September 12: "Flock," Community of Poets, Nandi Comer

I think everyone needs to feel like they are part of a group.  We all want to belong, be a part of something bigger than ourselves.  That's why we gather friends around us in school and why we attend church.  We go to movie theaters so that we can laugh or scream or clap together for a movie.  I write this blog for my virtual disciples.  My poetic posse.    

Billy Collins writes about a community of sacrificial lambs . . . 

Flock

by: Billy Collins

               It has been calculated that each copy of

               the Gutenburg Bible . . . required the

               skins of 300 sheep.

               ---from an article on printing

I can see them squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building
where the printing press is housed,

all of them squirming around
to find a little room
and looking so much alike

it would be nearly impossible
to count them,
and there is no telling

which one will carry the news
that the Lord is a shepherd,
one of the few things they already know.

I spent a good portion of this afternoon and evening surrounded by poets and poetry.  At the library, I hosted an open mic and got to see some people I hadn't seen in a while.  Heard some great readings.  Read a poem in honor of my late brother, Kevin, whose birthday was today.

Then I drove over to the university to listen to a discussion about inclusion in poetry.  The panelists were Nandi Comer, the current Michigan Poet Laureate, and Beverly Matherne, the current U.P. Poet Laureate.  It was a great conversation about the power of words to unite disparate groups of individuals.

I really do believe that one of the jobs of a poet is to provide connection and understanding.  We transform the personal into the universal.  When I sit down to write a poem, I always start with my own experiences.  I try to capture what it felt like to be me when I was sitting in the hospital room while my sister was dying.  Or when I'm mowing my lawn on a Saturday morning.  Or when I'm eating pizza with my daughter.  You get the idea.  And then I hold my hand out to readers, invite them to join me in my grief or exhaustion or hunger or love.  Because, regardless of what a certain orange-complexioned politician says, we're all more alike than different.

Saint Marty came home tonight with his poetic cup overflowing.  And a couple new books.

July 16: "Flock," Son and Niece, Natural Poets

Billy Collins is my shepherd . . . 

Flock

by: Billy Collins

It has been calculated that each copy of the

Gutenburg Bible . . . required the skins of 300 sheep.

     --from an article on printing

I can see them squeezed into the holding pen

behind the stone building

where the printing press is housed,

all of them squirming around

to find a little room

and looking so much alike

it would be nearly impossible

to count them,

and there is no telling

which one will carry the news

that the Lord is a shepherd,

one of the few things they already know.

I love obscure facts like the one Collins uses in this poem.  I frequently do the same.  One of the poems in my new manuscript is titled "Chipmunks See in Slow Motion."  Poetry helps me understand life in different ways, through different lenses.  These facts aid in that endeavor.

I spent most of today driving my son and niece to different places.  We started early in the morning by climbing Sugarloaf Mountain and having breakfast at its summit, Lake Superior on one side of us, unbroken forestland on the other.  We picked blueberries, took pictures.  I was pretty proud of myself for keeping up with the young'uns until the last incline I had to descend into the parking lot.  Fell on my knees and hands hard, but did not require a trip to the ER.

Then we traveled to a local attraction called Lakenenland that features outdoor metal sculptures by a local artist.  Dinosaurs.  Bigfoot.  Giant insects.  A rock concert (heavy metal, no doubt).  Again, we moseyed through the displays, took pictures.  No injuries to report.

Lastly, we drove to Presque Isle on Lake Superior.  My two charges went wading and rock hunting.  My niece wanted to jump off a particular cliff into the lake.  However, due to some flooding because of heavy rains last night, the road was temporarily closed.  Again, no injuries to report.

After a couple bubble teas, I brought them home, and I think they both took long naps.  (I did wake these teenagers up at 6 a.m., mind you.)  Tomorrow, we drive to Munising for a little Pictured Rocks boat ride, if the weather cooperates.  It's supposed to rain and be a little windy.

I love being with young people.  They allow me to see the world through different lenses, as well, because they are natural poets, unjaded and curious.  My son and niece have most of their lives ahead of them.  Everything they encounter is new and exciting.  Which makes me see everything as new and exciting again.  

Saint Marty is going to take some ibuprofen and watch a movie now.  Something he's seen before--because there's something to be said for old and comforting.

April 9: Jealousy, Billy Collins, "Flock"

Yes, I owe you some poetry.  Since all I've been carrying around is the collection, Aimless Love, it is Billy Collins again.

It's one of those poems that I read and think to myself, "Dammit, I wish I had written that."  My two Constant Readers know that I have a little problem with jealousy.  It's one of my many character flaws.  And when I find a poem that I really love, it makes me want to write a better poem.  I suppose that's a good thing.  Some people may say that I'm being inspired by the poem.  I think I'm just competing.  But that's okay.  A little competition never hurt anybody.

I haven't written a new poem in several months now.  I've been too wrapped up in work and teaching.  By the time I get home at night, I can barely stay awake.  Soon, the semester will be coming to an end, and I will have about two months before I start teaching again.  Hopefully, I can start competing with Billy Collins during that time.

In the meantime, Saint Marty will just seethe with envy.

Flock

by:  Billy Collins

          It has been calculated that each copy of
          the Gutenburg Bible . . . required the
          skins of 300 sheep.
               ---from an article on printing

I can see them squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building
where the printing press is housed,

all of them squirming around
to find a little room
and looking so much alike

it would be nearly impossible
to count them,
and there is no telling

which one will carry the news
that the Lord is a shepherd,
one of the few things they already know.

This cartoon inspired by Charles Schulz . . .