i’ve found a lovely friend and poet-kin in Mary Oliver, who i’m sure is a friend and poet-kin to many reading here.
specifically, her closing notes at the end of the book ‘A Poetry Handbook’ were illuminating for me. they made me realise that poets are a community that need each other and that the world needs.
please find her words quoted below:
“Poetry is a river; many voices travel in it; poem after poem moves along in the exciting crests and falls of the river waves.
“None is timeless; each arrives in an historical context; almost everything, in the end, passes. But the desire to make a poem, and the world's willingness to receive it—indeed the world's need of it—these never pass.
“If it is all poetry, and not just one's own accomplishment, that carries one from this green and mortal world- that lifts the latch and gives a glimpse into a greater paradise then perhaps one has the sensibility: a gratitude apart from authorship, a fervor and desire beyond the margins of the self.”
Thank you so much for sharing these (for me) new words from Mary Oliver. I love picturing the river of poems flowing sturdily with a few of mine, but not dependent on anyone's production because there will always be poems, old and new.
This question couldn’t be better timed. I have written here before about the fact that I write poetry but don’t share it with anyone, for much the same (admittedly foolish) reasons you cite from conversations with others. But it’s basically just fear which says “you won’t be as good as the poets you love” and “your deep feelings will be made silly by appearing in a mediocre poem, so keep them to yourself.” I am glad I know that these are lies, but they are still powerful.
I recently began sharing my poems occasionally with a playwright friend of mine, who has so tenderly nudged me toward a practice and into a class, and only three weeks ago I started my first ever poetry writing workshop. I have a busy travel schedule this Fall, so rather than put it off any longer, I am doing an online workshop/class that allows me to work asynchronously. This works for now until I can be in a live room, which I now crave. And tomorrow, I’ll submit my first poem for critique by the class. Three weeks in, I already feel the muscles of vulnerability developing and I am not afraid, and am actually quite excited. All it took was a friend to tell me, “I did it, it didn’t kill me, and it changed my life.” As always, we heal and we grow in relationship. Here goes.
“I did it, it didn’t kill me, and it changed my life.” We know deep down that we will not be destroyed by sharing our work, but oh, to have a friend give you that loving nudge toward what you fear...what a blessing that is.
With a graduate degree in creative writing, I was used to workshopping short stories or chapters of longer work, but I never felt confident enough to take a poetry workshop. It’s one of my great regrets that I didn’t try. Fast forward to my father’s traumatic death some years later. In the months that followed, poetry poured out of me. It’s like a switch was flipped in my head and my thoughts and dreams were being translated into verse. It was an astonishing burst that has since moderated, but it showed me what is possible. My fiction was about the world outside, but my poems come from an interior space I knew existed but which I could never access with prose fiction. I’ve been reticent about releasing my poems into the wild, but I hear you, Padraig, that it’s when we risk and show and share that things happen.
This is very beautiful Erin. The switch was flipped and your found what was possible. Thank you also for reiterating...'that it's when we risk and show and share that things happen'.
So sorry about the loss of your father. I resonate with you here, in that I feel like poetry is the only art form that remains for me in the deepest moments. My switch flipped after I gave birth the first time. Sending you love.
Thank you, Westley. Giving birth really is one of those deep times when the ordinary world is suspended and you enter a new reality. I remember not even being able to talk for a while after the birth of my first child, the awe and, if I’m being honest, the terror was too great for words - at least spoken ones.
I love how you expressed the deep place that poetry comes from. I also find that poems come from a place more elemental than prose can describe. I have not gotten to take a poetry workshop yet. I hope to some day. I did just learn that two of my poems will be published, which makes me indescribably happy.
I have been submitting a collection to various publishers and recieving the inevitable rejections. I find each email like a rejection of my soul. Yet I keep trying?
My favorite poetry moment of the past year, where a former poet professor had invited me to read with her and two other lovely local poets. (I was shaking of course, as always happens when I read poetry in public.) All us poets then went for a drink after and shared more of ourselves. It was such a precious moment in such a personal year of upheaval in my life.
Stephen King in his book Writing has a great suggestion about rejection slips - I have them too! He writes that if you are serious about being an author then you get a big nail and pound it into the wall near your work space and every time a rejection letter comes in, you put it on the nail like a badge of honour. The rejection slips tell you you are serious about your work, that you have the courage to send it into the world, that you are getting closer to finding the perfect fit for your work. So the fuller the nail gets, the better. He had a very big pile of rejection letters before he was published. My husband put a nail in the wall for me. I look forward to stuffing more rejections slips on it. You are a Brave Person. Keep reading in public, shakes are part of the gifting.
I LOVE this idea, Candice! What a lovely thought. Take it a step further-FRAME the rejection letters - stick the newest one in a frame and the one before it on the nail. Perfection! Thank you for sharing. XO
I belong to a group of writers named The Write Stuff. Almost 20 years ago, I started meeting with them at a local place that is now closed. Those evening meets were doable, but when the group changed to afternoons, I couldn’t follow until reconnecting during the pandemic over Zoom. By then, other members who had moved to different time zones could too. Now we are a hybrid group with some of us back to sitting at a table together.
Reading aloud for them has helped me build confidence to move on to reading for others in an open mic setting or at an occasional planned event.
Bringing breath to my poems is so revealing of their power. I always find a clearer poem through this process, which includes the time spent practicing beforehand. It is amazing the way speaking my poems reveals better revision of phrasing and form on the page.
Poetry is life. It is solitude, self-examination, and communication. It is passion.
I never regarded a few of the writings coming through me as anything more than stanzas. This was the format the words wanted to be expressed as. I could not bring myself to name what I had written as “poetry”.
During the pandemic, I was invited by a sister blogger to join a writing circle. She and some of the group are on the west coast and others and I on the east coast and we were as close as if sitting in the same room. Writing together can do that.
