This morning at breakfast I told my friend David that I was really excited to return to the loving embrace of all my friends in South Bend but I was also concerned for them. He laughed. It's like the feeling you get after you've been abducted by aliens, you try to go back to your real life but you're just weird now in ways that really freak out your loved ones. Anyway what I'm saying is that I hope you all still love Sade P.V. (post VT) as much as you loved Sade P.V. (pre VT). See they're already essentially the same.
I'm not saying that I've Jekylled out on y'all but I feel like a geode turned inside out. As far as expression goes there's more blatant sparkle and glint. That's just my perception. Yours may differ. It doesn't matter right now, because I'm going to tell you how Vermont has rocked my face off in the past week. My face is okay don't worry it only sustained maximum awesomeness. Highlight reel!
Arnold Kemp's lecture and everything about him. So let me try to be intelligent and intelligible about this. Meeting this artist (who sculpts, and writes, and paints, and draws) and sharing my work with him colored my week amazing. It has been an integral part of my formation as a poet in Vermont. I enjoy his work, hearing him talk about his work, the sense of self revelation hand in hand with cloaking and masking the self. It inspires reflection. He has a series of photographs of his aura taken by a psychic over the course of twelve weeks. I just don't have words for how cool he is. We sat at the Lovin' Cup Friday and I shared my poetry with him, in his feedback he reminds me of Cornelius: generous and able to lead me within the words I have chosen or not chose, always providing reference and bibliography to other poets I can learn from.
Thursday's Excursion to the Snowflake Museum Can I just ring in the gospel of snowflakes? Will you think I have lost my mind? The Snowflake Museum is in Jericho, VT. So it was Shannon who suggested this field trip and because I possess such a can do attitude I had to make it happen. I made plans to borrow Annie's car, a cute scion and Shannon secured the directions. I wrangled other people into joining us. Arnold, Caroline, and David (who was released from his office duties just to join us). I drove us. I was nervous because I'm self conscious about my driving having never driven above a speed limit of 40 or 45 mph. The speed limit was 50 which isn't too much of a difference. Driving in Vermont is a breathtaking experience, everything is green. Trees rising up in rows on either side of the road for stretches and the mountains appearing after a dip or curve. We rolled into Jericho and walked past the rushing river gorge to the Old Red Mill, a national historic site. We walked in anxious to view the magical snowflake museum, the Bentley Exhibit. Wilson Bentley photographed snowflakes. He would set up his equipment outside catch the snowflakes on a black wooden tray, then place each snowflake under a microscope to decide if it was worthy of photography shooting it with his camera if it was. This is a big deal. Well it is to me. I felt overwhelmed in the two small rooms that housed the exhibit. His gloves resting on his camera, the microscope he used, the collages of photographed snowflakes. I stood up close to them, because I love standing close to art. There was an air of impermanence. As if, if I stood to close, breathing on them too long they would melt. In the photographs you could see they were an instant from just that. I didn't want to leave I was concerned that once I turned to go they would dissipate under the heat of forgetting. But they are frozen in my mind and forever. They are almost immortal or at least notorious. For the endless configurations of frozen water falling from the sky, Wilson Bentley photographed over a thousand snowflakes. It made me feel very alive, and very appreciative to be alive and I never really expected that from snowflakes.
B Sides and Karaoke. There was a more casual resident organized reading scheduled for Saturday. Some of the visual artist read poetry, the visual art showcased was impressive as always. I read things I had worked on since Tuesday's reading. After the reading it was time for Karaoke! I had been waiting for it all week! In order the songs were:
Crimson and Clover: Joan Jett
Helter Skelter: the Beatles
Can't Take My Eyes Off of You: Lauryn Hill
Don't you Want Me: Human League (in a duet with local Dave)
Unforgettable: Nat King Cole
Happiness is a Warm Gun: the Beatles
It was epic. Best part of the night was Shannon saying "oh Sade you're totally legit" and "don't you forget it motherfucker." I was still awake when the sun came up. I slept a couple of hours before brunch. And have been pretty useless most of the day.
