Poets United

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This photograph was taken on September 21st in Olympia where thanks to the wonderful effort of the Olympia Poetry Network all five of us who have served/are serving as Washington State Poet Laureate were gathered. It was the first time all of us  had come together in this fashion, and oh, how wonderful and special it was.

We began the event with a round table. The writer and poet, Patrick Dixon had prepared a series of questions for us to share insights gleaned on the job as well as memorable experiences we’ve had on the road. It was fun to hear echoes of my own encounters in the other’s telling, and heartening to hear how, even though we are all different individuals, our work as Laureates has been rooted in service and love of poetry.

The second part of the event was a reading, and what a reading it was. The poems were masterfully delivered, pitch, tone, content in concert. Each poem read with honesty and vulnerability, breath and word in unison, leaving traces long after the reader stepped down from the podium. I am still thinking about the poems I heard that evening.

What an honor to be one of the five, to be in attendance, indeed to have spent the day in Olympia, with other poets and poetry lovers some of whom travelled from well outside the area to attend.

Thank you St. Martin’s University for hosting us. Thank you Olympia Poetry Network for bringing us together. Thank you Sam Greene, Kathleen Flenniken, Elizabeth Austen and Tod Marshall for your words, wisdom and service.

To see more photographs visit Olympia Poetry Network’s website: https://www.olympiapoetrynetwork.org/laureatefest.html

River Dreaming

 

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In many schools across the State children are gearing up this week to begin a new school year. I can imagine librarians closing down summer reading programs and setting up homework help centers, sprucing up teen reading corners, all to help ease children and youth into the 2019-2020 school year.

All summer long I have anticipated the first of September because it is this month when I launch my project, One River, Many Voices. I have been busy connecting with librarians, teachers, poets, community leaders in Kettle Falls, the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, Brewster, the Tri-Cities, Mattawa, White Salmon and other places along the river where I will stop to share poetry and stories and practice community through the power of words.

Late August I had the opportunity to travel along the Columbia River Gorge to visit some of these locations in preparation for what it is to come. I look forward to sharing news of this months-long project.

For now sending my very best to our children, youth, their parents, teachers, librarians, all who support our young people across the state as they embark on a new learning adventure.

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A quiet moment in Richland
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From the Oregon side

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Big River viewed from the Maryhill Art Museum in  Goldendale

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snoqualmie Spring

Two weeks ago on a fine spring morning I found myself hiking with tender fern leaf at my heels and a richly yellow green canopy overhead in Snoqualmie’s  Iron Horse State Park. The hike was the third Hike and Write organized by the Black Dog Arts Coalition,  Anthea Karanasos, who organized this particular event told us that the original hike was the brainchild of former WA State Poet Laureate Elizabeth Austen.

The plan was for me to lead the expedition through a series of writing exercises as we paused for hiking breaks. In preparing for this ambulant lesson I thought of trees, all the things they grant us every day, their regal postures, the superb tonalities of their foliage and above all the ways in which they express silence. I titled the walk: Writing Stillness. I thought the forest’s abundant vendor and tree varieties could teach us something on this topic. With regards to form, I thought haiku would be ideal because its brevity lends itself to quick imagistic note taking. I figured by day’s end we would all end up with a few haiku that we could either string together to weave into a larger poem or leave on their own as morsel sized testimonies of our morning together.

Thinking deeper on haiku as the morning’s choice led me to Basho and his use of the Haibun to record his travels through Japan. I amended my plan so that our morning’s writing would also include writing a haibun.

At the end of the hike we sat on a shady spot at the trail’s head and shared our poems. It was lovely to hear the haikus and to hear in the haibun impressions of our hike, which included taking the wrong turn at the outset, sharing the trail with mountain bikers, discovering giant slugs and coming across a country mouse so absorbed on gorging himself on dandelion seeds that it failed to notice us until one of us almost stepped on it. Collected, the haibun worked as a prism, offering different lenses through which to re-experience our shared time. 

