May 21, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama, Poetry Unbound
My small encounter has grown into a source of comfort and joy to me as I struggle with fear every day from health issues, money worries, a larger world seemingly in chaos and on fire: A year or so ago I was walking on a wooded trail near my city's medical center and came upon an elderly woman like me walking two small black dogs on a joined leash. She was kind of bent over, but as I approached I could see that she was tall and sturdy and I said Hi and we began to chat. She's 85 years old and walks every day; I'm 75 and do likewise -- we get together now once a week or so to walk together. Unlike so many older people I know, she is still curious and often researches new trails for us to walk in the city. I respond by setting up small adventures for us, always with a walk, usually ending in the trial of a new coffee shop. She is probably the nicest person I've known in years, appreciates dry wit, and tolerates my endless info dumping into her email. We're different in many basic ways -- she's religious and active in her church; I'm not, but she is one of those rare souls who live their religious beliefs rather than proselytize. I have a habit of greeting people I meet on the medical center trail where I walk frequently and usually they respond as we pass; occasionally, as with my newish friend, they stop and we talk.
Over a dozen years ago, walking around my neighbourhood, I noticed a small board outside someone’s house. There was a short poem written on it. I don’t remember the poem but I do remember the small thrill of recognizing a possibility. I could do this! I’d been reading more and more poetry, coming home to it really, after encountering the poetry of the late Bronwen Wallace. She taught me that poetry can be extraordinary even when the subject might seem ordinary. And so much more. I resolved to choose an extraordinary poem each week and put it on a chalkboard outside my house. I did just that. My first poem was Emily Dickinson’’s There Is No Frigate Like a Book. My poetry board has opened up the world of poetry to me. I read deeper and wider. And, wonderfully, I’ve met so many people who read the poems! Some folks walk or drive by just to see the new poem of the week. Every Sunday night - a different poem! Yes, it’s changed my life.
In my mid-twenties, my body started failing and no one had answers. Unable to afford healthcare in the United States, I moved abroad and started trying all kinds of things. These "things" included daily acupuncture from Dr. Wang — a Chinese doctor who barely spoke English.
I didn't really "believe" in acupuncture back then but figured I had nothing to lose. Now, more than two decades later, my body is healthy. Also, I'm a Doctor of Chinese Medicine.
I stumbled across a Mary Oliver poem somewhere in my reading… which led me to want to learn more about poetry (for fun this time… not for a grade😉) which led me to Poetry Unbound, which led me to Padraig, and then all of you. Sundays haven’t been the same ever since. Thank you for all of your inspiration to take the road less travelled.
When I was about 9 my father, who was a chaplain in what we used to call then a “mental hospital,” took me up to a locked ward to meet a woman I’d been seeing in hospital church services every Sunday. She was Deaf, and met up every Sunday with another patient, from a different building, and the two would chatter in sign language during the service. When I met her, my dad asked her to teach me the “three most important words.” She chose mother, bread, and girl. She then taught me to fingerspell. At 9 no one could have known or guessed that this chance encounter would be the foundation of my life’s work. Eventually I took a master’s degree from Gallaudet University, the university of and for Deaf people in Washington DC. Soon after I joined the English Department faculty there, and taught for many years. At the same time I was certified as a professional sign language interpreter and am still doing that work 44 years later in my septuagenarian semi-retirement. All stemming from the curiosity of a child and the generosity of a troubled woman.
May 21, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama, Poetry Unbound
Writing. I never thought I would be a writer, even though I have been doing a lot of it for a long time. I always thought I would have something else as my main thing. I think I was becoming a writer without knowing it. Recently this has become apparent to me and I have embraced it as my vocation, the thing I feel I'm supposed to do. Funny how things sneak up on you like that.
May 21, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama, Poetry Unbound
Placing shards of glass and broken pieces of tile into pleasing arrangements is the process of building mosaic art. My daughter and I one evening gathered with an acquaintance to help fill in background on a large work that would come to cover a pillar in an alley filled with art. Seven years later, I am still engaged with the art and the friends!
Community mosaic building has created a bond of friendship and connection with others. Choosing and placing colors, textures, sizes, and shapes of tesserae (the small pieces) helped my mind focus on creating beauty for periods away from the mean and hard parts of these times.
May 21, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama, Poetry Unbound
A small encounter with Lab Girl by Hope Jahren...
Hope Jahren dares us to be citizen scientists: Go outside, find something green, maybe a leaf...ask questions. I did. I found cedar leaves, maple leaves, dogwood leaves, and more. I studied them. I painted them. I wrote about them. I was fascinated with these lungs of the forest. Finally an understanding landed; leaves are master teachers of reciprocity. They show us kindness with giving oxygen and absorbing carbon dioxide. The gift of breath.
