"Horses Running Fast," by Shane McCrae

"Whisper," by Duy Huynh

Horses Running Fast
by Shane McCrae
 
We married in an open field a wide
And open field a field of wild and run- / ning
horses wide a field of horses run- / ning through
we married in an open wide
Running and full        of horses open
field / And in we married in        and in we mar- / ried in in
one direction they the hors- / es they
disguised the wind as horses in the wind/The horses running
fast in one / Direction
as the horses running through        / The horses as the horses run- / ning through
and each of us as me and you / As horses running fast
In one direction and
no animal outruns its past

[Image above by Duy Huynh]

Poem via Verse Daily

***

I just love Shane McCrae's poems. There's no one writing like him right now. If you haven't already, please rush out and read his newest collection, Forgiveness Forgiveness. Here's a brief review I wrote of that book for Columbus Alive, the local arts newspaper.

 

Ephemera

"Circle I, II-55," 1978, by Kenneth Noland

Ephemera

The full-of-seeds paper says
every message will self destruct

eventually

These low flowers sprouted
from handwriting

If you squint you can see sentences
wriggling out at you

newly-bodied they are delicate here

 [Image above by Kenneth Noland]

"In Perpetual Spring," by Amy Gerstler

"Return to Nature," by Asli Akyuz

In Perpetual Spring
Amy Gerstler
 
Gardens are also good places
to sulk. You pass beds of
spiky voodoo lilies  
and trip over the roots  
of a sweet gum tree,  
in search of medieval  
plants whose leaves,  
when they drop off  
turn into birds
if they fall on land,
and colored carp if they  
plop into water.

Suddenly the archetypal  
human desire for peace  
with every other species  
wells up in you. The lion  
and the lamb cuddling up.
The snake and the snail, kissing.
Even the prick of the thistle,  
queen of the weeds, revives  
your secret belief
in perpetual spring,
your faith that for every hurt  
there is a leaf to cure it.

[Image above by Azli Akyuz]

Poem from Bitter Angel, 1990, via the Poetry Foundation.

***

I adore Amy Gerstler's poems...this one is no exception. Oh, those final lines! This poem feels especially appropriate for this week, as spring is finally jumping up to greet those us of in the Midwest.

On Voice, Identity, and an AWP panel!

Image from the sketchbook of Phoebe Wahl

I write this to you from chilly but lovely Minneapolis! I’m here for the AWP (Association of Writers & Writing Programs) conference, and it has been wonderful so far.

Yesterday, I attended a panel featuring Brenda Shaughnessy, Camille Rankine, Deborah Landau, and Erin Belieu. These stellar writers read some work, and then discussed a variety of intriguing topics centered mostly around gender and identity.

A couple of inspiring comments/concepts have really stuck with me. An audience member asked the writers about when they first took themselves seriously (or when they felt their voice was significant). I loved their candid responses…a couple of them mentioned how instrumental their families (and mothers) were in providing strong, intelligent, assertive female role models. Brenda Shaughnessy described seeing her mother (for whom English is a second language) constantly treated like an idiot merely for her accent, and how this enraged her and helped to strengthen and form her voice.

I couldn’t help but think of my students. I am constantly trying to tell them that their voice matters, and that what they do with that voice can have real power and consequences.

I also enjoyed the panelists’ discussions about identity and intersectionality. An attendee asked the panelists how conscious they were of their female identity while writing poems. It was a fascinating concept to me. Some of my poems feel firmly rooted in my identity, but more often, I feel I am engaging my consciousness with language. I realize that my consciousness is indeed shaped by my identity—this was just a thought-provoking idea.

So. May I ask you? When did you first take your own voice seriously? And how important is your identity to your writing, in your view?

[Image above by Phoebe Wahl]

Room With a View

"Manifest Destiny," 2006, by Bo Bartlett

from "Windows Above All Else," by Jim Darling

"hot house," by Charlotte Evans

"View From the Window (the clouds roll in)," by Anna Bergin

 "Morning Sun," 1952, by Edward Hopper