Creative endeavors are returning to me. It feels good and right. I recently read the poems in The New Yorker of August 28, 2023. The poem What’s Poetry Like? by Bianca Stone was popping out to me as a perfect erasure poem. I enjoy whittling down to essential words. I found another poem here with a slightly different meaning than hers. I hope she is the type of poet who knows the highest form of flattery is imitation.
Poetry
Poets play love essential moment, shared written
resuscitate wildlife disappearing ourselves
Poetry finds deficient words, immortal hunt
you’re trying to get back bittersweet tongue, all the emoting, all the surrender
reckless insight, hidden wisdom slips into truth
the form itself words that sing yet-
unspoken things wafting waiting to be opened.
Margaret Simon, erasure poem from What’s Poetry Like? by Bianca Stone The New Yorker, August 28, 2023
The Poetry Friday round-up today is with Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm.
Today is the first day of September and it comes with a full Blue Moon and slightly cooler temperatures pointing the way to fall. Ah, me! I breathe in deeply and sigh.
August has been a dark month for me, and I am just beginning to emerge from the cocoon of illness. When I asked the Inklings to study and use the tool of enjambment in a poem, I had no idea how my whole life would be enjambed. My hysterectomy in June had the worst possible complication, an opened and infected incision. I had a second surgery on Friday, August 18th. I was in the hospital for 5 days and in bed at home for 10 days following. As I begin to feel better and the cloud is lifting, I am cautiously optimistic that I am healing.
For the enjambment challenge, I offered my friends a model poem from former Louisiana poet laureate Jack Bedell.
Ghost Forest —Manchac, after Frank Relle’s photograph, “Alhambra”
1.
Backlit by city and refinery’s glow these cypress bones shimmer
on the still lake’s surface. It’s easy to see a storm’s
coming with the sky rolling gray overhead and the water
glass-calm. Even easier to know these trees have weathered
some rough winds, their branches here and there, pointing this
One early morning this week, I sat outside (at the urging of a close friend) and watched the bayou. This small draft of a poem came to me. I offer it here because it’s the only thing I have and doing this makes me feel normal again. Thanks to all of you who have expressed concern and sent cards and messages.
Is it the play of light on the surface or air bubbles moving over glass-calm
water I watch still, quiet bayou breathe, like me, slow and deliberate taking in life- giving oxygen.
We are trying to survive, bayou and I, trying to make this day meaningful all the while knowing breath is all that matters.
Margaret Simon, draft
Bayou Teche Sunset, by Margaret Simon
To see how other Inklings used enjambment, check out their posts.
I’m not sure where I first heard of The Sealey Challenge, but I found this information when I Googled it. The Sealey Challenge is a public challenge to read one poetry book each day in August. I decided to give it a shot this year. I received some good advice a while ago that if you want to write poetry you should read poetry. That sounds obvious, but taking on a challenge that pushes me to do what I should do is helpful. My current list is as follows:
Mary Oliver: A Thousand Mornings (I’ve read this one before and it’s a comfort read.) Pádraig Ó Tuama: Poetry Unbound (Reading a chapter a night) Jim Kacian: Long After (This is a visual haiku masterpiece!) Spirits of the Gods by John Warner Smith, Illustrated by Dennis Paul Williams Call Us What We Carry by Amanda Gorman (I borrowed a line and wrote an anniversary poem here) Tap Dancing on the Roof (Sijo Poems) by Linda Sue Park
Wish For someone to read a poem again, and again, and then,
having lifted it from the page to brain–the easy part–
cradle it on the longer trek from brain all the way to heart.
Linda Sue Park, from Tap Dancing on the Roof
What is Goodbye? by Nikki Grimes, Illustrated by Raul Colon (Novel-in-verse told by two siblings whose older brother died) The Watcher by Nikki Grimes, Illustrated by Bryan Collier (A book of brilliantly written golden shovel poems using the lines of Psalm 121 while telling the story of two students who learn to overcome their rivalry.)
I made a trip to our public library and found few live poets there. The children’s section was better. I have an idea to set up a meeting with the head librarian to state a case for live poets. They should at least have the books from our state poets laureate as well as the national ones. I have a mission to change that!
I recently visited the newly renovated Roy House on the campus of ULL. The Center for Louisiana Studies has done a beautiful job of this old house, but the best part is the book store. The grand opening is next week on August 16th. I got a preview when I met with the editor and publisher to discuss an upcoming book. (Stay tuned for that news.) I bought John Warner Smith’s book of poetry written to Dennis Paul Williams’ artwork. John Warner Smith is the new director at The Shadows on the Teche in New Iberia. He was poet laureate of Louisiana from 2019-2021.
