Bloat be gone!

I’m drawn lately to the short forms: tanka, lune, fib, scratch-outs and more. Poems that are lean and fit, that reach and leap.

This turn to form, to rules and constraints, is a new fascination for me. In recent months, I’ve become fatigued with the confessional quality of everyday life, the bloated exposure of saying too much, too clearly. Rather than the tell-all, I want to parse and peel, and make words work in the rearrangement.

My poetic efforts are not profound. These word games are often academic but they work because the process requires attention and focus to language and choices. And the form gives shape to emotions I’m not ready to access — or share — directly.

In the next few weeks, I’ll share some of my favorite short forms, starting with the lune.

Lune
3 lines, 11 words
3/5/3

I love this form, especially since it spiraled into a successful mistake. The lune (pronounced loon) was invented in the 1960s by poet Robert Kelly, who was not satisfied with the Western use of haiku. Kelly, according to the Teachers & Writers Handbook of Poetic Forms, recreated the traditional haiku into a thirteen-syllable form of 5/3/5.

Later, poet Jack Collom was working with schoolchildren when he mistakenly remembered the form as a count of 3/5/3 words, not syllables. The result is a more flexible form of haiku that is easy to teach and create.

With an emphasis on word count, rather than syllables, the new lune is less mechanical and more accessible. In the following poem, I’ve linked three lunes together to expand on a theme.

Yes. No. Almost
(a linked lune)

Spring sneers, pauses
shifts wind, turns hope sour,
says not yet

I swallow the
gravel of these moody May
days, and wait

In the seam
of inbetween the sun frays,
boldly breaks free

— Drew Myron

Now it’s your turn. Have you tried a lune? Send me your work. I’ll post them here, and we’ll celebrate the satisfaction of the short form.

Find Your Place - V. 3


I write to show who I am.
The paper won’t judge me.
When I come here, I know

I’ve come to a place where

I’m free to be who I am.

Jessyka
16 years old

Find Your Place: Volume 3 is hot off the presses!

Last week’s Book Launch Party & Reading celebrated the Young Writers, a collection of teens who tenderly, fiercely, feverishly authored an 80-page book packed with poetry and prose. The party was packed with 50 people – including the mayor! – and love and support embraced the room.

Young Writers is a program of Seashore Family Literacy, a nonprofit organization based in Waldport, Oregon. The group was formed six years ago by a dedicated handful and continues to grow each year. This year we have 13 students and six adult volunteer-mentors.

The group is a voluntary activity. There are no grades, no attendance, no writing requirements. Just a lot of love, support and encouragement.

We meet every Thursday evening in the Writing Studio at the Waldport Community Learning Center. We share food, ideas, our latest work, and then we write together. And though much of the writing is dark and heavy, dealing with real-life issues, we spend a remarkable amount of time laughing. Somehow, when we’re in the Writing Studio, the burdens outside the room can be let go, if even just for two hours on a Thursday night.

And sometimes, for many of us, those two hours mean the world.

Find Your Place: Volume 3 is available for $10. Proceeds support the Young Writers at Seashore Family Literacy, a nonprofit organization.


Writer Revealed

Today kicks off the first installment of Writer Revealed, an occasional series featuring interviews with writers who intrigue and inspire me.


As my first guest, I welcome Sage Cohen, the author of Writing the Life Poetic: An Invitation to Read and Write Poetry, and the poetry collection Like the Heart, the World. Cohen teaches the online class Poetry for the People, and is editor of Writing the Life Poetic Zine. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and infant son.

You’ve been published in dozens of journals and anthologies, won first place in the Ghost Road Press contest, were awarded a fellowship to attend New York University, and have taught poetry at universities, hospitals and writing conferences. Yet, even with all those credentials, you have said that you could not get a publisher for your book of poems, Like the Heart, the World. That’s disheartening news for the rest of us. Can you share your experiences and tell us about your decision to self-publish?

Disheartening? I sure hope not! I did not say that I could not get a publisher for my book of poems. What I said is that I chose another path—one that felt more empowering, more fun, and more expedient than waiting for someone else to publish me!

