Spring, a Poem

Spring

Snow pulls your cedar fence apart, pushes it slant.

Crossbars slump into symbols for “less than.”

Winter loosens its hold, sinks into flood, rushes

the downward slope to the river.

A red ribbon rides the melt, dangles on the lip

of the storm drain, bright floss tangled in a gritty grill.

You wait weeks for the slow dissolve of winter,

to discover your yard, wounded.

Then, one morning, above the crocus

and compost, this burst of russet

on a damp grey limb.

A robin sings.

Last week, I posted six objective observations from my neighbourhood, as part of a course I am following. This week, the assignment is to use those observations as the basis for a poem. The poem should also make use of sonic word associations and utilize differing line lengths to create pauses at expressive moments.

It is helpful to begin with a bit of language that holds interest, such as my “slow dissolve of winter” and from that create a word cloud of sonic associations. 

The word “dissolve” produced a word cloud of solvent, ventilation, discuss, discover, concussive, dishevel, solution, ablution, sheen, blue.

The word “winter” gave me a word cloud of winner, nerd, twin, tern, turn, winsome, win some, terrify, wonder, wound her, wound.

I used the words “discover” and “wound”  in my poem because they added sonic echo and because they suited what I wanted to say.

In “Spring”, my line lengths vary as I create brief stops or breaks where I want the thought/image to pause. Often at the beginning of the next line, there is a twist or additional information, a surprise. Line breaks allow me to share with the reader, the places where a pause will help with their understanding of the picture I am painting.

“Spring” is a draft poem, a work in progress. As always, my photos and words are copyright 

©2011-2015 Carol Steel.

Be Still: Contemplative Photography

Henry Miller said, "The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably significant world in itself."

Giving close attention, seeing beyond seeing, and walking while waiting for nature to reveal itself...these were exploration topics at last weekend's photography workshop offered at the Tatamagouche Centre in Nova Scotia.  

We spent enjoyable time learning that throwing away photos, with which we weren't quite happy was a form of "labeling" and doesn't respect our own abilities.  We found that dawn's rain and afternoon's drizzle offer up many lush photos, that Tatamagouche has a view of the bay, huge old maples, a river, rock walls, walking paths, stands of old pines and open fields, each an opportunity to be amazed, to make photographs and to learn about cropping, colour pushing, fill light, balance, rules to be followed and rules to be broken.

We were awed.  We marveled.  We saw the world with fresh eyes. 

We had fun, ate good home cooked meals, worked hard, then played and went to bed tired and happy.

Who could ask for anything different?

Words in colour will take you to another site with additional information, if you click on them.  Photos and words are copyright Carol Steel 2009-2014.

Contemplative Photography

I'm off on Friday, off on an adventure to Tatamagouche to learn more about photography.

The Tatamagouche Centre is a non-profit education, conference and retreat centre located in the village of Tatamagouche, on Nova Scotia's north shore. 

"Be Still: Contemplative Photography" encourages participants to explore the making photographs as a meditative process and path to self-discovery.  The workshop runs from Friday evening until early Sunday afternoon and includes creativity exercises, reflection time, sharing and analysis.  

We'll have the opportunity to go out for two dawn photo shoots, plus trekking along the shores of the bay and the expansive wooded grounds during other periods of the day.  It's supposed to rain on Saturday and Sunday, and is certainly pelting down as I write at suppertime on Thursday.  The dawn photo shoots might be dull, damp affairs.

I've heard from friends who have attended in the past.  They are full of enthusiasm for the program.  And their photos show a new depth and richness because of the time spent learning more about who they are and the art of photography.

I'm excited to be going and looking forward to working with Janice MacLean and Gordon Williams, both talented photographers and facilitators.  

My rain boots and gear are packed and ready.


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God of Poetry: A Writers' Retreat

 

 

God of Poetry: A Writers’ Retreat

We break bread, share wine,

a get-acquainted preamble.

Evening relaxes

sun-sweet, after hard rain;

we gather outdoors for your poetry reading.

 

From damp adirondacks, we listen;

a semi-circle of homage

and blackflies.  We lean in,

ignore spasms of itch. 

The lawn, resurrected

as bog, washes our feet.

