Poetically Speaking: Sharing the Creative Process

I've recently finished reading _God Is at Eye Level_ by Jan Phillips. While the book was inspiring overall, from both the perspectives of my artistic nature and my spiritual nature, I was really affected by what she had to say in Chapter 15: Through the Lens and Beyond. In this chapter, she talks about the unwritten rule of photography exhibits that it isn't appropriate to include words with photographs. She discovered when working in a framing shop that people asked her questions about her photos, and she would launch into descriptive tales of how she came to take the pictures, what sort of interactions she had with folks, etc. I, myself, thought about sharing my own history of pictures with others and how they recalled for me long stories of relationships. She likened this to the poet and poetry, and the typical mode that poets have of sharing the process of the poems read aloud.

This caused me to think about my own poetry-reading experience. During a time in my life when I was feeling particularly isolated, I was a member of a poetry group that met on a weekly basis and who had regular performances. One of the 'rules' of performing was that description of process was to be kept to a minimum, because--well, I was just going to put some rationale for this here, but I honestly don't know why. I do know that at the time, I felt isolated from my audience time and time again. In looking back, I am intrigued, because we shared process and background when discussing the poems as a group, but that kind of background was frowned upon for performances. There was always a lot of enthusiasm when discussing form, where the ideas came from, etc. I think about my books (see earlier posts from 2007) Panmixia and Resipiscent and how excited I am about where the ideas came about for the pieces that make up those collections. And, I remember how excited members of the group were about the collections, particularly when they knew how intricately thought-out each poem was.

Here it is: I belong to A Word A Day, who sends me a new word every weekday along with its definition, some history and use in a sentence, typically from some published writing. Well, I had hundreds of words that I particularly liked the sound of saved in archive, and I wanted something to do with the words poetry-wise. So, I devised a plan to use the words as the titles of the poems, with their definitions as subtitles. Then, I decided that the poems would be ABCDErian poems, but I didn't want them to all start the same, so each poem starts with the letter that follows the first letter of the title word and ends with the letter that starts the poem's title. In case that wasn't enough, I decided that I would have one poem for each letter of the alphabet, and the first poem of the book would have a title that started with the letter following the first letter of the title of the book, which I also took from one of my archived words, with a definition sub-title on the cover, as well. What I particularly love about these two collections is that they chronicle a healing process at the time. There's no order to that process, as the poems weren't written in a particular order--they were written according to whim, really--I chose a word I liked and wrote a poem in the form. There are a few recurring characters--like the zebra. Honestly, I did this because I didn't want to have to spend a lot of time trying to come up with new and creative ways to experience the "z" in every poem, so I decided that the zebra would be an all-knowing, all-loving and beloved character. I think it works out pretty nicely, and doesn't really feel over-the-top. Some people may disagree about that, but if the zebra is over-the-top, I'm okay with that, too.

Whew! It felt good to share that! Especially since it's about a dual-collection of poetry that I'm proud of! I think art is about sharing and connecting to others. So much about human existence is about connection--Alfred Adler had a lot to say about that--and art and poetry definitely exist to reinforce that. I think about the connections I've made with people through books that I've read, particularly when I've contacted the writers after reading the books, but also in sharing certain books with friends and family--both fiction and non-fiction. That's why artists share their voices. Art is intimate, photography is intimate, poetry is intimate. There's no way to leave oneself out of any media. We are only able to see the world through our own experience, and therefore cannot hide that experience when trying to create art. Even the items I knit are indicative of my own personality, from the patterns I choose (and the changes I make to them) to the colors I choose. Jan Phillips says that looking at a series of pictures that I take can give you a look into me that you wouldn't necessarily find in anything I tell you. That's also true of my poetry. If I'm bitter, my poetry is, too. If I'm happy, angry, sad, etc., it's all there. I love my poetry for the reflection of my experiences that it is. I think about the time that I was feeling isolated, and I suspect that if I looked back at my poetry, I would find a sense of that there, too.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned before how it's taken till relatively recently for me to admit to myself that I'm an artist. I like that fact about me. It allows me to experience the world a little differently than I would otherwise.

Thanks for reading!