Jahren's " I dare you to look closely" gave me permission to be a citizen scientist and to share my journey on Matters of Kinship.🌱
May 21, 2023Liked by Pádraig Ó Tuama, Poetry Unbound
In my past work-lives I always kept my office door open and people "happened by" for me to listen. A wise woman noticed this thread about me, encouraged me to learn more, and now I listen full time. Now I help others see the threads.
It started with four boards and a few bags of dirt. I had been asking for a while for a raised bed on the sunny flat land at the back of our large backyard. The pots of tomatoes close to the house had always been decimated by the birds and squirrels. It was already June – late to be starting a garden in the south but husband and son finally built it for me. We got our first tomatoes, peppers, squash. It was a revelation. The boxes expanded and a couple years later we offered the rest of the flat sunny backyard to the neighborhood school our children had already graduated from to use for their new urban agriculture program. My husband put in fruit and nut trees. The school planted permaculture guilds around them, built an asparagus patch and rows and rows for all manner of vegetables, herbs, flowers, and berries. We built them a chicken coop and became wary of the hawks we had admired in the past. Our backyard was always full of children, teachers, activity. I took classes in organic gardening and permaculture. The school program grew and grew and finally outgrew our yard but we were forever changed. I am now a committed gardener, composter, and canner. I cannot imagine a day without time in the garden, weeding, nursing seedlings, mulching, sifting compost or in the kitchen – making jam or onion powder, chestnut flour, all manner of pickles. The school program now has 5 acres and works across the city – but we are perhaps the most changed and so much larger, connected now to the dirt, the seasons, the moving sun across the year. Profoundly grateful.
I have been moved again and again by Gate A-4 and by other of Naomi Shihab Nye's poems. I began intentionally working at learning to write poetry in my late 60's. The Great Smokies Writing Program, an offering of UNC-Asheville, provided the opportunity to study with several accomplished poet/teachers: Cathy Smith Bowers, Ken Chamlee, Tina Barr and Eric Nelson. I also twice audited Ken Chamlee's poetry workshop at Brevard College. I did everything the undergraduates did including writing a research paper. The first year I chose Nye as my topic. That study introduced me to the work of her mentor, William Stafford. When I repeated the workshop several years later, I made Stafford the subject of my paper. Poetry has turned out to be the thing that has made a huge part of my life, something I would not have anticipated all the years I was raising a family and practicing law. Earlier researching family history was a passion. A few years ago I began to marry the two interests by writing minute (60 syllable) poems based on ancestors and events I had uncovered. My chapbook Minute Men And Women was published in 2021.
During the pandemic, my rabbi and the music director at my synagogue started offering morning mindfulness sessions, every weekday on zoom. I was slow to join, but once I did, I became absolutely devoted. In fact, it’s three years later, and I’m the co-leader of Mindful Moments. I join nearly every day, I lead weekly, and it informs all aspects of my work. I made friends at Mindful Moments I still haven’t met, because they live far away. We have 12-20+ attendees every day, 5 days a week. Just extraordinary. In fact, I learned about you from my music director, who shared some of your work on Mindful Moments.
My father was the neighborhood handy man when I was growing up. He’d tackle almost anything. I bought a needy home in my 20s, 50 years ago when those kind of things were still possible. At 70 I still offer helping construction hands to neighbors and kids. Over the years this has become a creative outlet for me.
Well Padraig - I read Lifeline before writing this and my answer is only intensified. My small thing, my lifeline is my garden. The memories of my Italian grandmother and bringing forth vegetables and flowers from the dirt with her as a child are a steady anchor of memory. The smells of the earth, of her sweat - the feel of the sun on our backs is with me always. My wife of 44 years died about a year ago. She also loved the garden - the beauty of it - but not so much the work because of her growing infirmities. Now that she too is gone - I garden with them both. In the sun, with my sweat. For the memories, for the anchor of beauty.
I really love Poetry Unbound. Thank you for your work bringing us the podcast!
My small thing that became a big thing is bike commuting. When I moved to a city and my car became impractical, I started biking to my job. The forced daily exercise taught me how much moving my body helps my mental state, and it helped me connect with life in a way that wasn't in my head. Now, after bike commuting for several years, I notice when I first hear wind in tree leaves in the spring. I know in a visceral way that stability and balance sometimes come from motion and flexibility, not from being immovable.
It started with telling my sister and her friends that it is absolutely not okay to torture a frog just to find out if they can make a ballon out of it.
It continued with helping snails to cross their path without being trampled to death, catching spiders in a glass to set them free outside of a residential room or feeding an abandoned dog on a thai island.
Today I am looking after cats and dogs and other animals while letting them
feel that they are equal.
They deserve our respect, our acknowledgment and our care.
I would have never thought that animals can often be better friends than human beings because of their impartiality, directness and unconditional love.
They seem to play such a small part in this world of human dominance but for me they are so very important when it comes to naturalness and honesty.