 

We murmur entreaties:

“May there be

enough grass plastered

on toes to protect them

from feast.”

 

You stand.

A father’s gentle voice

reading stories to children.

You choose four poems;

do not want to overwhelm.

Our fingers reach

to touch the hem of your words.

You finish.  No sound.

Our heads bowed. 

 

Then you swat a blackfly

on the back of your neck

and say,

“We have to suffer for art.”

Laughter, applause;

we run back to the inn.

 

Alone in our rooms,

we each pray before sleep:

“May our stings and spilled blood

become

the stigmata

of poets.”

 

I attended an excellent retreat for writers and wrote this tongue-in-cheek poem about our first evening together, after hearing some participants respectfully and affectionately referring to our instructor as the “God of Poetry.”  He may or may not be a god, but he was helpful to me, taught me much about how to write and gave gentle, direct feedback.  Perhaps, they are correct.  Being god-like encompasses kindness, teaching by example and helping people where they are.  Oh yes, and having a sense of humor.

 

Words and photo are copyright © 2011-2013 Carol Steel.

Spring Writers' Retreat 2013 with Ian LeTourneau

 

 

 

Spring Writers’ Retreat 2013 with Ian LeTourneau

 

I don’t know what I don’t know about writing poetry.  That’s annoying.  That’s also the way it is. 

Receiving feedback on my poems teaches me how to improve them.  However, one of my challenges in learning anything is this: I am a visual, tactile learner.  Hearing comments is helpful, but seeing them written is better.  Better still is sitting with someone who can tell me how to improve what I’ve written and show me how to change the poem around; show me on paper. Then I “get it.”  I see, I learn.  I can capture the concept in my mind and retain it.

 

The SpringWriters’ Retreat offered by University of New Brunswick provided the opportunities I needed.  In addition to time learning from and socializing with other writers, I submitted ten pages of my writing to share and to be critiqued.  Each of us did.  I read my poems aloud and then made note of the comments on my work, from Ian LeTourneau, the instructor, and from the other writers.  Any feedback given was positive and constructive.  No personal attacks or personality issues were permitted.  After everyone had commented, I had a chance to ask questions or make my own remarks.  We spent all day Saturday rotating turns reading our work and listening and critiquing.

An added bonus for me was receiving written feedback from three writers.  I took these pages home where I could study their suggestions.  These three didn’t make comments and leave it there, they wrote notes explaining to me why something worked well or didn’t work.  Those explanations were gold.

On Sunday, I met one-on-one with Ian LeTourneau to ask questions and to receive advice.  He explained in thoughtful detail a concept I had misunderstood.  He suggested a book for further study.  His feedback was encouraging, yet realistic and truthful.  I left with new lights on in my mind and optimism about my writing journey.

Prior to the retreat, I had received the copies of the other writers’ work.  For two days, I poured over their words, making notes on what worked and why, what wasn’t clear, what made me green with envy, and most challenging, what didn’t work and why.  To my surprise, I learned more from the discipline of having to write why something didn’t work in their submissions, than from making the easier comments on what did and why.

It’s been over a week since I attended the Spring Writers’ Retreat.  I’m still processing what I learned.  I’m grateful to have been in the company of writers for three days, for their casual conversations about their own writing, for their questions and their critiques. 

It was a fine way to learn what I don’t know about my own poetry writing.  

I'd go again in a minute.

 

 

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A Writing Retreat

 

 

Hello again. 

I haven't been blogging as much as usual because I have been preparing to go to the Spring Writers' Retreat offered by the University of New Brunswick.  Each participant has sent in 10 pages of their work, which have been circulated to the other students and the instructor for review and comments prior to the retreat.  I've done lots of writing, reading and note making. 

This week has already given me a couple new opportunities to receive feedback on my poetry: a brief one-on-one meeting with a well-respected writer and editor; and participation in a writers' group meeting.  Both have been rich in advice.

For example, an "expected phrase" or "expected word" means I have used a cliche, like "whirling wind" or "a beautiful day."  These aren't bad words, just not great ways to paint a picture for someone else to see.  Poetry is meant to freshen the world.  "To freshen" means to use words in ways that offer new and different perspectives, on something we see in ordinary ways, or we don't see at all.