:)
Tracey

Poetically Speaking: Revisiting Voice(s), and Form

I took a bit of a hiatus from poetry-writing. I think I needed it. There was too much other "stuff" going around. This past week, I found myself again interested in listening to language and finding the words for poetry, especially since there's a voice I've been listening to who has interesting sentence structure, and especially since I've been listening to a lot of multilingual music these days, including Paul Piche, a French-Canadian singer introduced to me by my first love many years ago. That's not to say that I hadn't been listening to language before, and in fact, last month, I wrote a series of birthday poems and some others. I haven't been completely out of the loop, but I haven't felt the urgency that I used to feel, because others were expecting me to write. This week, there hasn't been urgency, just desire. Desire to write poetry. Desire to see what's hiding, what's lurking. Desire to see what that language I've been listening to has been doing to me.

For me, it's fun to write and to see where my process is. There's not as much bitterness in my voice these days, and I'm happy to see that. I don't think I'd have known that the bitterness is all but gone if it wasn't for my desire to write poetry this week. Yippee for me!

What is there lately is "voices." Maybe that comes from the impact that the book _The Day the Voices Stopped_ by Ken Steele and Claire Berman had on me last week. Maybe it's that I encounter so many people who hear voices that are not their own that I'm feeling connected to "voices" in my poetry. I also find that they want to be expressed in different ways than they had been before. They're manifesting themselves differently than they used to. And, the "I" in my poems feels important again. The "I" in my poems wants to be noticed, even if that "I" isn't "me." For a long time, "I" wasn't important, but now there's a difference. Maybe that's a part of my voice change. I have found my voice, when I didn't think I had one for several years. This process of rediscovering my voice is coming through in my poetry. While I write, I find that I'm no longer comfortable with things that I used to be comfortable with, and I'm comfortable with things that used to be uncomfortable.

Also related to recognizing that I have a voice and "I" wanting to be heard, I'm finding that my desire to write longer poems is greater. One of the discussions that I had frequently with other poets who I met with regularly for five years was related to the fact that my poems were always so "short"--almost always less than a page in length. During that time, it was difficult for me to have more than a page-worth to write. It was always a challenge for me to try to "stretch" past that length, and I can remember hearing surprise and praise every time I wrote more than a page! This week, my poetry has been longer, and it hasn't taken "effort" to get it there. I wrote that it's a desire to write longer poems. I'm not sure it's about desire, but about feeling like I have something to say, and the 'right' to say it.

I wonder if others have had similar struggles with voice in poetry. I hadn't really thought about it in this way--that my physical voice, or emotional voice, would affect, extend to, my poetic voice. That voice has changed and is in change as I change. I guess that's almost fundamental-sounding, but sometimes, I take for granted certain aspects of poetry and my own writing of it, as I would be willing to bet others do.

This is something that deserves more of my thought, but I'm going to rest on it right now.

Thanks for reading.

:)
Tracey

Shadorma!

It's been a long while since I posted poetry up here. To be honest, I haven't been writing so much lately. Today, though, I've been on a roll! I wrote some birthday-related poems and some others posted here.

I went to a blog that belongs to a Facebook friend and offers prompts for poetry. To be honest, this is the first time I actually visited the site to respond to a writing prompt--no time, really. This prompt was to write a shadorma, a six line poem with the following syllable structure--3/5/3/3/7/5.

Here are my first attempts at this form:

seeking something precious

in-law school
straight as a narrow
whole word stops.
life sitting,
turning rain into sake
is this linear?


i sell insurance to amusement parks

adjusting
hair in silhouette
bloviate
a pigment
in my imagination
i am made at you


what. . . is the opposite of serendipitous

grapefruit girl:
<< i’m older than i
used to be >>
wayjourners:
<< the only link to a leaf—
a root-able time >>


using verbs and pronouns and salad forks

sacre bleu!
her classes are not
strong enough
as theory
everyone is the other
always already

This was fun! I'm thinking of writing some more and making a new book... maybe after I move in a few weeks. I've been searching for whatever packing procrastinations I can find, so I'd better start getting focused! Feel free to write some and share! If you're interested in reading some responses to his prompt, please visit his blog at: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/Wednesday+Poetry+Prompts+008.aspx. I'm sure he'd appreciate the hits!

Thanks for reading.

