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Curiosity kills the writer
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Aiming vs. wandering
Oppressive weather, oppressive politics. Sometimes it’s hard to see a way forward, with billionaires controlling the show and the current government chipping away at the integrity of a voting system that was flawed to start with. My spouse remains an energetic activist anyway. In addition to writing for local and regional newspapers, he’s been making…
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Winter bongos
Yesterday I drafted this blog from inside a very cold bongo drum. High winds rippled and banged our metal roof riotously: “Thumbing / the tin roof like a smoker who / cannot get the house to stay alight,” I wrote in Mycocosmic, in a poem about perimenopausal sleeplessness. Even though hot flashes are rare now,…
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Stars, luck, and revelations
“The Instagram astrologers says big positive changes are coming for me this week!” I yelled from my reading chair to my spouse at his laptop, although the cats seemed interested, too. He said something like “that’s nice, honey,” or maybe just a neutral “mmm” because he was concentrating on the hundredth book of comics scholarship…
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Nuts raining down
I needed to get out into the woods, but between sciatica and recovering from the sprained ankle, it’s been hard to plan, or for that matter to pick a trail that hits my sweet spot between genuinely peaceful and not-too-rugged. Yesterday my spouse remembered Reservoir Hollow. It’s an obscure out-and-back trail a 15-minute drive away,…
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Fruiting the substrate
Publishing a poetry book involves nourishing your work in what may feel like darkness, growing networks. It can take a long time until the mushroom-poems themselves burst into the light. And who knows if people will find them, devour them, and find them tasty. Am I taking this metaphor a little far for you? Too…
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Shaky & a still life
On election day, I taught a Zoom workshop to a small creative writing workshop at Western Washington State, with a focus on spell- and prayer-poems. The teacher and I thought hard about the timing and decided it would be a good distraction for us and them–and it sure was. I read some poems and answered…
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Impossible, improbable, and infinitely full
It’ll be Shenandoah‘s 75th anniversary in 2025 and celebrations are beginning. First up, an exhibition at W&L’s Leyburn Library curated by Editor in Chief Beth Staples and students. It features precious and startling items from the archive. For example, poems and letters from Langston Hughes and E. E. Cummings are on display, and, more unusually,…
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Calendaring, with palpitations
My body never tells me “it’s a full moon,” but I have a strong sense for the wheel of the year. Something shifts in me, an internal reorientation, and I think oh, August 1st, Lughnasadh, Lammas, midpoint between summer solstice and fall equinox. First fruits of the harvest, here we are! Of course, the US…
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Talkin’ poetry, music, & ambition
In her memoir A Freewheelin’ Time, Suze Rotolo emphasizes the young Bob Dylan’s “fever to learn”: making pilgrimages to hear legends, hanging around his peers to pick up their songs and arrangements, occasionally using said arrangements on his own records before said peers got the chance. According to another source, Dylan at least once absconded…