Lost in Bookland

It’s been a long time since I spent time here. So where have I been? Oh, mostly in my chair, chocolate nearby, and a book in my hands. Just what I need with the onset of winter–technically a ways off, but last week we had a doozy on the Front Range of Colorado–cold, snowy, good reading weather. Here’s what I have to confess:

Joy Harjo’s How We Became Human, and her Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings, both poetry. Ms. Harjo is our current Poet Laureate of the United States, and our first Native American appointee. If you have one of those magical speakers, try telling it to play Joy Hargo. I did and got two hours of her poetry and music. She’s an accomplished musician, plays the saxophone.

The Western Woman’s Reader, edited by Lillian Schlissel and Catherine Lavender. This one I stumbled on at a thrift store and it’s a valuable find. The blurb: “Explore 300 years of the American West with the women who have shaped its history.”

Richard Blanco’s poems, City of a Hundred Fires. Even if you don’t lean toward poetry (although you should), these will convert you. Who knew a civil engineer could write poetry? Well, this one can.

Paul Theroux’s On the Plain of Snakes, a tour guide to Mexico that makes me squirm, given our fraught relationship with our neighbors. This book is on my tablet, thanks to an app called Libby, which allows me to borrow digital/audio books with my library card. A marvelous thing while I was traveling and great for snow days when I’m snuggled in at home.

Now, excuse me, but I’ve just started Cynthia Ozick’s Critics, Monsters, Fanatics, & Other Literary Essays, and I really must get back to it.

#EcoInfo

How Do I Do? Very well, thanks.

Natalie Goldberg says to free write until you get past monkey mind and she’s right. Then again, for decades she’s been right about writing. So, thanks to her I’ve altered my morning writing sessions. For years I’ve clung to Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way and filled three pages, much of which was truly monkey mind, full of to-do lists or rambling self-castigation about my insipid journal. Then, for a short while I tried to model my morning writing after Eric Maisel’s Deep Writing, attempting to “clear my mind” and write “deeply” about the first object in my line of sight. That approach ended when I wrote deeply about my slippers or my coffee table.

Recently I’ve been adhering to Nat’s advice in The True Secret of Writing. (I feel free to refer to her by her nickname, having once met her briefly at a book fair.) More often now, I’m having fun, not as quick to judge, believing most days, that if I don’t censor and don’t quit at the bottom of page three, something interesting and fresh will pop up, sort of whack-a-molish. But lately I don’t smack the pop-up, keep the pen moving, excited to see where the words lead. And I’m through, I think, demanding that every page I fill must be productive.

For all my years of preaching process and practice over product and publication, I see now that I often didn’t take my own advice. Now I have a purse-sized notebook full of Nat’s advice–like “Don’t waste this one precious life.” Writing is again discovery, getting beyond my own opinions and, you know, it’s fun. And the more fun I have, the less I ration time and paper.

Read/Recite

As part of an active community of poets, I read and hear all sorts of poetry at open mics and public readings, where poets read their work with varying results. Some read from a book, a reassuring thing, as a published book suggests that the work that has been vetted, edited, worked on diligently. Sometimes the reader’s voice enhances work that I might read on my own. I recall having read a book of poems that did not impress me, but when I subsequently heard the poet read, aha! There was plenty there after all. Not all readers have that skill. Some mumble, some shout, some stumble, some drone on far too long. Please, don’t commit any of these venial sins.

Some read from an electronic device, often a phone. That makes me uneasy. Phones are small, poems not so much. And wonderful as technology is, things do freeze on the screen, the connection goes wonky, the evil thing runs out of juice midway through a poem. So, I don’t trust that method. I’ve yet to have a poem disappear from a printed page. (Yes, I’ve lost pages but that’s an issue for another time.)

Occasionally, a poet recites fully fed, sumptuous work. Right out of the mouth, no papers or screens or books with said poet’s work on them. My reaction? Queasy, what if he/she forgets an important line or word? And I’ve seen a speaker pause to retrieve the memorized work. Said speaker is, according to a successful reciter, reading from an invisible teleprompter. The giveaway is the loss of eye contact with the audience and a brief glance to one side. And there’s the rub. Losing even a nanosecond of connection with the audience breaks the contract, the one where the poet promises to deliver work that flows effortlessly. The effort should be behind us, left on the  desktop, or it should be.

So, there’s no one right way, except one that works–delivers the poem seamlessly, with verve and clear diction. Think about it, practice, prepare. Ours is not a profession that earns much money, but it should earn us the respect of those who choose to listen.

Chunk Reality

Reading Kim Addonizio’s Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within, I took her advice and “fell in love” with the first thing I saw when I looked up from the book. Well, shoot, what I saw was my own foot in a black sandal, propped on the corner of the coffee table. Really, Kim? My own foot? Okay, I’ll try. And I glanced at her list of “new words,” another recommendation. Ah, pollex and hallux, meaning thumb and big toe. Okay, I have two big toes. This has to go somewhere.

And it did, other than misspelling pollex, I dove in and came up for air an hour or so later, having landed a good sized poem. Addonizio’s advice isn’t exactly new to me. I’ve long admired “thing” poems that showcase the tangible world and find meaning there. The prompt worked because it brought me close to one thing and its parts. The process is called chunking.

