Speaking Out

"Following Hope" Available As An Ebook

2011-08-23T11:41:00.002-04:00

"Following Hope" is now available as an eBook at various vendors. An internet search should reveal which ones. So for those who prefer the more portable medium, now this poetry is available to you as well! All my love to my fellow writers!

Mini-Readings Via Youtube.com

2011-04-28T16:36:00.001-04:00

Wow. No one has posted here for a very long time. I hope all is well with the writer's group!

I'm visiting to tell you all of a new venture I've started. You see, I don't get to travel much to give readings, etc. so I decided to give readings via webcam. Every so many days, I'm going to post a video on my Youtube channel of myself reading a single poem. It may or may not be written by myself, and may or may not include an introduction. If you're interested in watching, just type "Sabne Raznik" into the search on youtube.com. I don't require readers/viewers to subscribe, comment, like and all that stuff. It's not about playing a popularity game. It's about connecting with my readership and the joy of sharing the written word. The videos are very simple- just me reading to a webcam.

I hope you can drop by and have a look, and spread the word. Who knows, maybe someday I can figure out a way to have tiny workshops the same way? The important thing is that everyone enjoy the experience, such as it is. See you there!

Breaking Stereotypes With Poetry

2010-12-29T10:06:00.005-05:00

"Following Hope" (Xlibris, April 2007), my first collection of poetry, set the tone for the intentions of my career. A resounding effort to shatter the stereotype of what is expected of an Appalachian poet, the collection is a true celebration of multiculturalism, travel, and multimedia.

The poems therein are varied in make. There are multi-stanza poems, short meditative pieces, lyric free verse and melodic alt-forms. This is less the pastoral, ancestor-oriented work commonly associated with Appalachian literature and more the complex, interpretive and experimental lyrics of contemporary poetry as is being written throughout America and the Western world today.

The subjects are also more profound than might normally be expected. The predominate theme is that of betrayal on many levels, but mostly in the area of sexual violence and its aftermath. Also addressed is abandonment by a parent, by a lover, by nature and by life- real or perceived. The betrayal of the self is not left out of this equation. It is not a collection for the squeamish or those more comfortable with light verse and greeting card verse. These are serious pieces about thought-provoking, serious subjects.

But not all is dark. While not flinching from these indescribable experiences, the collection focuses on the ability of the human spirit to rise above such horrors: to always look for hope (a white bird always refers to hope), to refuse to remain victimised, to use these experiences to learn strength, and even to be able to open oneself up to vulnerability and relationships willingly and unfailingly loyally.

The photos peppered generously throughout the book reflect this positivism. Taken by Northern Irish photographer Jan McCullough, they are mostly clean youthful portraits with stunning emphasis on the eyes of the models. A few were taken by myself and these are credited appropriately in the acknowledgements section. The cover photo was taken by Jessica Marshallsay quite by accident, but what a lovely accident!

The end result is a visually pleasing book that reflects the message of the poems therein. It has received glowing reviews every time it has been reviewed. These reviews can be read at my website, (www.sabneraznik.com). Following Hope is available everywhere online- including Amazon.com and Ebay.com- in softcover format. It is also available in hardcover if ordered directly from the publisher at www.xlibris.com/FollowingHope.html.

My second collection is still in manuscript form and currently making the rounds in search of representation and/or a publisher. It's title is in a state of flux. "Whethering: shiir" was thrown out because similar titles have been used for poetry collections recently. Currently, its working title is "Habibi". It will continue the aims of stereotype breaking and take it to another level. The poems will be even more varied. There will be experimentation with syntax, concrete poetry, even shorter poems, my first attempt at blank verse, and my only attempt thus far at a performance piece.

These poems are love songs which remain interpretive in nature and, therefore, have multiple possible meanings. These are addressed to a lover, an unrequited love, God, and the exotic all at once. There will be a notes section which will translate phrases and words that appear throughout in a total of 11 or 12 different languages, some of them ancient. These notes will also help with references made throughout that shift all through the long and rich history of the Middle East. It will be a celebration of the beautiful, of music, photography, dance, love, loss, hope, Appalachia, and language. All of this climaxes in an eerily Irish sort of keening to full effect.

The photography of Jan McCullough will be featured once again, this time all alone. From the cover and on, every photo will be McCullough's work. These will be scattered more sparsely throughout. This time, the photos are abstracts of broken, rain-damped streets superimposed with artistic nudes.

I do not know when it will be available for sale since I am still looking for an agent and/or publisher, but I can assure you it will be worth the wait. The interpretations of my work given in this article are subjective and merely one way of perceiving it. I believe it is the perogative of the reader to apply it to their individual situations as it suits them.

Care and Feeding of Nightmares

2010-08-11T06:15:00.000-04:00

For anyone who would like to purchase my 2nd chapbook of poetry, "Care and Feeding of Nightmares" - you can email me at:

careandfeedingofnightmares@gmail.com

with your snail-mail address. The books are $5 each plus $2 for shipping and handling. I hope to have PayPal set up on my blog in a few weeks for payments, but currently I can only accept checks or money orders. I will mail out the book on the day I receive your order. You can also buy the books at J. Sampson Antiques on Main Street in Harrodsburg. Thanks to everyone who buys a book!

Put an End to Poetry Rejection Letters

2010-06-02T10:15:00.000-04:00

Tired of having your poetry rejected from literary magazine after literary magazine? Then check out this new article from WRITER'S RELIEF - "Poetry Turnoffs - Styles and Formatting That Make Editors Cringe." It is very informative and may just turn your rejection letters into acceptance letters.

Bad News ...

2010-05-24T11:25:00.001-04:00

... I'm sorry for being so out of touch, but I have some bad news to pass on to all my bloggy friends.

My mom passed away Sunday evening about 6pm. She was only 65 yo, but she had been in poor health for at least the past 6 months. We tried a few things in CCU to try and wake up her kidneys and other organs back up, but when we realized they weren't working, daddy made the decision - the right decision and mom's wishes - to turn all the machines off. She was in no pain and thankfully went peacefully.

Please keep my family in your prayers ...

Kentucky Writers' Day

2010-04-16T10:16:00.000-04:00

The Kentucky Arts Council will celebrate Kentucky Writers' Day at 10am Friday, April 23rd in the Capitol Rotunda in Frankfort.

Past Kentucky Poets laureate Jane Gentry Vance (2007-2008), Sena Jeter Naslund (2005-2006), Joe Survant (2003-2004), and Richard Taylor (1999-2000) will give readings of their work as part of the event.

A special receiption to honor all Kentucky writers will follow at 11am on the mezzanine level of the Capitol. "Five Kentucky Poets Laureate: An Anthology," "Abraham Lincoln of Kentucky" and poet laureat broadsides will be offered for sale at the reception.

Kentucky Writers' Day is officially April 24 in honor of the birth date of Kentucky native Robert Penn Warren, the first poet laureate of the United States and winner of three Pulitzer prizes.

This event is free and open to the public.

Book Signing Party

2010-04-07T21:13:00.003-04:00

The SPEAKING OUT VOLUME 2 book signing party has been scheduled for Thursday, April 29th at 6:30 upstairs at the Fudge Company at 225 South Main street. We hope all our authors will make plans to attend. We will begin selling the books that evening, and you may pick up your book then, and hopefully many of you will choose to read some of your entries. Please, pass the word, we would like this to be a huge event.

2010-03-24T20:35:00.003-04:00

Hey guys, we have signed off on the proof of Speaking Out! Volume 2! It is bigger and definitely better that Volume 1! I hope you agree. They should ship within the next two weeks, so it is almost time to party down and sign some books! Remember, everyone who contributed to the book gets a free one. We hope you will all be on hand to sign copies.

Any suggestions for a venue for the book release party?

Thanks,

Roni

In Defence of Free Verse

2010-03-06T15:00:00.003-05:00

Free verse was first used by French symbolist poets in the late 1800s. T. S. Eliot was among the first poets writing in English to adopt it and introduced it to the English- speaking world by its French term, vers libre. He and other Modern poets adopted it in reaction to the disorientation that resulted with the advent of World War I. Since then, it has become the most used form (yes, form) of Western poetry. Many poets employ it as their default mode of expression. Because so much of free verse has been poorly written in recent years, and because confessional poetry (which free verse is closely associated with) has long since fallen out of fashion, there is a movement in the poetry world at the moment that declares it dead, used up, even inferior. Many are almost fanatically advocating the return of form as the mode of choice for 21st century poets.

But the very existence of such an ideal reveals an ignorance concerning how poetry is being practiced today and what exactly free verse (vers libre) really is. This ignorance is rather surprising when one takes into account the over-emphasis on academic degrees, professorships, and lecture posts among contemporary poets- so much so that the casual observer and beginning poet may come to think these are required for one to be a true poet.

The argument in favor of a return to form ignores two facts. One, that a large portion of contemporary poets utilise both traditional forms and free verse throughout their various oeuvres. Two, that free verse (vers libre) is itself a poetic form and, after more than a century's use, might well be considered as a traditional form in Western literature.

As for that first point, one could easily pick up the Collected volumes of any number of well known poets publishing today and see the truth of it. Many of our most beloved poets do not limit themselves either to free verse or tradional forms alone, but freely and skillfully employ anything available to them.

As for the second point, it is true that many use free verse incorrectly and lazily. Many mistakenly believe that free verse means that the poem can have no structure at all. Many poems passed off as "free verse" amount to little more than prose poems with line breaks and even stanza breaks. Some of it cannot even be loosely considered as prose poems. It would be beneficial to remind some that sentences seperated by blank spaces on the page do not make those sentences poetry. In fact, free verse is very structured and requires some skill to write in a satisfactory manner. It is a form.

