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Archive for May, 2020

stubborn praise

An evening celebrating new books of poems by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, James Crews and Danusha Laméris

Friday, May 29, 5 pm (EDT), 6 p.m (MDT), 7 p.m. (CDT), 8 p.m (EDT)

Invite yourself to an evening of poetry that wholly meets the moment, its losses and fears, and helps us also to see small kindnesses, stubborn blessings, and renegade beauty. After the readings will be conversation harvested from questions and comments in Zoom chat.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Hush, Middle Creek Publishing (available for pre-order)

James Crews, Bluebird, Green Writer’s Press

Danusha Laméris, Bonfire Opera, University of Pittsburgh Press

*

Register in advance for this webinar:

https://us02web.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_BfRfnWWkQqe417F_QPQPiw

After registering, you will receive a confirmation email about joining the webinar.

*

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer lives in Placerville, Colorado, on the banks of the San Miguel River. She served as San Miguel County’s first poet laureate and as Western Slope Poet Laureate. She teaches poetry for addiction recovery programs, hospice, mindfulness retreats, scientists, women’s retreats, teachers and private students. She believes in the power of practice and has been writing a poem a day since 2006. She has 12 collections of poetry, and her work has appeared in O Magazine and on A Prairie Home Companion. Her most recent collection, Hush, won the Halcyon Prize, and Naked for Tea, was a finalist for the Able Music Book Award. She is the co-host of Emerging Form, a podcast on creative process, and co-founder of Secret Agents of Change, a group devoted to surreptitious acts of kindness. One-word mantra: Adjust

James Crews’ work has appeared in Ploughshares, Raleigh Review, Crab Orchard Review and The New Republic, as well as on Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry newspaper column. He holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and a PhD in Writing & Literature from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. The author of three collections of poetry, The Book of What Stays (Prairie Schooner Prize and Foreword Book of the Year Citation, 2011), Telling My Father (Cowles Prize, 2017), and Bluebird, Crews is also editor of Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection. He leads Mindfulness & Writing workshops and retreats throughout the country and works as a writing coach with groups and individuals. He lives with his husband, Brad Peacock, in Shaftsbury, Vermont.

Danusha Lamérisis the author of The Moons of August (Autumn House, 2014), which was chosen by Naomi Shihab Nye as the winner of the Autumn House Press poetry prize and was a finalist for the Milt Kessler Book Award. Some of her poems have been published in: The Best American Poetry, The New York Times, The American Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, The SUN Magazine, Tin HouseThe Gettysburg Review, and Ploughshares. Her second book is Bonfire Opera, (University of Pittsburgh Press), and she is the 2020 recipient of the Lucille Clifton Legacy Award. She teaches poetry independently, and is the current Poet Laureate of Santa Cruz County, California.

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 inspired by a conversation with Craig Childs

Let it come, says the voice,

a voice not quite mine,

and somehow more my voice

than any other.

Let it come.

 

And by let, it means,

Open your hands,

 

And by it, it means

Anything.

 

And by come, it means,

You be still. Enough running,

enough fighting, enough

pushing away.

Meet the world that’s here.

 

I close my eyes,

and an invisible cage lifts.

Let it come, says the voice,

and I move my lips with it

until the prayer

is my own.

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Beat. Blending. Bolero. Breakaway.

Before bed, my daughter and I

do a word search. The theme:

“Social Dancing.” At the same time

we notice how closely related

Dancing is to Distancing.

 

The hidden words all snuggle

in their thirteen by thirteen square.

Brush. Cha-cha. Foxtrot. Polka.

They cross each other, touch each other,

overlap, congregate, connect.

Rumba. Samba. Slow Dance. Spin.

 

How I miss doing what these letters

are doing—getting lost in a crowd,

then emerging less as a self and

more as a spiral turn, upside down

and backwards, or heck,

showing up as a straightforward sway.

 

Oh I miss that glorious not knowing

where I begin and end, surrounded

by others as we swing, swivel, tango, waltz.

 

 

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All day the world improvises

a song for me—song of bickering robins

and whispering grass, bright chime

of a text and gravel trucks that grumble

on the highway as they pass.

 

The song I would sing for you, let it be

as spontaneous as the chattering

of the cat watching hummingbirds,

as sharp as the flap of the flag in the wind.

Let me not sing the same song I’ve sung before.

 

This is the time to sing it new, to sing

the song we didn’t know we were brave enough

to sing. This is the time to sing

the most honest song, thorn song,

green song, yelp of relentless shine.

 

This is the time to sing as if our lives

depend on it, sing the song

that comes out of attending.

Song of pushing through dirt.

Song we don’t know yet.

 

 

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Today I talk to the broccoli sprouts.

I kneel down beside their bed.

You can do it, I tell them.

I don’t mention that every summer

there is a hail storm that will

puncture and tear their leaves,

that bits of their green will litter the soil.

 

Though the sprouts are less

than half an inch tall,

the leaves already look tough—

like thick four leaf clover.

The hail, though, will be tougher.

 

Perhaps I don’t want

to tell myself how tough things will get.

Would rather encourage. Would rather play.

Would rather revel in the day’s sun.

But today, there’s no lying to the self—

the inner hail has already come;

my leaves hang in tatters.

All around me, flower petals

are fallen, scattered.

Out of season, widespread wreckage.

 

There is an inner knowing, though—

one that needs no one else

to encourage it. It knows to grow,

to grow despite the damage, to grow,

because damage. To grow. It knows

to grow, because that is what we are here to do,

our new leaves coming in to support the old,

to support the whole, every bit as vulnerable,

and green, so green.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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download

 

Sometimes we feel as if someone else really gets us–that’s how I felt listening to this interview I did with Laura Joyce Davis on her podcast Shelter in Place. I’m episode 50–that means she’s made 50 podcasts since the Shelter in Place order began mid-March 2020 exploring what it means to find sanity in a world that feels increasingly insane. With her usual aplomb and sensitivity, she interviews me about daily practice, about how the pandemic changes things, about how a poem saved my life, and about why I love meeting people who think they don’t like poems.

To listen, subscribe to Shelter In Place wherever you usually listen to podcasts or listen on your computer or phone right here.

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A big green meadow

opened in my heart

filled with dark purple larkspur

and fragrant sage—

and I stepped into it,

wondering how I had ever

stepped out of it—

come, meet me here,

here in the temple

of pulse and blue sky,

where everything

seems possible,

even love forever,

even love right now.

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Ballistic

 

Oh my dear Rosemerry, let’s remember how water is always moving & shining.

            —Sandra Dorr, private correspondence

 

 

And so though I am stone,

stuck and dull,

can’t move or shine,

I think of how a rock will skip

when it is round and flat,

how stone turns skiff

when thrown with spin

and speed and slant—

one flick of a wrist and I

can bounce, can hop,

can dap and for a brief time,

shine.

Oh life, pick me up,

give me a toss,

low and quick.

I’ll sink, but first

I’ll fly.

 

 

*readers–this poem has a little secret. can you tell what it is??

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Tonight I Want to Hold You

the way the hand holds the mug,

the way the mug holds the tea,

the way the tea holds the leaves,

the way the leaves hold the sun,

the way the sun holds everything

the way everything eventually

lets go.

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All Day, Everywhere I Go

 

 

 

in my stomach

only two butterflies

but oh how they flutter

not finding

anywhere to land

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