Autumn Beauty (and busyness)
I’m beginning this post from Northern Michigan where earlier today (September 28) I taught a workshop at the Glen Arbor Art Center on ekphrastic poetry. We were writing in response GAAC’s current show, “Shrines and Altars,” which asked artists to think about just that. We could do the same in our writing, even apart from the show and ekphrastic responses. That is, if someone read all (or a lot) of your work, what would they say is held up, enshrined, shown reverence? Interesting question! In my own work, childhood (and its lingering mysteries and magic) is definitely one answer.
In addition to writing ekphrastic poems in the workshop today, we discussed our paths to now; how ideas about who we are inform the choices we make; the experience of going to museums and liking something different than someone else does; how one writer might focus in tightly while another provides a broader view; and the experience of “just sitting” with art and the value of quiet watching and waiting,
Next summer and fall, I’ll be doing additional workshops on ekphrasis and another plein air poetry session. I’ll also be offering a three-part creativity “bootcamp” —— a silly word that I’m hesitant to use, but I do think this workshop will offer a jumpstart to writers and artists. The idea is that various artistic practices learn a lot from another, and via readings and activities we will discover some of those connections for ourselves. More details to come about all of these offerings through the GAAC.
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Now it is October, season of great beauty and transition. And busyness, which is why this post has been slow (at least from my perspective) to come together.
Amidst the busyness, I do try to keep paying attention, and in my undergrad poetry workshop, what began as an off-the-top-of-my-head idea (“why don’t you bring a good leaf to class when you see one?”) has turned into something pretty great, and each class now begins with a leaf show-and-tell (complete with identification, if need be) and photo shoot. The experience is really very satisfying.
Here are some of the leaves my students have brought to class along with what I’ve seen out and about on recent walks.
I myself had a fairy/gnome/hobbit house like the ones pictured here, but, alas, it disappeared! Or, was stolen!, as I dramatically told (tell) myself. But, seriously, where did it go? And why? And yes, I do have a poem about this.
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One recent poem assignment my students have done, and which you also might enjoy doing, involved answering these questions, which come from Q&A a Day: 365 Questions * 5 Years, and then weaving those answers into a poem.
Who do people think you are?
Where do you think your road is going?
What's some shocking news you've heard lately?
When was the last time you went dancing?
Do you plan or do you fly by the seat of your pants?
Today was amusing because...
How do you handle rejection?
Bad news: do you want it sugar-coated or straight-up?
What are you a geek about?
What do you crave?
Always, I try to design poem prompts that encourage writers to allow themselves to say more surprising things and to juxtapose seemingly unrelated material. Too often, faithful recording of “facts” and strict narratives yield very ho-hum poems. But prompts like this one can move us away from what we meant to say so that we can say something even better.
Another way to say something surprising is to write in someone else’s voice. My first book, Captivity Narrative, included two series of persona poems: in the voice of Alice in Wonderland and in the voice of a character I called The Disappearing Girl, a magician’s assistant. I can no longer recall where The Disappearing Girl came from (!) and I can’t imagine writing those poems now, but they helped me a lot at the time and I still think they’re pretty good.
THE DISAPPEARING GIRL'S HOMEMADE MAGIC SHOW Mirror, mirror, am I silk enough to be a scarf, or should I grow feathers, squawk or coo? I need a hiding place: tree branch or dresser drawer. I need a hand to pull me from the well of a black hat. Look! there's fluttering in my wrist: bird's pulse: no, high wire and rope ladder I'll climb to the drum roll spotlight on the gaping mouths afraid I'll unravel and not stop: all threads, begging as I go: silence, please.
About Alice, what can I say? Once, after a reading, a man asked “why Alice?” “She was a girl who fell,” I told him, shrugging. That, I remember clearly.
This particular Alice poem is a Q&A, which is another fun assignment you could try.
INTERVIEW WITH ALICE
How did you fall?
I was wearing a blue pinafore.
Which was the sky.
No: which was not the sky,
Never mind.
Say: I was walking alone.
What did you think when you saw the key?
I loved the key.
How small did you become?
First: thimble, little bucket: fine.
Then: smaller.
Then: palpitation.
Then: swept away.
Then: good for nothing.
How large?
