[stylist] New Prompt, Poem & Photos
Jackie Williams
jackieleepoet at cox.net
Sun Aug 2 23:44:12 UTC 2015
Lynda,
I have to make this short. I appreciate your pep-talk at this time so very much.
I wish I had known Rosella. I picture my mother at age 92 on stage in Globe at a talent show when she was acting out her poem, "Last Dance." She got a trophy and a standing ovation.
I will take your last comments to heart, though I have realized these past few years, that I write because I have to, not because anyone will read these things. The problem now is what to burn!
Jackie Lee
Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Lynda Lambert via stylist
Sent: Sunday, August 02, 2015 3:06 PM
To: Writers' Division Mailing List
Cc: Lynda Lambert
Subject: Re: [stylist] New Prompt, Poem & Photos
Jackie,
Thank you, Jackie for taking the time to write this to me today. Poetry and
art are the gifts I was given, my calling. It is not something I decided
one day to try or to do, but something I was born with - a maker. I recently
listened to a wonderful interview of young writer who just had an amazing
book published by a world famous publishing company and one of the
statements he made is "some people are here (on earth) and they know why
they are here. They know what they were sent here to do. Others are here,
and they have forgotten why they came here.
I was so happy to hear that my "Adornment" poem spoke to you. I wrote it as
part of a one person exhibition I did in 2013. At the exhibition two of my
English department colleagues read several of my poems for the audience. It
was so exciting for me to hear my work being presented by them - as most of
my poems I have never heard anyone perform. I cannot read my poetry to
anyone - so when I heard how they make it come alive I was so excited. They
also went to the recording studio at the college and recorded the poems for
me on a CD as a gift. They are two of the profs. that were my Humanities
lecture team so it was a treat to listen to them on the CD.
You are such a delightful person and you remind me so much of the precious
friend who inspired my poem about "wearing it all at once." Her name is
Rosella and she died about 4 years ago. On my last visit to her, she asked
me to bring some of my new jewelry so she could see it. She had not seen any
of my talisman work, as I had just started creating them shortly before I
lost my sight. She had been very sick with heart problems and we had not
seen each other for a couple years. My other friend, Donna, who was my
first painting teacher, picked me up and the two of us went to visit
Rosella. I will never forget how she LOOKED at my stone work pieces. She
was like in a trance, as she touched them - stroking them, and speaking of
how they were "feeling" to her. She spoke of how they felt silky and soft,
and like water running through her hands. She had worked most of her life
doing metalsmithing and stone work, so she intimately connected with them.
You have made me laugh out loud as I read your comments about the emotions
of the work. I have so often been told by people who view my work in
exhibitions that my work is "so sexy." I have watched as someone entered
the gallery for a show and sat down on a bench to week she was so overcome
by emotion by my paintings. (She is a painter who did her MFA at Bard, so
she entered into the work so personally.)
One day Rosella and I visited a famous art museum together and we went to a
laser light show installation. Before I knew it, Rosella was in the center
of the gallery, eyes closed, dancing with the laser light beams. I could
envision the man at the security cameras watching us - we had to give him a
heart attack.
There is a common core with art and poetry (specifically poetry), that comes
out so often - and it is identified with such little phrases as, "I don't
know much about art, but..." or "poetry is not my thing, but...," or such
kinds of preludes to what they will say next. I wonder when this happens,
what else in life would they give such kind of disrespect to? There is
something about art and poetry that hits a person in the gut, and it makes
them uncomfortable and insecure, and thus, they have to put up a wall before
they can say anything else. They don't seem to have a clue they are waving
an enormous red flag. I do clearly understand how you feel, and every fine
artist and poet feels this deeply inside - the loneliness of the creative
life. What we do is not a group activity, it is done in solitude and with a
lifetime of considering and thinking and weighing and examining before a
word or a stroke is ever made. Every artist understands the deep loneliness
of being in the studio - you are absolutely alone. I almost never allow a
person to enter my studio space as it is sacred space. For many years,
Rosella was in her studio working each day, and I was in mine - at lunch
time we called each other to discuss the work of the day, the colors we were
mixing, how to solve a problem, or discuss what we were reading. We talked
about art, and then we went back to work. An artist and a poet "work." That
is what we do - we work and we continue to forge out the imagery and create
the forms. We are in labor and eventually we give birth. Our work is
completed when the art is hung on the gallery wall and the public comes to
see it and talk with us about it. Our poem is completed when someone reads
it and talks about it with us or with others and when they share their
thoughts. We stand by, in the wings, watching and listening, and hoping for
a response who what we have offered, what we have given.
