Review of "The Mystery of the Hidden Driveway"

As should be expected, much is strange and unnatural in The Mystery of the Hidden Driveway, the third book of poems by Jennifer L. Knox. Murderers, opera singers, and coyotes rub shoulders across the varied, yet equally wild, psychic terrains of desert, suburbia, and silent movies... Read full review on Tarpaulin Sky.

Immersed in Poetry

The Massachusetts Poetry Festival was a great success this year. Poets and poetry-lovers filled the waterfront town of Salem, MA last weekend (including Friday the 13th). I co-led Becoming the Other: Writing the Dramatic Monologue, and the poems that were begun there were great. They included a cautionary tale narrated by a well-known doll and a few surprise visits from unsavory murderers. The workshop took place in the Hooper House at the House of Seven Gables, complete with old fireplace, ironware, and pottery crocks.

I also took a workshop in Erasure and Found Poems with Angela Voras-Hills (in that same funky room), and got some good ideas for process poems and exercises. Patricia Smith, Mark Doty, and emerging poet Elisa Gabbert gave engaging, inspiring, thought-provoking readings at the headline event. The organizers and volunteers did a fabulous job. I came home with many ideas and the perennial wish for more time to write...

There was even a "poetry train" going to the festival. The 10:15 commuter rail from Boston featured volunteers who walked through one of the cars and sat down with small groups of people for intimate poetry readings, before moving on to the next cluster of folks. My group was treated to a selection of Rilke, Cummings, and ancient Persian love poetry as the marshes and shopping centers slid by the windows.


In the Hooper House with KL Pereira. Thanks to Rachel for the photo.

MA Poetry Festival

If you live in or near Massachusetts, consider attending the MA Poetry Festival this spring: May 13-14 in Salem. There are many great events and workshops planned. I'll be co-teaching a workshop with the fabulous KL Pereira called Becoming the Other: Writing the Dramatic Monologue. I'm looking forward to attending a workshop by Patricia Smith, a reading by Mark Doty, the small press fair, and more.

Vita Longa Erat

"Ars longa, vita brevis," wrote ancient Greek physician Hippocrates, which can be translated as, "The art is long, life is short." Mastery of a craft takes much time and effort, and in the context of our short lives, achievement is unlikely and commendable. Hippocrates was talking about the art and technique of surgery, but the sentiment holds true for the expressive arts as well.

"Take your patience pills," my grandmother told me more than once. Easy for her to say! She had 58 years on me. "With a shorter past there's a greater hurry," as Alana Davis wrote in her fabulous song Turtle. Thankfully I had my gram to impart such wisdom to me. (My other favorite expression of hers was her eagerness to reassure anyone--particularly children--who broke a glass or stained the large dining room table's cloth, with an "It's ok, it will wash," or "It's ok, it's just a glass.")

Gram, or Sophy Margaret Toppin Koch, died on January 3, 2011 at the age of 90, passing out of the ghost town of my childhood and taking her place at the helm of the guardian-angel-ship in the heaven that all of a sudden I sort of believe in now. She was an organist, choir director, homemaker, mother of three, world traveler, catalog-shopper, thoughtful letter-writer, spitfire, Leo, independent woman, and inspiration. Lion-hearted and with a New York Times crossword puzzle mind, she lavished me with love and correct grammar. She didn't remark when I dyed my hair purple or dressed androgynously, but God forbid I say, "Me and Sarah went to the zoo."

As a pre-teen one year I decided to give Gram a poem of mine as a birthday gift (I don’t think I’ve given anyone else a poem as a birthday gift before or since then). It was a lonely, maudlin poem, but she accepted it with an affirming reverence that I still appreciate. Every young poet should have a reader like her. Though I'm not as young now as I was then, I'm still a young poet in terms of career, and Gram's voice in my head reminds me to take my patience pills and keep working hard at what I love.