I discovered that I need to develop a better reading voice.  I kill my own work by reading it poorly.  I am sharing a story or an experience in a poem;  I am not reading the newspaper out loud.  I read too quickly without stopping to breathe.  This robs a listener of the benefit of the pacing in the piece I've created, and of a chance to process the words.  I am so nervous that I'm choking my words and my poetry.  Others read with a firm and disciplined modulation, with intensity of feeling (though not over done), and with a different timbre from their regular speaking voice.  There is an aura of  "This is important. Listen while I share this experience with you.  This is how I see the world.  Can you see it too?" 

It helps to be told, "This word or phrase or structure does work, or doesn't work" and more importantly, to be told why.  It helps to hear other poetry and to recognize why and how it is working.  It helps to stay away from envy of the poetry written by someone else.  This is a hard bit for me.  I recognize good poetry; I am thrilled and awed by great poetry. I make myself remember that even those writers had to learn, to try, to write bad poetry as well as good in the learning process.

And that's where I am, in a learning process.   

I leave for the Spring Writers' Retreat this afternoon and return on Sunday late in the day, another step on my writing journey.  I am both excited and terrified.  And isn't that the creative combination I need to crack myself open,  to see the world in fresh ways?

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Thank you, Ian LeTourneau

Thank you, Ian LeTourneau

“A poem freshens the world.”  
So wrote the US Poet Laureate, Ted Kooser.

To learn more about how a poem freshens the world and the craft of poetry, I participated in “The Basics of Poetry Writing: How to Transform Ideas into Poems” with instructor Ian LeTourneau.  The daylong workshop was part of the 37^th Annual Maritime Writers’ Workshops sponsored by University of New Brunswick.

The focus was to strengthen skills in the craft of poetry, using metaphor, imagery and the poetic line.  The goal was not to create a masterpiece in one day, but to study and learn more about the basic tools for poetry writing, using explanation, writing exercises, examinations of sample poetry and sharing of our own pieces.  This was indeed what we did.

We seven students and Ian talked; the dialogue shed light on questions about technique and this in turn opened doors and pushed us beyond familiar territories.  We began with warm-up exercises on imagery:

*working like a _________________________________

*cold as _______________________________________

*as unpredictable as_____________________________

*as red as_____________________________________

And as we shared (all of us shared, including Ian), it was helpful to hear how others’ minds worked; it generated creativity.  It helped to learn that the instructor, a published poet, went through the same processes, he was teaching us to use.  Each workshop participant was at the same time dealing with the same technique, and was focusing on the same assignment, so we became interested in and learned from the work of each other.

We examined “My Shoes” by Charles Simic, “X-ray” by Dave Hickey and “Ode to a Stinging Jelly-fish (Portuguese Man-O-War)” by Roger Nash.  We admitted to feeling jealous of their abilities, all the while admiring their poems.

We created enlarged images from our initial warm-up exercises.  Here is mine:

Birth and Death

Dark eyes are red.

She’s just given birth,

a son,

for a husband who

runs around,

and she is raw,

red as fresh road-kill

bleeding out.

We set up our own metaphors, created lists of similarities, noted associations and connections, searched for fresh ways to make our poetry bits and nubs leap to life.  Ian encouraged us to make our images stretch, to do more work, to connect with emotions, to enrich details, to freshen the world.  The lists exploded and we picked a concrete image to begin.

I worked on a metaphor between hand-churning old-fashioned ice-cream and the beginnings and subsequent survival of a couple’s relationship.  It’s a work in progress so I won’t share it here but it has potential and I was content with accomplishing a good start.

The workshop participants shared exercises, beginnings of poems, great lines and shitty lines.  We laughed and we learned.  We talked about titles and how to make them work for our poems.  We talked about line breaks and ways to milk meaning, and yet more meaning from spaces, and ways to still or rush a clause to illuminate with surprises. 

Ian shared this from “Paradise Lost” by John Milton:

Of what he was, what is, and what must be

Worse.

We understood the line break and spacing suggested another meaning.

Our minds stretched through writing exercises, using restrictions.  One assignment was to use the same five words in each stanza of a two stanza poem; the words were plain, light, glass, river, shadow.  Mine follows.

(Untitled)

The river is glass-still

reflects light and shadow,

root to root, stem to stem,

plain and perfect

at full tide.