Before the show opens to the public, for forty years now, I have stood there
alone and wondered, "Will anyone come to see my work tonight?" At the
appropriate time, the door opens and the first visitors arrive - we embrace,
and we laugh, and we chat and before I know it, the opening is over and
hundreds of people cared enough to come and be with me and my work for a few
hours. I go home completely exhausted and I cannot stop smiling for days.
And, when we put out the poetry, and publish our books, we wonder, "Will
anyone want to read this poem?" "Who would read my book"" and "Have I
given anyone a meaning for life and a living experience through my words."
But then I remember, it is "casting my bread on the waters and I will watch
and wait to see what returns. It is a good life, creating art and poetry,
and I would never trade it despite the solitude and the concerns we have
chosen to live with.
We all wrestle with self-doubts when we are writing and particularly when we
have a book in development. I have two in process right now, and I think of
these things every time I sit down to write. Like everyone else here, we all
have rejects. The more we put ourselves out there, the more rejections we
will have and w must learn to keep on going and not allow rejections to take
on a life of their own and scare us away. I scared an editor off last week,
when I used the term "realistic fiction" for a piece I was working on - and
in fact it is really "non-fiction" but too late for me to explain that. But,
at the same time, another editor contacted me and she wants to be the
publisher of my books and wants to be the ONE for me - and this editor is
intimately familiar with my work - so you see, we have to hang on, and keep
writing, and keep putting it out, and let the bread that is to come back to
us just come on back.
Write on, everyone. Figure out what you came here to do and then just do it.
Lynda
-----Original Message-----
From: Jackie Williams via stylist
Sent: Sunday, August 02, 2015 2:51 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List'
Cc: Jackie Williams
Subject: Re: [stylist] New Prompt, Poem & Photos
Lynda,
I put off answering this until I could address your poetry, your exhibits,
and your tremendous talent.
First, you are an inspiration to a two-fold audience. The blind and the
seeing. This has always been my own desire. No matter what our degree of
blindness, Most sincere artists and writers strive to make it in both of
those worlds, and ask no quarter.
The description of your relationship with stone is exciting and endearing at
the same time. It makes me want to ask so many questions. Did you ever have
a "pet rock?" Have you ever found any Petoski stones? Did you ever consider
making a coffee table tracing all of your travels, and countries visited
with colored and varied sized stones set in place with whatever they use to
keep it level and forever? Can't think of the word.
Of course, I know you need a new project!
Your poem is a keeper for me.
The intense sensuality of the descriptions of the stones and the
relationship of them to your body and mind, and their possibilities, make
for a personal experience.
Perhaps the reason I relate so much is because my father was a geologist,
besides being a chemical engineer. He grew crystals for radios and such
during the war, had a massive gemstone collection at "Top of the World"
museum this side of Miami, AZ, and every vacation I took during my early
years was a rock-hunting trip.
Now, I am the inheritor of an extensive jewelry collection, which I
organized while I still had some color vision. They are now labelled using a
"Pen Friend" which tells the origin and the date made, or found, or
purchased.
Your poem makes me want to wear layers of them at once. I already have rings
strung on scarves, and some colored cord with 4-6 rings tied on. I will not
leave the house without my matching earrings, rings, bracelets, and
necklaces. I am discouraged by having to always wear a blue tooth hearing
device, often a 20-20 pen, and a life alert pendant around my neck. It
adds nothing to the aura that you describe so effectively.
I love reading your poetry. It never fails to give me motivation to expand
my own poetry efforts.
