SOL 18: A Six Word Story

Deadline looms.

Stress blooms.

Slicing: doomed.

We’ve all been there, so you understand that priorities have to be made. This is my story for now. I’ll keep you posted.

Thanks to Fran for reminding me of Six-Word stories!

Thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

SOL 18: Poetry Is…Revisited

Last week, Slicer Christie Wyman of Wondering and Wandering realized she was writing about a topic she’d written about last year. (Another nor’easter; my New England friends don’t even want to think about the new one brewing for next week!) Christie wondered, “do you have a slice from last year’s SOLC you could revisit because some things never change? Or maybe because they have!”

I had already been considering revisiting an exercise from Karen Benke’s Rip the Page: Adventures in Creative Writing. (Read another post inspired by this book here.) Here’s the explanation of  “Juxtaposition” (found on page 56) from last year’s post:

This exercise begins by folding a piece of paper in half lengthwise, then choosing ten words from one of the many word lists in the book. Next, add a descriptive word in front of each of the chosen words. Turn the paper over and follow the directions for what to write next. When you unfold the paper, write “Poetry Is” at the top. Try various combinations from the assortment of words and phrases you wrote until you find a “juxtaposition…two unlike things (side by side) to wake up your ears and make your mouth smile.”

In response to last year’s post I wrote, Some of these pairings aren’t really a surprise, but I liked the images they conjured.

I did not reread the last year’s poem before starting this year, but some images appeared again anyway. I guess those words and ideas are deeply ingrained in me. Last year’s poem is structured differently from this year’s poem, and I think I like it a little better, but this year’s poem created some images that deserve a poem of their own.

Poetry hides…

In gentle rains of summers past
In rippling, whispering waves
In the soft peaks of a lemon meringue pie

Poetry lurks…

under the slow drift of pale sunshine
inside the molten silver of Wednesdays
behind the secret of cerulean blue

Poetry lives…

inside a cosmic whirl of serenity
in the full moon of my imagination
within the quickening spark of my heart.

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

This activity is exactly what Benke’s subtitle promises: an adventure in creative writing. Students love it for many reasons. Some of the combinations turn out to be very funny. It also provides a structure that reluctant writers find comforting and supportive. Confident writers will appreciate the flexibility they have to play with the format of their poem. The possibilities are endless!

Photo by Jeff Golenski via Unsplash

Thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

SOL: On Meeting Ursula Nordstrom

I took a circuitous route to the classroom. Although I always knew I wanted to be a teacher and writer, I considered other career options along the way, including interior decorator. However, when I graduated with my A.S. in 1980, jobs in this field were few and far between. Desperate for a job, I started working as a receptionist in a doctor’s office. In my mind, this was a temporary situation. I would find my dream job soon.

As the saying goes, everything is temporary. My stint at the doctor’s office only lasted fourteen years. But it turned out to be a good training ground for teaching. Dealing with parents is nothing compared to patients! I also met some pretty interesting people over the years, including William Styron. But one encounter I will never forget was with Ursula Nordstrom.

Ursula Nordstrom was, in the words of Maria Papova, “a fearless custodian of the child’s world and imaginative experience.”  An editor at Harper & Row (now HarperCollins) for many years, she edited classics such as Stuart Little, Charlotte’s Web, and Where the Wild Things Are. When Ms. Nordstrom came into our office, I was writing terrible picture book manuscripts on a weekly basis, and for me, it was as if the patron saint of all I aspired to had just walked in the door.

Of course, there are rules of professionalism that have to be followed, so I greeted her calmly and asked her to have a seat. She chose a seat quite close to the window, which was a little unnerving. We were very busy that day: the phone wouldn’t stop ringing, charts had to be typed, (Yes, typed, as on a typewriter. This was in the mid-80s.) and other patients needed attention.

During one lull in the action, she looked over at me and said, “You handle everything very well.” (Or something like that.)

In that brief moment I wanted to say, “I write picture books, too!” But of course I didn’t. I thanked her, and then answered the phone again.

Ms. Nordstrom didn’t return to our office, and passed away soon after this brief encounter. If you’re not familiar with her work, Leonard Marcus gave the world of children’s literature a gift when he published Dear Genius: The Letters of Ursula Nordstrom (HarperCollins, 2000). Included in the book is correspondence between Nordstrom and E.B. White, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Margaret Wise Brown, among many, many others. I read Dear Genius when it was first published and was inspired by Nordstrom’s wit, intelligence, and compassion. Do yourself a favor and read this book. Spend time with “a deeply lovable spirit” who helped create the world of children’s literature as we know it today.

Thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

SOL 18: Another Slice of Poetry

                                   

I spent much of the evening working on a writing project that I hope to tell you about one day. After playing with one four-line stanza for the better part of an hour, it was time to step away. My brain was too muddled to make any more progress on this day. Then I realized I hadn’t written anything for Poetry Friday! I searched my recent jottings and found the bare bones of this poem hiding in my notebook. Since this is what I’d been doing all evening, it seemed appropriate to polish it up a bit and share it today.

