Friday, April 18, 2014

Let Yourself Be: Forging On



I survived a long arduous week of work.  Even though it was only a four day week since today is Good Friday, it felt more like six or maybe even eternity for it to come to a close.  I was grateful because there were rewards at the end of the stressful run of 9 to 5, there was a delicious glass of red waiting for me and my friends from the Open Heart Forgery gang.

April is national poetry month so for the launch of OHF’s April issue, we gathered at City Hall for a reading and celebration of words.  I zero time throughout the day to practice reading aloud which I often like to do so when I stand up to speak I don’t stammer or sound like an idiot.  Public speaking has never come easily for me when I am before a crowd of people about orate my art, the stuff that comes from deeply personal corners of my person.  However, the more I stand and read, the easier it gets and the more confident I become.  Listening to others and soaking up their words, the ones they take great care to string together, that helps too.  It’s a sense of unity that you can only experience by participating.  It has been an important creative building block for me and I wouldn’t have that without ever becoming part of the OHF family. 

I submitted a poem for the April issue and was pleased that it was included.  Donal Power, the brains and heart behind Open Heart Forgery has had to move on to the big city of Toronto for employment with his family to soon follow.  I missed the last Left Bank reading he attended so I wanted to say something publicly to acknowledge the impact his vision and founding of OHF has had on me.  Had it not been for seeing the little blurb in The Coast about submitting, I wouldn’t have this blog, be able to read in public nor would I have been so prolific in the volume of writing I’ve done and finished.  I owe him a debt of gratitude that I’m not entirely sure he’ll ever understand and I am certain many others feel the same way.  To thank him properly, and Rowena, because she was instrumental in helping me overcome my fears to stand in front of others to read, I wrote this poem and it was published in the April issue.

Let Yourself Be
(for Donal and Rowena)

let yourself be surprised by
whispering angels pining
under a gigantic full moon
while the Heavens shimmer

in poems and novels
in stories and essays

let yourself be amazed by
the choir of honeyed voices
peacefully lamenting affection
while every star in the sky shines

for paintings and drawings
for sculptures and architecture

let yourself be elevated by
the kindness of poet hearts
be heard by magical ears and
stand in the rays of contentment

let yourself be honoured
let yourself go and be free

just let yourself be

**

This is precisely how I feel, about Open Heart Forgery, about the those who congregate, and about the influence Donal and Rowena have had on my creative life and my person as a whole.  They are kind-hearted and passionate, they are creative and caring, and they are co-conspirators.  They have made a difference for so many voices who longed to be heard, who are talented and just as passionate about writing and poetry and words.  Together, in me, they fostered a confidence that I hadn’t otherwise figured out how to tap into.  So, if two people are deserving of a public display of poetry, it is them.

The City Hall gathering was wonderful.  In a stately room, with our Mayor, we came together for poetry and for our passion.  David Pretty, one of the several good humans I have had the fine pleasure of meeting, started the evening off with an incredibly moving diatribe about OHF and Donal and what it all means for he and the rest of us alike.  The piece of writing he shared aloud, knocked my little prepared speech out of my head because he said all the things I couldn’t have so eloquently.  When my name was called to read, I intended to be poised and own the room but instead, when I got up there and looked out to see David and then Rowena looking back at me, I choked up and succumbed to emotion.  All of the beautiful things David talked about hit home and it struck me, just how heavily Heaven was.  That I had come so far in my creative pursuits, advanced as an artist and was so lucky to look out and see that I wasn’t alone.  Choking through tears of pride and perhaps a few for sadness knowing that last night would likely be the last time to see Rowena before she is to go to Toronto to live with Donal, I prefaced the reading of the poem from the April issue by saying that in short, because of them, I learned how to trust my artist and come and stand among them, instead of straying off to the sidelines as a lonely and scared observer.  That, more than anything, is what they gave me when I walked into Open Heart Forgery.  A little kindness and faith can go a long way.  That, to me, is a powerful thing.

Open Heart Forgery at City Hall, a special night.

