Happy Poetry Month!

In celebration of April being National Poetry Month, I’m republishing a recent column I wrote for Women on Writing, my favorite community of fellow writers.

With cherry blossoms, warmer weather and longer days, April brings so many reasons to celebrate. For me, the season has brought yet another new dog into my life. Along with Max, a Siberian Husky, and Finn, a beagle-terrier mix, we now have Tulsa Rose (Tulsi for short), a twelve-week-old corgi. With three dogs on my hands, I’m especially grateful that April is also the official month of poetry. Between the endless barking, nipping, and wiggling, I need all the sanity I can get.

Tulsi loves nothing better than sinking her
little baby teeth into poetry!

In a previous WOW column, I wrote about why writers of all genres should consider writing poetry. This time we’re going to discuss why you should read poetry. As I write this, I realize I’m probably preaching to the choir. However, as I’m sure that the poets among us would agree, the pleasures—and value—of reading poetry cannot be overstated.

Six Reasons to Read Poetry

1. Sound. Reading poetry magically slows down the frenetic pace of life and forces us to concentrate on the very building blocks of writing—words. In truth, poetry is about more than words. It’s about syllables and sound. There’s a reason childhood rhymes such as Mother Goose’s “Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock…” are so easy on the ears. As adults, we still appreciate rhyme. Who doesn’t relish every single syllable of Sylvia Plath’s famously manic villanelle: Mad Girl’s Love Song? But non-rhyming poetry has its own delights. Who can’t read Poem by William Carlos Williams and not imagine every single step of the cat walking over the jam closet and into the flower pot? Reading poetry is a great reminder of the importance of paying attention to every single syllable.

2. Capture a Moment. Most writers, whether they consider themselves traditional poets or not, possess a poet’s sensibilities. What I love so much about Williams’ poem is the way he preserved forever the elegant stride of his cat in an otherwise awkward situation. When I’m having difficulties on a scene in my own writing, I remind myself to break it down to a single moment, just as Williams did. For example, as my character frets about her new life after a divorce, if I want to convey despair, I will have her observe and reflect on the naked branches of her favorite maple tree in autumn. Conversely, if I want to express hope, I’ll have her ruminate about the nubile leaves of the same tree in spring.

3. Art of Compression. Reading poetry reminds us of the power of brevity. Yard Sale Chair by Robert Cooperman (Rattle #7) tumbles with delightful metaphors that easily transport the reader into a scene that is all-too-familiar but made fresh again. Reading it makes me work a little harder on my own word pictures. Matthew Sweeney’s Five Yellow Roses, another poem I recently discovered, reminds me that the world abounds with little stories. When stumped for new ideas, I simply stop and observe life around me, and as Sweeney did, re-imagine the possible story behind scenes such as a flower delivery.

4. Builds connections. Who doesn’t have the minute or two that it takes to read a poem? The efficiency and sheer accessibility of poetry crosses generations, economics, education levels and more. For example, you don’t have to be a Gen X’er like me to sway to the music at Adult Night at Skate World. (Rattle, February 11, 2023). This lovely poem by Christina Kallery so perfectly recreates the angst of lost love, old friendships and cheesy music of the roller rink that it resonates with readers of all ages. The writers among us can learn from her concise descriptions, clever enjambments, and that unforgettable last line.

5. Fosters empathy. Connections lead to the ultimate goal of any writing—to build understanding and compassion. I challenge you to read Flute in a Far Room by Ruth Moose (Your Daily Poem) without feeling your own twinge of loneliness along with our homesick narrator. And you don’t have to be a dog lover to be moved by the late Jane Kenyon’s After An Illness, Walking the Dog (Poetry Foundation). Reading Kenyon—who, like Moose, elevates the ordinary into the sublime—reminds us that the simplest acts in life are the universal ones.

Ta-da! And now, drum roll please, it’s time for the final reason that you should read poetry. But I’m sure you saw it coming.

6. Improves your writing. Reading poetry is not only fun, it inspires you to be a better writer. For all the reasons previously mentioned and then some. It provides a welcome break from our own work, thus enhancing mental health and happiness. In this sense, poetry is the ultimate “self-care” for writers.

