I follow two writers (whose works I enjoy immensely), Lucy Kempton and Joe Hyam, through their individual blogs, and through Questions, their poetry collaboration. A line in Joe's response to Lucy's first question, "What do you know, that I don't know," prompted my Passion post.
...
I began reading Joe's response, and was beguiled by his writing in a woman's voice, talking of long, thin wrists with such intimacy it was almost seductive. He/she spoke of bracelets - bangles, actually - marking her days of exile, creating in me a sadness from which sprang an empathy for this forlorn soul. I am moving along with this image, this emotional connection (for I know about exile) through his explanation of how he knows so much and can paint her picture so well. He writes it "...came to me from your memory, drawn out through time," words that allude to a long-lived, personal relationship with his correspondent.
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His woman-in-exile speaks of memories of ordinary things - "shopping precincts and motorways" - and I saunter along on a word-stroll, meandering through the poem, soaking up the words. Breathing in and out in gentle measures, drifting with the sway of Joe's words and the images they conjured, I was unprepared for the departure the next line takes. It felt as if I had stepped off the sidewalk into thin air and could not regain my footing. Seven words, that's all; seven ordinary words.
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"And swamps that steam in every heart."
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Everything I know about swamps, from experience of the real to understanding the metaphorical, flashed through my brain so fast it left my thoughts spinning. Those words took my breath away.
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Summertime in south Louisiana; in Mobile, Alabama, and southern Florida. Steamy landscapes of soggy, spongy land; moss bedraggled trees; tea-colored waterways, the surfaces of which moved and swirled with the submerged passing of the unseen. Crystal clear streams and lakes where one could see the alligators and moccasins trailing the boat, Death incarnate stalking every paddle dip, every blink of your eyes against the overbearing sun. The morass of plants, their stalks and roots entwined, forming a near solid mat so dense one could walk across the swampland on it. Heat and moisture, mugginess and sweat. Thirst you dare not slake by putting your face to the water, because of what lurks beneath. The surreal beauty of plants and animals found nowhere else on earth. The perfume and colors of the bayou in spring.
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The tangle of emotions, the heartache of passion that cannot be consummated, the longing for that which remains unattainable. The jealousies and envy, fears and pains one conceals within the heart's swamp. The memories of loves found and lost, of childhood trauma and nightmares. All the things we dare not raise to the surface, let alone call by name. The wild, the uncontrollable; the wicked and depraved. Those bits of us that give off steam, that soak our dreams, that fuel our tears.
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All that and more, brought out by seven words.
(c) 2009 Martha McLemore
24 comments:
beautiful stuff.........alot of wonderful words have spilled out of the heat that rises in the south. i think writers and their words are shaped by their surroundings. southern writers's stories tend to grow like kudzu and take over the reader. i imagine words come slowly, sparse as the tundra in a northern writer's realm. write what you know, isn't that the old saying.....take care and now its back to my tea and honey......thanks again, jack c
Hello, Jack:
I am a displaced Southerner in Yankeeland. My literary influences during my formative years were all Southern writers and poets, probably because their works were the ones taught in the schools I attended.
Kudzu, hunh? Is that your chivalrous way of telling me I need to take pruning shears to my writing?
:D
Hope you are feeling better. Sore throat is a real pain.
..quite a captivating seven words...I am just now reading some fiction where the male author is speaking as a woman... I shall be back to compare notes..
thanks for the gift of these seven words...
I like how they fit together and the paths they open up
Harlequin:
I wonder if Joe realized the power of those seven words when he put them together last week.
He caught the female perspective rather well, I thought, in writing for his lady-in-exile the way he did.
He and Lucy are a good combo. I like how they bounce words off each other, in a game of verbal tennis. I'm having great fun following their game.
Martha
Whereas writing a poem - or trying to - often seems to have nothing in common with literary experience. The metaphor that springs to mind is that of opening a toolbox and pondering the choice between a screwdriver, a Stanley knife or a cable stripper. Sorry, no proof yet I am in any way qualified to speak about this.
My dear Friend BB:
Your first sentence is accurate, I believe, but I know so little of the workings of poem-smithing that I probably should keep my mouth shut on the subject. I know I like reading poetry for what it does to my thinking and the way it plays, sometimes, with my feelings.
You mention Stanley knife: when I read your post on the Stanley system for poets, I thought you meant the Stanley Tool Company, until I googled to learn more. It's a good thing I didn't go on to write a poem for you about all the Stanley tools in my workshop! I'd have really embarrassed myself.
