To a Piece of Paper

Chapter anthology, Foreword by Dr. James W. Pennebaker

National Poetry Month, our dip/dive/descent into poetry for 30 days in springtime, ends today. It’s been (mostly) fun to blog (mostly) daily, to (mostly) not beat myself up when I missed days, and to seek out (mostly) new poems.

Last year, I co-wrote and edited the first three books in the It’s Easy to W.R.I.T.E Expressive Writing series for Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. This spring and summer they’ll be released. This is a 5-year contract, so there will be an anthology and one or two accompanying volumes produced each year through 2018.

The series is designed to be an integrated social sciences approach to best-practice applications of therapeutic writing in education, counseling, healthcare/wellness, and community service.

I’m incredibly proud of all three books. My co-authors are each gifted leaders in their therapeutic writing niches, and we have co-created an impressive first year’s offering. As series editor, I am responsible for the Big Vision as well as the day-to-day doingness of book-writing, and I am truly thrilled with how all three books have come together.

I am creating a new website for the launch of the books. It’s not active yet, but I will keep you posted. Meanwhile, I am very happy to close my month of (mostly) daily poems with this simple ode to alchemy, where it all begins.

To a Piece of Paper

Here is the landscape of all possibility,
whiter than the obverse of ether.
Here is the window of a universe unborn,
where the mind’s fugitive seed
seeks a hidden orifice of Creation.
Here is the battlefield,
here is the scented bed;
here is the palace,
dazzling in its lack of plumage,
where something unknown
wants to live.

–David Wiley (c)

Your Turn

  • Co-authored with Rosemary Lohndorf, Boulder COWhat “unknown” “wants to live” on your page?
  • Choose any image from the poem (the window, the palace, the battlefield) and extend the metaphor. How is your empty page like, or not like, this?
  • Write your own ode to a piece of paper, or to your journal, or to poetry.
  • Reflect on what it has been like to read poems and writing prompts this month. Has poetry changed you this month?
  • Please post your comments here! Thank you for following my blog during National Poetry Month.
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Blue

Slam poetry, every Sunday night at the Mercury Cafe

Last night I went to the Sunday night poetry slam at the Mercury Cafe. For the first time, I judged. Now, for those who may not be familiar with slam poetry culture, judging requires nothing beyond the ability to quickly form an opinion. It’s done by five audience volunteers who don’t know the poets personally and who agree to rank each performed poem on a 0-10 scale, using 1/10-point increments. It’s suggested, but not required, that evaluation be divided approximately 50/50 between the poem’s artistic merit (do I think it’s a good poem?) and the performance (is it good theater?) Each night begins with a non-competing veteran slam poet, who helps newbie judges like me calibrate my voting schemata — we’re told to score all other poems and performances relative to the score we decide on for this one. It’s totally subjective, but ideally somewhat consistent. I started the “test poet” in the 8.0 range, and my scores over thirteen performances ranked from 6.3 to 9.9.

"The Merc," Denver

Slam poetry is nothing if not personal — politics, sex, money, love, abuse, childhoods, addictions, culture, activism, jobs, no jobs, speaking out, speaking up. It was amazing to watch last night’s winner (of $25 cash from the tip jar), a skinny blonde high school senior named Tess, on stage for only the third time!, coolly slam her way past the other finalist, a veteran who’s on the Merc’s competitive team. (She got a 9.9 from me. He got a 9.6.)

If I could, I’d share Tess’ knockout poem, but I think it only exists on the tattered notebook pages she was clutching, and in her most impressive and commanding poetic space. So I’ll offer instead this incredible poem, Blue, performed by Suzi Q. Smith, a breakout star from the Mercury Cafe team. Suzi Q’s poem/performance has earned many 10s.

