Poetry of Hope

Photograph by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

The third week of February teased us with warmth.  The cold temperatures have returned, but they don't feel quite as bleak.  The springlike days gave us hope that living will become easier soon.  No more heavy coats, icy sidewalks and roads to maneuver or freezing fingertips and toes. Light has nudged aside the early dark afternoons. We trust more light, warmth and color will soon surround us.

Yet, there are times when we feel this will never happen.  We fear that we will be confined to a life that is cold and dark, drained of color and warmth.  In tough times, despair can take up all the space in our psyche.  We can barely take the next breath.

Most of us have experienced this feeling, whether through personal losses and suffering or from witnessing the conflict, violence and misery that afflicts our world today. Likely both. Life is tough. To be alive is to feel despair.  It is part of being human.  It is at our core a longing that will always be there…whether you feel it as a longing for completion or a union with the divine.  I cannot define what it means for you, but I can suggest one antidote…turning to the mystical poets for help.  Their words may bring you to a better place for awhile.

Rumi, a well known mystical Persian Poet writes "The wound is the place where the light enters you."

Hafiz(Hafez), another great  Persian poet, has left the following words of encouragement.

"I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing lightness of your own being."

May the light of hope be with you.

January Thaw

The snow that came this January is going to stick around for awhile. 
Usually, our January storms melt quickly in warming temperatures
and bright sunlight.  But this year, the cold will mold it into grayish­
brown lumps that displease the eye and that continue to lurk in odd
 places to trip us, when least expecting it.  It is very, very cold. 
Extremely cold for this area.  It is finger and toe numbing cold. 
Numbing is the word of this month and segues into my January blog.

We have so many ways of numbing our feelings.  We push them
down…freeze them into such odd lumps that they become
inaccessible.  We have learned ways to numb our feelings through
alcohol, food, drugs (prescription or other), shopping, TV in excess,
frantic busyness etc.…a list we know all too well.

There are times when it is necessary to "numb out" and ok to do so.
Whatever gets you through.  But if we stick around in these places,
it will be hard to welcome a January thaw.  We will get used to being
numb.  I refuse to use the old cliche, get in touch with your feelings. 
Let me put it this way.  Get in touch with some poetry, some music,
some close friends.  Have a January Thaw Party.  Go to an art gallery
or dig out an art book and let the landscapes of spring and summer
warm you.  Have a heart to heart talk with a good friend.  Let the
tears flow.  One of the best parts of being human is having feelings. 
Feel them.

BAH HUMBUG

'Tis the season to be jolly.  The only reason for the existence of this line is that jolly rhymes with holly (forget folly).  

Christmas is the season when feelings other than jolly can present themselves.  In the midst of all the business, the ghosts of Christmases past often appear in our consciousness.  Charles Dickens has written a masterful tale about Christmas and transformation in "A Christmas Carol".  We are able to identify with many of his characters…and realize there is a little Scrooge in all of us.

Admitting this allows our dark side to float up in times of fatigue.  Irritability grabs us while compulsively shopping for food or gifts, standing in mail lines, endlessly decorating the house or making arrangements for meals and festivities. Let the feelings surface, be sad, give way to a regret or two, make friends with the ghosts. After acknowledging this, like Scrooge, we can let go of Bah Humbug and jolly up.

It will be time then to light the lights, give away a smile or a hug, dip a finger in the eggnog, and if you can, have a dickens of a time.

Poetry And Food

Photograph by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

Food is essential for life.  Some say poetry is too.  Eating can be as simple, forthright and easy as peeling a banana and wolfing (eating in an animal-like way) it down.  No fuss, no prep, no presentation.  But food can also be cooked carefully and lovingly and presented artfully.  Pretty as a picture. Good enough to eat. Then food is an expression of concern and care and becomes an art form.  A poetic cheeseburger.  Probably not.  But an artfully arranged and garnished plate of succulent scallops delights the eye, stimulates the salivary glands and satisfies the hunger of the belly and a soul starved for sensual pleasure. Whew!  I wax poetic.

Writing poetry in response to the creative urge is also a medium for expression.  Reading poetry is an enjoyable experience and feeds the soul.

Imagine gathering at the table for a feast.(Not hard to do since Thanksgiving is upon us.) It is a sensory pleasure, but also a time (hopefully) of conviviality, congeniality and the flow of friendship. Imagine gathering around a table to read poetry.  It can arouse the same emotions, challenge the mind and satisfy the soul. I see many similarities. Bringing food and poetry together seems appropriate. Enjoy my food poem.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.  Savor your meal and after dinner before you nod off…read a poem.

