Tanita gifted us this lovely photograph as source material for our ekphrastic poems this month. (Crediting the Creative Commons…)
I played around with complicated forms and longer narratives but in the end I settled on this response, both short and simple. Enjoy it, and then go and read the others…
The Persistence of Trees
When a girl can’t reach
what she wants or needs
she grows up into herself,
the way a tree might stretch
deep from its taproot
into the generous cup of sky
in order to get the necessary
light, the light necessary
for it to flourish, to transpire,
to eventually cast
its own shadow.
The assignment? A villanelle.
The theme? Brevity, shortness.
The irony? Running out of time!
So let’s call this one a draft, shall we?
Just in under the wire.
Phew!
Stitch In Time
By Liz Garton Scanlon
Let’s make it quick – this hour’s not my own
I catch a borrowed breath but don’t exhale
The stitch in time has already been sewn
Each moment passes – sinks just like a stone
The second hand a whip that raises wales
Let’s make it quick – this hour’s not my own
But can a heartbeat really be postponed?
I hurry, my old story sounding stale
The stitch in time has already been sewn
The wormhole dropped through, wrinkle blown
The minutes meted out on God’s grand scale
Let’s make it quick – this hour’s not my own
but does it matter when I cut this close to bone?
What if I stop and let the measured gears derail?
The stitch in time has already been sewn
I rip the seams and start again alone
Shake off the fetters, lift the veil
And just like that, the hour is my own
The stitch in time, so carefully re-sewn
A new year would be incomplete without new poetry! I’ve gathered with my sisters-in-words once again to debut a new set of poems each month — all focused on a certain form, or theme, or both. I know — it sounds like last year. And the year before. But this time, of course, with new assignments!
So we’re starting with the Somonka — a Japanese form that is really just two tankas put together like love letters — so imagine two voices speaking the different stanzas. The rules for a tanka are five unlined rhymes, with 5/7/5/7/7 syllables, respectively.
I loved this form, and wrote several, but they all ended up with too much snark and not enough sweet. I’m sorry about that. I have a heck of a head cold. But regardless, here they are and let’s hope I’ll have softened up by next month. 🙂
A Love of Winter
Air brisk & cheeks pink
I love you, January
Everything feels new!
I jump out of bed for you
(Except when I just cannot)
Feckless southerner
I put my all into this
Thirty-one whole days
But you’re only game for three
Unrequited, I freeze up
Forget-Me-Not
Breakfast is at five
You forget, so I wake you
You’re so forgetful
You cup my ears in your hands
Ask, “Who’s this? Who’s a good boy?”
You stand under me
When I turn I nearly trip
Furry reminder
I’m not alone – you are here
You are always here for me
A Good Soak
Yes, I’m claw-footed
but I run hot and heavy —
I hold you, my dear,
in my porcelain embrace,
while you try to slip away.
I come for comfort
I long to be warm and held
but this is too still
and confining. Lethargic,
I find I must pull the plug.
I’m on the road so am not able to devote time to a more lengthy post, but as the years comes to a close I’m grateful to have my Poetry Sisters with me, as always.
This month, we tackled another ekphrastic — using photos Andi took at Glencairn’s Cloister at the Glencairn Museum in Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania.
It looks to be a place of pure, loveliness and it inspired this from me:
Look Up
Liz Garton Scanlon
There are times (like these)
when being somewhere beautiful (holy, almost)
becomes not just pleasant but necessary,
when being somewhere old (and lasting)
becomes not just reassuring but the way
to stay upright, as if a stone column could
serve as a spine, as if a medieval cloister
were the four chambers of one’s own heart.
There are times when we need to see (and trust)
that even granite can be carved into wool
and wings, that even the hardest wall
might soften in the face of dappled sunlight
and someone’s grand ideas.
There are times when we need to see (and trust)
that even when surrounded by manmade concerns,
we are lifted by looking up (by following)
the golden eagle and turtle dove into the sky.
Well, hello autumn.
Hello, election season.
Hello, dark mornings and short days.
My sisters-in-verse and I have met another month with a poem. We chose gratitude as a theme because, well, tis the season. And lord knows we need to counter the dour daily energies and news stories and Twitter wars in the world right now.
