Category: Poems

Summer Reading (and Writing)

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Picking up on the summer motif of my previous post, I’d say that one of my favorite aspects of summer is the time I have to read more extensively. During the academic year, a majority of my reading time is dedicated to reading for my classes. While I manage to portion time for personal reading, I rarely attempt lengthier books because they can take me several weeks to finish, so as a result, I reserve the “bigger books” for the summer.

Among the six books I’m currently reading (all of which are in excess of 300 pages, with one close to 700, and another far lengthier) is the Norton Anthology of Contemporary Poetry. Since the beginning of May, I’ve read nearly 200 pages of this 1,200-page tome. in this second full month of spring, I’ve read such poets as Denise Levertov, Anthony Hecht, Donald Justice, James Merrill, Allen Ginsberg, Maxine Kumin, and Frank O’Hara, to name a few.

I’m aware that anthologies are “greatest hits” collections, but I enjoy anthologies for the primary purposes of appreciating more the writers whose work I do know and “discovering” writers whose work I do not know (or whose work I have avoided). Because of this reading, I’ll definitely be reading more full-length collections of some of the poets I’ve read.

Which brings me to one of the poets I’ve recently read (initially reluctantly): John Ashbery. First confession: when I was a younger poet (much younger), I bought a collection of his poetry and never read it. Ever. I don’t even own the book anymore. (I traded it off at an used-book store.) Second confession: I have avoided reading him. I’d heard that he was difficult. (I can imagine my writer friends groaning at my complaining. If I still had a personal Twitter account, I’m sure I would have lost several followers.) But I have been pleasantly surprised to find that I like his poetry!

In these few weeks, I have more fun reading poetry than in quite some time. I’ve sat on the floor of my home office, the book open on the floor, my body stretched out. I know that part of this enjoyment is because of summer’s comfortable pace, but I also attribute this delight to my main summer writing project: revising 5 poems a week from my in-progress manuscript, Your 21st-Century Prayer Life. (You can read the title poem here.) Absorbing the words, images, lines, and sounds of these great poets is providing me with additional momentum in my own writing, which in turn makes me want to read more poetry.

The reading-and-writing cycle is a beautiful thing to experience, and as I savor my journey through the rest of this anthology (finishing it by the time the fall term begins) and rework my own poems, I expect there will be dozens more poets I’ll be adding to my to-read list.

200 Quick Words on Community

~ plainswriter ~ 2 Comments

A week removed from my time at AWP ’15 (with all 14,000+ people), I find myself missing a particular community of writers of faith that I’ve come to know to and love these last few years. I find myself thankful to be a part of a community wherein there’s encouragement, humor, generosity, and fellowship.

I’ll admit to feeling inadequate and embarrassed at times because everyone (it seems to me) is so much more accomplished and skilled than I. They write prose so rich, lineation so heartbreaking, metaphor so overwhelming–I feel awed to even know them.

If I’m forthright, there’s also jealousy, envy, and covetousness that I battle. And yet at the same time I am learning to rejoice in the success of others (without bemoaning my perceived lack thereof), as well as to mourn with those who mourn.

As I write this on a Sunday evening, the sun not yet set in my west-facing office window, I think of these lovely people across the country, having read today, having written today, having worshiped today, have spent time with or apart from family, and I wish them well on the journey we share, waiting for when I will next experience their genuine fellowship.

On My Weather Obsession

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In 2 1/2 years of living in Central Texas, I’m still in awe of the weather, the heat of the summer, the mildness of the winter. I suspect that as a native Minnesotan, as someone who lived there for 27 years, I will for many years more remain in awe of the weather here. This afternoon, it will nearly reach 70 degrees. It was over 70 yesterday. Blue skies and those high wispy clouds that I love but cannot name.

Yesterday afternoon, I sat in my backyard, prepping for the next session of the poetry class I teach. I was reading chapters from my textbooks, reading my students’ first poems, and jotting down details for a poem of my own. This afternoon I will sit outside and read from a long novel I’m enjoying very much: Larry Woiwode’s Beyond the Bedroom Wall. Later, I will take my son out to play disc golf. And tomorrow afternoon (again a forecast of blue skies and 70), we’ll take a family trip to the zoo.

All of this in mid-January.

It feels as though I’m living in some kind of fantasy world, my memories of unseasonably warm days renewed by the reality of days not that far removed from the norm for this part of the state. (Average January high here: 57.)  Average January temperature in my MN hometown? 24. Average January temperature in the Northwestern MN town where I completed my M.F.A.? 18.

One of several recurring elements in my poetry, fiction, and nonfiction is weather. As I joke (though it’s true), the wind is always blowing in my poems, stories, and essays, the weather is always present doing something. I’m a weather junkie, have always been fascinated by it, the unseasonably warm days in winter, the unseasonably cool days in summer, the data, the storms (whether they involve snow, ice, rain, wind, etc.). After all, as an undergrad in college, I used to leave The Weather Channel on in my room while I studied or did schoolwork.

I doubt I’ll ever lose my weather fixation, and so it will continue to manifest itself in my creative works, even as a breeze ruffles the pages in my open notebook. Now to head outside and make the most of the afternoon.