Poetry and the Moon

 

Moon over Lower Kimball Lake by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

 

The moon fascinates.  The moon is mysterious.  The moon is rising and as it ascends the horizon tonight, it will look gigantic.  This is an illusion caused by the random coming together when the moon is at its fullest and closest to the earth. It occurs about once in every fourteen full moons acceding to Wikipedia.

 

It happens this year on Sunday, June 23rd at about 7 am, but you don't have to rise bleary-eyed to see it.  It will be plenty plump, Saturday and Sunday nights around 8pm and 9pm, respectively.

 

Many poets have written about the moon.  Shakespeare uses the moon theme often in his writings, most notably in "A Midsummer Night's Dream". Other moon obsessed poets are Wordsworth and Dickinson.

 

You just can't get away from it. The moon is magic. Tonight and tomorrow night it will be super magical. Go take a look. Then, write a poem.  Here's mine.

 

Moon Joy

 

I saw the moon

the other night,

glowing with

the strangest light.

 

It hung suspended low

behind twisted strands,

orange-swaying yo-yo

held by unseen hands.

 

I inhaled its milky vapor

dazzled by this heavenly toy,

reached to touch its misty taper

caught rapturously in moon-joy.

 

 

Poetry as Cultural Force

Photo by Kathleen Tyler Conklin
 

I attended Natasha Trethewey's closing lecture May 1st at the Library of Congress. Rather than quote directly, I will paraphrase her last words as poet laureate and write some thoughts that she left for me to absorb and to share with you.

 

Natasha focused her remarks around the theme of poetry as a cultural force.  Poetry gives us something that cannot be found elsewhere.  We as individuals and a nation turn to it when we need it.  Poetry then becomes a collective container for the profound experiences of our lives---birth, love, commitment, loss and grief.  It illuminates these experiences and gives them a necessary utterance.

 

To support these ideas, Natasha read from some of her favorite poets so that we as a group could "revel in the pleasure of poetry."

 

This pleasure was followed by another…standing in the Great Hall of the beautiful Thomas Jefferson Building…then walking out into the cool May evening and seeing the dome of our nation's Capitol glowing against a darkening, cerulean sky, illuminating for all the hope of freedom and the freedom of hope.  Symbol as cultural force.

 

("Thrall", Natasha Trethewey's newest poetry collection was published in the fall of 2012.)

 

A Shower Of Poetry

Photo by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

 

April is poetry month.  Poems arrive daily on my computer from Knopf Poem-a-Day.  Poetry readings and panel discussions proliferate.

I am blinded by a burst of candle lights on the cake of the greatest Poet of them all---Shakespeare, whose birthday and brilliance is celebrated this month.

Alas, there is no shower from within.  I have hit a dry patch and struggle like the cherry blossoms to open to the warmth of any creative urge.  All is dormant.

 

But, I am hopeful.  Maybe with the warming days, my creative juices will begin to flow.  Poems will spurt from my throat, my pen, my fingertips---brilliant and well crafted…maybe even a rhyme or two.  They will float from my mind to seed and sprout around me…an array of colorful flowers. I will bloom again. Until then, I soak in the shower of poems that abound, now that April is here.

Note: The Folger Library celebrates Shakespeare's birthday on April 23rd with an open house, many festive, fun activities and a front lawn cutting of a birthday cake…check their website. Also the Library of Congress is offering many poetry events at:  http://www.loc.gov/poetry/events/#apr11

Poetry Gets A Bad Rap

Lost in the poetry of music at the Inaugural Parade - Kathleen Tyler Conklin

Several "Washington Post" writers have given poetry a bad rap in the last week.  One questioned whether Richard Blanco's poem "One Today" was even poetry.  Hank Stuever called it an "essay-like" poem and Alexandri Petri wonders whether poetry is obsolete.

Whew!  I'm pleased it got so much attention…but are they really paying attention? Was its  'poetriness' questioned because it didn't rhyme?  or because it was easily understood?  or because it didn't cause us to "keel over" as movies do according to Petri's column?

Petri claims we no longer need poetry and the playwright Gwydion Suilebhan declares "Poetry is dead." She says that is is blather, nonsense or gibberish. Take that poetry.  And as a final blow she adds "It's zombie poetry."

Well I beg to differ. I am ready to fight for the right of poetry to exist. It is alive and well and living in the hearts and minds of many non-zombie human beings. It is all around us in books, poetry readings (Natasha Tretheway, the poet laureate working and reading at the Library of Congress for one example), poetry workshops, writing groups, and yes even in rap and song lyrics.

It is on TV in the current PBS program "Shakespeare Uncovered" (yes, Shakespeare is a poet) and on radio thanks to Garrison Keillor. Bill Moyers does his part online.

It is all around us and still has power. Petri claims because it gave us the news, it had prestige in the old days. It isn't vital according to her because we have nothing so urgent like the wounds left by World Was I to express.

She asks, "What now is so urgent that it can be said only in poetry?"  My answer is---whatever has been urgent all these years is still urgent…love, death, war, suffering, joy, nature, connections, confusion, pain, cruelty, beauty, betrayal, loss, happiness.  In other words the human experience.

How better to express it than in poetry? Poetry has the power to focus our minds, express what we feel in distilled language, move our hearts, and to let us take a moment to breathe (as Blanco said in his poem)…breathe in the images of our country, our homes. our roots, our loves.

I thought it was a good poem and a good moment for our nation.

Poetry lovers unite.

The Ecstasy of Poetry

Christmas shadows by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

It can happen.  Ian McEwan, the writer, has said you can "be so engrossed in reading poetry that you barely know you exist."  He speaks of reading the Elizabeth Bishop poem "Under The Window:Ouro Preto" and being so concentrated and carried away by its images that he found he was unaware that his friends who were with him had left the room.

Not every poem has this power to completely absorb us so that we are lifted to a place outside ourselves. Some do.  I suppose it is the confluence of certain things coming together…our own experiences and the magic of the poetic words sparking to transport us to a moment of ecstasy.

Ewan speaks of the effort it takes to "step out of the daily narrative of existence and to draw the neglected cloak of stillness  around you."  I love this image of drawing the stillness of a poem around us like a cloak. Sadly, we must return to the daily grind of existence.  However, McEwan reminds us that the poem leaves something with us. He suggests it is " a feeling of being lighter, softer, larger. The feeling will leave…but never completely."

So this  winter season, I hope that you will take some time to wrap yourself in the cloak of stillness. 

 May the ecstasy be with you.

A Weapon Of Words---The Obit of Mr. Njawe

"A word can be a weapon, and I believe that with the word...we can build a better world and make happier people."

The above quote is from the obituary of Mr. Njawe, which appeared in "The Washington Post" several weeks ago.

Mr Njawe was an African journalist who wrote his values with uncommon courage. He was an independent writer, editor, publisher and foremost, a fighter for truth in the written word in a country that punished such open, steadfast dedication to freedom of the press.He started Cameroon's first independent newspaper "The Messenger" in which he wrote openly about government corruption and abuses. He received many death threats and was arrested more than 100 times.

I am in awe of such courage, such fierce dedication to freedom of the press and to the truth as he saw it. The world is surely better for his having lived in it. His death in a car accident at age 53 is a loss for all of us.

His quote goes on "....So why give up while duty still calls? No one will silence me, except the Lord, before I achieve what I consider as a mission in my native country, in Africa and why not, in the world."

His life inspired me to write this poem.



Elegy to Pius Njawe


You were called to

fight

with weapons of words,

aimed over and over,

arrows to truth,

the courage of a

warrior

silenced by death,

while we are still

listening.