Frost, · In · Review

My cat's sister died on Sunday.

Snug will be remembered as a cat who kept her own counsel at the litterbox. (A trait my own polydactyl darling shares.) Born humby under Carrie's bed at college, she rose to become Huntress in the Forests of the West. Later, as Queen of her Eastern Kingdom, she ruled the roost (or hid in the basement, as she chose) of her humans' abode in Philadelphia.

With peace and love, go well, Snug.

For PJ
died October 31, 2006

Little egg, perhaps
you were meant to have
just one downy moment,
a warmth, a rocking love
that for being brief,
encompassed the whole of joy.

M. Frost
©2006

All things
sing and speak
birds sing in birdsong
rocks speak in silence
And me?

All my babbling is just so much nonsense

-- Ko Un

The Dodge Poetry Festival

Yesterday, a friend from my poetry group rode with me up to Waterloo Village (NJ) and the Dodge Poetry Festival. The other members of our group were staying for the full weekend experience, but Liz and I only could do the day trip. It was grand. We arrived just in time to wander down to the Sawmill tent on the shore of the lake, the turning leaves drifting around us.

Linda Hogan read some of her work and spoke, not only about poetry, but about revolution and activism. She shared some disturbing news: her granddaughter was among the students held hostage by the gunman at the school in Colorado a few days ago. Luckily, her granddaughter was not one of the girls raped. I could tell Linda was torn between her committment to the poetry festival and wanting to get on the first plane back to Colorado. She stayed because she felt that poetry also existed for this moment of crisis, that it was as important to be part of that conversation as it was to return home when her granddaughter was safe. My heart went out to her. I was impressed by her strength in the face of disaster. She is a remarkable woman.

The Poetry Sampler was a treat: 19 poets reading 1-4 poems each, all of them big enough to headline their own shows. An abbreviated list: Linda Hogan, Jorie Graham, Linda Gregg, Tony Hoagland, Taha Muhammad Ali (speaking in Arabic with a very good translator), Ko Un (speaking in Korean, again with a great translator), Kurtis Lamkin & Sekou Sundiata (performance poets, and very different, each astounding in his own way), Mark Doty, Linda Pastan and many others, including Lucile Clifton (who teaches at St. Marys in MD), Andrew Motion (poet laureate of Britain) and Billy Collins (former U.S. poet-laureate).

The afternoon consisted of break-out groups, "Conversations" engaging two to four poets in some topic. I followed Linda Hogan (duh!) to "Poetry as Disruptive Seed, Poetry as Centering Force" which focused more on the disruptive seed than on the centering force. No surprise, given the nature of the world today. The bottom line? Poets don't effect change; they document the emotions behind it. Activists effect change. "Responsibility increases with proximity--the closer you are to crisis, the greater your responsibility." An interesting discussion, perhaps a bit dominated by Mark Doty and Gerald Stern--great poets, great people, but typical males. Linda Hogan was a little withdrawn, probably because her mind was in Colorado, not New Jersey. Occasionally, she would come out of her reverie and make incredible comments, stabbing in and not letting Gerald or Mark overwhelm her with the force of their collective personality. Brian Turner, a soldier who served in Iraq, also was there. I found his comments about the military--at once critical of the mission and supportive of the troops--interesting and educational.

Tony Hoagland stole the evening show, a series of poets who read for about a half-hour each. He preaches "meanness" in poetry, but in terms of performance, I think he follows a more comic, self-depreciating tradition. I like his poetry, but I loved his performance.

Contrast with Jorie Graham, whose poems I LOVE, but whose performance was merely good. Tough to follow a comic act with very serious, difficult, long poetry. Linda Gregg read well, and I really enjoyed her poetry. I even bought a book of it (and got it signed!). She's got a lovely sense of place, and she's traveled extensively, which comes through well in her work.

On the drive home, Liz and I hit serious construction traffic on Rt. 1 (may I mention that this is at 11:30 at night?) We managed to get home by 2am. Darn pavers!! Should have taken 202. Ah well, guess I'm not clairvoyant yet.