In the process of participating in these over time, I was both surprised and delighted by what I wrote. I have a small collection of poems that clearly articulate for me, a journey through that period of my life...and which had nothing to do with the pandemic itself, or everything to do with it depending upon the perspective of the moment.
I felt seen, heard and not judged by that experience. I’m forever grateful to Ali Grimshaw for that invitation.
Sep 24, 2023·edited Sep 24, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama
John O'Donohue, in Blessing for Presence, wrote, 'May you receive great encouragement when new frontiers beckon and may you have the courage to respond to the call of your gift. This has been my accompaniment for all times.
I first started writing as a celebrant 28 years ago. I found accompaniment with the people I worked for. My ceremonies were like 'found' writing sharing the couples, the families, the community stories, their language, their beliefs, their inspiration. I wrote ceremonies with clarity and authenticity; but I was not a poet. 18 months ago, I saw an invitation to join a Poetry Masterclass, 'What the Light Tells', with the Australian poet, Mark Tredinnick. I was nervous and excited. Unexpectedly, I had radical surgery a week before the first online class to remove, successfully, a rare form of ovarian cancer. Both the poetry program and the close shave with death and the healing have been life, mind, heart...changing. I was in a 'let's not waste a moment with resistance' mindset.
In the poetry masterclass, I learnt about form and practice and feedback. I felt like a power greater than me was working through me. After the class finished and my health was back on track, I noticed my resistance start to arise... little voices saying, you are not a poet, people have written better poetry that say the same thing so why bother...
I signed up for further online poetry and writing programs. Recently, I requested (and paid for) feedback after entering into a poetry competition. My poems were not selected. The editor offered a pat on the back about structure etc however, I latched onto the one para: 'your writing is very predictable. It's not weird enough. You need to find your 'weird' and surprise your readers. It has stayed with me: Where's my weird? What is being asked of me? Is it ok to be predictable?
While resistance feels uncomfortable... I take notice...with curiousity, kindness and softening, and at the same time, with boldness. I wrote back to the editor with gratitude and asked if she could be more specific. I wouldn't say I've found my 'weird' with the words and lines she marked, and I am ok with that. I noticed I just couldn't see what to change or how to change it and keep the meaning.
I don't need to rush this learning. I have noticed that the more I engage in writing practices, receive critique on my work, read a good cross selection of poetry that I like and don't like, listen to podcasts like yours Padraig, and read forums like this and connect to other poets and write every day then I have less time for resistance. Also, I was totally surprised that I signed up for a local Poetry Slam and totally enjoyed it. I have participated three times now and, each time, loved it. Maybe I might just find my 'weird' on the way.
I like the quote of John O'Donohue that you shared; it reminds me of Rilke's verse "You, sent out beyond your recall, / go to the limits of your longing. / Embody me. / Flare up like a flame / and make big shadows I can move in" that Krista Tippett (of On Being) read in a voice so lovely in "Interesting People Reading Poetry." https://interestingpeoplereadingpoetry.com/2019/02/12/krista-tippett-reads-rilke/
It's perhaps not my place to say anything, but in case you felt discouraged, I feel that the poetry editor's strangely un-poetic response is not something to be taken seriously. I'm fiercely on the end of not believing in the "critique" of art. What I do believe is that "[w]orks of art... cannot be reached by criticism. Only love can touch them and do them justice." (Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet). There was a poetry book, and at first glimpse I could not find what was special about it. Only afterward when my eyes were opened to it and fell in [love with] it could I see it in the light, and found it to be extraordinary in how beautiful it was. If I had pronounced my opinion hastily in my state of seeing the poetry book as not extraordinary-- well, not actually seeing it at all-- the comment would have been inaccurate, not through any fault of the poetry but through the fault of my own blindness. This is why I believe only those who love a work of art are able to know the art, and therefore are able to form or express any valuable truth upon it.
So I hope you are not discouraged by that editor! I like what Julia Cameron says about how our art is automatically "original" because we are the "origin" of our work. I like to think that each individual is a prism refracting light in unique angles and colors and the rays coming out of pure glass the art. And that can always only ever be unique!
Thank you Elizabeth, I feel your care and concern and agree to our art being original/the source. I love that quote by Rilke... 'make big shadows I can move in'.
Rather than feeling discouraged, I felt curious, engaged and like you, wanted to read through my own work again with open ears. Listening. I like your story of not being hasty to judge, to sense the originality of each piece, the origin's uniqueness. I may not have conveyed my meaning clearly in my writing: I was grateful even though I don't understand what this new step looks like. Thank you for your care and encouragement! It's lovely to hear from you.
Thanks for sharing, Wendy!! That is only one person's feedback, so don't take it too literally or importantly! There is never a rush to our growth and learning. It all comes when we are ready and it's absolutely perfect when we are!! XO
Thanks Danielle, Absolutely... and I am always open and actually keen for the encouragement to keep open to the weird or unusual words... that may just capture that 'something extra' that might surprise you... or even better, me!
Thank you Mona. Not rushing...staying at ease with what is, is an art form I have had to nurture for many many many years (sounds like a river flowing)... not rushing the not rushing....
I signed up for an online poetry class–my first ever–unaware that we would be asked to read our "wild writing" work out loud. The teacher read a poem, picked out a few lines or words for us to use as prompts, gave us 5 or 10 minutes to write without thinking, and then invited us to read what we wrote out loud. There was no feedback except, "Thank you for sharing." As I listened to the other students read during the first class, I was blown away by their vulnerability and the stories they told, finding a connection to the emotions, if not the experience, of each and every one. That first class I seriously contemplated using the "bad connection" excuse to get out of reading mine–I was wrapped tightly in a childhood remnant that viewed vulnerability as weakness. I stayed. I shakily read my piece, careful not to look at the screen, and made it through. I looked up and saw heads nodding and a few tears. I was hooked. There is a sacredness in sharing from the soul.