Have you ever read a poem that just grabbed you in the gut? That you had to read again and again, not to understand, but to absorb it into your soul (like Linda Sue explains in her poem Wish above)? This poem Survivor by John Warner Smith did that for me.
Reading poetry is watering the fertile valleys inspiring me to be the best poet I can be, not just for me, but for an audience who needs poetry to live a richer and more compassionate life.
Mary Lee has the round-up and we Inklings are posting Catherine’s challenge.
Robin Wall Kimmerer teaches us that “It’s a sign of respect and connection to learn the name of someone else, a sign of disrespect to ignore it…Learning the names of plants and animals is a powerful act of support for them. When we learn their names and their gifts, it opens the door to reciprocity.” Look closely at the flowers, birds, trees, or other natural features in your neighborhood (or if you’re traveling, a new-to-you species) and write a poem about your chosen species. Free choice of format.
Catherine’s challenge for August
I wrote a poem in July. One of those poems that comes out while walking. As I’m sure you’ve heard, Louisiana is experiencing our hottest summer in history. Who knew this was going to happen? Duh, everybody. I just hope the meteorologist who said the extreme heat is keeping the hurricanes away is right, but it’s probably not. The Gulf will heat up and get angry soon enough.
For now I am listening to endless cicadas during the day and tree frogs through the night. And because we haven’t had rain, I’m watering, watering, watering. The good news is sunflowers are blooming in my butterfly garden.
When in July
When in July, the cicadas buzz all day, when tree frogs near the bayou peep through the night, when crepe myrtles brighten sky with pink and pink and pink, when I walk alone and visit the old oak tree leaning toward the ground inviting me to join her in homage to this unceasing humid heat that calls like the cicadas to our spirits to play like children play running through sprinklers, spreading arms wide like dragonfly wings, then July leaves us with sunflower-smiles.
August is for the Sealy Challenge: reading a poetry book each day. Mary Lee shared her list for the first few days. Here’s mine: Day 1: Mary Oliver: A Thousand Mornings (I’ve read this one before and it’s a comfort read.) Day 2: Pádraig Ó Tuama: Poetry Unbound (Reading a chapter a night) Day 3: Jim Kacian: Long After (This is a visual haiku masterpiece!)
The round up today is with my friend and fellow poet, Jan at Bookseed Studio.
I am a firm believer that reading poetry begets more poetry. See Billy Collins’ poem The Trouble with Poetry. He understands the problem. Last night I was reading Pádraig Ó Tuama’s book of essays about poetry, Poetry Unbound. I had in the back of my mind the Poetry Sisters’ challenge for this month, a monotetra form about transformation. Mary Lee, a fellow Inkling, presented us with this challenge. Today she shares a monotetra about the pools in her life.
Yesterday I was surprised by 10 monarch caterpillars on some volunteer milkweed near my AC unit. They’ve nearly eaten it all!
At first when I read the essay about the poem Worm by Gail McConnell, I was not inclined to enjoy it. I mean, an earthworm as the topic of a poem? But of course as he does every time, Padraig pulled me in and helped me see it for more than its surface appearance. I found myself swimming in his words and then writing a monotetra right there in my bed into my Notes app. This is only the second draft, but I’m putting it out there for you all to dig into (pun intended).
This poem’s worthless worm making air holes with its muscle shaking burying this compost wasting ground is quaking. Ground is quaking.
I dig in with sharp fingernails. Worm remembers for whom it hails. Give me breath to survive this frail time to heal. Time to heal.
Poetry Friday Round up is Here! Scroll down to add your link.
One of the pleasures of summer is fruit in abundance. My fridge is full of strawberries, blueberries, apples, watermelon, and more. Fruit is how I satisfy my sweet tooth.
I had surgery three weeks ago. My friend and fellow Inkling Molly Hogan sent me some strawberry jam with strawberries she picked herself on a farm in Maine. I have been so touched by how wide my circle of friends reaches.
Looking at this poem again, I want to adjust that last line. Maybe delete it altogether. My thought was to have color in my face, but it could be associated with blood (yuck!). My grandson Leo loves to talk about bleeding. He wanted to see my belly button scar. Maybe he will grow up to be a surgeon.
But I digress. Friends, please put your links in the Inlinz below. Thanks.
For years I tried sudoku and failed over and over. I left a whole puzzle book halfway completed. As the puzzles advanced in difficulty, I gave up. I find comfort in words. I find confusion in numbers. It’s just how my brain works. So when Heidi challenged the Inklings to write a Sudoku poem, I put it off. Heidi was inspired by Mary Lee who was inspired by a Rattle poem.