:)
Tracey

Weddings and Jewelry (cont)

My mother and I spoke last week, and she told me that she loves the jewelry I made her. She said she wears it all the time. Then, she asked if I would make her a matching bracelet. It's funny that the design came to me as I was making it, and she liked it so much, she wants a more complete set! It's also funny that I had hoped she'd like it enough to wear it to my cousin's wedding, and she says that she wears it all the time.

One of my friends was nearby when I was making the necklace, and she later shared that she found it interesting that while I was making it, I said to myself, "This doesn't look right. I need to change it somehow. I don't think the black will work here after all." Then, I changed a few beads around and said, "Here! This looks good!" and finished the other side. She said, "You didn't ask me if it looked good. You already knew."

For several years, I didn't make any jewelry, and I didn't knit. I learned how to knit when I was thirteen and working at a hotel in New Hampshire. I learned how to make jewelry when a friend of mine was interested in it when I was living in Guam and shortly thereafter. For several years, I focused only on writing poetry. During that time, I felt like something was missing. I began knitting again. Then, I started making jewelry again. Then, I learned how to make books. I feel more well-rounded in my creative endeavors. Engaging in only one seems stilting for me. Having more than one creative outlet provides me with the variety that I need. During the time that I was writing only poetry, I spent time with mostly poets. There was a connection there. There's variety in my social experiences now, as well as my creative outlets, and I feel more whole as a result.

I have finished two of my afghans now, and I'll include pictures of the second in an upcoming post. I have the third (the second-begun) to finish now, but there's not much left to it, so I'm hoping to have it finished soon.

Thanks for reading!

Tracey

On Art (and Poetry): Women & the Voice of Innocence

On Saturday, March 1, I took advantage of the current show at the High. I was very pleased with my experience.

I'm not going to pretend that I know a lot of the history of the Stieglitz Circle, because although I've visited O'Keeffe's art when I was in New Mexico several years back, I did not become too versed in her background, except that I remembered her saying in a video at the museum, "I don't know why people say there are all these sexual references in my art. I didn't put it there." One of my favorite paintings of hers is one of the desert paintings with a view of the moon through a cow bone. Initially, I thought, "Wow! How symbolic to be looking up at the moon through the eye socket of this dead animal!" Then, I read the title--something about a pelvis! Definitely nothing sexual about a view of the moon through a pelvis! That doesn't even get to the sensuality and sexuality that's present in her paintings of flowers.

One of the things I read in the show at the High is that Stieglitz saw women as "pure, innocent, and childlike," and he chose to promote the women he did for these supposed qualities in their work. I was particularly taken by the photographs of Anne Brigman, where nude women posed in ways that imitated nature. For me, these "natural" poses were far more sensual than they were "pure" or "innocent" or "childlike." I guess I'd have to admit that I'm insulted by Stieglitz's demeaning notions about women and wanting to showcase their work under such an umbrella. I'm trying to keep my feminist sensibilities aside, but I'm having a difficult time with it, especially since these women seemed to help him perpetuate these ideas, and enjoyed the roles of innocence that he cast them in. Taking the time period into consideration, I shouldn't be as jolted by this expression of feminine artistry.

Then again, artist Ana Mendieta (albeit a contemporary artist), whose work was a part of the TRANSactions show of Latin American work on the same floor of the museum used the female figure--her own--in the sand on the beach, then took successive pictures of the water dissolving the imprint of her body in the sand. Her work was described as combining "body art, performance art,...multiculturalism, and feminism" among some other important aspects. The work is sensual and powerful, just as the other work is, but not hidden under a cloak of woman as the voice of innocence and purity. Dare I say that her work is political? How could it not be? It seems to me that Anne Brigman's photography could be perceived as political if not for the tags by her work that fill viewers in on what was happening. I think that I would have been happier to enjoy the art without the commentary that accompanied it.

