MID-MONTH POSTCARD POEM UPDATE

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Just past the ides of August and the cards are starting to trickle in. Six incoming to date—the other two in the photo are from my friend Judy who has taken to sending postcard poems year round to a select group of lucky recipients. 

I've received poems about monkeys, magpies, and muses, and cards that have explored themes like barking dogs, the vagaries of getting up in the morning, and one with a poem about windmills and redwoods that begins with a delightful epigraph by David Cronenberg that reads: "I don't have a moral plan. I'm a Canadian." 

I love and appreciate them all.

I continue to write one or two every day or so and have sent off 18 so far, all to people on my share of the list, although not necessarily in order. 

For this year's constraint I'm prefacing my own poem with a line or two from ones written by the seven finalists for the 2013 Griffin Poetry Prize. In some obscure way the lines relate to either the image on the card or the poem I end up writing. (Sometimes the relationship is so obscure even I can't figure out what it is!) I'm doing this in order to become more familiar with the poets in the anthology, only one of whose work I had had any contact with.  (David W. McFadden, this year's Canadian winner). 

Ghassan Zaqtan was the international winner. He's the Palestinian poet who was first denied a visa to get into Canada for the award ceremony because "the reason for the visit is unconvincing". There was also some concern about his financial status. Well, duh, he's a poet. You visa-granting bureaucrats expect him to have a fat bank account? Anyway, happily for all concerned (except, possibly, the runners-up) he won the $65,000CAD prize. As it happens, I really like his poems.

My friend with the chapbook inquiry reports that she's making progress. Glad to be of help! 

And so glad you're reading my blog. Thanks to those who've been leaving comments, too. Keeps me doing it. And keep sending those cards, okay?

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THERE BE MONSTERS HERE. AND WOOD TURNINGS. AND DOUKHOBOR VILLAGES. AND POETRY BOOKS.

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Kyran, my grandson, is staying with us for a week or so. Today we went over to the Kootenay Gallery in Castlegar to see the current exhibition by Scot Bullick with the curious name Miscreants: Mischievous and Defiant.

I'd seen it the other week when I dropped off some books, and I loved it and knew Kyran would, too. And he did. As he went from exhibit to exhibit I could hear him chuckling. He's nine, and knows a thing or two about monsters. Every so often I'd hear, "Cool!" 

I obediently refrained from taking pictures of Scot Bullick's work (tempting though it was), but happily his daughter Amanda just happens to be a professional photographer and has some great shots of how the set-up went here. While you're there, check out her website. She does gorgeous work.

My favourite installation was the hanging steel (I think) 3-D faces that are also seen reflected on the wall. Brilliant! Seriously, go have a look at Amanda's photos of the set-up. You'll see what I mean.

The last time I was visited the gallery I discovered this beautiful display of Ted's work in the smaller gallery space. (How could I not take a picture?)

That's a George Koochin painting, "Autumn Gold" behind it. Some of George's paintings are currently on display at Chances Gaming Centre beside the Castlegar Airport. Full disclosure: I'm not a fan of gaming centres, but the possibility of seeing some of George's work overcame my aversion to going. There are few places, come to think of it, I wouldn't go to see his work. As it happens, that's a little print of George's on the plinth beside Ted's turnings. Ted got it for me and it's hanging right beside me as I type this. 

One of the poems in my new chapbook is a version of a pantoum called Burning the Old Village. In 2003, on Winter Solstice night, we did just that to the remains of the Doukhobor village that was in our back yard. Once upon a time it would have looked like George's print.

BURNING THE OLD VILLAGE

The year we burned the Dom it hardly snowed.

The roof had fallen in. Could not be saved.

Deer stole the seeds the grosbeaks left behind.

Sunflowers-in-waiting a carpet on the ground.

The roof had fallen in. Could not be saved.

One exquisite match strike; it was done.

Sunflowers-in-waiting a carpet on the ground.

Roused from their winter bed, the skunks emerged.

One exquisite match strike; it was done.

A swift retreat of black and white indignity.

Roused from their winter bed, the skunks emerged.

The night was molten cold. So little snow.

A swift retreat of black and white indignity.

Snowdrifts a memory. We burned memories, too.

The night was molten cold. So little snow.

Wish for swallows to find new homes come spring.

Snowdrifts a memory. We burned memories, too.

Deer stole the seeds the grosbeaks left behind.

Wish for swallows to find new homes come spring.

The year we burned the Dom it hardly snowed.

A few copies of my chapbooks are for sale at the Kootenay Gallery: George Bowering's Los Pájaros de Tenacatita—Poems of La Manzanilla del Mar and my own What's Best For Us.

Here's Val Field, the Gallery's hard-working executive director, packing up a gift I got for a friend. In addition to bringing in thought-provoking shows like Scot Bullick's, the Kootenay Gallery has the most wonderful gift shop. Check it out next time you're in the area. It's right across from the airport in Castlegar.

