April 14, 2021: Spotlight on THE POETRY HOME REPAIR MANUAL; and Context for Poem “Pumas”

Iowa-born Nebraska-transplant Ted Kooser’s prose is as lucid as fresh, cold well water. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in Poetry (for Delights & Shadows, 2005) and Poet Laureate/Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress (2004-2006), his poetry is both deep and accessible, sophisticated and plain-spoken. He has worked as a publisher, the Vice President of Lincoln Benefit Life Insurance Company, and as a university professor. If you haven’t read a Kooser poem lately, this short one, “A Jar of Buttons,” is one of my favorites, and has permanently changed the way I think about small repairs, small gestures. Video clips, news, and more can be found on his personal website. Though he has recently passed the torch to poet Kwame Dawes, who continues the popular weekly poetry email series, “American Life in Poetry,” that Kooser established in 2005, now, in his vigorous early eighties, Kooser is still very much an active working poet.

This book, which focuses most closely not on generating new poems but how”…the craft of careful writing and meticulous revision…” in order to communicate with readers in the most effective way, is one I return to regularly. The twelve chapter titles begin with: “The Poet’s Job Description,” “Writing for Others,” “First Impressions,” and conclude with: “Fine Tuning Metaphors and Similes” and “Relax and Wait.”

As much as I enjoy (and benefit from) Kooser’s technical advice, I even more taken with his shared thoughts about his own life and reading, the background that informs his opinions. I am engaged whether he is assessing and refining classic advice (perhaps on discussing the willingness to risk “sentimentality” as poet Richard Hugo counsels in his seminal work, The Triggering Town–Kooser is of the mind that “sentimentality” can’t be defined but “gushiness” is easier to identify–or disclosing his earliest motivations for wanting to be taken for a poet without writing a poem. He writes of his very young self, longing to look like, if not actual be a cool chick magnet, “Being a poet was looking the part. I was an artificial poet, a phony, when, by rubbing shoulders with poetry, I gradually became interested in writing it.”)

All this volume has the subtitle “Practical Advice for Beginning Poets,” it is no secret that we are all beginners each time we embark on trying to create something new. For poets and writers, that means facing the blank page, messing it up, and then fixing up the mess without losing the excitement. Although I have published hundreds of poems and written hundreds more that might never be published, which might qualify me as an intermediate professional, I have never outgrown the need for the comfort of wise counselors at my elbow, and through this volume and his own poems, Kooser is one of them.

Regarding the Poem for April 14, 2021, “Pumas”:

Yes, you get the picture. “The Blur” we called her. Two minutes before, she was a puma. Two minutes before that, an entirely different puma, with a different name and backstory. Two minutes after, she was sleeping like a floating cloud.

Until tomorrow,

LESLIE

April 13, 2021: Happy Birthday, Karla Schultz! Spotlight on QUILTS OF AMERICA by Patsy and Myron Orlofsky and THE QUILTS OF GEE’S BEND; and Context for the Poem “A Quilt for Karla”

Karla and Leslie Schultz

First things first! Today is the birthday of Karla, my dear sister, and I am celebrating all day long. In a way, I have been celebrating all year long, and the theme for today’s post centers on the that. First, though, I wanted to share with all of you (and with Karla’s permission) the most recent of the incredible images she sent me as a card in the mail. (As you probably know from other posts, Karla is a gifted photographer and artist. Often, when I talk with her, I hear the birds she feeds on her sixth-floor balcony, and I am in awe of her ability to capture them so unobtrusively and clearly in her photographs.)

Cedar Waxwing (photo by Karla Schultz)

Regarding the Poem for April 13, 2021: “A Quilt for Karla”

Since I began participating in the National Poetry Month Challenge in 2016, I have a tradition of making the poem that comes each April 13–whatever other prompt may come into play–centered on the great luck of having Karla as my sister. Today’s poem is no exception: it is inspired by her presence in my life.

The poem is, I suppose, an exploration of how love helps us piece together the scraps of life–whether in a cloth quilt or in a poem–into patterns that, while part of tradition, are also unique expressions of the moment, the individual, and the particular. And pieced in with that is an awareness of the news here and elsewhere that troubles the mind and heart deeply, how we need to balance that awareness with hope, because that is what love says to us, that hope is not empty but at least as real as pain. And that change, making something new, starts with an intention that is added to, day by day, and is not perfect but is still something well meant and useful that was not there before.

As a corollary, and with Karla’s permission, I am sharing photos of my process over the past year’s in designing (with Karla’s input on pattern and color) a special quilt for her sixtieth birthday. She has told me that it arrived safely, and that it does fit her new bed, and that it is not too warm at the moment for Atlanta weather. Check! Check! Check! I am sorry that I cannot be with her to celebrate on this special day, but I am just thrilled that she woke up this morning, and could look down and see something made just for her and know how much she is cherished in this world.

All the cutting, piecing, and quilting was done by hand, but (for the first time) I used a machine (given to me by my friend, Corrine Heiberg, her beloved Elna) to sew some of the long straight seams joining the blocks so as to make it stronger and longer-lasting.

Library Spotlight:

Among the great gifts of my time in the M.F.A. program in poetry at McNeese State University in Lake Charles, Louisiana was honing my craft as a poet and taking my first hesitant stitches toward becoming a quilter. I had been enamored of quilting for several years when I arrived. No one in my family made quilts–though they sewed and knitted. I still wanted to learn, but, frankly, I had been going about it all wrong. Yes, timid bibliophile that I am, I had bought two books on the subject and read them, along with dozens of photograph-packed issues of Country Living Magazine. I suppose, I thought, that the skill might be absorbed through some from of ink-to-cloth osmosis? I wrote a poem (“The Book of Quilts”) inspired by an illustrated oral history that I have featured in another post, but I didn’t know how to take the first step toward making my own.