The tide shifts,

stabs the glass,

ripples spread,

shadows wrinkle,

shake the light.

The river plain begins

to shimmer and dance.

Not good poetry certainly, but you have the idea.

At the end of the day, we shared poems we had brought with us; not an easy thing to do, like giving birth and hearing someone say, “Gosh, that’s an ugly baby.”  It was helpful to listen to the responses and suggestions, to know the others were sharing their thoughts about what worked and what needed tweaking or a complete overhaul.  It was another way to learn.  And my day was all about learning.

The workshop emphasized that writing a poem was a passionate relationship between craft and seriousness of endeavour.  It took place in a crucible, where the wild unfettered mind met the responsible, purposeful self and laboured with fervor and desire, with ability and honest work and created a fresh way in which to perceive our world.

The workshop day was well spent.  My time, my money and my energy were well spent.  I was grateful for the opportunity to work with Ian LeTourneau and to learn from the others.

I hope to learn more next year, hope to attend the full week and follow courses on other genres of writing, on editing, on pitching a story and on publishing.  I hope to get acquainted with other poets and writers and continue to learn new ways to freshen the world through my own writing.

For now… thank you, Laurie Glenn Norris for organizing with the University of New Brunswick, for the Maritime Writers’ Workshops and especially, thank you, Ian LeTourneau, for the gift of yourself.

I’ll see you next year.

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Write a Little Every Day

Write a Little Every Day

“Write a little every day, without hope, without despair,” said Isak Dinesen.  The name Isak Dinesen is the pseudonym for Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke (1885-1962), a Danish author who wrote Out of Africa and Babette’s Feast.

I do write every day.  I write between five hundred and twenty-five hundred words.  That’s not too challenging.  The “without hope, without despair” part is difficult.  I don’t always accomplish that.

I think my writing is improving.  I learn and use new skills. I try fresh methods and practise without fail.  Yet, there are times when I feel…well, if not despair, then…disappointment because it can be a challenge to see any progress.

I look back through my first blog entries, those from last year.  There are differences.  Reviewing them shows me that I have learned to let go of using adjectives everywhere.  But, I’ve learned that a well-chosen adjective around a noun can be useful in limiting the number of associations which can arise in a reader’s mind.  I’ve learned to beat the bushes of any piece I write to flush out the adverbs and then to cull them.  I’ve learned that both adjectives and adverbs saturating the page make the reader tired and confused and limit the reader’s imagination.

The best posts I’ve written are those in which I’ve been honest, shared emotions and refrained from quoting others again and again, in attempts to shore up my insecurities.  My best posts connect with the reader in direct ways, show new ways of seeing, understanding and enjoying the world.  The best are written from my heart; then refined by my head through careful revisions.

Sometimes, most times, it is helpful for me to write a piece; to leave it alone long enough so that it begins to feel unfamiliar.  Not mine.  That helps me to be objective, to see my writing for what it is.  And this helps me to revise without remorse, to hack out the parts that need to go.

What else?  I read every day.  There are stacks of books on the kitchen table, beside my bed and on my desk.  I read poetry, short stories and novels.  I read my thesaurus and my dictionary.  I research about my writing and my topics, at the library, on the Internet and with other writers.  I listen to published (and hoping to be published) writers reading from and talking about their work.   I follow writing courses when I can afford to do so, which is not as often as I would like and not often enough.  All help me to expand what I know and what and how I am writing.  Still, it is slow going.

In my daily 500 to 2500 words, there are ups and downs.  Some days I’m tired, forget the guidelines, and just want to get something, anything down on paper.   Other days, the magic is there and words flow--not perfect, but better.  And, once in a while after studying and writing and revising and writing, again and again, a piece will yield a sentence so lovely that I wonder, is this mine?  Or an image so ethereal and strange that I wonder, where did this come from?  And I recognize intuitively that something unique and new has been created.

These luminous moments keep me going with hope, and for a time, keep me going without disappointment or despair.

And so, I write…

And so, I learn…



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Bedroom Project

When you buy a home, how long does it take to get everything the way you want it?

