Tag Archives: poetry

Do you DIY?

(names changed to protect the innocent)

Recently, my niece, Holly, made a black cat pinata from scratch for Halloween. Did you read that? A pinata FROM SCRATCH! She didn’t buy it at the Bulk Barn or Party City. She handmade it. What the?!

Of course, she captured and shared the step-by-step magic on Instagram. I marveled at it – her ingenuity, her patience. Hundreds and hundreds of confetti-like squares of black tissue paper individually glued to a perfectly carved cardboard cat frame. Her two seven-year old twin girls proudly helped along the way, gluing on the eyes, preparing the whiskers. Then they reveled in the moment they got to smash it with their friends – scrambling and shrieking for candy.

“Damn,” I thought. “She’s so talented, thoughtful and creative.”

Last June, when my daughter was graduating from high school, her friend’s mom, Leah, printed out pictures from each year of her daughter’s school life, hung them one by one down the hall from her daughter’s bedroom with streamers, so when she woke up that morning, she opened her door to a celebration of her life so far – all leading to a balloon and flower shrine in the living room adorned around her grade 12 graduation photo as her family stood around and cheered.

When my kid told me about it, I’m pretty sure I caught a sense of longing and sadness in her eyes, wishing she had such a mom.

And once again, I thought, “Damn. She’s so talented, thoughtful and creative.”

I tried crafts with my kids as they grew up. Mostly, I bought them kits and paints from Michaels or the Dollar store and let them do their thing. If you’ve seen my past attempts at painting or crafts, you’d understand. I just don’t have the DIY DNA.

But then, after I gave my daughter her graduation present, I realized I was being too hard on myself.

Poems for my daughter
My DIY book cover

I gave her a book of personal poems I had written about her to mark this significant transition in her life out of high school into university. Each piece was inspired by words I had collected about her from loved ones. At my request, they had sent me three words they think of when the think of her. I took them all and wrote some musings in hopes they would encourage, inspire, comfort or even spur a giggle from my youngest.

None of these poems came from a kit at Michaels or the Dollar Store. All of them came from me.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she read the pages. My heart filled.

That’s when I realized writing is my DIY, and damn, I am talented, thoughtful and creative!

I had created similar books for her two older sisters when they graduated. Each with their own twist, and their reactions equally filled my heart.

Over the years, I’ve written random poems and musings for many life moments for people I love: retirements, goodbyes, thoughts for a dying friend, my dad’s 90th birthday. I even did one for National Donut Day once. So fun! I do it because I love it and it means something to me. In turn, I also hope my words might mean something to others too – at the best of times, maybe they even get a laugh. (I’m no joke teller in real life, but sometimes I’m funny on paper 😊)

So, as it turns out, my DIY DNA isn’t half bad and I can hold my own against the likes of Holly and Leah.

Tell us how you DIY your writing and what it means to you.

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Filed under Feel good, Inspiration, Life and stuff, Motivation, poetry, Trials and Tribulations

Cut loose

Exploring a tactile approach to poetry

April was declared National Poetry Month in the United States in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets. Likewise in Canada, in 1998, the League of Canadian Poets established April as National Poetry Month to bring together “schools, publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, communities and poets from across the country to celebrate poetry and its vital place in Canada’s culture.”

Here in Ontario, things feel less than celebratory at the moment. Winter is overstaying its welcome, the goings-on of our neighbours to the south are having an impact on us and around the world, a federal election is surfacing domestic challenges and fault lines, and the Great Pacific Garbage Patch is estimated to cover an area of about 1.6 million square kilometres. Yikes, to say the least.

Reading can feel like a wonderful escape right now. Poetry can, too. How lovely to dive into a Mary Oliver poem and feel at peace with the quiet majesty of geese, or trees, or grasshoppers. How tantalising to experience e.e. cummings’ thoughts on the body. How cerebral to spend a few hours (or a lifetime) investigating what William Carlos Williams meant by the red wheelbarrow in the rain.

