Annie Finch debuts SPELLS

April 22nd, 2013 by Cathleen Miller

Posted on behalf of Catherine Fisher, MWWC Assistant

Annie Finch made her visit to the MWWC book discussion group on the fourth day of National Poetry Month, and on the “second day of life,” as she put it, of her new book, Spells: New and Selected Poems. With a pristine copy from which to read at this, their first outing together, Finch began with the spell, “A Blessing on the Poets.” When she finished reading, she paused and then told the audience, “It’s the poet in you that feels the poetry. Any time you feel moved by a poem you are being a poet. You’re increasing the power of poetry in the world. And that is a kind of magic to me. Poetry had its origin in magic, and that’s one of the reasons I call my book ‘Spells.’  The original poets were not just entertainers, not just word spinners. They were spinners of reality.”

Finch’s poetry is rather unique today in that it conforms to traditional poetic forms and celebrates meter. She comes to her work with a deep consciousness of the poetry and poets of earlier times. “They had access to truth that others in the community didn’t have. Going back to my own roots, to the ancient Celtic bards, there was no one allowed to criticize the king except for a poet.” Meter, rhyme and repetition, Finch says, bring us back to a time of spells, when the poem and poet enjoyed a position of influence. “As a poet, my job is to make language as powerful as possible, to adjust reality to make it more in line with our hearts.” Within the lines of the second poem Finch read, “Earth Day,” we heard the counsel, “All we need is to live with the memory of a future we want to imagine.”

In the formulation of her spells, Finch is careful to avoid getting into or dwelling on the negative. In poems that speak to the precarious existence of bee colonies, prairie grasses and other of the earth’s fragile inhabitants, she fashions spells to strengthen and protect her subjects, rather than devoting energy to indicting the negative forces that imperil them. In the case of threatened apiaric colonies, she explains, “I want to inhabit the spirit of the bee and to use the tools of the poetry and the repetition to move it forward into a very powerful place. That’s the kind of spell that I want to do with my poems.” The beneficiaries of her spells receive her passion for their triumph, not her anger or despair at their demise.

Finch finds that her poems and incantations happen to her, in a way. “Rather than have the attitude, ‘I can get a poem out of that,’” she says, “I want the poem to be walking around getting me.” “When my daughter Althea was in my womb, I was in a nature preserve with many species of butterflies. From this came the poem, ‘Butterfly Lullaby,’” which Finch then sang for us. Finch also draws much inspiration from the work of other women poets, and has two poems dedicated to Emily Dickinson in this collection. She read “Tribute for Emily Dickinson” twice, allowing the lines to unfurl and her voice to hang on the air. At the request of a guest (whose dog happens to be named for Dickinson!) Finch later gave us the other poem as well.

Next came Finch’s reading of a piece in the poetic form known as a “carol,” which was traditionally sung by people dancing in celebration, and was at one point outlawed by the Church. It was written for poet Carolyn Kaiser, in gratitude for Kaiser’s helpful response to Finch’s first book. “Carolyn said I was writing in form because I was mad, and it was a way for me to ‘contain the madness.’” Kaiser encouraged her to see the spells as poems and include them in her books.

After the reading, Finch engaged the group in conversation.

One member commented that when listening to poetry, often a particular phrase or two will stand out to her. From the reading she had just heard she cited the lines, “Now I am the one with eyes,” and “Did I have a face? And did it lie in shadow?” Finch was pleased and explained, “I think some poems have a mental glacier under the tip, and some have an emotional glacier under the tip.” “Now I am the one with eyes” has as its mental underpinnings in Finch’s study of feminist theory and women’s poetry. “Did I have a face? And did it lie in shadow?” from “A Dusk Song,” stems from the more emotional issues of seeing and being seen, and knowing how to exist in relationships. In creating the poem, she says, feelings must be transformed to thoughts, to ideas, and “little nuggets happen at the intersection between the feeling and the thought… and when they connect there is a spark.”

On the subject of giving poetry readings, Finch said that she loves reading her work. She agreed with poet Stanley Kunitz’s reflection that, for an author, enjoyment of reading is grounded in his/her own appreciation of the work. It was such a pleasure to see the joy Finch took in re-meeting and greeting her poems as she flipped through her new collection (it having been long “a long gestation,” she said), even affectionately cooing to one, “Hi, sweetie!”

