The Poetry Sisters’ challenge for February was to write a Valentine or love poem. A plethora of people, places, things, and ideas are objects of my affection. Why, then, was it so hard to pick one and write a poem?!? Thank you, Irish Breakfast Tea, for helping me crank out an eleventh hour haiku.
Here’s how the other Poetry Sisters met this month’s challenge:
I’m reading a poem or two a day from Jane Hirshfield’s new (2023) collection. I was initially thrilled, but then stumped by yesterday’s poem, so I thought I’d dig into it and see if I could make it make more sense.
I found a faint and blurry but printable copy on Google Books and went at it with colored pencils. Red is for questions, green is for words and phrases that seemed to resonate or repeat, and black is research notes.
If we’re going to do this the way Pádraig Ó Tuama does on Poetry Unbound, you should go to Google Books and read the poem for yourself before I start nattering on about what I think it might mean. I’ll wait.
Okay. Ready? You’ll see all my notes all at once, but I’ll try to recreate my thinking as I combed through the poem over and over again, doing more and more research about what happened in February 1991.
Even though I wasn’t sure about Tel Aviv, Baghdad, California or 1991, I was drawn into this poem because it is February right now and the narcissus (daffodils) are pushing up with great determination. So I started with the delight of spring happening and flowers opening all over the world “in their own time.” But fairly quickly, the poem opened up to include “nameless explosions,” “oil fires,” “missiles,” and “smoke.” These images were clearly referring to Tel Aviv and Baghdad, but they could just as well be from Gaza in 2023-24. Ouch. I read on, and the flowers were compared to children born “in that time and place” who would become “…what they would without choice, or with only / a little choice, perhaps…” (A stab in my heart with the connection to Palestinian children.) Then I was back to the flowers opening peacefully, but now Hirshfield added the earth opening “…because it was asked.” This line: “Again and again it was asked and earth opened” made me think of all the ways we’ve taken from the earth — mining, damming, paving, plowing, deforesting. And the earth cannot refuse. Hirshfield compares this to seabirds diving into the ocean, not refused, but rather welcomed so they can eat, and there was another stab in my heart: we take and take and take from the earth and she keeps giving and giving for our survival. And then Hirshfield lost me with that last line. So many questions!
After this first read-through, I did some research (notes in pencil at the top right, except for the starred note…that came later). Clearly, this poem is speaking to the Gulf War (specifically, Operation Desert Storm). So that explained Tel Aviv and Baghdad in the title. I wasn’t so sure about California in February 1991. There was the LA runway disaster but the Oakland fire I noted turned out to be in October. Maybe California was included for the local blooming of the narcissus.
I kept reading through and noting the contrast between spring / flowering / the inevitable rising of life versus violence / destruction / falling. I kept getting stuck on that last line. What did “As soon refuse” refer to? What was “battered and soaking?” Where did that rain come from? I went back to Google one more time, and…bingo. The headline from the LA Times on February 19, 1991 was the key that unlocked the ending: “Iraq Oil Fires Causing Showers of Black Rain.”
Now I understand that “As soon refuse” refers to the earth. The earth, with its own precise timing and its gifts of life, with its mirroring of human evils in the very flowers that bloom in spring, can as soon refuse our destruction of it, can as soon refuse to soak the “dark mahogany rain” of oil fires into its battered surface, as the ocean can refuse to allow seabirds to dive in.
What do you think? Would Jane Hirshfield agree with my thinking? Do you?
Shh…the Inklings are getting ready to whisper secrets to you. Our challenge this month came from Catherine, who borrowed a prompt from a list Molly shared with us. Unlike the Go-Gos, our lips are NOT sealed — we’ve written poems about secrets.
To help us write about secrets, we had this poem, “Family Secret” by Nancy Kuhl to use as a mentor text.
“When in Doubt” by Sandra Cisneros showed up mid-month in the Poetry Unbound podcast, and it seemed to be in conversation with my poem, which was written to answer the stem which became the title.
