Poetry Reading

Tonight I went to a poetry reading at the local Women's Civic Center. Things were kicked off by Harley Elliott, an accomplished man who lives in Salina - about an hour away.

His poems often talk about Kansas, and what living in Kansas is about. One of my favorites of his was not one he read tonight, but you can read it at http://skyways.lib.ks.us/poetry/waking.html.

He is an engaging personality, and always a crowd favorite.

He was followed by Amy Fleury, a poet who lives in Topeka. I was really touched by her poetry. One particular line really stuck with me - "he sang her a song she'd been wanting to hear." Every woman who has ever had a relationship can relate to that.

http://www.siu.edu/%7esiupress/titles/f04_titles/fleury_beautiful.htm

Fleury's work, "Beautiful Trouble" was published by SIU press in September of last year. She got high praise for it, including the following from the US Poet Laureate and Pulitzer Prize winner, Ted Kooser.

"The minute I finished 'Beautiful Trouble,' I wished I had copies to give to all my friends: To the poets, of course, who will admire it for its art, but also to those who don't read poetry. Fleury proves that a book of poems need not be baffling or condescending or self-absorbed. With ordinary words placed with perfect precision, this book throws open dozens of windows onto fresh new ways of seeing, and loving, the world."

Denise Low came next. She was very animated and told wonderful stories that put her poems into context. One of my favorites that she read played off the Apache belief that a dead person's things could be "haunted" by that person's essence, called "Gernonimo's Boots."

This was the first event held at the Civic Center in a long time. The building had been slated to be torn down. Trish has taken it on as a project to save it. It's going to be the new home of the Reno County Arts and Humanities Council, a board I've joined recently.

After Denise, John Eberly and his wife, Catherine, provided some musical entertainment. John is someone I've known for years through other people. In the last few months, I've gotten to know him better.


I had not heard Catherine sing and she has a beautiful voice. Just lovely, clear tones.

Afterwards we heard from two local poets, both of whom are well known in their own rights.

First up was Bill Sheldon. He grew up in Western Kansas, but now lives here. His poems were geared toward that.

There was a workshop earlier today, but I couldn't go as I was at a wedding. One of the topics was to consider new slogans for Kansas. One Bill joked about was "Expect Less."

The scheduled part of the evening ended with Steven Hind, who taught at Hutchinson Community College for many years. He evoked laughter from the audience a number of times, as well as some other emotions. One line that really stuck with me was in a poem about his dad. The line was about "this place he had been given, that he had chosen." That really stuck with me because we do all choose where we are at in so many ways literal and figurative.

All in all it was a wonderful evening. We were treated to two more poets who were in the audience tonight and got up to read their work. Both had the audience engaged and laughing.

Jocelyn came tonight, too. So, it was fun to see her. We've spent part of the day together off and on since this morning when we did wedding set up, then the actual wedding, and than tonight's event.

I'm ready to turn in. It has been a long day. I'll post wedding pix as soon as I get a chance.

Dala Lope

Dala Lope will make his debut this weekend in Lindsborg, Kansas. Look for him at www.thelope.blogspot.com.

Shower Epiphany

This morning in the shower I had one of those flashes of insight that seem so common during the early morning ritual of washing oneself.

The reason I bristle when people talk about work being rewarding and fulfilling and meaningful is that it implies that our mere existence here, at this time, in this place, is not. That in order to justify each breath we take we must be "producing" something.

I think this is just a nice, big, fat lie purported by corporate America.

My existence is valid, regardless of what I'm doing for a living. I will not believe the lie that what I do for a living is what gives purpose to my life.

A Poet for Peace

see this at:
www.thenation.com/doc/20051010/olds

For reasons spelled out below, the poet Sharon Olds has declined to attend the National Book Festival in Washington, which, coincidentally or not, takes place September 24, the day of an antiwar mobilization in the capital. Olds, winner of a National Book Critics Circle Award and professor of creative writing at New York University, was invited along with a number of other writers by First Lady Laura Bush to read from their works.

Three years ago artist Jules Feiffer declined to attend the festival's White House breakfast as a protest against the Iraq War ("Mr. Feiffer Regrets," November 11, 2002). We suggest that invitees to this year's event consider following their example.--The Editors

Laura Bush
First Lady
The White House

Dear Mrs. Bush,

I am writing to let you know why I am not able to accept your kind invitation to give a presentation at the National Book Festival on September 24, or to attend your dinner at the Library of Congress or the breakfast at the White House.

