Auld Lang Syne

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Today is April 26th, a banner day of sorts. 1. it marks my final pregnancy adventure (my "baby" turns 38 today) 2. it marks the first day of no dental pain or procedures (oh am I happy about that!) 3. Poetry Month Rockland's Swarm of Poets.

Snails are out of their shells and dancing!

I have not blogged for a few days (see #2) but feel inclined to catch you up on the prompts. Nah! Let's just pick up at Day 26:

Seems like a good day to write something celebratory!

Write a poem of 10-24 lines celebrating something not usually celebrated, like cleaning day, bird feeder filling, belly button lint, packing away winter clothing.

Here are a few target words for you:

compass, cereal, margins,
produce, shy (as a verb), master
stupor, borrow, trace

This photo is a baby chickadee (Emile) that I rescued two springs ago when he fell from the nesting box and couldn't figure out how to fly. I put him back on top of the box and his parents came and fed him and taught him to soar!

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Found this on my friend Siobhan's blog and think it worthy of reposting:

Passamaquoddy Girl

By Mary Ellen Socobasin,
Passamaquoddy (1947-1988)
6 April 1995

Mary Ellen's death was a loss to our community and in her honor I post her words so that others may learn from her.
A proud Indian girl grows up on the reservation
Takes a walk to the white community
She knew nothing of them
She was greeted with laughter
She was treated unfairly
For she did nothing to them.
She was called a redskin
She looked upon herself saw only brown skin
She wonders what is wrong withthem.
She is called an Apache with a sneer.
She says, I am Passamaquoddy eyes full of tears.
She asks herself what have I done to them.
They make funny noises imitating her language.
She says to them I know two languages.
Doesn't that mean anything to you.
But to them, they only understood one language.
The language of hate.
She asks herself what have I done to them.
They don't know her. Still they condemn.
She committed no crime still they prosecute
Stones of injustice are thrown at her
Her heart starts to fill with bitterness.
She proclaims her hate for them.
Years of ignorance go by.
Then she realized what was happening.
She was getting to be just like them.
She says I am not one of them.
I will not condemn all of them.
For I am Passamaquoddy
A proud Indian woman.
--Mary Ellen Socobasin

Pain and Poetry

Pain and poetry. In some circles there might be the assumption that these two go together. I disagree. Today I am in pain. It's a dull pain emanating from my sinuses to my upper jaw OR from my back molar to my sinuses. Being Sunday, it is just not the day to find out which. So suffer I must until tomorrow. But this suffering will not produce a winning poem. Guaranteed that it will not. I will spend the day trying to ignore the ache, to medicate it with OTC meds, to feel dumpy and grumpy.

Oh sure, you say, that is pain. You will be quick to remind me that the suffering poet's pain is psychological or relational or situational (read: rejection after rejection). True enough. That happens. There is a LONG list of suicidal poets to account for that. But I say that sometimes what gets in the way of poetry is physical pain. This thing began yesterday and I accounted for it by the whole sinus infection reason. But I have netti-potted my sinuses and still no relief. I did get some relief with Excedrin, but it is still there, annoyingly there.

So pardon me for not writing today, not even work on projects I've already started. I may not get to write tomorrow either since I will have to do the rounds of professional help: start with the dentist to see if there is something wrong with the molar (root canal? OUCH!) and if not that, then to the doctor to see what is going on with the sinuses (antibiotics? some stronger pain meds?). Tomorrow may be a write-less day. Grrr.

Now tell me poets don't suffer!

Of course you could make my suffering less by visiting my web site and buying a book...