I was 30 and Gram had Alzheimer’s before I thought about how she had been an accomplished, lifelong musician, and that this was notable, extraordinary. I had always taken her work for granted, because it was just part of who she always was, in my short-lived experience. But she had not only worked hard to master her craft; she was lucky to have a long life in which to practice and enjoy it.



Gram and Kat in 1995

The View from the Window

Last weekend was Emily Dickinson's birthday, and the Emily Dickinson Museum hosted a party where visitors were given bright pink and orange-yellow roses, hot cider, and cake and cookies made from Dickinson's recipes. The atmosphere was festive and crowded as guests of all ages wandered through the parlors and sitting rooms to the sound of live fiddle and hammered dulcimer music. Upstairs, volunteers led children and adults in making ornaments out of paper reproductions of Dickinson's manuscripts.

The poet's bedroom maintained a peaceful atmosphere despite the bustle. Yellow winter light washed through the large windows and the white walls and bedding gave it all back. In a corner near the front windows stood Dickinson's writing table and lamp. Although the poet would have seen fields instead of buildings across the street, the street itself has been there for centuries and she watched everything and everyone that passed there. "Twice she saw the circus pass by," a volunteer told me. "The Barnum circus with all the elephants and everything. They got off the train and came up Main Street on their way to the Amherst Common."

In contrast, the house across town (no longer standing) where Dickinson spent a portion of her childhood faced a cemetery, which must have brought different musings than her view of Main Street. I've been lucky in my house and in my last apartment to have a writing room of my own, and my last one looked down Pleasant Street, one of the main streets in Easthampton, and across at a funeral home. I valued seeing people gather in mourning or celebration of life. It was a reminder of what is often ignored in daily life, the edge and moment that are always hovering invisibly nearby all of us.

Now my writing window shows me a tiny sliver of Mount Tom visible between houses and trees. More prominent is the plain white siding of the neighbor's house and the inside of our 6-foot wooden fence. The fence is old enough that most of it is patched, tied, or staked in some way, waiting for spring to allow us to replace it. The post in front of my window is ingloriously wrapped with a large amount of white rope, holding the fence pickets haphazardly in place. It reminds me of all that is imperfect in life, the jerry-rigging and the compromises, that I have to accept, at least on some level, in order to keep moving forward.

What do you see out of your window?

The NaNoWriMo Finish Line

I successfully concluded my first National Novel Writing Month with 50,000-plus words of Greek goddesses frolicking in Northampton (and copulating with mortals), lovers dealing with memory loss, and other adventures. Thanks to friends and family members, I also raised $182 for the Office of Letters and Light. A huge thank-you to everyone who cheered me on! My first novel is now well underway.

Boston Business Litigation Haiku

That's right, you just read the words "litigation" and "haiku" in the same headline. A friend of my mine who is a lawyer forwarded me a weekly email that summarizes newly filed business law complaints in the Boston area. This week the summaries were written as haiku. Those clever lawyers!

Judge Woodlock orders
Patent case filed as new action.
Facebook, Inc. complies.

Shareholders complain
One billion from Oracle
Not nearly enough.

Inappropriate
Sexual comments from boss.
One-Fifty-One B.

Bank's money flies off
Because of check kiting scheme.
Suit on policy.

Busted bottle caps
Customer cancels contract
Is Hood's claim covered?

Fast food franchisee
Defaults and leaves guarantors
Liable for rent.

Corporate raiders
Who cause contract terminus
Must the piper pay.

Junk facsimiles
So Twentieth Century
And illegal too.

Welch loses big trial
Ads for juice found misleading.
Coverage denied.

Planet Fitness gyms
Owe millions to their lender.
Repossession sought.

In the actual email (meant for actual lawyers) there was additional information (useful to lawyers) such as the attorney's name and a link to the complaint. But we're just concerned with the words here at Dragon's Meow. Thanks to the folks at Yurko, Salvesen & Remz, PC for writing these.