Yes!!! Thank you, Karen! There IS a Sacredness in sharing from the Soul. Beautiful!! I hope you share only from there going forward, to the delight of the rest of us. XO
i cried when i read this one, Padraig and friends. thank you.
good fortune shone on my fifth grade-self when i won a Hershey’s Almond Chocolate Bar in a Haiku contest. the feeling was more than winning, more than the promise of the chocolate bar that was delivered by my sixth-grade crush...it was the light that shifted every cell in my being with the message that poetry is more than i thought, that words matter, and there was a place for that elementary school girl in this vast and beautiful and confusing world.🌱
Fiona, thank you for reading and commenting. That English class was one of the highlights of my youth. I realized you don't need much if you have the space to create. And what a bonus to be seen.
Padraig's community is so good. Glad you are here🌱
Phil, talk about being seen! Thanks for asking! I do remember::
morning sky growing
waking children to the day
join the feast of light
My father was a grumpy man. By fifth grade, I had read enough books to know that life could be cheerier than his portrayal. His complaining began when he arrived home from work, as did his drinking. What I didn't realize until many years later, was that it was not normal for your father to keep pouring. His grumpy hours were hangover hours. He was a lovely man in the afternoon.
The other thing I didn't realize until recently was that he did not want children. My mother wanted four. She had three. I was the oldest. I think in many ways I was Dad's practice child. And I was already a rebel by the fifth grade. I knew there was a better way to be.
So glad you are here, Phil. So glad you are posting your poems!🌱
This is beautiful, Katherine. It reminded me of my childhood and early adulthood, when my sister and I would write haiku in the same notebook, passing it back and forth at all hours, sometimes goofy, sometimes deeply wounded and seeking comfort. ❤️
This last year, having completed my first book of collected poems, I chose 8 people as readers - to read through and answer five simple questions. I just felt if I didn't have someone else read my work, it would die on my desk. So, I was caught between death and terror. The terror won out. The eight morphed into 12 as other people asked to be readers too. So.
The most surprising thing about sharing my poetry was the delightful conversations that ensued. And the awareness that everyone heard the poems differently. It was as though they were passed through a prism, emerging in various hues. I think this is always the way in sharing art with others - it passes through another spirit and emerges as something new again - and again and again as others view or listen or read. Padraig, you have written about this in other places - the importance of sharing one's artistic endevours with others, how it breathes life into them. And yes, this has been my experience.
I shall seek out a smoky basement and the courage to speak them out loud - or given that I live in the country, perhaps I shall have to initiate one on my own in an abandoned horse stall somewhere. We shall see........
Love it, Candice!!! "It was as though they were passed through a prism, emerging in various hues." We are each our own beautiful prism, complete with our own lovely hues. Thank goodness for that, otherwise poetry wouldn't be quite the same! XO
Deaths are what drove me to poetry too, Karen. It felt like the only form that could hold such big emotions. I hope you find your community to begin sharing
How beautiful, Padraig. It reminds me of the friendship that has emerged between me and one of my fellow writers in a bimonthly writers group that I attend. I remember clearly how she first asked me for recommendations on churches to attend (I'm kind of a nerd for church), and then how she "friended" me and messaged me on Facebook Messenger. We still talk on that several times a week. And how, tentatively, we met for coffee, in the auspices of writing some more. We shared ourselves - our stories, bits of our personal lives, and those tender moments in our poetry that we thought, like your student said, were so personal that no one would understand. Along the way, this person of mine has become one of my best friends. Recently, I've asked her for feedback on my poems, and she's the most generous and insightful editor that I could hope for. She's Christian and I'm a bit of everything, and she's prayed with and for me for specific purposes, always asking my permission or with a soft invite. I cherish her vulnerability in being willing to pray out loud before we sit down to a meal, because that's just her: strong, funny, and tender all at once. <3
What would I do/have done without my two Anam Caras who patiently, faithfully read and respond to my written rants and raves and random thoughts in short story or poetic forms? I know I write for myself as a way to make sense of it all, but I must also write so I can share and get feedback, which is what they give me. Resistance comes from my reluctance to face what might form in my writing. My soul sister and brother urge me onward. Thank you, Bill. Thank you, Bo.
I needed to add a one credit class to my final term of grad school for a masters in counseling and I found a “poetry and creative writing in counseling” course was being offered. I assumed it would focus on helping clients work through feelings through writing, but it was clear from the first class that the way to get there would be sharing our own. After discussing the history and depth of poetry and reading favorite poems in class, we were assigned to write a poem “based on a difficult time” in our lives. The instructor had us read them twice, and it was amazing how much of a difference that made in the presentation. When I finished mine, a classmate said “excuse my language but that packs a (expletive) punch!” It was an amazing experience to offer something so personal and to have someone “get it” even without having the context.
So much delight in reading your newsletter this morning, Pádraig. And an extra gift to listen to the podcast of "Hijito" again. Wow. And I am smiling big reading about all the accompaniments and friendships and support along your path...
Once again, I am stumped. Stumped by this query, maybe because how I would respond is "I feel stuck in resistance, and I don't know what it is, and I don't know what will help." Praise and encouragement have not been sufficient at all to help the door that is shut to come loose. Sometimes I wonder if they somehow do the opposite. Not sure...
But! The way the subconscious works.... your inquiry did have me think of a kindred spirit I feel blessed to have known and been connected with - Shahbano Aliani. Shahbano and I also sat at Caffe Reggio (!) back in the late 90s, when together with a few others, Krittika, Kamala, Amy, Linta... we organized ESL classes for South Asian immigrant women who did domestic labor, through an organization called Workers Awaaz (meaning Voice). We had planning meetings at Caffe Reggio, until Amy got us into a space at NYU where she was a law student. We were activists and community organizers and on fire. We were determined to change the world. One word at a time. In this case, through teaching language.