Looking at my own poetry, I'd be hard pressed to find innocence in there. Comments have been made about the childlike qualities of specific poems, but even in my poems where there are childlike qualities (which I feel I can't ignore due to my own imagination, and my history of working with children, and my own love of sounds and playing with them), innocence and purity, in terms that I'm assuming belong to Stieglitz based on the work that I saw at the High, cannot be seen. As a woman, and as an artist, I know that women have a lot to say, and we have more to say than that which is portrayed in the figure of woman in her "ultimate" role of mother. We have more to share than silly, childlike notions as seems to be Stieglitz's idea of what women have to present to the world.

crying my soul away like not my mother

I have a new book! I have a new book! (insert melody here)

I'm excited to have created a new little book for the poem "crying alone like not my mother." This publication differs from "we all have our slashes" (see earlier posts) in that it contains some images within the book. If you are interested in a copy of either of these books, please let me know, and I'd be happy to send you one!





stained by rips & tears
it was something about dollars
“we are they, & we don’t have any
leave a message”
the bottle stops on the least likely choice
but there’s pressure to go ahead & do it
i just wish i’d known then....

forgetting is easy when you have amnesia
not so much when the clock keeps ticking
& every five minutes the reminder goes off
after the phone call that woke you up
put that after the cart & see where you end up
in the *blink* of an eye
not on stages making faces to crowds who don’t know your name
i follow only what i can track

the mask is worn till there’s no more face to hide
& then there’s no more fatigue
there are queues in there somewhere
only they’re hidden under piles of “g”
but he went away on an early monday morning
creeping through piles of shit
in search of the long lost pony’s tail
only to find it on the end of the pig
i lost my train of thought

cousins are living in kitchens under the light of the stove clock
& mother saves all three umbilical cords
we don’t know what to make of that
& we haven’t tried to get upset
because we don’t know what she’d do if she knew we know
don’t save bruces when the tape has worn out
another nine-twenty-five in the whole
i’m not one to confuse my father with my mother



Thanks for reading!

Tracey

Poetically Speaking: On the Metaphor of Schizophrenia and Poetry

Recently, on a listserv to which I belong, someone sent a message that compared poetry to schizophrenia. It's not a new metaphor, I know, but it's one that I've encountered frequently, particularly recently, and it's one that I'm not comfortable with. Another member of the list explained to me that it's a very apt metaphor for poets, because it helps to explain the concept of the muse, similarly to Spicer and others. What I encounter with some people who use terms like schizophrenia in this way is that they don't really know what the term means and don't necessarily take the entire meaning of the term into consideration when making a comparison. I wanted to share my thoughts on schizophrenia as a metaphor for poetry here.

The issue I have with throwing these terms around is that I understand the pain (and shame) that people experience in having schizophrenia, and my concern relates to not wanting to show disrespect for people who are in pain like that, particularly when there are many people who don't fully understand the meaning of the term that they're using (and, decidedly, the DSM changes so frequently that it's difficult to keep up with what terms mean, etc.). I understand Spicer's aliens using the furniture in his room in order to speak through him, and I appreciate that metaphor (and that it doesn't refer to schizophrenia). And, I can appreciate a metaphor that describes that urge that I have to write that sometimes doesn't feel like myself, that sometimes feels outside myself ("alien"), that pulls me to my notebook or keyboard and pours out of me.

However, I, personally, am uncomfortable using a term that is so socially loaded and misunderstood so as to cause people who suffer from "real" auditory and visual hallucinations (and paranoia) to feel isolated and rejected. (And, I write this as I sit at the hospital attempting to get help for a patient who has been trying for years to live with her paranoia but who is resigning herself to accept outside help, because she just can't take it anymore-- even under these circumstances, she's not really ready to accept what's happening with her). I think about the people I come into contact with regularly when I hear the terms poetry and schizophrenia used nearly synonymously. When in a social setting, I'm sure that not too many poets would introduce themselves as "schizophrenic" (a term I am also loathe to use, as there's so much more to a person than a mental health diagnosis) because of the social reprecussions that would create. Sit back and imagine how someone you've recently met might react if you say, "Oh, and I'm schizophrenic. I have some books with me, if you want to look." People already have a difficult time reacting appropriately when told we're poets....

I am a poet. And, in a lot of ways, being a poet is complicated. What compels me to write poetry that doesn't happen with my brother or other family members? I don't know. I know that I don't hear voices that "command" it of me (and, I've never encountered someone with voices that would command something like writing poetry-- from the way I understand it, the voices ask for something else).