A great day, despite the delay getting home. I'd go again, for the full four-day experience if I ever can.

First, the eraser wipes away the blacks and blues, then the clear solution is applied to vanquish the tougher reds and greens. Green especially sticks around, a grass stain on the event horizon of my dry erase board. After white is recovered, new pigments are applied: oranges, pale jade, crimson, marine. The colors of a new kind of living. The colors of distance.

B came up this weekend by way of the reptile show in Maryland. She found what she sought--a pure white baby, new gecko for the collection. After the happy yellow tissue paper and wrapping from Grandad's Lancaster birthday were discarded, she returned to Virginia and I returned, alone, to Philly.

To a dry erase board. To replacing blank space with all the dates we will see each other again. To all the promised colors of love.

"If a dog jumps in your lap, it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing, it is because your lap is warmer."
-- Alfred North Whitehead (1861 - 1947)

"The evil of the world is made possible by nothing but the sanction you give it."
-- Ayn Rand (1905 - 1982), Atlas Shrugged, 1957

"Peace is not a relationship of nations. It is a condition of mind brought about by a serenity of soul. Peace is not merely the absence of war. It is also a state of mind. Lasting peace can come only to peaceful people."
-- Jawaharlal Nehru (1889 - 1964)

"The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing."
-- Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)

"A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic."
-- Joseph Stalin (1879 - 1953)

I found out yesterday that a friend of mine from college was murdered in D.C. He was an incredibly sweet guy--capable, ambitious, and yet amazingly giving. He picked good causes and worked hard for them. He had just started a job for Radio Free Asia as an attorney. The story is that someone broke into the house of a friend where he was spending the night and stabbed him in the chest. Tragic. Completely tragic.

B moves to NoVa in a few weeks. I'm having unreasonable fears about her living in the greater D.C. area and us trying to do long-term careers there--her job news preceeded the news of my friend by only a few days. It's going to be an interesting year...

Happy Samhain!

Been BUSY. For quite some time now.

The news. The short version is that I'm never going away for a week again. I get back from my west coast trip (Reno conference cum California vay-kay), and my hunnee had just about put the down payment on a new car (Oh, sweetie, sign here please.) never mind the new gecko. =) Actually, the car is sweet. We call her Serenity. Of course, she got her bumper crunched five days after we picked her up, but she's out of the shop now. Gah! Teenage drivers and stop signs. They're like oil and water.

The book arts class my neighbor and I are teaching is going well. We're halfway through, and it's a good group of students. Starting in November, I have a few writerly classes myself, including a Writer's Conference up at MontCo. I'm looking forward to having time to write again!

And speaking of writing:

http://www.quantummuse.com/fantasy_stories.html

The latest Sorrow story is up for a few more days on Quantum Muse. Comments welcome!

I have poetry class tomorrow night, and--no poetry. Last week, we all skipped the regular session at the GJC to go to the Elkins Park Free Library for a reading by Sean Webb, MontCo poet laureate, followed by an open mike. I read "Temple, or Psyche," the poem inspired by a Gregory Colbert image (cf: Ashes & Snow, his nomad exhibit that just closed in NYC). Cara read "In Egypt," the poem she wrote from the same image. It's amazing what different directions we chose for the poems! The image is of a woman in a columned temple, holding two feathers, with an eagle flying in the foreground. Her eyes are closed; she's clad in white, like a priestess. Cara discussed historic Egypt and shamanism. My poem was a revision of the myth of Psyche and Cupid. My friend Kelley came as well; great to see her again. Cathy & husband Mark brought their daughter Charlotte, who was much better than anticipated. She only interrupted a little.

But now, tonight, I realize that I haven't written a poem since the night of the power outage.

Perhaps my poetry slipped away when Sakima died. (Blessings to Sakima. He was a great dog, survived by "daddy" Wolf and "brother" Scrappy.)

Perhaps I should just pick up the pen and get down to work.