I often wonder how it became that I do trust animals more than human beings.
My small encounter has grown into a source of comfort and joy to me as I struggle with fear every day from health issues, money worries, a larger world seemingly in chaos and on fire: A year or so ago I was walking on a wooded trail near my city's medical center and came upon an elderly woman like me walking two small black dogs on a joined leash. She was kind of bent over, but as I approached I could see that she was tall and sturdy and I said Hi and we began to chat. She's 85 years old and walks every day; I'm 75 and do likewise -- we get together now once a week or so to walk together. Unlike so many older people I know, she is still curious and often researches new trails for us to walk in the city. I respond by setting up small adventures for us, always with a walk, usually ending in the trial of a new coffee shop. She is probably the nicest person I've known in years, appreciates dry wit, and tolerates my endless info dumping into her email. We're different in many basic ways -- she's religious and active in her church; I'm not, but she is one of those rare souls who live their religious beliefs rather than proselytize. I have a habit of greeting people I meet on the medical center trail where I walk frequently and usually they respond as we pass; occasionally, as with my newish friend, they stop and we talk.
Over a dozen years ago, walking around my neighbourhood, I noticed a small board outside someone’s house. There was a short poem written on it. I don’t remember the poem but I do remember the small thrill of recognizing a possibility. I could do this! I’d been reading more and more poetry, coming home to it really, after encountering the poetry of the late Bronwen Wallace. She taught me that poetry can be extraordinary even when the subject might seem ordinary. And so much more. I resolved to choose an extraordinary poem each week and put it on a chalkboard outside my house. I did just that. My first poem was Emily Dickinson’’s There Is No Frigate Like a Book. My poetry board has opened up the world of poetry to me. I read deeper and wider. And, wonderfully, I’ve met so many people who read the poems! Some folks walk or drive by just to see the new poem of the week. Every Sunday night - a different poem! Yes, it’s changed my life.
Love Poetry Unbound. And love this question.
In my mid-twenties, my body started failing and no one had answers. Unable to afford healthcare in the United States, I moved abroad and started trying all kinds of things. These "things" included daily acupuncture from Dr. Wang — a Chinese doctor who barely spoke English.
I didn't really "believe" in acupuncture back then but figured I had nothing to lose. Now, more than two decades later, my body is healthy. Also, I'm a Doctor of Chinese Medicine.
I stumbled across a Mary Oliver poem somewhere in my reading… which led me to want to learn more about poetry (for fun this time… not for a grade😉) which led me to Poetry Unbound, which led me to Padraig, and then all of you. Sundays haven’t been the same ever since. Thank you for all of your inspiration to take the road less travelled.
When I was about 9 my father, who was a chaplain in what we used to call then a “mental hospital,” took me up to a locked ward to meet a woman I’d been seeing in hospital church services every Sunday. She was Deaf, and met up every Sunday with another patient, from a different building, and the two would chatter in sign language during the service. When I met her, my dad asked her to teach me the “three most important words.” She chose mother, bread, and girl. She then taught me to fingerspell. At 9 no one could have known or guessed that this chance encounter would be the foundation of my life’s work. Eventually I took a master’s degree from Gallaudet University, the university of and for Deaf people in Washington DC. Soon after I joined the English Department faculty there, and taught for many years. At the same time I was certified as a professional sign language interpreter and am still doing that work 44 years later in my septuagenarian semi-retirement. All stemming from the curiosity of a child and the generosity of a troubled woman.
Writing. I never thought I would be a writer, even though I have been doing a lot of it for a long time. I always thought I would have something else as my main thing. I think I was becoming a writer without knowing it. Recently this has become apparent to me and I have embraced it as my vocation, the thing I feel I'm supposed to do. Funny how things sneak up on you like that.
Placing shards of glass and broken pieces of tile into pleasing arrangements is the process of building mosaic art. My daughter and I one evening gathered with an acquaintance to help fill in background on a large work that would come to cover a pillar in an alley filled with art. Seven years later, I am still engaged with the art and the friends!
Community mosaic building has created a bond of friendship and connection with others. Choosing and placing colors, textures, sizes, and shapes of tesserae (the small pieces) helped my mind focus on creating beauty for periods away from the mean and hard parts of these times.
A small encounter with Lab Girl by Hope Jahren...
Hope Jahren dares us to be citizen scientists: Go outside, find something green, maybe a leaf...ask questions. I did. I found cedar leaves, maple leaves, dogwood leaves, and more. I studied them. I painted them. I wrote about them. I was fascinated with these lungs of the forest. Finally an understanding landed; leaves are master teachers of reciprocity. They show us kindness with giving oxygen and absorbing carbon dioxide. The gift of breath.
Jahren's " I dare you to look closely" gave me permission to be a citizen scientist and to share my journey on Matters of Kinship.🌱
Padraig, thank you. Always.