On some levels, I can understand the metaphor, but on many, I simply can't accept it. Maybe I'm too close to people in crisis, and I just want to pull them in under my blanket and protect them. To me, it's a convenient metaphor in a lot of ways, but even in reflecting on Spicer's aliens, I see it as different from what he described. My muse is in me, and in many ways, is a part of me. My muse doesn't wish me harm, doesn't tell me I'd be better off dead and give me ways to kill myself. My muse doesn't tell me that everyone is looking at me and laughing. Nor does my muse tell me that everyone hates me because I had my tarot cards read once eight years ago. My muse seeks to help me identify with others, not to isolate me from others. My muse helps me to share in the human experience and give to that experience. This is not to say that all auditory hallucinations are exactly like this, or that there aren't individuals who enjoy the company they have. Some are much kinder-- "helpful" seeming. And, this is not to say that there do not exist and have not existed people with schizophrenia who are not poets (or painters, or sculptors, or other kinds of artists), because we all know this isn't true.

I'm thankful for my interactions with people with schizophrenia, because my poetry has been affected by those interactions (I've been affected in other ways, too, but this is about poetry). I've learned a lot about language and how to fit words and ideas together in ways that were never available to me before. I've learned that there are "other" ways of presenting complex ideas on the page, just from conversations with the people I've encountered. I've learned to think differently in some ways, because I've been granted new perspectives on the mind and the way it produces thought. I'm thankful for that, and I try to be respectful of that.

Thanks for reading!
Tracey

resipiscent

Let's hear it for the girl!

Resipiscent is finally finished! Yippee! And, it's just in time for New Orleans. This meant a lot of multi-tasking this past weekend, but all the work was more than worth it, because it's finally finished, and I'm very pleased with the finished product. I'm leaving for New Orleans on Thursday morning for a reading there on Thursday night with my friends and fellow poets Randy Prunty, who is pushing his book from Lavender Ink, and Zac Denton. I'm excited to be performing poetry in the same space with them again, as it's an event that won't be happening as often any more, since I'm no longer doing that with them on a regular basis.

Here's a poem from _resipiscent_, just to give a preview. If you're interested in reading more, please let me know, and I'd be happy to share!

nudiustertian
(adj. of or relating to the day before yesterday)

optimal listening
powers create
queer outcomes
reality is only
sometimes sugges
ted but tr
uth is constructed anyway, kinda like that new house
vertically across from yours
with the four bedrooms &
x-number of baths
you know how important things like that are. . . even the
zebra knows when he enters the
asking place for forgiveness of
believers
c o n S t r u c t i o n:
deliver us from
evil &
find us on the other side of the
golden fountain
how does one find
it
just around the corner—li
ke i said: <<
laissez-faire is everywhere>>
mention that to the wrong person & k
now what it’s like


Thanks for reading.

Tracey

we all have our slashes

Here's the cover to a tiny book that I made in forty copies recently. It's one poem in an eight-page book. Check it out! If you want a copy, you can either email me, and I'd be happy to get one to you, or you can see me in New Orleans for a reading on October fourth and get one there!

For those who are curious, here's the text (although, this gives you no impression of how it looks in the book):



we all have our slashes


a guilt trip permission slip
—leaving tomorrow
on the first train to any low
cal diet
—she wants to go, but isn’t sure she’ll fit
in

( am i too fat or too short?
( am i disobedient when i fail a drug test
with only oral contraceptives in my system?

i don’t remember eating that
i don’t remember eating yesterday
i remember it was here but
i don’t remember more than that

that’s what happens when the mind turns to gloopy stuff
from a lack of use
( can that happen all at once?
my grand mother used to say if you forgot what you were going to say, it was a lie
i remember lying all the time
i remember lying to you
i remember not being very good at it
i’ll never make a good poker player
so, i’ll stick to trivia
then my mind doesn’t turn to gloopy stuff

i remember dark scans & not being interested in the content
i’m just not content to read about certain things
especially when they build the irony of an erroneous situation
( she’s usually a good-humored type, but not today
nor yesterday, come to think of it

sometimes i feel like everyone is talking about me
& i can’t hear it but i walk into the room
& it’s there—a distinct impression
& i know i’m guilty of something terrible but
i don’t remember what
i know it’s not too much lithium or gold or carbon or what-have-you
& no one believes me when i tell them
they just look at me with those eyes
you know those eyes—the ones that belie the mouth that says
i believe you
then, they turn around & talk about me
i can’t hear it but i know what they’re saying