My inspiration came from these things in my life:
My daughter in New Orleans wants to grow things. She planted wildflowers and she was so proud of how they bloomed, but now the heat is killing them.
Molly Hogan, an Inkling and friend, sent me some strawberry jam. She posted about strawberry picking on her Slice of Life post this week.
My husband and I went dancing. We love dancing. I wore a flowing colorful dress.
How do you fit all of those experiences of delight into one grid? I tried. Here is my experiment. I think it’s important to remember this is a puzzle, so some of the lines will puzzle the reader. I think that’s okay. Let me know if you try out this form.
Poetry Friday is being hosted by Linda Mitchell. She is offering a clunker line exchange. Such a fun idea for poets.
Last weekend, two of my daughters and I went to an adorable antique shop in Ridgeland, MS called Antique Aly. We wondered aloud if Aly was the owner’s name and sure enough, when we walked in, we met a cute little southern girl named Aly. Aly helped me make a difficult decision. The first thing I spotted was a Eudora Welty book that was bound in leather and signed. It was locked in a glass cabinet, so I asked her about it. She opened the cabinet while I told her how I met Eudora Welty when I was in high school. I attended a reading and spoke to her afterwards because I was doing a paper about her. I remember her kindness and willingness to talk to a shy teenage admirer.
Aly wasn’t all that impressed, but she was willing to text the seller to see if he would come down on the price of the book. I paid the high price anyway because it was a hard day, and I wanted it. Of course being a woman of my generation, I immediately felt guilty about spending that much money on a single book.
This week I talked with a friend about it. She understood retail therapy. She said, “You deserve to do something good for yourself, something that has a special meaning to you. Go home and give the book a kiss.”
I used a clunker from Linda: “Catch a falling word, hold onto it.” And wrote this little poem:
I Bought a Signed Eudora Welty Book at an Antique Store
Catch a falling Word, hold onto it, Love it, Covet, Share some tea with it. Understand the word is not yours to own forever, so kiss it with lipstick on and set it free.
Margaret Simon, draft
I am still fundraising for the Alzheimer’s Association in honor of my mother’s 87th birthday. If this touches your heart, consider a donation. I’m making beaded bracelets for a donation of $50 or more. Here is a link to my donor’s page: http://act.alz.org/goto/honordotgibson
I recently read somewhere that students hate the word “prompt” as it is used for daily journaling. I don’t agree. A prompt for me can be the fuel I need to get a Poetry Friday post up.
I subscribe to Poets & Writers The Time is Now. I don’t respond every week. But this week the prompt reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years ago when I was considering a memoir in verse. It’s still sitting in my documents waiting, potential for something bigger, maybe. The prompt asked me to write a poem using a favorite song as a title and writing the memory that it brought forth.
In my senior year of high school, our house in Jackson, Mississippi was flooded 5 feet by the overflowing Pearl River. It was a time of great loss as well as many blessings and lessons about loss. The first album I bought after the flood was James Taylor’s Flag.
My memory of that time has aged along with me. My brother and I are 15 months apart. I recall feeling a growing closeness to him that I hadn’t felt before. We were in this tragedy together. Currently as we face the fading memory of our mother, we are again dealing with a tragedy together. And it may help the meaning of the poem for you to know that he is a musician who has been holding a real microphone for 40 years.
Up on the Roof
Across town in South Jackson because North Jackson was under water, James Taylor sang on the brand-new record player we bought with the Red Cross money.
Listening, I imagined stairs to a roof, romantic evening sky, holding hands with a boy I didn’t feel safe with, daring to kiss in the dark.
Instead, my brother pulled me back to dance in PJs across floor mattresses. With no one watching, he held a shoe for a microphone.
This first Friday of June, the Inklings are being challenged by Molly Hogan who wrote, “I’m always startled by the dazzle of color that arrives in spring after months and months of blues and whites and greys. This month I’m inviting you to write a color poem.” Little did I know that I would be having cataract surgeries on May 23rd and 30th, so the attention to color would be all the more brilliant. I can see such vivid yellows, greens, and reds I feel I have been looking through a clouded glass bottle for a long time.
I found inspiration in this poem by Eileen Spinelli :
I have a collection of red flowers all around my house, hibiscus, bougainvillea, lily, and desert rose. I shared my first draft with the Inklings. Linda suggested that I turn my red poem upside down. It worked. Sometimes others can see more clearly what the poem needs to be.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 