Had a funny dream last night. I was on a trip to Ireland, only the Ireland my dream provided looked a wee bit more like New Mexico or Arizona. The road crossed a dry gully in the middle of a canyon, and there were construction crews everywhere. Mum and Dad were there. They had a new son. (Yeah, that wigged me out a little.) Changing diapers and everything. They, Barb and I were in the lead car, and a bunch of friends from Trooper were following in the other. We stopped at a restaurant. One of my friends from Trooper, Kelly (a tech), suddenly looked up with a horrified expression. She was supposed to be back at work the next day, so we had to leave Ireland in a hurry to get her back.

Sound like real life? It did to me! Only I haven't figured out what Mum & Dad's new baby is yet. Having work pull me away from vacation is nothing new. And getting stuck in construction in a gully? Well, that's just life!

You know, I guess I had never really considered until now how many movies there are out there involving chocolate? There's Chocolat, and the versions of Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. (We saw the new Tim Burton/Jonny Depp experience tonight.) Como Agua Para Chocolate, i.e. Like Water For Chocolate. Hmmm...and Jonny Depp was in two of the three I just mentioned...interesting connection.

He was a good, if slightly creepy, and certainly Michael Jackson-like Willy Wonka. I thought, given what I had heard about him channeling Jackson in this one, that I wouldn't like it. But the humor he brought to it made up for the eeewww factor. Deep Roy made a fabulous Ooompa Loompa--so great to see him in a major role in a movie, not just behind some hobbit mask! And Danny Elfman. All hail Danny Elfman. What more needs to be said?

Alternator. Ah well, at least Ellie's home, running fine, all recharged.

The wind that preceded our very brief thunderstorm and very long lightning storm knocked out power to our apartment complex just as Cara and I were leaving for poetry class. The gate, well, it's electric. So official poetry class didn't happen. But Cara came up, and even Barb joined us in a couple of freewrites. (Barb's a great poet, by the way. She just doesn't write poetry any more often than once every seven years.)

Here was my attempt, by candlelight:

When the power is out, I like the stillness.
Not the storm falling, but the quiet before.
Not the flare of candles, but sudden darkness,
the shock of all the humming ceasing at once,
that coordination. You could not plan such a thing.
You could not create a moment for an entire block
to inhale deeply, once, and then hold it.

Just to confirm (for the 0.1% of you who didn't realize this already) that I am a total geek, my car's name is Elenath (Sindarin for "all the stars in the sky"). I call her Ellie for short, you know, after the main character in the Carl Sagan book-turned-movie, Contact. She is a Saturn, after all. She had to have an astronomically-derived name. [Is astronomically a word? Hey, cool--Webster's says, YES: adv., of or relating to astronomy]

But there was nothing good in the sky for Ellie last night. I turn her on, no problem, at work, at whatever obscenely late hour I left. But there's this new little light on the dash, the "you outta check your battery--no, really, we mean it!" light. But she started fine and drove fine, so I thought--tomorrow. Well, I'm (thankfully) off the Schuylkill expressway and on Lincoln Drive when the radio starts warbling and I notice my lights are dimming a little. Turn off radio. Ellie limps home, dies to a cough as I pull into my parking space.

She did start this morning, small miracle that, and she's over at the (gulp) Midas-around-the-corner now. Not quite DOA. I'm waiting for the verdict: battery (I hope), or alternator (which would suck for my wallet). I will have faith in Midas. I will have faith in Midas. Oh, but I hope my faith in Midas is justified.

What is wierd is that I had a dream a few nights ago about a pale blue car--looked like a mint-condition antique, really. I was driving it, and I parked it in Ellie's spot. She was parked a short distance away, with Blue, my light truck that was totalled about three years ago. I felt like a traitor. Huh. A little premonition, perhaps?

In other news, there's a sweet dog out there named Sakima who needs some good karma too (see last entry). His daddy is a friend of mine, Wolf. So if you're thinking good thoughts for Ellie, please throw in a little prayer for Sakima as well.

