Seedlings in Stone

Don't Piss it Away

The last speaker of the IAM Encounter weekend was Dana Gioia. I've tried to read his poetry before and enjoy it, to no avail. But when he gave voice to it himself, I was quite taken. It made me glad that I'd at least purchased his book Can Poetry Matter? before the bookstore had packed up and disappeared.

And I have to say that it is Gioia's particular words, "don't piss it away," that have stuck with me. Imagine, a whole conference come to that simple conclusion.

For me, the conference had been going in a distinct direction: beauty, which I'd recently suggested might be my point of activism.

This is perhaps a "soft" thing that isn't always seen as important for business and success. Yet I'm coming to see it as absolutely essential. Because without beauty, we are droids or zombies or maybe remote-control cars— capable of power and activity in their way, but probably not transformative in the true sense of the word.

Some of the beauty that lives inside me has yet to be given voice. I felt that keenly after this conference. Some of the beauty that lives inside me simply needs to be owned and defended. And some of it is yet to be discovered.

How about you? What is still waiting to be given voice, owned, or discovered? Gioia has four simple words for you and me: don't piss it away.

Labels: beauty, Encounter conference, International Arts Movement

On, In and Around Mondays: Encounters are Generative

We walked North, kept the river behind us, or to the left. We spent a brief evening eating tortillas, beans, rice, salsa. And we talked.

It was the last night of the Encounter conference, and we had... an encounter. I know that, because when you have an encounter, something is always born. Bonnie loves poetry and Brooke sings it.

So it only seemed natural that out of our encounter... some poetry was born...

One for the Boys

You shut the doors
on me,
turned knobs
against night,
against how I sang
our blue-plucked
song.

Night Tune

to Bonnie and Brooke

Cry for me softly,
boys, open the doors
I'll sing of oaken trees

felled for a melodied
striptease of slatted floors
I'll sing of oaken trees

danced like Penelope
near thresholds of worlds
cry for me softly

sing back and echo me
as a river moves towards
I'll sing of oaken trees

girls strumming quietly
memories in minor chords
cry for me softly

hills upon lighted hills, or
faces past this old porch
will sing of my oaken trees,
cry for me softly.

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On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)

This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...

Labels: art collaboration, Encounter conference, International Arts Movement, poetry

Beautiful Empire State

How long have I lived here and never bothered with you? Empire State, building of movies, dreamers... marker of the night sky. I see you when I fly home from the West, when I remember to look.

And you watch out over my city, ever tall against the wind.

On this night, with Alissa Wilkinson, Caleb Seeling, Jeffrey Overstreet, Ron Kelsey, Christina (is that right? did I get that right? you, the sweet actress who welcomed me with your smile and your spirit?) I finally ride to the top. (We try to go to the IAM space and that doesn't work out; you are Plan B.)

It's so cold I don't want to be this high in the sky, but oh the lights, the rivers of lights, blues and yellows, whites. Is that Long Island I see? And now New Jersey.

Tell me again why I never bothered with you?