Years later, Shahbano moved to Karachi, back to Pakistan where she was born. We reconnected thanks to FB, where I learned that she had found the Sufi path, and was writing poetry. Her poems were on fire! I was deeply moved and inspired, and our reconnection was characterized by a mutual love and respect for current expression of who each of us was, or part of that - for me, it was Shahbano's Sufi poetry, and for Shahbano, as she shared, it was the healing arts work and Buddha dharma teachings I was studying, practicing, and sharing.
It felt like a very special connection, having met when we were activists, and then finding each other again, in a different moment along our paths, each with a deep spiritual orientation.
One day after I posted a poem onto FB (of someone else's, of course), in response, Shahbano wrote a poem and shared it with me. In response, I told her "maybe one day I'll write a poem myself too. I wish!" to which she responded, "In sha Allah, one day your poetry will flow in the form you want, because it already flows from your being and we get beautiful glimpse of it. I don't know a thing about poetry either and then the Sufi path just left me with no option but to write. God says in the Quran that the heavens can't contain Him but the heart of the sincere one contains Him. So our heart is vast and when we experience this vastness, it can be unbearable. And music, dance, and poetry give relief to the ineffable."
Shahbano died (of cancer) on February 7 ,2019. When she left, I felt as if I lost a most intimate friend, and in the moment, it felt like a teacher, a guide, a mentor (though she didn't know it), had died.
In the years since her passing, she has become an "accompaniment" for me. Another one of my "encounters with the dead." Her voice, as it comes to me, through me, will perhaps at some point lubricate the hinges enough to help open the door that seems reluctantly, resolutely, conflictedly shut. But for now, her voice remains a gentle and steady presence. Utterly patient. Full of faith.
In rare moments, my own faith overcomes the fear, or perhaps it is simply that when the river is flowing, it is flowing, and fear hasn't a chance. Too often though, it feels as if the river is dammed. It might be an over simplification to say the dam is the ego, but, then again, that is what it feels like. Your prompt is prompting me to explore this dam, this door, these hinges, and what might potentially lubricate them, even more. Thank you, Pádraig.
Crying. What a tender and beautifully written testimony to Life, to Love, to friendship and the poetry therein. Sometimes in my own frustration I realize the harm and hurt I am causing to myself, my Being. And because of Padraíg’s letter today and reading your truth, I will write today. Just one line. I’m sure you too have a line.
Just as Shahbano says,
‘... it already flows from your being and we get beautiful glimpse of it. ‘
Omg, what a kind, generous and beautiful response. Thank you, Fiona, for sharpening my pencil, along with yours. And for the sound of your pencil moving across your page … it does something. 🙏🏾. Bows. Thank YOU.
The mysterious ways of the sub/unconscious have also helped me uncover things hiding in the underbrush. Meditation, yoga, walking, in nature, and recently learning self hypnosis have been, for me, broken through the wall between conscious and unconscious. In celebration, I wrote a poem a few months ago: "Owed to My Unconscious".
Mona, darling Mona!! You have it in you, sister, just waiting to come out. Every. Single. Time. you write a response here, it is so eloquent and lovely that it is hard for me to imagine your poetry not flowing out of you like a river! I am sorry you lost your dear friend, but I pray that her continued presence helps release the dam so that we may all benefit, for I know it will be beautiful! XO
How wonderful to have shared deep camaraderie at Caffe Reggio. ☕️ Precious memories for sure.
Yes, our egos create damns at any juncture, old and new, while the river of our life energies surges on, beginning anew over and over releasing old blockages droplet by droplet until the fear is gone.
“In sha Allah, one day your poetry will flow in the form you want, because it already flows from your being and we get beautiful glimpse of it.”
A truly moving tribute to your “already essence”.
Perhaps your tears for your friend’s untimely death will bring you deeper into your natural flow, always there waiting for you.
And, yes, we can all open to greater trust in self ⭕️♥️.
I need only my two hands to count the number of poems I wrote before turning 65. One hand has poems about boys I loved, the other, dogs and the natural world. Then, I became a caregiver for my mother who has Alzheimer’s. The Alzheimer’s Association in our region has a poetry support group for caregivers. Each month we bring an offering or two to share. Writing in this way takes me out of my busy-mind and into my heart. I like it; and now here I am!
thank you for the lovely write-up Padriag!!!
i’ve found a lovely friend and poet-kin in Mary Oliver, who i’m sure is a friend and poet-kin to many reading here.
specifically, her closing notes at the end of the book ‘A Poetry Handbook’ were illuminating for me. they made me realise that poets are a community that need each other and that the world needs.
please find her words quoted below:
“Poetry is a river; many voices travel in it; poem after poem moves along in the exciting crests and falls of the river waves.
“None is timeless; each arrives in an historical context; almost everything, in the end, passes. But the desire to make a poem, and the world's willingness to receive it—indeed the world's need of it—these never pass.
“If it is all poetry, and not just one's own accomplishment, that carries one from this green and mortal world- that lifts the latch and gives a glimpse into a greater paradise then perhaps one has the sensibility: a gratitude apart from authorship, a fervor and desire beyond the margins of the self.”
— Mary Oliver, A Poetry Handbook
Blessings,
Julian
Thank you so much for sharing these (for me) new words from Mary Oliver. I love picturing the river of poems flowing sturdily with a few of mine, but not dependent on anyone's production because there will always be poems, old and new.
Thanks for sharing this, Julian. I needed to read it today. 🙏
Thank you for sharing those words of Mary’s; I see a book I should read!
thank you, Julian JP Lee🌱
you remind me to pull Mary’s Handbook from the shelf today.🌱
This notion of a River of poems, moving, changing, heard for a moment, but likely no more has captured my attention. Thanks for posting.
Thanks for this very appropriate post, Julian.
This question couldn’t be better timed. I have written here before about the fact that I write poetry but don’t share it with anyone, for much the same (admittedly foolish) reasons you cite from conversations with others. But it’s basically just fear which says “you won’t be as good as the poets you love” and “your deep feelings will be made silly by appearing in a mediocre poem, so keep them to yourself.” I am glad I know that these are lies, but they are still powerful.
