Emphatically Yours...

I like words, language, turns of phrase...I like new ones, old ones--especially old ones. Sometimes I like to go mucking around in the dictionary.com or Oxford English attic just to see what I can dust off and put to good use. (There are some good ones!) Sometimes I am writing an email or in conversation and I use a word that I didn't know I knew.  That's always a weird but pleasant surprise. I spend so much of my time communicating that having interesting terms at my disposal makes the experience more entertaining for me--like learning to brush your teeth with the opposite hand or walking backwards or something.

I don't know why, but I've been exclaiming a lot lately, and as I try to limit my swearing (only for peak comedic effect) I've started to use other words and phrases to express my distress, surprise, etc., like:

"Zounds!"

"My word!"

"Fie!"

"Upon my life!"

"Damn it all to hell!"

Okay, that last one isn't void of curses, but they are the mild swear words at least. And, I am not damning anyone, just it--more specifically it all.  That could be anything: all the bugs, all the splinters, all the incompetence...Let's be honest, who would be upset to see any of those things gone?

A Typical Exchange

(between one of my sisters and me)
**

ME: Introspection revelation--I am not a humble person anymore.

SISTER: U definitely are!

ME: Oh. Okay...
Seriously? Because I'm not in my head. So much for introspection, hmph!

SISTER: U know that's the least reputable form of observation, rite?

ME: What, introspection? But Socrates said the unexamined life is not worth living. :(

SISTER:  Rite...but self observation has one of the highest margins of error...it's the least empirical and innately biased

ME: Yes, Master. ;)*

SISTER: Lol
- - -

*My brilliant and funny sister, upon completing her M.A. in education, insisted for a time that everyone call her "master", so there's the innards of that joke.

Squelch[ed] the 'Tude

I had this whole post ready. It was a vehement diatribe that I scribbled in a fury about a week ago sandwiched between a much more calm and stable preface and afterward.  I even changed the text color to blue for those parts--that's how calm.  But after receiving news of yet another marriage proposal, the third one I've learned of this week, I could not waste the space or opportunity on a stale rant.  There is too much love, too much happy going on right now and it has put a happy damper on my pity parade. Thank God.

Right now, in this moment, it's summer and life is beautiful and that's where it's at.

Congratulations to all the newly betrothed.
It's going to be a hot summer, indeed!

An Open Letter to a Lit Mag

Dear Up-and-Coming Lit Mag,

I thought we had an understanding. You, without so many issues off the ground, and I, having not published outside of my alma mater's periodical, could work together.  You accept a poem of mine for publication and quell my first-timer jitters, and in return I have various family members purchase copies and contribute to your bottom line--everybody wins!  I came to you humbly enough, not expecting you to give me the world. I was happy simply to be considered; I felt accomplished just submitting my work on time. So I clicked send and thought no more of it. Months passed. I moved on. 

Then, you reached out.  "We liked one of these enough to print it," you said, "so send us a wee bio and your mailing address. We'll send you a couple copies when the next issue prints."  I replied immediately (almost immediately; I had to write the bio--I don't just keep drafts of those lying around just in case).  Then, when I came to from my daydreams of reading tours, speaking engagements, honorary chair positions at esteemed colleges and universities and photoshoots for the book jacket, I told a few people.  I told my parents, a few close friends and the wonderful writers whom I had called upon to workshop with me on such short notice.  They were happy; I was happy; everybody was happy.  

That was months ago, Lit Mag, and the issues that I was supposed to receive are still MIA.  I know print media is going through it. I know magazines, especially start-ups, are having a hell of a time, add to that the fact that you are not aspiring to be pop-culture bird cage liner and it makes things even harder.  I understand that. So, maybe there is no hard copy of this issue. Should I look online?  Will my poem be there?  Did you change your mind and don't want my poem anymore? Did the entire staff and affiliated printing press spontaneously combust?  What gives?  Seriously, I'm not mad. I just need closure.  Tell me if you want me or not, so I can pick up my poems and peddle them elsewhere.  Either way, you were still my first so no hard feelings.

Sincerely,

Me

poetry & the posts to come

1 - gonna talk about my birthday a bit, but that's later

2 - *talked about the concert a bit, that's here

3 - and the beginnings/essence/bones(?) of a new poem:


"Polyandry"

My grandmother
took three husbands,
but not nearly as much
as they took from her.


*If I'd known folks would actually be able to see/read what I wrote about the show, I would've tried a little harder, dig? It's honest, anyway.

Walk Walk, Fashion Baby

So, the 18th St Fashion Show...