Perhaps the best example of what I'm trying to clarify is the work of T. S. Eliot himself: "The Waste Land". Anyone who has taken poetry classes in any college in the U. S. has had to dissect this poem. Look closely at it again. It is written in free verse (or as Eliot himself would have called it: vers libre). But what is it that makes it liberal or liberated as a form? You will quickly see that it is not a total lack of form. In fact, it is a potpourri of forms. And that is what free verse is: it uses what is commonly refered to as the traditional forms and slips in and out of them freely. Sometimes these parts rhyme and sometimes they don't. But never is there a moment in that poem where form does not exist. One piece may be blank verse, another a variation on a sonnet. It changes. It is fluid. It is living. But it is undeniably structured.

When one realises that free verse is actually a sort of tiny collection of forms, and thereby a form in its own right, the argument that one needs to turn one's back on it as poetry in order to return to form negates itself. The sentiment that it is used up also becomes unreasonable because the problem that has brought up that sentiment is misuse (or no use at all) of free verse brought on by a collective misunderstanding of what it is. In theory and in practice, there is no limit to the variation and possible manipulations of the free verse form, just as there is no limit to the variations and possible manipulations of the sonnet (and most of the other traditional) forms. How then could it be out-of-date, undesirable to use, and time to dicard it?

Speaking Out Volume 2

2010-02-10T16:28:00.001-05:00

Here is the cover for Speaking Out Volume 2. Hope you like it.

It does look like Mercer County I think.

2010-02-07T21:02:00.002-05:00

Speaking Out! Volume II has been sent to the publisher and we should have the galley to proof sometime this week. Thanks for your contributions. I think we had a total of 29 authors to submit works, and all submitted more than one entry. Be sure to watch this site for news about the book release party.

Betty and Roni

Sabne Raznik's "Following Hope" is Available on Ebay- Signed

2009-12-01T18:42:00.005-05:00

Since it's publication in April of 2007, "Following Hope" has sold a little under 100 copies and received glowing reviews, including the following from Irish poet Brendan Kennelly:

"Thank you for that beautiful book- a harvest of really striking poems in a really elegant creation. The language is haunting; in fact the entire book reads like a haunted, lyrical, warm, violent, wounded love-poem in which togetherness and a chilly gulf of seperation vie with each other, and hurt is inseperable from loving passion. This leads to a situation where warm intimacy and icy distance assess as they embrace.

"Fingers" is one of the most powerful poems I've read for a long time. These same fingers claw this reader's mind and imagination long after the book has been laid aside. But this book doesn't really get laid aside; it walks the streets of Dublin with me. For this I thank you and may your special magic continue to flourish. "

While my website (http://www.sabneraznik.com/) contains links to its publisher Xlibris, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble as places to buy it, Barnes and Noble no longer keeps it in stock. Amazon's policies regarding print-on-demand books, as adopted last year, has meant that while it continues to be available through them, very few are now buying it there (a strange side-effect, indeed). So I am now selling SIGNED copies on Ebay. Come by and check it out.

The Legend of Leyla and Majnun: Its Importance in Eastern and Western Traditions

2009-12-01T18:32:00.003-05:00

Reprinted from my AC page, as was the other essays I've posted here: http://http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/64959/sabne_raznik.html

One of the most common legends throughout the Middle East is "Leyla and Majnun". The title varies as names are translated, but these names mean: Leyla- Arabic for night, Majnun- Arabic for demon or mad man, specifically madly in love. Some of the details of the story can vary as well. There is some claim that the legends are based on a true story about a Bedouin poet named Qays ibn al-Mulawwah ibn Muzahim and a woman called Layla bint Mahdi ibn Sa'd, better known as Layla Al-Aamiriya. The legends are far-flung and both India and Saudi Arabia claim to have the tomb of the lovers.

The most popular version of the story was written by Nizami Ganjavi (1141-1209) in the Persian tongue. In this story Majnun falls in love with Leyla at first sight but is denied marrying her. This drives him to madness and poetry becomes his salvation. His father takes him to a temple to implore the god's help for his son, but instead Majnun prays that his love will continue to grow since he knows his life is worthless without it. Eventually, he retreats to the wilderness (which reminded me of the Celtic legend of "Mad Sweeney") to live with the animals and recite poetry he had written for Leyla. His health slowly declines and he exhausts all symbolic and psychological desire. When he last meets with Leyla, he no longer wishes to live, so driven mad by denied love as he is, and dies in her arms. She then dies beside him of grief. Some versions have her dying first and his own mad grief and love driving him finally to his death afterwards.

The legend has proved to be the influence of many great Western works of literature. During the Middle Ages, thanks to travelling troubadours and the crusades, there was much cross-pollination between these different cultures. The story of Leyla and Majnun was adapted and westernised for such classic tales as "Tristan and Isolde", "Aucassin et Nicolette", "La Fou d'Elsa", and perhaps most famously "Romeo and Juliette" among others. It was also the first work ever created in the Italian musical genre in the Muslim world. It was so adapted by Uzeyir Hajibeyov. Hajibeyov's version of the story is an enormously successful synthesis between East and West, and between European classical music and Oriental culture, it is said.

One of the most defining differences between the Western adaptions and the Eastern legends concerning Majnun and Leyla is the view of love according to culture. In the West, as can be seen by refering to the adaptations and Western literature which has been influenced by the Eastern legends, true love is nearly always a consummated love. Whether that love is approved by the powers that be or not, the love-struck and typically doomed couple will usually at some point have sexual relations. Only then is the love fully realised and sympathised with. In the Eastern legends, this love is almost never consummated. In fact, the legends' driving force is dependent on that fact. This is because in Oriental tradition, particularly the Islamic, true love for a person is a pure love, one that does not require sexual intimacy. Only if the love remains pure and free of physical relations can it be the kind of love that leads one to the complete love of the divine. In Leyla and Majnun, this is what characterises Majnun's insanity- that it is a manifestation of his having reached the ultimate state of divine love and hence, in a sense, has himself become divine. Therefore, the love-mad, non-revolutionary poet is, in Oriental tradition, a divine being.

The reasons for Leyla's family's rejection of Majnun also differs from that of the Western adaptations. In "Romeo and Juliette" that rejection is based on mutual emnity between the families. In "Tristan and Isolde" it is because of social standing and because Isolde is already betrothed. In Leyla and Majnun, he is rejected because of the poetic nature of his love. In Oriental culture love is a secret thing. Marriages are even today typically arranged by families for the advancement of the family or for whatever reason. It is not to be spoken of in public or advertised, because love, although desirable, is not a requirement for those marriages and the happiness attained within them (however much the Western world believes that love is vital for happiness, many other cultures do not believe that to be so, and when both parties to the marriage agree on this belief it can be true). So when Majnun publicises his love by spouting poetry outside the walls of Leyla's house and in the streets, this offends Leyla's family and breaks this code, if you will. Since he is considered divine because of the poetic intensity of his love, he is no longer considered as a human being in that cultural environment and, as such, is not eligible for the marriage. In other words, the union would have resulted in scandal. That is why, in the Iranian and Turkic traditions, Majnun is viewed as a pure and absolute martyr to divine love, although that interpretation is not included in all Eastern versions of the legend. In the context of this brief discussion of cultural differences and interpretations, it is interesting to note that the action of the legend is set during what is called "Jahiliyah"- meaning "ignorance"- and predates Islam by one hundred years.

The legends of Leyla and Majnun still ring true for audiences today, especially youths. Western youths long for the kind of love which would be so strong as to allow either or both partners to die for each other if necessary. In the fast-paced society that exists today, it is common for people to marry multiple times and still not experience the love that Western culture insists is vital to such a relationship, and so the modern connection to the Western adaptions is a sort of nostalgic longing for true love that never dies even in death. In the Orient, arranged marriages are still more or less the norm and the possiblility of forbidden love is a real one. Therefore, Leyla and Majnun's difficulties still have a very real and immediate currency there. Also, there is the unique phenomenon created by immigration. In Southern California alone, there are nearly one million Iranians and there are many, many more of Middle Eastern origin throughout the Western world. Coming as they are from a culture where love is a private matter into one that experienced the sexual liberation movement of the 1960s and 1970s and where sex is so common and open that it is even used to sell products as advertising, the effects can be devestating. There have even been cases of insanity due to the effort required to reconcile these totally different ways of thinking. For these ones, the legends of Leyla and Majnun have an altogether unique meaning of its own.

Truly, this classical Eastern legend deserves close scrutiny by those from both sides of the world, as it has had a profound effect on both.

My Life on MUTE

2009-11-25T16:09:00.001-05:00

Take out my vocal cords,
Remove my voice box ,
and,

go ahead press mute.

I'll mime my way around all of their stupidity.

Turn down the volume,
no subtitles or captions,
I'll mouth the solutions to our problems with my lips,
and never a sound to interrupt,
but kiss-
and Silence will overwhelm.

Go ahead-press mute on me,
turn off my voice and expect me lame.
in the quiet you will find.
my voice is.
the
loudest.

Recent Stuff

2009-11-21T18:24:00.006-05:00

Here is what I have written since August '08. Please, feel free to comment.

