Poetry Postcard 18

It was a busy poetry weekend. The latest issue of Little Patuxent Review went on sale Saturday, launched with a fabulous contributors' reading. I love these events. As editor, I get to stay behind the scenes and cheer on all of the readers.

The Winter 2013 issue, Doubt, features
a Renaissance masterpiece on the cover.

This issue is tight (apologies for the slang). And it includes a piece Poetry Friday by blogger Irene Latham. You can purchase a copy at the LPR website.

Sunday, it was my turn to read. About seven of us were featured at Baltimore's Watermark Gallery, there was prose and poetry. Thanks to Eric Goodman, Manzar (who owns the gallery) and co-host Nitin Jagdish (fellow NYU grad -- go Violets!) for putting together such a great variety of readers.

My love of purple teams goes back
to my NYU days. (Go Ravens!)

Although I'd printed poems for the reading -- two from my book, several postcard poems -- Manzar mentioned the poet Rumi in her art-talk. I had a postcard poem "after Rumi" sitting in my Dropbox folder. Which meant it was on my phone. I've never read from my phone before. I leave that to younger, hipper folks like the Word Pimp. But it went pretty well.

The postcard poems were well received. It's great to get so much positive feedback on the project.

Today, I have an antique tourist postcard:

I have never been to Germany, so I had to do a little research. The Drosselhof is a wine tavern on the Drosselstrasse, a street well-known to tourists for its music and taverns. You can pay a virtual visit to the Drosselhof, which has a website.

Still, I didn't have enough to go on. Until I learned that one translation for Drosselstrasse is "Thrush Lane."

I'd had an encounter with a little bird, maybe a thrush, in the early fall. At the time, it seemed too ordinary an experience to write about. Birds often crashed into my grandmother's glass breezeway when I was a child. Some survived, some didn't.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Song_Thrush_on_Flickr.jpg

I don't know why the postcard made this bird-story work as a poem. Perhaps what is working is the habit of writing a poem nearly every day. Or not  feeling like I have to knock one out of the ballpark every time I sit down to write.

As you will see, it's apropos to post this poem after such a busy weekend. 

Thrush Lane

That thump

on our glass door –

a thrush. It let me

scoop it whole

into my palm,

stroke its

dappled breast,

make it calm.

I spoke to it

of taverns

crowding

the Drosselgasse

with song.

The thrush replied,

Tut-tut,

oh-lay oh-lee,

chortling

to the quiet

afternoon.
by Laura Shovan

Postcard Information:

Rüdesheim – Drosselhof

Reproduction und Druck: Wödicke & Gemberg, Berlin

Verlag C. A. Stachelscheid – Düseeldorf, Pressehaus – Bestell-Nr. 010

I sent this card and poem to Poetry Friday blogger, Susan Taylor Brown. Susan is a bird-lover and photographer, so she's talented all around. Several weeks ago, Susan sent me two original photo-postcards of birds for the project. I thought she'd enjoy "Thrush Lane."

I have used a bird-call website for a couple of poems now. It's a cool site for bird enthusiasts. You can find it at Birdjam.com.


We had another bird encounter this fall. My husband, Rob, discovered a little bird, maybe a wren, stuck in our bathroom fan. 

Can you see the bird's tail on the left?

The bird was so wedged in the fan blades, we were sure it was dead. But my handy husband removed the fan from the ceiling and the little thing was alive, just very squished. 

Almost free!

We had to break the fan to get the bird loose, expecting its wing to be broken. But the bird flew for the evergreens the moment we popped the fan apart. Now I know what it means to make a beeline for something.

Tabatha (The Opposite of Indifference) and I were supposed to meet for lunch today, but Mother Nature had other plans. Still, I know Tabatha is thinking of me. She's featuring music-themed postcards at her blog today, including a band of creepy clowns.

Poetry Friday: Love Dogs

This week, I have been reading The Essential Rumi: Translations by Coleman Barks.

His poem, "The Gift of Water," is wonderful for writers -- or anyone who is feeling stuck. (See my post on the poem here, and the strange experience I had the following day.)

Today's Rumi poem works on many levels. You might find spirituality here, or you might recognize the connection with a dog you love.

This is Sam (full name: Samwise McBarkBark Shovan).

Sam is my 11-year-old daughter's favorite photographic model.

We adopted Sam from a local Schnauzer rescue nearly three years ago. He truly is my Love Dog, often calling me to sit with him when I'm feeling stressed. When the children are in school, and I have a long, lonely day of writing and editing at home, Sam is my buddy.

Sam found a fledgling robin in our yard this spring. They made friends.

Here is Coleman Barks reading Rumi's "Love Dogs."



So many children find comfort in their animal companions. A sad child might find comfort in this poem, too. Here are the last few stanzas of Rumi's "Love Dogs":


The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.


Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.


Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.


There are love dogs
no one knows the names of.


Give your life
to be one of them.

There is a book of poems for children on this subject, This Place I Know, selected by Georgia Heard.

Today's host is wonderful April Halprin Wayland at Teaching Authors, who knows much about the power of poetry to comfort.

Soon after I finished writing this post, I learned that poet Deborah Edelman passed away yesterday morning. Deborah was a member of our tight literary community here in Maryland and a contributor to Life in Me Like Grass on Fire: Love Poems. "The grief you cry out of draws you toward union."

Rumi for Writers

There are times, as writers, when we feel stuck.

That's one of the reasons why National Novel Writing Month is such a good exercise. Focusing on a daily word count, rather than dreaming of book deals and prizes, means we're willing to explore wild tangents, follow characters who appear out of nowhere -- anything to get more words on the page.

I've been feeling stuck this week. A poem for my daughter, "Pomegranate," is in the pre-thinking stage. I'm not ready to write, but can't explain why not.

An old PBS program on the Sufi poet Rumi sent me searching my shelves for my copy of The Essential Rumi (Castle Books, 1995), with poems translated by Coleman Barks.

This afternoon, I let the book open in my hands, to see what might appear. Here is a gift, indeed, for anyone who is feeling stuck.

The Gift of Water

Rumi

Translation by Coleman Barks, with John Moyne

Someone who doesn't know the Tigris River exists

brings the caliph who lives near the river
a jar of fresh water. The caliph accepts, thanks him,
and gives in return a jar filled with gold coins.

"Since this man has come through the desert,
he should return by water." Taken out by another door,
the man steps into a waiting boat

and sees the wide freshwater of the Tigris.

He bows his head, "What wonderful kindness 

that he took my gift."

Every object and being in the universe is

a jar overfilled with wisdom and beauty,

a drop of the Tigris that cannot be contained

by any skin. Every jarful spills and makes the earth

more shining, as though covered in satin.
If the man had seen even a tributary

of the great river, he would not have brought

the innocence of his gift.

...

You knock at the door of reality,

shake your thought-wings, loosen

your shoulders,

                        and open.

This version of the poem is not available online -- at least not with Barks' permission -- so I've excerpted it here. You can find the entire poem in The Essential Rumi.

 

 

We are told so often to write what we know. What I love in "The Gift of Water" is this: what we don't know is a gift. Not knowing helps us shake those thought-wings loose.

If you'd like more guidance on getting past feeling "stuck," Pema Chodron has an audio lecture on the topic.