Before deciding to self publish, I spent about a year sending my manuscript out to a handful of publication contests. (Most poets expect to send their work out for many years before it gets published—if ever.) It placed as finalist or semi-finalist four times, which was exciting. That was enough validation for me...I didn't want to spend any more time waiting for someone to choose my book for publication. I felt a sense of urgency to have that body of work in the world, and to have it look and feel exactly the way I wanted. I've spent years creating marketing communications materials for clients, and I always enjoy the opportunity to design and produce my own pieces. So I hired my favorite illustrator/designer to layout the book and create the cover, and within a few months, had a finished product in my hands.

It was very empowering deciding that my book was ready to be born, and then making it happen. The poems in Like the Heart, the World span more than 15 years and reflect time periods and thematic cycles in my life that felt complete. With this publication, I feel that they've been well honored, which gives me more breathing room to embrace the poems of this life chapter.

I hope that my experience will remind other poets who feel helpless about the poetry publishing waiting process that they have options. We can decide when our manuscripts are ready to go forth into the world as books, and we can do that however we like...the traditionally prescribed way or our own way.

Last month, during National Poetry Month, you wrote a poem every day. How did that commitment shape, or reflect, your writing practice?

I love setting ambitious—and even unrealistic—goals for myself like that one. When I write on a deadline, with a goal of just getting something down on the page, it gets me out of perfection mode and into production mode. That’s where the real juice is for me: in the mosh pit of making poetry happen. I started my sagesaidso.typepad.com with a similar intention. Every day for a year, I wrote something new and posted it. I highly recommend the exercise. You’re likely to surprise yourself with how much you have to say—and how well you are able to say it!

Your classes and your book incorporate poetry examples, using a wide range of styles and poets from which to learn. Do you read poetry on a regular basis? Who has influenced your writing life?

I read poetry as much as possible! It is like food for me: something I need to keep ticking.

My influences started close to home with my mother, an English teacher, honing my writing and editing skills. My father saw the spark and named the “writer” archetype in me. My teacher Albert Cwanger in sixth grade affirmed my creative intelligence. And my teacher Matthew Carr in high school was the matchmaker in my love affair with literature. From there, every poet and writer I’ve ever read has awakened some new possibility in me. I am grateful for the incredible wealth of genius available to all of us in books.

As a teacher, what do you look for in a poem?

I always look for what is most alive—and focus on how to bring that forward in a poem. I think when students are aware of and engaged with what they do well, their poems can make great leaps forward.

What are your favorite poems and why do you like them?

That’s a hard one—like trying to name every street in my favorite country. Stanley Kunitz’s poem “Touch Me” is the one that bubbles up to the surface right now. It is a poem about nature, about love, about aging—about that edge we all walk—one of joy laced with its disappearance. This is what I come to poetry for: the chiaroscuro of language that gives shape and meaning to our experience.

Touch Me

Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.

— Stanley Kunitz
from Collected Poems

In your book and in your classes, you encourage community. Can you tell us more?

Yes! I believe that for many of us, poetry is more powerful and more possible in community. So I've created a number of ways to keep a dialogue going with poets and writers everywhere. You can join in the Writing the Life Poetic conversation at my blog.

I also just launched the very first issue of the Writing The Life Poetic Zine, a free monthly publication featuring the panoramic wisdom of ten Portland poets. The zine offers writing prompts, publishing markets, interviews, wisdom and tips about cultivating a writing life and community, and more! If you'd like to receive a monthly muse infusion, just visit writingthelifepoetic and enter your email in the top right box where it says "Sign up for our email newsletter."

And finally, feel free contact me directly at sage@writingthelifepoetic.com

Sage Cohen will present a free poetry workshop in Newport, Oregon on Tuesday, June 2 from 7 to 8:30pm at the Newport Public Library. This is a Willamette Writers event.

Blog blame

My stomach still churns. It’s been nearly a year since I began this blog and I still have mixed feelings about the medium. (I’m equally chagrined that the word “blog” – from the start a horrid hybrid of web and log — has gone from simple noun to clunky verb.)

