incredible friends I've met through the A Room of Her Own Foundation's summer retreats.





Returning to my middle school classroom this morning hit me hard.  As with most writers, I often feel the conflict between the writing identify I struggle to cultivate and the demands of my teaching job.  Today that struggle felt particularly difficult.   

Faced with an early morning parent conference, piles of ungraded papers and then another meeting after school, I couldn't believe that only a few days ago I attended poetry readings by Robert Haas and Gary Snyder and listened to Ursula Le Guin talk about how even she still faces rejections of her work.  

Today before going off to work, I spent a few minutes digging into my AWP carrier bag filled with books, postcards, flyers, pencils and buttons.  Maybe I can get myself through the week by dipping out a few of these goodies every morning. 

Who knows what inspiration I'll find there?  

How do you reconcile the conflicts between your writing life and the demands of the outside world?  What helps you stay connected to your writerself?

My First Time at AWP - Hello, Seattle

One more advantage to having become involved with AROHO is that I found out about the yearly conference of the Association of Writers & Writing Programs or AWP. So yesterday evening, after only a one hour delay out of SFO, I flew to Seattle.  Over 12,000 writers have converged on this city known for rain and coffee.  Unlike San Francisco, it has been warm and fairly sunny.

As expected, the coffee is good.

And with books and writers everywhere, who couldn't be happy?

Can You Haiku?

The far reach of AROHO lives on, this time with the inspiration of Nicole Galland, one of the wonderful writers I met in New Mexico last August at Ghost Ranch.  Nicole had a friend who had written one haiku each day for an entire year.  Not being a poet herself, Nicole still thought the challenge of trying to write in this very tight form every day sounded interesting.  So she put out the call on Facebook.  Like myself, many of the people who responded were AROHO alumnae, but the circle widened with friends of friends of friends joining in.  Nicole created a group called The Haiku Room, and the fun began on January 1, 2014.

Since that time, I have written a haiku every day and received copious haiku from other people. I read each and every one although I find it difficult to "like" or comment on each.  But I love the fact that my inbox is filled with poetry instead of just advertisements or pleas for money from the Democratic Party.

I will admit that many of my haiku have been written out of desperation; the end the day is looming and I haven't found the time or subject to write.  Even so, I post those as well as the ones I'm proud of.  It's the discipline of writing them that I am finding so valuable.

That was a result I expected from the start.  After all, I'm still reaping the results of my early morning writing ritual (it's 6:10 as I write this on the 161st day).  What I didn't expect is how writing poems with such constraints would effect my writing.  I found an article about writing haiku which said many modern haiku in English no longer stick to the 5-7-5 syllable format.  However, I decided that I would keep my poems within that constraint.

And that has made a real difference in my writing.  I have had to hone and pare every unnecessary word while trying to convey as much with those words as possible.  I've had to struggle to actually make the poems say something worth reading with only those 17 syllables as well. And I've found that struggle to crystallize imagery to be spilling into my other poetry writing as well. I'm surprised I didn't think that would happen when I started, but am glad just the same.

In my post Last Post of 2013: Inspired by David Hockney I wrote about wanting to look more carefully at the world around me, to record what I see in vivid detail like Hockney did in his paintings.  That is another result of writing these haiku: looking at the smallest moment as a source of inspiration.  I find what I have come to call haiku mind to be a wonderful form of meditation for me.

I have now written a total of 27 haiku having yet to compose my poem for today.  Here are a few of my favorites so far:

1/1/14
winter city view
sun splash on dirty windows
watch the plum tree dance

1/4/14
gulls white-ride windward
over mist-mountains bay to ocean
winging stories home

1/8/14
after-school walk home
behind chain-link sharp-eared growl
thrill of near peril

1/9/14
night glow through curtains
pursue Artemis moon dreams
not human-lit streets

1/12/14
flock of daffodils
golden feathers bob and sway
winter's flown awry

1/14/14
moon, softly rounding
train whistle pulls my heart - wild
and just beginning

1/20/14
dun dried hills riven
by drought my tongue swollen
with dreams of water

1/27/14
Queen Anne's Lace, she wrote
pansies, fireflies awoke
childhood prairie fields
--for Tania

So I ask you again, can you haiku?  I highly recommend it.

Happy New Year to Me!

I'm very excited to see that A Room of Her Own Foundation (AROHO) posted my #radbrief that I submitted to them last year:

Post by A Room of Her Own Foundation (AROHO).

Last Post of 2013: Inspired by David Hockney

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I can think of no better way to spend a lovely San Francisco afternoon than to go to the museum. Two days ago I went to see the David Hockney exhibition at the De Young Museum in San Francisco.  This is one of the largest current exhibitions of his work in the United States.  Of course it has been wildly popular, so I had the bright idea of joining the hordes of people flowing into the museum on a holiday weekend to view it.  My friend Charlotte had told me it was life changing, which made me both eager to see the work and a little skeptical. I didn’t know much about Hockney other than that he painted a lot of pretty blue swimming pools in L.A. back in the 1970’s.

At first it was difficult to enjoy the art, especially since I kept stumbling over people with audio guides glued to their ears. I was cranky, not happy to be trapped with all those strangers, but as I started to weave my way through the crowds, the art did what art always does: it took hold of me.

What was it that grabbed me, that shook something loose in me?  Partly it was the color and scale of the work. I loved having to put my head back to gaze up at his huge canvases full of vibrant color as well as individual works mounted in groups high up to the ceiling.   

Partly it was his use of technology. I was mesmerized by the drawings he had done on his iPad and iPhone. I loved the fact that this man in his 70’s continues to embrace new media to accomplish his art. The quality of those drawings is different, soft and with a rather mysterious air about them, as if the world they depict was misty, with a haze in the air that put everything into soft focus.

However, it wasn’t just the vibrant color that enthralled me. I found out that recently Hockney has been working in charcoal to record the same views of his native Yorkshire countryside at different times of the day and season.  I’ve always been such a sucker for color that I’ve never been much interested in drawings.  But those series of charcoal drawings stunned me.  Running up and down the walls, they made me stop and look slowly at each one. I thought about how I have forgotten to do this very thing – sit and reflect and record the passing of the day and what is happening around me.  I’ve been too busy worrying about the twists and turns of my own mind to sit and observe what is going on around me.

I did that last summer at Ghost Ranch – every morning going outside and gazing at the sky, trying to experience what each day brought. But recently, after the initial euphoria of establishing my writing routine, I’d forgotten to lift my eyes from the page to look at the stripe of sun that falling across the page of my journal. Or watch how I  make shadows dance with my pen as I carry it along the pages. I have forgotten to notice the sweet, spicy scent of the candle that burns among my jumble of rocks and flotsam that I’ve gathered to remind me of the person I want to become. 

What I got from the exhibit:  the reminder to look up, look up, look forward. And take hold of everything at your disposal to create.To make sure I don't forget (at least for a little while), I bought this print of one of Hockney's watercolors.