Happy Thanksgiving! You know I try to subject you to as little of my actual poetry as possible, but since I wrote this poem a little while ago when a friend and I discussed keeping gratitude journals when we felt the most grumpy, and it seemed appropriate to the day, I thought I’d go ahead and post it:

Keeping a Gratitude Journal

For string beans, rubber bands, black cat calendars

green tea, green trees, tiny green frogs

envelope glue, mango lip balm, marabou

halter tops, high-heeled shoes, hair mousse

comic book heroes, Slavic jaw bones, cheese

scratching mosquito bites, the deep breath at the end of a swim

his face beneath your hands

your skin beneath a copper coin moon

your breath in and out slippery as fish

the can of sea glass half-full

that you still can applesauce by hand

that you can wake, one more morning, your one last chance.

There has been an interesting discussion going on in different blogs about poetry accessibility and whether or not poetry should be, in Billy Collins’ phrasing, “welcoming” or not. One blogger argued for difficulty in poetry, saying that poetry isn’t meant for “the masses” and that’s okay, and that one shouldn’t try to commodotize poetry, etc. I often hear this argument from poets whose poetry is difficult and experimental. The other argument, from those in the New Formalist camp, is that the masses want rhyming, metrical verse – and that most readers aren’t even aware of poetry written after 1950, because free verse has somehow turned them away from poetry.

Since I like to express opinions that make me unpopular, I’ll just say that neither of these arguments holds water for me. Why should poetry force people to climb a barbed wire fence? I am a poet, and spent time and money to study poetry, and I still won’t willingly read a book that gives me a headache. Well, maybe once, to see what the hoopla is all about. And I just don’t believe that people are staying away from poetry simply because they don’t like free verse. I know that if all I knew of poetry was the Tennyson, Keats, etc they taught us in grade school, I wouldn’t ever have picked up a poetry book voluntarily. Free verse can be done wonderfully, and anyone who doesn’t believe me should pick up something by Rita Dove, or Louise Gluck, or James Tate, or any poetry anthology that includes writers born after 1920. I think the reason most people stay away in droves from poetry is because a. they didn’t like the poetry (Tennsyon, Keats, et al) they learned in high school, b. they once went to a poetry reading that frightened them, or c. they simply think poetry is irrelevant. If they want to read, they read a historical novel, or crime fiction, not poetry.

I like to think of myself as a populist, and I try to write poetry that an average person could pick up and understand. However, I’ve been told (by both editors and friends) that a lot of my poetry contains too many references (to mythology, folk stories, etc) to be considered widely accessible. I’m certainly not referring to things in order to keep people out of my poems, but I guess it could have that effect. Is my poetry difficult? I don’t think so. But it does assume that a person either knows or might bother to look up a character, for instance, like Persephone, or Cinderella. Harumph. So am I a big hypocrite? I’m capable to writing direct poems that don’t include references, of course. And I know those poems might have a wider audience. But I only write those poems about 20 percent of the time.

I think there is space in the poetry world for difficult, experimental poetry, there is space for formal poetry, there’s space for every school out there. A book that might seem flat and dull to one reader might be exactly the thing another reader loves. I know as a reviewer that I don’t love everything I read – but when I review, I try to keep my mind open to the fact that other readers’ tastes might be different than mine. So I might say something like, “While this challenging work leans to the elliptical” which is code for “I don’t really feel like putting any more effort into what seems like self-aggrandizing pretentious nonsense, but I know that some people really get into this kind of thing.”

My family is full of intelligent people without MFAs who might actually read poetry for fun, so I like to ask them questions about poetry. They do things like research robotics, train corporate clones, program web sites, troubleshoot telecom networking, run medical scanning tests. My grandmother worked on a farm her whole life and retired with nothing more than a GED (which she completed by eighth grade) – but is more well-read than some of my professors have been, and can quote the Bible, Dante, and Coleridge by heart. These are people that work long hours, and want to be rewarded for their effort when they read. They don’t care about what school of poetry someone comes from, but they want to read something that grabs them, that moves them, that might take them from the familiar to the unexpected. They want someone who talks like they do, not with a lot of “fancy bullshit.” (Hey, my family has working class roots. Wanna make something of it?) I don’t necessarily always write the kind of poetry my family might want to read were I not related to them, but I hope that sometimes I do.

In the meantime, I like to read poetry that is mentally challenging, but not willfully obscure. Is that line hard to draw? Sometimes. Can poetry matter? Of course. It’s not like we poets should give up and say, well, no one’s ever going to read this anyway, so why bother trying?

To sum up in a jumble of pop culture references:

The audience is out there.

If we build the right poem, they will come.