Finch wants the reader to be able to have the same experience of the work as she does, and she finds that reading the poem aloud allows one to make it one’s own, as if one is playing a piece of music on the piano. Finch promises that it is not difficult to learn how to read her poems aloud; it simply takes developing the habit of checking in at the end of a line. “With free verse, you’re supposed to ignore the line breaks. With meter, you have to acknowledge the line break is there. The only knack to it is knowing when to end.”

To demonstrate, Finch invited a volunteer from the audience to read one of her poems to the group. The woman who came forward flipped through Spells to make her selection at random, and before beginning she grinned and shared she’d never done such a thing before! She did a lovely job and enjoyed the experience.

Bridget Healy, daughter-in-law of the founder of the Maine Women Writers Collection, asked Finch, “Is a poem a mini-drama?” “In a way it is,” Finch replied, “especially with lyric poetry. And if you’re reading it alone, it can be a dramatic performance for yourself.”

Another member of the group commented, “I write fiction and essays, and am woefully ignorant when it comes to poetry. I find your poetry very accessible…I find poems in the New Yorker so obscure, they infuriate me.” Finch’s fascinating response included both an historical context for the current trend toward the complex in poetry, and her own evolution from free verse to meter.

“My feeling is that poets like to have challenges; they like difficulty…Poets are partly puzzle-solvers…and partly what you want to do is to make something clear and beautiful out of conflict and paradox and difficulty… And my feeling is that, in every culture all over the world throughout human history, the difficulty and the challenge has been provided through form. Meter, rhyme.” To illustrate, Finch shared that an eight-line poem in Celtic form in Spells took her months to write. “It strikes me that poetry began to get so obscure at exactly the same time that poets stopped writing in meter. I feel that the difficulty of understanding it is a replacement for the difficulty of meter. I know that’s true because, when I started writing in meter, my poetry became much less difficult, much more accessible.”

Finch outlined her theory on why meter was abandoned, explaining that iambic pentameter had become so prevalent, so restrictive, so dominant, and the goal of poets such as Ezra Pound became to “break the pentameter!” In the process, Finch laments, they ended up breaking all the meters. Poets then turned to obscurity to make poems, to fill the vacuum. “People are in a bind right now and I think they are satisfying their difficulty jones by writing obscure language.”

From her own personal experience, she is certain that, “If it weren’t for form, I don’t think I would have survived. I physically need it, as a poet…Some poets need it. Not all poets, but some poets physically need it. It’s how we’re built…If you don’t have meter, you don’t have part of your pulse.”

To learn about opportunities to hear Finch read from Spells, and to explore Finch’s poetry, prose and collaborations, visit her website: anniefinch.com.

March 21st, 2013 by Catherine Fisher


 

Monica Wood, author of When We Were the Kennedys: A Memoir from Mexico, Maine, visited with us on Thursday, March 7, for a lively discussion of her recent memoir.

Before reading from the book, Wood wanted to talk a bit about her process of revising the text. “All writing is revision,” she explained. Having been a novelist up until now, trying her hand at memoir was a new challenge. Once she had finished her first draft, which she had felt pretty confident was complete, Wood asked her sister Cathy read it. Cathy’s feedback was that “the people of the story were not really in it,” and Wood realized that she had perhaps kept too much distance between herself and the figures in the story. Where it was a memoir and not a novel, she had been hesitant to include thoughts and dialogue that did not adhere strictly to what she knew or remembered to have happened. In revising the narrative she found that, once she gave herself permission to treat the real-life people as characters in a novel, they came alive. She based her imaginings of inner lives and spoken words on truth, on what she knew about the people, and with that awareness she took creative license.

“I didn’t know how much I didn’t know until I started to do this kind of writing,” Wood said of moving from fiction to memoir.

Once Wood had finished reading from the text, the room was filled with questions and comments for the author, and she generously responded with illuminating answers and entertaining anecdotes.

One guest asked, “Did you deliberately place the scene where the family uses the last sheet of paper (of the supply remaining from her late father’s work at the paper mill) where it is, about halfway through the book?”

“I’m sure it was very deliberate but can’t remember now why or how,” Wood replied. “I didn’t change the chronology to the story. Writing memoir is a lot about what to leave out.” Wood then shared a story from a recent reading that an audience member told about herself and her husband. They both planned to read the book, and it was the woman’s turn first. As she was reading in bed one night she began sobbing, and her husband asked her why she was crying. She replied, “They just ran out of paper!” Of course, being so out of context, the husband couldn’t understand why that would be so tragic. Wood added, “At the time, I didn’t even realize that you could actually go and buy paper!”