Your Turn

On stage at the Merc

  • Have you ever attended a slam poetry performance? If so, write about it. If not, do you think you might want to? Why or why not?
  • Who or what do you judge? How do you feel about judging? How judgmental are you?
  • Find a poem you love — one you’ve written, or one you found or were given. Read it out loud, over and over. Play with your voice and with spoken word.
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The Guest House

Laura Davis, writer, writing teacher, Summer 2013 Scotland writing circle leader

I met Laura Davis back in the 1990s, when her book, The Courage to Heal, co-authored with poet and writer Ellen Bass, blew the lid off the thinking about and treatment of sexual trauma from childhood. We recently reconnected after several years of living parallel lives as writers, teachers, and circle-callers. I told her of the myriad happenings at the Center for Journal Therapy and the Therapeutic Writing Institute; she told me of her teaching and advocacy in the Santa Cruz area, and her writing trip to Scotland in August.  Then we started talking poetry.

“Who’s your favorite poet?” I asked. “Lots!” she replied. “Rumi!”

Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field/ I’ll meet you there,” I responded, quoting some of my favorite Rumi lines. “This being human is a guest house/ Every morning a new arrival,” she answered.

The Guest House

Newbold House, the actual "guest house"

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,/
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,/
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

Bagpipe player, Scotland

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

–Rumi (trans. Coleman Barks) (c)

Note: Due to formatting limitations, line continuation is indicated by “/” before and after the line that should not be broken.

Your Turn

Prayer circle on the lawn

  • Laura is conducting a writing tour to Scotland, August 14-24.Write about your ideal Scotland writing group fantasy.
  • Who is visiting your guest house today?
  • What might happen if you were to “meet [the dark thought, the shame, the malice] at the door laughing/ and invite them in”?
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My Journal

Traum Diggs (David Shanks)

A couple of months ago, I met Traum Diggs, a/k/a David Shanks, and his business partner/producer, Randy Tonge. David and Randy approached me because they were embarking on a visionary project: Creating a YouTube docu-series on journal therapy, using songwriting, particularly hip-hop lyrics, as the vehicle through which life story can be expressed. They are especially interested in taking this work to young urban men.

I’ve been doing this work for 28 years, and I’ve reached a lot of people in a lot of walks of life. I even wrote an entire book about men’s journal process (Mightier Than the Sword: The Journal as a Path to Men’s Self-Discovery) back in the 1990s. But at this stage of my career and life, with a finite number of years left to devote, I’m realistic about my own reach. Although I’ve learned to “never say never,” I was not foreseeing any path to taking this work to young urban men.

Randy Tonge, Producer

So it was a tremendous surprise and gift when David and Randy asked if I could help their project by representing the established therapeutic stance on writing as a way of healing body, mind, heart and soul. Synchronistically, I was scheduled to teach journal therapy workshops to therapists near where they live the very next week, and I invited them to participate. They came, they absorbed, we filmed, we parted friends and colleagues. They are men of authenticity and integrity, and I’m fully committed to whatever I can do to support their project.

I asked David if he would provide me with lyrics to “My Journal,” a song he wrote and performs as part of the sound track for the docu-series, so that I could include his song as one of my poems-of-the-day. He agreed, and then he did me one better: This morning I received the link to just-completed music video for “My Journal,” which has the lyrics imbedded. Please be among the very first to have a look/listen. And please leave a comment at YouTube! Beneath the video is a link to the first segment in the docu-series.

The first episode of the docu-series (13 minutes) can be seen here:
My Journal: The Words Are My Journey – Entry One

Your Turn

  • “The words are my journey.” What does that evoke for you?
  • Free-write for 15 minutes about your journal. What emerges?
  • If someone were to film a documentary about your journal experience, what would the theme or focus be?
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Sleeping in the Forest

It’s Earth Day! Time to take a pause and reflect on our hot, crowded, struggling planet… and see if there is a way, large or small, that we can individually step up our accountability and commitment to ecology.