I hope you’ve enjoyed some of the work I’ve shared in this post, and like Tulsi, will soon sink your teeth into your own favorites. As a starting place, take a look at The Ten Best Poems of All Time (compiled by Marie Seeba for The Strand). And if the month of April leads to you to write your own poems, even better.

Wishing you a glorious spring full of writing and inspiration!

Inspirations from a Quilt

What could be more soothing than the sound of the washing machine churning, churning, washing away….my dog’s tail thudding against the wall when he hears me walk back into the room…wind chimes, almost from another world, clanging in a gentle morning wind….and the touch of a new quilt, softened by the work and care of a dear friend.

Tquilt.jpgoday I reflect back on yesterday’s visit from my beloved writing friends Mary and Ruth, who came for lunch but brought a cornucopia of my favorite things  — a book of stories from Shirley Jackson, articles, their own precious stories, clean jars ready for canning, and the highlight– a beautiful quilt designed and hand-stitched by Mary herself.

I’m still both awed and humbled. It’s made from squares of heathered purple and accented with strips of beautiful complementary fabrics, modern and traditional with botanical accents. Each of the purple squares is accented with four French knots, which reminds me of my mother, who used to crewel and first showed me that stitch. Mary says the quilt is a marquis-inspired pattern and it is truly unique and something I will cherish to the end of my days.

Twenty-three days into May, and with 23 draft stories under my belt, I’m over the hump but I’m grateful for the inspiration and sustenance of the idea of a quilt. What powers our stories could be considered a “virtual quilt” of its own — memories, scraps of conversation, images, noble truths. What holds the quilt together is that dynamic, fluid, yet mysterious force of imagination. Your imagination will be there in the beginning, during the heady flush of a new idea — and it will also be there as you revise, in the days before a story truly comes to life.

Not all drafts are equal but I’m hopeful that I’ll end up with at least 10 viable drafts to revise throughout the year. More importantly, however, I hope to reinforce enough good habits to last a lifetime. As a reward, I plan to splurge on the last book of stories by William Trevor, a man who might indeed be the heir to our Chekhov. In the meantime, my new quilt and memories of yesterday shall guide my boat.

Flash Photograph! Meet Reinhardt…

army dog_editedReinhardt

By some trick of doggie geneaology, I missed being born a Dalmation, the breed who rides on a proper fire truck.  I’ve got a different gig.  When that man with the sunglasses yells “Atten-hut”, I half-sit half-stand on my mixed breed hind legs.

When my tongue lolled out, my mother used to say that now my face was going to stay like that for the rest of my life.  But I’ve just run clear across the parade grounds to sneak into this photo opportunity, so naturally, I’m panting.  This is the the United States Air Force, you know, and these are my guys.  They just finished washing the bivouac, the tires shine like their newly polished shoes.

Hixon, Hershey, Cyril and Donald keep the trucks running on this base.  The Corps doesn’t pay much, but they earn enough to buy me a decent collar and to keep food in my bowl.  They found me covered with mud in a ditch.  And they don’t never mind that I speak German.

Mary L. Barnard
3-3-18

Editor’s Note: Leave it to Mary to write from the point of view of the dog! Her love of dogs rules (she owns 2 rescue angels herself) as well as her sense of humor. What seals the deal for the reader is the title. His German name makes perfect sense when you read the last line of the story. Such a little touch results in a big payoff for the reader. Woof-woof!

Poem #11: Meet Baby the Dog (Wolf)!

baby1I’ve written about the cats in our life, Kiki and Little Puss, along with the two littlest dogs, Buster and Finn. Today it’s time the shyest of them had her moment in the sun. Meet Baby, the husky-shepherd mix (pictured to the left) rescued by Johnpaul years ago.

Want to read it? Scroll down in the alphabetical list for Day #11 to read “Somnambulant Dog.”

If you love poetry, I hope you’ll consider supporting a poet this month.  Please do read my work (and those of the other poets) if you can, and consider supporting me with a small donation. Supportive comments on this blog are also very welcome because they inspire me to keep going!

Many, many thanks to all of you have contributed to the cause so far — either through a monetary donation or moral support, which are equally valuable.

Please know that your contributions are going to a great cause. Tupelo Press is a prestigious non-profit press, and for 17 years their mission has been to publish new voices. They are giving my work some exposure, and bringing me into a community of over 350 alumni helping each other publish our work.