sometimes i don’t know what paranoia is
because you told me once
i’m afraid you were just trying to hurt me
what did you mean when you said
she got what she asked for
i would never ask you to hit me
but i think you would do it anyway
& tell me it was what i wanted
i don’t remember what i want but
i think it’s not that i don’t like pain
unless it’s emotional & i can sit & sift through it for hours
just like failing a drug test

i want to be well but i want you to do it
i don’t want to take the responsibility
you’ll do that for me, right
you’ll make me well but not hold me accountable
whew!
i was hoping i could get through this on your back
like a monkey without money or a place to sleep
i have lots of company, though
they wouldn’t like having you around
because you’d talk about them just like you talk about me
they know what i’m guilty of but won’t tell me
they’re afraid you’ll say it loud enough so i can hear

Tracey

Poetically Speaking: Having, Losing, Rediscovering a Voice

I've been thinking a lot lately about my poetry. I've been writing for many years--since elementary school, and for years, I was able to talk about my writing, and shared it with others, with or without confidence. I knew what I wrote and why I wrote it. I had a sense of identity with regards to my poetry. And, I loved to engage with others in conversation about poetry, in general, and, of course, about my own writing.

For several years, I lost that voice. I fell into a void where writing was still fun and useful for me, but I no longer felt like I knew what it was I was writing. I no longer could speak about it, and I struggled to find my voice. The audience I was writing for was a lot smaller--five or six. I say that, but then I think about what Gertrude Stein said about her own writing-- "I write for myself and others." For several years, I wasn't writing for myself. I was writing for others, and a very specific group of others, and I struggled knowing anymore who I was (am) poetically. Now that I'm writing without restrictions imposed by this small group of others, I'm finding that I'm coming into my own again poetically, and I'm excited about my process. The process started when big changes began about a year ago, but the changes have been much more drastic in the past month or so, as I realize that the biggest audience for my work is myself. I'm taking more personal responsibility for my work, and I'm excited about where this process is going to lead me.

I came to Atlanta in search of a group of people who shared my enthusiasm for poetry and wanted to meet regularly to discuss it, so I was excited to find such a group, and I grew and learned while participating in that group. Now that I've moved on and am searching for new poetic paths, I realize that in some ways, the group I formerly belonged to was inhibiting for me, because I changed my entire perspective on poetry without even realizing I was completely abandoning my own desires and needs with regards to my writing. It was a time of exploration, of playing with language in ways that I had always been afraid to in the past. I had permission to let down all boundaries and see what came out. As I reflect back on the experience, I realize that I always had boundaries up, although they started falling a bit over the past year, and are crumbling rapidly now. The boundaries were different during that time but still ever-present. I became more concerned about "what other people think" of my work, so I was false about who I am as a poet. I remember feeling like a fraud at times.

I'm extremely thankful that I've been introduced to experimental/avant garde/language/etc. poetry, because it's something I'd never had much exposure to before moving to Atlanta. I had taught Frank O'Hara and Wallace Stevens and e.e. cummings and William Carlos Williams to my students, but I never looked at how these poets broke with convention in ways that I always wanted to but could never quite do with Robert Frost as my main influence (and, I still have a soft place for his poetry). As an English teacher and lover of languages, I wanted more for my poetry, so I'm thankful to have been exposed to Gertrude Stein, whose "lifting belly" is still one of my all-time favorites and some really great contemporary writers, who I will talk about in later posts, I'm sure. I'm thankful to have been introduced to the Four Horsemen, who use sound in their poetry, sound that reminds me of childhood and the ways that my brother and I used to communicate with each other. Before experiencing that, I never imagined that I could make that a part of my poetry! I'm excited to have found that!