You have provided more than enough proof to me that you can speak (and write) on any subject you wish, so please forge ahead. (If I spoke/wrote only of those subjrcts I am qualified to talk about, I'd have little to say. Maybe that's a good thing, come to think of it.)
I hope you haven't given up on your sonnet about the joys, frustrations and/or mysteries, et cetera, of watching paint dry. I anticipate it will be a doozey...which is a good thing.
Martha
You've made me want to get going with another poem Crow ...
Words are wonderful, and 'poem smithing' can produce great wisdom in little packages.
June in Oz
no,no, no.....no pruning needed. you write better than i edit. just a flowery analogy run amuck.....jack c
Was that the post where I invited you to live with me?
June -
Good on you! Poetry in its many forms has much to offer us. I'll keep checking your blog for yours.
Jack -
I do need to weed out words better than I usually do. Talk about running amuck - I do it all the time. Get carried away sometimes and don't know when to quit.
Utah -
When boundaries begin to blur, and posts/comments begin to blend one into the other, then I'm in trouble, for sure.
I took out two paragraphs in this piece today because they did nothing to advance the essay (or whatever this thing is.) They also weren't complete in themselves, didn't clearly explain the connection to the rest of the piece. Would have been better if I had edited it before posting, not after, hindsight being what it is.
I'll get the hang of this blogging gig eventually...or maybe not. Time will tell.
If I lose my home, I'll relocate to the Puget Sound area. Would like to stop by on my way out, maybe have lunch together?
Martha
I've long enjoyed Lucy and Joe's blogs as well as their collaboration Compasses so I'm excited by this new project of theirs. I love your take on it! Steamy swamps are foreign to me...
Marja-leena, I'm enjoying their collaboration, too. Waiting for the new responses is like waiting for your birthday so you can open another gift.
:)
I'm back here to give you an award. It will be posted late tomorrow afternoon. I hope this pleases you. Some bloggers find awards a bother as they always come with rule. I follow the rules, but do not expect anyone else to.
And I'd be delighted to have lunch with you. I'd love to show you my little cottage, to sit in the gazebo and have a glass of iced tea or a cocktail.
Utah:
I will do my best to follow the rules. (Must tell you, though, that I'm becoming more of a rule-breaker these days, having followed rules all my life and not liking who I became as a result.)
I will take that glass of tea, friend.
Interesting. I love to read, but mostly read books by women, since I have never thought that men knew much about writing from a women's perspective. I have read many, many books by women that write divinely from a male perspective, though. The only male writer that I thought just GOT how women think and talk is surprisingly, Stephen King.
Maria:
I have to wonder if what a woman writes from the male perspective would ring true to a man, just as what many men write from the female perspective is frequently offbase.
It is the rare writer who can become the "other" so convincingly that his or her gender is forgotten while we read their words.
King's tour-de-force, as far as writing from inside a woman's head, was 'Dolores Claiborne.'
Who are some of your favorite women authors, Maria?
I would say writing from the point of view of the opposite gender is always going to be a challenge; and I would not dare claim to hold up a male writer as writing well from a female point of view.
How can I? Even if I thought I understood women I could never be certain that the writer got it right.
Don't want understand them either; the mystery is rather beguiling
And as for women understanding men?
Heck, I don't understand myself so a woman has no chance.
Enjoyed the swamp ambience you created Martha. Felt as though I was there; not a bad feat given that I am sitting on a cool April evening in the North of England.
Poetry done well cuts to the quick of language. I do enjoy reading it but have no flair for producing poetry. You have a gift for writing prose that reads as poetry and finding a salient phrase that strikes a familiar chord. Hot summer nights can be much like those seven words wherever we are in time or space.
Oh, I have just 'found' your blog. What a glorious place to come and read, read,read.
I would say writing from the point of view of the opposite gender is always going to be a challenge...
I think so, too, AWB, but I may think that because it is a challenge for me. Men are interesting creatures, but half the time I have no clue where they're coming from...same goes for some of the women I know. However, I think that says more about my inability to understand other people, not due to any inherent inscrutability of one gender or the other.
Swamps can be beautiful places, but I'm too chicken to walk through one. Give me a boat in the middle of the creek or lake, but not on the ground, thank you very much!
Susan:
I like what you say about poetry cutting to the quick of language: so true!
Thank you for your kind compliment. My poems tend to be limericks, if those can be called poems, meant to make me laugh. Not much cutting to the quick with those, I fear.
:)
Herhimnbryn:
Hello! Nice to see you here. Thank you for the compliment. I hope you find something that makes you glad you dropped by.
:)
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