9 to 5 Poet

My worldly responsibilities got the best of me.  Unfortunately, I missed Friday through Sunday of NaPoWriMo, because I was working on other things. I think the problem for me was that poetry takes a bit of attention and I put my attention in so many different directions.  So, for now, I’m surrendering on NaPoWriMo, although I may crank out a few more quatrains on the bus this week.

So here is my final count for the project:

24 Poems Written
1 Prose Poem
1 Found Poem
12 Quatrains
4 Free Verse
1 Syllabic
2 Batches of American Sentences
2 Haiku
1 Ghazal

Overall, this is a darn good count and I’m proud of it. This is probably more poetry than I’ve written in 2-3 months, so I think that this project was still a success, even if I had to surrender with 6 days left.  Maybe next year I’ll go the distance…

Back at the beginning of NaPoWriMo, Christine wrote an article at read. write. poem., that summarized some experimental forms.  One of the forms she described was the Rothko, which a poet writes when looking at a painting by Rothko.  There are other artist-forms, and people commented on other possible permutations. 

After that, I thought a Frida Kahlo form would be cool.  Kahlo created self-portraits that relied heavily on her subconscious and her self-image, so I thought a self-portrait with flaws would be apropos.  I never wrote anything on it until this morning, when this poem occurred to me while I was showering. The subconscious is an amazing thing. 

Self-Portrait with Flaws
after Frida Kahlo

I am not sewn together or shorn.  I am
cobbled together and clunky.  I am unsmooth
and imperfect, a trembling vessel
riddled with dings. 
I am encased in shells, invisible
layers of lacquer and shine.  But I am also
spiderwebbed with cracks, thin fissures
zigzagged across my skin.  I am
permeable, though I rarely admit this.
Crack me open, like an egg
and you will find
the soft structure of my self
sleeping, unprotected, inside. 

On Sunday, my husband and I went on a cheap date to Como Zoo & Conservatory.  It was one of the first truly nice days of the season and we wanted to spend time outside.  Well, so did everyone else in the Twin Cities. 

Despite the crush of parents with strollers, asking their mute 2 year-olds,”Do you see the monkey? Over there? See it? Monkey?”, it was still a really fun time.  Many of the animals weren’t outside yet, although we did see a few of the large cats lolling in the sun.  Just like our kitties do, but 100 times larger. 

After the zoo, we traveled through the conservatory, which had some unbelievably beautiful flowers — which felt weird, since the grass outside was still brown. But it did make for some neat pictures and an incredibly rough quatrain, which I share in the spirit of NaPoWriMo. 

Note:  To see the pictures somewhat bigger, click on them.  To see them actual size, click on the expanded version. 

At the Conservatory

Waxy purple petals and trimmed green leaves
arching towards an artificial sky.  Sweet
cloying fragrance (piped in).  Manufactured
stone walkways, leading us through early spring. 

I’ll be honest, I’m running outta steam on this every day poetry thing and I’m glad there’s only 8 days left.  I’m hoping to get enough real poems out, as opposed to these little quatrains. 

I’m open to assignments…if you’ve got a good one.

Yesterday, I had a very full day and it was a day off.  I walked around a lake close to my home, I watched a disc of Season One of 30 Rock (hilarious!), worked on some things for work.  Once my husband came home, we went out to dinner and we watched the entire Clinton-Obama debate.  (Gosh, I’d wish they’d come up with some new issues).  Then, I went to bed. 

As I was falling asleep, I thought to myself, what am I going to write for nanapoopoo tomorrow?  Then, I thought harder, what I am going to write for today?  I had totally forgotten to write anything. I was paralyzed with indecision.  Do I rouse myself from half-sleep to get in a poem?  Do I say screw it and go to bed? 

My Capricornian tendencies towards duty won out and I stumbled from bed.  I wrote perhaps the worst haiku ever (it isn’t even a full thought) and went back to sleep. But dang it, it was 17 syllables, 3 lines, and close enough to call a poem. 

Wake me when NaPoWriMo is over. 

I’ve continued my somewhat unintentional foray into reading food literature with my most recently finished book, Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (352 pages).  Her memoir follows her family’s year-long experiment of eating only local vegetables, fruits, and meat products.  It is interspersed with environmental science and nutrition and culinary sidebars from her husband Steven L. Hopp and daughter Camille Kingsolver, respectively.

I feel conflicted about this book.  I have been a huge fan of Kingsolver’s since I was a teenager, and in this book, she has continued her lushly lyrical and descriptive style.  She won me over with descriptions of bountiful vegetable harvests and comical turkey mating.  (Really, I look at birds a whole lot differently now.)  I was also impressed with the way her family jumped into this experiment, and resourcefully planned for their eating needs without a dependence on big grocery stores or restaurants. 