I only received two responses from this list on the "Gloss" blog. If I do a
prompt, I have better simplify it. What are your thoughts. Many admit to no
real interest in poetry. Sometimes like someone remarked, "It is like being
lost in a black hole."
But like you, every post can have something in it that sparks a new poem.
Jackie Lee
Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Lynda Lambert
via stylist
Sent: Saturday, August 01, 2015 7:37 AM
To: Writers' Division Mailing List
Cc: Lynda Lambert
Subject: Re: [stylist] New Prompt, Poem & Photos
Jackie, and all -
what a good idea to get back on track with writing. I agree, but some of
the chatter is full of imagery for writing or making art. Ideas can come
from anywhere.
I like the three poems you sent here. I remember the first one about your
son and the gathering of stones for the medicine bag you created in his
memory. It is beautiful. I love stones of all sorts and it seems like every
place I go, I bring back a stone from that place - have bowls of stones
throughout my home. I think the stones I love the most are the
bottom-of-the-creek water worn stones I have gathered when out in my canoe
on a river. I have one small mixed media fiber work I created which started
with three such river stones - the piece eventually was finished and called
"Party on the Allegheny River" and it has appeared in international
exhibitions and won in many shows - Last year it won a very good monetary
award at the American Printing House for the Blind - in their annual museum
exhibition. The work is only about 5 inches square - but stones are so
powerful that just a very tiny stone can stop a person in their tracks by
the beauty and energy it radiates. Stones are an essential element in just
about all of my art work - and they show up often in my poetry and writing.
I will attach a photo of Party on the Allegheny River for those who can see
it.
My love affair with beautiful stones and crystals is reflected in my
talismans I create using stones, gems, found objects, and other items - the
talismans are complex, exquisite and costly - I create exhibition pieces,
viewed in galleries and museum shows. For those who have some vision or can
use magnification, I'll also attach a photo of "The Dragon's Healing
Breastplate" - shown in exhibition at a museum in Pittsburgh last year.
I'll attach "My Bleeding Heart," a talisman completed this year. It just won
"Best of show" at a PA juried exhibition in July. You can see that stones
are a motif in my art and my writing.
And, below, I will cut and paste a poem which describes the glory of wearing
stones. This poem is called "Adornment." I began working with an idea I got
when a friend once said to me, "OH, I love wearing my jewelry. I could just
adorn myself with every piece I own, and wear them all at the same time."
She was a metal smith and created one-of-a-kind works. I combined her
thoughts on wearing jewelry, with my own experiences, and this is what came
out.
Thanks for putting out this prompt.
**
“Adornment: decorations worn to attract attention.”
by Lynda McKinney Lambert
On languid September days
I would like to wear
colorful gaudy jewelry
every single one
at the same time.
Adornments are worn to enhance autumn days.
I’d put the gems on in layers,
an ancient warrior preparing for battle.
Blue Topaz rings, one on each finger.
My arms, encircled with ornaments.
Protected by brilliant stones-
faceted cherry quartz, deep green turquoise chunks,
nuggets of Baltic amber in different colors,
jet black polished stones, and waxy yellow opals.
I’ll wear a periwinkle blue dancing skirt.
a flowing chiffon jacket .
I am a flamboyant coat-of-armor
that covers voluptuous, full breasts
like a bishop’s gold encrusted shawl.
My holy, rare, mother-of-pearl talisman
adorns my royal, goddess chest.
I slip my perfumed feet into soft sky blue sandals,
promenade around the spacious room,
in ever widening circles,
among the evening shadows,
under luminescent spheres
turning high above us.
-----Original Message-----
From: Jackie Williams via stylist
Sent: Friday, July 31, 2015 7:59 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List'
Cc: Jackie Williams
Subject: [stylist] A New Prompt, LONGISH
Hi all,
The back and forth of these last few days is mind-dancing. In some ways I
agree with Joanne, and in some instances with Bridgit. Since we are first
and foremost writers, can each of you write either a piece of flash fiction,
or short memoire, or a poem about the unusual things that are close to your
hearts and minds. rocks, essential oils, age regression, or dreams, or even
Portland! You can skip it if it is porn!