In other updates, both stone dog and spleen dog are doing well so far. Thanks to all who thought good thoughts for them!

And just for a requisite non sequitur: How odd that almost all my entries this month are on Wednesdays...

Oh, please let the dogs live.

After midnight, and I'm just getting home. Here's a hope for the dog whose spleen I removed tonight to do well, and also for Sakima, my friend Wolf's dog, to recover from the surgery he had today (a surgery I did not perform, as he is several states to the south). And while we're at it, for the dog from whose bladder I removed a gravel pit of stones today, may he urinate without complication come morning. And the caffeine buzz I created in order to get through surgery and the trip home, may it wear off shortly so I can get to bed. There are hunnees who also had bad days who need consolation. There are trips that have been cancelled.

Such simple wishes. My next wish is to ACTUALLY GO TO THE BEACH the next time I plan to do so. I've been twarted twice now this summer, and we're not even talking about LAST summer. Barb and I had been planning to leave early...I suppose THIS morning is the correct terminology at this time of day. Night. Whatever. We've been planning this beach trip for a week, and both of our lives conspired today to cancel it. Gaaahh! I need beachness desperately. I need sand in places sand should never go. I need a sunburn, albeit a mild one. I need to be eaten alive by mosquitoes and treated to an unanticipated thunderstorm just as I get settled down on my too-small towel with a mediocre book (because I wouldn't trust the hardback I want to re-read to the fickleness of the ocean's tides). I need cold waves, jellyfish and ghost crabs with pinchers. I need the odor of decaying horseshoe crabs, and I need to burn my bare feet on the dunes.

Instead, I get spleens and stones. Interesting trade. I'll forgive Fate if the dogs live. All of them. As I am giving up my heart's desire to beach, and beach hard, and beach fully, I don't think this is too much to ask.

Oh please, let the dogs live.

I finished Harry Potter this weekend. I feel so accomplished! I even started a new short story (a non-Sorrow tale, if that's allowed). Now if only I didn't have to work, I'd REALLY get things done!

In other good news, I submitted some of Dad's poetry to TMP-Irregular, and he's got his first poetry publication in the upcoming issue, #37! The website is http://www.tmpoetry.com/ While you're there, you might check out Issue #36. Kelley White is a friend of mine, an inner-city Philly physician and a darn fine poet. Cara Kendric is a good friend, my downstairs neighbor and poetry companion in the Philly area. You might find a couple others by this wacky writer, M. Frost. (grin)

Also while you're there, for those of you who poet, please submit some of your own work!

To the Calendar Sitting on my Desk

Some days are like that:
slogging through marshes,
slapping midges, breathing the reek,
following your own Gollum into Mordor.

Then you tear off the next day,
face war, mountains of paperwork,
old metal, hammered.

Tear it again.
Come to the end of the quest,
your wounds healed,
your companions ungathered.

What is left to you is fire:
your feet thawing at the hearth,
the clear gold circle of your story,
the sparks rising, and what they reveal.

M. Frost
©2005

Had a good weekend in Baltimore, although it was sans Barb, which was a disappointment.

Barb was sick with the evil, South African flu, but she was terribly gracious. She said "No, don't worry about poor me. Have a great time in Baltimore with your parents and friends." To which I dutifully replied, "But dear, I'd be happy to stay home and take care of you.

Now, I should interrupt and inform you, dear reader, that the plans for the weekend were as follows: to go to the Timonium Gem & Jewelry Fair, then on to Oregon Ridge for BSO and fireworks.

Let me repeat for the uninitiated: Gem & Jewelry Fair. Barb + Beads = Lady with the Spinning Head.

So Barb says, "What? Are you CRAZY?! Get down to Baltimore and buy me some beads!"

