Tag Archives: Leslie Schultz photography and poetry

April 19, 2022: Newsflash! BLUE UNICORN Publishes My Poem, “The Craft of Poetry”; Spotlight on Robert Frost’s Poem, “Fire and Ice”; Background for My Poem, “Spring Frolic”

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Yesterday’s mail brought a welcome envelope containing the newest issue of a favorite journal of mine, Blue Unicorn. As a subscriber, I welcome this journal twice a year because I know there will be something interesting in it that I couldn’t find anywhere else. This issue makes me especially happy to have because it contains my short poem, “The Craft of Poetry,” inspired by Robert Frost‘s masterful and chilling poem, “Fire and Ice.” Frost’s poem, known to most, is another one that I have memorized. Because of that, I think, the sounds of it were simply there, waiting, and that it was this tight net of rhythm, meter, and rhyme that gave rise to my own poem. (I used different rhyme sounds, but otherwise followed Frost’s nonce construction.)

This issue of Blue Unicorn also contains the best statement in a journal I have ever seen on the whole fraught topic of rejection, as well as more that eighty poems. So far I have read only a small fraction but what I have read whets my appetite. It is fun to see work by poets whose work is already known to me (A quick look finds work by Laurence Thomas, “The End of Desire”; Kathryn Jacobs, “Paying Court” and “Human Beans”; Lynn D. Gilbert, “A Sonnet for You and Yours”; John Hart, “It Seems to Me and I”–these last two playful exchanges on shifts in “correct” English usage–Dan Campion, “The Conspiracy”; and Shutta Crum, “Some, Too Indifferent to Spring Wind (for Emily Dickinson), as well as translations (by Robert E. Tanner, Thomas Feeny, and Susan McLean) of work by Alexander Pushkin, Antonio Machado, and Charles d’Orleans.) I know I will read the work in this issue many times over.

Blue Unicorn’s founding editor, John Hart, also shares thought-provoking essays on his poetry blog from time to time as the spirit moves. You can find his essays at Memorable Speech. Modern poetry is a very large tent, and Hart’s lifelong experience as a poet, editor, and critic gives him a rare perspective. His most recent essay succinctly elucidated for me one of my least favorite trends of modern poetry–known as “Language Poetry,” I learned–and also helped me understand just why this kind don’t appeal to me, but also understand its attraction for those who write, publish, and enjoy such work. As a bonus, I love the way Hart puts sentences together.

(Photos: Leslie Schultz)

Background for My Poem for April 19 (emailed to those who requested my personal poem-a-day), “Spring Frolic”:

Many of you know that Tim and I welcomed Stella into our home last month. She is a rescue Poodle-Maltese mix, just over five years old, originally from Houston. She has brought new liveliness into our house, and she just adores Julia and Julia’s guinea pigs, Peaches and Pancake. Although she hates the cold (not being used to it), she loves her walks. She will leap into the air like a trained dolphin whenever anyone dons a jacket. We look forward to warmer weather when we can take her to a local dog park and let her run to her heart’s content. (We have learned that Stella does enjoy sitting on a pillow on a garden chair when we make a fire outside, but she did NOT enjoy the recent spate of hail, pictured above.)

Happy Reading! Happy Writing! Happy Spring! LESLIE

April 17, 2022: Spotlight on “April 5, 1974” by Poet Richard Wilbur; Context for My Trio of Poems, “Cinquains for Easter Morning”

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April 5, 1974

The air was soft, the ground still cold.
In the dull pasture where I strolled
Was something I could not believe.
Dead grass appeared to slide and heave,
Though still too frozen-flat to stir,
And rocks to twitch and all to blur.
What was this rippling of the land?
Was matter getting out of hand
And making free with natural law,
I stopped and blinked, and then I saw
A fact as eerie as a dream.
There was a subtle flood of steam
Moving upon the face of things.
It came from standing pools and springs
And what of snow was still around;
It came of winter’s giving ground
So that the freeze was coming out,
As when a set mind, blessed by doubt,
Relaxes into mother-wit.
Flowers, I said, will come of it.

“April 5, 1974” by Richard Wilbur from Collected Poems. © Harcourt, 2004.

Bloodroot and Scilla, April 12, 2017, Northfield (Photo: Leslie Schultz)

Flowers will come of it, eventually. That is the promise of spring, even in the years, like this one, when it arrives on the slow boat. Richard Wilbur is a perennial favorite poet of mine. I return over and over to his surprising, supple, but never facile formal poems. He died in 2017 but in his work he lives on.

Context for My Trio of Poems, “Cinquains for Easter Morning”:

I chose the cinquain form this morning because of its containment. To me, the syllabic canvas of 2/4/6/8/2 creates an egg-like shape on the page and in the mind, too.

Happy Reading! Happy Writing! Happy Easter! LESLIE

April 16, 2022: Spotlight on Wendell Berry and His Poem “The Sycamore”; Background for My Poem “Fun Fact”

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Poet, essayist, and environmentalist Wendell Berry has long been acknowledged as an artist as well as a seminal thinker in reimagining human interactions with the lands we all depend upon. His poem, “The Sycamore,” is not one with which I was acquainted until after I finished writing my own this morning. I find them in harmony with each other.

Sycamore, UW-Madison Arboretum, June 2018 (Photos: Leslie Schultz)

Background for My Poem “Fun Fact”:

Today’s poem caused me to return (via the internet) to Winterthur, which I explored early this month to refresh my memory about the plantings there. I kept recalling a short and charming video made by the horticulturalists and an arborist on staff there called “The Top 10 Trees at Winterthur.” In particular, I was mulling about tree #2, the Sycamore.