About 5 years ago, I was wondering around downtown KCMO, before it became the Power and Light District.  It was a weekend and, being the curious pedestrian that I was, I walked up and down the hilly city blocks.  I looked into shop windows, some closed and some open, peered at industrial facilities-turned-living spaces and wondered,  "Where are all the people?"  Then I stumbled onto 18th Street and, lo and behold! There was fashion. It was the annual 18th Street Fashion show, and that year the theme was "Chocolate Summer".  So many pieces in rich creams and satin browns; some even broadened the theme to include other candied colors.  I was still very new to the city, and finding this show put me at ease. "Okay," I thought, "there is something going on here."

In the years since then, I've fogotten about the show or missed it from being out of town. Not this year.  This year the 18th Street Fashion Show celebrates it's 10th anniversary, and my homie is one of the sponsors, so best believe I'll be there.  This year's theme is "A Decadent Summer". Don't mind if I do.

**and i LOVE that the show is at dusk. how deliciously eerie.

Preemptive Fun

Fall semester will be here in no time at all.  I remember what it was like to be a student: weekends not my own, always more work to do, my terrible proclivity to procrastinate...I

am determined to excel in this MFA program, or at least to give it all I’ve got.  I’m ready to do that – happy to, in fact, but freely relinquishing my “free time” has me in a tizzy to pack as many good times into this summer as possible.  I know, making it a goal sort of sucks out the leisure and relaxation of the endeavor, but a friend told me, “you know stress will come sooner or later, so it’s important to be deliberate about your free, happy times, so you can look back [retreat] on them during the crazy times.”  Already, a few weeks ago, we up and went to St. Louis. Chicago is next on the docket and probably Omaha after that.  In between, there are home updates and repairs, scholarship searches and of course my actual job.  Can one be overwhelmed by the good and positive things on the horizon? That’s called eustress, right?

Made up words

Scene: In Urban Outfitters. T, friend and HomeBoy looking around.

**

Friend:  

I like UO, but sometimes it's hit or miss.

T: 

(picks up cluch with tiny bow) Hit.

Friend: 

 (picks up faded, floral thing) Miss.

T:  

It's cool for inspiration, but they try too hard.  Then again, I've never been a fan of buying new things that look used.  It's...it's faux-thentic.

Friend: 

Yeah, and it's overpriced. (chuckles) I like that, "faux-thentic."

T:  

If I see something in UO that I like, I always want to cross check with my grandma, my mom and aunts to make sure they don't already have the very thing I'm looking at.

Friend: 

Good idea. (picking up some pattern covered thing) I wish they had more of their furniture in-store.  I really like the whole Anthro, UO aesthetic.

T: 

They are very similar.

Friend: 

 They're owned by the same people.

T:  

Really? I didn't know that - explains a lot.  It's like the Banana, GAP, Old Navy trifecta.

Friend:  

Exactly. UO is a step down from Anthropologie.  It's like the GAP.

T: 

 Well, I wish they would get a move on that Old Navy version because this is still too much.

I’m a Lover of a Fighter

When HomeBoy takes an interest in something or takes to a new hobby, OMGoodness, he goes so hard.  Case and point, in our last apartment, when he was wrapped-knuckles deep in boxing, I came home one day to a speed bag on the living room wall.  (I was not happy about this, as our last place was a great loft with high ceilings and an open floor plan – so open that one could see said speed bag from any vantage point except the bathroom. But I digress…) So yes, HomeBoy takes an interest and then he’s relentless.  His latest love?  Jiu-Jistu and mixed martial arts.  To his credit, HomeBoy’s interest began before the hoopla of the Ultimate Fighter Competition reality series, and as an historian, he’s delved into the beginnings of the sport and learned much about its geography and evolution.  (He’s a veritable walking mass of Gracie, Jiu-Jitsu, MMA trivia, complete with bad Portuguese accent imitation.) 

I am sometimes swept up in the whirlwind of HomeBoy’s enthusiasm, and a couple weekends ago is a prime example.  His hobby took us to St. Louis on Saturday for an event sponsored by Strikeforce, the second largest promoter of MMA after the UFC.  When I decided to be a good sport and tag along for this event, I considered the sociological possibilities of such an immersion. I was not disappointed.  It was a soggy drive there and back, but the event was really rather cool.  I have a greater appreciation for MMA after seeing it live.  We watched several matches, none of which were boring.  I even recognized a fighter, and because the tickets were so affordable we had really good seats--close enough to watch the action in the cage and not depend on the jumbo monitor overhead, far enough away to avoid sweat or blood.  The physical disparity between the fighters and the fans was quite ironic. While the fighters all looked like extras from 300, most of the audience (as I described to a friend) looked like they were as enthusiastic about KFC as UFC.  There was an abundance of Affliction and Tap Out gear, a fair share of spiky hair and mullets, plus the overdressed ladies who were 1) with the fighters 2) with the promoters 3) trying to go home with a fighter or promoter.  Thankfully, nobody spilled beer on me and that pregnant lady didn't go into labor. (No, you didn't misread that.)

