Saturday, April 13, 2013

How to not be surprised

Yet again I will have to put up two poems today but I don't feel sorry about it. Not one bit! My excuse for not doing two yesterday? (Yeah, I'm way behind now.) The Fine Arts Festival!

I submitted three poems, back in February, and didn't expect much of it. I was also expected to turn in physical copies of my poetry, as opposed to the original online submissions, by the end of March. I forgot to do that. So on Thursday night my dear friend Emily was talking about the FAF and I said I probably wasn't going, because I hadn't "finished" submitting. First, she said it was fine that I hadn't turned in physical copies. So I figured, hey, why not, I'll show up. It's an excuse to dress up. 

And then as I was about to leave her room she smiled slyly and said, "Maybe I know something you don't know." That pretty much settled it. I knew I needed to go. So yesterday, instead of writing you all a poem. I instead spent my Friday afternoon/evening getting ready for and then participating in the Fine Arts Festival. My poem, "How to Read a Woman" won third place in the poetry category. And afterward Emily and I had celebratory milkshakes at Denny's. 

I present to you, my certificate. I'm not going to frame it or anything, but it's nice to look at nonetheless. Emily actually designed the border, which I also like. (Huge props to Emily in this post. Someone, go make her read it!)


For Friday's poem, a visit to the poem that won. This poem was also published in the Spring 2011 Trillium. It was read by my brother at my grandmother's memorial service.


How to Read a Woman
For Virginia Foutz. November 28, 1924 – April 19, 2010.

A woman’s face will crease as she ages
through every fond phase of motherhood.
Wrinkles fold just as beloved pages,
like books reminding us of all that’s good.
Now, one might read a woman by her skin
as though the signs of wear were some black ink,
But such a woman holds a depth within—
she carries worlds more than some care to think.
Every worried frown meant that she loved us,
each stern rebuke was meant to help us grow.
She taught us compassion, conviction, trust,
and pushed us without ever letting go.
So when our marks of age won’t go unseen,
we’ll remember who showed us what they mean.




For today's poem, I've chosen something obscure and beautiful. I have this large book of poems called, "What Have You Lost?", with poems selected by Naomi Shihab Nye. I bought it years ago at a mall bookstore that was going out of business. It's full of desperately sad poems, or desperately nostalgic ones, and sometimes I run across one that particularly speaks to me, or perhaps I resonate with it in some way. Today you all get to share it with me.

Travelling Light 
by Kirsti Simonsuuri, Translated from Finnish by Jascha Kessler and Kirsti Simonsuuri.

It's as though I saw it all
diminished to the core
the whole day to a minute
the suitcase to a book
the long conversation to a word
looks of longing to a smile
and hopeless choice to what must be
it is so light, so clear
I want nothing more anymore
    only wind stroking waves
    onto a distant shore



1 comment:

  1. Well, you know I love the poem about Grandma, but I also like the sad poem too. Congratulations on your third place win!!

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