Another group member asked, “Why did you title the book, When We Were the Kennedys?”

“The book is not just about our family, but about when America was a certain way at a certain time,” Wood said. “It was a time of endings and beginnings. (The assassination of the president) was the end of a kind of innocence for the country…when things were suddenly this way and not that way.”

Wood also said that before the book was published she had a drink with a friend who asked what the title was going to be, and “I told her the bad title I had in mind!” Wood shared. The friend was less than enthused and encouraged Wood to list some of the chapter titles. When she mentioned “When We Were the Kennedys,” the friend picked up on it and suggested she use that for the book title, with a subhead that included Mexico, Maine, to create intrigue from a couple of angles.

 

One guest shared that he grew up in Madison, a similar Maine mill town, and that he was “old enough to be (Wood’s) father.” His personal history contains many elements parallel to Wood’s—his father died when he was nine, just as Wood’s did; he himself worked in the mill; and his high school team played against Mexico. He praised the accuracy of Wood’s depiction of the inner workings of the mill in her book, and asked, “How did you come to such a depth of knowledge?”

“Thanks, I did a lot of research,” Wood said. A friend who worked in the mill (and who, incidentally, was recently laid off) was very helpful in describing the ins and outs of the process. In addition, by an interesting chain of events she ended up meeting one of late father’s coworkers. While working on a history of Rumford, the small Mexico Historical Society invited her to come and speak to them. Once she had finished her talk, one of the group volunteered, “You have got to talk to Bunny Carver! He worked in the mill and knew your father, and took his place when he died.” Wood went to Harry “Bunny” Carver’s house, and on greeting her at the door he said, “Oh, one of Red’s little girls!” (Red being Wood’s father’s nickname.)

In addition to providing her with information as to the workings of the mill, Carver gave Wood something even more precious. In sharing with her the reaction in the wood yard to the news of her father’s death that morning, he offered her a view into the story that she hadn’t even considered until that moment. She’d only been able to recall that day from her own 9 year-old experience – being in the house, people coming and going, the home filling with food and flowers. She’d never considered what those same hours had been like at the mill. “When my father was two seconds late that day, they knew that something dreadful had happened. My father was never late.” Carver filled in such details. “It was very touching to me,” Wood reflected.

Later in the discussion MWWC curator Cathleen Miller shared that she found in When We Were the Kennedys many similarities with her own story, growing up in a part of western Pennsylvania dominated by the coal mining industry. Wood agreed, saying, “Everywhere I’ve read with this book someone says, “This is just like my town,” referring to the presence of all kinds of various manufacturing, not just the paper industry. Wood has seen that “people are not only attached to their towns, but also to their industries. The industry itself feels like a person with influence over you.”

One guest was curious as to the reaction to the book by the Woods’ landlord and landlady, whom the story describes in detail.

“Their grandson now lives in their apartment and says that people have been going by to take pictures of the house.” This elicited quite a reaction from our group, and Wood went on to say more about this fascination with her childhood home. On her way to Haystack one day she stopped at the bookstore in Blue Hill, where the book has been heavily promoted. As she was signing stock for the shop, a couple from England who were great fans of the story explained that they had just made a pilgrimage to Mexico to see the house and town for themselves. Wood seemed quite surprised!

As the gathering was winding down, a question came from a visitor from the San Francisco Bay area, who referred to himself and his wife as Wood’s “unofficial publicists.” In commenting that she had shared a bit about how her fiction writing influenced this experience of writing autobiographically, he wondered how her memoir writing might influence her writing of fiction going forward. Wood replied, “I don’t know right now. I’ll have to see…writing characters in a memoir is a thousand times easier than creating characters in a novel. It took me half the time to write this, and I’m so glad I waited until I was older to write it. This is my favorite book and I’m glad I waited until I had the skill to do it.”

Currently Wood is working on a play, explaining, “I wanted to do something collaborative. I’m tired of working by myself. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it yet.” When asked if she would write another memoir, Wood said that she might write more about her sister Betty, who has developmental challenges. She loves to write about her, and recently published pieces about Betty in Reader’s Digest and Yankee Magazine.

When We Were the Kennedys is now in its fourth printing, and Wood has just received the 2012 May Sarton Memoir Award for best memoir by a woman writer published in the US or Canada. Congratulations, Monica!