All jokes aside, I really did have a good time, and it made me thankful that HomeBoy and I are so different. I'd have never experienced something like that were it up to me alone.  Who knows? Maybe I'll hit the mats and train with him one of these days. (If he reads this, I'll never hear the end of that.)

insha-Allah*

Erykah Badu

 Janelle Monae

June

I. am. so. there.

* "if God wills"

Edited to add: Got tickets. It's going down.

Came and went

While the end of National Poetry Month came and went without a peep from me, I did have a poem in my proverbial pocket on April 30.  In fact, I shared it in my toast at my sister's wedding reception the following day. (Surely you can fill in the blanks regarding my absence: lil sis getting married + big sis/matron of honor in town the week before + loose ends = no rest for the weary.)

"The Sun Never Says"

Even after all this time

the sun never says to the earth, 

"You owe me."

Look what happens

with a love like that.

It lights the Whole sky.

- Hafiz

Farewell NPM,
and congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Austin.

Speaking of Spoken Word

 I picked up Seventh Octave a couple weeks ago because I missed Saul Williams and our only copy of SLAM is on VHS.  So I skimmed and read, first silently and then aloud.  Then, when I went to the bird feeders blog, she’d posted this great performance by Rives, and it was like sweet confirmation from the universe that I should speak to spoken word.  So, I will.  I’m circling back around to the oral tradition of poetry.  In the beginning, it was what pulled me in – I loved it, and I couldn’t wait to write something to share with anyone who would listen to me.  Then, a lot of people started listening, and def poetry jam happened and open mics and poetry slams were as frequent and far as the eye could see.  It was competitive and inauthentic, and I wanted no more parts of it, so I silenced myself.  I wanted to get stronger on the page; that’s where I focused.


In recent years, I’ve been to only a few events (as a spectator).  I’ve listened to various poets and writers belittle spoken poetry, like it’s fake – their very western sensibilities making light of words that fly up from mouths.  Is it because they cannot hold these words in their hands?  Is it because they cannot follow them? I don’t know.  What I do know is that when oral poetry is successful, when the likes of a Rives or Saul Williams or Talaam Acey or Suheir Hammad recites a poem, it is otherworldly.  What the written word does not give you is that third experience/interpretation – that thing in between the words and spaces and breaths and pauses and the clever use of a homonym and various forms of wordplay.  I am not diminishing the importance or impact of the written word, but it is, essentially, only two dimensions.  When oral poetry is done well, there is more than the transmission and reception of common communication.  The speaker and audience commune – you’re in a relationship from the opening line to the closing phrase.  And it is beautiful.

Content with my pace now...whatever, it's cool (#4)

“Time Traveler”

Ask me

how many times I have started over--

how many endings I’ve seen.

It’s not magic 

when it’s not a choice,

and reverse isn’t an option.

This is really short - too short, probably.  Also, I've heard Back to the Future referenced several times recently, I think that means I'm supposed to watch it.

Stalling (and #3)...

What’s the hold up?  I am much more hesitant than I used to be about posting first drafts.  I think it’s because first drafts can really suck. So why would I, one who cares about words and the combination thereof, put first draft drivel out for all to see?  Maybe I spoke too soon about my participation in this year’s NPM challenge.  I’m trying to see it as a sign of growth, though – that I am becoming more discerning and honest and objective about my work – when I can read something newly written and say, “Wow, that’s bad.”

That being said, here's another one - probably not so great in its current form, but I'm not apologizing.

"The Missionaries Are Coming"

My soul isn’t lost
I know just where it is.
But perhaps I can help you find
what a pure smile looks like,
how to get along with very little
and God.
The God that you read about,
who only visits you on Sundays,
I will show you Him in the waters.
He whispers to me on walks to the market.
He is keeping my grandmother alive
till she’s taught me all I need to know.
God is with everyone here—
maybe it’s because our houses
have no windows and we keep our doors open.
He can come and go as He pleases.
In return, He sustains us
by your visits, between your visits and long after you've gone.
So, welcome, nice to see you again.
But my soul isn’t lost
I know right where it is.

NPM Day 5, Poem #2

“Mouthful of Cotton”

Puffy stuffing
blossoms from my teeth
gums made of dirt
Can’t scream
can’t swallow
can’t even bite my own tongue
Fibers tickle my throat
until saliva makes them soft
Then the wad makes its way down
and rests in my belly
I scoop out with my fingers
any bits left behind--
quickly now
Before it begins
to grow again

Slow start?

eating more words than i'm writing, so far this month. :::sigh:::

It Begins - NPM Day 1

“Scars”

Birthmarks
Chicken pox
Bike races gone bad
Facing bullies
Sibling rivalries
Team sports
Adolescence
Iron accidents (the clothing kind, the curling kind)
Cooking (there’s still enough thumb left for a print)
Gaining
Losing
Gaining again
TJ
Vincent
Miguel
Brian
Lamar
William
and Roland.