This was inspired by the movie "Jodhaa Akbar" and a dream I had:

"Freedom Walk"

Coloured glass ornaments
Darkened orange veil
Tripping bell anklets
One step to freedom

She's afraid to take it

Painted hands to wall
Painted feet touch floor

She moves

I'm having trouble titling this one. I tried "Dead" but it seemed to give away too much. I tried "Children" but that had the same problem, so current working title:

"Malawi: buried"

Ululation breaks parched
Throat, skin, earth

Sandstorm enwraps bony
Body, cuts

Words into the skin, blood
Inked names of

Sorrows, sorrows lost on
Faces blank

Numbed and rubbed free
Of identity

Did any of you watch last year's "Superstars of Dance" with Micheal Flatley as host? This poem was inspired by the solo South African dancer Mamela Nyamza and her performance as a dying swan or crane (link to youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AswRJtS9_eg&feature=related)- you may remember her:

"Woman"

Brown belief:
She sinks into dirt
Dirt sky she imagines
Ripping open-
Giving out under its withheld
Burden

Of hope. Soft, wet, white,
Crisp, soap-sparkle of
Snow she's never seen
Kissing the bare

Bare-boned earth
Glassed into ocean
Water still as steel-stone.
She feels like she

Is tearing open
With pain- like ripping apart
Garments- stepping free
Of herself
In a white tu-tu,

Dancing the horizon:
A crane's jerking
Movements- broken lips-
Across snowed-on ocean,

Dirt-covered folded origami
Bird in palm encased,
Encrusted jewel
Dug from earth-deep death,
Star of Africa.

This next one was a meditation on the events of my life over 2009:

"Memory Fractured"

Carcass of wingless
Black bird of prey,
Hanging,
Slit open,
Bleached white inside:
If you should find a seed within it,
Throw it down to us
To pick at,
Splinter,
Misunderstand and squander.
Aborted life-
Again.

This is a favorite subject of mine:

"The Bellydancer"

She picks at her bedlah
Checks her nails
Listens for the zaghareets
Which are her cue
Nervous, her heart beats with the drums
While she practices some of the
More difficult moves of her
Routine- just before
The curtain rises and the lights come on
She whispers:
"I dance for you, habibi"

One more that I wrote tonight while thinking of someone:

"Joy"
n. 1. sunshine in the heart 2. swaying hip shimis back to front, first the left then the right 3. cascading cresendo of beads, coins, and fabric created by bedlah while executing said move and which radiates outward 4. the state of being on your mind

It's been a dry season as you can see. I consider only one or two of these as half-way publishable. Please tell me what you think. :)

Old Fort Park

2009-11-16T16:29:00.000-05:00

Old Fort Park
By Bobbi Rightmyer

The trees are naked, bare
standing tall and straight.
Leaves litter the ground
like a patch worn carpet
or old rag rug
covering the still green grass
with crumples of brown.
Birds are chirping
calling out a joyful tune,
singing with happiness at the glorious day.
Squirrels are scampering
unafraid of the few lingering cars,
scavenging for food,
thick, bushy tails riding high in the air.
A car backfires on some not far street
and all is quiet as the world goes on pause,
but after a few still seconds the chorus begins,
and the wildlife sounds can be heard again.
Sunshine straining through thick, gray clouds,
warmth on my face from the hazy glare,
with a cool breeze dancing across my skin,
causing a gentle sway to the trees.
The shrubbery and hedges are still holding onto
leaves and fruit galore,
It’s that time of year again,
the rapidly approaching winter
when all life’s chores come in a fast succession,
preparing for the long, dark days
of winter yet to come.

A "New Modern" or "Regionally Modern" Poetry?

2009-11-12T18:41:00.006-05:00

Irish and Appalachian Poets Grapple with Changes to Their Respective Cultures

Poetry Ireland Review has been among my favorite literary journals for some years now. In volume # 93, Rita Kelly penned an essay called "Eavan Boland: A Voice of Courage in Our Time". In it, and as a side point almost, she touched on the cultural changes that the Emerald Isle is currently undergoing. This bit of meditation resonated with me in a way Kelly likely did not intend. Why? Because my native Appalachia is also facing cultural changes.

Whereas Ireland's changes are more blatant as Kelly describes them, the urbanization of Appalachia is of a different sort- being more internal within the people themselves rather than literal. But the results are similar.

Ireland is now a major destination for refugees and immigrants from many nations. No longer is it merely a vacation stop for tourists or a place from which its people reluctantly flee. Since the 1970s it has slowly built up itself into a self-aware, fully functioning nation within the EU and since the 1990s in particular it has enjoyed a bit of an economic boom. (This is not a political essay. I am simply attempting to draw a more accurate picture of modern Ireland in the mind, versus the now out-dated one of popular imagination as portrayed in- for example- Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt.) There are any number of cultures coexisting there today and a true babble of languages are spoken. Particularly is this true on the east coast. The rural agricultural way of life is being forsaken for the urban industrial as the population increasingly moves into the cities.

On this shore, Appalachia is being similarly challenged by an urbanization of the mind. On one hand many long-standing truths remain. For instance, it is still a longed-for homeland from which many go in a sort of involuntary exile into decidedly Appalachian neighborhoods in such city centers as Cincinnati, Cleveland, Canton, Detroit, and Chicago. It is still a very economically oppressed area by national standards. For the most part, outsiders in Appalachia still tend to be migrant workers. (In recent years many of these workers have been Mexican or Latino and thus one occasionally hears Spanish spoken here or there.) These workers rarely stay. Appalachians have never really developed a sense of who they are in the greater throng of humanity and they prefer to be left alone to their ways and thinking. One often hears the saying "If you leave me alone, I'll leave you alone", which basically means one is free to live the way one wants, provided one extends that courtesy to others. These things have been more or less the same for generations.

On the other hand, however, there are great- albeit subtle- upheavals in the familiar order of things. To be Appalachian does not mean exactly the same as it did a generation ago. The system of roads is improving every year and this is opening up previously isolated areas of the mountains little by little. As a result, Appalachians travel in greater numbers and more often than ever before. The educational institutions are now, in some cases, rivaling the best in the country. There is greater exposure to the outside world due to television, radio, and especially the internet. At this point in time, second and even third generations are benefiting from these innovations. There is ongoing research into several theories regarding the origins of the Appalachian people and newly discovered facts are painting a very different picture than the country at large and popular media have supposed. Consequently, there is a growing awareness of a unique identity among them. All of these are positive changes, yes. But changes nonetheless. Many are losing interest in the hard working rural aesthetics that once defined the region in favor of a more mainstream technological lifestyle. (As a reminder: this is not a political essay.)

Subsequently both Ireland and Appalachia are currently undergoing a time of change, of a great shift in world views. This has quite naturally created a measure of mass anxiety not experienced before. There is instability and a weakening of old systems of belief as the cultures morph to fit entirely new sets of circumstances. These new environments challenge their native poets. The question for their respective regional poetries is: how to express one-selves when the old modes of expression- the old words (by which I mean the old poetic traditions and unfortunately perhaps even the old languages unique to each place)- no longer apply and/or are no longer sufficient?

Was this not the defining question of "Modern" poetry? (For the purposes of this essay, "Modern" poetry is defined as that work produced at the end of the "Romantic" period up until the eruption of World War II. In other words, from about the 1890s until about 1940.) During this time there was a similar upheaval in cultures, ways of thinking, and dismantling of long-established systems of belief on a world wide scale. It was a time of questioning, of attempts to rebalance intellectually and in every other way imaginable. This general mood affected the poetry being written as much as any other sphere of the human experience of the time. Uncertainty and experimentation is stamped across the work of every poet whose career spanned some or all of those years.

In some ways, Ireland and Appalachia experienced this shift of core values with the rest of the world. But in just as many ways they seem to have been couched against it. The forces that cushioned these areas from the worst of the quaking that so utterly and permanently changed the intellectual and cultural landscape of the rest of the world are unique to each place and are not important in this essay. What is clear is that these forces have finally eroded or been removed. In some very important ways, Ireland and Appalachia are playing catch-up.

Their native poets are beginning to grapple with the implications of this catch-up. They are being faced with the challenge of inventing new modes of expression that can be sufficient to their changed circumstances and cultures. In this sense, it could be that Ireland and Appalachia are just now entering in on a "Modern" phase. It is certain that experimentation must be undertaken. Very "Modernist" questions are now being asked of these poets. They must find their own unique ways, indigenous to each area, to answer these questions. A "New Modern" or "Regionally Modern" poetry? Perhaps.

Who will be brave enough to attempt to answer?

Arts Festival Poetry Contest

2009-09-23T09:02:00.002-04:00

The Arts Council of Mercer County
Presents
Arts Festival Poetry Contest

Three Categories
1. Adult
2. High School Students
3. Middle School Students
(This includes ALL Home School Students)

Entrants may submit up to 4 poems

Any length is ok but the subject must be “Art”
Entry fees are:
$1.00 for one poem
$3.00 for four poems

DEADLINE FOR SUBMISSIONS
October 12th, 2009

Winner will receive 5 copies of a chapbook of their poetry up to 20 pages. Entrants will be able to read some of their work at The Writer’s Café booth at the festival.

Entries and fees should be sent to The Arts Council of Mercer County, 235 Ashley Camp Rd. Harrodsburg, KY. 40330. Any questions should be sent to Tony Sexton at contentedme@hotmail.com

Fall Images: A Poem

2009-09-22T15:41:00.003-04:00

Fall Images: A Poem

Pumpkins and varicolored leaves, candles
and festivals in the country
Funnel cakes, dealers of faux designer goods:
watches, purses,
cut-rate tapes for an old player, eight track or cassette
made in an old farmer’s garage last night
Dunking booths, dances and carnival games:
Shoot the water gun! Pop the balloon!
Win a tee shirt in glitter and a NASCAR guy’s face.
Painted faces of Halloween, candy hunters for gum
and chocolate crèmes- dispose of the goods in plastic
baskets, or cups— if you don’t, those kids might show up
at a later time less convenient for you, doing something
they ought not to do. Football games on cooling nights
under the glare of the halogen lights, where students toss
pigskins on hills above as players do on the field to excite.