Poetry is also political–a tool of resistance and protest. As the Editors of the Poetry Foundation have said, “Speaking truth to power remains a crucial role of the poet in the face of political and media rhetoric designed to obscure, manipulate, or worse.”

I have been exploring poetry myself recently, as both a reader and a writer. The world of poetry is vast and varied, and what I’ve read at school or in literary journals is a teensy fraction of all the poetic expression there is to enjoy.

And I want more.

As I continue my poetic education, I’ve decided to forget learning about the “important” poems. Forget about the canon, forget about the Norton anthologies. Instead, I’m reading poems published in The Walrus (like “Honey Crisp” by Molly Peacock). I’m reading poems tagged with #blueskypoets. I’m reading poems submitted to Poetry Week at CommuterLit where I’m a volunteer reader. I’m reading haikus, pantoums, sonnets, and so much more.

In my own poetic scribblings, I’ve been playing with words, imagery, and forms. I’ve written a poem about a spider crawling across my ceiling, a poem about a night out with my best friend, a poem about grapes. I’ve played around with book spine poems–and gotten the other Restless Writers trying it too (here’s Beckie’s, Andrea’s, and Sharon’s).

Something fun I did recently was cut words out of a magazine to create a collection of six-word poems, which I then consolidated into a single poem. I love how this activity is so accessible and exciting. It was tactile. Having my vocabulary limited to the words I had cut out forced me to find powerful and surprising creative combinations.

If you’re looking for a way to make poetry yourself, this exercise has a low barrier to entry. You can use any magazine–I chose the LCBO’s Food&Drink (natch). If you’re creating a book-spine poem, all you need is your own bookcase or a visit to the library. Play, celebrate! You don’t have to worry about being timeless, or cathartic, or insightful, or political. Those are all important aspects to poetry, and I will continue to strive to give my own poems that deeper dimension. But don’t let it stop you from the joyful act of playing with words to describe or illuminate your own experience of the world.

That’s how I’m celebrating this National Poetry Month. Will you join me?

Here’s the result of my experiment:

Armchair Adventurer
 
What flavour is beyond the world?
Meet the soul available for a game
A story about olives and wines
Pour your heart over the star flowers
 
Swap tomorrow to savour new time
Hop down the hour for escape
Drinking seconds by the loved road
Playing with plans for better madness
 
The blues feast at high showtime
Impressed by delights of happy sights
Scoop today – plan a great move
The active solution, a spirit choice
 
Travel to the layers of winter
Two views of the next west
Bench planning and start making sense
Explore the road under buzzing island
 
What has brought in your world?
We sip cocktails and taste culture
Our best pursuits are in adventures
Born yours with the unforgettable infinite

Maria Hypponen

Wishing you an inspiring National Poetry Month!

Maria

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Getting Tactile: my spine poem

At a workshop Maria and I took a few months ago, we were challenged / encouraged / prompted to consider creating a “spine poem” as a possible, think-outside-the-box way to write poetry. We have since challenged each other to create our own.

You’ll find Maria’s at the end of the post she wrote about the workshop.

Beckie shared hers last month.

My turn.

I rummaged around my house, pulling titles from from my bedside table, the basement bookshelf, the living room end table. Books I haven’t looked at for a loooong time.

I played with the order, added titles, took some out, put them back in. Set up the photo. Changed the set up. Changed it again. Took stuff out of the background. Re-positioned.

It was tactile, visceral, energizing, playful creativity.

I highly recommend it.

Women who run with the wolves
Eat mangoes naked
Color me HAPPY

Untamed, big magic
Daring greatly

A course in
MIRACLES

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Wine, Space and a Cat Joke

My take on our poetry workshop

Maria wonderfully captured the poetry workshop we attended recently through the Burlington Public Library: Lynda Monk’s welcoming and positive approach; prompts that inspired our writing; our collective “affirmative noises” throughout the session.

