Bad Poetry - A Promise Post

My promise for the week was to write a poem.  I love poetry.  I open every class I teach by reading a poem aloud.  We don't revel enough in poetry as a culture, so I try and bring a little bit of it to my students' day.

I studied creative writing poetry as an undergraduate at the University of Montana.  I attended almost every single poetry craft talk possible when I was an MFA student at Pacific University.  I...am not...a poet.  At least not a good one anyway.

I haven't written a poem in ages.  When I was younger, I wrote poetry all the time, but I haven't concentrated on that form in a long time.  I do miss it.  There is something exciting about the brevity of a poem, about the small amount of time and space one needs to write the rough draft of a poem, and about the upswell I feel when I feel a poem coming on. I still have those upswell moments, but I've taught myself over time to ignore the impulse.  Tragic, really.

So, this promise was about indulging in the moment.  About allowing myself the space and the time to get inside a poem and try to wiggle my way inside its skin.  The results are not awesome, but it is a first draft of a first poem written for the first time since, I don't know, 2009, maybe?  Maybe before.  Could be.

Anyway, I wasn't going to post it because I'm embarrassed about it.  It is drastically incomplete.  The meter of the lines are caddy-wompus, there are these terrible rhymes and alliterations throughout and the urgency of the pacing I was looking for simply don't appear in this version.  Also, the ending simply falls off the end of a cliff.  I know, my own worst critic.  It is a terrible poem, but there is something inside of it that is worth salvaging.  And so the long work of the "real" writing of revision begins.  I'll keep working on it and see if I can't get it to come into full bloom.

Here it is:

Misdirected

I’ve been cleaning for days:

in office and bedroom,

in laundry and kitchen,

Inside cabinets, under rugs,

On counters and tabletops.

I’ve discarded tinsel and toys,

Chargers and tax forms,

Books I don’t like

and some that I do,

Poems half-written

and ceremonies too.

I’ve dug through essays,

full graded,

And lesson plans

complete.

I’ve thrown away a picture

Of crayon castle and horse

One of many, many more

my daughter drew me.

I threw out my pride,

kept in an essay I wrote

When I was a student

And still keeping things there.

I’ve cleaned cluttered sills,

discarding cobweb corpse.

And, lucky me,

look what else I have found:

tire tracks in underwear

laying on the ground.

The house busy bustles

with swish of broom straw

as I sort and resort

the “treasures” I’ve found. 

I sift through the layers,

an archeological task,

and I curse the skin flake

remainders of a life

cluttered full.

I work for days—

cleaning the house,

items to Goodwill,

and garbage upon garbage

to dumpsters and landfill.

I’m looking for space

where a poem will grow,

but I sit on the couch,

too exhausted to know—

upstairs lies my office

where no poet has shown.

To those who have made it this far in the post,

May the institution of poetry forgive me my sins.

Next week's promise?

I'm coming for you, Kerry!

Sick and Tired - Personal Day

This is my dog.

This is my bed.

This is my dog in my bed.

Good dog.  I'm going to bed.

After working many, many days straight.  I'm feeling a bit run down.  In an effort to conserve my energy, I need to take some down time.  So, I got my shift covered at the restaurant.  My wife is at work, my daughter is at school, and my mother-in-law is taking her after school.  It's naptime for this sleepy sailor.

More later.

5 Reasons Powell's Books is Amazing

When you live in Portland, Oregon, it is easy to take Powell's books for granted.  We have multiple locations of the independent bookseller, so you are never too far from the book of your dreams.  For those of you who are unfamiliar because of geography or because you are big box store book shoppers, here is a list of reasons you need to start supporting Powell's today.

5. Selection:

It only takes a moment once you've entered Powell's flagship store "City of Books" to realize that you are in the mecca of the printed word.  This individual location, one of many, is the size of a city block and has multiple levels to explore.  In each of their color-coded rooms, you'll find shelves upon shelves of fascinating subject matter from the obviously popular to the obscure and the rare.  According to their website, Powell's City of Books has over 1,000,000 volumes on their shelves.  These 1 million volumes are divided into 122 major subject areas and 3,500 subsections.  There is something for EVERYBODY at the City of Books, the world's largest new and used bookstore.

