Sharry Miller

Poetry - Maybe

I think I could learn to enjoy poetry if I could always hear it read by its authors. I had the pleasure to hear the featured guest writer for this year’s Kachemak Bay Writers’ Conference, Naomi Shihab Nye read a selection of her poetry, short nonfiction essays, and fiction. This woman is simply amazing.

As a Palestinian-American (Naomi’s father’s family fled Palestine for America before she was

photo from Naomi's page on Wikipedia

born; her mother is American), she writes often about Arab-American relations and uses her words to plead for peace. But she also writes of more mundane topics that have had meaning for her. I think what I like most is that Naomi’s work is infused with her natural exuberance and great sense of humor, traits that are made abundantly clear when she reads her own work.

 

This year is the second I’ve attended the writers’ conference, and I found last year, too, that I thoroughly enjoyed the poetry readings by guest instructors. I think, like music, the words in poetry are meant to be spoken aloud. After all, song lyrics are just poems set to music.

Common advice for writers includes admonitions to read ones work aloud as part of the revision process. Linguistic oddities or stilted language become glaringly obvious when words are read aloud. When reading aloud, we cannot skip over awkward bits the way we might when reading silently.

I have to think that reading one’s work aloud is even more critical for poets. They are actively trying to achieve lyricism in their work, a quality that will be most obvious when heard rather than read. Additionally, good poetry is already so spare, each word carefully chosen and critical to the meaning of the poem that the reader must take her time and savor each word. Poetry cannot be read quickly, cannot be skimmed. 

This, of course, is my problem. I seldom (never) read poetry, and on the rare occasion I do, have difficulty setting aside the habit of reading quickly, skimming for content but not savoring the music of the language. As a result, I am sure I often miss the meaning of the work, and certainly am not able to enjoy it.

Hearing a writer read her own work takes away all of these hindrances to enjoying poetry. As Naomi read her work, poetry and prose, she emphasized the words that held special meaning for her; used nuances of inflection, vocal tone, and physical gestures to underscore her meaning; and portrayed her written language as spoken music. What a great gift to her audience.

Now, I’d like your help. Do you have any favorite poems or poets I absolutely must read, whose words and messages might speak to me? I’m not making any promises, but I’d like to bring more poetry into my life, to take the time to read it slowly and aloud. I’m not sure where to start, however, besides with Naomi Shihab Nye, and would love to hear your recommendations. Thank you.

I think I could get used to having this view from my morning writing spot. This is where I sat to write this blog post.

Traveling Earrings

It must be time for me to go on an adventure – I’ve put on my traveling earrings. When I don’t want to be bothered with keeping track of earrings that match my outfits, or don’t want to have to worry about losing special ones, I put in my traveling earrings. 

Earrings are my one real vanity. I don’t wear much in the way of other jewelry, I don’t buy fancy clothes or shoes, and I don’t bother to do up my hair or make-up. I own dozens of pairs of earrings, however, and, like a magpie stealing bright, shiny bits, new ones catch my eye on a regular basis. The funkier, the better, is my motto.

My traveling earrings don’t quite fit in with the rest of my population. They’re two pairs of small, simple silver hoops. Their best characteristic is that they latch securely so that I can leave them in day and night without worrying about them falling out and getting lost. I’ve found that my second set of holes, ones I’ve had for over thirty years, still tend to close up if I don’t wear earrings for more than a few days. My traveling earrings don’t have pretensions, but they fill the hole.

These little hoops don’t get worn on every trip I take. If I’m just headed to Anchorage or Cordova or wherever for work, I’ll usually select a variety of earrings to coordinate with my clothes. A longer trip, or one on which I’m expecting to be participating in active pursuits, requires the traveling earrings.

These earbobs have been to Hawaii several times, Bangkok and Bhutan, and several places in Mexico. They’ve gone snorkeling, scuba diving, hiking, and zip lining. Next week, they’ll get to go bicycling with me once again.

First, though, they’ll drive with me to Homer to attend the Kachemak Bay Writers’ Conference. I attended the conference last year for the first time, and am looking forward to gaining more inspiration this year. It’s a great opportunity to commune with other writers, learn from those who have achieved some measure of literary success, and listen to at least one world-renowned author. This year’s special guest and keynote speaker is Naomi Shihab Nye, a poet, essayist, and fiction writer. I’d never heard of her before her name was announced at last year’s conference, but I’ve since enjoyed reading some of her short stories. I suspect she’ll be a dynamic and interesting speaker. I’ll be sure to let you know.

Once back to the Valley after Homer, Mandy and I will hop on the train to Fairbanks with our bikes. Next Thursday we’ll start riding south along the Parks Highway to Wasilla. 350 miles or so over seven days. Our longest riding day will be about 60 miles, our shortest about 40. Needless to say, worrying about earrings has not made it to my list of concerns. I’ve been more focused on hills and mountain passes.

So, this morning I put on my traveling earrings, and this afternoon I drive to Wasilla to drop Rowan off at her grandmother’s house. She’ll be leaving Saturday for her own three-week adventure in Australia. She doesn’t have pierced ears, though, so she doesn’t have her own traveling earrings yet. I can’t wait until we’re both home to share our adventures.

Finally, Spring

The first week of June is nearly over, and spring has finally arrived in Valdez. The snow in my yard is mostly under six inches deep, and the rhubarb I planted in a big tub is up and growing well. When the sun shine, temperatures reach 60 degrees, although they're still dropping into the 30s at night.

Instead of my usual bike ride, I decided to go for a walk to the Pioneer Cemetery two days ago to see what signs of spring I could capture.

Thane even found a bit o' spring firmly attached to a tub of buoy line in the connex at our shop. He's been leaving the door open so the parent robins have easy access to their nest.