Monica Wood to discuss When We Were the Kennedys March 7

March 4th, 2013 by Cathleen Miller

We are excited to have Monica Wood with us this Thursday at noon to discuss her memoir When We Were the Kennedys, which was drafted in this building in the quiet anonymity of the second floor.  Though she has given talks all over the state at this point about her memoir, Monica’s presence here with us is special to us because we have some of her papers in the collection.  The conversations are always lively, so please join us if you can on Thursday, March 7 at noon.

Bring your lunch, bring a friend, and bring your questions.

Fall events sponsored by the MWWC

August 30th, 2012 by Cathleen Miller

We are excited to share a great line-up of lectures and events this fall, including our Donna M. Loring Lecture, which will feature Winona LaDuke, Anishinaabe author and activist.  We hope to be collaborating once again with Maine Women Write to feature book clubs with authors, but we are awaiting details on those events.  We will keep you updated.

 

  

Joanne Dobson & Beverle Graves Myers
Face of the Enemy book launch
Thursday, September 20, 7 p.m.
Longfellow Books, Portland. Free/open to the public.

 

 

December 1941: America reels from the brutal attack on Pearl Harbor. Both patriotism and paranoia grip New York as the city frantically mobilizes for war. Nurse Louise Hunter is outraged when the FBI, in a midnight sweep of prominent Japanese residents,storms in to arrest her patient’s wife. The desperately ill Professor Oakley is married to Masako Fumi. The nurse vows to help the professor free Masako. But when the murdered body of Masako’s art dealer is discovered in the gallery where he’d been closing down her controversial show, Masako’s troubles multiply. Homicide detective Michael McKenna doubts her guilt, but an ambitious G-man schemes to lever the homicide and ensuing espionage accusations into a political cause celebre. Struggling to focus on one man’s murder while America plunges into a worldwide war, Louise and McKenna defy both racism and ham-fisted government agents in order to expose the real killer.

Face of the Enemy is a deft historical novel that offers characters to care about, an engrossing story, a believable setting — and a window into a too-often-ignored chapter in recent American history. Read it for any one of those elements, or all of them; you’ll be glad you did.” — SJ Rozan, Edgar-winning author of Ghost Hero

Joanne Dobson’s latest novel is Face of the Enemy, A New York in Wartime mystery (2012), written with Beverle Graves Myers.  She also writes the Professor Karen Pelletier mystery series from Doubleday and Poisoned Pen Press.   Quieter than Sleep won an Agatha nomination, the novels have been widely reviewed, and in 2001 the New York Library Association named her a Noted Author of the Year. Joanne has retired as a Fordham University English Professor.   www.joannedobson.com

Beverle Graves Myers made a mid-life career switch from psychiatry to full-time writing. A graduate of the University of Louisville with a BA in History and an MD, she worked at a public mental health clinic before her first Tito Amato novel was published in 2004.  Myers also writes short stories set in a variety of times and places. Her stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Woman’s World, and numerous anthologies. She has earned nominations for the Macavity Award, Kentucky Literary Award, and Derringer Award.  http://beverlegravesmyers.com

 

2012 Donna M. Loring Lecture
Winona LaDuke “Environmental Justice from a Native Perspective”
Thursday, November 8, 5:30 p.m.
Hannaford Hall, Abromson Center, 88 Bedford St., Portland Campus, USM.
Free/open to the public.

 

 

 

Winona LaDuke (Anishinaabe) is an internationally acclaimed author, orator and activist. A graduate of Harvard and Antioch Universities with advanced degrees in rural economic development, LaDuke has devoted her life to protecting the lands and life ways of Native communities.

The US is the largest source of greenhouse gases in the world, and influences international policy. It turns out that Native American communities have the potential to generate up to one half of present US electrical consumption through producing power from the wind. This is the alternative to both military intervention into oil rich countries, and represents the potential for ecological sustainability. In recent years, LaDuke has been involved in moving tribal communities towards wind and alternative energy systems, and working with tribal and state governments to voluntarily meet the conditions of the Kyoto accord. She has published several articles on this topic and her lively and engaging presentations offer alternatives and a vision for the future.

In addition to numerous articles, LaDuke is the author of a number of non-fiction titles including All Our Relations, The Winona LaDuke Reader, Recovering the Sacred: the Power of Naming and Claiming, Food is Medicine: Recovering Traditional Foods to Heal the People and her latest, The Militarization of Indian Country. She has also penned a work of fiction, Last Standing Woman, and a children’s book, In the Sugarbush.