When I lived in Lake Charles, Louisiana, there was a very tall sycamore in the back garden of the house I rented. It offered welcome shade. I loved to look at its bark. Sometimes long peelings of bark would drop on the tin roof of the porch with a melodic crash, rather like windchimes. The only sycamore I have seen in the Midwest is in the Arboretum on the campus of the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I think the harsher climate of Minnesota they would not survive long here.

What really made me think about sycamores in general, and about the denizen of Winterthur, is that way that careful shoring up of its innate tendency to hollow out in maturity is thought to have extended its life. The shoring up (concrete and metal rods) does not show from the outside, and the tree appears healthy and stable. Is there a cost to the tree for this intervention? I cannot know, only wonder.

Here are a few more fun facts about sycamores:

Sycamores are sometimes called plane trees, buttonwood trees, or water beech.

An American sycamore tree can often be easily distinguished from other trees by its mottled bark which flakes off in large irregular masses, leaving the surface mottled and gray, greenish-white and brown. The bark of all trees has to yield to a growing trunk by stretching, splitting, or infilling. The sycamore shows the process more openly than many other trees. The explanation is found in the rigid texture of the bark tissue which lacks the elasticity of the bark of some other trees, so it is incapable of stretching to accommodate the growth of the wood underneath, so the tree sloughs it off

The trunks of large trees are often hollow.

The sycamore tree is the largest deciduous trees in the Eastern United States. It grows to 30 meters tall and lives nearly 600 years.

Etymology: Middle English: from Old French sic(h)amor, via Latin from Greek sukomoros, from sukon ‘fig’ + moron ‘mulberry’.

Happy Reading! Happy Writing! LESLIE

April 15, 2022: Spotlight on Robert Frost’s Poem “Acquainted with the Night”; Background on My Poem “A Fugue of Dark Questions”

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Full Moon from My East Window (Photo: Leslie Schultz)

Acquainted with the Night

by Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 
I have been one acquainted with the night.

I think that this poem reads well on the page, but when read aloud it leaps up in a mesmerizing and terrifying shadow play. Frost’s terza rima exploration of uncertainty and spiritual ennui is one that I read aloud so often it has memorized itself in me. It reminds me of the haunting surrealist paintings of Giorgio Di Chirico, especially his “The Nostalgia of the Infinite” (1911-1913, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.)

For me, Frost’s poems have a dark, brooding, incantatory beauty that casts a spell on the hearer or reader. Certainly he was an ambitious man–ambitious in the artistic and worldly senses, both. For these reasons, he seems a fitting pairing with the Shakespearean landscape that cropped up in the poem I wrote today.

Nick Thomas: A handy primer on Shakespeare's 'Macbeth'

Background on My Poem “A Fugue of Dark Questions”:

Yesterday, Tim, Julia, and I were recalling our first college-visit trip. I hadn’t known that Julia enjoyed the tiny and uncomfortable cabin we stayed in on the shore of Lake Erie after our visit to Oberlin and its Conservatory, or that she loved watching that evening, for the first time, reruns of the old television comedy, “Gilligan’s Island,” on a tiny black and white set.

Then, last evening, I read in the latest issue of Vogue magazine about the new production of Shakespeare’s tragic play, Macbeth, starring Daniel Craig and Ruth Negga that opens in New York City this evening. And I remembered the ambitious fun of reading Macbeth as a family, as a kind of weird trio invoking the Bard’s vistas as we traveled the Midwest. This poem is thinking about that memory, and ideas of ambition and double-edged awareness, as in the word, “fugue,” which has applications in both classical music and abnormal psychology.

Daniel Craig, Ruth Negga to Star in 'Macbeth' on Broadway – The Hollywood Reporter
Gilligan's Island - Wikipedia

Happy reading! Happy writing! LESLIE

April 14, 2022: Spotlight on Poet Ron Padgett and His Collection, HOW TO BE PERFECT; Background on My Poem, “Sunshine”

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Ron Padgett‘s book of poems, How to Be Perfect, (Coffee House Press, Minneapolis, 2008) has a permanent place on my shelf. I am far from perfect, and so I do not have any of his other celebrated works, though I am curious about them, especially his collaboration with artist Jason Novak, published by Coffee House Press in 2016, called How to Be Perfect: An Illustrated Guide, and Oklahoma Tough: My Father, King of the Tulsa Bootleggers (University of Oklahoma, 2003).

The pleasures of How to Be Perfect, as ironic a title as Johnathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal,” are many. Consider the titles of such short works as “Very Post-Impressionism” and “Charlie Chan Wins Again” and “Whiz Bang” and “Rinso.” If you are like me, you immediately want to turn from the table of contents and dive into the poem itself. Many of the longer works, including “The Absolutely Huge and Incredible Injustice in the World” are witty and arresting and deadly serious protests all at once, works that question the ability of humans to wake up and save themselves and the planet. Yet Padgett never gives in to ease despair, and the verbose advice dropping of Polonius. Indeed, the title poem, a litany of short bits of advice strung across several pages, is laugh-out-loud funny in many places and filled with condensed, luminous wisdom in others. Consider this item:

Don't stay angry about anything for more than a week, but don't
forget what made you angry. Hold your anger out at end's length
and look at it, as if it were a glass ball. Then add it to your glass
ball collection.

If you are looking for something thoughtful, polished, angry at human stupidity but still hopeful and humane, consider reading these poems.

Background on My Poem “Sunshine”:

Today’s poem is about grim news, raw grey weather, and glimmers of hope, and was inspired by these solar arrays outside of Northfield.

Happy Reading! Happy Writing! LESLIE