“Compass” for April 3, 2019

Compass
 
My cherished friend (a sonic artist,
a mother, a teacher) and I were
streaming north, last month,
toward a favorite museum to celebrate
the creativity of all that is northern,
Scandinavian, both in the old world
and here, in Minnesota.
 
We were flying out
of our tiny town, laughing
because the back of winter
seemed to be finally broken, the ice
and injuries that had kept us
cooped up far too long
had migrated at last.
 
Ahead, (though we didn’t suspect)
we’d encounter—I kid you not—
a gigantic solar egg—gleaming,
golden—perched on a nest
of iron-brown sticks, magic and witchy,
with a ladder inviting us
to peer inside the padlocked
 
glass door forbidding entry.
Here, saunic heat could hatch
for humans lighted on cedar wood
if they could just catch the right
moment at sunset. But then and there,
in late morning’s blue thaw,
we watched in awe as a pair
 
of sandhill cranes elegantly soared
across our highway, light
and strong, clearly aligned
with the Minnesota River.
Their long necks reached, outstretched,
toward their future, their making
of eggs born to be broken, from the inside.
 
They seemed to know that the fire of life
would soon be poking fierce, new sooty
beaks into this burnt-out season, would
demand to be fed, demand to sing
and try the air. They seemed sure
that parental care could renew the year,
help each unfold our inborn direction.
 
Leslie Schultz

Like the first two poems for this April, “Compass” recounts a true story. (I am not sure whether a theme is arising or not. If so, it is an unconscious one. )

This poem, which turned out to have a fairy tale quality, is based on an excursion to the American Swedish Institute with Bonnie Jean Flom. We love the human scale of this place, its mix of old and new, in its architecture and exhibitions.

We also like its stimulating exhibitions, and the rare dining experience of the award-winning in-house restaurant, Fika. We are both photographers, with Scandinavian roots, and, on this trip, we were keen to see the work of eco-Photo Shop artist and former farmer Erik Johansson, called “Imagine” (which is up until April 28, 2019.)

“Demand and Supply”

En route to seeing “Imagine,” however, we glanced into the inner courtyard of the museum and were amazed by….what? A space pod? A Christmas pear? No, an out-sized solar egg sculpture called “Reflect” by artistic duo Bigert and Bergstrom that turned out to be also a functioning sauna, visiting Minneapolis until April 28, 2019.

Photo by Bonnie Jean Flom

Then it was back inside to savor first the masterful surreal photography, then enjoy a lunch worthy of portraiture and with flavors redolent of northern forests.

(Note the pine-flavored home-made soda, the bright surprise of the egg in the center of mushrooms and rye bread, and the golden glow of the shared pear cake dessert.)

Does time with a friend get any better than this? Well, maybe.

At the end of this enchanted day, that began with cranes flying high, there was more enchantment. We crossed to Saint Paul to visit the Goldstein Gallery on the University of Minnesota campus to see the collection of ceramics by our mutual friend, Ruth Crane.

Despite the handmade porcelains that I use every day in my kitchen, this exhibition made me understand ceramics in a whole new way. It is open until May 19, 2019.

Just before leaving the campus, Bonnie Jean and I took this double selfie!

Guess what? I have booked a Solar Egg sauna later this month. I hope I am not too relaxed to drive back home!

Until tomorrow, LESLIE

“Alert” for April 1, 2019

 Alert
  
Here in this winter-wet desert,
this high plateau time,
source of the growing year,
with sand emerging
everywhere under
ghosts of gone ice sheets,
I walk out,
scarf flying
like a prayer flag,
to find what is new
and newly returned.
 
In my ears,
breezes and birdsound.
In my nose,
raw earth thawing.
In the corner
of my eye,
caught on the edge
of the concrete street,
a tiny silver airplane,
a charm.
 
I pick it up,
turn over its fleet
and mysterious edges
in the thin sunlight,
and pocket it
like a true story.
 
Walking back uphill,
toward my house,
I begin to hum,
then find something else
in my mouth—
voiced vowels
and edges of words
linked together
the way flowing ink
joins Devanagari script—
my own song,
a new one,
winging me home again.
 
Leslie Schultz

Welcome to a new National Poetry Month!

Are any of you also embarked on this writing-one-new-poem-each-day journey? If so, let me know–I salute you! If not, thank you for taking a look at my own discoveries over the next thirty days. LESLIE

It’s That Time…Launch of April Poems Begins Tomorrow

Siberian scilla are sprouting in the back gardens. 
Robins are tentatively returning. Another sign of early spring? 
National Poetry Month is celebrated each April. 

Beginning in 2016, I have taken up the challenge to write a new poem 
each day in April and share it by publishing it here. This year--
foolishly, perhaps, but enthusiastically, certainly--I take
up the challenge for the fourth consecutive year.

I hope a few will speak to you!  LESLIE