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
–Mary Oliver (c)

Your Turn

  • Write about a time you slept under the stars.
  • Start with the line, “I thought the earth remembered me….”
  • Is there a small commitment (recycling your aluminum cans, turning off the water while you brush your teeth, unplugging your computer power cord when your computer is turned off) that you can make in honor of Earth Day 2013?
  • Spend time outdoors today, and actively appreciate nature and natural resources as you do. Write a Captured Moment of your Earth Day celebration.
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Monet Refuses the Operation

(c) CBS News

It’s been an emotional week, starting with the horror of the Boston Marathon bombings and ending with today’s 14th anniversary of the Columbine shootings in my own community. I’m not sure what this poem has to do with reeling with shock, fear and unspeakable grief, this week or in the past. Maybe it’s just that it softens my edges every time I read it, and I rest for a bit in its beauty.

for Kristen

Monet Refuses the Operation

"Matin," Claude Monet, 1888

Doctor, you say there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don’t see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.

"Path Under the Rose Trellises," Claude Monet, 1924

Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don’t know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent.  The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight

"Rouen Cathedral, the Portal, Morning Effect," Claude Monet, 1894

so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and change our bones, skin, clothes
to gases.  Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.
–Lisel Mueller
from Second Language, © 1996

Your Turn

  • Start a write, “I tell you, it has taken me all my life—”
  • How can you soften your vision about something in your life that seems quite fixed?
  • What do you refuse?

Note: Despite my presentation, there are no stanza breaks in this poem. The coding is acting up. Apologies to the poet.

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The Poet Offers…a Parabled Universe

Mary Hynes-Berry and Joy Sawyer as Joy receives NAPT's Distinguished Service Award

At the poetry therapy conference my friend, colleague and long-time teaching partner Joy Roulier Sawyer received the Distinguished Service award for revising and revitalizing our core textbook, Biblio/Poetry Therapy: The Interactive Process by the late Arleen Hynes and her daughter, Mary Hynes-Berry. The third edition, lovingly edited by Joy with more than 65 pages of new material (an exhaustive bibliography of works in the field, a tribute to Sr. Arleen, who became a Benedictine nun after the death of her husband,  a new introduction by Dr. Peggy Osna Heller) retains all of Hynes & Hynes-Berry’s wisdom and escorts it into the 21st century. She well deserves her recognition! Joy is also an accomplished poet and has had a lifelong career with poetry, in addition to her work as a licensed psychotherapist and registered poetry therapist. Here’s one from Joy.

The Poet Offers the Pharisee
a Parabled Universe

Joy, after Mary's suggestion that her handmade gift of a tea cozy might make a nice hat.

Poetry

is the leper
leapfrogging!
to give thanks

the prodigal
leg-wrestling
Big Brother

the last word
you’d invite to
tea

Poetry

is the mustard seed
that quakes
the earth–

so help
our
unbelief.

–Joy Roulier Sawyer (c)

Your Turn

  • Create a metaphor (or two or three) for something that you are passionate about.
  • As a follow-on to the poem “April” on 4/15, continue the point-of-view exercise. Create a list of perspectives you might write from about this passion. Create a metaphor for each. Combine them into a poem.
  • Write about your relationship with poetry.
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First Hour

Hello, world! Felicity June, 2 hours old.

A poem a day with writing prompts for National Poetry Month….

My oldest niece in my younger sister’s family had her first baby, a girl, at 12:09 p.m. today. I think you will agree that she is gorgeous! She has a full head of dark hair (maybe red–she has three red-headed aunts) and she looks exactly like her mother when she was born. Welcome to the world, beautiful Felicity! Here’s your first poem. I promise I will give you lots more.

First Hour

That hour, I was most myself. I had shrugged
my mother slowly off, I lay there
taking my first breaths, as if
the air of the room was blowing me
like a bubble. All I had to do
was go out along the line of my gaze and back,
feeling gravity, silk, the
pressure of the air a caress, smelling on
myself her creamy blood. The air
was softly touching my skin and mouth,
entering me and drawing forth the little
sighs I did not know as mine.
I was not afraid. I lay in the quiet
and looked, and did the wordless thought,
my mind was getting its oxygen
direct, the rich mix by mouth.
I hated no one. I gazed and gazed,
and everything was interesting, I was
free, not yet in love, I did not
belong to anyone, I had drunk
no milk yet—no one had
my heart. I was not very human. I did not
know there was anyone else. I lay
like a god, for an hour, then they came for me
and took me to my mother.

