Friday the 13th has always been a day of good luck for me. This year is no exception, because today I have had the honor of a poem published by a journal I admire.
Passages North, founded in 1979, now resides at Northern Michigan University in Marquette, Michign. I was introduced to the journal by a friend, Laura Soldner, who was on the faculty for many years–thank you, Laura! Passages North offers both an annual print issue each spring, and regular “bonus” content online. To learn more about this excellent journal, click HERE.
To find the most recent bonus supplement–my own poem!–click HERE.
The stunning first image in this post is by my sister, Karla, who shared it with us this year as a Valentine’s Day card. The rest are ones that I have taken over the years in our neighborhood.
Today, I was not inspired by the few terms offered by Rosendahl for the letter “W”, and so I began to think about plants whose name begin with that letter: weeping willow, walnut (done that!) wisteria, white cedar, white birch, white spruce, white pine, wax begonia, wild ginger (some in our garden soon), wallflower, watermelon, wood anemone, wych elm, wisteria & wood lily/trillium (I have already written poems inspired by these plants in past years), witch hazel, and…water lily, a plant I have admired for years and have been able to get to know better thanks to the kayaking skills of our friend, Tricia Smith, whose home is mere steps from a quiet protected lake that fills with these flowers as the summer advances.
Willows and water lilies. And Shakespeare’s birthday. These thoughts made me think of his character, Ophelia, in Hamlet, specifically the words spoken by Queen Gertrude to convey the pathos of her death off-stage.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element: but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death.
These musings and this literary antecedent, along with memories of visiting some of Monet’s Water Lily paintings at Musée de l’Orangerie when I was a teenager like Ophelia, inspired my Shakespearean sonnet today. And I am grateful to my sister, Karla, for allowing me to use her spectacular images of water lilies to illustrate this post. May their shining beauty, and Shakespeare’s immortal lines, distract you from the flaws of my own hasty effort!
In the course of looking up water lilies, I chanced upon an educational video aiming to debunk or corroborate the widely held belief that the tubers of water lilies can serve as a source for food. This 15-minute summary of several controlled experiments–and definitions of such terms as “edible” and “palatable”–convinced me not to depend on supplementing my food stores with water lilies should I be lingering in the wilderness. (Lotus, apparently, is a different story, botanically and culinarily, than is our native North American cousin.)
The botanical term that inspired this poem, “monotype,” does not appear in the poem. Exploring its meaning, however, made me think of how we are able to see the uniqueness of those people (and situations and locations and objects, too) that are important to us. It especially takes time and attention to perceive the deep individuality that marks each person. And then, despite a consistent core, he or she keeps growing and changing!
Today’s poem is dedicated to my sister, Karla. Today is her birthday. Her life is a gift to everyone who knows her. Among her many virtues, as some of you long-time readers know, she is an exceptional photographer of the natural world. (To see past posts that feature her photography, you can search on “Karla Schultz WinonaMedia”.) The photographs in this post are all from her. I want to thank her for allowing me to share her artistic gifts with you.
LESLIE
Photo: Karla SchultzPhoto: Karla SchultzPhoto: Karla SchultzPhoto: Karla Schultz
(Photo by Karla Schultz)(Photo by Karla Schultz)(Photo by Karla Schultz)(Photo by Karla Schultz)(Photo by Karla Schultz)
Everyday, I am inspired by the art of my sister, Karla. This year, she agreed to select, from her thousands of flower images, some of her own favorites to share with us today, on her birthday. Thank you, Karla!
Wishing you long life and joy every day!
The Freshest Flowers
are those strongly rooted,
alive to sun and dew,
each one distinct
as a crystal of snow.
Look closely. Lean in.
Wonder at varied hues,
at pattern with infinite--
but not-quite--repetition.
Call this Nature
or call this Art:
a flower captures
the human heart.
Leslie Schultz
Daffodils and Scilla in Our Garden This Morning (Photo by Leslie Schultz)
Part of the fun of working on a novel is trying to enter the mind and experience of someone Not-You. Someone else. In the novel that Tim and I are making, we have set the story in 1979, in a small town in Northern California. Two of the characters are poets. One of the poets is a college student, born in 1960. The other was born in 1927 and serves as a host and mentor for the younger poet.
One way that I have tried to get into the minds of these two characters is to write poems for them. What would interest them, catch their attention? How would they convey this in a poem? So far, for each character, I have written five or six poems. Only two or three might appear in the novel itself, but…what can I say? It is fun to fashion new poems.
Recently, I became curious about other novels that have protagonists who are fictional poets. I could not recall very many. There are many delightful novels that depict actual poets and one, Baron Wormser’s The Poetry Life, depicts the effects of poetry (by actual poets) on the lives of fictional characters.
But when it comes to main characters who are poets, with no lives outside of fiction, I could only think of Swann, by Carol Shields, and the trio of young adult books featuring Emily Starr of New Moon Farm by L. M. Montgomery. (If you know of any others, please let me know!)
In the couple of years since I served as a poetic scribe for our two characters, I have wondered if their voices would be clearly discernable to anyone else. Or, perhaps, do all the poems simply sound like me? It is an interesting thought exercise, but not one I can wrestle to the ground on my own, so I thought I would ask you.
What do you think? Below are six poems. In a future post, I will reveal which poem was written by/for each character, and also (should you like to weigh in) how many correct guesses each poem received. You can weigh in (“Older Poet” or “Younger Poet”) for any or all titles either in the Comments Section below or by emailing me at winonapoet@gmail.com. Thanks, in advance, for your thoughts!