-Earl P. Dean 2009

September 24th Assignment

2009-09-18T10:27:00.002-04:00

The assignment for the next Speaking Out Workshop on September 24th is to take a visual image from the collaborative poem in the post before this one and explore it as an individual poem or essay or any form of writing you choose. Or you can choose another visual image as your prompt. Come prepared next week to read your poems.

Also, the deadline for submissions for the next Speaking Out book is November 16th. Please be finalizing your work and email to Roni Gilpin.

Fall

2009-09-18T10:07:00.002-04:00

The following poem was a collaborative effort from the workshop on September 17th. Everyone was asked to write down vivid images of what autumn feels like to them. We then read a few of our responses, which were weaved together into this poem. Enjoy!

Fall

Bright red maple leaves
Slowly slipping colors caressing the horizon
Clothed in royal purples and red
Candles and festivals in the country
First fire of the season in the fire place
Dainty spider webs glistening with dew

Allergies, dead gardens, produce lined up in jars
The leaves litter the ground in a cloak of copper pennies
And the softer sun kisses the geraniums on my front porch inviting one more blaze of blossoms

Piles of mysterious leaves pondering a past life on multiple trees
Coolness of the autumn sunset turns the forest into a growing fire
Win a t shirt in glitter and a Nascar guy’s face
Fallen leaves, blazing color, bare naked branches fingering a deep blue sky
Ooey gooey caramel apples in the early hint of twilight
The old farmers almanac weather predictions for the coming winter
In a time long ago when cedar shavings carried dreams on a gentle wind.
Athletic fields are alive once again

A strong fortress belying the thoughts of an autumn requiem

Book Launch

2009-08-16T10:47:00.000-04:00

Congratulations to Tony Sexton and Earl P. Dean on your successful book launch/mixer yesterday at the Kentucky Fudge Company. Tony has just released his first book of poetry, "Scraps," and Earl has release a science fiction novella, "A Tailor Maiden's Secret."

Both of these books are available at Wasteland Press and Amazon.

Herschel McKinley - the MC (Photo by Bobbi Rightmyer)

Earl P. Dean (Photo by Cheryl Sexton)

Tony Sexton (Photo by Bobbi Rightmyer)

Earl P. Dean and Tony Sexton (Photo by Cheryl Sexton)

Reflections

2009-08-09T12:27:00.000-04:00

REFLECTIONS

The mirrors turn in,
reflecting past sins, grievances,
showing hallow ghosts of shining hopes and dreams,
with no way to keep at bay the dark and sorted nightmares.
Does the Bogey man exist
like beings of daytime hours;
or is he like the man in the moon,
only showing when a cycle is full?
Creeping darkness under the bed,
or a slightly cracked closet door
scaring even dust bunnies away
like particles dancing in a sun beam.
The stars may sparkle to mimick a diamond
with all its Teflon facets,
and waves may ripple the water surface
like warbles upon the glass.
Hopes and dreams are shared
with those closest to our heart
wishing for a brighter way
to end this foolish slump.

New Speaking Out! Workshop

2009-08-04T15:46:00.003-04:00

Speaking Out! Writing Workshop

Mercer County Senior High School

Thursdays at 6:30 pm
August 20th and 27th
September 17th and 24th
October 22nd and 29th
November 17th

For more information contact:
Roni Gilpin @ 859-319-3531
Betty Dean @ 859-583-6355

Book Release Party

2009-08-03T11:27:00.001-04:00

Host: Nomadic Ink
Type: Party - Mixer
Date: Saturday, August 15, 2009
Time: 2:00pm - 5:00pm
Location: Kentucky Fudge Company
Main Street, Harrodsburg, Kentucky

The Community of Mercer County Writers - Nomadic Ink - is hosting a book release party to celebrate 2 books by Harrodsburg native authors. Earl Dean will be signing his new young adult book - A TAILOR MAIDEN'S SECRET - and Tony Sexton will be signing his new book of poetry - SCRAPS.

Everyone is encouraged to come out and support these wonderful authors. Books will be available for purchase.

Tony Sexton's SCRAPS

2009-07-22T11:03:00.001-04:00

Congratulations, Tony Sexton, for the publication of your new book, SCRAPS. Tony is the leader of The Community of Mercer County Writers and has lead several writing workshops in the community.
Many writers have said they never knew when an idea or inspiration might hit them and I am no different. Often I find myself considering an idea with no means of jotting it down. Usually I have a pen but, more often than not, I don't have a notebook handy. The only solution, in these cases, is to use what ever I can find; a napkin, box top, grocery receipt or an envelope. The title of this first collection, Scraps, comes from this dilemma. I began writing in the fifth grade when is teacher, Miss Castle, gave me writing challenge using the word “compulsion”. Since then I has spent over 20 years writing, leading writing workshops, which are designed for all ages and experiences and trying to complete her assignment. I am a member of The Community of Mercer County Writers and president elect of The Kentucky State Poetry. You can find my writing in The Journal of Kentucky Studies, Jar and several magazines including Good Old Days. I live in Mercer County with my wonderful wife, Cheryl and their dog, Mercy.

SCRAPS is available from Amazon and Wasteland Press

An Evening with Normandi Ellis

2009-06-09T10:11:00.002-04:00

The Advanced Writer Workshop - lead by Harrodsburg's own Tony Sexton - and The Community of Mercer County Writers will be hosting Normandi Ellis as our guest speaker on Tuesday, June 9, 2009 at 7pm at the Mercer County Public Library. It is very exciting to be hosting this wonderful Kentucky Writer.

Books by Normandi Ellis:

Dreams of Isis

Awakening Osiris

Feasts of Light

Fresh-fleshed Sisters

Sorrowful Mysteries and Other Stories

She is also the editor of the Berea College Magazine

The Mist of Time

2009-05-24T14:49:00.001-04:00

(Photo by Lisa of Wearin' My Heart on My Sleeve

THE MIST OF TIME

Hugging the bark like a fine silk glove
The mist encircled the trees
Coating each branch with the careless moisture
Left over at the breaking of dawn

What beauty beholds the thirsty eyes
At this causal offering of nature's finest moment
Blurred and fuzzy like an old photograph
Whispering the essence of a time gone by

Why can't life be as simple as this
A beautiful second in a neverending world
Awash with memories and bathed in remembrances
Like the trees standing in the mist

Paranoia

2009-05-22T14:50:00.000-04:00

PARANOIA

Storm clouds gather overhead
As early darkness descends
Bathing the world in an eerie glow
My paranoid emotions explode

Rustling branches seem to call my name
Causing shivers to run down my spine
Too scared to make a tiny move
My legs are frozen with fright

With every noise my imagination grows
Threatening to overtake me
No where to run, no where to go
Drowning in a sea of night

Crouching down beside the tree
My body bathed in sweat
I pray to God to make it through
Until the break of day

Eternity's Shadow

2009-05-19T14:52:00.000-04:00

ETERNITY'S SHADOW

We stand together
Just we two
As twilight lengthens the horizon
We look so strange
Our elongated limbs
Shadowing the close cut lawn

But is it symbolic
Of our lives spent together
Our love does lengthen and grow
With each passing minute
Each passing day
Till eternity passes away

Book Signing

2009-05-09T21:24:00.000-04:00

Here is our good friend, Earl Dean, at his first book signing for A TAILOR MAIDEN'S SECRET. Congratulations again, Earl!

Book Signing with Earl Dean

2009-05-06T11:28:00.005-04:00

Congratulations Earl P. Dean on the publication of your first novel! Earl is a member of The Community of Mercer County Writers.

Mayfest 2009 Book Signing
Saturday, May 9th from noon - 4pm
Gratz Park in Lexington, Kentucky

Earl will be signing his new book, A TAILOR MAIDEN'S SECRET and you will be able to buy a copy of the book on Saturday, or you can order from Wasteland Press, Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

To learn more about the Mayfest events, click here.

A TAILOR MAIDEN'S SECRET

"Arliane Donestica attends mid-school on a planet called Pooda, a forbidding world of the future so far removed from Earth in space and time that the old world exists as a mythical origin for the poodan progenitors.

The Poodan Youth for Unity, sponsored by Pooda's Elders, are chasing Arliane through her snowbound city at the request of the Elders, pressuring her about unspoken activities that might tie her to rebellion similar to her mother's. Activist and wife as well, Arliane's mother had died in a protest by explosion.

Were the Elders behind it? Read of a biological mystery, political strife and forbidden action to discover the answer in A TAILOR MAIDEN’S SECRET."

Earl Patrick Dean is a computer programmer working in Kentucky. He holds a BA degree from Transylvania University and graduate certificates from The Institute of Children’s Literature, and has attended the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning workshops on Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror and Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror. He loves reading and collecting books, and writes mostly science fiction and fantasy stories.

Earl has published stories in SAY...WHAT’S THE COMBINATION?, MORNINGSTAR ANTHOLOGY and KENTUCKY BLUE.

The Long Shadows

2009-05-05T09:17:00.001-04:00

(Photograph by Highlander)

THE LONG SHADOWS

The long shadows are settling across the meadow floor
Whispering the promises for the end of the day
Dodging and weaving over shrubbery and trees
As one last glance of vivid green grass is seen

What does the night hold when the shadows let go
And the darkness creeps upon the land
What undying pledge do the shadows now make
To get us through till the end

Better or Worse

2009-05-04T08:38:00.002-04:00

I recently had a friend ask me a simple question: Is life getting better or worse as you get older? Interesting questions ... I guess I have a mixed answer for this question.