And yes, if you were wondering, I've been writing postcard poems AND waking up in the middle of the night to scrawl 3:15 Experiment ones. 
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GROGGY! OR, IF POSTCARDS AREN'T ENOUGH, TRY THE 3:15 EXPERIMENT

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I'm a night owl. Always have been, something that made my life hell when I worked for an airline and had to get up for 6AM shifts. Thankfully, that was in another life. (Frankly, it wasn't a lot easier getting up for 9AM start times, either.) 

I've been undecided until now as to whether or not I'd do the 3:15 Experiment this year. It's that poetic torture tryst you make with 3:15 in the morning—in the f'n morning, people!—where you set your alarm, wake up, sit up, grab your pen and notebook and write a damn poem. Seriously. 

Last year I was a slacker. I only managed poems on four days. As I said on the 3:15 website:

Such a poor showing this year. I had two friends die on me and I was left without any desire to write, any ability to write, any reason to write. I went on a big "what's it all about" bender and didn't bring a pen. So be it. Same time next year. 

The first one, obediently produced on August 1, sort of indicates my mood:

With no intention I take up my pen
as the reluctant warrior chooses
his combat weapon.
These are not gophers popping up
these are not coyotes celebrating a kill
these are words, goddammit
and I’m hunting them down
these are ideas I will pin to the page
late butterflies of creation
preparing to be caught in spite of themselves.

Anyway, that was last year and now it's this year and what the hell, I'm going to do it again. The night owl thing be damned. If I go to bed at one in the morning, the alarm's going to ring at 3:15. I've dusted off the book I write in and have located an acceptable pen. (I have to forgo using my favoured Pilot pen. Felt-type pens that can run are not recommended. People have been known to fall asleep while attempting to write, so it's back to ballpoint for me.) 



Here, in case anyone else is equally foolhardy, are the "rules" of the game, as cribbed (and edited!) from the website:

Start by setting your alarm for 3:15AM August 1st. Continue the practice every day through August 31st. Oh, and feel free to jump in anytime during the month.

Write whatever you like, period. There are no hard and fast rules regarding "length, style, form, content, voice, rhythm, etc." The point is to be writing in a hypnogogic (defined as "of or relating to the state immediately before falling asleep") or hypnopompic ("of or relating to the state immediately preceding waking up") condition. 

This next part is important. NO EDITING! That's the whole point of the experiment. The stuff you write will ideally be shared on the website after the month is over (although a lot of people don't) in its original form. Raw. Unedited. I know, it's scary.

The website mavens also suggest that you don't read your poems (other than a quick skim to make sure you can read them later; you're scrawling them in the middle of the night, after all) until September. Sometimes I don't read mine until the next year!

Starting September 1st, transcribe your poems and put them on the 3:15 website where it's very easy to set up your own page. 
   

After that, you can edit away to your heart's content. Round up your poems and boot them out of the nest in search of new homes. Whatever. I've had a few of mine get published over the years, including one that's in the anthology, between sleeps: the 3:15 experiment 1993–2005.  (I'm not usually part of the cover, but the effect was kind of neat!)

Poetry postcard month is off and running. Participants are encouraged to begin a few days before August, in hopes that by the first of the month you'll have received a card or two whose lines can provide a prompt for the ones you're writing. This has never worked for me as most of the cards I get are from the States and they seem to take a while to get here. No matter. I love to get them whenever they show up. So far this year I've sent off four, and today I picked up a pile of stamps. The ones that work for the USA (when sending from Canada) have porcupines on them this year! 

My blogging may slow down over the next month due to lack of sleep and/or running to the post office. Have a good August!

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(PSST!) IT'S ALMOST AUGUST. WANNA PLAY POSTCARDS?

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(Links to related sites and how to participate are at the end of this post)

Every August since 2007 I've written 31 short poems, put them on postcards and sent them off to persons known to me only by the fact that their names appeared on a list. 

Just for fun (for me, anyway), I thought I'd take a look back at some of the previous years.  Here, for example, is my very first postcard poem:

CONFLUENCE

Let it begin with a river,

one that passes gracefully

between two countries as different as planets,

Let it be decorated with dams,

alive with rapids,

Let it slake the thirst of all creatures

that find their way to its edge,

Let it flow like words

finding their way to fertile ground,

Let it begin with a river.

Washington poet Brendan McBreen was on my list in 2007. This year (and last) he took over the immense job of organizing the list of poet participants. It keeps getting longer  and will easily break the 200 mark this year. 

Here's the odd little poem he got from me:

My mother would say 'Brendan?
He’s Irish, then,' this last not

a question, but pure, irrefutable 

fact. To her. I was nine

the first time she made me so mad

I wanted to hit her, but she

was pregnant, see, and besides,

we really didn’t hit in my family.

Now she gazes out from under

Paul Nelson’s hat—I have no idea 

how that came to be—and I

send the picture to my sisters,

with whom she was pregnant

the time I was angry

when I was nine.