And that, gentle reader, is exactly what I did. Kate was kind enough to join us and put up with my occasional agonized bead purchases, complete with urgent phone calls to the boss woman. Oregon Ridge was great. Kate, Dad and I jotted down poetry, stretched out on the ridge under the fragrant evening air. Mum exceeded expectations for the picnic (I think Kate was about to burst). And so, if the music was rather traditionally themed, we will forgive the BSO. Because they were conducted by a Brit with a sense of humor and because they played beautifully. And because the fireworks were really cool.

(Although technically, I guess, the fireworks achieved rather high temperatures.)

ps: I have to say, it really sucked that I had to work on July 2, because how often is LIVE 8 going to happen? And happen in my back yard, practically?!! Well, at least I did hear a smidgeon of U2 and some Dave Matthews and Sting on the drive home. And it's true that I didn't get home until after 4pm. Gah. Missing out on Will Smith, I mean, REALLY. What kind of fans are we? And then on July 4, when Elton John was playing in the same back yard, we watched it on TV. Are we lame or what?
pps: Great poetry group tonight. Cathy brought her husband-poet and her nearly-one-year-old daughter, whom I am convinced will be a writer. Seriously, you hold a pencil up to this gal, and her face lights up. And she gets all grabby-hands. It's really cute, her one tooth all smiling!

Barb's back from South Africa! She got in late tonight and practically fell into bed. Poor thing! Two day trips without sleep are a real killer. They had to go through Amsterdam and flew into JFK, then drove down as a group from there, with most of the lab who went, I think. I haven't gotten any of the details yet, although Barb had enough open-eye time to hand me the rooibos tea she bought me (YUM!!!) and my pretty things. I now proudly model a very African bead necklace that fits me perfectly. (Good hunnee. She really IS a good judge of neck size.) She also brought back a set of beaded animals that are fabulous. The giraffe is the best. Or tied with the zebra, I'm not sure. All-in-all, it seems like a very beaded trip. (Standard opening move. No surprises.)

Toed was delighted to see Barb, and Barb gave her a good petting (then washed her hands very quickly). After that, it was onto the kidroom, where Christine (the turtle she's had for...gosh, twenty years?) stretched out her thick tortoise neck, right to Barb's nose. As if to say, "Where the heck were you?" Adorable!

A group of us from Yiskah's classes this year get together once a week over the summer to read and explore each other's poetry. We also have freewrites, or poetry jam sessions, that have proven quite fruitful. More fruitful than I expected, in fact. Tonight was a good session. Thanks to Cara, for the topic, and to Claire, for my inspiration.

Lighthouse

For Claire

I am trying to remember where we found the lighthouse.
Found it! As if it had been lost, stubby thing
in the dunes, moated by blacktop. I remember
there had been others, distant gray spikes on a Hatteras
beach, smaller effigies in clay inscribed with magnets.
Even one for your birthday, to hold keys.

You were not with me for this particular lighthouse.
Particular! It remains the only one I clearly can recall—
its revolving light that seemed dim, somehow, beside—
Oh yes, the sun. I was in California, then, with family.
Seagulls rotated around us; the sand burned white.
Cypress made dark columns in the dunes. I remember

thinking the lighthouse was small, that it did not
take long to navigate its only deck, that I wished you
were with us. I expect you could have unlocked it for me,
opened the shutters on the lamp, led me up to another story.

M. Frost
©2005

"It's raining in Baltimore, fifty miles east
Where you should be..." (Counting Crows)

It isn't raining in Philadelphia, but it gave serious thought to the matter. Reminded me of Ireland and everything, the way the air grew heavy, the way a curtain of moisture drew back. Now I am staring at the photograph of Lough Tay (Guiness Lake) on my desktop and wishing I was somewhere else. Baltimore, perhaps, where I spent a lovely weekend with my parents and friends. South Africa, where Barb is probably preparing to take flight to Amsterdam. Ireland, where I left the other side of my heart a month ago.

I've tucked in the critters, and the cat is sleeping by my side. So I'm not alone. Barb returns Thursday. Baltimore tries again for Sunday. Ireland? Ireland is a promise I'll keep someday.

"One life, but we're not the same.
We get to carry each other, carry each other..." (U2)