Showing posts with label Poetic Book Tours. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetic Book Tours. Show all posts

Mar 11, 2024

Nature Images in Poetry: Guest Post by Anique Sara Taylor, author of Civil Twilight

 Poetic Book Tours 


 Anique Sara Taylor’s chapbook Civil Twilight is the winner of the 2022 Blue Light Poetry Prize.


Guest Post

The Nature of Nature in Poetry 

When we think of Naturein poetry, we often mean the beauty that nurtures us. The outer part of the universe that mirrors our own inner world and provides us with endless, glowing metaphors. 

I grew up beside a natural swamp that bordered hundreds of acres of wild forest, a lake with small islands and a waterfall. It wasnt ours, but we were free to roam there for hours in all seasons. I knew many of the ancient trees and could climb huge boulders left by glaciers, inhale green fragrances of the pine forest, and scurry down the sharp side of cliffs. Id lie down by the brook, soothed by its sounds. These were my favorite places where I was safe, and I could sing at the lake’s edge until I was calm again. 

I wondered about the other tribes that had lived there before us, what their lives had been like. In so many ways, these lands sustained me. But I also understood the lakes thin ice, the black water with dark weeds just below the surface that could entangle us and pull us under. How one could fall in if we skated too close to the edge of moving water. Of woods so deep that if something happened, if we fell and couldnt move, if night set in, we might never be found.         

It was years later that they fashioned a name for the strange childhood symptoms that had plagued me from the onset of double digits into adulthood. The undiagnosable symptoms that followed me as closely as a shadow through ensuing decades. I learned about the microscopic universes inside me, creatures that spun bacteria into a mutiny of cells gone wrong chronic Lyme Disease.         

As beauty and challenge entwine in our world, I try to reflect it in my poems. Both the gifts and the challenges of nature. 

Poetic Tools Often Used in Relation to Nature: 

Metaphor: 

Poetry can often synthesize deep experience because of its non-linear form. Metaphor is one of its interesting tools. Without explaining, it links two things that are usually unrelated. This can open up unexpected layers of sensation or insight and bring about new possibilities. This can spark surprise or awaken, strengthen or animate life in a poem.

 Imagery: 

Imagery allows us, in a few almost picture-like words, to invoke vivid sensations. Visual, yes, but it can also call upon any of the senses. Plus, movement, emotion, and physical response. A tool of unfolding, it can trigger imagination to generate vibrancy. Minute details are often described. Nature imagery can parallel human experience and in that way intensify meaning. 

Personification: 

Although also a form of metaphor, personification is when we attribute human characteristics to something non-human. This assignment of our emotions, feelings, behaviors to the non-human can help frame an imaginative link between our own attributes and those of nature, to envision a more complex intimacy between us.

 A Note, the Speaker: 

People often tend to believe the I” in poetry is the writer, implying that the poem is nonfiction. But the I” in a poem can be the writer, or it can be the point of view of almost any entity the writer imagines. Therefore, in discussing a poem, the I” in a poem is often referred to as the speaker. 

Below are examples of ways Ive tried to work with metaphor, imagery and personification to create something more interesting and intimate without explaining it outright, as one would do in an essay. To leave a new brocade of word, thought and image, open and spinning. 

Excerpts

 Civil Twilight

Blue Light Press

To describe the feeling of emotional emptiness that can be left by the loss of a loved one, by referring to stars:                   

Now only the brightest stars will ever be enough.

 Using bird attributes to render the speaker helpless, as she tries to steady herself through daily-life anxiety: 

Even lying featherless

in dusk, I carve each day with care.

 In asking Aprils first-flower shoots if they question the meaning of their existence, as humans tend to do:

                                      “…Swollen pop of hollow reed, blushing

bones brake naked through bedrock crust,

do they wonder what they came here for?

 • Illness is also part of nature. How it circles inside us, not unlike planets in the outer universe.

                              Invisible illness’ eccentric orbits buried inside marrow

 Even in graceful language, a bird falling can be the harbinger of human damage to Earth. Where metaphor allows us to talk about tragedy in a subtle way, and not hammer the reader with it directly. 

A cardinal plummets to the ground

like fallen fire, reinventing the darkness.

 The speaker refers to self with bird-parts, reflecting that even with difficulties, she moves forward with whatever she has, the way she is:

Clutching bundled words, I stumble

forward, neck frozen between beak & wing.

 The glory of eagles mating is straight forward here, but the metaphor is in calling their ritual a waltz. Waltz, a symbol of coupled grace, beauty in movement. A nod toward everything in the universe being connected. 

Eagles grasp claws swirling

endlessly downward. Can you hear the waltz? 