Sunday's encounter with the "possible" Summer Lover. What's his deal right? Le sigh, that's his deal. What a dark broody baby. Not baby in a diaper but baby in a Beatles' song. Anyway I always happen upon him unexpectedly at (of all places) the Lovin' Cup (the Lula's of Johnson). He swaggers in with a book bag to do homework or sometimes I swagger up to get a change of scenery, to write outside my studio, to smell coffee. I walked over to the cafe after grabbing Chinese with Justin for lunch and there he was sitting on the porch doing math homework. I provided a welcome distraction. After he finished his homework we moved inside and I read him poetry. He is from Ohio. He's studying creative writing at Johnson State College. Did a two week residency at VSC but we never talked while he was here but through email when I was organizing workshop. He flirted (or flirts) with me at the Hub. And because I didn't really believe it, I had to get outside confirmation. Vanessa who I've made friends with and who works at the bookstore confirmed. So this is not imaginary flirting. I just wanted to make that clear. He quotes Shakespearean sonnets from memory. He's a writer: plays, fiction, essays. He says the first time reading my poetry he thought "this woman should be writing fiction." Obviously I have never thought that about myself a day of my life-- I mean I only ever want to write about adventure that's all. So this is adventure. "Sexy as hell," he's talking about my poetry, of course. Also not my general response but okay. He is brazen, shameless. He, uh, could know his way around a pair of lips. He wants to be pen pals after I leave Johnson. He is intriguing. He could be a sheepish wolf or a fox about to break the neck of a hen. And for once I am in no way interested with the trajectory, where this is going to end, slightly curious but with detached interest. What things mean, the dissection of every feeling: boring, exhausting. Whatever happens. Focus on fun not expectation. To quote Rebecca Black, "fun fun fun fun fun fun fun fun!" It's amusing, bemusing to meet someone more cloudy and mysterious than myself (I am not mysterious at all and a giggly sunbeam next to this slightly melancholy, albeit mischievous, baby). I am ever the skeptic, unsure whether I should believe a word he says, not because he's a liar but... you know. We have plans to hang out this week, so we'll see.
A Note on Tattoos. The tattoo isn't real. I'm sure it will wash off in a couple of days. I got it from the cutest little boy in the bookstore. I assume his name is Dylan. He had a stack of them and one matching mine on his right arm.
It's the summer great? Honestly I can't believe it's been so amazing. I will miss this.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
6.22.2011
"Monsters or some bullshit"
In the glaring morning sunlight, freshly showered I felt myself having a major epiphany. But self reflection is boring so all I'm going to say is this: I am such a monster (sometimes, but to say sometimes is a little too generous). And I'm thinking about ways that I could change this, like maybe stop calling myself a monster or maybe stop being so monstrous or like I don't know you tell me. But this is boring right?
Forget I even said anything. In fact just close this window and walk away from your device.
I read yesterday for the second residents' reading. I enjoyed everyone's readings (but my own) so many of their words are still floating around in my head. Had a beer at the Hub, dance party, whatever.
I keep scratching myself raw. There's a huge sore on my ankle the shape of some country or continent. It hurts and I always seem to forget that when I'm scratching. It feels good then but it hurts so much more than it felt good later.
There may or may not be a potential summer lover. I just wanted to throw that out there because I did promise you romance and I feel like I'm dropping the ball a little.
This is a departure, the current poetry is a departure, the extreme extroversion is a departure and I feel weird in my own voice and in my own writing, like I've somehow strayed from the things that mean Sade to things that might still mean Sade but not necessarily. I can't tell whether this is good or bad or something that was just going to happen anyway.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
Forget I even said anything. In fact just close this window and walk away from your device.
I read yesterday for the second residents' reading. I enjoyed everyone's readings (but my own) so many of their words are still floating around in my head. Had a beer at the Hub, dance party, whatever.
I keep scratching myself raw. There's a huge sore on my ankle the shape of some country or continent. It hurts and I always seem to forget that when I'm scratching. It feels good then but it hurts so much more than it felt good later.
