Sunday, January 24, 2016

Attic Owl Reading Series, January 28, 2016

January 28, 2016, I will be one of the readers at the Attic Owl Reading Series in Moncton at Café C'est la Vie. On the Attic Owl site, there is a link to my blog in order for people to learn a bit more about me. That is a problem for those searching out my poems.

Because poetry which has been shared on a blog is deemed to have been published, I don't put my poems on my blog. That way, they are eligible for consideration by literary journals. I have just started to submit my poems to publishers in the past fifteen months. Six have been published in Galleon III and IV, in the Nashwaak Review and The Antigonish Review.

I began writing poetry after I retired early from a career in mental health education and promotion, and following two serious illnesses. Epiphanies. Now or never moments. Write, right now or else....

While visitors to my blog won't see poetry, they will discover my love of photography and the natural world, plus my lifelong fascination with how relationships work, or don't.

I will read some of my poems at the Attic Owl Reading Series this Thursday, 6 pm at Café C'est La Vie in Moncton. Come listen. Enjoy the work of botanist, novelist, artist and poet, Jane Tims. There will be music. The Café is licensed, serves great meals and will be full of lively folks interested in the arts. 

There will be a donation box to accept your coins and bills which help defray the costs incurred by Lee D.Thompson, who does such a great job of promoting and organizing these events.

I hope you will come and enjoy the evening.

Words in colour will take you to another site with more information, if you click on them.

Friday, January 1, 2016

Happy Beginning of 2016

Happy new year, happy endings and beginnings.
Enjoy the small gorgeous gifts which nature offers.
Look closely, breathe deeply, relax into delight.
Each moment is new.

Thursday, December 31, 2015

Happy New Year's Eve 2015

Mourning Dove sunning on the deck

When you find your sunny spot,
stay, enjoy and then move on.

Happy New Year's Eve, 2015. 

May your New Year move 
through many sunny moments.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Almost There

The house is clean and the turkey is in the oven. We're almost ready, almost there, feeling the tingle of anticipation, a gentle glow spreading over us.

Happy Christmas Eve to all.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Let Christmas Unfold as it Does

It hasn’t been the pre-Christmas season I’d imagined.
I’ve been ill with a cold which morphed into sinusitis, complicated by adverse reactions to another procedure’s prerequisite meds. But, it will end. I’ll get better. I’ll live.
I’ve done no baking this year as I didn’t think anyone would want my green-gold seasonally coloured snot anywhere near their food. Prior to getting sick, I had made my own Christmas cards and written all the inside notes. I added quotes to the cards and discovered some which spoke to my own feeling-sorry-for-myself state of mind.
“Don’t spoil Christmas by anticipating how it will be.
Let it unfold as it does,
and be grateful for whatever comes.”    Tori Sorenson

So I am grateful for:
lots of rest
outside Christmas decorations done in early November
the invention of tissues
a tree finally decorated
daughters who helped with shopping
Gary’s care
reduced expectations

I look forward to feeling well again soon and being able to smell the fragrance of the fir tree, warmed by the fireplace.  And, I remind myself of the words of Dr. Seuss. “Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn’t come from a store.”

I’ll be grateful for whatever Christmas offers this year.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Dear Elizabeth

It’s New York at the Women’s Project Theatre, a full house. The audience settles and reads the Elizabeth Bishop poems left as “A Poem for your pocket” on each seat. Programs rustle, anticipation mounts, the house lights brighten then dim, a cockroach scurries beneath a desk on the stage. We are there to watch Dear Elizabeth, a play written by Sarah Ruhl, originally published as Words in the Air in 2008.

The play is based upon the thirty year correspondence and friendship between the poets Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell. Their relationship is complicated.

Pulitzer-winner Bishop, who was lesbian, was left financially stable enough to be able to travel as she wished, a love for travel reflected in her work.  Lowell, also a Pulitzer recipient was twice divorced and his third marriage ended when he died in 1977.

All the words in the play are taken from their letters and their poetry, and force the audience or reader to look at their lives not as story, but as lives lived.

Bishop’s and Lowell’s admiration for each other’s work is immediate and their letters are full of compliments and professional observations and suggestions. Their friendship is an ever-evolving affection, with each seeing the other as that rare person who understands the need for a balance of solitude and public image. There are oblique references to infidelity, depression and alcoholism. (BWW Review, Michael Dale)

The play begins with the poets as adults, so no mention is made of Elizabeth’s childhood in Great Village, Nova Scotia, her Canadian connection.

Dear Elizabeth unfolds as letters are read from two wooden desks placed on opposite sides of the stage. The cast frequently changes. The evening we attended, the actors were Ellen McLaughlin and Rinde Eckert, with Polly Noonan as a kind of stage manager, stationed in an upstage corner.

Familiar with the work of each of these 20th century poets, the play is a delight for me. As a poet, I value the profound effect of friendship and knowledgeable critiques of one’s writing, as well as the necessity of dealing with real life while writing.

I appreciate the kindness and generosity of my daughters in taking me to see Dear Elizabeth, as I know their own tastes would have led them to another sort of play. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and appreciated the evidence of their recognition of me, as poet.

The cockroach provided a play within the play, scuttling around Rinde’s shoes during the evening. When foot work became too active, it took off for the safety of the travel props at the back of the stage.

Life intrudes into our stories without warning.

Words is colour will take you to another site with additional information, if you click on them.