Sometimes It Starts With a Cup

Things We Look For

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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People are always looking for something—

Sometimes we don’t even know it, until we find it. Poetry is quite often like that. A lot of poets - I dare say most will tell you, for example, they don’t have a clue how the poem they are writing is going to end until they reach the end. I know, more often than not this is the case with me.

Maybe, that is the magic of poetry. A surprise ending? Sometimes as a reader you may see the poem building to an end that seems like a smooth transition and not surprising at all. But that is probably not how it came together in the poet’s mind. I’m not quite sure that everyone reading can quite appreciate the process. But, that’s okay. I think it may be a little like sausage. Maybe, you like the outcome of the process but not sure you want to see inside the mind of the poet as it is unfolding.

There used to be (and perhaps may still exist) a site where one could type a poem in as you are writing it and same it. Once uploaded, a reader could watch the letters and words flow across the page until finished. The beauty of this site was that. you could see the words appearing, as well see any backspaces changing the type and watch the changes as they were occurring. So, I guess you got to see a peek into the process. But this example only shows you the process of editing as you go along. Revision after the first draft takes on a whole new dimension. The poet might. set that draft aside and come back to it the next day. Or, week, or weeks, or even months down the road. Sometimes the draft will be revisited many times over whatever period of time, before it seems to reach it’s conclusion. Then there is the question of, is a poem ever finished? I will leave that to another. time.

THE SEARCH—

I believe poets are intended to be observers. That is almost a primary role of a poet. Some see poets as story tellers and that, they are, but those stories and details that create embellishment are a byproduct of the observational skills a poet has developed over time and uses on a routine basis.

The poet Carolyn Forché, is an excellent example of a poet of witness. These poets play a critical role of historians - that capture in poetry some critical moments in time where something significant occurs. Her perhaps, most memorable such poem would be The Colonel, (1981) Set in El Salvador in 1978, it offers a stark example of human rights violations of the time.

While it is beneficial to poets to observe their surroundings and get the feel of the textures and colors of life, to add strength of their work, we are not all going to write the iconic witness poem of our times, but should be have the personal experience that calls us to do so, it would be a grave miscarriage of our responsibility as a writer and a poet not to commit to page such important accounts for the sake of both literature and history.

While I did not witness this personally — I felt there was a story that should be told, and it is based on fact I wrote the following poem Tiananmen Mother. It was written in a workshop where I was asked to write a short play. I at first balked saying something to effect I’m a poet and not a damned playwright. So to make a long story short a two act play subsequently became a poem. It ended being picked up and published by the Independent Chinese PEN Center.

ALWAYS LOOKING -

Always searching for something brings to mind a poem I wrote many moons age. It appeared in an edition of the ”Boston Literary Magazine” and subsequently in the “BLM Anthology” as well. Here is “Making he Most of It”—

Making the Most of It Sorting out the allegory, dividing up the spoils to which we are entitled according to some archaic law of our own. These times are not the norm and we can’t quiet recall normalcy aside from the time the catfish jumped a good three feet above the water, the summer the moon froze in full mode for two straight months. I remember old folks telling of strange sightings in the northern sky, and they claim the winter was harsh that year and the women all spoke in language that would have mortified their own sensibilities any other time. It seems we all adjust to changes sooner or later. The wind is always shifting, and desires are nothing more than wants – not needs. All of us are looking for chances at one time or another. Opportunity comes and goes, but mostly it just hangs out in Jackson Hole. ©Michael Allyn Wells

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Just Finished Reading “In the Grip of Grace,” by -Marianne Mersereau

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Published by Finishing Line Press

The Author of “In the Grip of Grace” Really Leaves You Wanting More

“In the Grip of Grace,” the poet, Marianne Mersereau takes leave for a bit of the Pacific Northwest, where she makes her present home in Washington and pulls from cherished memories of the Appalachia forested hills triangled by the boarders Tennessee, Kentucky and North Carolina where she grew up. 

This collection of poems reads like an ancestral narrative of her family and friends. From Bats in the Chimney to the Chicken Coop Chapel she uses her fine honed skills as an extraordinary wordsmith to retell the details of family stories she has grown up with. She makes no apology for ghosts and healing of a severed tongue among squawking Chickens by faith and the grace of God.

One of my favorites is Elephants Remembered, which unleashes a variety of emotions from fascination, to anger and finally sadness. From Sonnets to Ceder Hill, which was crafted into a calligram in the shape of a cedar tree, Marianne brings an array of artistic thought that she cultivates and infuses into the making of this book.

If poetry can serve as memoir, this book could be seen as very close to it. The poem titled In Which My Parents Are Resurrected is a touching remembrance. It, along with Scattering Locks, and Umbilical Cord make up a very strong Trifecta of poems closing out this book. I recommend this especially for a strong and memorable conclusion.