There may or may not be a potential summer lover. I just wanted to throw that out there because I did promise you romance and I feel like I'm dropping the ball a little.
This is a departure, the current poetry is a departure, the extreme extroversion is a departure and I feel weird in my own voice and in my own writing, like I've somehow strayed from the things that mean Sade to things that might still mean Sade but not necessarily. I can't tell whether this is good or bad or something that was just going to happen anyway.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
6.20.2011
In Which the Poet [choose your own adventure]
After checking the sign up sheet this morning, I felt like throwing up, but instead I skipped breakfast and went into my studio. I might still throw up.
If you know me you know I love, no I can't open my mouth without reading poetry. My own poetry, the poetry of beloved poets, poems for every occasion. It's probably my favorite thing, other than feeding people and hosting parties and it would be a dream if someone would pay me to only read poetry.
I don't want to read tomorrow though, I feel intimidated I feel out of my league. Like my poetry is juvenile and mawkish. Like I don't know why I ever thought I'd be good at this.
Now yesterday I was full of determination. Forget about these other writers, this is not a competition. Why do I have to hold myself against the standards of others? All I have to do is read my work, it was enough to get me here so surely it is good enough to read aloud to these other artists. Now today I am imaging all sorts of ways to avoid this exposure of myself and the possibility that my voice will shake under scrutiny. I look at my poems on paper and they seem so naked, so pale by comparison. Like a house with the foundations and wiring exposed. Like a house held together by paint.
So I grabbed Swan by Mary Oliver sat outside in the sun and read several of the poems out loud. Competing with the ever babbling river. I came back to my studio. And I'm thinking today I will just sit outside in the sun and read poetry out loud. To myself to the river to anyone overhearing it. And I will read my own and time my readings and prepare for this reading, which is much more of a big deal in my head, the way I prepare of all readings.
Because isn't this the year where I learn to follow through? Where I stop avoiding things and stop running away when the pressure builds? Where I get to the point, finally and it doesn't feel so comforting to sabotage myself? You can't move anyone if you are paralyzed by fear.
I promise there will be another post later this week, in which the poet will describe all the ways in which she has adventured out of her cautious and doubting self, tales of weekly Karaoke and the slightest hint of romance... so much revelry you won't be able to stand it.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
If you know me you know I love, no I can't open my mouth without reading poetry. My own poetry, the poetry of beloved poets, poems for every occasion. It's probably my favorite thing, other than feeding people and hosting parties and it would be a dream if someone would pay me to only read poetry.
I don't want to read tomorrow though, I feel intimidated I feel out of my league. Like my poetry is juvenile and mawkish. Like I don't know why I ever thought I'd be good at this.
Now yesterday I was full of determination. Forget about these other writers, this is not a competition. Why do I have to hold myself against the standards of others? All I have to do is read my work, it was enough to get me here so surely it is good enough to read aloud to these other artists. Now today I am imaging all sorts of ways to avoid this exposure of myself and the possibility that my voice will shake under scrutiny. I look at my poems on paper and they seem so naked, so pale by comparison. Like a house with the foundations and wiring exposed. Like a house held together by paint.
So I grabbed Swan by Mary Oliver sat outside in the sun and read several of the poems out loud. Competing with the ever babbling river. I came back to my studio. And I'm thinking today I will just sit outside in the sun and read poetry out loud. To myself to the river to anyone overhearing it. And I will read my own and time my readings and prepare for this reading, which is much more of a big deal in my head, the way I prepare of all readings.
Because isn't this the year where I learn to follow through? Where I stop avoiding things and stop running away when the pressure builds? Where I get to the point, finally and it doesn't feel so comforting to sabotage myself? You can't move anyone if you are paralyzed by fear.
I promise there will be another post later this week, in which the poet will describe all the ways in which she has adventured out of her cautious and doubting self, tales of weekly Karaoke and the slightest hint of romance... so much revelry you won't be able to stand it.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
6.14.2011
With enough pressure to hold you together
Yesterday I woke up on the wrong side of my twin sized bed. My head hurt as I worried about the dirty laundry piling up, the anticipated mail, my apparent lackfulness, the manuscripts, the unkempt ends of my hair. I dressed and brushed my hair, trying to smile like the Mona Lisa, letting my bangs lay in my eyes so that my hair became a cloak.
