Poetry Friday: Wish You Were Here

Now that my poetry postcard project is well underway -- 9 cards sent, 13 poems written -- people are asking me, "How did you get the idea?"

You can read some of the genesis of my poetry postcard project in my first post in the series. My e-friend, artist Sherry Richert Belul, was sending gifts out to others for her birthday. She was kind enough to send a pick me up gift to my daughter, who'd had a rough day.

Sherry sent my daughter this lovely book
to cheer her up after a less than great audition.

I thought Sherry's birthday project was lovely take on pay it forward. What made me think of the postcards, I can't say for sure.

There are many groups that distribute poems in your pocket during National Poetry Month. (I keep one of these cards, the Lucille Clifton poem "Blessing the Boats," in my wallet.)

Here is a video about the Poetry Foundation's annual Poem in Your Pocket Day.



And I was familiar with a wonderful imagined-postcard poem by one of my mentors, Clarinda Harriss.

Clarinda Harriss retired from Towson University in 2011 to devote more time to her writing and to BrickHouse Books, Inc., which she has directed for 40 years.  Her most recent books are Air Travel, Dirty Blue Voice and Mortmain, and, with Moira Egan, she co-edited Hot Sonnets: An Anthology.  Her collection of short stories, Lady in the Other Bed, is forthcoming in 2013.  

"Postcards From the Beach" was first published in Little Patuxent Review's  Summer 2011 issue.

Postcards From the Beach

by Clarinda Harriss 

_____________________________________________

You wouldn’t recognize me,

I’m so changed by salt, soak                          

& sand. So thin. You’d love me

this way. I’ve let my hair grow.

Lolling among the bright-striped                    This side

fish I can see it swimming like                        for address

a sea creature, near, not part of

me. Did you get the gift I mailed?

Those are pearls that were my eyes.            

                             --Love, Bill S.

_____________________________________________

You agreed I should have been

a pair of ragged claws. Who knew

how soon I’d be scuttling sideways

on an Atlantic floor? The sea change              This side

bothered me at first—a cliché, really—          for address

till I heard a salty love song and I

knew it was for me. Later I slept,

spent, in hard blue arms. Thanks for

everything.                –J. A. P.

_____________________________________________

Beside this muddy cluttered sea,

the moon illuminates my straits as if

it were a hole cut in the sky. It lets

an acid rain of light eat into me. The

waves roar like distant guns among                This side

the look-out towers beached by two              for address

world wars. Oh, Love, if only you

were here beside me, at this unopen-

able motel window, looking home.

                          --Matt  A.

_____________________________________________

Posted with the author's permission.

Think of my project as a poem for your mailbox.

The postcard messages look like this.

I had already begun collecting antique postcards to use as prompts by early December. By the time I had a few of the response poems done, a package filled with goodies arrived from Linda Baie of the blog Teacher Dance. 

One of the delights was an original postcard poem. It is, in part, a found poem -- using messages written on the backs of read vacation postcards. What a cool idea for a found poem!

Small Words
by Linda Baie

Postcards tuck the past,
into happy moments:
reflection, vacation, imagination.
This was traveling,
visiting
and reveling
in new places.

My Dear,
           In by 8pm to our cabin,
           crossed the divide,
               blinding rainstorm, but
               it was lovely, lovely.

Dear Aunt Jo,
We are out here visiting family
having fine weather, off to Long Beach this am--
tell the kids hello.

My Dear,
The memory of my day
follows me through
the beautiful Mediterranean.

Dear Mary,
I'm sure a sore beat-up woman--
  no cast yet . . .

Howdy,
Enjoying end of our vacation,
  picked a bucket full of beans.
The black dog in our neighborhood
was over for her handout. Reminded
of yours.
    So many jobs to be done. Don't know
where to start.
    It was a nice vacation.
                        Cheers,
                                   Emma and Edgar
          Tell  Mildred Hello!

Posted with permission of the author.

I wonder where Emma and Edgar went for their vacation. 

Special thanks to poets Clarinda Harriss and Linda Baie for allowing me to post their takes on the postcard poem form.

If you'd like to read my most recent postcard poem, it is "You Can't Get My Goat." I will post poem #8 tomorrow -- just 36 more to go!

Renee LaTulippe is our Poetry Friday host. Check out her blog, No Water River, for the Poetry Friday blog roll. And then go back and take a look at the wonderful resources and classroom activities Renee is developing for classroom teachers and librarians.

Poetry Friday: Poetry Postcard 1

Next year, I am turning 44.

If I lived in Birmingham, UK, I'd rock in my birthday here:
http://www.route44live.co.uk/pageone.html

This feels like a magical birthday to me. Of course, I spent all of 42 telling my family, "I am the answer to life, the universe and everything," but this is different. If you make my birthday, February 22, into a mathematical equation it looks like this 2 x 22 = 44.

Inspired by artist Sherry Richert Belul's birthday celebration, in which she gave, rather than received gifts, I started planning a birthday poetry project.

I am in the process of collecting 44 antique postcards to use as poetry prompts. The cards, with their poems, will go out as poetry mailbox "bombs" between now and February 22, 2013.

This week, I began working on the first postcard. I found it in a local antique shop with my friend, writer Mindy Abbott.

Ellicott City is famous for antiques and restaurants.

(I live just two miles from old Ellicott City, a historic area of our town dating to pre-Revolutionary times. The town was the terminus of the Baltimore & Ohio's first 13 miles of railroad track in the United States. If you believe in the race between a horse and the early Tom Thumb engine, it happened here. Today, Main Street is filled with antique shops, boutiques and restaurants. Not too upscale. Just about right for a day of wandering.)

The cards I have chosen so far are blank on the back, since I'll be filling in the poems. But I couldn't resist this card, maybe because of the writing.

The majority of the cards I found were from the 1950s. Not this one. When I got home, I turned it over and found the cancellation: May 29, 1908 (the year my grandmother was born).

What I found fascinating was the play of sounds between "Morris" -- who the card is addressed to -- and "Maurice." I pictured Bertha (she's marked "Berks, C.O." on the bottom of the card) intoning "Maurice" to romanticize plain old Morris back home in Lenhartsville, PA.

Here is the poem I started this week: 

Postcard, 1908

by Laura Shovan

Maurice, Maurice --

thirty-one beauties call your name.

Their megaphone hats echo

from Bertha in Berks, Colorado

to you, Morris Bauscher,

in Lenhartsville, PA.

Maurice, how tempting, the shape

of a girl’s lips as she speaks

this version of your name.

Surely, Bertha in Berks intoned,

“Morris, Maurice” as she licked

this one cent stamp. I hear her,

though I’m crouched in an antique shop

a century past your cancellation date.

Who knows, maybe Morris/Maurice will end up in your mailbox.

If you'd like a poetry postcard for my birthday, send me an email with your mailing address. If you have some antique postcards you'd like to donate or get rid of, send me an email and I'll get you my mailing address.

Have a great Poetry Friday! Our host today is Amy LV at the Poem Farm.

P.S. After I wrote this post, my husband said, "Why don't you search Morris Bauscher?" Good thing I keep him around. I never would have thought of that! I'll post an update on Morris tomorrow.