What I want evolves as I live in a home and become used to its secrets and seasons.  Tastes and uses for rooms vary.  Simply living in a home changes what one needs and wants.  The innate feeling of a space sometimes calls for transformation.

We have a spare bedroom with two sunny windows and pine bookcases, an antique desk and a welcoming bed, a rocking chair and spaces for the cats.  It is the last room to be re-done after our move here. 

We can’t decide what to do about the wallpaper border at the top of the walls, and the ancient wallpaper stuck half-way up the walls.  We want it gone, but it doesn’t want to go.  We soak it, peel it, score it and steam it.  It will not leave!  We ask the local wallpaper store for suggestions; beyond what we have tried, they have nothing.  And there is always their cautiously worded question, “How long has this paper been on the walls?”  The staff looks down at their feet and scuffs with their toes, when we reply, “Well, as long as the house has been built.”   That being 60+ years, they then announce that sometimes, old paper and old glue cannot be removed.  Further, the plaster walls underneath the paper would certainly be damaged if we press any more water into the paper attempting to remove it.

So, plan B.

My husband carefully, with much measuring and swearing puts wainscoting and trim over the lower half of the walls to cover the impervious wallpaper.  We paint the wainscoting to match the wide baseboard and rounded window frames. 

What about the wallpaper border next to the ceiling?  We paint the upper half of the walls and purchase a wider wallpaper border to cover the stubbornly resistant older one.  We are warned that this new border will have to be pasted to the wall to adhere properly, as the normal glue on the back of the border isn’t meant to stick to anything but painted walls.



We get out all the supplies to deal with the new border.  Table, small foam brush, can of glue, water, smoother thingy, different cloths for different tasks, measuring tape, sharp knife, scissors, and chairs upon which to stand. We discuss how to do this, read the directions on the can (many warnings about not getting glue on anything else but the wallpaper), measure, measure again, discuss which side is the top and which the bottom of the trim  (no conclusion reached, so just pick one).  Have coffee and more coffee, then toast and snacks to help with decisions.  I suggest wine, but my husband warns, “No, that won’t be good.”

Finally, we are off and pasting.  By the end of the first strip, we decide that even though the can warned not to put too much paste, we put too little and have to re-paste the first strip.  Muttering, but philosophical, we settle on hanging the border…first…on the wall that shows the least. 

Wise decision.  Old plaster walls are not necessarily straight.  Muttering turns into frustration.  After a very long and sticky time, the first strip is on the wall and looking fine covering the old wallpaper border.

But, what’s this?  The first four feet are doing a slow-motion peel off the wall.  Quick!  Hold the paper, get more glue, there, there, and there…OK…OK.  Now with many cloths, wipe off excess glue before it does all the horrid things warned about on the can.

Drinks of water, and much stress-filled discussion.  How can we improve what we are doing?  Suggestions flying.  Realize my best suggestion is to make none.  Things flow along better after this discovery.

Second strip does indeed stick better with copious amounts of glue spread on by husband-in-charge.  We are both feeling very confident after this and give ourselves the luxury of another coffee and standing about to admire the job, now half complete.  Going well!

Third strip.  The plaster walls and ceiling seem to be totally out of whack, nothing is straight.  Nothing is working.  The border wants to travel up onto the ceiling if we try to keep it in line with the second piece of border.  My arms are tired from holding up wallpaper border.  Husband-in-charge is into full scale swearing and nearly falls off his chair.  After heated discussion, we cut off the offending piece of border, leaving the section which seems to be behaving properly.  I want wine, now! But, no…

Time to sit and determine what needs to happen next.  I remember to be quiet. Since walls and ceiling are far from straight on this second half of the room, “we” determine that cutting the paper into the corners will help, and it does.  We finish the room a touch more than three hours after we started.

It looks good, if you don’t examine it too closely.  The colours are attractive and well-matched.  There are a few places where the edges are not quite glued as much as needed.  That is easily fixed with tiny sponge, eye shadow applicators, dipped in the last of the glue, and dabbed under the offending edges.

The bedroom is complete and ready to welcome guests and admirers alike.  

Caveat:  If you perceive that the border is upside down or notice that it isn’t perfect, you’d better keep those thoughts to yourself, if you’re expecting a welcome and a glass of wine!

And, this room?  This room is staying this colour, with this border, until we move!