In my studio I read Live From the Homesick Jamboree and couldn't stay awake, lullabied by the rushing river outside my window. I hadn't expected to feel homesick because I'd been having so much fun the way I hadn't expected to be awoken by a vacuum rattling in the hallway. I stumbled over to lunch, where the sweet potato stew with chick peas and apricots and Israel couscous from the night before was magically transformed. I kept thinking of the pictures I'd seen on Facebook some friends at the Indy pride parade. One was wearing a rainbow shirt advertising free hugs. I desperately imagined it would come to that, I'd have to stand outside of the Red Mill with a sign inviting people to hold and be held.
In my haze I bumped into one of the founders of VSC. He noticed that my hair was down as opposed to the first few days I was here and asked if that meant I was letting loose. I confided that I was trying to hide, while I coped with a sudden case of homesickness. I assured him that I was having a good time though. He made a reassuring sound and gave me a great hug. Letting go he asked what I missed. I told him hugs. The embrace of familiar limbs and torsos, the ability to hear a heart beat, lungs to fill and empty. He smiled and opened his arms to give me another hug. Welcome to the necessary comforting hug. We talked about Thich Nhat Hahn and his hugging meditation, the proper way to hug and be hugged, none of this willy-nilly patting and petting. Breathing in and breathing out then letting go. He suggested we create a signal for whenever we need a hug in the future, a little nose tap or ear tug. Though it is more likely that we will just hug whenever we see each other at meals, almost as if a hug were a vitamin or dose of medication to be taken with food or a glass of milk.
The rest of the day, overcast as it was, swam along. Today is grand. One nickname the other artists have bestowed on me is The Party Planner. I've organized a Girl Talk dance party for tonight after we have drinks at The Hub. The sun is out, I have clean laundry, clipped ends, and a bright postcard from Mara on my cork board. I met with the visiting poet today after lunch received very constructive feedback on his & Hers. If this isn't nice I don't know what is y'all. Though I think I might still make that sign.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
In my studio I read Live From the Homesick Jamboree and couldn't stay awake, lullabied by the rushing river outside my window. I hadn't expected to feel homesick because I'd been having so much fun the way I hadn't expected to be awoken by a vacuum rattling in the hallway. I stumbled over to lunch, where the sweet potato stew with chick peas and apricots and Israel couscous from the night before was magically transformed. I kept thinking of the pictures I'd seen on Facebook some friends at the Indy pride parade. One was wearing a rainbow shirt advertising free hugs. I desperately imagined it would come to that, I'd have to stand outside of the Red Mill with a sign inviting people to hold and be held.
In my haze I bumped into one of the founders of VSC. He noticed that my hair was down as opposed to the first few days I was here and asked if that meant I was letting loose. I confided that I was trying to hide, while I coped with a sudden case of homesickness. I assured him that I was having a good time though. He made a reassuring sound and gave me a great hug. Letting go he asked what I missed. I told him hugs. The embrace of familiar limbs and torsos, the ability to hear a heart beat, lungs to fill and empty. He smiled and opened his arms to give me another hug. Welcome to the necessary comforting hug. We talked about Thich Nhat Hahn and his hugging meditation, the proper way to hug and be hugged, none of this willy-nilly patting and petting. Breathing in and breathing out then letting go. He suggested we create a signal for whenever we need a hug in the future, a little nose tap or ear tug. Though it is more likely that we will just hug whenever we see each other at meals, almost as if a hug were a vitamin or dose of medication to be taken with food or a glass of milk.
The rest of the day, overcast as it was, swam along. Today is grand. One nickname the other artists have bestowed on me is The Party Planner. I've organized a Girl Talk dance party for tonight after we have drinks at The Hub. The sun is out, I have clean laundry, clipped ends, and a bright postcard from Mara on my cork board. I met with the visiting poet today after lunch received very constructive feedback on his & Hers. If this isn't nice I don't know what is y'all. Though I think I might still make that sign.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
Location:Pearl St,Johnson,United States
6.08.2011
The air is an opiate
After roughly 90 hours of "traveling" on the Guantanamo Bay of Transportation, a handful of panic attacks and a two liter of tears shed from the frustration, one Timequake later, I made it to Vermont.