I think my life is better because I'm older and wiser - I may not know all the answers, but I'm better prepared for finding the answers than I was when I was younger. My children are grown and they are 3 beautiful, healthy girls, so I guess I didn’t screw them up too much. The older two are planning weddings and the youngest is preparing for a summer at the Governor’s School of the Arts, so I am extremely proud of all three. And I have the prospect of grandchildren to look forward to.

My relationship with my wonderful hubby is even better because we have more time for each other. Over the past 25 years, our lives have been intertwined with love, work and parenthood, so it is great to get back to the relationship we had in the beginning, focusing on ourselves as a couple.

I am also retired from a job I hated (RN) and I'm now able to write more than ever - this has been a huge improvement for me. Granted, we don’t have the kind of money we used to and we are on a very tight budget, but my mental health is better, so this is a huge plus for the entire family.

On the other hand, some things in my life are worse. I'm not as fit and healthy as I was in my 20s - health issues seem to creep in every day. The society we live in is much worse over the past 20 years and this have impacted negatively on many aspects of life.

For the past four years, I’ve been living under the foggy cover of grief and it has been extremely hard to pull my life back together. I am nowhere near being back to the emotional state I was in four years ago, but I can say I’m better than I was six months ago and that is a baby step in the right direction.

I can say that I love my life! I may not be as active as I once was, but I am now able to pursue my dream of writing and this makes me a happy camper. My children are self-sufficient and leading happy, productive lives and this makes me a happy camper. My hubby has stuck with me through thick and thin, sickness and health, richer and poorer, and he still loves me unconditionally, and this makes me a happy camper.

Just because our lives are continually changing, doesn’t always mean they are changing for the worse. Sometimes changes are for the best … it is change that makes the world go ‘round.

What is a Plot??

2009-05-04T08:31:00.003-04:00

Having trouble figuring out the plot of your next story or book idea? Bestselling advice and young adult fiction author Holly Lisle offers advice to beginning and advance readers on her website: Holly Lisle.

You can also sign-up for her newsletter and other online courses. And if you haven't read her newest young adult book THE RUBY KEY, Book #1 of the new MOON AND SUN series, it worth checking out!

Upcoming Literary Events

2009-04-29T18:17:00.002-04:00

Upcoming literary events at Hazard Community and Technical College:

--Evening with Poets is our annual poetry reading that celebrates the publication of Kudzu, our literary magazine. Our emcee, as always, will be Jim Webb. This year’s spotlight poet is Affrilachian poet Mitchell LH Douglas. This reading is at 6:30 pm on Thursday April 30th. Poet Laureate Gurney Norman will also be speaking.

--Our Spring Writers Conference is Friday, May 1st. It starts around 10:00 am and ends around 4:00 pm. This year we have three concurrent workshops:
1.)Fiction Writing with Gurney Norman
2.)Poetry Writing with Mitchell Douglas
3.)Horror Fiction Writing with CS Johnson

Both events are free
For more information call 1 800 246 5721, ext 73200.

The Meadow Soul

2009-04-27T10:17:00.000-04:00

THE MEADOW SOUL

His eyes were watching - looking at everything in the tiny meadow. Silent whispers gently blow on the cool morning air as mist rose from the dew-kissed ground. Another beautiful day is dawning and the forest creatures are starting to stir, inching out of burrows and holes and brambles looking for an early morning meal.

"Good morning my pretties; another gorgeous day is upon you," whispered the old soul as he looked at his creations.

The pond water rippled with fish stirred waves and dragonfly kisses. Momma birds chirped merrily as they waited for Papa birds to bring the fat red worms to the masses in the nest.

A doe inched out from the forest with a trembly legged fawn close in step, crunching the fresh meadow grass. Rabbits were hopping with tentative hops and stopping to much on dainty pink clover blossoms. A small red fox with his bushy tail straight in the air, pauses to drink from the crystal clear pond.

"This is good," sighed the soul, deep in contemplation of the bounty of nature's beauty.

The sun begins to break the horizon, sending multi-colored sunbursts through the clouds and fog. For one brief moment the tiny meadow and pond are a kaleidoscope of dancing colors.

Then the mist seeps away and the fog begins to lift. The soul again looks on the peacefulness of the surroundings.

"This is good," he whispers one last time before ascending away with the fog.

POETRY SLAM

2009-04-17T15:27:00.010-04:00

Thursday night, April 17th, Mercer County Senior High School hosted a Poetry/Prose Coffee House in honor of National Poetry Month and Kentucky Writer's Day. The 2nd annual "Poetry Slam" was a great stage for accomplished writers and budding poets.

The Poetry Slam was organized by Betty Dean and Roni Gilpin.

The first person to read was Mercer County's very own celebrity author, Charles Semones. Charles read 3 poems: "Lethargy," "Wildflowers" and "Caine's Landing."

Tony Sexton is the leader of the Mercer County Community of Writers - Nomadic Ink - and he also conducts writing workshops throughout the year. Tony read "The Shoeshine Man" and "For the Students."

Earl Dean read an excerpt from his upcoming novella, "A Tailor Maiden's Secret." Watch this blog for updates on the publication of this young adult novella.

Taylor Griggs, MCSH, read an original poem.

William Crawford, MCSH, recited "Annabel Lee" - by Edgar Allan Poe - and read two original poems: "Lifeless Living" and "Love and Roses."

Kesha Bauer, MCSH, read 2 original poems: "Finally You Go" and "Phase Me."

Morgan Strautz, MCSH, read several original poems including "My Life" and "Road Not Taken."

Marian Bauer - Bauer House in Harrodsburg - is a wonderful storyteller and she related the story of "The Raggedy Man."

Christine Rightmyer, MCSH, read an original poem "Symbol of Death."

WONDERFUL NEWS

2009-04-16T14:17:00.000-04:00

I have such WONDERFUL NEWS !!! My sweet baby received her acceptance letter today from the Governor's School of the Arts !!!

HAPPY DANCE, HAPPY DANCE !!!

Out of over 1,600 applicants from Kentucky students, she was one of 200 to be accepted into the summer Creative Writing Program.

She will be leaving the day after my oldest daughter's wedding, June 21st and will spend 3 weeks at Transy.

To say her Daddy and I are proud is a total understatement. This is something our entire family has been praying about since just before Christmas. To finally have the acceptance letter in hand is pure excitement.

Poetry Slam

2009-04-10T20:43:00.003-04:00

Mercer County Senior High will be celebrating National Poetry month with a Poetry Slam.

Poetry/Prose Coffee House in honor of National Poetry Month and Kentucky Writer's Day

Thursday, April 16th @ 7:00 in the MCSH cafeteria

The event is free and open to the public

An Evening With the Mountain Keepers

2009-04-10T17:31:00.002-04:00

(Edited to add: this piece was published in the Lexington Herald-Leader on Monday, April 13, 2009)

After almost backing out due to anxiety (and all those of you with social anxiety know what I mean), my daughter and I attended UK's presentation of "An Evening With the Mountain Keepers." I had really been looking forward to this program, mainly, at first, because of Silas House, but after the program I left with an awareness and passion for the elimination of mountaintop removal.

(Photo by Vivian Stockman - is a picture of Kayford Mountain located 35 miles from Charleston, West Virginia, the State Capitol.)

This program was to bring awareness of the destruction - not only to mountains and property, but to personal lives and families - of coal retrival by mountaintop removal. Growing up in the Bluegrass region, I've read many books, essays and papers on the problems facing Appalachia, but I've always thought of it as a problem for others to worry about. I could not have been more wrong!

Erik Reece was the MC for the evening and he began by reading a brief passage from Lost Mountain, a book showing a year in the vanishing wilderness of radical strip mining the the devastation left in Appalachia. He highlighted ways engaged citizen writers have worked for decades to make disturbing environmental and social justice a forefront to the public eye.

Frank X Walker - founder and editor of Pluck! the Journal of Affrilachian Arts & Culture, a magazine whose mission is to continue extolling the Affrilachian aesthetic, “making the invisible visible” - read one of his poems, touching the true heart of Appalachia. Judy Sizemore read her original poem, "The Badlands of Kentucky" and George Ella Lyon (another favorite of mine) and Anne Shelby both read some of their original poetry.

(Photo from The Mountaintop Removal Road Show )

Dave Cooper brought us his Mountaintop Removal Road Show - a slide show highlighting the impacts of mountaintop removal on coalfield residents, communities and the environment, and features traditional Appalachian mountain music and shocking aerial photos of decapitated Appalachian mountains.

Public Outcry! - an anti-Mountaintop Removal acoustical artistic collaboration bringing together music, words and images to educate people about this extreme coal mining method - performed several songs.

(Photo by Herschel McKinley)

This group includes: Silas House, Jason Howard, Jessie Lynn Keltner, Kate Larken, George Ella Lyon and Anne Shelby. The name of there group was taken from a phrase by a congressional supporter of mountaintop removal, after killing a "Stream Killer Bill" for several years in a row. To paraphrase what this Congressman said, "This is not an important topic; there is no public outcry."

Something's Rising: Appalachians Fighting Mountaintop Removal is a wonderful new educational book by Silas House and Jason Howard, and they both read excerpts from the books, with Silas being the last speaker of the night.

(Photo by Herschel McKinley)

I bought this book before the program started, mainly because of Silas House, but after hearing these men speak, I was moved to tears. I read three chapters before nodding off to sleep last night.

There were several special moments of the night for me: meeting Silas House and Jason Howard (and having them sign my book), meeting Frank X Walker, Anne Shelby, and George Ella Lyon, and having Gurney Norman (KY's new Poet Laureate) sit right in front of me!