Like Maria, I had also hesitated attending, but not for the same reasons. I don’t have a “prejudice against poetry”. I dabble from time to time and submitted my Your House is Not My House poem as pages for a Restless Writers meeting not that long ago. I also don’t hate journalling. While I may not journal every day, I am an “out loud” thinker, and when no one wants to listen, my journal pages are always willing.

I hesitated to participate because my brain prefers the ordinary. On the evening in questions, she said, “You’ve worked a long day. You’re tired. Wouldn’t you rather settle in to a night of watching Derry Girls episodes? Plus, you’ll have to do the dishes if Maria is coming over.”

But Maria had texted and offered to bring wine. So, what was I going to do? Say no? That’s funny. And I’m glad she did – come over, I mean. Not just bring the wine. (That said, Riesling on a Tuesday evening is a nice treat.)

For me, the gift of Lynda’s workshop was allowing in quiet and connection. It was a needed opportunity to tell my work and home brains to take 60, go commiserate about me over their own glasses of wine, and let me enjoy mine.

Lynda talked about how visceral poetry is. That it cuts to the essence, reveals the unspoken and digs into the senses. She shared this quote by Allen Ginsberg, “Poetry slows me down and brings me back to myself.” For me, on that Tuesday, I didn’t realize how fast I’d been moving until I followed Lynda’s instruction to close my eyes, listen to her recite Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese poem and write down any words or lines that stood out to us. That’s when I felt my breath deepen, and my body settle into her voice as I became drawn in by the verse.

And in that open space, she invited us to paint our own pictures through the prompts she provided. “I dwell in the possibility of…” “Silence is like…” or to fill in the blanks, using Jane Kenyon’s Otherwise poem as a template. Some participants chose to share what had sprung up in their writing. Usually, I’m one of them, but on this night, I was with the others who chose to simply listen and absorb.

To me, poetry is about presence and play. Experiencing it and then toying with the words, the shapes, the sounds, the spaces. You can choose the structure of a haiku or dance freely with your own use of the page, colour, fonts.

Toward the end, Lynda summarized our experience in the “5 Things to Practice to Free Your Inner Poet”:

  1. Breathing
  2. Stillness
  3. Listening
  4. Receiving
  5. Giving

These were the reminders I forgot I needed. Through this workshop, I expanded and found new creative energy. Maria opened up her imagination.

I encourage you to give yourself the gift of a writing workshop. Many are free or inexpensive and offered by local libraries or authors looking to inspire other writers. Maybe pick one that isn’t in your usual wheelhouse. You can certainly take one alone, or better yet, invite a fellow writer who never comes empty handed.

When it was done, Maria and I shared what had resonated with us from the workshop. We also shared some of our own verses inspired by the prompts. Maria, who is skilled at bringing levity to the heavy, wrote a a melancholy piece about a solitary meal, mixed with a little gratitude for her cat.

“The cat and I ate dinner,” she recited stone faced. “Not the same dinner. We both had tuna.”

I burst out laughing at her unexpected ending. Maybe you had to be there, but it was hilarious and one of the highlights of the evening! After finding a tissue to wipe my tears, and saying goodbye to Maria, I pondered what may be my next poem: I dwell in the possibility of wine with a friend.

Cheers!

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The possibility of poetry

Fellow Restless Writer Andrea and I had signed up to attend a virtual workshop hosted by our local library called “Prompts to Find Your Inner Poet.” I almost didn’t join in, for two reasons: one, I am still working to get over my prejudice against poetry; and two, the workshop was being led by Lynda Monk, a coach, speaker, facilitator, and author who is passionate about journalling – and I hate journalling. (Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt traumatized by Julia Cameron and her morning pages.)

Fortunately, I gave myself a rousing pep talk, convinced myself that it was only for an hour, grabbed a bottle of wine, and headed over to Andrea’s house, so we could attend online together.

