What I’m realizing about the NaPoWriMo daily poem exercise is that, as William Stafford said, you have to write the bad poems to get to the good poems. Of course, you don’t have to show anyone the bad poems, but it’s still disheartening some mornings to begin what you know in your bones will be a truly mediocre, necessary piece of writing. A piece of writing that defies form, vaguely or precisely reaches for the…
Could be from not writing my daily poems for three days, or from all that pollen out there. Or from pulling one too many late-night work sessions on this thing. I’m starting to lose my sense of date and I never lose that. So, to atone for not writing a poem for three days — or at least not one I’m going to show you — I will now attempt the high-wire act of writing…
It’s a musical play and in working on it, I find it interesting to notice the crossovers between drama and poetry, song lyrics and poems. Listening to a lot of contemporary music, musicals and folk songs, I found myself appreciating the lyricism of songwriters like Joni Mitchell, Stephen Schwartz (Wicked), Jonathan Larson (Rent), not to mention Oscar Hammerstein II (Oklahoma, South Pacific, etc.). A friend loaned me Hammerstein’s out-of-print book on writing songs, including the…
I have some poems up at Yareah, an international, bi-lingual (Spanish & English) zine new to me. Edited by Spanish writer Martin Cid, Yareah focuses on myths and legends as a way of analyzing cultural roots. My poems are in Issue 6, downloadable in pdf format or viewable with a new, pageable format that Ouroboros Review also uses. Thanks to arts editor Isabel del Rio, who asked to reprint my poems “Quetzalcoatl” and “Earth Whale.”…
Sandpiper weather … Continuing the giveaway of my chapbook Another Circle of Delight. Write to me: racheldacus@gmail.com for a free copy (first person before 8 am PDT tomorrow gets it). Doing the National Poetry Month daily poem-writing exercise for my fourth year has made me ask myself the question, “Why don’t I do this all the time?” As William Stafford said, you have to write the bad poems to get to the good ones. Ouroborous…
Speaking of forgetting (Beyond Forgetting, the new anthology about Alzheimer’s I blogged yesterday), I just learned something extraordinary about a friend of mine. I’ve always known Sara is extraordinary, that she lived through the Holocaust and yet is one of the most radiant and loving people I’ve ever been lucky enough to know. Something about her always makes me want to get a hug, even if we only quickly pass each other. What I didn’t…
I just received my contributor’s copy of Beyond Forgetting: Poems and Prose about Alzheimer’s Disease, edited by Holly Hughes. I’m very happy to have two poems selected for this anthology: “Elegy for an Amputation” and “At the Easel with Alzheimer’s.” It’s a fascinating and poignant collection on a topic that unfortunately affects many families. My father is the one in our family who has the disease. My dad, the former rocket scientist, can’t remember how…
I just looked up my Chinese fortune cookie prediction for the day: He who hurries can not walk with dignity. Apt for Sunday. Also apt for the NaPo poem-a-day challenge. If it becomes a thing on your To-Do list, you’re sunk. So of course, I wrote a poem about my To-Do list, thus exorcising that particular writer’s demon. As I don’t plan to publish it, I’ll post it here: Books on my shelves sprout bookmarks…
With Jilly Dybka’s Poetry Hut Blog on hiatus, I am getting some of my poetry news from an excellent journal I like to visit for many other reasons, Smartish Pace. I just got my new print annual from SP, and discovered their new media section, with videos of readings by poets Gregory Orr, Michael Chitwood, Lisa Russ Spaar, as well as an AWP Chicago video and more. SP is a great magazine – visit the…
The Painted Ladies have hustled through the Bay Area and are reportedly in farther Northern California now. I don’t know if I could have stood it for another day, so many dustings of delicate purpose rolling by without cease (except at night). The butterflies left are black and tiny white, and far fewer. It felt as if I was holding my breath for a week. National Poetry Month rolls on, however, and along with it…