Beyond keeping,
my teeth -- too much --
my hair to brush --
my arm ached.
Why did you come back?
I tumbled up.
I grew dull.
If you've been reading Cake & Poetry for a while, you know I like to get crafty.
I’ve never thought of myself as a fan of fake flowers, but, impatient to get going on Christmas wreath-making, I decided to try an autumn version. These are my first two attempts. It was fun! And, as always, it’s a pleasure to be a novice and to do something that does not involve words. Highly recommended.
As I near the end of my year-long “slow read” of War and Peace, which I‘ve really enjoyed (the book and the pace), I’m realizing that I often dip in and out of books, especially nonfiction. Some of these books, such as The Gardener’s Year and The Pivot Year, are naturally set up to be read a day or a season at a time. Others, such as The Things You See When You Slow Down and Painting Can Save Your Life, are just better experienced (I think) little by little. In general, it’s nice to do things not on a deadline. When I read for myself and not for school (as a professor or, previously, as a student), “reading comprehension” means something more like “forgetting and remembering” (characters/plots) or “getting pleasantly sidetracked by looking something up” or simply “liking the feeling of reading.” And what I’m comprehending is not just or only the book but, more importantly, good sentences, new facts, surprisingly interesting rabbit holes, my preferences and pace, myself. Sometimes I have to be deliberate about slowing myself down, but it’s so nice when I do.
Speaking of doing things for oneself, have you made an autumn bucket list for yourself? Here’s mine, which I’m working on and adding to. Some of these items might seem more like “to do” rather than “bucket,” but I enjoy garden tasks, so it’s a pleasure to have time to dig up tubers and plant bulbs and dream about next year.
* go to the cider mill for cider and donuts (are cider mill donuts only a Michigan thing?)
* go to a WVU football game
* go to a Lions game
* make a bouquet (or several) with flowers from the garden
* take a leaf walk, like in elementary school
* make chocolate chip pumpkin bread, roasted pumpkin, pumpkin Bundt cake
* make apple cinnamon rolls with maple icing
* bake a pie with a fancy lattice crust
* make soup(s)
* make lemony lentils
* do a Halloween puzzle
* get started on the big weaving I've been putting off
* plant bulbs for next Spring
* dig up dahlia tubers and save for next year
* go to Frankenmuth (a Michigan thing, which I'll write about in a future post)
Although being in the current season is ideal, I am also looking ahead to next autumn when my new book, The Return from Calvary, will be out from 42 Miles Press. In conjunction with the book release, I’m beginning to set up readings (and workshops) for next fall and beyond. If you run a reading series or there’s somewhere you think I should go or a particular workshop you think I should offer, will you let me know?
One thing I can check off my list, as of today: a chocolate pumpkin spice Bundt cake. I used this recipe, adding about a 1/4 tsp cloves, my favorite.
Iced Bundt cakes are never as photogenic as I would like (“spooky!” said my sister Ellen about this one. LOL), but this cake is pleasingly chocolatey and pumpkin-y and delicious. If you like such things, you’ll like this.
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I also want to share my most recent non-recipe recipe for corn soup, this time with red onions and potatoes.
To cook without a “real” recipe is a joy, and with soup-making, this is often possible. Here’s what I did:
Add about 1/2 cup chopped red onion and a 1 cup or so of diced potato
to 1-2 tablespoons olive oil. Sauté until the onion and potato soften.
Meanwhile, cut the kernels from 5-ish ears of corn and add to the onion/
potato mixture. Add some garlic. Allow the corn to get covered in oil
for a few minutes. Then add 32 oz. low-sodium chicken broth. Bring to
a boil, then turn down and allow to cook. Not super long. Check potatoes
for tenderness. When they seem good, use an immersion blender to get the
soup to your desired consistency. Add salt and pepper along the way, of
course. I use something called "Detroit salt" from a local market. This
combo includes salt, garlic, onion, black pepper, Italian seasoning, and
interestingly, ginger. I did not add any creme to my soup as it's plenty
creamy thanks to the potato. Could add a dollop of Greek yogurt on top.
That'd be delicious and pretty. As always, thanks for reading! I hope you’re enjoying October as much as Kip, pictured here in our sweetly overgrown autumn garden.