I recently began sharing my poems occasionally with a playwright friend of mine, who has so tenderly nudged me toward a practice and into a class, and only three weeks ago I started my first ever poetry writing workshop. I have a busy travel schedule this Fall, so rather than put it off any longer, I am doing an online workshop/class that allows me to work asynchronously. This works for now until I can be in a live room, which I now crave. And tomorrow, I’ll submit my first poem for critique by the class. Three weeks in, I already feel the muscles of vulnerability developing and I am not afraid, and am actually quite excited. All it took was a friend to tell me, “I did it, it didn’t kill me, and it changed my life.” As always, we heal and we grow in relationship. Here goes.
Fabulous! Glad to read of your progress!
I am where you were.
Writing a little, not sharing.
I am inspired to write more, share more.
Thank you.
Congratulations Tom! The great news about writing workshops is everyone is vulnerable together and there is so much creative richness in that
I'm so happy for you. You will never regret stepping out with your words.
Amen, Tom!!! The world has been waiting for you! SO glad you are doing this and can't wait for your first poetry share online! XO
“I did it, it didn’t kill me, and it changed my life.” We know deep down that we will not be destroyed by sharing our work, but oh, to have a friend give you that loving nudge toward what you fear...what a blessing that is.
With a graduate degree in creative writing, I was used to workshopping short stories or chapters of longer work, but I never felt confident enough to take a poetry workshop. It’s one of my great regrets that I didn’t try. Fast forward to my father’s traumatic death some years later. In the months that followed, poetry poured out of me. It’s like a switch was flipped in my head and my thoughts and dreams were being translated into verse. It was an astonishing burst that has since moderated, but it showed me what is possible. My fiction was about the world outside, but my poems come from an interior space I knew existed but which I could never access with prose fiction. I’ve been reticent about releasing my poems into the wild, but I hear you, Padraig, that it’s when we risk and show and share that things happen.
This is very beautiful Erin. The switch was flipped and your found what was possible. Thank you also for reiterating...'that it's when we risk and show and share that things happen'.
Thank you so much, Wendy
So sorry about the loss of your father. I resonate with you here, in that I feel like poetry is the only art form that remains for me in the deepest moments. My switch flipped after I gave birth the first time. Sending you love.
Thank you, Westley. Giving birth really is one of those deep times when the ordinary world is suspended and you enter a new reality. I remember not even being able to talk for a while after the birth of my first child, the awe and, if I’m being honest, the terror was too great for words - at least spoken ones.
This is lovely, and powerful. And courage in listening and channelling.
Thanks so much, Wendy
Beautiful! Thank you for sharing, Erin.
Mona, thank you!
Erin-I feel this too. Thank you so much for sharing❤️.
Thank you, Jenny
I love how you expressed the deep place that poetry comes from. I also find that poems come from a place more elemental than prose can describe. I have not gotten to take a poetry workshop yet. I hope to some day. I did just learn that two of my poems will be published, which makes me indescribably happy.
Thank you, Leanna
Congratulations on your poems being published!! How wonderful!
I am so excited! The publication will be out in about two months.
I have been submitting a collection to various publishers and recieving the inevitable rejections. I find each email like a rejection of my soul. Yet I keep trying?
My favorite poetry moment of the past year, where a former poet professor had invited me to read with her and two other lovely local poets. (I was shaking of course, as always happens when I read poetry in public.) All us poets then went for a drink after and shared more of ourselves. It was such a precious moment in such a personal year of upheaval in my life.
Stephen King in his book Writing has a great suggestion about rejection slips - I have them too! He writes that if you are serious about being an author then you get a big nail and pound it into the wall near your work space and every time a rejection letter comes in, you put it on the nail like a badge of honour. The rejection slips tell you you are serious about your work, that you have the courage to send it into the world, that you are getting closer to finding the perfect fit for your work. So the fuller the nail gets, the better. He had a very big pile of rejection letters before he was published. My husband put a nail in the wall for me. I look forward to stuffing more rejections slips on it. You are a Brave Person. Keep reading in public, shakes are part of the gifting.
Yes, I remember reading that too. So helpful...
I LOVE this idea, Candice! What a lovely thought. Take it a step further-FRAME the rejection letters - stick the newest one in a frame and the one before it on the nail. Perfection! Thank you for sharing. XO
Love that.
I might just do a virtual version of this 💜
I tell myself if I’m shaking that means it matters and I’m where I need to be. Cheers to you and your professor and fellow poets!
I belong to a group of writers named The Write Stuff. Almost 20 years ago, I started meeting with them at a local place that is now closed. Those evening meets were doable, but when the group changed to afternoons, I couldn’t follow until reconnecting during the pandemic over Zoom. By then, other members who had moved to different time zones could too. Now we are a hybrid group with some of us back to sitting at a table together.
Reading aloud for them has helped me build confidence to move on to reading for others in an open mic setting or at an occasional planned event.
Bringing breath to my poems is so revealing of their power. I always find a clearer poem through this process, which includes the time spent practicing beforehand. It is amazing the way speaking my poems reveals better revision of phrasing and form on the page.
Poetry is life. It is solitude, self-examination, and communication. It is passion.
“Poetry is life. It is solitude, self-examination, and communication. It is passion.”
Yes, by touching the Real in us. Thank you for bringing this to my early morning attention. I will carry it thru the day 🌱
"Bringing breath to my poems is so revealing of their power. "--I love this, Shelly.
Yyyyyeeeessssssss!!! I have found this myself. Thanks for sharing, Shelly! XO
I never regarded a few of the writings coming through me as anything more than stanzas. This was the format the words wanted to be expressed as. I could not bring myself to name what I had written as “poetry”.
During the pandemic, I was invited by a sister blogger to join a writing circle. She and some of the group are on the west coast and others and I on the east coast and we were as close as if sitting in the same room. Writing together can do that.