And our form? The terza rima — a funny little slip of a thing that reminds me of knitting (ok, so I don’t knit but I’ve learned the basics several times) in that you pull a stitch from the middle of each stanza into the next one and build the rhyme scheme off of that. Throw a little iambic pentameter in and you’ve got yourself a poem.
I tried a couple. They weren’t easy. I felt constrained — more than I often do by form — but puzzles are supposed to keep us fresh, so what’s the harm? Here goes….
Gratitude in Rhyme
by Liz Garton Scanlon
Times like these, true gratitude’s a stretch –
days hammer on, the pitch of life insists.
Amazing grace that visits every wretch
(and finds and saves and otherwise persists)
seems strangely quiet, absent in the din,
as we reveal ourselves – we can’t resist.
Our darkest thoughts are matched by deed akin –
are we not better in our hearts than this?
What if we all start fresh, just now, begin:
Hot tea, good dog, obligatory kiss.
From there, go bigger – promise, listen, vote –
before you know it, moments of real bliss.
Because we have each other, we’re afloat.
We try, we love, we write this thank you note.
Half Empty or Half Full?
By Liz Garton Scanlon
My neck bends upwards, gazing at the moon.
I ask: is it half empty or half full?
It’s all in how you see this silver spoon,
this tree, its leaves; this sheep its autumn wool.
Is every thing just resting on the verge,
the push that feeds into tomorrow’s pull?
Even optimists raise up a dirge
into the void, the middle of the night –
the owl cries, all aching hearts converge.
But then it’s dawn: the breeze, the birds, the light.
Have faith, the moon will wax again to right.
And, in celebrating the end of another year writing with my favorite gals, why not run off and read their terza rimas, too?
My pals and I have taken on quite a few ekphrastic challenges this year because, well — because we like them and we’re in charge! This month, Kelly provided the inspiration.
This statue, Arlequin, is by Rene de Saint-Marceaux and lives at the Musee des Beaux Artes in Lyon, France. I love this piece — it came alive for me completely and resulted in this:
Arlequin
By Liz Garton Scanlon
Hello, masked rascal, boy king,
Peter Pan with the cocky stance.
I knew you in high school,
you asked me to dance
and acted like it was my idea,
you threw frisbee, had a flask
were so sure that you could fly
and the water tower cried its siren cry.
But here’s the thing
with myths, they bleed together –
you’re a harlequin, an Icarus,
to the manor born and Shakespeare’s fool.
And what I want to say to you
is this: unmask the eyes,
obey the rules, grow up a bit.
It isn’t easy here, but harder
I’m not one for absolutes, so when someone asks me about my favorite book of the year, I usually hedge my bet. Well, the delightful Eileen Manes at Pickle Corn Jam asked, and this post is my answer! (Please see below for posts by other readers and writers who share some of their new favorites, too!)
In picture book land, a current favorite of mine is OWL SEES OWL — a lovely, imagistic book that has more going on than first meets the eye.
Laura Godwin, author of OWL SEES OWL, uses the reverso to take sweet owl out into the world — where he sees the night sky and the fall leaves and, eventually, his own reflection — and then to return him home again in the second half of the book — revisiting everything from earlier but with a new perspective.
I think it’s the idea of perspective that really makes this book special for me. It’s simple and quiet — both visually and textually — but it’s saying something big — that the world can be looked at in lots of different ways, through different lenses, at different times and from different angles. That, in fact, the world should be looked at with differing perspectives whenever possible.
Maybe it’s the mad election season, but that feels like a pretty resonant message right now.
Bonus book: For another absolutely gorgeous book that is all about perspective, check out Brendan Wenzel’s THEY ALL SAW A CAT. It’s up there in my top ten this year too. Enjoy!
For more favorites, have a look at these posts, all part of Eileen’s #pcjlinkup! Enjoy!
I think we all shared mixed feelings over this month’s form. The clogyrnach (say that 5 times fast!) ended up seeming kind of limericky to us. It’s a Welsh form that requires a certain number of lines (either 5 or 6), a certain number of syllables (32) and a very clear-and-simple aa,bb-type rhyme scheme. But something about the prescriptive nature of this form as opposed to the prescriptive nature of other forms felt a tad too, well, sing-songy and prescriptive to us.
Still, we did as we were told and wrote the darn things. Well, ok, I didn’t follow the end-line requirements to the letter of the law. In fact I pretty much broke the rule that there should be a b rhyme in the middle of the last line as well as an a rhyme at the end. I kind of did that once. So. Let’s call mine Variations on Clogyrnachs.