Here’s how the rest of the Inklings met Catherine’s challenge:
The photo above is a black swallowtail that was born in the fennel in our garden last summer, raised in the safety of our house, and released back into the garden when she (yes, that’s a female) emerged from her cocoon. Compare a real black swallowtail to the piñata version by Roberto Benavidez. Remarkable, isn’t it? Using “paper as the equivalent of paint” in a “fringe that flows,” Benavidez is able to capture the reality of a butterfly, the fantasy of mythical creatures, and nearly photographic landscapes.
If you want to know more about piñatas as well as about Roberto Benavidez and his art, you can watch this Craft In America episode on play. Piñatas are found at 12:16, and Roberto Benavidez is at 18:27.
Here’s how the other Poetry Sisters met this month’s challenge:
Just a little something about me that you never knew! This is one of those poems that wrote itself while I was in the midst of the task. Besides the sensory joys of ironing pillowcases, I also love the feeling that in some small way I can bring order to chaos, which is why I also love raking leaves and shoveling snow.
Heidi’s December challenge for the Inklings came to us in the form of this mobile (which is hanging beside our mail table and yes that’s the Christmas tree reflecting in the lace swan’s glass). The card from which hang the “12 Days of Yuletide Poetry Prompts” details the precepts for the season and each of its days.
I wrote to all twelve of the prompts. Here are a couple that I especially liked. First, the introduction to Yuletide:
“On these dark nights we celebrate light and the power of the human spirit to brighten and warm the season of cold and dark. As the wheel of the year begins another turn, we think on the old and prepare for the new, lighting a candle for each of these human gifts:
25 generosity: the urge to share what we have with others (prompt: ask what generosity really means)
27 laughter: the singular human ability to convert the unexpected into joy (prompt: capture the sound of laughter)
Thank you, Heidi, for generously (and creatively!) sharing your family’s Yuletide traditions with us, and for twelve days of thoughtful writing prompts. I can’t wait to see what the other Inklings did with your challenge, because for once, we haven’t had the chance to share any early drafts. We haven’t an INKLING what the others have written!
The Poetry Sisters’ December challenge was to write Elfchen, a type of cinquain that uses word count instead of syllable count, and links together the lines with these prompts:
Line one=A thought, an object, a color, a smell or the like Line two=What does the word from the first row do? Line three=Where or how is the word of row 1? Line four=What do you mean? Line five=Conclusion: What results from all this? What is the outcome? (This information via Wikipedia.)
Elfchen are German in origin, so for bonus points, I wrote one in German, using my limited vocabulary.
brot warm, frisch mit Schinken und Käse und natürlich viele Butter: lecker
It’s that time again. Six months have passed since last we queued up to host the Poetry Friday roundups.
What is the Poetry Friday roundup? A gathering of links to posts featuring original or shared poems, or reviews of poetry books. A carnival of poetry posts. Here is an explanation that Rene LaTulippe shared on her blog, No Water River, and here is an article Susan Thomsen wrote for the Poetry Foundation.
Who can do the Poetry Friday roundup? Anyone who is willing to gather the links in some way, shape, or form (Mr. Linky, “old school” in the comments, or ???) on the Friday of your choice. If you are new to the Poetry Friday community, jump right in, but perhaps choose a date later on so that we can spend some time getting to know each other.
How do you do a Poetry Friday roundup? If you’re not sure, stick around for a couple of weeks and watch…and learn! One thing we’re finding out is that folks who schedule their posts, or who live in a different time zone than you, appreciate it when the roundup post goes live sometime on Thursday.
How do I get the code for the PF Roundup Schedule for the sidebar of my blog? You can grab the list from the sidebar here at A(nother) Year of Reading, or I’d be happy to send it to you if you leave me your email address.
Why would I do a Poetry Friday Roundup? Community, community, community. It’s like hosting a poetry party on your blog!
Put your request in the comments (blog URL is appreciated) and I’ll update the calendar frequently. Feel free to share this post on all the various socials.
A(nother) Year of Reading 