May 18: Black flies

black fly season

forced to write haiku

indoors

February 3: Moonrise

Inspired reflection:

watching the moon rise

at the poetry reading.

February 1: Reading poetry on a winter's night

Last night in my Maine Poetry class, we read aloud Longfellow's "Wreck of the Hesperus," each of us in turn reading a stanza—an under-appreciated, long-lost form of entertainment.

Full moon on snow.
Reading Longfellow aloud
like they used to.

November 10: Pecha Kucha

The ceramics artist

describes his simple cups

as three-line poems.

PS: Artist Simon van der Ven later shared the "cups" part of his talk:

"A beautiful, handmade cup is a three-line poem about consideration. 

The foot speaks about a relationship to its ground, about stability and how it will lift.
The body of the cup talks about a relationship to your hand, about separation and containment, about the definition of inside and outside.
And the rim offers its wisdom in its relationship to your lips, offering and delivering warmth, refreshment, stimulation and redemption to your body.

Making cups allows me to make hundreds of little useful sculptures, to wrestle with the intricacies of proportion, weight, and balance, to explore texture and color, to try new techniques and perfect and evolve established ones.

Making cups gives me a chance to be part of your everyday."

October 22: Bread Loaf

Autumn poetry reading.

Fireplace crackling

with warm applause.

February 5: Haiku Workshop

I spent my weekend immersed in a workshop on Haiku, the Moon & Ekphrastic Poetry, taught by Gary Lawless at Maine Media Workshop. Our discussions were wide-ranging and inspiring, from the story of Gary's apprenticeship with Beat poet Gary Snyder and life-long friendship with Snyder's mentor Nanao Sakaki, to the evolution of the haiku form from more formal Japanese poetry, to names of the moon in various cultures, punctuated by a presentation from Jim Nickelson of his series of moon photographs, Adventures in Celestial Mechanics, and a visit to the book arts studio where another class was making letterpress prints.

These haiku arose from the weekend's experiences and conversations:

Half moon
split above bare trees--
six more weeks of winter.

Fossilized shark's tooth--
at a certain angle
it looks like a heart.

Nanao said,
No swear words in Japanese.
What the fuck?

Granite quarry--
reliquary
for his grandfather's sweat.

Fixated on
a severed chipmunk's head--
this floating world--

A poem, not really mine, that wrote itself from a classmate's story:

He stops to check
the wind--
mother's ashes.

Another poem, not mine, that wrote itself for Gary from a classmate's story:

Owl flies
in the headlights--
mating season.

This class was a gift from my parents for my 50th birthday, so this haiku by Issa, one of the big three classical Japanese haiku poets, spoke to me:

The moon and flowers
Forty-nine years
walking about wasting time.
                 --Issa

Found poems created from Jim Nickelson's presentation, some almost verbatim:

Too close to the moon
and the photos look the same--
the moon is the moon.

In square photo format
only so many places
to put the moon.

Pale moon, pale sky--
how subtle can you get
and still show the moon?

Astrophysics professor--
no homework on nights
of the full moon.

He remembers where
he was that night
but forgot the name of the moon.

Moon of Falling Leaves.
Moon When Eyes Hurt from Bright Snow.
Hunger Moon. Bone Moon.

October 20-A: Wild geese

geese flying overhead

their heart-stirring calls

an ancient poetry

Posted with Blogsy

February 8: What the winter sky has to say

Yesterday I participated in a poetry reading at Brunswick's Curtis Public Library that was part of the town's Longfellow Days. We were each asked to read a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in addition to our own work. I chose my favorite (and seasonally appropriate) "Snow-Flakes," a line of which begins today's haiku as new snow falls past my window.

This is the poem of the air--
cold syllables fall,
slow litany.

February 7: A winter Sunday

A winter Sunday in Maine:

poetry reading

then the Super Bowl.

February 2: Brigid's Day

Awake at sunrise

horizon's inspiring glow

sparking too many thoughts.

Posted with Blogsy

January 22: Conversations with Trees

Tonight I participated in a poetry reading at the Curtis Public Library in Brunswick with five other poets and Leonard Meiselman, an artist who had filled the room with his paintings and sketches of trees. We each read pieces (written by ourselves and others) that related to trees. The diversity of voices amid the dynamic energy of the art made for an interesting program in which I was honored to take part.

My husband Paul composed this haiku in honor of our friend Gary Lawless, one of the other participating poets, who had coordinated the evening:

At tonight's reading

every man wore a grey beard--

a room full of Ents.