Thank you again Anthea for organizing a lovely morning for us all.

 

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New day on the way up, no signs, few people, groves of fragrant fir and cedar. Mountain bluebirds, thrush, and warblers sang to the shrouded sun. Our small group rambled, lost our way. Happy calamity. All around, tender ferns sprang up, blackberry’s spanking-new thorns armored thick purple vines, and the wind crooned a tender liturgy through the treetops. Wild strawberrys’ small white buds still closed tight waited underfoot in the hush and crunch of gravel for pine sweet air to warm them. In a small clearing lush with plantain and wild greens, we came upon a soft brown mouse shielding a heap of dandelion seeds. Utterly vulnerable, the mouse watched us gather round. Small black eyes burned. Fierce in stillness: “I am not leaving.”

Hiking through cedars,

a wrong turn and revelation.

Brave mouse guarding seeds.

                                                                                                                               Anthea Karanasos

 

Warm welcoming song of the birds blind the abruptness of artificial signage “KEEP OUT” and “NO TRESPASSING.” The sound of trees slushing in the wind remind me, they too, are part of the symphony. With each careful step, the ripping sounds of gravel and the wisps of the green grass become a distinct duality. Air as crisp as an apple, I can almost bite it. Not similar to any hike I’ve ever had, but my head-space enjoyswandering through the poetic forest for the first time.

Sticks, stones, and leaves, the

sweat of the forest I breathe

and some stinky bobs”

Jake Rodriguez

 

Traffic, winding road, crowded parking, dismay. Organize calm, find folk, Nature slowly envelops. How many colors of green can the eye discern? A riot of silence. They’re all here, a different world, so available with some effort. Cloud cover cools, sunlight and exertion warm as do conversation and camaraderie.

easy. find silence.
it slips in. and out. 
so unfamiliar.
Janet McIntosh
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Pocket Poems

As was the case last year, I teamed up with the Seattle School of Visual Concepts and their fabulous letterpress director Jenny Wilkson to produce thousands of pocket-sized poems that will be distributed today across Washington through independent book sellers in celebration of National Poetry Month.

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Here is the list of bookstores in case you would like to go and nab one of these beautiful mini broadsides.

A Book For All Seasons
Leavenworth
A Good Book Cafe
Sumner
…and Books, too!
Clarkston
Auntie’s Bookstore 
Spokane
Book & Game Company
Walla Walla
Shakespeare and Company
Chehalis
Browsers Bookshop
Olympia
Darvill’s Bookstore
Orcas Island
Eagle Harbor Bk Co.
Bainbridge Island
Elliott Bay Book Co
Seattle
Griffin Bay Bookstore
San Juan Island
Inklings Bookshop
Yakima
King’s Books
Tacoma
Liberty Bay Books
Poulsbo
Lopez Island Bookstore
Lopez Island
Neverending Bookshop
Bothell
Open Books

Seattle

Pearl Street Books & Gifts
Ellensburg
Port Book and News
Port Angeles
Third Place Books
Seattle

Time Enough Books

Ilwaco

Trail’s End Bookstore
Winthrop
Vashon Bookshop
Vashon Island
Village Books & Paper Dreams
Bellingham
Vintage Books
Vancouver
Watermark Book Co.
Anacortes
Writers’ Workshoppe & Imprint Books
Port Townsend

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time of Light

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Light. This is what has returned to us in WA state in recent weeks. Spring inching forward, trees changing before our eyes, the ground breaking to release new colors. I have been criss crossing the state holding poetry readings and writing with others sometimes in small groups, sometimes in larger gatherings. What I take away from each encounter is light. That is what poetry is in the end. Little moments of light. Even when the subject matter is difficult, when the diction harsh, when line breaks break hard and unexpectedly, it all comes from the pool of light inside each of us.

This post gives a partial snap shot of my travels since the start of the year and it ends with a link to my state wide project released a few days ago in time for National Poetry Month.