I’m not stuck in the past, grousing about the good ol’ days. I’ve got dirty laundry: 68 “friends” on Facebook, a dozen bookmarked blogs, and an embarrassing fascination with the self-absorbed women of Real Housewives: New York.

That said, I continue to feel queasy about the ‘look-at-me’ quality that our social media — Facebook, Twitter, staged reality and such — encourages. Public positioning is now standard fare. Like a sugar binge that at first feels reckless and fun, the splurge leaves me ashamed and fatigued.

All of which leads me to Allison Glock, a journalist and poet who recently wrote the spot-on essay “I Blame Blogs.”

“Problem is, most of us are insignificant,” she writes. “We are not all undiscovered talents, stars awaiting illumination, unrecognized geniuses, gifted children. Most of us are average folks, getting by or not, in love or not, happy or not, and the opportunity to catalog these daily ups and downs (or snark about someone else’s) is not one that should necessarily be taken.”

Along with the harangue, Glock, thankfully, offers redemption. The cure comes in poetry. She writes:

"Poetry is about nothing if not empathy, generosity that can sneak up on you, that you didn’t know you needed until you found it and felt the release, like a long-forgotten thorn plucked from the pad of your foot. Ah, that feels better."

Read the full essay here.

From the beach church

"I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me — that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns."

—Anne Lamott
from Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

Bluebird in my heart

On this last day of April, National Poetry Month comes to a dramatic close with Poem in Your Pocket Day.

I love this day. For weeks I have been preparing: posting poems, reciting poems, and sending postcard poetry. Already this morning, I have been gifted with poetry. Hannah, of the Young Writers (a high school writing group), emailed me a lovely Shel Silverstein ditty; and Julianna, barista at the Green Salmon Coffeehouse, handed me a coffee and one of her favorite poems, Bluebird by Charles Bukowski.

What can be better, I wonder, than standing in this circle of words?

Poetry

Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age . . . poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, not silence,
but from a street it called me,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among raging fires
or returning alone,
there it was, without a face,
and it touched me.

I didn't know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind.
Something knocked in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first, faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing;
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
the darkness perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire, and flowers,
the overpowering night, the universe.

And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss.
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose with the wind.

A pocket poem

National Poem in Your Pocket Day is on Thursday, April 30, 2009.
Time to write a poem, post a poem, carry a poem.
Share poems with friends, family, neighbors, strangers.

Isn't this the perfect poem for your pocket?

Hope

It hovers in dark corners
before the lights are turned on,
it shakes sleep from its eyes
and drops from mushroom gills,
it explodes in the starry heads
of dandelions turned sages,
it sticks to the wings of green angels
that sail from the tops of maples.
It sprouts in each occluded eye
of the many-eyed potato,
it lives in each earthworm segment
surviving cruelty,
it is the motion that runs the tail of a dog,
it is the mouth that inflates the lungs
of the child that has just been born.
It is the singular gift
we cannot destroy in ourselves,
the argument that refutes death,
the genius that invents the future,
all we know of God.
It is the serum which makes us swear
not to betray one another;
it is in this poem, trying to speak.

Lisel Mueller
from Alive Together: New & Selected Poems


Off the page, the hook, the charts . . .


Off the Page was off the charts!

Held this past Saturday night, the third annual event packed the house. Over 70 people attended, filling every seat, tabletop and even the floor. Many squeezed in doorways and leaned against walls to enjoy the word extravaganza.

Two days later and I am still buzzing with gratitude — for the encouraging crowd, for the engaging writers, and for the buzz of creativity circling this community.

Books sales were brisk and the table pulsed with eager readers. Did you get your books? If not, no worries. You can still purchase, at the source:

• Words Out Loud, poetry & flash fiction by Khlo Brateng. Go here.

• Kevin's Quicksand, a novel by Sheila Evans. Go here.

• Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose on Alzheimer's Disease, featuring work by Kake Huck, Mark Thalman and Drew Myron. Go here.

