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Dispatches: Journals

Kim Addonizio: 04.24.06-04.28.06


Monday 04.24.06

I’m doing this on Sunday for my first post Monday morning. I was saying yesterday on my own site that I was resisting writing, that it felt like work, while playing my harmonica was, well, play. Then I was driving back from running (usually I do gym stuff because I get shin splints from running, but today I just wanted to run & be outside, & it was lovely & gray & there were eucalyptus everywhere, & weeds & flowers coming up through the mudslides, & dogs & women walking together & a man riding bikes with his kid, handing the kid a bottle of water as they rode & just that one gesture made me somehow wildly happy, seeing a father and son out together like that)—but anyway,

I was flipping through the CDs in my changer, & caught this bit from The New Earth by Ekhart Tolle: “We are learning that the act of creation may involve energy of the highest intensity, but it is not hard work, or stressful. We need to understand the difference between stress and intensity . . . Struggle is a sign that the ego has returned, as are negative reactions when we encounter obstacles.” I hadn't listened to this CD in some time (I’d in fact been playing a harmonica instruction CD over and over—mostly I play and drive). It was the perfect thing to hear, to remind me of what I’m really up to when I write. It has taken me a long time to get to a place where I began to glimpse that the less ego involved in it all, the better. I have always had a “look at me” feeling, a need to be seen, a fear of invisibility and worthlessness. So writing has always been wrapped up with that—with a striving to Become Someone. As Muddy Waters said once, “I want to be a known person.” Then there’s also great ambivalence about that and a real shyness and privacy operating at the same time.

More Tolle: “Not what you do, but how you do what you do, determines whether you are fulfilling your destiny. And how upi fp ejsy upi fp od (oops, mistyped) And you how—” I’m having trouble here. Once more: “Not what you do, but how you do what you do, determines whether you are fulfilling your destiny. And how you do what you do is determined by your state of consciousness.”

The poetry you write is determined by your state of consciousness, too. Poetry as psychic map, as thumbprint. Poetry as spiritual practice, or poetry as ego fulfillment.

I’m starting to memorize Cavafy’s “Ithaca”; I’m having my students in my workshops memorize poems, & it’s always a good prod to get me learning more of them by heart. Here’s the opening:

When you start out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long, full of adventure, full of knowledge.

I’d quote the whole thing here but I’m not sure it’s legal. If you don't know it, Google it. Great poem.

Other stuff that is happening: I'm reading Dean Young, who is a really interesting poet to me right now. I'm rereading parts of Stephen Dobyns’s Best Words, Best Order, which I think is a superfine book. I just finished Rumi’s The Glance, translated by Coleman Barks. Right after 9/11 when I & everyone else was blown away by those events, I was living alone in Colorado where I was teaching, & desperate for something to help me out I put in a video from one of those Bill Moyers series, and there was Coleman Barks quoting Rumi poems & it was a great solace. I’m listening to Little Walter's “Roller Coaster” & thinking I want to learn it one day. I’m looking through some red voile curtains I just bought that are over my desk & feeling really happy about them; they’re kind of transparent so I can look out the window but not feel like people are looking in at me. Maybe that’s a metaphor. Also, what used to be a bunch of sticks & vines out the window have turned into lots of hanging purple flowers I think are wisteria. I think this might be getting tedious now so I’ll stop. I’d like to say things that are interesting and useful to whoever is reading this, but I’m not sure what those things might be.


Comments

On 04.24.06 Lisa wrote:

Ms. Addonizio,
I just wanted to say that I enjoy using your and Dorianne Laux's book The Poet's Companion for inspiration. I look forward to reading more of your thoughts this week.


On 04.25.06 rams wrote:

Please ramble (and if it looks like sweet peas strung in the shape of grape clusters, it is wisteria.) I was just, well past middle age, admitted to an MFA program, and the comments on ego and consciousness and work are resonating bigtime. Love Dobyns's Body Traffic, so glad to know there's a Best Words, Best Order. Blog on -- just pretend we're not here, hot breath on your neck.


On 04.27.06 Jim Keane wrote:

Hi, Kim:

Your mention of the father riding bikes with his boy struck a nice chord. It also reminded me that I should be doing more with my own son, who is now 13 (he came to us from El Salvador a couple of months short of 2). The unknown abyss behind his eyes has inspired me to write two poems about him, one of which, a rather simple prayer, I share here:

Hey, Hummingbird

Hey, hummingbird
hovering, peering in
just outside my window
to life,

just be there when I need you,

where my sad son
can see you. Be tickled
your soundless whirring makes
him smile a little, fly
a little, forget to cry
alone, a little.

May he always know

he is good, and my prayer
through his window to life
be heard, and never misunderstood:

Keep him lovingly in your sights
all of my days, and all of his nights.


On 04.27.06 Gina Marie wrote:

Hi Kim!

I understand you comments on writing to satisfy ones own self-indulgence. Coincidentally, I had this conversation recently with a few writer friends of mine. If ones poetry is purely self-indulgent, is it really for the public to hear? I’ve been thinking about this lately with my own poetry, which is mainly confessional. I have been asked to share it publicly, and I am not sure who would benefit from that. I write for my own sanity, to get these words that are suffocating my brain out on paper – to have a tangible piece of my soul. But do I really want others to read or hear what my soul seems to be spewing at the moment? Well, now I’m rambling, sorry. But these are some of the things that I think about as an (amateur) poet. Your post reminded me of some of this.

Checked out Ithaca and I’m glad I did. I am currently undergoing a spiritual (and soon to be physical) journey, and so this held some personal resonance.

I’m enjoying both your blogs. I discovered you last spring in a poetry writing class at Penn State. (The Poet’s Companion was one of our required texts.) I’ve since been reading your books, and, to say the least, I have found them (and you) to be inspirational. So… thank you, and know that you are making a difference in this world.



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Kim Addonizio
Kim Addonizio's poetry has been called "gritty," but it might be more accurate to say she sees humanity everywhere, even in the darkest corners of the world. In "The Call," for instance, she writes about a phone sex operator walking around her apartment, checking on her sleeping child, talking to a male customer. She cannot see that he’s a paraplegic, "turning his wheelchair right, / left, right. A tube runs down / his pants leg. Sometimes / he thinks he feels something . . . " She is the author of four poetry collections: The Philosopher's Club, Jimmy & Rita, Tell Me, and What Is This Thing Called Love. She recently published her first novel, Little Beauties. She has a spoken word/music CD, Swearing, Smoking, Drinking, & Kissing, with Susan Browne. Her work has been recognized with a Guggenheim Fellowship, two NEA Fellowships, and other honors.

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