Marrow

The tone of this poem for me is that of mourning because of the title Marrow but also because of the memories. Gloe Cormie creates Marrow as the speaker which is fascinating and also seems to be a female who feels she is the voice and bones of this place/this beach house. I get the message that this place would no longer exist except that she holds its memory, and can speak of it, bringing it back to life.

"The sky is full of sudsy clouds above endless water."

Rather than say I'll be critiquing each poem, I'll say that I will speak about how the poem pushes me to think. I am more a lover of poetry than a critic as I tend to find something that I love or at least that I learn from every poem that I read. Also, I imagine there will be poems that move me, poems that confuse me, and poems that inspire me to write. So I'll comment on some, but not all, whenever my heart desires. Sometimes I'll be inspired to write a poem of my own. I really hope you enjoy following along.

"The sky is full of sudsy clouds above endless water." - Gloe Cormie

This first poem of her book Sea Salt, Red Oven Mitts and the Blues tosses me into a frenzy because it sounds like the speaker is talking about a woman who can't distinguish her imagination from reality. At the end it seems like her thoughts, as clouds, have tantalized and convinced her of something, yet turn their backs on her as satisfied as a haunting bully.

1st Volume of Poetry - A Manitoban

Well, with the help of a few friends I've decided on the first single-author volume of poetry for my 20 volume challenge. I find it hilarious that I've entered the notion of supporting Canadian poets by perhaps purchasing and reading their poems and my friends and family have inundated me with lending offers. It appears I won't have to by a single book. But, nevertheless I will be supporting these poets by reading them and blogging to my hearts content. So my first volume is Sea Salt, Red Oven Mitts and the Blues by Gloe Cormie. I felt it was appropriate to start in my home town of Winnipeg, Manitoba where I happen to be at this moment in time. I'm looking forward to this book because my friend Jocelyn recommended it and just flipping through the pages glancing at the titles it seems like a light hearted, sometimes troublesome and nostalgic look into a prairie writer's mind.

A poet or not?

For years I've been dreaming of, chatting about, and writing my first book of poetry. My silly daydreams have me trotting around the globe meeting great writers and signing my books for poetry lovers clamouring to chat with me. Sound familiar? Many of us have a hidden poet yearning to share their whimsy or pain. But I was reading the website of Salt Publishing the other day and realized that I am in love with the craft of poetry but am perhaps not so well versed in the world of poetry. There were several candid tips on the ins and outs of getting your poetry published, but there was one bit of advice that has been rattling around in my brain now for days. The website put out the notion that if editors had one wishful rule, it might be the following..."Poets are not allowed to submit a manuscript until they have read two hundred single-author volumes of poetry published since 1980." My jaw dropped when I read that. Although it was likely said in jest, I have not read any single-author volumes of poetry. Not even one. I read poetry every single day online, for free. But I think I only own about 8 or 10 actual books of poetry and I've never completely read any of them. What is that all about? How can I expect to write a book of poetry, become published and hope that people will run out and clear the shelves of it when I, as a lover of poetry, am not supporting poets that I enjoy? So I've decided that even though 200 single-author volumes might be unattainable as a blog space goal, I might be able to pull off twenty. So that will be my next personal challenge. Don't worry - I'm not giving up yoga. But I will read 20 single-author volumes of Canadian poetry and blog about them to my heart's content. As there are 10 provinces and 3 territories, I'll try to find poets from across Canada. This should be fun. I hope that you'll follow along. I'll announce the first book this week and likely infuse some word throw downs along the way.

The Adorable Neatnick

I guess I'll start off by explaining this word "neatnick." I have been using this word my entire life, as has my mother, referring to a person who has a propensity for keeping organized and is generally "well unto her household ways," quoting poet Edna Jacques. I always felt my grandmother, whom I affectionately called Tutu, was a neatnick. And to have a nice memory of her at this moment is serendipitous as today was her birthday. So to call my son an adorable neatnick just seems natural at this moment. I certainly hope he takes after Tutu in many ways. When it comes to his toys we have simple rules that help him keep the mess under control and, at least, off the floor to prevent theft and chewing by our dog. But when I happened by his desk and toy area yesterday I had quite a pleasant surprise. Not only was it clean and tidy, but it was impeccably organized down to each little star wars figure and zombie finger puppet poised and about to wage war.

Here is a wonderful photo of Tutu with my son a few years ago before she passed away. She would have been 86 years old today. Miss you, love you Tutu. Happy Birthday.

Word throw down # 8

There's not enough time in the day. If that's not a famous quote, then it probably should be. Today's word throw down is not about making your day less busy, but about bringing a sense of calmness to your crazy life. The challenge is to find a block of time when you can be absolutely alone. It could be ten minutes. It could be one hour. No phone, no TV, no games. Just a pencil and paper or a blank page on your screen waiting to be filled with a poem. Write a small poem on what "Alone" means to you.

By One's Lonesome

Alone for me
brings such a deep
and resounding feeling
of being loved,
wanted,
among friends.

Alone for me
brings solace
and comfort in thoughts
of my path,
of who I am,
who I am here for.

Alone for me
brings creation
and vision
spilling courage
from my hands
and my core.

Alone for me
brings a swell
of elation
as you return
and my eyes
bear your charm.

Yoga update

Here's an update on my commitment to myself. Just writing those words makes me think of the song "Hazard to Myself" by Pink because it is so applicable to my awkward yoga moves. But, I have been doing yoga daily for almost 3 weeks now. The instructor at my first class took one look at my mat, laughed at its 80s style poofiness and directed me towards the "real" yoga mats. At home I either do my Wii fit yoga, or practice the moves from class. It's pretty straight forward actually and it makes me feel great.

Besides that, I've been enjoying all of the attention from my dog, Oliver. Yoga seems to make him a little bit jealous for some reason. He can't stand that I am following the poses on TV and paying no attention to him whatsoever. It is the most adorable thing because, since we got him 8 years ago, he has been such a daddy's dog. Now he prances around me, nudges me off balance, whines and sometimes even barks. He lies down right on my mat between my legs and arms to make the yoga pose a real downward dog. I haven't had this much attention from him for ages and I love it. Sometimes I just have to collapse on him and give him snuggles. My next word throw down might just have something to do with our adorable Ollie.