Find a word
      write it down
play with its meaning
      listen to its sound.

Pick another
        do the same
string them together
         make it a game.

Soon you will have
         a new work of art
a story or poem
         straight from your heart.

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

Photo by Jon Tyson via Unsplash

Please be sure to visit Michelle Heidenrich Barnes at Today’s Little Ditty for the Poetry Friday Roundup. Also, a big thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

SOL 18: My Mother, My Mountain

My mother
is a shadowy mountain.
I scale her thick, furry limbs.
I ride along on the broad, flat ridge
of her back as we roam our rain forest home.
I snuggle into the cave of her arms,
safe, when we nest each night.
The mountain sustains me.
My mother.

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

Carving in charcoal, made in Uganda

This poem was inspired by the photo of a carved mountain gorilla mother and child shared by my partner-in-poetry and Slicing, Christie Wyman, for Laura Shovan’s Ekphrastic Poetry Project. For me, the facial expressions of these critically endangered animals brought this carving to life. It appealed to me immediately, and I had a general idea of what I wanted to write. What I needed was a form that suited my ideas.

             

There are many well known poetic forms that I could have tried, but I wanted something that would ring true to the African roots of this carving. I didn’t find anything suitable in a search through my poetry reference books, so I turned to Google. There I found an form called the “Eintou.”  Described as an “African American septet syllabic/word count form consisting of 2 words/syllables in the first line, 4 in the second, 6 the third, 8 the fourth, 6 the fifth, 4 the sixth, and 2 the seventh.” In addition, “Eintou” is from a West African dialect and means “pearl, as in pearls of wisdom.” The structure also reflects the African and African American philosophy that “life is a cycle. Everything returns to that from which it originates.”

An Eintou felt exactly right for this poem. Now my only problem was matching the word count. I drafted several versions that stuck to the structure explained online, but it just wasn’t working. In keeping with my efforts to develop my Habits of Mind,  I decided that by “creating, imagining, and innovating,” I could modify the structure and add a 10 word line in the middle and work back to two words from there. (This form has the added, unintentional bonus of being shaped like a mountain!) I think I maintained the spirit of the form. Also, I definitely stayed true to the purpose of Laura’s project, which “is to practice the habit of writing regularly,” the same purpose of the Slice of Life Challenge.

Thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

A Slice of Poetry

                                              

Have you ever had the experience of passing an object on a daily basis and not really seeing it? We get so wrapped up in our busyness that we fail to notice the beauty present all around us. This is certainly true of this silk embroidery. It was given to my husband’s grandfather, an Army major, when he served in Southeast Asia during World War II. (I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know exactly where or by whom.) When our son, the first son of a first son, was born, Rodney’s grandparents gave it to us. It’s been hanging in our upstairs hallway ever since, but I never really stop to LOOK at it.

When Laura Shovan announced that her February Poetry Project would be ekphrastic poetry inspired by art in participant’s homes, I knew I wanted to share this embroidery. These playful birds and delicate petals deserve a poem. (Or a dozen or more!)

                                 

Playful swallows swoop
among dancing white blossoms
chittering, chirping
iridescent acrobats
tumbling on a spring breeze

© Catherine Flynn

Don’t forget to visit Renée LaTulippe at No Water River for the Poetry Friday Roundup. Also, thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

 

 

 

March SLO: The Breathings of My Heart

My father and grandfather built the house I grew up in when I was two years old. The house wasn’t completely finished when we moved in, and the closet in my bedroom remained unpainted for several years. That vast, empty expanse of sheetrock became my own personal graffiti wall. I can barely remember what I drew on those walls. If I wrote anything, it was the scribbles and loops of an emergent writer. Of course this drove my mother crazy, but I wouldn’t stop. I had a story to tell!

Humans have always been compelled to tell their story. Recently discovered cave paintings in Spain were made by Neaderthals, our close ancestor, at least 65,000 years ago! In his novel Waterland, Graham Swift writes, “Man—let me offer you a definition—is a storytelling animal. Wherever he goes he wants to leave behind not a chaotic wake, not an empty space, but the comforting marker buoys and trail signs of stories.” Those handprints deep inside caves around the world are the ancient equivalent of “Kilroy was here.”

Hand stencils in Maltravieso Cave in Spain made at least 66,000 years ago. (H. Dollado)

I stopped scribbling on my closet wall once my father painted it, but I’ve always filled notebooks with what Wadsworth calls “the breathings of my heart.” I love the joy I feel when I uncover a forgotten memory or make some other discovery about myself when I write. I love the clarity writing brings to my thinking about relationships, work, and the world around me. For the next month, I’ll be joining hundreds of writers and teachers around the world delve into the mysteries that writing uncovers as well tell our stories, one slice at a time. I hope you’ll join us.

Thank you to Stacey, Betsy, Beth, Kathleen, Deb, Melanie, and Lanny for creating this community and providing this space for teachers and others to share their stories every day in March and each Tuesday throughout the year. Be sure to visit Two Writing Teachers to read more Slice of Life posts.