In one way, it's a very appealing invitation. The idea of speaking at a festival attended by 85,000 people is inspiring! The possibility of finding new readers is exciting for a poet in personal terms, and in terms of the desire that poetry serve its constituents--all of us who need the pleasure, and the inner and outer news, it delivers.

And the concept of a community of readers and writers has long been dear to my heart. As a professor of creative writing in the graduate school of a major university, I have had the chance to be a part of some magnificent outreach writing workshops in which our students have become teachers. Over the years, they have taught in a variety of settings: a women's prison, several New York City public high schools, an oncology ward for children. Our initial program, at a 900-bed state hospital for the severely physically challenged, has been running now for twenty years, creating along the way lasting friendships between young MFA candidates and their students--long-term residents at the hospital who, in their humor, courage and wisdom, become our teachers.

When you have witnessed someone nonspeaking and almost nonmoving spell out, with a toe, on a big plastic alphabet chart, letter by letter, his new poem, you have experienced, close up, the passion and essentialness of writing. When you have held up a small cardboard alphabet card for a writer who is completely nonspeaking and nonmoving (except for the eyes), and pointed first to the A, then the B, then C, then D, until you get to the first letter of the first word of the first line of the poem she has been composing in her head all week, and she lifts her eyes when that letter is touched to say yes, you feel with a fresh immediacy the human drive for creation, self-expression, accuracy, honesty and wit--and the importance of writing, which celebrates the value of each person's unique story and song.

So the prospect of a festival of books seemed wonderful to me. I thought of the opportunity to talk about how to start up an outreach program. I thought of the chance to sell some books, sign some books and meet some of the citizens of Washington, DC. I thought that I could try to find a way, even as your guest, with respect, to speak about my deep feeling that we should not have invaded Iraq, and to declare my belief that the wish to invade another culture and another country--with the resultant loss of life and limb for our brave soldiers, and for the noncombatants in their home terrain--did not come out of our democracy but was instead a decision made "at the top" and forced on the people by distorted language, and by untruths. I hoped to express the fear that we have begun to live in the shadows of tyranny and religious chauvinism--the opposites of the liberty, tolerance and diversity our nation aspires to.

I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival in order to bear witness--as an American who loves her country and its principles and its writing--against this undeclared and devastating war.

But I could not face the idea of breaking bread with you. I knew that if I sat down to eat with you, it would feel to me as if I were condoning what I see to be the wild, highhanded actions of the Bush Administration.

What kept coming to the fore of my mind was that I would be taking food from the hand of the First Lady who represents the Administration that unleashed this war and that wills its continuation, even to the extent of permitting "extraordinary rendition": flying people to other countries where they will be tortured for us.

So many Americans who had felt pride in our country now feel anguish and shame, for the current regime of blood, wounds and fire. I thought of the clean linens at your table, the shining knives and the flames of the candles, and I could not stomach it.

Sincerely,
SHARON OLDS

Dreams dead and Dreams new

It has been a very full work day. Plus, I worked in the diversity lunch today. It was a really good group today. Service was a bit better, which was a nice change.

Greg and I went to Skaets right at 5 and then Julie came over later for me to help her with a computer thing.

I've been rather distracted all day today. Today is another anniversary to get through. The day is almost over. Tomorrow will be another one. Some dreams die - some gracefully, some not so much. I get exhausted from all of it, but can't seem to let the days pass without noting it because it seems to belittle something that was important in this lifetime.

Last night I had the oddest dream - actually three dreams that were related. I know these dreams will alter how I see the world - they already have slightly - and they will yet more, I'm sure. They were not dreams of my brain clearing itself. Part of me is excited to go to sleep tonight. Part of me is frightened.

What I Want Tonight

Tonight I want to go upstairs to my studio and create. Unfortunately, that's not in the cards, but it's what I really, really, really want to do. My studio is still crammed with furniture.

Instead of being in the studio tonight, I will be on my hands and knees in the sunporch, scrubbing the tile again.

It just doesn't hold the same appeal.

The question was posed: Are you a religious or spiritual person? What is the difference?

For me:
"Religious" means you belong to a particular religion/denomination/etc. "I'm religious" is a generic way of saying, I'm catholic, baptist, methodist, mormon or anything else. That person may, or may not, have any kind of spirituality.

"Spiritual" is about the relationship you have to the higher power/fellow humans/earth/etc. It does not require a church, a group, or anything else along those lines.

I'm spiritual but not religious.