But the highlight of the night for me was a man I knew nothing about before last night. Larry Gibson is a West Virginia activist who has been fighting coal and mountaintop removal for the majority of his life.

(Photo by Herschel McKinley)

He has been featured on CNN, Nightline, and People Magazine and he travels all over the United States trying to educate people about the devastation coal removal brings to communities, lives, nature and wildlife. Keeper of the Mountains Foundation was created to help fund Larry's efforts to preserve and foster the values of mountain culture. I could have listened to this man talk all night, he was that powerful. I was moved to laughter and I was moved to tears, but most importantly I was moved to action.

Do you still think the "little people" don't have a voice concerning mountaintop removal? These folk are here to provide otherwise. Call your congressmen and women, call your legislators, call the governors of Appalachia, call President Obama. As a point of reference, since taking office in January 2009, the Obama administration has already launched a crackdown on mountaintop removal by moving to delay or block mining permits damaging Appalachian communities and ecosystems.

Too Wet To Plow, Too Windy To Pile Rocks

2009-03-30T07:51:00.001-04:00

Too Wet To Plow, Too Windy To Pile Rocks
By Roni Gilpin

Warm sun through the window beckons us. “Outside, Outside.”
Across the field, brown grass wears a green glow.
Stiff bones creak, “It is time, it is time”.

March wind, incessant and unforgiving, disagrees.
It drones on through the distant trees
Like a torrent over rocks in the stream.

There is no quiet, no rest from the tempest, the dull unending roar.
As the last leaves of the burr oak
Are loosed in the current and sent like debris,

Natural detritus mingled with the neighbor’s garbage,
Fast food cartons and plastic bags
Catch in the trees and wave like pennants announcing a spring not yet come.

There is work to be done, but like the crows, tired of fighting the headwind,
We acquiesce, go inside, and pour over seed catalogues.

An Evening With the Mountain Keepers

2009-03-29T21:02:00.005-04:00

The University of Kentucky Writing Program
Community Engagement Series
Proudly Presents

Thursday, April 9, 2009 from 6 - 10 pm
UK Student Center Grand Ballroom
Free and open to the public

The Evening celebrates the way that public writing and grassroots community action work together to ensure a healthy, participatory democracy. Learn about Appalachia's endangered culture and its uneasy relationship with coal, and experience how journalists, poets, speakers, artists, and musicians use creative activism to make their voices heard.

Take a look at the Beehive Collective's incredible new work of art The True Cost of Coal and talk with the artists who created it, see Jeff Chapman-Crane's breathtaking sculpture The Agony of Gaia, visit with our community partners about their unique coal-culture exhibits, browse art and culture displays, watch MTR visuals, listen to activist music from Public Outcry and others, and enjoy refreshments.

7-9—Program

MC Erik Reece begins the program with a brief reading from Lost Mountain and a discussion of the way that public writing and grassroots community action work together to safeguard the participatory democratic nation our Founders designed. He highlights the way in which engaged citizen-writers have worked for decades to make disturbing environmental and social justice issues visible to the public eye

Frank X Walker offers an introduction to Appalachia's endangered culture and performs his new poem—a reflection on a photograph of WV coal miners.

Judy Sizemore reads The Badlands of Kentucky

Dave Cooper gives a geographic and ecological overview of MTR

George Ella Lyon reads original poetry

Silas House and Jason Howard read from Something's Rising: Appalachians Fighting MTR

Public Outcry! plays original acoustic MTR music.. meet Silas House, Jason Howard, Jessie Lynn Keltner, Kate Larken, George Ella Lyon & Anne Shelby

Anne Shelby reads original poetry

Larry Gibson, the WV activist featured by CNN, Nightline, and People Magazine, shares his moving personal narratives on MTR and community

9p—Q&A and . . .

Audience Q&A discussion with presenters, talk with participants, peruse the art, culture, and information exhibits—and hear more MTR activist music.

The Inner Me

2009-03-26T11:38:00.000-04:00

(Art by Tammy Vitale)

THE INNER ME

My inner woman has done got up and gone
She tripped and ran fast as she could
Not a word, a poem, or even a little song
She only did what she thought she should

My inner me is buried deep
Afraid to come out or even to see
She has so many ideas she would love to keep
But she's afraid of life and the collective we

My inner self is bruised and torn
Grief stricken and fragile, threatening to break
But it's time to move on and no more to mourn
Even if my actions feel like a fake

My inner drive must suck it up
Stop wallowing in pain, start enjoying my life
Quit dragging my ass through the layers of muck
Cut this pain away with the blade of my knife

My inner id is a beautiful thing
When I allow her a chance to breathe
She is filled with life, almost bursting to sing
I think she'll stick around if I only believe

Sisterhood of the Unraveling Pants

2009-03-17T13:12:00.001-04:00

I hadn't intended to post this here because I have it on another blog, but after it was published in the Lexington Herald-Leader (3-17-2009), I couldn't resist.

Sisterhood of the Unraveling Pants

Why is it that sometimes I think my youngest daughter is raising me instead of the other way around? With a 10-year age difference between my oldest and youngest daughters, Christine has practically been an only child because her older sisters have been out of the house for so long.

Although the stereotypical "only child" has been portrayed as spoiled, pampered and selfish, I can vouch for the fact this is not true.

Case in point, "the ripped pants."

"Honey, do you have to wear those ripped pants?" I looked at my daughter, shaking my head.

"But I like these pants, Mom. They're comfortable." She proceeded to pack her backpack for school, ignoring my exasperated sighs and rolling eyes.

"The teachers are going to think you don't have any good pants to wear." I tried turning on my pleading voice.

"But I do have good pants, Mom; they're just not as comfortable." She walked into the bathroom to pull her long hair up into a ponytail.

"What will your friends say? They are going to make fun of you because you have a big hole in your pants."

"But I don't care what my friends say. If they make fun of me, then they weren't friends to begin with." She turned on the water and started brushing her teeth.

"What about the dress code? I don't want to be called to school to bring you a decent pair of pants." I was running out of objections, but I didn't want her wearing those pants to school.

"But the dress code says you can't have holes on the butt of your pants. They don't want us showing our underwear. It doesn't say anything about holes in the knees." She rinsed her mouth and headed for the front door.

"But honey, I just don't want you wearing those pants!" I knew my voice had gotten forceful, but I couldn't help it.

"Why Mom? Are you worried about me, or are you embarrassed for yourself?"

I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at my daughter with different eyes.

"Mom, these pants are comfortable. I'm not wearing them to make a statement. I'm not wearing them to upset my teachers. I'm not wearing them because of my friends. I'm not wearing them to go against the dress code. And I'm certainly not wearing them to make you mad. You're a great mother! You shouldn't worry so much about what other people think of you." With her speech complete, she kissed me on the cheek, threw her backpack over one shoulder and headed out the door to the bus stop.

I was dumbfounded. I suddenly realized I was more worried about what people thought of me. I was afraid her ripped pants would be a bad reflection on me. I was going against everything I had ever tried to teach her.

Out of the mouths of babes.

(Edited to add: this post appeared in the Lexington Herald-Leader on Tuesday, March 17, 2009)

Tempered Glass

2009-03-16T11:35:00.000-04:00

TEMPERED GLASS

I'm so distorted and wavey, not at all serene
My thoughts are captured like the curves in tempered glass
Frosted over, trapped in dark, trapped in light
Always my own, and trapped inside my head

Why can't others see as I do, the rapidly changing world
The dangerouse times in which we live
Hazy waves of violent hostilities, destroying the fabric of life
Leaving us in staggered amazement and full-gale trepidation

When will peace prevail, or at least a steady calm
A breath of tranquil kisses in the face of all alarms
I send a prayer onto the wind to blow a gentle wish
Then I'll remain like tempered glass as hazy as my fears

Three of Three for March 12th

2009-03-12T13:14:00.003-04:00

The Economy of Nature

Ice hung on the trees like
candy on a stick.
Sunlight reflected off each
branch and glistened with color.
For those who looked
it was a fatal beauty
taking with it limbs
and lines
anything hanging
anything without support.

The crackle of destruction
crippled the minds of men
who had grown accustom to
the warmth of easy living.
Suddenly this act of winter
became a nightmare
and inconvenience
a hopeless hazard
no one knew how to deal with.

We cried and moaned
over lit candles and bottled water
unprepared to face anything
unexpected.

And, yet, it was
photogenic
beauty to the eyes…
a contrast in what we are
and what we have become.

We are like weak limbs
and sagging lines of power
susceptible to the real laws that
govern us.
We are dependent on the unnatural
and rebellious to the truth of nature.

Are we unprepared for other storms as well?

Tony Sexton
3/12/09

Two of Three for March 12th

2009-03-12T13:12:00.002-04:00

The Benefits of Early Rising

It smiled at me this cold morning.
Oh, not with teeth and lips
like we do, but with
streaks of purple and orange.
It smiled and said I am beautiful
and it was.

And, as it smiled
I heard the geese
flapping and hooking
encouraging the strong to lead
and the weak to learn.

Together
the two gave me hope
that I too
might smile
and lead and learn

Tony Sexton
3/12/09

One of Three for Mach 12th

2009-03-12T13:04:00.001-04:00

Knowing the Dark

My eyes look toward
a lonesome dark moon
hanging in the sky
hiding from me and
my half of the world
waiting for another turn
of the earth
to reflect its light on me.

But,
without seeing
I know it is there
just as I know the seasons
are present though
obscured by unseasonable
weather .
Winter is winter
Spring is spring
and I am who I am
whether you can see me
or not.

