Category: poetry

  • Beauty in the Process

    This week, I experienced starting a lot of different types of learning. I am working on obtaining my AWS certification, so studying for that; I also started working on a piece of music and that meant needing to learn how to use a new looper pedal! AND I started writing a new poem.

    Toward the end of the week, I also read a tweet from a good friend who felt very frustrated with his inability to focus. This got me thinking about the idea that we have to focus our energy in long, intense sessions in order to achieve something.

    For example, this week (and most weeks), I don’t really have TIME to focus for very long. Maybe I get a free half hour during the work day, and then another hour before bed to do calmer things like reading, writing, or planning for my day.

    One of the things I tried this week was practicing an etude. It turns out that etudes are a great metaphor for many things we want to do in life. Most musicians detest etudes at some early point in their career. Etudes seem a bit pointless; we practice them, but the benefit is unclear in the short term. During my undergrad, those 30 minutes a day I spent on my weekly etude were frustrating at first. After a year, though, I started to love etudes! These short studies forced focus by only being “about” one thing – one bow technique, or one left hand technique, or one musical technique. The structure of the etude allowed me to use a shorter period of time to improve one area over the span of a week.

    In that spirit, I have approached the past few weeks. My learning and products are not done. Is learning ever done? At any rate, I was pretty reluctant to share this week, because it’s hard to share something when it doesn’t feel finished. That said, I think it’s important to share with you the poem I’m halfway through writing.

    handwritten draft of a poem I’m working on, after Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

    The above picture is of my journal from this past week, as I’ve worked on my poem, modeled after Lady Lazarus, by Sylvia Plath. It is one of her later poems, one that I’ve known for more than twenty years now. In all that time, I never read the poem quite as I did during the past week. For the first time, the rich depth of her imagery became apparent to me. It is difficult to craft a poem the way she does, and I found myself stuck. I couldn’t finish the poem in time for this week’s post. Instead, I give you this, an unfinished work.

    A reminder: just because you don’t have all the time, all the energy, all the focus, or all the answers, doesn’t mean to let go of what you want to accomplish. Accept yourself, where you are, and know that you’ll get where you want to be with steady effort, regardless of the bumps. And hopefully, I’ll be able to share a complete poem with you next week. Cheers!

  • How To Leave Home

    I have chosen to model this poem after the poem Facts by Philip Levine (in What Work Is). The poem attempts to employ a casual, narrative tone, exploring one large narrative by creating smaller narratives within each stanza. I have made every attempt to adhere to the spirit and style of Levine’s work. I definitely felt the challenge in my learning this week as I stretched these muscles!


    How To Leave Home

    july 19, 2020

    The ferry from New York to Vermont rocked on the
    lake, not yet frozen solid. Every fifteen minutes, at
    all hours of the day, boats departed. On the ferry,
    our cars swayed, and we swayed inside.

    If you’re careful, you can actually transport a
    table, and all four chairs, more than one hundred miles,
    tied to the top of a 1986 Oldsmobile Cutlass Cruiser
    station wagon — just in case you ever need to.

    I didn’t plan to leave Plattsburgh, in the beginning.
    Sure, some people did, but most people I knew stayed.
    They stayed and complained about their dead-end jobs,
    egotistical bosses, abusive husbands or nagging wives.

    John Dewey, renowned philosopher, attended the University of
    Vermont. A student there insisted to me that Dewey wrote his
    great works in one of the residence halls. I was on my way to my
    admissions audition; the student was probably high.

    An Oldsmobile Cutlass cruiser is a moderately reliable vehicle, and
    people from Plattsburgh routinely drive fourteen-year-old cars.
    Monthly payments for new cars are too costly, but the repairs for
    old cars can be put on credit and paid, over time.

    My boyfriend’s brother was ashamed to be seen riding in my
    fourteen-year-old Olds, when he visited Plattsburgh from
    Queens. If he had worked for the privileges in his
    young life, he would have felt differently.

    I don’t blame the student for being high, especially with a
    dull job as the student librarian. He may have been bored, or
    fighting anxiety, for the library is filled with intimidating
    intellects such as myself, unafraid to speak our minds.

    There is a lie in the previous stanza. Yes, I’m
    smart, but not intimidating. Frequently, I face my own
    ignorance and despite my best efforts, I’m still stunned by the
    increasing gap between myself and that which I don’t yet know.

    I was the most ignorant when I lived in Plattsburgh.
    Mediocrity was not questioned, and chaos was normal.
    I looked for escape in second-hand encyclopedias and
    piles of library books, growing a world in my mind.

    The upstanding citizens, professors and business leaders,
    praised my curiosity, but chided my ambition. They didn’t
    understand my need to be a part of a bigger world.
    Each was satisfied to be the big fish in a shrinking pond.

    I will never return to Plattsburgh, or Burlington, not to
    watch the leaves dance on autumn trees, nor to
    pay homage to family or tradition. I know that I
    don’t belong, and I don’t have the heart to face it.