Photo courtesy of www.culturaloregon.com

4. Bookseller AND Bookbuyer:

Powell's specializes in both new and used books.  As such, their orange room is staffed with book buyers who will buy back your unwanted volumes.  Now, they won't buy everything, but they are more than fair with their prices.  If you want cash, then the amount is less than if you take in-store credit.  The difference is substantial, but you know you want to buy more books anyway, so take the store credit.  It can be put on a gift card as well, so you can buy over the website if you prefer.  In addition, Powell's does book buying over the internet as well.  They even pay your shipping.  How cool is that?  If you are running out of room on your shelves, but have an itch for new books, Powell's will take care of both sides of that equation.

The Orange Room during my last trip to Powell's.  Photo courtesy of me!

3. Environment:

The Powell's locations have that special something that make them dynamic environments.  Even the bookstore at the Portland Airport has a certain comfy quality that makes it pleasant to visit. Although, the City of Books location is the real gem in the crown of the Powell's locations.  There is something about walking into this store that excites even the most reluctant reader.  The cross-section of people present at any given time in Powell's is astounding and worth the trip for people watching alone.  In addition, they have a primo coffee shop just off the yellow room that provides a nice break and table seating so you can browse the selections you've pulled off the shelf.

Photo courtesy of Big Blue Globe.

2. The Staff:

Have you ever been to a bookstore where the clerk just doesn't understand what you are talking about or how to help you?  I have, and it is a frustrating expedition.  I have never had this experience in Powell's.  On my last trip, I ventured up to the yellow room and asked the clerk for some recommendations for good dystopian novels.  Together, we wandered the shelves while the clerk spouted off author and title suggestions one after the other.  He began schooling me in the subgenre of dystopian fiction called "cyberpunk" and gave me recommendations that stretched across the decades from the 60s to present.  It was a whirlwind of information.  This is the rule at Powell's, not the exception.  Every time I have asked a Powell's employee a question, I have either been met with an exceptional answer, or guided to an employee who could provide one.  

Miriam Sontz, CEO of Powell's Books.

Photo Courtesy of KGW.com

1. Community:

Powell's is an organization rooted in the Portland community, but its reach is felt way beyond the borders of this town and this state, even, some would say, this nation.  This doesn't stop them from being an organization rooted in the firmament of our own community.  Powell's does so much to bring writers and artists together with their readers and admirers.  From the ever-changing art exhibits in the Pearl Room of the City of Books location, to their wide array of readings, Powell's brings art to the people and has worked hard to do so since 1970.  It is a cornerstone of the Portland, Oregon, community whose scope and reach makes it a marvel amongst the doom and gloom reports of modern day publishing.  Just walk into any Powell's location and try and make the argument that the printed word is faltering.  In each of their stores, you will find proof that the world still needs books, writers, and readers, and that the institution of the written word is still very much alive and well.

Support your local independent bookstore.  If you aren't in the Portland area, then look around for yours.  It is important to keep them alive and well in our communities because they serve a vital function.

Papa Kyle's Surefire Recipe for a Good Day

Papa Kyle here!  We all in search of that special something that light up a day and turn it into something special.  In my experience, that special blend of happy be hard to achieve, don't you think?  I'm here to tell ya something about it.  Pay close attention now.  It be happening quick from here on out.

It's necessary to gather the right material now.  Start with the following:

1 cup of a good day's work doing something you love.
2 hefty doses of quality family time.
A half cup of routine
A dash of whimsy

Image courtesy of A Food Affair

Whenever following a recipe, it's important to choose quality ingredients.  So, how do you tell if you've chosen quality work?  Well, do you wake up ready to meet the day?  Do you anticipate the challenge you know you will find at work as opposed to dreading it?  Then, you have a quality job right there.  Yessireebob.  I got to sub for an instructor at PCC the other day.  Fiction workshop.  I was excited.  I had that spark, that energy, that drives a day forward and fills it with excitement and contentedness. That a good sign of good work...for me.  You got to grow your own garden for this ingredient.

Family time, now.  You can't be skimpy when it comes to the family time.  You listen to me on this one.  The quickest way to good days is to surround yourself with the people you love on the regular.  Morning, noon, or night.  It don't matter none.  You just get your hiney home and make good on the promise your family provides.  You play, you eat, you talk, you dance, you laugh, you snuggle, you do whatever need doing for those others in your life.  Hefty doses now.  Big as big can be.