I will start you off by cutting and pasting three poems. The first I posted
long ago when the discussions ran along similar tracks. My son disappeared
when he was twenty and his remains were not found for fourteen years. He was
on a ledge near the top of Black Mountain in AZ, near the Superstition
Mountains.
Some friends had a most unusual service of sorts in the Sawtooth Mountains
of Idaho just two years after he disappeared. He had worked in the forestry
service and some friends carved out a medicine wheel in such a private place
that it was not desecrated for five years. Because of his interest in Indian
lore and rocks, I researched the rocks I thought represented him best. I put
them in his medicine bag which now hangs next to my bed with the
Dream-catcher.
Medicine Wheel
you taught me how to grieve
dance emotions chant the sorrow
place myself in the power of your signs
bid my son good-bye
buried in pain I did not hear
his cries for help before he left
my wonderment that our first steps
into stark wilderness were matched in time
yet became our solitary journeys
it is not right that the mother
survives the son unless his spirit
burns bright within her for all of her
remaining days
your circle of rocks enabled this
I put three Indian healing stones
that captured his spirit
into my medicine bag
fiesta jasper a bright coral
to give dynamism lively energy
power to attend us always
crazy lace agate to provide security
from doing things only for another's desire
give confidence in any new domain
yet soften stubbornness
rock crystal versatile powerful
to stimulate and focus energy
to heal the body and the mind
enhance a vision
give powers of observation
arouse authority to live fully
we bless you Medicine Wheel
as you did the healing stones
by the spirit from the beating drum
I sprinkle cornmeal then leave
His medicine bag hangs near my heart
my son's life force and mine are converged
I hope this next cinquain will not offend anyone. The form: Five lines of
2,4,6,8,2 syllables in iambic. Not usually rhymed, but I could not resist.
Citrines
I do
not ever have
to clean my old latrine,
for hanging on each wall I have
citrines.
The last poem is an Anaphora, meaning the beginning of each stanza, or line,
or whatever are started with the same word or words. In this case, the words
are, Her hands. I suggest you read this one through, not line by line, at
least at first, and then again if you want to know the oils.
11. Traditional Form, Anaphora
Magic Through Raindrop Therapy
Her hands are gnarled. The fingers twisted so give lie to tenderness, the
strength, the flow of energy to flesh, so cold it shivers.
As she applies the oils....limbs live, skin quivers.
Her hands give life, and so they move her own into my muscles from which use
has flown. Three drops of valor, thyme, oregano
then soft massage on soles to make them glow.
Her hands now smoothly, quickly make their moves. I murmur sweetly many,
"Ah's," and "Oo's."
Then comes the cypress, basil and the birch, some peppermint and marjoram to
search
her hands for guidance, knowledge to work in to spastic muscles, jangling
nerves, dry skin. My stress recedes as if from endless war
for now my body finally knows the score.
Her hands will finally smooth Aroma Siez and "crown of oils," the super
Ortho Ease. The miracles of frankincense and myrrh cannot compete. I do not
want to stir!
Her hands have made my universe complete. I think I'll never feet again the
heat
from hands that poured those urgent healing balms. if I can give to
others-feel no qualms-
her hands might teach me once again to love a body's need for energy above,
belie the mundane frantic lives we lead, make contact once again with life
decreed.
Jacqueline Williams, Mesa, AZ
Published, Sandcutters,ASPQuarterly
Incidentally, though my sister is a Reiki Master, and I hold a
Second-degree Reiki certificate, I am not a true believer. I just know that
it helps people who can believe, just like so many other mind-body healing
methods and therapies.Raindrop Thereapy is really not Reiki, but a special
massage therapy, but my sister gives them.rAIN
I am working ON a poem about Portland. Did you know that it has the most
environmentally friendly garbage collection methods probably in the entire
U.S.? Also, that it has a high suicide rate due to the cold, gloomy, and
rainy weather much of the year? I took AFAA training there years ago and
loved it for this. It is the heat in triple digits, the politics, and the no
rain that make me even consider such a thing here.
Jackie Lee
Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz
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