The workshop, held last week, was well attended – about 35 people – and Lynda gave a gracious, welcoming, and warm introduction to the workshop. She told us there would be writing exercises (which I was eager to dig into) and that “we are all poets in some way.”

If I had expected the event to be cringey, it wasn’t. Lynda opened by asking us to reflect on “what is poetry?” She described a type of literary expression that is resonant, captures beauty and emotion, helps us feel “aliveness” and connection, and speaks to the “unspoken”: the “spaces in between and around experiences, thoughts and feelings.” She outlined a plain language understanding of poetry that was immediately accessible.

Lynda shared one of her favourite poems – “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver – and asked us to reflect on what stood out for us in the poem. A word, a phrase, a feeling? She shared that the poem evoked a sense of quiet, and that everyone needs to be able to access that kind of quiet in order to write.

She returned to this concept later in the session when she talked about the white space on one of the presentation slides. “Our creative selves need white space, where we can recognize what we have within our hearts to say.”

Throughout the session, Andrea and I would make little affirmative noises in response to some piece of insight that Lynda shared about poetic language. I found Lynda’s approach to talking about poetry, and encouraging each of us to explore new poetic prompts, to be the opposite of cringey. She was engaging, positive, non-critical, practical, and inclusive.

One takeaway for me was what Lynda had to say about the transformative effects of poetry. To paraphrase, poetic writing can transform what we’re feeling into something else (e.g. writing about a negative experience can turn it into a positive one), and poetic writing can transform ourselves, by altering our perceptions about our own experiences and emotions.

The writing exercises were intriguing and fun – Andrea and I agreed we should share the prompts at a future Restless Writers’ meeting.

  • Take the first line of your favourite poem, and use it as a prompt for your own poem. Lynda used Emily Dickinson’s “I dwell in Possibility” as the line prompt.
  • Use the structure of an existing poem as a template for your poem. “Otherwise” by Jane Kenyon was the perfect prompt to have us imagining our own alternate lives.
  • Cut words out of a magazine or newspaper, and paste them into poems in different shapes. (Ahem, an idea for the next Restless Writers’ holiday craft night?)
  • Create a “book spine poem.” This was another exercise Lynda encouraged us to try on our own time – you take books from your shelves, and make a poem out of their titles. Mine is below.

Principles still missing.
How did that happen?
The novel cure underland, surrounded by idiots, sediment in streams.
Do not disturb the big thing.

I’m thankful I talked myself into joining the workshop, and I’m thankful for Lynda’s generous and gentle approach. It opened up something in my imagination and in my writing that I might have been repressing. I’m looking forward to exploring more poetic writing this spring.

Maybe I’ll even give journalling another go. But no promises.

Which of the poetic prompts above will you try?

Maria

PS: Learn more about Lynda here.

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I bet he thinks these poems are about him

I thought I’d share two poems I wrote several years ago. Both poems were published in the Queen’s Feminist Review, Vol. 3, 1995, under my maiden name. I don’t think they exist anywhere electronically.

Short Mulch

your love lies like
woodchips  sandalwood
fragrant and breathing
against my roots

Untitled

The Salamander that you drew on my hipbone
has grown attached to me.
Its brief black outline has
crept silently along the taut wires
of my abdomen, snuck into my
bellybutton and attached itself to
my womb, though what it hopes to
achieve there is anyone’s guess.
Yesterday, I felt the beast’s periphery
expanding and wrapping its way up to
my ribs, where its breathing
stays in cadence with my heart beat.
Every now and again I can hear
the salamander’s tongue hissing a
soft lullaby against my sternum,
trying to tickle my bones.
There it lies,
curled up like a tiny, red and gold
panting dog but breathing fire
instead of air.
I wonder how many other salamanders
created by your fiery hand lie
beating at breastbones and
turning blood into billows
of steam and love and anger.

These poems mark the fresh beginning and the disastrous, humiliating end to a relationship I was in at the time. It’s funny to see them published in the same volume.

Maria

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