deliverance

She stood by the fire,
watching the flames lick
torn pieced of paper
before they slowly turned black
and crumbled beneath her touch,

 and the wind still blows
to fan her flames, where the smell
of burnt smoke and stale cigarettes
stays trapped in the curls of her hair.

 but when has fire held back
when you wanted it to? 

could i be a Phoenix,
she wondered,
or find myself
within alchemy,
or scrape away
the scorched skin
with the hot knife
that branded me?

her fingertips were still soft
before she threw her letter
into the fire, and specks of dust
hadn’t completely rinsed away

it’s hard to wipe
a surface clean, you know,
when you’ve been stumbling
from running around in the shadows.

 

 

 

 

The 100 Days

So, it’s all over – 100 days of reading, writing, creating, cohorting and generally scrounging around for random assortments of words that I hoped would make sense, and here I am, 100 poems later and hopefully with enough material to send out for submissions, and for a change, I’m quite happy with the poetry that I’ve written.

When I heard about Steve, Carianne, Jessica and John getting together for 100 Days 2009, I was a little more than excited – I was pretty envious, because I hadn’t come up with the idea to write my way through the summer on my own. So, instead of waiting for an invite, and with a little prodding from Carianne, I shot Steve a quick email (okay, muscled my way in) and asked to be included with the group effort and have poetry writing bestowed upon myself. I figured, since I had already flexed my poetry writing muscles in April with poemAddiction, 100 Days would be a great idea for honing the skills. And it was. A great idea, that is.

Although I didn’t think of writing for a hundred days straight as something of a Tolkienian journey, I was hoping that somewhere along the way, I’d learn a few a things. And I did.

1. Creativity is an evil, evil mistress. It beckons, like a sultry siren in a red dress, and when you get close, it turns into a wretched old crone that escaped straight from the land of Disney movies. Why? Because there were days when I belted out poems, one after the other (granted, because I was playing catch up for missed days) quite effortlessly. Other days, I wrenched them out with all the grace of a root canal. And when I decided to walk away to take a break, I couldn’t stop thinking about the poem churning in my head, and I couldn’t rest until I was done writing. Insert huge sigh of relief. And the next day, the whole process began from scratch, all over again. It’s a curse, I swear.

2. But a happy curse. For a hundred days straight, I wrote and I wrote and I wrote and then I wrote some more, and I still wasn’t sick of either all that writing, or of myself. Which is a good thing. I’ve spent so many summers hoping to accomplish some task by way of greatness, and this year’s project is the closest that I’ve come to achieving that goal.

3. Collaborative projects are a wonderful way to meet new people, the 100 Dayers came from near, far and far out, all the way over in Colorado and England. I had the opportunity to work with some incredibly talented, prolific and creative people, and I’ll be darned if I haven’t become great friends with them. Over the two gatherings that we had to celebrate our work, we gathered around tables laden with food and shared our creativity with one another. If that’s not soul food, I don’t know what is. Yes, I know, I got a little mushy here, but it’s true!

4. Since all good journeys must have conflict to make them interesting, mine had a few pop out of the blue too. All the wonderful writing and creativity aside, life doesn’t know or care that it’s not supposed to throw crow bars upside your head, just to see how you’re going to survive them. Three weeks of excruciating back spasms, failed travel plans, stress at home and a broken wristed mother were enough to deter me from continuing on for a while, but I had a goal to get to, and I’m quite happy (and even a little proud) to say that I didn’t completely fall off the wagon. At least now I know that when I set my mind to a constructive goal, I’m quite capable of pushing myself to achieve it. I know it’s a cliche` but keeping the eye on the prize really does work. Now to translate that mind set to my life goals.

5. Stylistically, I found that I’m a little scared of breaking away from free-verse writing because I don’t trust my skills with structure. I still think that poetry needs to be lyrical and laden with imagery in order to be effective, but I really don’t like the idea of confining myself to rhyme and meter.

6. I do, however, like to write about distilled moments that people experience through out their lifetimes, because usually, these are the moments that slip by in front of our eyes, completely unnoticed. I believe good writing captures the essence of the human experience without telling the reader exactly how to read the words in front of them. Good writing leaves room for the readers and for the audience to fall back on their own experiences to bring meaning to the piece that they’re reading, interpreting or listening to.

7. Good writing also doesn’t let the audience forget that an entire lifetime can change in the space of a moment – the tick of a clock, from one second to the next – and sometimes, we don’t get do-overs. My goal with my poetry, because of my own acute awareness of the monumental changes in my own life, is to keep capturing these moments and hopefully develop enough proficiency and skill in my writing to bring seamless and effortless depth to the poems. Someday, when my gurus and teachers endorse this idea in my poetry, I’ll believe that I’ve achieved my goal. Until then, practice will be used to make perfect. I still think I’m too young to express genuine depth in writing.