I noticed on my ride into work yesterday that the shooting stars are starting to bloom by the duck flats. Dandelions, too, of course. I'm ready for summer now!

Visual Dare - Opulence

 

Brothers

The Wilmington School for Boys had been run by the eldest son of each generation for two hundred years. Robert Wilmington could feel the presence of those headmasters looming over him as plainly as he could see their cast bronze busts perched high over the worn opulence of the dining hall.

“Robert, what are you doing here?” Robert heard his older brother’s harsh voice boom through the hall. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching first year algebra right now?”

“Yes, Alfred. I’ll be there right away.”

“See to it that you’re not late again.”

“Yes, Alfred.”

Alfred would never know that their father had nearly broken tradition when he retired and named Robert headmaster. Six months later, Robert knew that his father had made the wrong decision. He wanted to stay to help protect the boys from his brother’s temper, but he didn’t have the courage. Turning on his heel, he hurried out to his packed Audi and drove away.

 

Many thanks, once again, to Angela at Anonymous Legacy for this week's Visual Dare flash fiction prompt. For the first time ever, I exceeded the 150-word limit by ten words, but I don't think anyone will hold that against me. Please hop over to Angela's blog to read more opulent stories, and to find out where Angela got this great photo.

 

Some of my recent Visual Dare stories

Visual Dare - Inspect

Visual Dare - Diverge

Visual Dare - A Cat's World

Visual Dare - Mirror

Body Success

Sorry, but I find myself posting once again on success.

The first time, way back in February, I asked you to explore with me various definitions of success. I count that post as one of my most successful simply because it seemed to have engaged you as readers. This past weekend (in June), my mother-in-law was telling me how the post had prompted a couple of days of cogitation, and she'd decided that what we consider success depends a lot on our stage of life. She shared that she feels successful at 76 because, in part, she's proud of what her children have done with their lives.

Just last week (okay, it was my last post - I've not been a very prolific blogger lately) I shared a post about success possibly having to do with personal satisfaction at doing hard things that are important to you. Yep, that one works for me, too.

Today, though, my thoughts about success turned in a different direction. A friend shared a post on Facebook from Female Fitness Motivation: Strong is the New Skinny. The post showed a woman running, and said, "I count my success in miles, not pounds."

Boy, howdy, is that a measure of success I'm trying to focus on lately. In the past two months, I've ridden nearly 350 miles on my bicycles, but I haven't lost a pound - at least not one that will have the courtesy to stay lost.

Yes, my belly's a bit smaller, as is my frightful double chin, and I appreciate that. My legs are developing solid muscles, and that's great. But honestly, what I really want to see when I step on the scale every morning is smaller numbers.

I tell myself that what's important is my ability to do things, and I really am proud that I can hop on my bike and ride for tens of miles without difficulty. I like that I'm a strong, capable woman.

But....

Several years ago I was walking into Barnes and Noble in Anchorage when I heard a wolf whistle. I looked around and this very skinny man said, "I bet you haven't gotten one of those lately. I like fat women." Needless to say, I didn't pay any further attention to him.

A few months ago, a male Facebook friend whom I haven't seen in person in over 20 years made a hateful comment about a woman, a stranger, who'd been in line in front of him and did something he didn't like. I don't remember the particulars about the situation, except that the most disparaging thing he could think to say about her was that she was fat. I do remember thinking that I hoped he didn't see me anytime soon.

Yep, I know that what I need to do is take firmer control of my eating habits and work harder to lose weight. I also know that's so much easier said than done. In the meantime, I'll keep working on accepting myself for who I am right now, and settle for being "fit but fat" as my friend Mandy would say.

And I'll accept all wolf whistles with a smile that says, "Of course I deserve that."

Satisfaction, Not Success

Oh, dear – I see that I have been badly neglecting my blog this past week. I’m afraid my attention has been elsewhere with the onset of sunny weather and a shopping trip to Anchorage over the long Memorial Day weekend. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like life is going to slow down any time soon. I figured out yesterday that I’ll be home only one out of the next six weekends. Fortunately, I’ll be mostly away for fun stuff like watching Mary Poppins on stage, going to the Katchemak Bay Writers’ Conference in Homer, and bicycle touring with friends from Fairbanks to Wasilla (320 miles!).

While my writing practice may too often be sorely neglected, the one thing I always manage to find time for is reading. I think it’s because I can read any time, even if it’s just for a few minutes when I’m really tired, but I feel like I need more time when I’m fully alert in order to write. Excuses, excuses!

Over the weekend, I finished The Dirty Life – A Memoir of Farming, Food, and Love by Kristin Kimball. Kimball's account of her relationship with her soon-to-be husband and their new farm is written from her perspective ten years later. She manages to capture the emotions and thoughts of their new life farming together while also adding commentary and information from her later knowledge and experience. Oddly, I’ve read several city-girl-turned-farmer books (I’m not quite sure why – I definitely do not have a latent desire to be a farmer), and found The Dirty Life to be a reasonably good one.

One practice I’ve adopted as I read is marking or copying quotes that speak to me. I’ve written before about definitions of success, and I copied this passage out of The Dirty Life as I found it to be another definition that spoke to me. In this passage, Kimball is writing about her husband’s perspective on success.

In his view, we were already a success, because we were doing something hard and it was something that mattered to us. You don’t measure things like that with words like success or failure, he said. Satisfaction comes from trying hard things and then going on to the next hard thing, regardless of the outcome. What mattered was whether or not you were moving in a direction you thought was right.

How freeing it must be to be able to disassociate oneself from standard measures of success, to not worry about whether you made money or received professional acclaim for your work. To be satisfied with feeling good about the work you’ve done for your own sake, and not because someone else said it was good.

I’m not there yet, but I’m working on it (all puns intended).