We've been having a National Poetry Month costume party here at Author Amok.
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| Find the official NPM 2015 poster at the Academy of American Poets |
Throughout April, guest bloggers are putting on their costumes and best outfits as we feature poetry about clothes. Why clothes? Read this post.
In addition to the guest bloggers, every Friday in April I'll post a round-up of original clothing poems. (Send those via email to laurashovan at gmail dot com or leave them in the comments). You'll find this week's writing prompt at the bottom of this post.
Meet today's guest blogger, poet Margaret Simon.
The One the Shoe Fit
There is so much to love about poetry. How it rolls off your tongue smooth and sweet
and you want it to stay there, never to swallow again. How it shows you a part of yourself you never
knew existed, or you kind of knew, but you were denying it until someone wrote
about it like they had just taken a knife and opened up your heart. How when you find one poem to love there are
always more.
My husband gets The
New Yorker. I say this even though I
write the check every year that keeps it coming. He’s smarter than I am. He’s definitely got a better sense of
humor. And he loves to read. That is, he reads everything but poetry. I read the quick stuff, cartoons, movie
reviews, and, of course, the poetry.
The last issue of March introduced me to my new favorite
poet, Ellen Bass. Her website is here: http://www.ellenbass.com/poems/ I
read all of the poems available there, so now I have to buy her books.
The poem in The New
Yorker is titled The Orange-And-White
High-Heeled Shoes. Laura had put out
the call for poems about clothing, so I sent her a quick email, “I’ve got the
perfect poem!”
by Ellen Bass
Today I'm thinking about those shoes--white
with a tangerine stripe across the toe and forceful orange heels--
that fit both my mother and me. We used to shop like that--
trying them on side by side. That was when there still
was a man who would cradle your heel in his palm
and guide your foot. Sometimes he would think he made a sale,
only to have one of us turn to the other--
and he would have to knee again, hoping to ease another naked sole
into the bed of suede or leather. I thought those shoes
were just the peak of chic. And--my God--
you bought me a pair of orange cotton gloves to complete the ensemble.
Why is there such keen pleasure in remembering?
Read the rest -- and listen to Ellen Bass read the poem -- at The New Yorker.
Who can resist those
shoes…with a tangerine stripe across the toe? The poet shops with her mother for shoes back
in the day when there still/ was a man
who would cradle your heel in his palm/ and guide your foot.
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| Find it at Polyvore. |
My mother and I went shopping for “practical” shoes last
summer, far from the high-heels of this poem.
We were looking for shoes that fit well and offered support to aging
feet. My mother took me to a specialty
shop where the clerk was still there ready to cradle our heels.
Why is there such keen
pleasure in remembering?
I am transported to my own memory. My mother is still able to go with me to shop
for shoes. Ellen’s mother has been dead ten years. This is the turning
point, that shift that hits you right in the gut.
The poem turns sensual with The first boy had not yet misted my breasts with his breath/ and you
were strong as a muscled goddess, gliding nylons/ over your calves.
Then Ellen Bass offers the question we all ask, Who will remember these pumpkin-colored
pumps/ when I die, too? I look to my
own memories with my three daughters as they were growing into young
women. We shopped and I usually lamented
the hours it would take to find the perfect prom dress. And then I would cry internally about how
lovely they looked in that just-right dress.
And now as we prepare for her
best friend’s wedding, my daughter models the bridesmaid’s dress and I
carefully stitch in a tuck for a better fit.
These moments are small and easily forgotten, but poems help us remember
and relive.
All of us girls want to be Cinderella. We all know the feeling of having the shoe
put on our foot. We all know the feeling
of running away when the clock strikes twelve.
We are all searching for the one true love, the shoe that will always
fit and will glitter in the moonlight. In
her poem about the pumpkin-colored pumps,
Ellen Bass has captured my heart with memory and hope.
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| Margaret is wearing a specially designed ensemble for the Jackson, Mississippi Sweet Potato Queens weekend. The event's theme was "Braveheart." |
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia,
Louisiana. She is passionate about
teaching, poetry, Charlie her schnoodle, her three daughters, and Zydeco
dancing with her husband of 32 years.
She believes that a teacher of writing should be a writer. She writes to know what she knows, to play
with words, and to connect with others.
Margaret published a book of poetry with her father’s art, Illuminate, in 2013. Her poems have appeared in the journal The Aurorean. She blogs about teaching and writing at Reflections on the Teche.
Thanks for visiting, Margaret. I love that hat! "I thought those shoes/ were just the peak of chic." Haven't we all owned an article of clothing we loved that much?
ICYMI: In this series...
Jane Elkin looks in her childhood closet. Poems by Mark Irwin and Ron Koertge.
*Your suggested clothing poem prompt for Friday, April 10: Shoes.
On the practical level, they protect our feet from lumps and bumps. But shoes can be engineered for running, biking, or dance. They can be impractical works of art, colorful and sky-high. What does a pair of shoes say about the wearer?
Send your poems any time. I'll post original work on Friday.
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