Posted with Blogsy

September 13: Translation

I spent this rainy afternoon working through a book I bought in Quebec City: a French translation of Japanese haiku by contemporary poet Mayuzumi Madoka. The book is arranged in four seasonal sections, with each haiku and its explication by the author on facing pages. I read through Spring and into Summer, fascinated by the nexus of several languages: the original Japanese, the French translation, my attempt to piece it together in English, and the universal poetic sensibility, which renders a good poem timeless in any language. It feels like a good exercise to play with words, image, and feelings in this way; I found myself longing for a retreat to submerge myself in this world for several days to see what might come out of it for my own poetry.

 

Here is my halting translation of one of her spring haiku:

 

Amplified

by the toll of the temple bell--

this spring twilight.

__

 

Rainy afternoon--

I can almost hear the fog horn

or a temple bell.

Posted with Blogsy

August 15: Elizabeth Bishop Symposium

The North Haven (Island) Library hosted a symposium over the past two days celebrating Elizabeth Bishop, one of my favorite poets. I attended this morning's session, which entailed taking an early boat from Rockland and returning by ferry this afternoon, head full of thoughts about Bishop's life and poems, while across the water clouds piled up dramatically over the Camden Hills.

In honor of this event, I thought I'd give myself the exercise of starting off today's haiku with a line of Bishop's poem "North Haven":

Nature repeats herself--
waves rock the ferry,
storm-petrels weave among them.

August 9: Chimney Farm

Chimney Farm, on the shores of Damariscotta Lake in Nobleboro, Maine, was the home of writers Henry Beston and Elizabeth Coatsworth. They are both buried there in a small cemetery, as well as their daughter, poet Kate Barnes, who was Maine's first Poet Laureate (and a dear friend of mine). The Damariscotta Lake Watershed Association, which has conserved much of the farm property, held a poetry reading there today in which I was invited to participate. On this beautiful sunny summer afternoon, four of us poets who had known Kate well read her poems and pieces by both her parents while standing amid their gravesites.

 

A perfect day

to read poems over your grave,

spells to bring you back.

 

Posted with Blogsy

June 8: Night out with Elizabeth

after dinner ice cream

swifts chitter overhead

clearing sky a metaphor

Posted with Blogsy

February 15: End of the storm

At last, light on snow.
Between each batch of cookies

I read a poem.

Posted with Blogsy

September 8: Classic

Rooster crowing,

setting moon through pines--

I wake to a poem.

Posted with Blogsy

July 27: Rainy day with books

Finally, it rains.

I'm home alone

reading erotic poetry.

Posted with Blogsy

September 7: Memorial celebration for Kate

When we talk about
goldenrod and asters, it's
really about grief.

April 9: Vultures on a roof, and...

Leaving work tonight, I noticed several dark silhouettes lined up atop the roof of a neighboring house. As I watched, one took flight and soared over the lawn: a Turkey Vulture!

The vultures often circle above this part of the river in late afternoon. Perhaps the damp weather had grounded them. Or perhaps there was something dead in the yard. Altogether five or six birds perched in a row there, one or two occasionally leaving for a short flight, their dark, hulking forms rather ominous in the grey light.

Vultures perch, wait
for the rain to stop.
I am alive.

******

AND...
This is my 1,000th post! If this weren't National Poetry Month, I might take a little break from posting. (Maybe I will anyway...) Here's what I've got coming up for poetry readings:

• Thursday, April 11, Rockland Public Library, 6:30 pm reading with Elizabeth Tibbetts and Dave Morrison
• Thursday, April 18, Lithgow Library in Augusta, 6:00 pm reading/music with poet Dave Morrison and musicians Anna and David Patterson
• Monday, April 22, 2013 Inauguration Poet Richard Blanco will read at Camden Hills Regional HS, 7:00 pm, tickets $10/$5 for students--don't miss this!
• Wednesday, April 24, Rockport Public Library, 6:00 pm reading ("Birds and Spring")
• Friday, June 14, Owl and Turtle Bookstore in Camden, 6:00 pm reading with seven other poets from the new "Take Heart" poetry anthology
• Monday, June 17, Carver Library in Searsport, 6:30 pm reading with fellow "Take Heart" poets Elizabeth Tibbetts, Linda Buckmaster, and Carl Little 

There are a lot of readings going on now, so please get out and support your local poets! We truly appreciate it.