Poetry, Photography, and a Poem for Memorial Day

Today, I honor those who have sacrificed for my freedom and I thank those who continue to serve this amazing country.  A moving poem (with audio), "Facing It" by Yusef Komunyakaa: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177382

I feel quite accomplished today.  I've cleaned the house, done a little light bulb replacing and grocery shopping, baked a cake, watched a movie, revised some poems, and worked on a submission packet to Yes, Poetry.  


Now, I'm off to figure out my new Diana Mini camera (one of the most unique and exciting gifts I've received) and embark on my photography/lomography hobby.  I'll keep you updated as I head out to capture the world in a lens. (And check out the cool little lady below!)

Pajamas, "Healthy" Food, Cell Phones, and Jack Myers

Lunch observations for today:

1.  I know pajamas are comfortable.  That's why I and a great many other people like to wear them to bed.  Their comfort and warmth are conducive to sleep.  How is wearing them out in public, especially to a restaurant, conducive to dining?  Ah, yes, you like to dine in comfort.  I'm still puzzled.  Sorry if you're not with me on this one.

2.  If you are fresh from a workout at the gym and still in your gym attire, and are complaining to your gym friend about your constant workouts but lack of weight loss, please don't order a huge salad with fried chicken pieces and drenched in ranch dressing.  And even though you've rationalized that half of a dessert (because you're splitting it) is "healthier" than a whole dessert, you've just erased your whole workout and then some.  But, if you're all about working out to maintain your weight and eating what you want, eat on. I will be open to sharing a peanut butter filled chocolate whoopie pie with you on my designated cheat day. ;)

3.  Out of 8 other tables around me, I was the only lone diner, and couldn't help but notice that only one table of four women were enjoying a lively conversation.  The rest of the tables (7) were all withdrawn from any conversation or human interaction, opting instead for a wide-eyed interaction with their cell phones.  And I continued to watch at this lack of human interaction for minutes on end.  And then when their food arrived, well, you know what happened.  Am I the only one saddened by this?

And on a side note, I have been thinking about teachers who have touched my life because it is National Teacher Appreciation week and came upon a poem that reminded me of a special teacher in my life.  I almost wanted to write "former teacher" but that would not be appropriate.  Jack Myers' instruction and lessons live on in my life not only through his memory, but through his books and poetry, especially now as I read his final poetry collection The Memory of Water.  Jack, I'm still watching, listening, and learning.  And yes, still writing.  I miss you, and I thank you.

Smile, Andrea

Poetry vs. Technology vs. The Bed

I got in trouble last night for reading poetry on my phone.  I blame it on the Poetry Foundation's new app for my iPhone.  It is too easy to pull up a poem while I am in bed waiting for my husband to finish brushing his teeth or something of that nature.  I'm sorry that he decides to get in bed once I am mid-poem and has to wait for me to finish reading.  And if I love the poem, I will spend an extra minute or two adding it to my favorites, sharing it on my Facebook or Twitter, or even reading a little more about the poet and then maybe reading another poem or two from them.  You can see how easily the cycle perpetuates itself.  So, am I getting in trouble for reading poetry, or am I in trouble for being a technology fanatic?

I liken all this to a lot of men's passion for sports.  Let's talk basketball more specifically.  The NBA Finals are in full swing.  When my husband wants to turn on the television to catch a score on SportsCenter or just a few minutes of a certain game, I don't get upset about it and feel completely irrelevant.  And I know that just like a Lay's potato chip, he can never have just one.  One minute turns into an hour...it is a mean cycle too.  I long ago resigned to the fact that my husband loves sports, many of them, and when he is watching a game or highlights, he is indulging in his passion and will pay attention to me after that.  I don't try to have a conversation with him while he is mid-game or try to distract him with imaginative things.  It is what it is. And he does it in bed too.

I guess what I really should be worried about this year is the NFL and them possibly not having a season.  I love football, but I love poetry more.

Smile, Andrea

Revisiting poetry: One way to celebrate National Poetry Month

A favorite website of mine, www.poets.org, has a list of 30 ways to celebrate National Poetry Month.  Because I am way behind on any writing this month due to work travel, I have been reading a lot more poetry and this morning, I decided to revisit a poem I encountered a while back in a college poetry class.  I never appreciated this course as much as I now know I should have, but I did keep the books from the coursework.  I was planning on browsing through the book and reading a few poems, but once I pulled the book from the self, it seemed to want to open itself to George Gordon/Lord Byron's "When We Two Parted."  Sometimes the world has a mysterious way of talking to you and you can't help but know you should listen even if you don't quite understand it.  This poem greeted me with an astonishing silence and ended in tears.

If I should meet thee
     After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
     With silence and tears.

National Poem in your Pocket Day

Today is National Poem in your Pocket Day and the poem I am carrying around in my pocket to share with others is a poem that is close to my heart written by a significant poet and person in my life gone too soon,  Jack Myers.  A link to his poem "Cirrus" is below:

http://www.writersgarret.org/jackmyers.shtml

Happy poetry sharing, Andrea

A Spammer and a Poet Are Two Different Things

I've been inundated by spam on my Twitter account as of late.  These people follow me and two seconds later tweet me demanding I look at their blog or direct message me repeatedly with the blog links to their wonderful poetry they know I will love.  I think to myself:  Really?  How do you know I will "love" your poetry?  You don't know the slightest thing about me if you haven't even said hello.

I'm a poet, and yes, I want people to read my poetry, but I don't use Twitter as a means to shove my writing down people's throats and clog their stream of otherwise meaningful and productive conversations.  Twitter, and other social networks for that matter, are about building a "network," communicating, and making connections with others who share your passions.

I read lots of things from my Twitter stream from people who I've connected with, who offer me valuable or positive information, and who I've taken a genuine interest in.  Make friends then share poetry, and not always just your own.

Sorry for the rant today.  I will end by sharing a few lines from Wendell Berry's "How to be a Poet:"

make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.

First Loves in Poetry

I just read an article by Billy Collins about his "first love" of poems on the Poetry Society of America's website.  Billy Collins writes that John Donne's "The Flea" was the poem to ignite his love affair with poetry, to stimulate "...the first symptom of what was to develop into a chronic love sickness for poetry."

For me, the first poem to "turn me green" as Collins would say was Sylvia Plath's "Daddy."  At that time in my life, the suffocating sense of the poem was something I could easily relate to.  I had to read the poem for a college class and upon first read, kept going back and rereading the previous stanza.  I read it repeatedly that night and like Billy Collins, still have that very book on my bookshelf complete with my lines and squiggles to highlight my favorite lines along with notes about how the poem made me feel.  I chose this poem to recite for the class at the end of the semester.  From then on, I was hooked.  From then on, I looked to any poem that fell into my hands as a treasure to help me to understand myself, process my feelings, and interpret the world.

With what did you begin your love affair?