In the process of participating in these over time, I was both surprised and delighted by what I wrote. I have a small collection of poems that clearly articulate for me, a journey through that period of my life...and which had nothing to do with the pandemic itself, or everything to do with it depending upon the perspective of the moment.
I felt seen, heard and not judged by that experience. I’m forever grateful to Ali Grimshaw for that invitation.
https://flashlightbatteries.blog
John O'Donohue, in Blessing for Presence, wrote, 'May you receive great encouragement when new frontiers beckon and may you have the courage to respond to the call of your gift. This has been my accompaniment for all times.
I first started writing as a celebrant 28 years ago. I found accompaniment with the people I worked for. My ceremonies were like 'found' writing sharing the couples, the families, the community stories, their language, their beliefs, their inspiration. I wrote ceremonies with clarity and authenticity; but I was not a poet. 18 months ago, I saw an invitation to join a Poetry Masterclass, 'What the Light Tells', with the Australian poet, Mark Tredinnick. I was nervous and excited. Unexpectedly, I had radical surgery a week before the first online class to remove, successfully, a rare form of ovarian cancer. Both the poetry program and the close shave with death and the healing have been life, mind, heart...changing. I was in a 'let's not waste a moment with resistance' mindset.
In the poetry masterclass, I learnt about form and practice and feedback. I felt like a power greater than me was working through me. After the class finished and my health was back on track, I noticed my resistance start to arise... little voices saying, you are not a poet, people have written better poetry that say the same thing so why bother...
I signed up for further online poetry and writing programs. Recently, I requested (and paid for) feedback after entering into a poetry competition. My poems were not selected. The editor offered a pat on the back about structure etc however, I latched onto the one para: 'your writing is very predictable. It's not weird enough. You need to find your 'weird' and surprise your readers. It has stayed with me: Where's my weird? What is being asked of me? Is it ok to be predictable?
While resistance feels uncomfortable... I take notice...with curiousity, kindness and softening, and at the same time, with boldness. I wrote back to the editor with gratitude and asked if she could be more specific. I wouldn't say I've found my 'weird' with the words and lines she marked, and I am ok with that. I noticed I just couldn't see what to change or how to change it and keep the meaning.
I don't need to rush this learning. I have noticed that the more I engage in writing practices, receive critique on my work, read a good cross selection of poetry that I like and don't like, listen to podcasts like yours Padraig, and read forums like this and connect to other poets and write every day then I have less time for resistance. Also, I was totally surprised that I signed up for a local Poetry Slam and totally enjoyed it. I have participated three times now and, each time, loved it. Maybe I might just find my 'weird' on the way.
I like the quote of John O'Donohue that you shared; it reminds me of Rilke's verse "You, sent out beyond your recall, / go to the limits of your longing. / Embody me. / Flare up like a flame / and make big shadows I can move in" that Krista Tippett (of On Being) read in a voice so lovely in "Interesting People Reading Poetry." https://interestingpeoplereadingpoetry.com/2019/02/12/krista-tippett-reads-rilke/
It's perhaps not my place to say anything, but in case you felt discouraged, I feel that the poetry editor's strangely un-poetic response is not something to be taken seriously. I'm fiercely on the end of not believing in the "critique" of art. What I do believe is that "[w]orks of art... cannot be reached by criticism. Only love can touch them and do them justice." (Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet). There was a poetry book, and at first glimpse I could not find what was special about it. Only afterward when my eyes were opened to it and fell in [love with] it could I see it in the light, and found it to be extraordinary in how beautiful it was. If I had pronounced my opinion hastily in my state of seeing the poetry book as not extraordinary-- well, not actually seeing it at all-- the comment would have been inaccurate, not through any fault of the poetry but through the fault of my own blindness. This is why I believe only those who love a work of art are able to know the art, and therefore are able to form or express any valuable truth upon it.
So I hope you are not discouraged by that editor! I like what Julia Cameron says about how our art is automatically "original" because we are the "origin" of our work. I like to think that each individual is a prism refracting light in unique angles and colors and the rays coming out of pure glass the art. And that can always only ever be unique!
Thank you Elizabeth, I feel your care and concern and agree to our art being original/the source. I love that quote by Rilke... 'make big shadows I can move in'.
Rather than feeling discouraged, I felt curious, engaged and like you, wanted to read through my own work again with open ears. Listening. I like your story of not being hasty to judge, to sense the originality of each piece, the origin's uniqueness. I may not have conveyed my meaning clearly in my writing: I was grateful even though I don't understand what this new step looks like. Thank you for your care and encouragement! It's lovely to hear from you.
Thanks for sharing, Wendy!! That is only one person's feedback, so don't take it too literally or importantly! There is never a rush to our growth and learning. It all comes when we are ready and it's absolutely perfect when we are!! XO
Thanks Danielle, Absolutely... and I am always open and actually keen for the encouragement to keep open to the weird or unusual words... that may just capture that 'something extra' that might surprise you... or even better, me!
Very powerful, Wendy! Thank you for sharing. I appreciate your reflections on your own resistance. And your no rush is so wise!
Thank you Mona. Not rushing...staying at ease with what is, is an art form I have had to nurture for many many many years (sounds like a river flowing)... not rushing the not rushing....
“not rushing the not rushing…”. this! thank you Wendy. 🙏🏾
I signed up for an online poetry class–my first ever–unaware that we would be asked to read our "wild writing" work out loud. The teacher read a poem, picked out a few lines or words for us to use as prompts, gave us 5 or 10 minutes to write without thinking, and then invited us to read what we wrote out loud. There was no feedback except, "Thank you for sharing." As I listened to the other students read during the first class, I was blown away by their vulnerability and the stories they told, finding a connection to the emotions, if not the experience, of each and every one. That first class I seriously contemplated using the "bad connection" excuse to get out of reading mine–I was wrapped tightly in a childhood remnant that viewed vulnerability as weakness. I stayed. I shakily read my piece, careful not to look at the screen, and made it through. I looked up and saw heads nodding and a few tears. I was hooked. There is a sacredness in sharing from the soul.