 Poetry and Our Own Nature Through the Prism of Nature

 I am thankful for the gifts of poetry that split apart linear thought. I am thankful for poetrys relationship with nature that uses imagery, personification and metaphors

to enrich and enable the poem to enter a complicated experience with fewer words. How this can reflect cognitive dissonance, magically juxtaposing the fierce and the beautiful, the sinister and the ecstatic, at the same time. The macrocosm and the microcosm. And our place within it. Exquisite beauty, torment, death, nature-driven illness beside the geometric perfection of pattern repeats. (For a treat, look up the Fibonacci sequence in nature.) 

And what may be the strangest thing about this essay is that the more we look to nature to immerse ourselves in what is outside of us, the more it refers to us as an integral part of nature. Though we consider people to be separate entities in the world, examining our atoms, cells, tissue, even our motion through time, separation becomes more of an illusion. 

As you continue through your daily life, I hope you will experience our world with an unfolding awareness of how nature can be more than sun, moon, spring and flowers. 

I close with a devotion to Edna St. Vincent Millay who more than a hundred years ago in her poem “Gods World”, expresses an almost unbearable beauty: 

“Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year;
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.”


Thanks to the author for her guest post.

Anique Sara Taylor’s book Civil Twilight is Blue Light Poetry Prize 2022.  FacebookXInstagramLinkedIn, and her blogher newsletter.

Jul 4, 2021

Guest Post by Sherry Quan Lee, author of Septuagenarian

 A poetic memoir

Poetic Book Tours presents a guest post on writing, by poet and memoirist, Sherry Quan Lee. 

Septuagenarian: love is what happens when I die is a memoir in poetic form. It is the author’s journey from being a mixed-race girl who passed for white to being a woman in her seventies who understands and accepts her complex intersectional identity; and no longer has to imagine love.

 It is a follow-up to the author’s previous memoir (prose), Love Imagined: a mixed-race memoir, A Minnesota Book Award finalist.



The Writing Process by Sherry Quan Lee, guest post

 A student once said to me that she appreciated me telling the class to keep everything.  Keep each and every draft of your writing, your manuscript.  Did I say that?

 Actually, I save nothing.  Okay, next to nothing.  When did I start letting go? It’s not about keeping what brings me joy.  My writing isn’t joyful.  Although, someone once said it had sass.

 I have always decluttered.  Every two or three months I purge-this includes not only things, but sometimes people (sometimes they purge me).  But since the Pandemic, actually even before, I started a momentous purge—maybe it was when I turned 70 and knew any day now could be my last and why make my children go through my things, things they wouldn’t want. 

 My office files are fairly pristine.  Sorted, labeled, shelved:  insurance, taxes, car, condo, publications—mine and those of my friends.  Yet, as the piles of my essays and poems thin, I am heart struck to notice a journey of words that repeat, that sail forth, that bring me to my writing/life today at the age of 73.

 Septuagenarian: love is what happens when I die was published March 2021. Now that’s a scary title if not understood as a metaphor.  The mock-up of the cover has the sub-title in small font size.  What does that mean?  Are we afraid of death?  Actually, the title came from a poem within the manuscript and it stuck, the line in the title, not the poem.  It’s a metaphor.  Clarissa Pinkola Estés said What must I give more death to today, in order to generate more life? I say, what must I let go of to generate love, be love, give love, get love.

 As I fumble through boxes of what I have not yet been able to discard, I discover a few poems that haven’t yet found their way to the trash.  One poem in particular, but there are others, starts out like this:

 

“I woke up knowing I was dead.  The first thing I’ve been sure of all my life.  The marks stretched, some visible and some invisible.  Stretched past cardboard boxes.  None of them empty,  Each box filled with an arm or a leg.”

 

The two-page poem contain boxes each labeled by a decade. It ends with:  “This was love.  She had finally gotten what she wanted.  But she was no longer who she was. She didn’t recognize herself….”

 The poem was dated October 15, 1999.  Only three years after I earned an MFA. There are hand-written revisions.  There is a short version printed in red.  A note says Vulva Riot.  There is a chorus that reads:  “Stretch marks, mark time, highway marks, passing marks, remarks, earmarks, market, marker, question marks, magic markers, grave markers, stretch marks.”

 Sometimes we don’t know why we say things, do things, save things—write things.  But there is significance to our actions.  I am glad I saved this poem. If I had come across it earlier, it would be in my book.  It would be the Introduction, the Foreword.  I am going to edit the poem.  This poem will not be discarded.  There are no rules I told my students.  Save all your drafts or don’t.  Discard everything so future generations won’t be bothered, or save what has been your life line and hope someone will embrace it.