In January I read at the opening day of the Senate in Olympia. It was a crisp winter day. Beautiful. I received a second invitation to return in February and by then snow had arrived over Puget Sound and alas I could not make the second trip.

My next trip was to Port Angeles – Kate Reavey at Peninsula College made my visit possible.  I loved rolling along the long ribbons of two way roads flanked by evergreens  that go up and down, on and on, in Kitsap county as I made my way north toward Jefferson County. Next I visited  Tacoma to serve as a  judge for the regional competition of Poetry OutLoud. What an honor Poetry Outloud.JPGthat was! The students – all of them high school age – delivered poems that made me tear up, laugh, rejoice in the verve and delivery of the poems they chose.

On the first of April in a most fitting turn for National Poetry Month I visited Bellevue Children’s Academy in the morning and in the afternoon Puget Sound University in Tacoma. I read with the wonderful Glenna Cook who read masterfully from her book Thesholds, which was a 2018 WA State Book Award finalist in the Poetry Division.

In March I drove down from Seattle to the Lower Columbia Valley College in Longview where I held a workshop and held a reading at the public Library. From there I crossed the state to visit Pend Oreille County where  thanks to Joyce Weir and the folks at Create in Newport, who organized my time there I did readings in Cusk, Newport, Metaline Falls and Deer Park (technically Spokane County). The librarian at Metaline Falls, Kathleen Huffman, had prepared a lovely table for us to have fellowship after the reading. It is from this feast that the photo at the top of this post is taken.

Poem exchange Bellevue.JPGI write these lines from Spokane where I am to take part in the fantastic week long Get Lit!  festival. Before arriving here I spent time in Ellensburg for the spectacular three day event called Inland Poetry Prowl. I visited Olympia and South Puget Sound College then travelled south to Vancouver for a wonderful reading with Christopher and Toni Luna and community poets at the Vancouver Public Library. Redmond, Seattle, Bellevue came next. In Bellevue I led a workshop at the public library where two girls loved the poems they wrote so much they decided to write an extra copy so that they could walk away with each other’s poems! Walking home with light in their pockets.

Here is a link to Washington Poetic Routes – Please tell others about it or submit a poem yourself. There are 26 poems on this map now, when I finish my term I want the map to have dozens and dozens more.

All in a day’s reading

I travelled yesterday to do a reading at the Oak Harbor branch of the Sno-Isle Library System. The library is shared with the Whidbey Island location of the Skagit Valley College and so my day also included visits to a few English classrooms.

Oak Harbor 1As I stepped out onto the street to begin my travels I thought it would be interesting to document my day.

How many poets are there after all, who could claim going from a major metropolitan area (at the top of rush hour traffic)  on busy highways, to catch a ferry onto an island, drive for an hour through lonely rural roads to arrive at a sea-side town where the local library serves both town and community college, all to do a reading?

Very, very few indeed. And how lucky I felt to be such a poet making such a journey on a glorious, crisp December day.

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Seattle’s Skyline from the High Point neighborhood

Not pictured: bumper to bumper traffic on I-5 and every arterial leading to downtown.

 

 

Mukilteo – the ferry dock (with hardly any cars!) and lighthouse

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Last week I was in Philadelphia and New York City for readings at Temple and NYU respectively. As my days in the east coast wore on I started to miss my life here in WA State. Most notably I missed the trees! The lushness of them, their stoic stance and their silence. How much pause and serenity they bring into our lives — into mine.

On one of these Whidbey Island trees pictured here I saw a hawk, its back turned to the morning sun. Frost covered the ground and I imagined what must have been a cold night for all critters. I saluted her with a “Good morning Mrs. Hawk!” as I rolled by in my car, then, less than 800 hundred meters ahead,  a dead racoon. Its front legs were crossed one over the other and even from the car I could see its fur covered in icicles. Death never far away to sharpen my vision, to make me appreciate the splendour of life.