In past years the list we received contained about 31 names, but this year Brendan's decided to send out one long list. You only have to respond to the 31 names below yours (if you're near the end of the list you go back to the beginning).

Now, between Brendan and Paul Nelson, who, with Lana Hechtman Ayers, dreamed up this event in the first place, there are certain things you should attempt to do whilst writing your poems.

From Brendan, this year: 

"The August Poetry Postcard Project is an exercise in responding to other poets. You write a poem a day for the month of August, write it on a postcard and send it to the next name on your list. When you receive a postcard poem from someone, the idea is that the next poem you send out will be a response to the poem you just received, even though it will be sent to a different person. Ideally you will write 31 new poems and receive 31 postcard poems from all over the place."

Paul would have you write the poem directly onto the card. This means no editing, and I can see some of you screwing up your little faces at that. Indeed, I confess again (as I have confessed before, and to Paul) that I didn't do that the first year. Or, I think, the second. But then I tried it and it wasn't all that scary. God knows, it's quicker. Most of the time. There are pros and cons to editing. Paul has a few things to say about the subject here, and Nanaimo poet Kim Goldberg who is firmly in the no editing camp has this to say. 

Personally, I tweak a lot. One of my poems is plastered onto a wall somewhere in Nelson this month, in honour of Art Walk. (I'm going to try to find it tomorrow). I wrote it quite a few years ago and sent in whatever version it had morphed into, so that's what's on the wall, but a couple of weeks ago when I was making a chapbook for the Elephant Mountain Lit Fest reading, I changed it a little. Well, quite a bit, actually. Moved stuff around. Excised. Added to. You know, edited it. And I would hate to try to exist without my wonderful poetry group. Four of us meet and discuss each other's work and make suggestions as to how a particular poem might be improved/clarified/tightened/whatever. We all find this kind of input to be helpful. Sometimes we follow up on the suggestions and sometimes we don't. 

Getting back to postcard poems,  Paul has more suggestions for writing. I like his idea of working off another poet's words, finding a poet you'd like to "spend more time with", as he puts it. Actually, Paul has tons of good ideas so why don't I just give you the link and you can see for yourself. 

And me? I tend to write to the picture on the card. Sometimes I respond to one I've received, but all too often three or four days go by with no cards in the mailbox and then I get several at once. One year I went through a box of cards that depicted the first 30 covers of Nancy Drew novels. I wrote as Nancy or to Nancy or about Nancy, working from the images on the cards. 

In 2009 Ted and I drove to Newfoundland. Some of my cards were written there as well as en route, and some were mailed late, but I still did 31.

Sometimes (not often enough, but that's August for you; always a busy month) I made my own cards, like this one:

Found some of those stickers you put on the back of a 4"x6" photo and it turns into a postcard. This is a picture of a bowl Ted turned out of a birch at my sister's place. The birch here all seem to be dying.

One by one they sicken,
drop widow-maker branches
the way they used to shake off leaves,
old birch that grew for decades
now wracked with a thirst 
they cannot quench 
while we, custodians of the land, 
whine about pine beetle kill 
and who’s going to get our water, 
as if it’s really ours to give.
Perhaps the bowl remembers.

The quality of the poems is, obviously, a subjective thing. Sometimes I really like what I've written, other times I feel like the biggest sham poet on the planet. But versions of some of my postcard poems have gone on to be published, and one of them became the title of my third chapbook.

GENERATION DANCE

My father lost his mind
but not his hair.
His father was bald as a fire-ravished
hillside, but his mind was sharp, precise.

My hair has thinned a little,
I forget things, these days my son’s
hair looks more like mine than
my own.

Look into a mirror—
they’re all there,
their heads, at least,
unruly
looking for their owners.

Want to play this year? Here's how. To participate, send Brendan your name, mailing address, and email to stripedwaterpoets@gmail.com  
Include the word “postcard” in the subject line. 
Do it soon, as Brendan is sending out the final list on the 30th of July.

Some neat poetry postcard links (from Paul):

The blog for the fest is here: https://popo.cards 

A workshop handout for the poetry postcard writing exercise is here: http://paulenelson.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/Postcard-Exercise.pdf

David Sherwin’s article from a couple of years ago is worth reading:http://changeorder.typepad.com/weblog/2010/08/sending-postcards-to-strangers.html 

And finally, pay attention to postal rates.* In Canada it costs 63 cents to mail a card within Canada and $1.10 to send one to the States. International destinations are $1.34.

*Post was written in 2013. Updated rates when sending from Canada in 2020: $1.07 (but .92 if you buy stamps in bulk). To the USA it's $1.30 and International is $2.71. (Wow! More than doubled in 7 years!)

Just be warned. Poetry postcarding can be addictive. My friend Judy Wapp tried it for a month a couple of years ago. Now she sends out cards to some lucky recipients all year round. 

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