I am relearning this. The world is way to big for my small brain and worried heart. Otherwise, going forward I see so many issues to track that I shut down, concentrate on jigsaw puzzles or crosswords. But shutting down is not a wise option. So I am learning to chunk the worry, pick one issue and pay attention, see if I can help relieve my angst and make a difference, however small, in the chaos that is civilization.

Writing witness poems and stories in our age of political fragmentation, I cannot continue to practice scatter-shot activism. For me, the key issue is climate change. True, it has a thousand moving parts, but it supersedes so much else. If I can’t breathe, I can’t vote. If I don’t vote . . . well, that’s just not an option. Writers can, must, respond to the world as it is. Else what good are we?

#KimAddonizio #ThingPoems

Creative Reading

I’m deep into Azar Nafisi’s The Republic of Imagination, in which she mentions “Creative Reading.” Google explains: “CREATIVE READING IS DEFINED AS READING FOR IMPLIED AND INFERRED MEANINGS, APPRECIATIVE REACTIONS, AND CRITICAL EVALUATION. THE ACT OF CRITICAL READING GOES BEYOND LITERAL COMPREHENSION TO DEMAND THAT THE READER PRODUCE FRESH, ORIGINAL IDEAS NOT EXPLICITLY STATED IN THE READING MATERIAL.” https://eric.ed.gov/?id=ED020090

The concept challenges me to forego my habit of reading like a writer–attending to craft, structure, bits and bobs of language. If I shift my focus, squint a little, I think I could start by admitting that I have expectations when I open a book: I’ll be entertained, I’ll learn something, I’ll be awed by the writing, I’ll be distracted from the ugly national/international/climate news.

And I have different expectations that spring from the general category of the material. For instance, opening poet Ada Limon’s The Carrying, I looked forward to insights into another woman’s private world that I could not access otherwise. Limon does not disappoint. No lack of “appreciative reactions” there.

Reading Nafisi, though, I am deluged with ideas. Not unusual in reading nonfiction. Of course, I’ve yet to “produce fresh, original ideas not explicitly stated in the reading material.” There’s already so much in Nafisi’s prose that I haven’t yet found space for my own ideas. But what she gives me is valuable, and I am challenged to go beyond “literal comprehension.”

Nafisi has dared me to set aside my familiar ways of reading and to widen my view. I’ve been reading since I was four years old. About time for a new approach, eh?

#CreativeReading #AdaLimon #AzarNafisi

Talk, Talk, Talk

Lately, it seems I talk a lot. Possibly, more than is helpful. On Sunday I talked to a group of people about poetry. They were all adults (Kids and poetry startle me, like giving them too much sugar, so they get squirrely). We talked about the essential concerns I see in writing poems. Like getting caught up in technique and missing the creativity. Thinking that there is one kind of poetry, a basket word if I ever heard one. Generic, like music or food or weather. Better to speak of specifics. Poetry might mean sonnets or it might mean rap, slam, language poetry, prose poems or haiku.  It includes the many years old Gilgamesh, Illiad, Odyssey, as well as the latest thing on Instagram.

This coming weekend, I’m engaged to talk to poets about self-publishing. I’ve got my list of salient points and a tote bag full of books, from my first independently published chapbooks to the latest volumes I’ve created for friends. I’ve got my list of does and don’ts. And several handouts from online outfits that will do the work for you, for a price.

In the meantime, I’m reading Robert Darnton’s Censors at Work: How States Shaped Literature. And so far, I’m gobsmacked to realize that I live in a time and place that allows me to publish my own books and to help others do the same. The book police won’t  throw me into the Bastille. (Yes, that happened in France in the eighteenth century.) Self publishing is not a lucrative endeavor, although it seems to have been in Paris where illegal books slipped past the censors and the tax men. Darnton knows a lot about clandestine printing, selling, and suffering for books.

Yes, I too suffer for books, but in my own private way–what to put in, what to leave out, how to say something that might last the night.

#SelfPublishing #Censorship

Read As If Your Life Depended On It

In 1996 Carl Sagan in The Demon-Haunted World listed climate issues as one of the concerns facing the world. Two-plus decades later we have begun see in the news a heightened awareness of the danger of ignoring this most vital issue. Despite the deniers, more and more often, clear evidence rattles me and I must pay attention to the damage we have caused through ignorance, greed, despair. I started producing poetry and fiction to highlight climate change and degradation. I hoped–still do–that people who don’t read science might read creative approaches to our looming, gloomy future.

In the commercial publishing world where my books compete to entertain and inform, I often despair, but keep pushing ahead. Give myself a dope slap and try again to write something that matters. I’ve published on this blog reading lists related to climate, and now I’m making another attempt to spread the word. I’ve just revised the pricing on two Kindle offerings. Both Accidental Child and Providence are now 99 cents. The first narrative takes place in a future nearly devoid of potable water; the second is one in which sea level rise threatens one of our earliest cities, the one where I was born and later educated.

Read climate fiction, also eco-fiction and suggest that others do the same. It’s an important step toward understanding our future. And thanks.

#CarlSagan #ClimateCultures.net #Eco-fiction #ClimateFiction