Sacred indeed.
Yes!!! Thank you, Karen! There IS a Sacredness in sharing from the Soul. Beautiful!! I hope you share only from there going forward, to the delight of the rest of us. XO
Cool
i cried when i read this one, Padraig and friends. thank you.
good fortune shone on my fifth grade-self when i won a Hershey’s Almond Chocolate Bar in a Haiku contest. the feeling was more than winning, more than the promise of the chocolate bar that was delivered by my sixth-grade crush...it was the light that shifted every cell in my being with the message that poetry is more than i thought, that words matter, and there was a place for that elementary school girl in this vast and beautiful and confusing world.🌱
‘....good fortune shone on my fifth grade-self when i won a Hershey’s Almond Chocolate Bar in a Haiku contest. ‘
I LOVE this. How important is it to shine a kind and loving light on the creative Soul of a child.
Beautiful.🙏🏼
Fiona, thank you for reading and commenting. That English class was one of the highlights of my youth. I realized you don't need much if you have the space to create. And what a bonus to be seen.
Padraig's community is so good. Glad you are here🌱
Do you remember the haiku? Would love to see it if you do.
Phil, talk about being seen! Thanks for asking! I do remember::
morning sky growing
waking children to the day
join the feast of light
My father was a grumpy man. By fifth grade, I had read enough books to know that life could be cheerier than his portrayal. His complaining began when he arrived home from work, as did his drinking. What I didn't realize until many years later, was that it was not normal for your father to keep pouring. His grumpy hours were hangover hours. He was a lovely man in the afternoon.
The other thing I didn't realize until recently was that he did not want children. My mother wanted four. She had three. I was the oldest. I think in many ways I was Dad's practice child. And I was already a rebel by the fifth grade. I knew there was a better way to be.
So glad you are here, Phil. So glad you are posting your poems!🌱
This is beautiful, Katherine. It reminded me of my childhood and early adulthood, when my sister and I would write haiku in the same notebook, passing it back and forth at all hours, sometimes goofy, sometimes deeply wounded and seeking comfort. ❤️
What a beautiful haiku!
This last year, having completed my first book of collected poems, I chose 8 people as readers - to read through and answer five simple questions. I just felt if I didn't have someone else read my work, it would die on my desk. So, I was caught between death and terror. The terror won out. The eight morphed into 12 as other people asked to be readers too. So.
The most surprising thing about sharing my poetry was the delightful conversations that ensued. And the awareness that everyone heard the poems differently. It was as though they were passed through a prism, emerging in various hues. I think this is always the way in sharing art with others - it passes through another spirit and emerges as something new again - and again and again as others view or listen or read. Padraig, you have written about this in other places - the importance of sharing one's artistic endevours with others, how it breathes life into them. And yes, this has been my experience.
I shall seek out a smoky basement and the courage to speak them out loud - or given that I live in the country, perhaps I shall have to initiate one on my own in an abandoned horse stall somewhere. We shall see........
Love it, Candice!!! "It was as though they were passed through a prism, emerging in various hues." We are each our own beautiful prism, complete with our own lovely hues. Thank goodness for that, otherwise poetry wouldn't be quite the same! XO
I write a little; I do not share...yet.
In the past year, 2 friends died, and I was compelled to write poems inspired by the feelings and times around their deaths.
I also started a new, intense job that doesn’t leave much time for activity outside work.
I have been feeling the need for more balance and more art in my life, so I will commence!
And when things settle down a little, find a group or place where I can share and take in what others are writing.
Deaths are what drove me to poetry too, Karen. It felt like the only form that could hold such big emotions. I hope you find your community to begin sharing
Death three years ago drove me to distraction in uncharted waters.
I found the calm, again and again, in poetry. Sometimes it was just a line that I read over and over and over until the suffocation passed
‘You don’t ever let go of the thread’
William Stafford
Beautiful
How beautiful, Padraig. It reminds me of the friendship that has emerged between me and one of my fellow writers in a bimonthly writers group that I attend. I remember clearly how she first asked me for recommendations on churches to attend (I'm kind of a nerd for church), and then how she "friended" me and messaged me on Facebook Messenger. We still talk on that several times a week. And how, tentatively, we met for coffee, in the auspices of writing some more. We shared ourselves - our stories, bits of our personal lives, and those tender moments in our poetry that we thought, like your student said, were so personal that no one would understand. Along the way, this person of mine has become one of my best friends. Recently, I've asked her for feedback on my poems, and she's the most generous and insightful editor that I could hope for. She's Christian and I'm a bit of everything, and she's prayed with and for me for specific purposes, always asking my permission or with a soft invite. I cherish her vulnerability in being willing to pray out loud before we sit down to a meal, because that's just her: strong, funny, and tender all at once. <3
How lovely, Sam! Not only have you found your writer's voice, but a deep friendship. That we could all be so blessed!! XO
Thanks, Danielle! I *am* blessed! <3
What would I do/have done without my two Anam Caras who patiently, faithfully read and respond to my written rants and raves and random thoughts in short story or poetic forms? I know I write for myself as a way to make sense of it all, but I must also write so I can share and get feedback, which is what they give me. Resistance comes from my reluctance to face what might form in my writing. My soul sister and brother urge me onward. Thank you, Bill. Thank you, Bo.
I needed to add a one credit class to my final term of grad school for a masters in counseling and I found a “poetry and creative writing in counseling” course was being offered. I assumed it would focus on helping clients work through feelings through writing, but it was clear from the first class that the way to get there would be sharing our own. After discussing the history and depth of poetry and reading favorite poems in class, we were assigned to write a poem “based on a difficult time” in our lives. The instructor had us read them twice, and it was amazing how much of a difference that made in the presentation. When I finished mine, a classmate said “excuse my language but that packs a (expletive) punch!” It was an amazing experience to offer something so personal and to have someone “get it” even without having the context.