• Every Last Cuckoo, a novel by Kate Maloy. Go here.

• Forecast, a horoscope-inspired word-art collaboration by Drew Myron and Tracy Weil. Go here.

• When Movie Was a Band: The True Story of My Short Life as a Rhythm Guitar Player, a memoir by Rick Schultze. Go here.

• Catching the Limit, poetry by Mark Thalman will be published soon. Get updates here.

Special thanks to:
Green Salmon Coffeehouse for supporting the arts and letting us invade (and rearrange) the space.
Shamrock Lodgettes for providing rooms for our visiting writers.
Richard Sharpless for setting a cool-coffeehouse-music vibe.
• Writers far and near, for taking part and sharing words & good spirits.
• An encouraging audience who filled the room with laughter, energy and enthusiasm.

Thank you!

Anywhere we choose to look

Poetry is hiding. In train announcements, tabloid pages and grocery labels.

I have a new joy: The Found Poetry Project, a blog dedicated to celebrating the unintended beauty of ordinary prose.

“Anyone can write poetry and poetry is everywhere,” explains Timothy Green, who, with Megan O’Reilly Green, created the The Found Poetry Project blog in 2005. “Poetry is nothing more than finding enjoyment in the medium that we spend most of our waking hours living within. It happens by accident all the time.”

For example, with a few line breaks, a travel guide offers unexpected beauty:


From La Ventosa

roads lead
east and west.

Each soon splits

with a leg
heading inland

and a leg
following the coast.

One branch
following the coast

the other

climbing

to Oaxaca.

— Written by Mike Church and Terri Church
Traveler’s Guide to Mexican Camping, p. 318
Rolling Homes Press, 2005

— Found by Sandra Leigh
Nanaimo, B.C., Canada

Rather than willing words into place, the Project seeks unintentional poetry, whether it’s in a newspaper article, a blog, a letter to a friend, bathroom graffiti — anywhere you don’t expect to find it. The rules are simple: no editing other than lineation, punctuation, or omission. Titles are optional.

“Poetry,” notes Green, “appears anywhere we choose to look.”

Of heart and hurt

When writer Holly Hughes started talking about her mother’s Alzheimer’s — what she calls “a slow process of subtraction” — she quickly realized she was not alone. At readings of her poems, a crowd would gather afterward “to tell the story of their mother, father, husband, sister, wife, sister, brother.”


Alzheimer’s is estimated to affect one in two persons over the age of 80 and is being diagnosed in people as young as 50.

Seeking comfort in the solace of words, Hughes put out a call for poems and short prose about Alzheimer’s. Over 500 people responded — doctors, nurses, social workers, hospice workers, daughters, sons, wives, and husbands whose lives have been touched by the disease. From this, she chose work from 100 writers to create Beyond Forgetting: Poetry & Prose about Alzheimer’s Disease, a moving account of a dreadful disease.

Oregon-based writers Kake Huck, Drew Myron and Mark Thalman will share their work as part of Off the Page, a reading event on Saturday, April 25 at 7pm at the Green Salmon Coffeehouse in Yachats, Oregon. The event is free.

“In our culture, we often talk about dementia only in the abstract, as a label, not in all its bittersweet concreteness,” notes Hughes, who teaches at Edmonds Community College in Lynnwood, Washington.

Through the transformative power of poetry, the book seeks to move "beyond forgetting," beyond the stereotypical portrayal of Alzheimer's disease to honor and affirm the dignity of those afflicted. With a moving foreword by poet Tess Gallagher, the anthology forms a richly textured, literary portrait encompassing the full range of the experience of caring for someone with Alzheimer’s.

“For the many people now trying to cope with a loved one suffering from this tragic disease,” says Hughes “I hope this collection will provide solace."

Beyond Forgetting is published by Kent State University Press, and is available at www.beyondforgettingbook.com.

Writing with crayons

Blackout poems. Altered books. Found poems. I love them all.