Life is always a bag of mixed blessings, isn’t it? I’ve been struggling with an ongoing health problem (which I won’t go into here, suffice it to say it’s been making me very tired and cranky) but seem to be writing poetry at record rates. We finally found a cute little townhouse a bit cheaper than our current place to rent next year, which takes a weight off my mind – but it’s a long trip from the new place to visit all my poet-friends. I’ve been getting almost daily rejections this week – but also received two more acceptances from Pearl (who wrote a very sweet handwritten note) and American Poetry Journal which, along with the Iowa acceptance, I think makes a record for most acceptances I’ve ever gotten in one week. Then, sitting down with friends yesterday, I found out that a lot of them are going through really terrible times – losing jobs, loved ones, etc. So I am trying to think good thoughts for them and wishing that poetry could do more than it can – that it could magically alleviate money problems or health problems or grief or anything. Sometimes I wish good things would happen in vacuums – so that when they do occur, you could totally focus on the good thing and appreciate it. But instead, it always seems like any celebration is hindered by a hundred other problems. This seems to be an ongoing theme in my blog lately, hmmm – how to be grateful and positive in a world that seems daily to become more challenging to navigate. Like a lot of other people who write poetry, probably, I struggle with not getting so overwhelmed with the feeling that “these bad things are happening, and they’re never going to end.” Wintertime in Seattle is always a struggle. I’ve already started dreaming of the Arizona desert, all the cacti and hummingbirds and lizards, sun and sand. I have no trips planned to Arizona, just, you know, idle mental wandering.

I also started on The Best American Poetry 2004, finally, and just finished the two introductions by David Lehman and Lyn Hejinian (usually, sadly, my favorite part of the BAP series – the essays.) And I have a new stack of poetry journals to review for New Pages, and new goals to turn in for second semester of school, and an article for Seattle Woman Magazine that’s almost due. So back to work I go.

It is a day of many good omens. In the month of November, when the whole Pacific Northwest is usually drizzly and miserable, the blue sky is clear and bright, and when I went on my usual daily walk around the boat docks (I own no boats, but I enjoy being near them) I saw three – three – sea otters in the water, not ten feet away. And I got an acceptance from the Iowa Review, which was very exciting and encouraging (and did a lot to dispel the sadness from two rejections on the same day.) I’ve written a poem about bad and good omens coming in threes – three sea otters, three responses from journals, three…million dollars? years of perfect health? I can’t help but feel optimistic.

Still looking at places to rent for next year. Haven’t found anything yet. Ah the renter’s transient lifestyle, moving every year, constantly having to worry about missed responses and rejections and lost mail. But hey, if I wanted to be a homeowner, I would have stayed in Cincinnati. Or Richmond, VA. Or, really, anywhere but in the Seattle area, home to many Microsoft millionaires who enjoy driving up the prices of homes and groceries.

I am reading Marge Piercy and Margaret Atwood today, trying to write an essay for school and a chef’s profile for Seattle Woman Magazine at the same time. If I am lucky, I won’t mix them up and suddenly start writing about pumpkin gnocci in the poetics piece.

Thanks to all who sent me well-wishes and prayers. On this fall-sunshine-blue-sky day in November, I can tell you that my biopsy came back negative (sigh of relief inserted here.) So I am appreciating all the good things in life. Like today I had this great philly-style cheesesteak sandwich, which is (as you know if you ever lived in the midwest) hard to find in the Pacific Northwest. And the leaves are all turning, and the boats seem happy to be in the water today.

Had lunch with Colleen McElroy yesterday. It was good to catch up with her, and we talked about her new manuscript she wants to publish (which sounds fascinating) and how comic books provide feminist and multicultural role models, and how we like Joss Whedon shows (she’s a Firefly fan.) She said something wise to me about the anxiety that comes from sending out your manuscript and your journal submissions, about how we should look for people and editors who appreciate the kind of work we do. That’s good advice, I think. I ordered two books on the influence of pop culture heroines from Amazon yesterday. I am thinking I am going to do my big thesis paper on something like “The Female Hero in comics and other media and how they affect the voices of contemporary women poets.” What do you think?

Finally got to read through the new 88. Josh Corey has some quotes from a tongue-in-cheek essay there on poetry and the poetry biz at his blog. A couple of interesting things about this issue: one, that is has so many people from the blogging community in it, and second, that the editor states his preference for avant-garde and post-avant-garde poetry. Which surprised me quite a bit, since my poetry is not what I would label avant-garde. But maybe we are no good at labelling out own work. The poem of mine in the issue is called “Breathing In the Asthma Capital.” If you read it, let me know if you think this qualifies as avant-garde.

Finished up two big assignments, one on using XML in FrontPage, another on WS-Trust, WS-Policy, and WS-SecureConversation. Now, I only have “fun” work the rest of the year, like articles for Northwest Palate and Seattle Woman Magazine.

Now, to go out and enjoy a little bit of the November sunshine.