The best thing that ever happened to me was having my heart broken by a stupid boy.  I suppose I owe him a bit of thanks too because so much of that poetry is what propelled me to submit the first time.  And so much of that poetry has been read aloud and exorcised and was the catalyst for a great many conversations about the writing process and what drives us emotionally as writers.  His brief appearance in my story was for one reason only, for me to grow, so that I could become a better writer, a better person, a confident woman and a happier one.  My first love is and always will be writing.  Open Heart Forgery taught me that.  And, when the real fortunate son comes along and is willing to drop anchor and stay to compliment my full and crazy life and I his, I will have more words to write, to read and I’ll do so with self-reliance, gratitude and passion.

I am proud to be part of Open Heart Forgery and am pleased to know that there are like-minded people, goodhearted people who want to carry on Donal’s work.  I will do my part, what I can to see that it happens.  We will write on, we will succeed.

Happy long Easter weekend.

In propinquity,
Nic



Sunday, April 6, 2014

Trip The Light Fantastic


Trip The Light Fantastic

The sole metaphor is enveloped in childish delights.  A reversal of fortunes configured this reverie where I could not deny loyalty to amend my stumbles, straighten out my aloof posture under lingering clouds; I was reminded of refrains, twirling, and merriment.  My counterfeit heart accepted a half suggestive smile from a stranger, a warm hand and an invitation to trip the light fantastic.  Together we danced, nimbly and light through the emissions of alchemy’s one hundred brilliant colours, just to enjoy a moment simply for what it is.  We did this, coupled, just long enough for it to be enchanting to tell a tale of how glorious it is to shed sadness, breathe without thought, and revel in the ease of being.
Trip the light fantastic. 

 **

A writing exercise.  I had to choose from a small list of phrases, this one stuck out.  It also firmly planted 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' the classic earworm by Procol Harum in my noodle. Not the worst thing in the world by any means.

I am not highly motivated today.  I am tired and lethargic and can't decide whether I want to nap, walk or wrestle with my decisions.  It's one of those days where I just don't know what I want nor do I even know what to do with myself.  I am happy I managed to write a few words but I am empty above the neck in terms of inspiration, or maybe that's my heart?  Either way, I am feeling hollow in the creative regions of my being.  I dislike the feeling.  I long for that overwhelming burst of fever that comes with the flood of feel good-ness from being consumed by the Muse.  I'm wide open and waiting.

Happy Sunday.  ECMA broadcast tonight then it's back to the daily grind tomorrow.  Blech.  Could my lotto win be close?  *crosses fingers*

In propinquity,
Nic

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Give Up The Host


Give Up The Host

you shared a poem with me
in the glow of after-supper light
on a bed of rocks in the backyard

through mere wisps of moonlight
you said you write for yourself to
write for everyone who will heed

the message buried deep in metaphors
hidden sound in pop culture references
paraded truths in vibrant & obscene colors

to make your insides known

you shared a little song with me
in an even slice of fresh morning dawn
under a shaded tree in a bleeding field

bemused and moody you admit your secret

the secret you lock up in the corners of your art
that you would gladly give up your mortal host
in exchange for just a moment’s peace and quiet

when the tears tumbled deep down my throat
you reached over and touched my trembling hand
and said, “I’d give up the host just to stand still and silent.”

“I would crawl backwards in the dark over broken glass
for you to stay,” I implored. 

and still you insisted

all tomorrow’s parties burn in darkness while you dance
in the Heavens

**

Kurt Cobain has been gone 20 years today.  My question is, where has 20 whole years gone?  And what other words and songs and art would he have put into the world.  This reminds me that life is precious, that friends are your foundation and that listening, really listening when the people you love speak and cry and stomp their feet is important.  We are all we have in the end, we are who we are because of who we are with and what we do.

The world is robbed of beautifully talented souls every single day because we missed the signs, we didn't hear their cries and ignored the realities.  One soul gone is one too many.  Having said that, I think this song is appropriate for the moment and the intent of this poem, this post.  I attended the launch of this video at The Carleton.  It was an emotional evening and an important one.

Pay attention to your people.  Always.

In propinquity,
Nic


The beautiful Brian Byrne singing is very important song to support the Arizona Project.

Visit here:  http://theocdcollective.com/arizona/