The Tree that Put Me at Ease

Back in February I had the good sense to attend a writers' conference offered on campus --- where I met many talented writers, bought too many of their books, and patiently began to nibble them in small, savory bites.


Except for Jennifer Horne's Bottle Tree. I devoured it that first weekend.


Which is interesting, because --- Horne being the only poet at the conference --- I expected to enjoy her the least. That sounds insulting, but up until that weekend most of my exposure had been to the big dogs --- Keats, Yeats, Frost, etc.  You know, the poetry that demands "work, work, work to understand me." I had the preconceived notion that Horne's would be much of the same.


But then she read her first poem, and I was spellbound.  I didn't know poetry could be like this! I remember thinking, I want to write like this someday. After hearing her speak, I wanted more. After finishing her book, I wanted more. Horne had given me the gift of poetic sustenance, when up until then I didn't know I was starving!  


Two months later I'm a regular in front of the single shelf at my local chain bookstore, picking up Alice Walker and Billy Collins. Thanks to Jennifer Horne I'm at ease with my pursuit of writing poetry, understanding that fancy words and complicated styles don't make a great poem. An open mind, a gift of words, and a sense of story-telling make a great poem.  At least it does in Bottle Tree.


With the author's permission, I've presented one of my favorites from the collection. Please visit Jennifer Horne's blog and/or click here to purchase a copy for yourself.  Trust me, you'll want more.


Monday Morning with Household Chores


Surprised into tears by an old song.
It's my mother, not a lover, I miss.
How she sang along happily. With abandon.
The words soothed her. Lifted her, too.
I stop in the middle of mopping the kitchen floor.
Nothing to do but sit down on the steps.
Let the tears have their way.


It's my solitude I weep for.
The never-again of it.
Changeable weather. A sweet old song.
Me aging with all these questions.
She not there to ask.


Isn't every motherless girl the same?
Still expecting her phone call.
Even after however-many years.
Mopping's regular rhythm.
Lemon oil on wooden chest.
Honor her with frangipani candles at Christmas.
Sing with abandon. Abandon. Abandon.




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Social Media Waiting to Inspire Us

The power of a name can draw a pretty big crowd, especially when it applies to social media.  Take James Franco, for example: He signed up for a Twitter account and within twenty-four hours had more than 700,000 followers (I know -- I was one of 'em).

In the age where celebrities are twitterin' away at any given moment, we're somewhat immune to the 'awe' we first felt when we had such a personal connection.  In fact, I've already severed most of my celebrity tweetin' connections (tired of the same ol' talk) and most Facebook pages seem to be the same as web sites -- translation: managed by someone else.

But there's still room for a little star power on the world wide web, and I've recently experienced two finds that sent my heart a'flutterin.'

A few weeks ago I discovered that one of my favorite authors Joshilyn Jackson (Gods in Alabama, Between, Georgia, The Girl Who Stopped Swimming) not only has her web site, but a blog!  As a wanna-be-published writer I find her stories about choosing the cover design (or lack of input) fascinating.  I'm amazed at her stories of normal life, because she truly seems to have a "My kids and I are sick with the flu"-kind of normal life.  When I hear her talk at a writer's conference next month (one I'm attending simply for that reason) I'll have stars in my eyes.

The second find came Friday night while reading the newest book of poems by Alice Walker.  In the back of the book I found the usual blurb about Walker and her life, etc. etc., but it also mentioned her redesigned web site.  So of course I pick up my Mac, type in the address, and have an oh-my-lord-alice-walker-has-a-blog exhilarated squeal, which made my husband look at me in all sorts of strange ways.

But it's Alice Walker.  Alice Walker!  The woman who wrote The Color Purple and who I studied in high school and college English classes.  A Pulitzer Prize winner who my daughter will study, and her children's children, as well.  This incredible woman -- already an icon -- has a blog that reveals a side of herself that we would never glimpse in her books, no matter how introspective.

If you're not impressed, I don't think we can be friends.

So I guess the moral to my story is this:  With all the crap that's beginning to infiltrate our social media bubble, there are always the oh-my-lord-alice-walker-has-a-blog discoveries waiting to inspire us.

p.s. If you've had one already, I'd love to hear about it!