So much delight in reading your newsletter this morning, Pádraig. And an extra gift to listen to the podcast of "Hijito" again. Wow. And I am smiling big reading about all the accompaniments and friendships and support along your path...
Once again, I am stumped. Stumped by this query, maybe because how I would respond is "I feel stuck in resistance, and I don't know what it is, and I don't know what will help." Praise and encouragement have not been sufficient at all to help the door that is shut to come loose. Sometimes I wonder if they somehow do the opposite. Not sure...
But! The way the subconscious works.... your inquiry did have me think of a kindred spirit I feel blessed to have known and been connected with - Shahbano Aliani. Shahbano and I also sat at Caffe Reggio (!) back in the late 90s, when together with a few others, Krittika, Kamala, Amy, Linta... we organized ESL classes for South Asian immigrant women who did domestic labor, through an organization called Workers Awaaz (meaning Voice). We had planning meetings at Caffe Reggio, until Amy got us into a space at NYU where she was a law student. We were activists and community organizers and on fire. We were determined to change the world. One word at a time. In this case, through teaching language.
Years later, Shahbano moved to Karachi, back to Pakistan where she was born. We reconnected thanks to FB, where I learned that she had found the Sufi path, and was writing poetry. Her poems were on fire! I was deeply moved and inspired, and our reconnection was characterized by a mutual love and respect for current expression of who each of us was, or part of that - for me, it was Shahbano's Sufi poetry, and for Shahbano, as she shared, it was the healing arts work and Buddha dharma teachings I was studying, practicing, and sharing.
It felt like a very special connection, having met when we were activists, and then finding each other again, in a different moment along our paths, each with a deep spiritual orientation.
One day after I posted a poem onto FB (of someone else's, of course), in response, Shahbano wrote a poem and shared it with me. In response, I told her "maybe one day I'll write a poem myself too. I wish!" to which she responded, "In sha Allah, one day your poetry will flow in the form you want, because it already flows from your being and we get beautiful glimpse of it. I don't know a thing about poetry either and then the Sufi path just left me with no option but to write. God says in the Quran that the heavens can't contain Him but the heart of the sincere one contains Him. So our heart is vast and when we experience this vastness, it can be unbearable. And music, dance, and poetry give relief to the ineffable."
Shahbano died (of cancer) on February 7 ,2019. When she left, I felt as if I lost a most intimate friend, and in the moment, it felt like a teacher, a guide, a mentor (though she didn't know it), had died.
In the years since her passing, she has become an "accompaniment" for me. Another one of my "encounters with the dead." Her voice, as it comes to me, through me, will perhaps at some point lubricate the hinges enough to help open the door that seems reluctantly, resolutely, conflictedly shut. But for now, her voice remains a gentle and steady presence. Utterly patient. Full of faith.
In rare moments, my own faith overcomes the fear, or perhaps it is simply that when the river is flowing, it is flowing, and fear hasn't a chance. Too often though, it feels as if the river is dammed. It might be an over simplification to say the dam is the ego, but, then again, that is what it feels like. Your prompt is prompting me to explore this dam, this door, these hinges, and what might potentially lubricate them, even more. Thank you, Pádraig.
Crying. What a tender and beautifully written testimony to Life, to Love, to friendship and the poetry therein. Sometimes in my own frustration I realize the harm and hurt I am causing to myself, my Being. And because of Padraíg’s letter today and reading your truth, I will write today. Just one line. I’m sure you too have a line.
Just as Shahbano says,
‘... it already flows from your being and we get beautiful glimpse of it. ‘
I saw IT today. Thank you
Omg, what a kind, generous and beautiful response. Thank you, Fiona, for sharpening my pencil, along with yours. And for the sound of your pencil moving across your page … it does something. 🙏🏾. Bows. Thank YOU.
The mysterious ways of the sub/unconscious have also helped me uncover things hiding in the underbrush. Meditation, yoga, walking, in nature, and recently learning self hypnosis have been, for me, broken through the wall between conscious and unconscious. In celebration, I wrote a poem a few months ago: "Owed to My Unconscious".
Love that title, Phil! Yessss… the great mysteries and depths that shape so much. Thank you for sharing!
Mona, darling Mona!! You have it in you, sister, just waiting to come out. Every. Single. Time. you write a response here, it is so eloquent and lovely that it is hard for me to imagine your poetry not flowing out of you like a river! I am sorry you lost your dear friend, but I pray that her continued presence helps release the dam so that we may all benefit, for I know it will be beautiful! XO
Oh Danielle, you are very kind and such an energetic cheerleader! I so appreciate all you said here. Thank you 🙏🏾 💕.
How wonderful to have shared deep camaraderie at Caffe Reggio. ☕️ Precious memories for sure.
Yes, our egos create damns at any juncture, old and new, while the river of our life energies surges on, beginning anew over and over releasing old blockages droplet by droplet until the fear is gone.
“In sha Allah, one day your poetry will flow in the form you want, because it already flows from your being and we get beautiful glimpse of it.”
A truly moving tribute to your “already essence”.
Perhaps your tears for your friend’s untimely death will bring you deeper into your natural flow, always there waiting for you.
And, yes, we can all open to greater trust in self ⭕️♥️.
🙏🏾 thank you Juju!
Your writing here may not be in the form of poetry, but it is beautiful, moving, powerful. You are on your path.
Thank you, Barbara 🙏🏾. I appreciate your words.
I need only my two hands to count the number of poems I wrote before turning 65. One hand has poems about boys I loved, the other, dogs and the natural world. Then, I became a caregiver for my mother who has Alzheimer’s. The Alzheimer’s Association in our region has a poetry support group for caregivers. Each month we bring an offering or two to share. Writing in this way takes me out of my busy-mind and into my heart. I like it; and now here I am!