According to our researchy sister Sara Lewis Holmes, this form was traditionally trotted out for weddings and funerals. She did a string with a wedding theme so I decided to tackle the other end of the spectrum — the funerals. Here goes….
Variations on Clogyrnachs for a Funeral
Liz Garton Scanlon
Who lies under suburban lawns?
A grumpy dog, all bark and brawn,
guinea pigs, two birds,
a frog. Whispered words:
good-bye, good boy, go on.
Who rests in peace in such a place?
It’s noisy, smoggy, there’s no space!
But wait, a headstone
so overgrown.
This smooth green breath like grace.
Who’s in the hearse that’s driving by,
that oh-so-silent long black sigh –
Someone’s first-born son?
Someone’s precious one?
Someone who hears us cry?
Who’s in the wardrobe down the hall?
Who wears a ghoulish grin, a shawl?
Are you ghost or dream?
Are you what you seem?
Memory tricks us all.
If you’d like to read more of this quirky form, visit my pals!
In wrapping up our wonderful month of PAGE THROUGH THE PARKS, I wanted to take a few moments to celebrate my co-campers, Janet Fox and Barb Rosenstock — both acclaimed authors, and true lovers of books and parks!
Enjoy these little snippets of their experiences in the parks and on the page!
Me:What’s the biggest adventure or most exciting thing you’ve ever seen or done in a Natl Park?
Janet: I can’t pick just one so I choose two! One: my son and I used to go into Yellowstone every summer for a few days, and one year we became official “geyser gazers”, following the geyser eruptions around the Upper Geyser Basin (where Old Faithful is), using walkie-talkies with other gazers and running from one eruption to the next. It was huge fun. Two: on the other end of the scale was a trip I took with my son in Mesa Verde, where we took a guided sunset tour into the largest of the archeological sites. We sat in silence for a long time, all of us humbled and awed by the mystical beauty of the place and the ghosts of the vanished people who built it.
Barb: Well, honestly I first held a boy’s hand in Mammoth Cave, does that count? If you mean MORE exciting than that, I think every minute of my time spent in Yosemite was exciting, the waterfalls, the wildlife, the stars at night. All of it. Wait, I’ll qualify that, the most exciting thing in Yosemite is that they HAVE a library and that it’s full of history and fabulousness! A library in a National Park! That’s the kind of thing that makes me proud to be an American.
Me: What’s the biggest adventure or most exciting thing you’ve ever experienced as a writer?
Janet: When my book FAITHFUL came out, it was so exciting for me to be able to go back to the Park, where I’d spent so much time, and stand before Old Faithful with a copy of my debut novel, and then sign copies in the shop next door. That was such a thrill!
Janet and her book in Yellowstone!
Barb: Every day is an adventure when you’re a writer! I get to learn what interests me, meet fascinating people and go wherever my imagination leads.
Me: What’s the book that felt like the biggest adventure to you when you read it — as a child or adult!?
Janet: When I was a teen I loved books about horses, and when I read MISTY OF CHINCOTEAGUE I wanted a horse so badly! It seemed like a true adventure to live with wild horses, and to become attached to one. As an adult, my dream of owning a horse finally came true.
Barb: My Father’s Dragon by Ruth Stiles Gannett. I loved it. I still love it. And White Fang by Jack London, I loved that too. And the whole Harry Potter series. And I loved Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet…I’m kind of bad at picking my favorites…
Me: What is your 100th Birthday Wish for our National Parks?
Barb: That they have a 200th anniversary and a 300th, 400th and a 500th…you get the picture.
Barb and her sister in Yosemite!
Janet: May we love you and give you back, in respect and preservation, as much as you’ve given us for 100 years.
One way the three of us have decided to give back is through this month-long celebration of the parks — and the books about the parks.
Sara gave us several images to choose from, and here’s the one I went with.
If only we’d all been able to take field trips to see this amazing work in person….
WONDER
By Liz Garton Scanlon
What if everyday
were a cabinet of curiosities
(or actually everyday is a cabinet of curiosities
but what if we acted
accordingly?) What if
we opened our eyes
each morning
like small sliding drawers
to all the surprises
of the world unspooling
before us – the shrunken
heads and antique spoons?
The fossils? What if we
ooohed and ahhhed?
