National Poetry Month #2: Advice to Writers

How could Billy Collins have known how I work as a writer? I clean, weed, sort, drive, sit still, then write. I love this poem.

Advice to Writers

Billy Collins

Even if it keeps you up all night,

wash down the walls and scrub the floor

of your study before composing a syllable.

Clean the place as if the Pope were on his way.

Spotlessness is the niece of inspiration.

The more you clean, the more brilliant

your writing will be, so do not hesitate to take

to the open fields to scour the undersides

of rocks or swab in the dark forest

upper branches, nests full of eggs.

When you find your way back home

And stow the sponges and brushes under the sink,

You will behold in the light of down

The immaculate altar of your desk,

aq clean surface in the middle of a clean world.

From a small vase, sparkling blue, lift

a yellow pencil, the sharpest of the bouquet,

and cover pages with tiny sentences

like long rows of devoted ants

that followed you in from the woods.

I wish I could say I took the photo. I give credit to Sarala and you can find the original photo here as she references the same poem. As a teacher I never have a bouquet of yellow pencils.

http://sarala.aminus3.com/image/2009-05-14.html

Celebrating National Poetry Month: #1 Lineage

In previewing a new literature series at school today I discovered this poem. I fortunately picked up a strong lineage from the grandmothers on both sides of my family. Above is Grandma West and my brother at our house on Portland in Kellogg. Below we are with Grandma Woolum in Spokane.

Lineage

BY MARGARET WALKER

My grandmothers were strong.

They followed plows and bent to toil.

They moved through fields sowing seed.

They touched earth and grain grew.

They were full of sturdiness and singing.

My grandmothers were strong.

My grandmothers are full of memories

Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay

With veins rolling roughly over quick hands

They have many clean words to say.

My grandmothers were strong.

Why am I not as they

Margaret Walker, “Lineage” from This is My Century: New and Collected Poems. Copyright © 1989 by Margaret Walker. Reprinted by permission of University of Georgia Press.

A Repeat Blog Post: To Be of Use

I first posted this at the end of April in 2008. I reread many of my National Poetry Month posts as I get ready to once again celebrate this month with poetry. Enjoy a repeat.

Poetry is a passion in my life. I have loved reading and rereading poetry and posting a poem each day this month. I may have to continue posting favorite poems as I find them. Thanks for all your encouraging comments about the month's collection. Recently two people shared this poem with me. It became a new one to add to my collection. I love the woven theme of tasks and how many ways they can be approached. It was fitting to choose my mother's picture above for this final poem. Whether she is at my house helping to prepare Thanksgiving dinner as illustrated above, planting a garden, or washing down the walls in her kitchen- she always jumps in head first.

To be of use

The people I love the best

jump into work head first

without dallying in the shallows

and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.

They seem to become natives of that element,

the black sleek heads of seals

bouncing like half submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,

who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,

who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,

who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who stand in the line and haul in their places,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters

but move in a common rhythm

when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.

But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used.

The pitcher cries for water to carry

and a person for work that is real.

-Marge Piercy

Three Word Essay: Digging In Dirt

The day started out cloudy, then later rain came so my plans for outside work changed. I headed to the greenhouse. As we transition plants back outside after wintering there is always lots of work to do.

As I deadheaded I got cuttings for propagating. I love arranging plants along the shelf that will be new, bigger plants in a few months.

There are also surprised. Plants are shoved behind others by the windows. As I rearranged plants today I found blooms I didn't know existed.

The geraniums are always front and center, but I never tire of their steadfast blooms. The white right now is my favorite. Here are a few more favorite images.

Why We Write

I have many friends and family members that love to write. As the early signs of spring emerge around us, the urge to get words on paper or screen appears to be necessary after a dark winter rest. Family members are returning to blogs. Other family members are beginning blogs. Friends are expressing frustration of not having the time to write.I now have students eager to put words to composition book also. I want to write.

 I often return to Julia Cameron's words of wisdom when I engage in my own writing. If you are reading this for the first time or revisiting it again with me, embrace her message. There are many things which resist naming.

Why We Write

By Julia Cameron

There are many things which resist naming,
And that is why we write.
We write because language is slippery,
And the truth is.
We write because
The light we have to see by
Is always shifting
Never forget that writers are prophets.
We speak in tongues.
We testify.
We are for each other a believing mirror.
Our words make us visible.
Our listening makes us heard.

Never forget that writers are soldiers.
Our writing is the long march,
The walk into time.
Each word is a drum.
We sound it across great distances,
Reaching one another and ourselves.
Every poem is a day's march.
A celebration more necessary than water or wine.
Every poem is a drink of blood.

Never forget that writing is an act of courage -
Not on the days when it is simple and we discount it.
Not on the days when it is hard and we write like sand.
Our words are torches.
We pass them hand to hand
And mouth to mouth
Like a burning kiss.

Never forget to say thank you.
Every syllable is a grace.

Two Word Essay: Tundra Swans

After traveling the International Selkirk Loop in Janurary we were intrigued with the whole loop. We made a decision to take a trip to somewhere in the loop each month. After reading more information, the tundra swan migration at Callispell Lake caught my eye. Calispell Lake is near Cusick and Usk Washington.

 The lake is surrounded by marshlands that attract tundra swans, all kinds of ducks and geese, and other wildlife during different parts of the year.

The challenge is finding a place to get close to the birds. Most of the lake is surrounded by farm land and lots of No Trespassing signs. We did find a few spots to get closer to the birds, but I relied on my zoom len and tripod most of the time.

When I researched about the tundra swans I learned how noisy it would be. When you have that many swans in an area like this, it is loud. They are a noisy bunch of birds.
I I loved how the different types of bird hung out together. They seemed to enjoy this place to rest as they migrated to their next location. The whole area we explored today was not full of people. It was serene except the honking of the birds. It was a place I would like to return to.

For more information on the International Selkirk Loop go here.