Where Do You Write?

desk
Melville wrote from a bedroom in his Arrowhead home in Pittsfield, MA.

Where do you write? It’s a question that emerges frequently among writers. Next to the imagination, our own personal space is often the most sacred thing we have.

And the answer varies tremendously. Like Herman Melville, Flannery O’Connor wrote from a desk in her bedroom. And although the Mount included a sumptuous library, Edith Wharton wrote from bed, with her little dogs curled up at her feet!

The ultimate introvert, Nathaniel Hawthorne, wrote standing up from a podium in front of a blank wall, eschewing the distractions of the outside world. And although Carl Sandburg’s family ceded a front room with an expansive window to him at Connemara, he, too, preferred a smaller interior room at a desk turned away from the window.

As for me, I have tried numerous locations, including a little study in the front of the house, surrounded by the books of my favorite authors. As you can see from the picture below, however, Huckleberry Finn quickly appropriated this space for his own watch tower. And in spite of his literary name, he and I have very different job descriptions.

finnatwindowdog/dôɡ/: a domesticated carnivorous mammal that typically has a long snout, an acute sense of smell, and a barking, howling, or whining voice. It is widely kept as a pet or for work or field sports, unless that work includes writing.

writer/rahy-ter: 1. a person engaged in writing books, articles, stories, etc., especially as an occupation or profession; an author or journalist. 2) Unlike you are Edith Wharton, a writer’s work space rarely includes a dog.

The same barking and whining that makes our dogs so charming does often, regrettably, interfere with the reflection needed to write. In spite of this fact, many a writer owned a dog (Dickinson, Lord Byron, and Wharton, to name just a few) and these canine friends enrich our lives tremendously. But that is the subject of another post, I am sure.

As for me, I prefer to write at our kitchen table overlooking a north window. Being a bit of a literary hoarder, I find it useful to have plenty of space to spread out notes, reference books, index cards, and the like. I write primarily from my laptop, and I appreciate the occasional glance at the natural world, and the little dark-eyed junco skittering across the fall leaves.

From where I’m sitting, I can hear the comforting hum of the dishwasher or clothes dryer, which reminds me that the “other” work of the day is nearly done. And of course, because writing requires much brain power and therefore frequent sustenance, being close to the pantry is always a good thing.

In addition to having a semi-permanent writing space, I also carry a little notebook wherever I go so that I can scribble notes as the spirit moves me. I’m currently consolidating all of these notebooks, cards, etc., into one bigger notebook so that I can more easily draw connections among assorted scribblings.

What about you? Where do you write?

finn at my feet
Despite our different job descriptions, we always manage to end up in the same space, however.

 

 

Happy Mutts Day!

Today, in honor of Shorty McMullen, the irascible mutt who helps save the day in Naked and Hungry and Born Again, Dead Again, we celebrate a day just for the non-pedigreed dogs of the world. And it’s about time. July 31 is NOT the day for your impeccable pekingese or Maltese. It’s not a day for your regal Afghan hound  or even the Presidential pooch, Bo the Portuguese water dog. It is not a day for dogs named Fifi or Duke.

Today is a day for all those dogs named Lucky, Sooner, or Bubba. It’s for those dogs with a DNA profile as random as the seashells that wash up on the beach. No one know for sure, but Shorty may have some German Shepherd, a splash of Dalmatian and even a smattering of Chihuahua in his genetic profile. Regardless, he’s undeniably a special dog. At times, he’s grumpy and willful. He’s also naughty and prone to outright disobedience. But he seems to have a sixth sense for when his “owner” (and I use this term most loosely) needs him the most. So we have to ask…are our mutts as random as we think?

There’s plenty of mayhem ahead in Born Again, Dead Again and to be sure, Shorty will be right back in the thick of things. He’s also up to plenty of mischief himself, involving the nice girl next door, a beautiful poodle named Miss Angelique!

If you have a mutt or know a mutt, take a few moments to scratch his ears or to toss him a treat. Tell her how grateful you are that she is in the world. And remind yourself that what makes all dogs so special is the fact that they don’t care where we came from; they just love us for who we are.