Tony Sexton
03/10/09

Cemetery Voices

2009-03-04T18:46:00.002-05:00

CEMETERY VOICES

They call to us from the depths of past
Breathless family, friends and foes
Gone away from earthly days
Existing in the barren calm

What would they say, if they could speak to us
Would they approve of this harsh new world
Or would they happily blend with us
To capture the times gone by

I wonder if they understand
All the changes going on
Or are they fixed in time and space
Lifelessness n'er to age or grow

Familiar whispers on bated breath
Try to reach my ears
Cemetery voices from my distant past
Call to calm my fears

Assignment for March 12, 2009

2009-03-01T04:15:00.000-05:00

The writing inspiration for the next Speaking Out II is again a poem by Mary Oliver - Snowy Night. Use this poem creatively in any type of writing - poem, essay, short story, song, etc.

Snowy Night
~~Mary Oliver

Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed
an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which,
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn't tell
which one it was -
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air -
it was that distant. But, anyway,
aren't there moments
that are better than knowing something,
and sweeter? Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else's story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable - would have hurried
over the fields
to name it - the owl, I mean.
But it's mine, this poem of the night,
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world,
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl,
whatever its name -
and I wish great welcome to the snow,
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning.

We hope to see you Thursday, March 12 at 6:30 at the Mercer County Public Library!

.

Analysis of Mary Oliver's Cold Poem

2009-02-28T15:52:00.006-05:00

“Cold now,
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.”

The first stanza of this poem sets the scene. You can see the cold, feel the cold, all the way down to your bones. The white bear is the cold winter wind, but the clue is in the lifesaving suet. Technically, suet is the fat tissue around the kidneys of some animals like sheep and cattle. In some cultures, suet is used for cooking, but I think this suet is a more literal form.

My lifesaving suet is my passion for writing, my thirst for knowledge. Reading and writing are what gets me through the hard times, the cold times. So often I feel like my life is perpetually in its winter months. "Cold now" and "almost unbearable," so what keeps me going? The life-saving suet; the fat from my past.

“I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.”

We move from "almost unbearable" cold to a memory of "summer with its luminous fruit." I see the summer as the happy moments of life. The luminous fruit and blossoms are the memories we gather in our hearts, storing them away for when the times are cold. These handfuls of grain help to light the darkness, stave off depression and give us hope for the future.

“Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe”

The cold of winter is when we measure the love we hold for ourselves; the hard love for "I." It is a drawing inward, a time to look deep inside and find our true self. It is a time of reflecting, finding the problem areas and learning how to change them.

“that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.”

Many times there is beauty in fear, beauty in ugliness or violence, so I can see "the beauty of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals." Love can devour, sometimes swallowing emotions whole. So this confusion of cold is likened to our inward desire to consume ourselves. We are the blue shark.

“In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many crushed red flowers.”

We keep ourselves alive by taking “the necessary bodies of others.” That cruel requirement of life, that it takes life and life is taken; we feed life and life becomes beautiful. Whether we eat the bear in winter or ourselves in our loneliness or our lovers in our passion, our lives are consumed with the desire to destroy by partaking in an event we usually associate with health, nutrition, life; but in this case, our lives are the deaths of something else – a memory, a feeling, an emotion.

I've certainly grown more honest even if it is seen as cruel, even if it destroys some things that are beautiful. I think the red flowers at the end might be "crushed" underfoot; therefore, they contrast with the "fat tracks" at the beginning of the poem. That is, the "lifesaving suet" that is left bleeding at the end.

I see this as a poem about aging and growing older. Dreaming of the "fat" times and thinking back to summer are ways of remembering youth, grieving the loss of youth. It's as if the cold brings out the worst in us - cold-hearted survival, or intense love. Only by loving our innermost selves can we hope to love others.

We drain the very essence of the other to continue to hear our own river's song humming in our ears. We continue to collect the suet of memories, the blossoms of happy times, and the crushed red flowers of lessons we have learned along the way.

Time

2009-02-22T22:52:00.003-05:00

TIME

Time is elusive
It never ceases
No matter how hard we try
Time keeps marching by

What time is it now
Where did time go
I don't have enough time
When will there be time

Time slows for no man
It ravages every day
Until our time is up and gone
From every dusk and dawn

February 26th Assignment

2009-02-19T22:01:00.000-05:00

Writing prompt by Mary Oliver

Cold Poem

Cold now,
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.

I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.

Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warmth river of the I, beyond all else; maybe

that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.

In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many
crushed red flowers.

The Assignment:
Give yourself 30 minutes with no phone and no interruptions. Read Mary Oliver's poem, pick a line or two that reasonate with you and WRITE without stopping. Or consider the following writing suggestions:

1.) What do your dreams of "lifesaving suet" look like?

2.) This time of year, do you find yourself thinking of summer? What are the 5 things you miss/look forward to most? Why?

3.) What does this line mean to you?

"Maybe what cold is, is the time we measure the love we have always had, secretly, for our own bones."

4.) Do you find yourself growing "cruel but honest" with the snow or the darkness.

5.) What are your "many crushed red flowers?"

6.) Write about what you anticipate - excitement or dread or both. What are your coping mehanisms? Make a promise to yourself and KEEP it.

We hope to see everyone on Thursday, February 26th at 6:30 p.m.

February 12th Assignment

2009-02-12T12:12:00.002-05:00

So sorry writers, I forgot to post what the assignment was for tonight's meeting!! This is a carry-over from the meetings we missed in January. We are to write a piece about someone who has been an influence in our lives.

Hope to see everyone tonight at the Mercer Public Library @ 6:30 p.m.

Governor's School for the Arts

2009-02-03T09:08:00.009-05:00

Congratulations Christine!! You made it past the first creative writing hurdle for the Governor's School for the Arts. Next step, the Transylvania interview and reading in March. Good Luck!!

Ice Storm

2009-01-29T10:45:00.002-05:00

Due to the ice storm that has crippled Mercer County and surrounding areas, the Speaking Out II writing class scheduled for tonight has been canceled. The next scheduled class will be Thursday, February 12th.

Everyone stay safe, keep writing and we'll see you in 2 weeks!

The Wedding Ring

2009-01-25T16:42:00.002-05:00

I recently accepted a challenge from Mama's Losin' It to write about the following topic:

**Tell about a time you stole something.**

THE WEDDING RING

What child - at one time or another - has not stolen something and then been caught by an adult? Most times, it just takes once to cure a child of stealing. This is what happened to me when I was 8 years old.

I loved visiting my grandparents farm in Bohon - a rural community in Kentucky. There ere fields to run through and outbuilding to play in, always something to do. We would visit the farm at least once a week, but during the summer, my brother, sister and I would get to spend an entire week on the farm while our parents went on vacation.

It was during one of our summers at the farm that my little fingers became sticky. It was a rainy day and we were stuck inside to play. The back room where we slept had a bed with a thick fluffy feather mattress. I loved jumping onto that mattress, hitting the fluffiness and then sinking down into the cozy comfort.

Because this room was right off the kitchen and lead right into the backyard, Granny had a hook for hanging her sun bonnet and a little shelf where she kept her wedding ring when she was going to be working in the garden. Of course, at 8, I didn't realize that Granny would take her ring off before working outdoors.

At the time I found Granny's wedding ring, I didn't know it was a wedding ring. I just knew it was a pretty gold ring and I put it in my pocket to take home with me. I don't remember when Granny missed her ring because she never said anything to us kids.

It was a week later after Mom and Dad were back home that I realized what I had done. I was coming down the hallway when I heard Mom and Dad talking.

"She said she's looked everywhere for it," my Mom said.

"Well, it's got to be somewhere," said my Dad. "Is she sure she didn't lose it in the garden?"

"No - she thinks she left it on the shelf in the back room."

Shelf in the back room - as soon as I heard those words, I knew what they were talking about.

"Wh ... at's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing sweetheart," said my Mom. "Granny Sallee has misplaced her wedding ring."

All the rest of that day, I was sick to my stomach. I hadn't meant to steal Granny's wedding ring - I thought it was just a pretty gold ring. I remember not sleeping well that night, worried about what my parents would say when they found out. Because yes, I knew I was going to have to tell them.

The next day - with the ring gripped tightly in my hand - I went to my Mom. I told here I knew where Granny's ring was and I took my hand from behind my back and showed her the shiny gold ring. Even though I was only 8, I can still remember the look of disappointment on my Mom's face.

She called Granny and told her the ring had been found. Later that night, Daddy drove me to the farm to return Granny's wedding ring. I had to give it back to her and apologize, and at the time, it was the hardest thing I had ever done.

It's amazing how one thing can effect the course of your life. I never stole anything after that one incident. I couldn't stand the look of disappointment from my parents and grandparents.

Hope Is In the Air

2009-01-20T08:40:00.001-05:00

The enthusiasm is contagious! Everything is building to a crescendo for this all important day in history. Hope is in the air and with hope comes the emergence of a new day in America.

After agonizing over whether to allow my daughter to stay home from school today - I did decide YES - today ended up being a snow day. So now she can stay home without fear of all the work she's missing!

My hubby called last night - he is in Washington for work - and he said the crowds and the traffic are unbelievable! He said just going a short distance takes hours and hours. But he did say most people are excited and even helpful. Plus, he got to see Keith Olbermann doing Countdown from the temporary set for MSNBC!

Today is one of those "Where were you" moments in history our children and grandchildren will be talking about. Write down your hopes and feelings. Talk to your family about what is important to you. Someday, a family member will feel honored to know what YOU were feeling on this important day.

Remember to sign-up and volunteer your services to your community. Even if it is only a small step, every little small step counts towards making our nation stronger.