Photo courtesy of Carolyn Anderson MD

Routine have a bad name for some.  Routine mean drudgery, mean boredom, but those people don't know what they be saying.  Routine keep a person strong, healthy.  Eating on the regular.  Sleeping on the regular.  These be good things for the soul.  Put yourself to bed.  Schedule your meals.  Plan ahead.  Those who say it be boring don't understand the benefits of a planned meal. Frees up more time for the family.  The planned meal be quick.  The scheduled bedtime put a husband and a wife in the bed together.  These things are good for the soul.  You just take my word now.

Art courtesy of Ann Rodriguez

I handle the naysayers right here.  You may wonder how one can have routine and whimsy at the same time.  Well don't be simple now.  The one doesn't void the other.  Every moment don't need routine.  Every moment don't need planning.  Every living thing got to breathe and you treat every day like it alive.  You treat every day like it need some air and some light, and you have a chance of making my recipe.  Get outside some.  Don't strangle the day.  Be gentle with it.  Find a moment.  You notice the moon be full the last couple of days?  Open your eyes. Take a moment. Slow down.  Walk outside.  Turn the t.v. off.  That glowing electric eyeball be waiting for you when you get back anyway.  The moment don't need be much, but it need be.

Throw all these things into the big bowl of a day and mix up real good, then you find yourself whistling in the morning.  You find your child smiling at you in the evening.  You find your spouse whispering your name when the lights go dark.  And the veil of sleep will bring you dreams both wild and real, for the waking life be just as happy as the sleeping one.

Start cooking now.  You just follow the recipe, hear?

A Daily Dose of Shea Cuteness

I don't know how it started, but it ended with some cuteness.  Tracy and Shea were in the kitchen when Tracy started to read the sayings on some wineglass markers we have in the cupboard.  Each of the sayings is supposed to be something you say about wine.  Shea thought it would be a good opportunity to choose who the descriptions fit best.  The results are pretty funny.

The memory card ran out of space, but I restarted as quick as I could.

That little girl cracks me up!

Abiqua Falls, Oregon - A Promise Adventure

The second promise I drew from my bucket o' promises was to take a drive in the country.  I used to do this all the time when I was younger.  I would simply get into my car and drive.  Most of the time I drove around the rural parts of the Willamette Valley from the Molalla Hills to Silver Creek Falls to wine country.  Oregon is a beautiful place, and I love getting out and exploring it.

Yesterday presented a whole range of weather as I traveled.  One minute it was beautifully sunny.

The next I was hemmed in by fog.

Neither one was a hardship because it never rained.  Not once!  For January in Oregon, this constitutes a great day!

Normally I wouldn't choose a specific destination for my trip, but I hadn't been to Abiqua Falls in over a decade.  A family friend brought it up the other day and I couldn't help but seek it out (Thanks Larry Stirber!).  This waterfall is tucked away in an amphitheater of rock hidden at the end of a mud and rock trail with fallen logs and a steep vertical descent.  It is only a half mile from the road, but what a half mile it is.  I was determined to get there, but it was harder than I thought.

I started out by following directions from Google Maps.  This was a mistake.  Google Maps is wonderful for the urban/suburban environments, but not so great for the rural ones.  I had printed out directions from the Northwest Waterfall Survey, but then I couldn't find them.  So, I resorted to using Google Maps as a tool.  It didn't work.  I wound up about 20 miles away from where I expected to, but it took me in a route that I didn't realize how far off I was until I was there.

At the end of the road where Google Maps dropped me off, there was a gate, just like I was expecting, but it looked TOTALLY different from when I was there years earlier.  I chalked it up to a faulty memory and began my descent down the trail into the small valley.  I hiked about a mile in when I realized I was in the wrong location.  A mile straight down.  So, I ascended the trail back to the truck and arrived huffing and sweating.  This guy met me near my car.

He charged the fence a bit and then backed away to a safe distance once he realized I posed no threat.

Determined to get to the Abiqua Falls, I dug through my truck and school bag until I got my hands on the directions from the Northwest Waterfall Survey.  At this point it was 3:30 in the afternoon and I was starting to sweat the amount of sunlight I had left in the day.

After driving for 20 minutes, I found my way to Crooked Finger Road out of Scotts Mills, OR.  From there, it is the simple matter of descending a steep grade gravel road for about 2.25 miles until you hit the gate I immediately recognized once I arrived.

The day was quickly turning to evening and the sun was well past the western edge of the hills, so it was getting shadowy.  The picture above of the trees in the fog is the view I encountered when I got out of my truck.  I debated continuing on or waiting for another day to make it to the falls.