Second Serving

Mother made the potato salad

early in the morning

with raw eggs and cream,

her special recipe.

We five ate it later that day

from the trunk of the car

for lunch.

Then all the August afternoon

we wandered through the exhibits,

the animal stalls,

taking in the smells, colors and noises

of the late summer fair.

We returned for supper

to un-iced food

in the hot trunk

to eat

more of Mother's Potato Salad

Salad to die for--- which

by some unlikely miracle

we didn't.

 

Poetry and Politics

 

Photo by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

An Oxymoron?  Recently on Capitol Hill you had a twenty-one hour display of the spoken word that was not poetic (despite a dash of Dr. Seuss).  Language that soars---not so much.  Even though the government has shut down, Congress has not remained silent.  What I have heard emanating from that august (?) body has not inspired me or moved me to anything, only perhaps to the edge of despair.

The shutdown has caused hardships for many. It may seem trite to complain about a seemingly small loss that I am experiencing…the loss of the Panda Cam.  The windy words emanating from Congress caused me to turn to a more contemplative activity…quietly and in silence watching the Panda Cam daily. The only noise I heard was the squealing of the five week old Panda cub and the Mei Xiang's solicitous licking of her baby. That scene rested my mind and soothed my soul.

Now it is no longer available on my computer. I miss it. To fill that precious time, I turned to writing a poem about Mei Xiang.

 

Photo by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

BIG MOMMA

Big Momma needed a tiny nudge

to change her ways,

smaller space, less food, no desire to roam

from her cubby hole these days.

Far from her adoring fans

no need to strut her stuff

She's got other things to do

much sweeter than bamboo.

Wonder where she's been?

She's mothering in her den.

A place of peace and calm

Big Momma now a Mom.

A Good Bad Poem

Photo of Federal Hill Park by Kathleen Tyler Conklin

An essay by Thomas Vinciguerra in the New York Times Book Review of August 18th critiques the hundred year old poem "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer.

There is ingrained in the subconscious of many Americans the first two lines of Kilmer's poem "I think that I shall never see/A poem lovely as a tree."  and they leap readily to our national lips. Most critics (including Vinciguerra) think "Trees"  is a terrible poem and it has been parodied by many.

It wasn't the only poem that Kilmer wrote.  According to Vinciguerra, he wrote several volumes equally simplistic and sappy before he was killed in World War 1 at age 31. Perhaps had he the chance, he would have grown into a better poet.

Does he have no defenders?  George Orwell defends Kipling's "Mandalay" as a good bad poem writes Vinciguerra, a term that seems applicable to Kilmer's works.  We can all get some enjoyment out of these seemingly trite verses. We remember Kilmer's "Trees" and relate on an emotional level. Though perhaps not moved profoundly, if it makes us once look up from our technological devices to take in the beauty of a tree, it is a poem worth reading and remembering.

Happy Birthday to "Trees".  May you live another hundred years.

Poetry Doesn't Howl Anymore

Allen Ginsberg

Another blow against contemporary poetry surfaced in Mark Edmundson's essay "Poetry Slam" in the July issue of Harper's Bazaar.  He complains that today's poets  are not ambitious enough.  Ambitious in the sense that they lack a big vision and are concerned only with small themes. They are writing in the sound of their own voices---their own uniqueness, rather than speaking expansively. He bemoans the missing 'we and our' in poems.

 

I think, to a degree, he has a point.  Art does reflect the times in which it lives. The times they are narcissistic, which causes poets to draw inward and be focused on their own experiences, rather than facing outward.  It is easier to ruminate and stay in a circumscribed comfort zone, rather than take on the world and the future.

 

Edmundson misses some of the 'outward facing' poets of the past like Shelley, Yeats, Williams, and Ginsberg, to name just a few mentioned in his article. This is a call for poets to speak more often about our common experiences.

 

I think there are contemporary poets that do speak to larger, universal themes, among them Natasha Trethewey (appointed for a second term as poet laureate) and David Whyte.To quote David… "A good poem, is a brave intuition of what could be or what could have been, it looks life straight in the face, unflinching, sincere, equal to revelation through loss or gain."

 

So poets…write whatever you want, however you want, but on certain days summon your courage to think big, look life in the face and howl.