I'm enamored. I mostly walk around in a daze unable to believe that such a place exists and that I am experiencing it. In my studio it's hard mot to just spend all day staring down at the river, devising plans to be in it. And perhaps it's just that for four days I had limited access to fresh air but I swear that the air here is laced with sweetness, I can taste flowers if I breathe in through my month.
I am a fool. But you know that.
Today is my first full day here. I like everything. The tree covered mountains, the white noise of the river, the amicable temperature, the friendly and humorous artists I've been meeting.
And the peace that is radiating and filling me because I'm here. I had so much worry so much anxiety while in Houston and definitely while I was traveling that I became shortsighted, short of breath, of patience and love. And in the back of my mind there are still all sorts of nagging creatures, but wouldn't it be criminal to ignore the sound of the river beckoning? I really have to practice being more faithful. It's hard because I want to prove I can take care of myself and that I'm not weak. And I hate asking for help, would rather bite the dust than admit that I'm struggling or that I need something. And just when I start to think I'm so much closer to getting there, that ideal range of achievement and personal growth I have to learn these lessons again:
1. I am human
2. It's okay to ask for help, and most of the time it would be foolish not to
3. Sometimes things go horribly wrong even when you've done your best
And I feel like an idiot for having to relearn these things but then I have to laugh at myself and love myself too. Because at the moment when everything is too overwhelming to handle and I'm ready to disappear or worse, give up I hear the thing that everybody needs to hear, "I'm glad you're here". The universe has been quite consistent in this message and if that isn't nice, I don't know what is.
Ting-a-ling.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
I'm enamored. I mostly walk around in a daze unable to believe that such a place exists and that I am experiencing it. In my studio it's hard mot to just spend all day staring down at the river, devising plans to be in it. And perhaps it's just that for four days I had limited access to fresh air but I swear that the air here is laced with sweetness, I can taste flowers if I breathe in through my month.
I am a fool. But you know that.
Today is my first full day here. I like everything. The tree covered mountains, the white noise of the river, the amicable temperature, the friendly and humorous artists I've been meeting.
And the peace that is radiating and filling me because I'm here. I had so much worry so much anxiety while in Houston and definitely while I was traveling that I became shortsighted, short of breath, of patience and love. And in the back of my mind there are still all sorts of nagging creatures, but wouldn't it be criminal to ignore the sound of the river beckoning? I really have to practice being more faithful. It's hard because I want to prove I can take care of myself and that I'm not weak. And I hate asking for help, would rather bite the dust than admit that I'm struggling or that I need something. And just when I start to think I'm so much closer to getting there, that ideal range of achievement and personal growth I have to learn these lessons again:
1. I am human
2. It's okay to ask for help, and most of the time it would be foolish not to
3. Sometimes things go horribly wrong even when you've done your best
And I feel like an idiot for having to relearn these things but then I have to laugh at myself and love myself too. Because at the moment when everything is too overwhelming to handle and I'm ready to disappear or worse, give up I hear the thing that everybody needs to hear, "I'm glad you're here". The universe has been quite consistent in this message and if that isn't nice, I don't know what is.
Ting-a-ling.
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
Location:Pearl St,Johnson,United States
6.03.2011
To or not to
So I think I might sell my iPad. And break off my Facebook engagement. And mail a copy of my chapbook to Oprah. And let go of this ideal that I'll ever have a real/storybook perfect relationship with any blood relative.
I was watching OWN yesterday. At the Darden's house, while James and Dennis were at some beach house. I watched two episodes of her Master Class series where she was speaking about her childhood and the Oprah show. I thought it was odd, just the day before several different friends asked me why I hadn't sent my chapbook to Oprah yet, "She can't read it if you don't send it to her."
the above was started on Tuesday, it is now Friday.