–Sharon Olds

Your Turn

  • Write a story about a time of birthing.
  • What or who have you fallen in love with today?
  • What are you approaching with complete beginner mind?
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April

Spring has not yet sprung, 9am

I got home last night (Sun) from the poetry therapy conference, with flight delayed for weather in Denver. When I woke up this morning, the clouds were low and grey. Snow clouds have a particular texture and density; they hang heavy in the sky. I knew we were in for a storm, but I wore a thin spring jacket anyway. Dumb! At least I wore boots. By noon, it was a white-out; by 4:30, when I left for the normally 25-minute drive to the university to teach my class, it was a blizzard. At 6:05, when I entered, dripping, into my classroom, it was starting to mound. The snow is beautiful, muffling sound and wrapping the city in a thick cape. And we desperately need the water. Yet I yearn for warmth. I want to wear shorts and tees. I want my flowers to bloom. I want my hands in the dirt. I want April!

April

The optimists among us
taking heart because it is spring
skip along
attending their meetings
signing their e-mail petitions
marching with their satiric signs
singing their we shall overcome songs
posting their pungent twitters and blogs
believing in a better world
for no good reason
I envy them
said the old woman

On the way to campus, 5pm

The seasons go round they
go round and around
said the tulip
dancing among her friends
in their brown bed in the sun
in the April breeze
under a maple canopy
that was also dancing
only with greater motions
casting greater shadows
and the grass
hardly stirring

What a concerto
of good stinks said the dog
trotting along Riverside Drive
in the early spring afternoon
sniffing this way and that
how gratifying the cellos of the river
the tubas of the traffic
the trombones
of the leafing elms with the legato
of my rivals’ piss at their feet
and the leftover meat and grease
singing along in all the wastebaskets

–Alicia Ostriker (c)

After class, 9pm

Your Turn

  • What is April like where you are?
  • Each stanza of this poem is written from a different point of view. Take a topic and explore it from three different points of view. See if you can step inside that point of view and see life through that being’s eyes, feel it through their skin.
  • What do you anticipate or prepare for in this stage of spring? Do you have seasonal patterns or rituals?
  • Warm me up with your comments!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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The Patience of Ordinary Things

Dr. Geri Chavis, keynote speaker, NAPT Conference 2013, Chicago

Another amazing day at the National Association for Poetry Therapy (NAPT) conference in Chicago. Today’s keynote speaker was Dr. Geri Chavis, who is both a psychologist and poetry therapist, and a professor of English and Literature at St. Catherine’s University in Minneapolis. Geri is another pioneer in the field who studied under and worked and taught with Sr. Arleen Hynes, who, with her daughter Mary Hynes-Berry (now there’s a juxtaposition!) wrote the seminal text in the field, Biblio/Poetry Therapy: The Interactive Process. Geri’s keynote was on “the alchemy of juxtapositions.” First we found a “juxtaposition of opposites” for our own lives–mine was structured spontaneity. Then she offered this delicious poem by Pat Schneider, founder of Amherst Writers and Artists, which provides some cool  ways of juxtaposing new recognitions of everyday objects.

The Patience of Ordinary Things

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
how the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
how the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
or toes. How soles of feet know
where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
of ordinary things, how clothes
wait respectfully in closets
and soap dries quietly in the dish,
and towels drink the wet
from the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

–Pat Schneider (c)

from Another River: New and Selected Poems, c) 2005 Amherst Writers and Artists Press

Your Turn

  • Think of a creative juxtaposition that contrasts two paradoxical or opposite things. Start with a life issue, feeling, or quality of your own. Then find an adjective that describes it that is contrary to the meaning of the word you’ve chosen: easy hardship, passionate indifference. Write about the pairing.
  • Reflect on the “ordinary things” in your life. Find a new way of regarding them — “the lovely repetition of stairs,” the quietness of the soap. Choose something you take for granted every day, and regard it with fresh eyes and an awakened heart. Write about it. Repeat the process for someone you take for granted every day.
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