Right now, I'm in a melding process. I'm recapturing the poet I had started being in elementary school and whose journey was truncated for the tutelage in a more 'postmodern' idea of what poetry can be. A part of me feels I spent too long in that space, but I was afraid to leave, because I didn't think I could find a place to fit in. Overall, though, it's difficult to find a place to fit in when I'm not being true to myself--personally or poetically. I didn't engage in those weekly meetings in ways that I would have liked, because I was so overwhelmed by how different that world was from my own experience with writing. I was excited, intimidated, and lost in the whole experience. Now, I'm trying to take what I learned there and figure out how it fits with what I was already doing before moving to Atlanta, because I know it does. I believe that I had a natural inclination toward a writing that incorporates sound and languages other than English, particularly all that rich sound and language that my brother and I found in childhood. Honestly, I was afraid to bring that all out, even with the group I was with, who would have been accepting of that influence. But, maybe I wanted it to be my own, and if I'd let it out sooner (than now), it would have felt less authentic, less mine, more like something someone else could take or share credit for. At the heart of it, too, I know I wanted to bring it out under the "perfect" set of circumstances--not prematurely. It seems to me that now that I'm getting "a little of my own back" (to sort of quote Eliza Doolittle) that it's time to find a place for all that.

The last poetry performance I participated in was in July, and I received some feedback about the work I did and how surprising some of the sound stuff was. I found myself resentful of the person giving the feedback, because, although this person knew me for four years, he didn't know I was capable of what I did in July--although I've been capable of it all along. I look back on that night now and realize that he couldn't have known, because before this past year, I had never exposed that side of me to this group of people. And, just as I started finding that voice in me and started working on melding what I learned for four-plus years with what I've had inside me all along, I decided to move on, so I'm still not exposing this part of myself to this group of people.

All this somehow leads me to _resipiscent_, the chap manuscript I just completed. The poems for this collection began in January and February of this year and carried on, with a few months of dryness as I worked on other projects, till last week. I'm excited, as I look at the poems in this work, to see how much growth I experienced, personally and poetically, in just a few months' time. Others may not recognize the changes in the poems the way that I see them, but to me, it's wildly apparent, and that's a big part of my enthusiasm for having this chap finished. When I read through the manuscript as I organized it for printing, I found that the process I've been going through with rediscovering my poetic voice is evident on those pages, and since the poems weren't written in the order that they appear in the chapbook, the progress and process isn't apparent as one poem is read and then another. Overall, the collection is just like _panmixia_ and still honors the zebra (in a sort of indirect nod to The Magnetic Fields), but there are subtleties that make _resipiscent_ a little more exciting for me.

The past several years have been big ones for change for me--again personally and poetically. In some ways, I feel that my poetry is the best way for me to measure and examine how I made my way through that change. Thank goodness I'm not afraid that someone will move my cheese, and I'm willing to chase it!

Thanks for reading.
Tracey

resipiscent

Happy September!

I'm hoping that Labor Day weekend brought some rest for laborers. I was happy to not have to work yesterday. It was a true day off for me! The first in quite a while! So, I went to a cook-out, another first in quite a while.

This is an update on poetry, since there's been little about that recently. I have just finished putting together the file for my next chapbook, _resipiscent_, the sequel to _panmixia_, which is referred to in an earlier post. Now the chapbook hasn't been printed yet, nor has the cover been created, but that will happen in the next few days, so that printing can happen soon, too. I have already decided on the paper I'll be using for both the cover and the innards My goal is to have the project finished in advance of October 4, when I am reading in New Orleans. I'm planning to have some other hopefully hard-covered goodies ready for that reading as well.

Once the cover for the chap is completed, I'll post a poem from the book. Keep posted, as that should be happening in the next few days.

Several months ago, I began a project called "pickled fir grins" (which is mentioned in an earlier post, as there is a sound file on the Atlanta Poets Group blog of "tic edge exit," a poem from that project). Now that _resipiscent_ is complete, I will be returning to "pickled fir grins" and some other poetic projects.

Thanks for keeping up!

Tracey

flooding with clowns

This is one of the books I've made recently. Here's a top view of it.












Here's a side view.














I wrote a poem to include in the book. The poem is "flooding with clowns." The title came from an experience with a story a friend of mine told me. The following pics are of the inside of the book.