Happy Inauguration! God Bless America!

Class Canceled

2009-01-15T12:52:00.003-05:00

Wait - before you hop out in the cold tonight, read this:

DUE TO THE FRIGID WEATHER WHICH HAS ARRIVED IN HARRODSBURG, TONIGHT'S SPEAKING OUT II CLASS HAS BEEN CANCELED. HOPEFULLY, WITH COOPERATIVE WEATHER, WE WILL BE MEETING AGAIN ON THURSDAY, JANUARY 29TH.

KEEP ON WRITING AND WE'LL SEE YOU IN 2 WEEKS!!

Hitting the Big Time

2009-01-06T18:10:00.001-05:00

For the past 12+ years, I've had a monthly column in our local magazine - Mercer's Magazine. For the past 3 months I've had a weekly column in the local paper - The Harrodsburg Herald. For a town with roughly 20,000+ residents, I've been proud of the work I do.

But this week, I've hit the big time. For the past 2 days, I've had blog posts printed in a regional newspaper - The Lexington Herald-Leader. To say I'm excited is an understatement.

I have been blogging on the Herald-Leader's break-away website - Bluegrass Moms - for just under a year and I've picked up a few more readers for my personal blogs. Now I'm hoping this added exposure will lead to something more.

Here are the links to the 2 published posts: Being the Best and Anti-Resolutions.

Merry Christmas

2008-12-24T09:32:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas one and all!!!

My Angel

2008-12-20T01:27:00.002-05:00

My Angel

On windy days, my angel visits me
Blowing a breeze through the silver wind chimes
Reminding me to live my life freely
And not hide away from the rest of the world

On windy days, my angel visits me
Bringing me serenity with each gentle sway
Reminding to live in the present
And keep the past in the past

On windy days, my angel visits me
Whispering secrets with each little chime
Reminding me she is always near
Even though far from my sight she'll be

Unseen Wonders

2008-12-18T11:48:00.002-05:00

Unseen Wonders

I know they're around me every day
The evidence is right before my eyes
A beautiful flower, a glistening rock
A heavenly scent from above

Some will tell you things are not real
If you can't see or smell or feel
But I believe in the unexplainable
The unseeable wonders abound

What of the stars way up in the heavens
Or the fluffy clouds floating by
What of the sun and the moon
I can't touch them, but they're real

So, what of prayers escaping from lips
Hushed and hurried, whispered in vain
Does God really hear, is he listening to all
Faith, I have faith he can hear

So, what of dreams filling our heads
Wishes and goals constantly thought
Do our dreams come true, does wishing make it so
Faith, I have faith dreams come true

So, what of love in this harsh world of ours
Does unconditional love still exist
Or has the me-me generation changed our path
Faith, I have faith love will see us through

Abstract

2008-12-10T09:32:00.004-05:00

This is an abstract poem, written from quotes. At our last meeting, everyone wrote a personal story about an event in their lives - we selected individual quotes from each story and blended them into a poem. Here is my abstract:

Abstract

I'm full and that's not obsolete
Wrought iron like thick licorice crochet
An occasional and personal curiosity
Like an emaciated swan

Feet were ready to fall off
Too sick to play in the playroom
Why, why, why
Do you know the odds of survival

The crinkled black man on TV
Opening the steeple of a fingered church
Loomas valued his privacy
Soaking in the sights and sounds

I never got to ride the carousel
Or listen to domicile music
So my slice of reality doesn't hold up
Like Michael Jackson after a nuclear bomb

(Artwork by Fisherwy)

Venus and Juipter

2008-12-10T07:53:00.001-05:00

Like siblings

they hang in the sky

side by side.

Above the moon

mothers them with light

knowing soon

they will be gone.

Just as the children

sitting by my side.

Tony Sexton

12/04/08

Now what

2008-12-10T07:39:00.001-05:00

I think I need a class in blogging because I do not see anything to comment on and I know it is there. It took me forever to get to this point. Can someone (hint, hint, Bobbi) help me find what I am trying to find.
Tony

The Story of “Valhalla: blue”, Briefly

2008-12-07T17:22:00.002-05:00

“Valhalla: blue” is a multi-stanza poem of well over 100 lines that took nearly three years to reach the form in which it was published.

The seeds of the poem were, first of all, the song “Your Blue Room”, originally released as being by the Passengers. The Passengers, however, was merely the members of U2 plus Brian Eno. Hence, later releases of the song attribute it to U2. It is a relatively rare track that is both a man addressing his lover and a man addressing God- a common double meaning of many of U2’s songs. The music is very atmospheric and, well, sexy. The second seed was the book “33 Still Lives” by Anton Corbijn. Corbijn’s idea of taking celebrities and placing them in very ordinary poses- so ordinary that some are difficult to recognize if not for the captions accompanying each photograph- is intriguing as well as the bluing technique applied to the photographs. Again, the over-all feel is very atmospheric, very moody. I found them both utterly inspiring. (The title draws from Led Zeppelin’s “The Immigrant Song” and all of this blue.)

But building that inspiring emotion into tangible words on paper was a painful and slow process. For the duration of the writing and revising period, I listened to little else but that one song over and over. I imbued it into the very essence of myself. Also, “33 Still Lives” was already out of print when I discovered its existence, but I knew from the sample photos from it that are posted on Corbijn’s website that the book was pivotal to the poem that sought to arise from them. A somewhat wearying internet search finally secured me a copy of the book which I would often peruse while playing U2’s cathedral-like song in my ear.

The words were stubborn. After six months of absorbing the influences in this manner, however, they began to drip forth- phrase by phrase. Originally, the pieces of “Valhalla: blue” were just that: pieces. Essentially it is made up of a series of smaller poems stitched together into this quilt-like whole. The next six months were spent writing these bits and scraps. Most of what formed in my head was not words at all, but strong images instead. It was as if my brain was taking its own photographs and then I had the challenge of finding words which would communicate these images as clearly as possible.

It was during this phase that I began an unsteady correspondence with Irish poet Michael O’Dea. I had sought him out in the hopes of learning more about the nuts and bolts of poetry, both the writing aspect and the business/ life aspect. In the end, he helped me more than I could have imagined. After one year of toil and trouble, I now had all the elements that would make up the final version. However, they lacked organization, polish, and were merely a shadow of what they would become. I was also a bit exhausted by the creative effort. With his permission, I sent a file of what I had to O’Dea.

He agreed to help me with the revising process, which took at least another six months, possibly a bit longer. One of the things he stressed were to take out as many of the definite articles as I could to facilitate flow and allow for greater variation of interpretation. He also warned against overloading the poem with too many images, a true concern when one has photographs for inspiration. The original version of the poem, all put together, was over 250 lines long. His kind admonitions and careful, thought-out suggestions halved its size. The poem “Inside” was originally part of “Valhalla: blue” but later cut out as one of the pieces that presented possible image overload. “Inside” was made into a poem all its own. Other incised pieces have been further cut and recycled only as a line or two in other poems. There is still rich material in “the outtakes”, as I call them, to be mined in future.

But image overload and an over-dependence on articles- definite and indefinite- were not the only challenges. Perhaps the greatest challenge of the work was organization. I wish I could say there is a method of organization that will work every time, but there isn’t. For “Valhalla: blue”, it was very much a play-it-by-ear enterprise. For that, O’Dea contributed some, but comparatively not much. I relied on gut feeling to tell me when the structure had become acceptable.

After about 2 and ½ years of work, the poem was all but complete. I was new to computers at this time and my computer got a virus. In order to restore the machine to working capacity, I had to wipe the hard drive. But I had not backed it up. Gone were over one hundred poems that I had written and stored therein, including another poem O’Dea had been helping me with. These have never been recovered from oblivion. That episode sent me back to paper for the majority of writing and revising. It seemed as if “Valhalla: blue” had never even happened.

Frantic, I emailed O’Dea. Did he still have a copy of the file on his computer? He did. He sent it to me and revision continued for another month or so before the poem stabilized into final form. He saved the poem from cyber oblivion so that it could be enjoyed by readers of poetry everywhere.

“Valhalla: blue” was published in April 2007 in my first collection of poems entitled “Following Hope”. It is available all over the internet in soft cover format. However, it is also available in hardcover via the publisher at http://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=36988.

---------Sabne Raznik, poet and book reviewer. http://www.sabneraznik.com; http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/64959/sabne_raznik.html

Daisy

2008-12-05T09:26:00.000-05:00

If I were a flower, I'd be a daisy, white and fluffy with a happy yellow face. I'd be growing on the garden fringes, away from the fancy hybrids with their unusual growing habits and prized blooms. I'm not one for large crowds or loud excitement, so being a wallflower, the plain little daisy would be just my speed.

Hardy growth requiring minimal care, this also describes me to a tee. I'm not one for fashion or makeup or hairdo, preferring instead to enjoy life's little pleasures. Low maintenance - that is me and the daisies.

Childish games from yester-year occupy a summer day. Daisy chains adorn my head and the gentle singing of "He loves me, he loves me not" fills the air. You can always find me out in the garden, passing the time with my friends. Goldenrod and Black-eye Susans will always be pretty, but nothing holds my heart like the quaint eccentric daisy.

1st Class

2008-11-21T11:48:00.004-05:00

Thursday, November 20th was the first class for Speaking Out II - a workshop lead by Betty Dean Coleman and Roni Gilpin.

The class introduced themselves by reading short essays composed at the beginning of class. We then read and discussed a personal essay by local author Charles Semones.

Homework:
For next time, write about a unique incident in your life. This can be a poem, personal essay, song, or whatever method you wish to convey your story.

Next meeting:
Thursday, December 4th at 6:30 pm