Poetry Friday: An Epitaph for Medusa

Every month I look forward the Ditty Challenge that Michelle Heidenrich Barnes shares on her blog. In February, to celebrate their new book, Last Laughs: Prehistoric Epitaphs (Charlesbridge, 2017), J. Patrick Lewis and Jane Yolen challenged Michelle’s readers  to write an epitaph poem. All month I’ve been at a loss for a topic. Then, yesterday, inspiration arrived in the mail:

“An Epitaph for Medusa”

With slithering, serpentine hair
and a cold, penetrating stare,
you turned men into statues of stone,
so most mortals left you alone.

But while you slumbered in bed,
Perseus chopped of your head.
Now, instead of resting in Elysian’s field,
you’re entombed on Athena’s bronze shield.

 © Catherine Flynn, 2018

Please be sure to visit Elizabeth Steinglass for the Poetry Friday Roundup, and then stop by Michelle’s blog to read more epitaphs.

Poetry Friday: The Maiden and the Dove

Like many Poetry Friday friends, I’m participating in Laura Shovan‘s 6th Annual February Daily Poem Project. This year’s theme is ekphrasis. Each day, a group member posts a photo of a work of art in his or her home. The variety of works shared during the past week alone has been astounding. I haven’t been able to keep up and write a poem every day, but I’m trying. This daily writing is stretching my poetry muscles in different ways and has yielded many surprises. Almost accidentally, I’ve also been playing with new and different forms. Last week, I shared an abecedarian. This week, Heather Meloche shared a block print created by her grandmother, Thelma Wilson Brain.


Troubadours and courtly love immediately came to mind, so I decide to tried my had at a lai. In The Essential Poet’s Glossary, Edward Hirsch writes that “in Old French Poetry, a lai is a short lyrical or narrative poem…usually written in octosyllabic verse.” Sticking to a strict syllable count and rhyme scheme was quite a challenge. I tried not to sacrifice sense while maintaining both, but don’t think I completely succeeded. In any case, this draft was fun to write, and brought back many fond memories of a favorite English professor who specialized in the lais of Marie de France.

The Maiden and the Dove

When troubadours in days of old
Sang songs of maids with hair of gold,
Sweet lady Jane traversed a wood
To where the sacred hazel stood.
Beneath its boughs she met a dove
Who trilled the promise of true love.
“Gather rosebuds of red and white.
Present them to a gallant knight.
For you he will forego all strife,
Preferring an idyllic life.”     

No damsel in distress was she,
Jane soon was down upon one knee.
“Dear dove, thank you for these wise words
But taking such advice from birds
Seems like a foolish plan to make
And sure would bring me much heartache.
Don’t fill my head with fluff and froth.
I’ll only ever pledge my troth
To one who’s loyal and steadfast,
Whose bravery is unsurpassed.
On such a man I will bestow
My tender love, then all will know.”

To her word, gracious Jane was true,
Tales of her love and kindness grew,
Throughout the land her story was told,
By troubadours in days of old.

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

Please be sure to visit Sally Murphy’s blog for the Poetry Friday Roundup.

Poetry Friday: An Abecedarian

The first few lines of this poem, inspired by the first prompt of Laura Shovan’s 6th Annual February Daily Poem Project, came to me in alphabetical order. I’ve been working on an abecedarian for my WIP, so I decided to go with my instinct and get some practice with the form.

According to the Academy of American Poets, an abecedarian is 

an ancient poetic form guided by alphabetical order. Generally each line or stanza begins with the first letter of the alphabet and is followed by the successive letter, until the final letter is reached.

Unfinished self-portrait by Jay Shovan

To me, the pain in this painting is palpable, but Jay’s eyes are strong and steady. It felt necessary to acknowledge a possible source of what look like bruises (Real? Metaphorical? Does it matter?), yet see into the fulfilling future those piercing eyes are looking toward.

A
Bully’s words,
Calculated for maximum
Damage,
Echo through my brain
Forever,
Grow softer, but never fully
Heal.
I want to scream, “Who are you to
Judge me?  Because I
Know
Lurking behind your
Malicious mask is a
Neglected soul.
On my neck, this
Patchwork
Quilt of colors will fade,
Recede from sight and I will
Stitch my soul back
Together
Until
Vibrant
White sails unfurl. I’ll become a
Xebec,* sail to far away shores, leaving
Your taunts behind, reaching my
Zenith despite you.

* “a small, three-masted ship with overhanging bow and stern, once common in the Mediterranean.” (Webster’s New World Dictionary)

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

Don’t forget to visit Donna Smith at Mainely Write for the Poetry Friday Roundup. Also, please stop by my friend and critique group partner Linda Mitchell’s blog, A Word Edgewise. Linda invited me to answer a few questions about poetry and writing. It was revealing process to reflect on Linda’s questions, and I thank her for the opportunity. As usually happens, when I read my responses, I realized I neglected to mention all my poetry mentors, especially Laura Purdie Salas and Mary Lee Hahn. Forgive my addled brain!