 

After a quick bite to eat and a cup of tea in Bayview I drove on the length of the island to Oak Harbor. I had only ever driven through the town, never been to its old section — a mistake.  I wished that I had time to explore the shops and take in the view of the marina from the park that faces it. Instead I drove onto the college, visited four classrooms where I gave short presentations and then walked to the library for my 3 p.m. reading.

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This was the scene about 10 minutes before the reading. It was really well attended with town folks, community college and high school students. I read and answered many relevant and interesting questions and afterward exchanged photographs and anecdotes with many of the attendees. Here I am with the very last group to leave – four very smart high school students.

 

 

 

Good bye day. Good bye Oak Harbor. Thank you Mary Campbell from Oak Harbor Library. Thank you Gail Davern from Skagit Valley College.

 

I left the town at 5 p.m. The first picture here is from the library and the second one from the road along the marina. The island is a dark place in the evening. My drive on 520 south to Clinton to catch my ferry was not as easy as the morning drive had been. But again the ferry dock was nearly empty and I was able to get on the return boat easily.

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By seven p.m. rush hour traffic had died down in Seattle. Only as I approached downtown did it thicken enough to merit snapping this picture. I arrived home tired but satisfied, thankful for having been granted a fine day of discovery, community and poetry.

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On this day of gratitude

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Spokane – Centennial Trail

I write these short lines on Thanksgiving morning, a holiday which for many is the most important one of the year.

I for one feel extremely grateful to have served the past 10 months as the Poet Laureate of Washington State. I can say without equivocation that every corner of our State I have visited, from the barren hills overlooking Clarkston in the south east corner to the rolling hills of Orcas Island in springtime, from Spokane in full autumn glory to Bellingham under the spell of summer’s solstice, has filled me with awe and marvel.

I am thankful to have basked in myriad moments of natural beauty and to have shared my love of words with all sorts of writing communities: some small, some thriving, some mighty and some in the making as in young writers in the schools. I have also interacted with so many individuals who value community building through the power of language, such as the inspiring teachers and librarians with whom I have collaborated and others who have invited me to share poetry in community centers, longhouses, farms, vineyards, cafes, bookstores, parks, classrooms, auditoriums and radio stations.

I thank every adult, every youth and child I have thus far connected with for keeping my inner fire and hope alive, for sharing with me a joint conviction that words matter. It is through them that we convey our joint humanity.

The poem I am sharing to mark this day of gratitude is part of a four-part cycle I titled, American Four Seasons, written in response to Charles Yves’ New England Holidays symphony. This poetic venture was part of a larger collaboration with The Seattle Symphony https://www.seattlesymphony.org/inthecommunity/simple-gifts/projects/all-of-us-belong

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Autumn Thanks

We are gathered here today

to observe, not so much the end of the Fast

which continues to this day relentless,

the way ancient glaciers dragged

boulders across centuries.

The rumbling mass of injustice

fueled by greed that you sought to starve César,

still careens under western and eastern skies alike

extracting widows, homeless, mourners, sufferers

in the lamentable social strife

in which we find ourselves.

Light wanes turning leaves fire and gold

revealing over horizon’s lip

the margins of our days.

Time it is to give thanks

for grandpa and grandma

sitting in the old living room sofa holding hands

waiting for their slice of apple pie

and for the cousins playing

their annual football game

in the park across the street.

We gather to acknowledge

our mothers’ lost hours,

lost on growing the alabaster

bones on which we stand.

We give thanks for ancestors

who came before us and lost,

for courageous walkouts

and for those who subsist

on malnourished minimum wage checks

for they will one day be relics

of our grinding, slow march

toward justice.

If we in our days, put a fraction

of what bird puts into her song

we may yet reap a future

when injustice and war are the moraine

of our present, bitter, epoch.

We are gathered here today.

 

Notes

César Chavez – “We are gathered here today to observe, not so much the end of the Fast” from On Ending Fast – 1968

From participant’s notes Cascade Women’s Program – “grandpa and grandma”


Abraham Lincoln – “commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged” from Proclamation of Thanksgiving