Beyond My Control

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=4927101421782&set=p.4927101421782&type=1&theater

 

I saw this quote on my Facebook wall while killing time this morning in between bouts of poetry-writing. I don’t agree with this one-hundred percent, because I think there is the tangible and the intangible to life. There are forces beyond our control that sometimes coerce our realities into being, and there simply is nothing we can do about that. It’s like the writing process. If I focus on what I can control and only focus on that–the work ethic, the reading, the self-discipline to get off Facebook and write, the physical exertion I need in order to sit still and work–my writing will improve and perhaps significantly, which is why I am enrolled in am MFA program. I want to focus on and work on the gifts of writing that are in my hands to improve. This doesn’t, however, negate the reality that there are gifts out there which no amount of drive, focus, ambition, and hard work will bring to me. There is a certain fickle quality to everyone’s Muse.

 

I believe in writing and in life, we spend too much time sometimes gargling the happenings of life which we have no control over to the neglect of those aspects of life which we do have control over. Posting this quote and finding some solace in its fact doesn’t mean I believe there is no whimsy to life, no unexpected course, no tragedy that comes out-of-the-blue. It’s just it seems pointless to me to spend too much time fretting about the fairy dust of life. I still believe in it, though.

Documentary Poetry

http://www.bostonreview.net/blog/smith-drone-poetics

This poet is on faculty at Ashland University and I plan to request her as my mentor for spring semester. She lectured during summer residency on documentary poetry and the above link presents an article she published on that topic. What is the responsibility of poetry to tackle social problems/issues? What is the best format for literature to grapple with accurate history? I see documentary poetry as a means of engaging an audience that stretches beyond those who read poetry as art for art’s sake. Documentary Poetry is also a way to transport the poet from the exclusively confessional as far as subject matter.

Beautiful Let-down

Home. There is no place like it. Kansas. I feel I have the right to paraphrase Dorothy because Kansas is home to me. There is nothing like landing at the Kansas City Airport and viewing that wide expanse of sky with nothing to serve as a geographical interruption to the horizon….and I mean that, not in a sarcastic way. Whatever others feel when they arrive “home” to their Philly Cheesesteaks or Great Lakes or miles of ocean-views, or Chinese food or Indie-music, or Rocky Mountains or favorite bistro where he proposed to her, or In-and-Out Burgers, we Kansans feel that exact same feeling when we open our eyes and see the open prairie. Ah. I am home. My heart can relax and breathe again. I can see forever again. I can let down. I am home.

I am still processing all that I learned from my two weeks at Ashland University. Poetry work-shopping has much in common with heavy weight-lifting. The body gets broken down. Toward the end of the experience, I am sure I was not alone in feeling like a complete poetry imposter with no business spending money on attaining an MFA when I felt like I didn’t even want to write my name anymore, much less write a poem, much less talk about a poem, read a poem, comment on someone else’s poem. Growth and building chops in anything always presents itself as the monster we would much rather avoid. I like to refer to poetry workshops as the root canal I just signed up for.

The last day of workshop, I sat in my oversized chair that was causing my spine to crook, feeling like the weakest link. I don’t like that feeling. I hadn’t completed the one assignment of the week in an acceptable manner. I had not followed the directions of the assignment but had gone off, as I am apt to do, on a tangent of my own. Part of the struggle involves my attempt to write from a foreign image bank. I want to write my thesis project about the Native American tribes in southern Oklahoma. I am so immersed in thought about this project that my poetry right now sounds like poorly planned prose. Clarity is impossible. I have no idea what I want to say. It is too early. I don’t even know what I want to know about all of this yet. It is somewhat like attempting to write in a foreign language before learning the language. I know that, being part Native American myself and having grown up in this area of Oklahoma, that I know much more than I realize I know at this point, but writing to know (I think Frost says this is why we write) doesn’t work as well for me as writing from what I know.  I lack a voice.

After the last workshop I kidnapped myself for the remaining hours I had at Ashland and re-worked the assignment which was to copy as closely as we could the form of a Beckian Goldberg poem. I forced myself to leave Oklahoma and to write about something I do know much about–Walt Whitman. I emailed it to Angie Estes, poetry mentor at the workshop, and left Ashland feeling at least as though I had given it my best try.

I felt so pleased today to receive an email back from Angie Estes, who started her comments with the word “WOW.” First of all, it is amazing to me that a poet of this stature took the time to email me after the class ended on a poem which is clearly a late assignment on my part. All the poets I worked with at Ashland have shown me that kind of attention for the entire two-week residency. And not just to me. To all the graduate students.

I am home, still enjoying that beautiful let-down, not writing much, not thinking much. Cleaning and cooking and hugging my family a lot. My books are ordered for fall semester. Today’s email from Angie was a real boost of encouragement. Maybe I do belong in this program after all. One thing is certain. I am having the time of my life.

Joy Harjo

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179782

 

I love this poem by Joy Harjo. Hopefully, tomorrow I will link some photos of Ashland University’s beautiful campus. I am in intense writer/reader mode! So much to learn…so many ideas…this is an inspiring place.