When I read from the book’s
second section (which deals with my own breast cancer experience), I spoke
about the conditions of survival and the ways in which we remember how to live.
I also mentioned that October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month—a time
to remember and a time to hope for a cure. Spoken word poet Taylor Mali read after
I did and noted that he lost his mom to breast cancer; he then read a poem
about his mom that he dedicated to her and to me—a lovely, spontaneous gesture.
After the reading, a lady I’d
never met before asked me to sign her program and said my words would remain
with her (that’s her with me in the photo above). On the way out of the
building, a group of young people came up to me and thanked me for the reading—several
shook my hand, and one said that his mother is a survivor and that he could
hear her “life” in my poems. Later, in NJPAC’s lobby area, two ladies asked me to
sign their copies of What Matters (I
remembered seeing them at the
reading). One told me that she, too, is a survivor and how much my poems meant
to her. In the book tent, a man came up to me and said that his wife is a
survivor and that after hearing my poems he understands better what she went
through. He said he was going home after the festival to give her a big hug and
a copy of my book (I admit to the tears in my eyes.) These were all reactions that I couldn't possibly have anticipated.
Reading at the Dodge Festival was a
special honor, and I send my sincerest thanks to Martin Farawell, Dodge Poetry Program Director, for inviting me to be part of such an exceptional poetry celebration. As always, the Festival brought people together and reminded us that poetry is about addressing the human condition deeply and, in the
process, confirming that we’re all
brothers and sisters—that we’re not alone. I’m so very grateful!
This week, I’d like you to write about a magical moment in your life. There’s no formula for such moments, most come unplanned and unexpected, and are all the more meaningful for that. As Jane Kenyon wrote in her poem “Happiness,”
There’s just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet …
The experience you write about this week may be a
major one (falling in love, your wedding, the birth of a child, a long-time
goal achieved, surviving a challenge) or it may be a small moment of joy (a
detail in the happiness of your larger life). Your moment may be part of a continuum as in “Painting” by my dear friend and distinguished poet Ed Romond:
Excerpt:
I still hear his voice urging
me to bring the brush back
to blend the paint into one
continuous stroke of green.
I don’t know why after 50 years
these words remain
like lyrics of a favorite song
but I keep seeing that Saturday …
This week, you’re called to
remember and to write. Dig deeply into your heart’s archives and look around
you (perhaps the leaves’ changing colors, a certain song, a photograph, or a
souvenir tucked away in a dresser drawer will bring a special moment back to
you).
Here are five tips:
1. Don’t simply tell a story
(remember, this is a poem, not a journal entry, and you’ll need to avoid
writing from a prose impulse as you move from the personal to the universal).
2. Work on a sense
of immediacy (even when you write in the past tense). Stay away from the
passive voice, and be wary of words that end in “ing” (gerunds).
3. Avoid over-use
of adjectives
4. Eliminate
prepositions whenever you can (i.e., the sky’s length rather than the length of
the sky).
5. Don’t over-write—watch
out for too many details, and don’t try to explain everything. Think about
this: a poem with only five great lines should be five lines long. And remember what
Dylan Thomas wrote, “You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick …
you’re back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best
craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps … so that something that is not in
the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in.”
Examples:
