"You Learn"

Lemme just squeeze in a short poem of mine, as a prelude to a well-known poem. Okay, I think it's well-known. And not just by many, but by heart. Someone introduced me to it when I was in my late teens. At the time, it was attributed to good ol' Anonymous. Enter, Google. The writer was Veronica Shoffstall - or so I thought. The Keepers of the Knowledge of Rightful Attributions - okay, that's not a thing, but it should be - came to the defence of Jorge Luis Borges, an Argentinian writer, pointing out that his was the beautiful soul that had penned those poignant words. It reminds me of Marianne Williamson's "Our deepest fear..." constantly being attributed to Nelson Mandela. But, I digress. The jury should be back by now on "You Learn". (It's sometimes referred to as After A While.) It's the Internet, who knows? What I am sure of is the high degree of relatabilty that burns within the poem. Well, "high degree of relatability" for some. For others, I think you'll appreciate it, nonetheless.

*squeezes in*

All In My Head

Fool me once - shame on you

Fool me twice - shame on me

Fool me thrice - I must like it when you "fool" me.

For a fourth time? I have been fooling myself.

It was all in my head.

Now, over to you, Jorges. (Yes. #TeamJorges.)

You Learn

After a while you learn the subtle difference

Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

And company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

And presents aren't promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats

With your head up and your eyes open

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today

Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans

And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn…

That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,

Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…

And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.

 - Jorges Luis Borges

Claudia
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Poetry on the GO

There's always something to write about. It's amazing how, once you put pen to paper, or finger tips to keyboard, the words come. They sometimes come in poetry; they sometimes come in prose. But, however they do, they come.

Not too long ago, as I sat aboard a GO train headed for Union Station in Toronto, I noticed a familiar gesture. The woman who sat across from me stared out the window. Her reflection fused with oncoming trees, cars, and buildings. I faced the direction of the train; she did not.

It came to me then, as it had so many times before, that I could use even a seemingly mundane thing as a springboard for a story.
Plus, I take the train so often, I'm bound to fimd gems - if I take the time to notice.

That morning, the words came in poetry. I knew the title immediately. That I would call the collection "Poetry on the GO" came later.

And, while I do not yet have that collection, per se - actually, only one poem so far - I know the others will come. Here now is the first from the...collection.

Tears On A Train

She sat looking out the window 

Of the LSW Train 

Something must've been boiling 

Because, tears came.

She searched her back for tissue 

None was to be found 

So, instead of looking out 

She started looking down. 

Claudia

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I Should Get Out More

Last evening, I had the pleasure and honour of participating in the 100 Thousand Poets for Change poetry event. The session in which I participated was one of two that marked the event in Toronto.

Truth be told, I was a tad nervous about reading...delivering my poems to that crowd. Most of my readings, to date, have been to smaller Literary Café crowds. And, as I mentioned to the gathering last Sunday afternoon, I always feel I'm in a welcome and comfortable space when sharing my poems there. But, I was not sure whether - and how - the Toronto mix would be different. I simply counted on them being poets or lovers of poetry.

My preparation took me to a new place. I asked a (really nice) co-worker to give a listen. Well, according to her, seeing me in that element for the first time, "You're gonna kill it!" :-) Okay, so, I dunno about that. I do know I put a lot into preparing for performances and speaking events. I recorded myself; timed myself and was glad I came within 20 seconds of the allotted 15 minutes. But, it was good to see that a total stranger to my poetry didn't break out in hives.

The highlight of the evening was not the fact that everyone was noticeably quiet during my set - unlike the much chatter during those of others. (I read from my upcoming "Fourteen to Fortyish: The Formative Years".) Neither was it the wonderful compliments I received right after and long after, in person and in email. No. The highlight of the evening was that one of my sis, Durie, was there to cheer me on. Well, she also helped me out by recording the set. Heh heh. But, I was really glad that she came to keep my company and give moral support.

Further to a few conversations I had with a couple of the organisers just before I left, it turns out I will have opportunities to deliver my poems to more audiences. I like the sound of that. It's one thing to be home, or wherever, writing. It's another to share the created pieces with others. And, the more I do share - online or offline - the fewer butterflies I have to whip into V-formation each time. Go figure.

Yeeaah. I really should get out more.


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
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Word-coloured Lens

I used that term on Saturday in a tweet. Word-coloured lens. And, I liked it. I was making the point that my poetry  - from teen years to now - has changed over time. Certainly, the way I write, has. It has become more ...mature, as is wont to happen with growth. Also, that through the word-lens, I could see the metamorphosis I had undergone. More than one, in fact. So, recording the fact of change - and how. In a more succinct way (the tweet): "Weird to behold metamorphosis through word-coloured lens. Core things remain- of course. I love thickly. Always have;always will. #PoemsToPC."

July has seen me typing these poems I've had over the years stashed away in note books and on folder leaves and post-its and jammed-printer paper and the clean side of fliers... Anything I could get my hands on when I needed to put pen or pencil to paper right away. Undertaking this compilation has been thrilling - funny, enlightening and thrilling. (Hoping to get it done for a book of poetry titled: "Fourteen to Forty: The Formative Years." Praying for God's guidance in that.) Now, the plan was to type about four to six per night. However, I think because there is some relief that my mind isn't at work creating the poems, there is ease in "just transcribing" and I get carried away to nine. Then I round it off. To ten.

Perhaps I'll share a bit more about the kind of change undergone in subsequent posts for July. We'll see. Before I go on to typing tonight's set, however, I wanted to share two poems with you. The first, at 17yo; the other at 41. (Maybe the book should be called Fourteen to Fortyish. Tee hee.) Anyway, take a look at what I mean. (And, the common "without" is sheer buck-up.)

Without Electricity

In that flame I see you

And I see me

Sitting by that same flame

Saying that we see each other.

The black wick symbolizes

The hard and trying times we go through

But, there is always hope

As the blue flame shows

And it leaps up into

That pyramid of bright light

Depth of sheer peace and joy.

- Dnafcnatgada

We had a laugh the other night as I read that one to sis @MizDurie, remarking that it was a long time JPS (Jamaica's electricity provider) had been treating us to power cuts. As I mentioned in a tweet to them: "Thanks JPS! Inspiring poetry and bringing lovers together (in the dawk) for over 85 years!" Lol! Anyway, here, now, is the other. 

Without the Kill

The nape of my neck is all aflame

As the sun's rays beat down

Mercilessly.

The hem of my blouse flutters

Responding to the whiff of breeze

That takes the slightest edge 

Off the heat.

I am wrapped in a heat

That cannot be ignored.

Too tightly wound, I am

Unable to move.

Hot and breezy

Trapped. Uneasy.

Like the way you have me going

Friend to lover

Bi-lovely.

It's how you make me feel hope

Yet hopeless

How you hold me

But without caress

How you kiss me. Hard.

Without the kill

And, killing me softly

Without the will

To love me

Back to life.

- Dnafcnatgada

Don't ask. Really. But, see what I mean?

Claudia

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SoMe Pressure

Does it feel like your attention span is waning these days? Like, it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with news coverage of not just the local, anymore, but the global? And, every minute of the day is prime time? And, does it feel like, because people are now interacting with and listening to you, you have to post smarter/achieve more? If you've answered yes to these questions, know that you are not alone. That may or may not be comforting.

There is a constant, nay, continuous demand for our attention from one source or another. I need not go on about the plethora of these sources - online and offline. What I would like to focus on a bit is that demand from Social Media. (Of course, this only works if you do, in fact, use at least one SoMe tool.) And, the attention-grabbing is one thing. But, look at what eats up your attention. It may be something that is of little interest to you, but you still spend a little time to read it or listen to it - just because it's there. Those subjects that are of much interest to you? Those are the blood suckers. And, there's a very real pressure that comes with participating in these media on matters that are of high interest. Most people like to play cool and invincible. Yeeeaah. I gave that up - the little that I had of it - a long time ago. Now, I'm just the perfect human being - flawed, blessed and highly flavoured. Chocolat.

I realized recently, as I scrolled though my Twitter timeline, I was beginning to feel "a way." (That's a legit Jamaican description of feeling deeply offended/shunned/disregarded... Context matters to the definition.) I have been writing for a while and have made the distinction between a writer and a published writer. But, man. Reading about some of the achievements of those who've had their works published, started to make me feel like a small fish in a pond, catching a glimpse of the big ones in the sea of published writers. Sure, there is much to learn from writers on my TL. A lot more to (a) fuel my anxiety and impatience - what is taking me so long? And (b) wonder why some folks are writing what I'm already writing - albeit in secret. I then remembered a quotation attributed to Abraham Lincoln: “Hypocrite: The man who murdered his parents, and then pleaded for mercy on the grounds that he was an orphan.” No one had forced me to follow them. And, I could, after all, choose not to follow any more writers.

Or, I could do what I did when that feeling kicked in: Remember why I write.

That did it for me, really: #writeorsuffocate. I also write to "use it all up" in pleasing my Creator. I write a blog; novellas; short stories and poems. It will all come together. There is no need for me to look around at others. As Joyce Carol Oates put it: "Don’t be discouraged! Don’t cast sidelong glances and compare yourself to others among your peers! (Writing is not a race. No one really ‘wins.’ The satisfaction is in the effort, and rarely in the consequent rewards, if there are any.) And again, write your heart out." Of course, this assurance goes for whatever your area of interest. You do what you do when you do it - and how. Use it all up.

Still haven't got the attention thing down yet, though, while on, say, Twitter. All kinds of news from all over the world come at you in a single scroll. What stands out sometimes is the range of emotions I can go through in one move of my thumb. Somebody won something; a writing tip; someone was killed; a quotation about kindness; a pic of a cute dog... It takes a concious effort to stick to what you went there for. If you're busy doing something else and are just "popping in for a bit"? All the best with that. I grabbed the following from a Monk episode from IMDB. It's kinda long, but, it's the scene that came to mind when I thought of "range of emotions." One of my favourite scenes, by the way. :-)

MONK. Season 5 Episode 7 "Mr. Monk Gets a New Shrink" Writers: Andy Breckman and Hy Conrad

Dr. Kroger questions his abilities after a patient becomes the prime suspect in a murder. He decides to retire but a distressed Monk is convinced someone else is responsible.

Dr. Charlie Kroger: Adrian, I cannot continue to practice anymore after today. The police think that one of my patients killed Teresa Mueller. I should have seen it coming. I didn't; I missed it. This is all my fault. 
Adrian Monk: This isn't happening. This can't be happening. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: Adrian, I promise you I'll get you another doctor. I'll call you next week. 
Adrian Monk: Okay! So it's not true! You're not retiring! I mean, you can't because... He can't retire... 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: [to Natalie] This is step one in the grieving process: denial. 
Adrian Monk: Damn you, Charles! Damn you to hell! I hate you. I hate you! You are dead to me. 
Natalie Teeger: That's not denial. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: No, step two, that's anger. 
Adrian Monk: Okay. Okay, we're all adults here. We can work this out. I can hire you full time, all right? Put you on payroll. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: This is step three: bargaining. It usually doesn't go around this quickly. 
Adrian Monk: Why me? Why is it always me? Everybody's always leaving me. 
Natalie Teeger: Depression? 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: Yeah. 
Adrian Monk: This can't go on. I mean, it's just too much. Okay, you're right. It's not the end of the world. I'll just have to find another doctor. I owe you so much. Thanks to you, I think I can get past this. Thanks, doc. 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: And finally, acceptance. 
Natalie Teeger: Thank God that's over. 
Adrian Monk: He can't retire! The man can't quit because he's not a quitter. 
Natalie Teeger: Wait, what's going on? 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: I don't know. It's like he's starting all over again, like he's in a loop. 
Adrian Monk: I hate you for this, Kroger! You are dead to me! You understand me? Dead! 
Dr. Charlie Kroger: I really should be heading home. 

Claudia 

www.cyopro.com

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"Company"

My most beautiful moments
Have been with you
Under a black velvet sky -
By the sea -
You, my dreams and me.

With your laughter,
You share the music of my heart
The rhythms of my soul
All that I've longed for
To have and to hold...

On to your thoughts
That you share with me.
You touch. I feel.
There's more to meeting than just company.

My most beautiful moments
Sharing our laughter, our thoughts
With the wind.  By the sea.
You, our dreams and me.


Dnafcnatgada
Feb. 8, 1993

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Dnafcnatgada: Only for the poetry

I've decided to share poems from my tweens to the now, right here. I'll try to resist the temptation to edit them prior to posting them. However, I shall also reserve the right to reproduce them in other media and edit, as I deem necessary. I learned much about writing while writing, over the years. The argument may be made about 'raw honesty'. But, there's something to be said for learning the right...well, on second thought (and you can tell I've started having second thoughts), we'll see.

Just about the time I'd started writing - poems, short stories, diarya-into-journal entries - I assumed the pseudonym "Dnafcnatgada". Lying in bed one night when I was about fourteen, it just came to me. Like, it was there for only me to take. And I took it. I still don't know what it means, and it still doesn't matter.

I use it only for the poetry.

Leafing through my (rather worn, yellowing and spineless) notebook tonight, I found this one I'd penned twenty years ago - give or take about two weeks. It's dated Saturday, October 15, 1988. Was I in love? I think so.

When I see you again

I came to see you today
And again, you were not at home.

When I see you again
I'm going to cry in your arms
'Cause I missed you so much.
And I'll tell you how much
I longed to see you.

But first
I will demand to know
Just where you were
And what you dared to place before me.
I would like to know
Just how much you value your time with me
How much you loathe the time without me.

But, after that
I will forgive you
As I always do.
When I see you again.

-Dnafcnatgada