I still think I might need to sell my iPad. That's a possibility I'm okay with. Last night I broke off my Facebook engagement. Broke off the friendship period. And I notice this flaw, well tendency in myself: the willingness to sever a tie or avoid a relationship that in my mind has become irreparable. I'm not going to hash this out here. But I think it's fair to note that I have spent most of my life unable and unwilling to sever connections that were detrimental, taking all the blame when things didn't work, essentially throwing myself under the bus.
And don't we have to end up letting go of things in all the ways we never wanted to. People who snatch themselves out of your arms, or even who withhold themselves and then refuse to understand why you close yourself and walk away even once they decide to continually thrust themselves into you face haphazardly. Things we try to push on ourselves simply because we want or need to prove something. Anything to anyone.
Mon Dieu, I just don't ever want to be selfish. Mostly because I am aware that I need a lot. And since I know I'm not alone in that, I'd somehow like to contribute when other people need.
So I guess maybe a recap of Houston is in order. I only saw my mom once. I didn't ever get to the catholic worker here or any of the art museums I wanted to visit, not for lack of trying. I did make it to mass every week, except the first Sunday I was here. I have plans to see Brit and my uncle before I leave. I hung out with Stacy, Kim, Sylvia and Oliver finally, got to see Guy twice. Was able to give those people chapbooks. I haven't mailed one letter or made one book but something tells me that I'll get that done right after I get to Vermont. I didn't get to walk Rei, I feel like I barely ate enough vegetables, I probably have scurvy. I didn't finish any books, though I did get through twenty chapters of Timequake yesterday. I watched four movies I'd never seen before. I permed my hair. I did laundry twice. I probably smoked at least fifty cigarettes. I only found out a thimbleful of info on my grandmothers.
I'm going to Vermont!
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
I was watching OWN yesterday. At the Darden's house, while James and Dennis were at some beach house. I watched two episodes of her Master Class series where she was speaking about her childhood and the Oprah show. I thought it was odd, just the day before several different friends asked me why I hadn't sent my chapbook to Oprah yet, "She can't read it if you don't send it to her."
the above was started on Tuesday, it is now Friday.
I still think I might need to sell my iPad. That's a possibility I'm okay with. Last night I broke off my Facebook engagement. Broke off the friendship period. And I notice this flaw, well tendency in myself: the willingness to sever a tie or avoid a relationship that in my mind has become irreparable. I'm not going to hash this out here. But I think it's fair to note that I have spent most of my life unable and unwilling to sever connections that were detrimental, taking all the blame when things didn't work, essentially throwing myself under the bus.
And don't we have to end up letting go of things in all the ways we never wanted to. People who snatch themselves out of your arms, or even who withhold themselves and then refuse to understand why you close yourself and walk away even once they decide to continually thrust themselves into you face haphazardly. Things we try to push on ourselves simply because we want or need to prove something. Anything to anyone.
Mon Dieu, I just don't ever want to be selfish. Mostly because I am aware that I need a lot. And since I know I'm not alone in that, I'd somehow like to contribute when other people need.
So I guess maybe a recap of Houston is in order. I only saw my mom once. I didn't ever get to the catholic worker here or any of the art museums I wanted to visit, not for lack of trying. I did make it to mass every week, except the first Sunday I was here. I have plans to see Brit and my uncle before I leave. I hung out with Stacy, Kim, Sylvia and Oliver finally, got to see Guy twice. Was able to give those people chapbooks. I haven't mailed one letter or made one book but something tells me that I'll get that done right after I get to Vermont. I didn't get to walk Rei, I feel like I barely ate enough vegetables, I probably have scurvy. I didn't finish any books, though I did get through twenty chapters of Timequake yesterday. I watched four movies I'd never seen before. I permed my hair. I did laundry twice. I probably smoked at least fifty cigarettes. I only found out a thimbleful of info on my grandmothers.
I'm going to Vermont!
"Sing, if you can sing, and if not still be musical inside yourself."
--Mary Oliver, More Evidence
Location:Wisteria St,Bellaire,United States
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