8. I also now aspire to play with Tinderbox enough to begin creating my own hypertext poetry. Of course, that will have to wait until I can afford to purchase the software, but until then, I’ve found enough impetus to return to Interactive Fiction, for the nonce. I have Inform 7 installed on my not-so-pristine Mac, and if anyone can give me a good story/game idea, then I’d like to work on developing one.

Somewhere, beneath all the writing and the posting and the reflecting is a level of zen that I haven’t quite touched yet, because at the moment I’m not feeling much. I never felt burdened with the prospect of writing all summer, so there’s no consequential relief. I enjoyed writing poetry, but there is no sadness to fill a void; perhaps because I know that the end of 100 Days 2009 does not mean the end of creativity and exploring my own talents, so really, there is no void. Hopefully, it also does not mean the end of future 100 Days projects either.

So, in light of all of the above, I raise a toast to an incredible group of writers (Steve E., also very affectionately addressed as Teach, Susan G. and Mary Ellen), photographers(Maggie, John, Susan E., Jessica and Mindy), visual artists (Denna, Carianne and Steve K), and a very cool musician (John). It’s been an honor and a pleasure to work with each and every one of you this summer. Knowing us, I know we’ll continue creating and sharing, and I hope that should another round of 100 Days come by, I’ll be able to work with everyone again. Despite it’s rollercoaster ride,  I’ve been in great company this summer, and I would agree to producing this much work again in a heart beat.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to learn from each and every one of you.

On racial profiling

Every once in a while, there’s actually a good cause that needs to be brought to light by the media. For instance, the racial profiling assault on Henry Louis Gates, Jr. Gotta wonder sometimes what the defenders of the judicial system have running through their mind, when Americans walk amongst themselves over 40 years after the Civil Rights Movement and countless waves of migratory citizens later.

Ravi Shankar, associate professor of English at CCSU writes:-

The officer conferred with his partners, then approached with a grin, hand extended as if to shake mine. “Good news,” he said, “you passed the Breathalyzer.” Then, with perfect comic timing: “The bad news is, there’s a warrant out for your arrest.” The extended hand reached for my wrist, twisting it behind my back.

Arrest? For what? The officers spun into motion. The back door of the police van slid open, a hand pushed my head down and shoved me in. The officer turned to his partner. “Always a good day when you can bag a sand nigger.”

I’m not surprised. Appalled, yes. Maybe even a little disgusted, and definitely angry. But I’m not surprised. The article above, from the Hartford Courant prompted me to to look up the stats on racial profiling, especially in Connecticut. While I haven’t found exact numbers (percentages), I did end up finding the ACLU report.

As far as Indian immigrants are concerned, this is what the ACLU has to say:-

Lastly, we respectfully refer the Committee to two ACLU reports that document the
destructive impact of “Operation Meth Merchant” in Georgia. This initiative, conducted
by a Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA)-led regional anti-drug task force,
employed suspected methamphetamine users as “confidential informants” to target local
South Asian merchants and shop workers in six counties in northwest Georgia. As a
result of the discriminatory practices employed in this law enforcement initiative, 44 of
the 49 individuals arrested and charged were immigrants from India, many with the last
name “Patel,” and 23 of 24 stores investigated were South Asian-owned. Evidence
shows that workers and shop owners were specifically targeted based on race, ethnicity,
immigration status and/or English proficiency. As a result of this initiative, Indian
immigrants in these counties have been economically and psychologically devastated,
families have been torn apart due to the detention and deportation of their relatives and
the broader impact of the racial profiling on the larger communities has been severe.

Nice. Let’s round ‘em up like cattle because they wear brown skin, have a common last name, and usually find the same business ventures to capitalize in. Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s speak at them really loudly because their English speaking skills are weak (sometimes non-existent) and keep them in clap traps. ‘Cause they isn’t up to no good.

The report also has a state by state breakdown of the most common racial profiling incidents, and not surprisingly, in Connecticut, it’s the Latinos who are being targeted, especially in New Haven.

Learning the New (?)

Sometimes I wonder whether the fashionable bells and whistles of New Media – you know, Facebook, Twitter, the iPhone, g-talk –  are creating disconnects in the way we interact with people. Once upon a time, Mr. Smith would wake up in the morning, walk down to the nearest diner or local eatery or bar, hang out with other locals who would swap stories, relive their memories and generally spend some time together. Not that I think it’s a bad thing – I’m all for face to face social interaction, really. In fact, if I’ve been cooped up at home too long, I’m the first one to flee to a highly public place, just to people watch. Lately, my favorite is the Blue Back square, in West Hartford.

And today, I came across two posts that speak of the disconnect in a similar way. One talks about how far removed we are from nature, and none the better for it. Says Times Health:

A new and growing group of psychologists believes that many of our modern-day mental problems, including depression, stress and anxiety, can be traced in part to society’s increasing alienation from nature. The solution? Get outside and enjoy it.