Probably against my better judgment, I continued on.  I slipped and slid my way down the muddy vertical descent to the river, and as I progressed, the woods engulfed me in a growing darkness.  Once at the bottom of the valley it was obvious that I needed to get moving so I could make my goal.  The "trail" at the bottom of the canyon is simply the moss-less rocks alongside a stream where people have walked before.  It is not developed, just a vague impression of others having been there before you.

But the canyon itself is beautiful.  I hiked along the river, taking in all the ambient moisture in the air.  The mist from fog and the nearby waterfall infuses the air with a chilled wetness delights as it slides over your tongue and into your lungs.

The sound of the water cascading down the river is loud in this narrow canyon.  It bounces over the high rock walls, and, at one point before rounding a corner and entering the amphitheater of stone, the rumble of the water pressed into my ears like an altitude change.  The physical pressure of the water echoing off stone made me pop my ears.

And then there it is.  I rounded a stone corner and discovered it all over again.

I couldn't resist a selfie.

It was absolutely worth it.  I rested for a moment, taking in this wonder that feels like a secret, a private place where no one else could find me, and I felt lost in the best possible sense of the word.  Lost in the world, off the grid and alone in a way that is uncommon in the modern world.  I sat on a stone and listened to the water crash down in front of me.

I wasn't able to stay long as the light was quickly fading, but I will return.  I will for sure return when I have the time to bring a journal with me.  Abiqua Falls reminds me of great fantasy or adventure storytelling.  It could be the location of a great final battle, or the clandestine location where friendly factions meet to plot the overthrow of an oppressive king.  It begs to be captured in words, so that others can experience it in their imaginations.

Abiqua Falls was one piece of what was an otherwise spectacular day.

Promise #2?  Complete.

Promise #3?

I'll let you know how it goes.

Writing the Past - Writing Prompt Included

The last couple of days found me writing about my past, and the results astonished me.  I try to live in the moment and to not rehash the past too much, but there is something powerful about looking backwards.  It has me intrigued about what kinds of material I could find if I took a moment to revisit my own experiences.

In grad school, my friend Katey Schultz (author of Flashes of War) worked through a series of essays about her adolescence and childhood and her deep examination of her own past always impressed me.  While the subjects of her essays were communal and familiar to most readers, her ability to transform the common into the extraordinary gripped her readers and left them considering their own "simple" experiences.

It makes me think there is value in examining one's past.  As if on cue, I received a complimentary copy of a memoir writing craft book last night.  The book is full of prompts and exercises for examining one's own life in detail.

After all, some of the most common writing advice is "write what you know."  It's a good place to start, although Nathan Englander has some interesting things to say about this common, but often misunderstood, piece of advice in his piece for BigThink.com.

How is this kind of writing different from what I do on the blog?

Well, nonfiction essay writing is a more traditional form than the blog post and it means a much more focused and revision-oriented process.  Blog posts are off the cuff for me.  I don't revise them beyond one final read through once I am done typing.  For more formal works like a nonfiction essay, writers need to work through draft after draft to hone the language, structure, and form of the work in much more stringent ways.

It is a powerful form.  I suggest it for my readers out there too.

The way I was able to access my personal past over the last couple of days was to examine old photographs and to project myself backwards into those photo-frozen moments.  Only by looking at a picture of me giving a speech at my middle school elections did I remember the difficulty I had with an old friend.  Only by seeing a picture taken of old friends did I remember my love of dirt track bike riding.  The memories are lovely gems to explore personally, but I argue they are also grist for the writing mill, subjects of interest to others out there.  While many of us have the material, it takes the writer's focused attention and the patience to participate in self-examination in order to succeed.  The past is often more complicated than we realize when we open the door to it.

In an effort to share the wealth with my readers, I'd love to include a quick and informal writing prompt that may get you energized to try your hand at it.

Writing Prompt:
Flip through your old photo albums or printed pictures (try not to use digital photos for this exercise).  Be casual about this.  Look through the photos until you are struck by one you maybe haven't seen in a while or that elicits a specific emotional response.  Stop there.  Sit with the picture for a while and examine it.  Cast yourself back to the day it was taken.  What was going on?  Replay the day's events in your head.  Think about the days/weeks/months that led up to that moment.  Now, write.  Try to capture the essence of the day in exacting detail.  Don't be afraid to allow yourself a bit of commentary from your older self, but try and keep yourself rooted in the moment as much as possible.

Good luck!