In my past work-lives I always kept my office door open and people "happened by" for me to listen. A wise woman noticed this thread about me, encouraged me to learn more, and now I listen full time. Now I help others see the threads.
It started with four boards and a few bags of dirt. I had been asking for a while for a raised bed on the sunny flat land at the back of our large backyard. The pots of tomatoes close to the house had always been decimated by the birds and squirrels. It was already June – late to be starting a garden in the south but husband and son finally built it for me. We got our first tomatoes, peppers, squash. It was a revelation. The boxes expanded and a couple years later we offered the rest of the flat sunny backyard to the neighborhood school our children had already graduated from to use for their new urban agriculture program. My husband put in fruit and nut trees. The school planted permaculture guilds around them, built an asparagus patch and rows and rows for all manner of vegetables, herbs, flowers, and berries. We built them a chicken coop and became wary of the hawks we had admired in the past. Our backyard was always full of children, teachers, activity. I took classes in organic gardening and permaculture. The school program grew and grew and finally outgrew our yard but we were forever changed. I am now a committed gardener, composter, and canner. I cannot imagine a day without time in the garden, weeding, nursing seedlings, mulching, sifting compost or in the kitchen – making jam or onion powder, chestnut flour, all manner of pickles. The school program now has 5 acres and works across the city – but we are perhaps the most changed and so much larger, connected now to the dirt, the seasons, the moving sun across the year. Profoundly grateful.
I have been moved again and again by Gate A-4 and by other of Naomi Shihab Nye's poems. I began intentionally working at learning to write poetry in my late 60's. The Great Smokies Writing Program, an offering of UNC-Asheville, provided the opportunity to study with several accomplished poet/teachers: Cathy Smith Bowers, Ken Chamlee, Tina Barr and Eric Nelson. I also twice audited Ken Chamlee's poetry workshop at Brevard College. I did everything the undergraduates did including writing a research paper. The first year I chose Nye as my topic. That study introduced me to the work of her mentor, William Stafford. When I repeated the workshop several years later, I made Stafford the subject of my paper. Poetry has turned out to be the thing that has made a huge part of my life, something I would not have anticipated all the years I was raising a family and practicing law. Earlier researching family history was a passion. A few years ago I began to marry the two interests by writing minute (60 syllable) poems based on ancestors and events I had uncovered. My chapbook Minute Men And Women was published in 2021.
During the pandemic, my rabbi and the music director at my synagogue started offering morning mindfulness sessions, every weekday on zoom. I was slow to join, but once I did, I became absolutely devoted. In fact, it’s three years later, and I’m the co-leader of Mindful Moments. I join nearly every day, I lead weekly, and it informs all aspects of my work. I made friends at Mindful Moments I still haven’t met, because they live far away. We have 12-20+ attendees every day, 5 days a week. Just extraordinary. In fact, I learned about you from my music director, who shared some of your work on Mindful Moments.
My father was the neighborhood handy man when I was growing up. He’d tackle almost anything. I bought a needy home in my 20s, 50 years ago when those kind of things were still possible. At 70 I still offer helping construction hands to neighbors and kids. Over the years this has become a creative outlet for me.
Well Padraig - I read Lifeline before writing this and my answer is only intensified. My small thing, my lifeline is my garden. The memories of my Italian grandmother and bringing forth vegetables and flowers from the dirt with her as a child are a steady anchor of memory. The smells of the earth, of her sweat - the feel of the sun on our backs is with me always. My wife of 44 years died about a year ago. She also loved the garden - the beauty of it - but not so much the work because of her growing infirmities. Now that she too is gone - I garden with them both. In the sun, with my sweat. For the memories, for the anchor of beauty.
I really love Poetry Unbound. Thank you for your work bringing us the podcast!
My small thing that became a big thing is bike commuting. When I moved to a city and my car became impractical, I started biking to my job. The forced daily exercise taught me how much moving my body helps my mental state, and it helped me connect with life in a way that wasn't in my head. Now, after bike commuting for several years, I notice when I first hear wind in tree leaves in the spring. I know in a visceral way that stability and balance sometimes come from motion and flexibility, not from being immovable.
It started with telling my sister and her friends that it is absolutely not okay to torture a frog just to find out if they can make a ballon out of it.
It continued with helping snails to cross their path without being trampled to death, catching spiders in a glass to set them free outside of a residential room or feeding an abandoned dog on a thai island.
Today I am looking after cats and dogs and other animals while letting them
feel that they are equal.
They deserve our respect, our acknowledgment and our care.
I would have never thought that animals can often be better friends than human beings because of their impartiality, directness and unconditional love.
They seem to play such a small part in this world of human dominance but for me they are so very important when it comes to naturalness and honesty.
I often wonder how it became that I do trust animals more than human beings.