November 28-29: Nothing Is Easy, Gift of Poetry, Zombie Apocalypse

Santiago gives himself a pep talk . . . 

I'm learning how to do it, he thought. This part of it anyway. Then too, remember he hasn't eaten since he took the bait and he is huge and needs much food. I have eaten the whole bonito. Tomorrow I will eat the dolphin. He called it dorado. Perhaps I should eat some of it when I clean it. It will be harder to eat than the bonito. But, then, nothing is easy.

"How do you feel, fish?" he asked aloud. "I feel good and my left hand is better and I have food for a night and a day. Pull the boat, fish."

Nothing is easy.  

My father used to say it another way:  "Nothing in life is free."  Translation:  you have to work hard for everything that's worth having.  My father worked close to 60 years of his life to provide for his family of nine kids.  When my sister, Rose, was born with Down syndrome, my mother fought every day for her.  My mother fought the doctor who said to put my sister in an institution and forget about her.  My mother fought the public schools that, at the time, weren't legally required to provide an education to children with any kind of challenge.

Nothing is easy.

I've done something a little crazy recently.  As a fundraiser for the U. P. Poet Laureate Foundation, I've volunteered to write personalized poems for anyone who donates seven dollars to the UPPLF.  Now, I imagined I would end up writing around 10 or 15 poems total over the course of a few weeks.

Last night, I wrote five poems.  The day before that, I wrote four poems.  If you're doing the math, that's nine poems in the space of less than 48 hours.  And the topics people have provided are not easy, either.  One person wanted a poem for someone mourning the loss of a baby.  That was t-o-u-g-h.  

Nothing is easy.

That thing is:  I'm enjoying the challenge of this Gift of Poetry fundraiser.  Even the really hard prompts.  I have nine new poems (or drafts of them) that didn't exist when I woke up on Sunday,  That's pretty amazing.

That doesn't mean that I'm not struggling with this.  Today, there were 12 new poetry prompts.  Doing the math again, that brings the tally to 21.  I only managed to take care of two of those new ones, and, I'm sure, there will be ten or 11 more tomorrow.

I love writing poetry, but nothing is easy

I just got home from work a little while ago.  I'm watching one of my favorite Christmas movies--Anna and the Apocalypse.  It's a musical zombie-apocalypse, Christmas movie.  Strangely, it puts me in the yuletide poetry spirit.

Zombie plagues, with songs.  Unending poetry prompts.  

These are a few of Saint Marty's favorite things.

March 11: Nothing is Easy, "Kalevala," Writing a Poem

Santiago prepares for the coming battle . . . 

He let his hand dry in the air then grasped the line with it and eased himself as much as he could and allowed himself to be pulled forward against the wood so that the boat took the strain as much, or more, than he did.

I'm learning how to do it, he thought. This part of it anyway. Then too, remember he hasn't eaten since he took the bait and he is huge and needs much food. I have eaten the whole bonito. Tomorrow I will eat the dolphin. He called it dorado. Perhaps I should eat some of it when I clean it. It will be harder to eat than the bonito. But, then, nothing is easy.

Nothing is easy.  There's a lot of truth in that statement.  I have learned that sometimes even the simplest of tasks can be a struggle, especially if your body or mind is not cooperating.  Being diabetic, I experience occasional low blood sugars.  These episodes can be debilitating.  Your thoughts don't connect.  Your limbs don't work.  Even chewing and swallowing are sometimes impossible.  And afterward, it's as though your entire day (or night) becomes one long, muddy headache.

I've been dealing with these episodes since I was about 13 years old.  That's four of my son's lifetimes.  And I'm still standing and talking and writing.  That's pretty miraculous.

However, there are some things that do come easily.  In particular, writing has never been difficult for me.  Before I started work this morning, I set myself the task of writing a poem about a bear.  (This weekend, I am performing in Calumet, Michigan, on a radio variety show.  One of the themes we are highlighting in the episodes is the Finnish epic poem the Kalevala, which has a bear in it.)  For close to five hours, I wrote and rewrote.  Imagined and reimagined.  Shaped and reshaped.  

For my disciples who are not writers, what I have just described in the above paragraph probably sounds like being waterboarded for five hours.  For me, those five hours were pure pleasure.  I rarely give myself the opportunity just to write for an extended period of time.  However, I had an excuse.  I am going to get paid for this poetry-writing time.  It made me feel like a real writer.  (ERRATUM:  after I sent the poem to the producer of the show, she decided that there wasn't time in the episode for me to read it.  Oh, well.  I have a new poem.)

My point is that those five hours did not seem hard to me.  In fact, they gave me quite a bit of joy.  This evening, I had dinner and played games with my family for a couple hours.  More joy.  

It may be true that nothing is easy.  Life is hard work, broken up by periods of absolute pleasure, like writing a poem or playing Jackbox Party Games with your kids.  We all have big fish that pull our little boats this way and that.  The trick is to find ways to feed yourself when you're feeling hungry.

Saint Marty fed himself with poetry and time with his kids today.

How about helping someone I love get some joy:

Vote for Cindi Carlson