National Poetry Month Is Upon Us

It is with excitement and anxiety that I embark on another NPM challenge - one [draft of a] poem per day for the entire month of April.  The rules I'm giving myself: any form, any content, no previously written poems.  In sweet anticipation of the muses and geniuses that I pray will taunt me this month (and for always), I'm drawn to this TED conference talk given by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love.  Her delivery is very good, as is her content.  My favorite part is her retelling of poet, Ruth Stone's narrative of "catching" a poem - oh to have the Juju come down on me like that.  Olé!

Back "On Top"

 I’d given up reviewing ANTM because my interest was waning 

and the show has been on forever, but I am still watching.  

And last week was just full of good stuff, like:

Tyra’s ensembles.  She looked so very chic in her puffy-shouldered black, and let’s not even get me started on that gorgeous gray single-buttoned cat suit?  Emphasis on the suit; it was one piece but the top was a blazer. Shut up!  Someone is glad to have her body back.  PS, Tyra, thanks for toning the hair and make-up way down.

 No Miss J?  Who could ever replace Miss J?  It can’t be done!  These were my thoughts, but lo and behold!  André Leon Talley.  Honey, it’s a wrap. I may actually learn something from this cycle, especially the way he likes to throw French and fashion terms about all willy-nilly.  Alasia had better be glad he’s there, or she wouldn’t be.  I sense Nigel is feeling some kind of way though; he’s not the big man on the catwalk anymore.

Raina.  Her picture – swoon.  

Not touching her eyebrows during the makeovers was a stroke of genius on Tyra’s part.

Ren.  This has happened before, and I’m just as aggravated.  She bemoans being a part of the competition, but when in the bottom two she let someone else go home.  Gabrielle really wanted to be there, but you didn’t speak up. Boo on you.

 

 Jessica.  Stunning. once she learns what she’s doing, that one will be a major threat.

 Simone. I’m not going to sleep on her either.

 Krista. Body and bone structure are amazing. Still waiting for you to impress.

 Alasia.  She is beautiful, but she’s still a child, 

and right now that is overpowering my perception of her.

 Angelea.  How are you so hard-edged in person and so soft and feminine in photos?

In Praise of Late Blooming

I had my first kiss when I was 17 years old, and it was pretty much perfect.  In fact, I still breathe deeply when I stop and think about it.

I first discovered Santana when buying 11 CDs for $1 (or whatever the promotion was).  I had the disc (it was a “Best of” collection) for maybe 2 years before I opened it one night in my dorm room and let it wash over me; the experience was riveting.  No, I wasn’t high, but that would have been awesome I bet.

HomeBoy lobbied for years that I read The Godfather and The Sicilian.  When I finally got around to it, I devoured nearly everything Mario Puzo that I could find.

What do these events have in common?  I think it’s that the experiences were delayed for me and perhaps that made them all the more amplified and meaningful. 
 
Growing up, I don’t recall ever being in a real rush for anything – especially to be a grown-up.  I wasn’t the fake-ID-using, get-older-relatives-to-buy-me-liquor, needy-for-“romantic”-drama, hand-on-my-hip, sassy type.  I was present for a few risky games of truth or dare, but I was pretty much chaperoning.  I’m not what you would call an “early adapter”, but I don’t mind. Kissing and handholding and “making out” were enough to keep my head in the clouds when so many teens my age were visiting clinics and worried about multiple partners.  Discovering early rock and roll kept my faith in music when pop stations were dead to me.  And what more can I say about Puzo except “there is no frigate like a book.”

…The point! The point, Teresa!  What is it, and get to it…

I guess what I’m getting at is this – I’m in favor of slowing down.  Being connected to younger people allows me to see what a rush they are in, and it isn’t always good for them (or for any of us, really). Yes, life is short, but there’s something to be said for the ripening process.  We are in a rush to experiment with so many things early in life, but we may better appreciate and understand those very same things if we experience them later.  I’m not saying take everything slowly. Dreams, ambitions, goals – run!  Go get them!  But as for the other stuff, I think those things will come when the time is right. And if we wait, they could be sweeter and more memorable than we ever imagined.

Maybe we’d have a different perspective on aging, if we didn't think the “best years of our lives” were behind us.

Is there anything you're glad you waited for?  

Anything you wish you would've done sooner?