However, there are times when Kingsolver lectures a bit too much.  Especially in the beginning, I felt like I was sitting in Fossil Fuels 101 or Introduction to Industrial Farming Practices. Perhaps I am slightly more educated on these matters than the average reader after working at a culinary school for three years.  (I’ve read a lot of term papers on just these issues.)  For me, these forays into informative style disrupted the narrative of the story, especially since we already had sidebars on these very topics. 

Depsite these feelings, Kingsolver’s story won out and I burned through this book very quickly.  Besides, I think her lecturing might have worked. If we can secure it,  my husband and I are going to buy a Community Supported Agriculture share in a local farm.  

Total For 2008: 2702 pages
Genres: Memoir (3), Essay (1), Graphic Novel (1), Non-Fiction (2), Poetry (3), Comic Book Anthology (1)

It’s still Monday here, so I’m turning in my read. write. poem. prompt under the wire.

For the Voiceless

“In Darfur, arms are like sticks. They are everywhere. You just need to bend down and pick one up.”
- IBRAHIM HASSAN, a Chadian rebel based in the Darfur region of Sudan. NY Times, April 2008

They still surround you, never making a sound.  Hundreds
of silent memories trail you.  Bend down.  Pick them up.

He says arms litter their landscape, spare limbs found lying
everywhere.   If you want one, just bend down, pick it up.

Dandelions litter your lawn. Strong weeds sown each spring
by silent insistent spores.  You bend down, pick them up.

Language is our choice, a luxury found only in
sentients.  We collect words, bend down to pick them up. 

Number 4001 made a hard choice, wound himself
around a bomb to save his friends.  Bent down, picked it up. 

I prefer animals, their soundless love, to our world’s
angry iterations.  I bend down to pick them up.   

I almost missed my nanapoopoo yesterday, because I worked all day then went to the MN Rollergirls championship bout. (Both my teams lost).  But I managed to stay on track during the commercials from SNL last night. 

Love Song Set to Our City’s Skyline

By our city’s clear light, I almost see
our reflections in the river’s black shine
and downtown’s all-night illuminations.
Darling, see how we still glimmer and burn. 

Click here if you want to know why I have been singing “la la la la , death by chocolate”, since last night. (Sorry, I can’t figure out how to embed non-you-tube videos here.)

I just finished reading the first volume of the Uptown Girl comic anthology, Begin the Begin (200 pages), which I will be reviewing this month for the Uptown Neighborhood News.  (How did I come up with this book to read?)  Not to spoil the energy for my review, it’s exceedingly cute and an overly accurate depiction of my neighborhood.  If you want to know what it’s like to live in Uptown Minneapolis (a hipster neighborhood, for those of you out-of-state), pick up this book!

Total For 2008: 2350 pages
Genres: Memoir (2), Essay (1), Graphic Novel (1), Non-Fiction (2), Poetry (3), Comic Book Anthology (1)

Corpse Flower Blooming on the 8 AM News

Camera cuts to the greenhouse. Garden Guy
winces and smiles, introduces
the gray matronly expert and her baby, the fat
yellow and green stalk unraveling
three anemic leaves. Unadorned

as woman and flower both are, the only question
he can manage: “What’s the awful stench?”
Anchors chuckle split screen, shuffle
their blank pages. “The corpse flower lives

for fifteen years, barely producing
blooms or even leaves. When she does, she radiates
her pungent fragrance from her base -here,”
she indicates a fat bulbous root, covered in soil
“her female parts to attract
insects who assist in pollination.”

Garden Guy bleats: “This stink
is attractive? “  His mind cycles back
through all his flower smells: rose
and lilac, honeysuckle and even ginger,
cloying and spicy, delicate and sweet.

He remembers the smell of his wife
on good mornings - powdered and soaped, fresh
and sterile. Not this fog

of putrescence. Then, he remembers
the oily slick scent of his wife
after a day toiling in the garden, a long day
at the office. She smells like this,

unavoidably thick, repulsive
and attractive. Sour and smelling
like all the work we do beneath soft surfaces.

Tears spring to his eyes as he moves
away from the awful woman, the awful plant,
as the camera cuts quickly away.

So, if NaBloPoMo was nanabooboo in my house last November, then surely NaPoWriMo is nanapoopoo. Right?  I love bad poop jokes; it’s like I’m twelve. 

Yesterday, I wrote a batch of 5 American Sentences. While I’m not excited about all of them, but hey, the pen’s moving.  Here they are:

Teenage kisses, toothless smiles:  city people anticipating spring.

In April, Christmas lights still dangle, pale against the gray morning sky.

In the cafe, workers cultivated plants, watered their hungry roots.

Driving the same route every day, I find neighborhoods reveal slowly.

Two Amigos Bazar:  cell phones, lottery, food — still dark this morning.