 WRITING EXERCISE:  choose a word, such as mark and explore it and all related words by sound, by meaning, or both.  Create a chorus/a short verse.  Let it be the pattern that emerges.  How do you fill the empty spaces in-between?  Are they boxes marked by decades such as:

 “One box, marked 1953-1963, contained Hostess Cup Cakes.  Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.  Barbie dolls.  Captain, May I.  Sorry.  Sugar and Spice.  Axel and His Dog. Captain Kangaroo. Nancy Drew. Bobbsey Twins.  The Little Engine That Could.  Pop Beads,  Roller Skates.  Crinolines. Hula Hoops.  Red Rover.  Pony Tails.  Our Redeemer Lutheran Church. Kool Aide. “Go Tell Aunt Rhody the Ol’ Gray Goose Is Dead”. The Salvation Army Book Store on Nicollet Island. Government Surplus.  A metal Grocery Cart.  Trading Cards.  Air Raid Drills.  Standish Elementary School.  Woolworths.  Wonder Bread.” 

I probably did tell the student to save all of her writing.  I probably meant it.  Much of my writing, however, my former life was left behind when I made, yet another relationship move.  This one sudden.  Sometimes things aren’t saved because we can’t take them with us.  But sometimes, a book authored and signed by you to another poet will show up on a Google search and you know not everything is lost, it just might have found a new home. 

Sherry Quan Lee

June 26, 2021

Memes: The Sunday Post hosted by The Caffeinated Bookreviewer. Also,  It's Monday: What Are You Readingand Sunday Salon

May 5, 2015

Book Review: My Chinese-America: Essays by Allen Gee

First Chapter, First Paragraph is hosted weekly by Bibliophile by the Sea. Share the first paragraph of your current read. Also visit Teaser Tuesday at A Daily Rhythm.
My Chinese-America:Essays by Allen Gee
Published April 1, 2015; Santa Fe Writers Project
Genre: literary essays

Book description:
In the first collection of essays by A Chinese-American male to be published in over a decade, Allen Gee writes about aspects of Asian American life in a detailed, eloquent manner, looking at how Asian-Americans view themselves in light of America’s insensitivities, stereotypes, and expectations. My Chinese-America speaks on masculinity, identity, and topics ranging from Jeremy Lin and immigration to profiling and Asian silences. 
The essays have an intimacy that transcends cultural boundaries, and casts light on a vital part of American culture that surrounds and influences all of us. (publisher)

My comments: 
I was both amazed and delighted at the frankness of some of the essays on the subject of Chinese-Americans in the U.S. Allen Gee is forthright and honest about some of his experiences and observations, yet he also shows how in touch he is with ordinary American life and how he lives it every day with his American wife and children, and his American creative writing students at Georgia College. 

His topics range from racial stereotyping of Asians to his practice of non-violence in dealing with physical and emotional challenges in his daily life. He shows himself also as a hunter and fisherman, in tune with his surroundings and American life,  but also in touch with the perceptions of other minorities and ethnic groups in a multi-cultural country. 

This collection of essays is frank in its assessments and also eye opening for those who are interested in the point of view of a group in American society who are often seen as silent, nerdy, possibly weak except in the area of academics. It shows many sides of the Chinese-American experience, and especially the one experienced by Allen Gee. 

Objective rating: 4.5/5

First paragraph, first chapter:
In mid-July during a summer when I wanted to remain in only one place, my mother called from upstate New York and asked. Won't you visit? You aren't going to miss your father's sixtieth birthday, are you? And what about Matthew? she reminded me, speaking of her first grandchild - my nephew- who was almost nine months old. You should see him now. He's trying to walk, and you should hear hin laugh. Can't you leave work for a while? Hers was a selfless voice that strove to weave connections, that valued community and the continuity of tradition. 
About Allen Gee
I grew up largely in Albany, NY, but spent a lot of time in NYC, visiting family there. I attended the University of New Hampshire, then the Iowa Writers Workshop, and finally, the University of Houston. I'm now a Professor of English at Georgia College. I live on Lake Sinclair, in Milledgeville, GA, and often volunteer at Andalusia, Flannery O'Connor's farm. My wife, Renee Dodd, is also a writer. Her terrific novel is: "A Cabinet of Wonders." I have two daughters, Ashley and Willa. My favorite pastimes outside of reading and writing are: running, fishing, traveling, hiking, and backpack-ing. I went fishing up in Alaska last summer, and I want to go back again.

Thanks to Serena Agusto-Cox of Poetic Book Tours and the author for a review copy of this book for its book tour.

Visit the tour schedule for more reviews and information 

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