flooding with clowns (the text)

silence is compliance
forgetting is protection
winding
winding
winded
wounded
internally grateful:
forget-no-mores can be painful & healing
locked in the bedroom closet close to dinner time
but dining on that green vegetable with the boy’s name doesn’t appeal
the only place for alone time

place & time & time & place
put that into another place
place it in another time

it’s all the same eventually
memories get caught up & caught up again

the narrator is elusive
the protagonist changes in each scene
patterns are patterns in green
patterns are patterns in orange
patterns are patterns in lavender spots

look through the keyhole
when he thinks no one is watching
happiness comes with a bundle of compromise
but only through the keyhole
when no one is watching

the face gets larger & larger & larger &
it haunts dreams & wakefulness
the face gets smaller in a POP!
an implosion of thought & contradiction
an inevitable fancy
like a clock or a hippopotamus yawning
warnings come in big & small letters
hunting & haunting till they are read

the face gets larger & larger & larger again
an explosion of thought & completion
undeniably
it’s a cross between a clothes pin & a planter
warnings come & go & go & come
till they are

warnings are big & small voices
that are heard & not heard
heard & herded
till they are

the lessons are terminal
awareness is intrepid
skating between
what is heard, seen, & known
eventually, it all dries up

a long-term bout with
construction-workers in white collars
reality is managed through tiny lenses
that suggest severe myopia
congratulations are in order on a new design

the only way out sometimes is to get outside the box
step in the sun (or rain)
until you can feel it on your skin—
your nose, your hands, your forehead—
the face gets larger & larger

laugh & walk away
that’s how it’s done in yoga

written by: Tracey M. Gagne

Poetry

Check out the Atlanta Poets Group web site (link on the left of this page). There were some sound files recently posted there, including three of mine.

Here's a little bit about the poems:

tic edge exit-- a poem from a collection I'm working on called _pickled fir grins_. I've not been working on this one in several weeks, because of other things, but it's a project I'm excited about. I'm responding to songs from one of my favorite singers.

take the wrong way home: or, how i learned to love the bomb-- a poem from a collection that I started about a character named bud mcmanaman. It's a pretty narrative collection and at this moment contains three characters (and two poems-- I actually have another one somewhere, but I wrote it at work, and I can't seem to find the paper I wrote it on....)

we all have our slashes-- a poem that stands on its own... maybe!

Now, there are some other great poems on there by two other great poets. Please check them out!!

Tracey

Update

I know I said that I'd be sharing what I've been doing on here, and there hasn't been an update in more than a week.

Here's what I've been doing:

1. I made a bracelet and ring set. It's kinda cool, because both the bracelet and the ring can hold a small picture (well the bracelet can hold five or so). I made this for a gift, but I've not figured out who to give it to or what pictures to slide in. More fun to come with this! I'll post pics once I've finished the pieces off and taken pics!

2. I wrote a poem called "flooding with clowns" and am currently gluing it into a book I made several weeks ago. So far, it looks pretty cool, but it isn't finished.

3. I've written quite a few poems for my chap _resipiscent_- which will be out in October. I have only eight more poems for that collection.

4. I've made three books, too, in an attemtpt to get comfortable with different ways of binding books. I made one softcover whose binding I sewed, and two hardcovers. I'm having SO much fun with this!

I've been busy otherwise, trying to ready myself for the start of another school semester, too--reading, preparing a syllabus, etc. All good stuff! As the weather begins to think about getting cooler (because let's face it, it isn't really cooler in Atlanta), I'm beginning to think about knitting projects-- finishing the sweater for the baby that I started in the Spring and some other fun activities.

I've got lots of great ideas! I'm hoping to get some pics up here, soon! Keep posted!

Tracey

from PANMIXIA

This poem is from my first chapbook, panmixia (n. interbreeding without limitation), published on Euphrasie Press in February, 2007.










chatoyant
(adj. having a changeable luster | n. a chatoyant gemstone)

don’t forget the envelope with the heart in it
each time there’s a
flooding of emotional
gallantry at the apex of all t
hings
idolatrous—
just in case you do forget—
kindness comes in packages stuffed with mer
lot & s’
mores
nobody had dinner at the
opening of the envelope; there was a
porcupine-colored se
quined delapidator
rusting in the corner &
saving good intentions
till later when
underde
veloped
words e
xclaimed their presence like egg
yolks that have hatched beneath
zebras on
all-exclusive paid vacations with vampire
bats &
cruella deville isn’t just a cadillac



If you would like to read more, please let me know! I'd be happy to send a copy! (Note: resipiscent (adj. having returned to a saner mind) will be completed and ready for distribution in October, 2007. Keep posted!) If you'd like to see another poem from panmixia, please click on the link to Atlanta Poets Group.

Thanks!
Tracey