That didn’t happen. What did happen was that I mentioned my yearning to a classmate, Tom Ray. He said, “Oh, I can teach you how to quilt.” And he did, in one afternoon. That little kindly one-on-one lesson was all I needed to begin. I was off and running before the week was over, cutting out shapes for my first pieced project, a red and white “Drunkard’s Path.”

Also during my years at McNeese, when I worked at the Library’s circulation desk, I first learned of the compendium of Quilts in America by Patsy and Myron Orlofsky (Abbeville Publishers, 1974.) I checked this scholarly treasure trove out as many times as I could. A few years later, (when I had an income!) I learned it was out of print, but I located a used copy in great shape. (Trust me, this was a bit of a safari before access to the Internet.) I still refer to it, and am grateful for its existence.

Of the many books on quilting that I treasure, consult, and enjoy, this one is at the top of the list. The Quilts of Gee’s Bend (Tinwood Books, 2002) is the exhibition catalog for a dazzling collection of quilts that Karla took me to see almost twenty years ago at the High Museum of Art in Atlanta where she lives. If you don’t know about the Gee’s Bend, Alabama quilt artists, please take a few minutes to savor their artistry, history, resilience, and living tradition of women supporting each other, learning from each other, and delighting in inventing ways to bring beauty into the practical world of daily life.

On that visit with Karla, I was bowled over by what I saw, and no less so when my generous sister then made a gift to me of this magnificent volume.

Until tomorrow!

LESLIE

April 12, 2021: Spotlight on EMILY DICKINSON: THE GORGEOUS NOTHINGS and DICKINSON: SELECTED POEMS AND COMMENTARIES; and Context for Poem “River Town”

Our last day to linger in Amherst, and then (as today’s poem context makes clear,) returning to Northfield with a catapulting snap of the rubber band! Tomorrow, likewise, we’ll survey scenes very close to (my) home, indeed.

Published in 2013 by critic Marta Werner and artist Jen Bervin, Emily Dickinson: The Gorgeous Nothings (New Directions Publishing Corporation), this big, bold tome was the subject of an insightful article by Dan Chiasson of The New Yorker (December 5, 2016.) It highlights in a way not seen before Dickinson’s process by reproducing and analyzing her “envelope poems,” poems written on whole envelopes and scraps and flaps. These drafts in pencil (and sometimes ink) adapt to and are inspired by the triangular and rectangular shapes of the “scratch paper” that Dickinson carried with her in her pocket while she went about her daily chores in kitchen, pantry, and garden. What for most of us is hardly regarded, quickly discarded ephemera became in Dickinson’s frugal, nimble hands and through her lyrical, sometimes febrile brain something SUBSTANTIAL, that has gained monumental stature since she wrote them.

I love looking at these artworks as much as reading them. They make me think of Dickinson’s poem that starts, “This is my letter to the world/that never wrote to me.”

Indeed. Gorgeous Somethings.

Eminent to the point of inspiring awe, critic Helen Vendler prefaced her Ph.D. in English and American Literature from Harvard with an A.B. degree in chemistry from Emmanuel College, followed by a Fullbright Fellowship in mathematics. In Dickinson: Selected Poems and Commentaries (The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010), Vendler once again brings her precise and incisive intellect to bear on 150 of Emily Dickinson’s poems so as to highlight Dickinson’s perennial themes of “nature, death, religion, love, and the workings of mind and thought.” (So states the introduction, “Dickinson the Writer.”) This work is designed to browse, rather than to read cover to cover. I have discovered here poems I had not known before, as well as thoughtful commentary on ones I know well and love. My only wish is that more of the poems that I have committed to memory and love to tatters might have received here the benefit of Vendler’s thought.

Regarding the Poem for April 12, 2021: “River Town”:

Today’s poem is a kind of hymn to civic life, I suppose, centered on Northfield’s Cannon River and Bridge Square. Here are a few photos, the seamy side and the hopeful side–where I want to reside.

Capstone Event, Sidewalk Poetry, Bridge Square, Northfield, MN (Photo by Timothy Braulick)
“Peace Wager” (Spotted last April outside the local Armory two blocks from Bridge Square.)
Cannon River, Northfield, Minnesota (looking south, toward the dam and falls of Bridge Square)

April 11, 2021: Spotlight on POETRY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE: EMILY DICKINSON and THE MOUSE OF AMHERST; Context for the Poem “Seattle Weather in Northfield, Minnesota”

Since we travelled to Amherst yesterday, I thought we’d tarry a while. These two books have delighted our whole family for many, many years. (When Julia was young, she loved poetry so much (especially Francis, Dickinson, and Frost, that Amherstian triad) that we’d recite poems in the car together to while away the time. I have videotape of her reciting, almost flawlessly, Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope is the Thing with Feathers” when she was two and a half while she danced around the living room. (It is a good thing that the video has a date stamp or I would think I made that up.) The book above is a fabulous introduction for even the very young, as it is sturdy and is full of color illustrations. For those who are beginning to read (and draw) on their own, the little gem below offers a wainscot-eye view from Emmaline the Mouse. The young child can imagine what it might have been like to share quarters with Emily Dickinson herself, and what it could be like to become, in a small way, as Emmaline does, a poet oneself.

Regarding the Poem for April 11, 2021: “Seattle Weather in Northfield, Minnesota”:

Today’s silly poem is a new version of my annual preoccupation with the April weather, an emphatic but impotent fist-shaking at lowering grey skies and a celebration of the variability of our local weather here.

Judy’s Prairie, 2020

Until tomorrow,

LESLIE