Lately, inspired by Karen Hatzigeorgiou, Austin Kleon and other word-artists, I've been scratching away words to find new thoughts within established text.

Last month, I led the Writing Club (a group of eager and willing middle schoolers at the Waldport Community Learning Center) in 'finding' poems within old book pages. We used crayons to find fresh words and phrases, and created poems along the way.

I know, I know, it doesn't seem right to defile a hallowed text but this book was headed for the bin. In a way, we saved it from its dumpster doom. There's something a bit naughty, and therefore alluring, in doing what you've been told is wrong. And that feeling provides us permission to break rules and make art.


Something of myself

stands well
without malice

I fail, trip over detail
Roving might be useful

From my hands, I found fever
There was not a cloud

I understood it was the old matter
wasted, mourned

Immense, intimate details
demanded drama

— Drew Myron
an altered book/ blackout poem in crayon

Treat a poem like dirt

In preparation for Poem in Your Pocket Day — my favorite unofficial holiday — I've been collecting favorite poems, new poems, teachable, sharable, delicious and daring poems.

Poem in Your Pocket Day is simple and fun: During National Poetry Month (happening right now!), select a poem you love, then carry it with you to share with co-workers, family, and friends on Thursday, April 30, 2009.

I found this one yesterday, and it seems the perfect start.


How to Read a Poem: Beginner's Manual

Pamela Spiro Wagner

First, forget everything you have learned,
that poetry is difficult,
that it cannot be appreciated by the likes of you,
with your high school equivalency diploma,
your steel-tipped boots,
or your white-collar misunderstandings.

Do not assume meanings hidden from you:
the best poems mean what they say and say it.

To read poetry requires only courage
enough to leap from the edge
and trust.

Treat a poem like dirt,
humus rich and heavy from the garden.
Later it will become the fat tomatoes
and golden squash piled high upon your kitchen table.

Poetry demands surrender,
language saying what is true,
doing holy things to the ordinary.

Read just one poem a day.
Someday a book of poems may open in your hands
like a daffodil offering its cup
to the sun.

When you can name five poets
without including Bob Dylan,
when you exceed your quota
and don't even notice,
close this manual.

Congratulations.
You can now read poetry.

Thick black pen


I need a bigger marker.

I wasn’t fully prepared for International Newspaper Blackout Poetry Month (initiated and declared by leading word-scratcher Austin Kleon) but I’m diving in still. As part of National Poetry Month, Kleon is urging us to get our hands dirty and our pens busy.

In my first celebratory attempt, I got a bit zealous in my scratching. My lopped off letters and scattered words require some translation:

Shape the place

You are tethered
get away
laugh
shape the place
where crying arrived

Upset the dream
Days away, check the door
read, share, relate
know what it means
to have hope

A month of riches

As if it's not enough for daffodils to rise, leggy and proud, and sun to shine, full but coy. Now, April brings two more reasons for glee: National Poetry Month and International Newspaper Blackout Poetry Month.

The official Poetry Month poster, at left, lifts a line from T. S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:


. . . And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse . . .

It's an embarrassment of riches, really, to pack International Newspaper Blackout Poetry into this very same, shortish month. But word-artist Austin Kleon perseveres. He's finding poetry in every column inch, producing a poem each day, and inviting us to join in the fun. His kick-off poem, at right, deftly captures the spirit of the form (for a larger look, click on image).

Off the page

Clear the calendar. Save the date.
The 3rd annual
Off the Page event nears!

Enjoy an evening celebration of free expression, free music, and free admission as eight Oregon writers -- and a singer/musician -- share their works of poetry, fiction, memoir, and more.

On Saturday, April 25 at 7pm

At the Green Salmon Coffeehouse, situated in the center of the oceanfront village of Yachats, Oregon.

Featuring writers Khlo Brateng, Sheila Evans, Flip Garrison, Kake Huck, Kate Maloy, Drew Myron, Rick Schultze, Mark Thalman and musician Richard Sharpless.

Doors open and music starts at 6:30pm. Reading at 7pm.

All ages, attitude & experience welcome.