NOTE THESE CHANGES IN THE POETRY FRIDAY HOSTING SCHEDULE: Heidi and Margaret are changing places, so Heidi will now host on August 15, and Margaret will host on September 5.
Image from the front page of The Burlington (CO) Record
I thought I was writing this poem to the photo that appeared on the front page my hometown newspaper, but as it turns out, the poem also has echoes in an extraordinary book that I finished just last night. THE ANTIDOTE by Karen Russell is set in Nebraska in 1935 between two cataclysmic environmental events: the Black Sunday dust storm and the flooding of the Republican River (24 inches of rain in 24 hours). So it’s a story of the land, but inseparably, it’s a story about the people there. Here’s how Russell (with James Riding In) describes what she attempted to do in THE ANTIDOTE:
THE ANTIDOTE uses fantastical conceits to illuminate the holes in people’s private and collective memories, the willful omissions passed down generation to generation, and the myths that have been used by the U.S. government and White settlers to justify crimes against the citizens of Native Nations and the theft of Native lands.
It was a book that puzzled me at first, then fascinated me, then horrified me, then made me read the last hundred pages at a gallop (which is why I’m “late” posting), then ultimately left me with some measure of hope.
Which brings us back to the photo and the poem. I grew up at the edge of the same Pawnee lands in THE ANTIDOTE, in a part of the country where White farming techniques have resulted in loss of topsoil and the depletion of the Ogallala Aquifer. And I grew up with the myth of the noble (White) farmers, who toiled at the whim of the sparse rainfall and the destructive summer storms, and whose hope was what kept them going.
It’s time to tell the truth. All of it. And it’s time to listen to the land and agree to change the ruinous human part of our relationship with her. She wants to live, and she can heal, if we let her. If we help her.
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Marcie has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at Marcie Flinchum Atkins. You can find there the Poetry Sisters who had the bandwidth to write to this month’s challenge, to write a sedoka, along with others who joined in the challenge.
PLEASE NOTE THESE CHANGES IN THE POETRY FRIDAY HOSTING SCHEDULE: Heidi and Margaret are changing places, so Heidi will now host on August 15, and Margaret will host on September 5.
Poetry is not news. It is not a comment upon it. Art does what art does, which is often a tricksy thing. — Pádraig Ó Tuama
You’re an artist if you create something! You’re an artist if you don’t see the worrld the way it is, if you hate white walls! No one else decides what art is, no one can stop you loving whatever you like, the cynics and critics can have control of all the other crap on the planet..but they can’t decide how hard your heart beats! Become whatever you want, but don’t become one of them. Art is a fragile enough light as it is. It can be blown out by a single sigh. Art needs friends, with our bodies against the wind and our hands cupped around the flame until it’s strong enough to burn brightly with its own power. Until it’s an inferno. Unstoppable. — Fredrik Backman
Welcome friends! Welcome all whose hands are cupped around the fragile flames of art and hope, activism and radical self-care.
What a world. I used to love rollercoasters. Now that I’m living inside of one, I don’t feel the need to go to a theme park.
But seriously, look at all the training opportunities we’re being provided. We’re learning over and over again how to stand up for what’s right. No longer do we assume government is working in our best interest, we’ve been trained to keep a close eye on what’s going on and be ready to pick up the phone or fill in the provided form to protect libraries, public lands, schools, and (still hopeful as I write this on July 2) funding that will keep nursing homes and rural hospitals open. We know now, more than ever, that We The People are the only ones who can save this country by working together in ways that feel new and unfamiliar, but which are completely (in all the best ways) HUMAN.
It’s messy right now, but let’s make a convoy and keep going.
A(nother) Year of Reading 