I can believe that, especially since I’ve spent a lot of time this summer writing on my laptop, and usually in an enclosed environment because I need a working wireless connection. But only for my computer. By the same token, I’ve also made the concerted effort to get my daily FDA approved requirement of fresh air.

But I also think that people need to pick their own poison, and nature may not be it for everyone. I love hiking, but I can’t stand living in the country. I need my wireless, but I have no desire to get myself either a Blackberry or an iPhone or an iPod touch. Really. No desire. I love meeting people and talking to real faces in front of me, but I stay in touch with a lot of people in all corners of the world online too. But I don’t think that Facebook or web logs can take the place of real conversations.

Says Mike Rubino, at his web log Tranquility Lost:

“With the Internet, social networks, cell phones, and online games, I sometimes wonder if we’re all drawing away from each other. Are we refusing to put down roots and invest in any sort of community in favor of the cold connections that photo tagging and commenting provide?”

My answer? I sincerely hope not. Sure, we’ve seen plenty of instances where community has been driven out by convenience (Walmarts, Rite Aids, McDonalds and Burger Kings) but we also have plenty of people living in suburban communities, parents who go to PTA meetings and are actively involved with them, volunteer groups and non-profit organizations and gosh knows the US of A has plenty of churches and religious organizations around for people to make themselves a part of. While my generation may be more technically savvy, I still don’t think that communicating online takes the place of swapping stories over a beer or a huge bowl of pasta and a bottle of wine with the girlfriends. We’re human – most variables held constant, social interaction is a huge need that has to be fulfilled. More often than not, we’ve got to reach out and touch someone. I don’t The Usual is going out of style.

Day 65+

So, we’ve passed day 65 of the 100 Days, and it’s hard to believe that I could ever have been so prolific, even though I love writing poetry. I’m finding that a concrete goal vis-a-vis writing is a good thing to have, otherwise I’m never going to sit down and produce the work that I want to see coming from myself. There is still very little method to this madness that I’ve signed up for, but the one factor that remains constant is that I’m still enjoying writing.

Even though the number of poems I’m supposed to write in one summer is a little daunting, the 100 Days project is a good reminder that life, and the goals that we set for ourselves, need to be taken just one day at a time. There’s really no point in visualizing the bigger picture (okay, this is the last cliche` phrase, I promise!) because that’s a great recipe for being frozen on the spot and becoming a nervous wreck.

As far as the writing goes, I’m a little impressed with myself. So far, I’ve been pretty happy with the quality of my writing, and I know I’m getting better at being able to translate abstract thought into concrete language. Although, I decidedly employ my poet’s prerogative in withholding some details that I feel the reader doesn’t need to know. I’d much rather see the audience bring the poem to life by interacting with it through their own life experiences. In the meantime, I’ve fallen into a pattern of using either an omniscient narrator (yes, they work even in poetry) or a nameless, faceless subject who I just address as “you”. I’ve no clue who that is, but I’d really like to meet this person. Maybe I’ve met multiple versions of this person throughout my life, but this writing is certainly a lot more than just interpretive poetry. I’m surprised at how far back my subconscious and my memory are willing to go to dig out details that have been left behind in just traces.

But, it’s day 66 and I’m still in love with writing poetry – maybe I can make a Master’s thesis/project out of this somehow. Rest assured, details will follow :)

Wanderings

Once upon a time ago, I used to live at blogspot under the name “Wanderlust”. I became a prolific publisher of pontification at Wanderlust, and somehow, when I had gained an audience and infamy (because I can) my musings on Wanderlust were destroyed by hostile takeover in Oriental characters. I’m not sure which country of the Orient, but lo, it happened (I speak archaically because Shakespeare is alive in me somehow – and parenthetically, because it’s fun). I have to admit – I did feel a little lost without Wanderlust, because it had become a persona in and of itself. And considering the fact that I was perhaps born to a band of itinerant gypsies once upon ago, in another lifetime, not being able to lust wander was a little — well — crushing. 

And so, in the quest for a new identity, I moved to Epiphanies, yet another blogspot blog. Silence can hurt people and presences and with fewer readers and much less motivation, epiphanies has barely survived, and in the spirit of brevity and short attention spans, I’ve taken to posting my thoughts on Twitter and yes, Facebook.

But there comes a time in a blogger’s life when a 140 character space can no longer suffice. And I miss my wanderings and my lust of wander. And being able to pour out musings. So here I am, one destroyed blog, one dormant blog, two poetry weblogs, three years past graduating, countless road trips, a few broken heart stories and my life in teaching later. 

I think now that it’s (my life) not about the epiphanies, that seem so few and far between on some “saggy diaper days”. I think that now, it’s about just being. Breathing comes easier to me now. And so do the spaces in between.

Maybe gypsies do return to where they’ve begun from. We’ll see.