Cosponsored with UNE Center for Global Humanities, Department of Environmental Studies, Office of Multicultural Affairs and Diversity, Office of the Provost, Women’s and Gender Studies Program; and USM Office of Multicultural Student Affairs and Women and Gender Studies.

 

 


Nicole Tonkovich “Performing the Fourth of July in Nez Perce Territory, 1885-1897″

Tuesday, Nov. 13, noon, St. Francis Room, Ketchum Library, Biddeford Campus.              Free/open to the public/lunch provided.

 

 

Making use of previously unknown archival sources, Fletcher’s letters, Gay’s photographs and journalistic accounts, oral tribal histories, and analyses of performances such as parades and verbal negotiations, Tonkovich assembles a masterful portrait of Nez Perce efforts to control their own future and provides a vital counternarrative of the allotment period, which is often portrayed as disastrous to Native polities.

Nicole Tonkovich is professor of literature at the University of California, San Diego. She is the author of The Allotment Plot: Alice C. Fletcher, E. Jane Gay, and Nez Perce Survivance. She is the coauthor of Trading Gazes: Euro-American Women Photographers and Native North Americans, 1880-1940 and the author of Domesticity with a Difference: The Nonfiction of Catharine Beecher, Sarah J. Hale, Fanny Fern, and Margaret Fuller.

Cosponsored with UNE Women’s and Gender Studies

 

Poem In Your Pocket Day

April 26th, 2012 by Cathleen Miller

In honor of Poem in Your Pocket Day, we’re offering some poems by Maine women.  I wish I could read each one to you aloud, as that’s the magic of this community-building poetry event.  I’ll be reading poems to anyone who asks.

On the anniversary of the invasion
by Lee Sharkey (2007)

on my side       knees bent      hand resting
lightly on my rib cage
lightly     your knees touch my knees
your breath washes over my face
my breath washes over your face
our breath sifts out the window
and rides the thermals
over earth’s face scarred and shining
brushing distant faces
turned slightly to the touch of the wind

Wanting to See a Moose
by Kate Barnes (2004)

When I am full
of some transporting emotion,
what I see is that ordinary things
are all extraordinary. But
it’s like gathered dew
on a blade of grass, it falls off
or dries up, and I can’t hang on
to the feeling. In no time
I’m back asking the fates
to let me see a moose
as I drive my car through the marsh–and not
attending to the gathering darkness
of evening, the cloudy light
that lingers, the reeds, the ducks,
the black, still water opening
so silently
beyond the causeway.

Nostalgia
by Dawn Potter (2004)

It was darker then, in the nights when the cars
came sliding around the traffic circle, when the headlights
speckled with rain traveled the bedroom walls
and vanished; when the typewriter, the squeaking chair,
the slow voice of the radio stirred the night air like a fan.
Of course, the ones we loved were beautiful–
slim, dark-haired, intent on their books.
The rain came swishing against the lamp-lit windows.
The cat purred in his chair. A clock sang,
and we lay nearly asleep, almost dreaming,
almost alone, nearly gone–the days fly so;
and the nights, like sleep, disappear without memory.

Letter for Emily Dickinson
by Annie Finch (2004)

When I cut words you never may have said
into fresh patterns, pierced in place with pins,
ready to hold them down with my own thread,
they change and twist sometimes, their color spins
loose, and your spider generosity
lends them from language that will never be
free of you after all. My sampler reads,
“called back.” It says, “she scribbled out these screeds.”
It calls, “she left this trace, and now we start”–
in stitched directions that follow the leads
I take from you, as you take me apart.

You wrote some of your lines while baking bread,
propping a sheet of paper by the bins
of salt and flour, so if your kneading led
to words, you’d tether them as if in thin
black loops on paper. When they sang to be free,
you captured those quick birds relentlessly
and kept a slow, sure mercy in your deeds,
leaving them room to peck and hunt their seeds
in the white cages your vast iron art
had made by moving books, and lives, and creeds.
I take from you as you take me apart.

Matin
by Sue McConkey (1970)

Birdling nest in moon-
glow.  Sing,   deep night murmurings,
in morning bird song.

The Spring and the Fall
by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1923)

In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The trees were black where the bark was wet.
I see them yet, in the spring of the year.
He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach
That was out of the way and hard to reach.

In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The rooks went up with a raucous trill.
I hear them still, in the fall of the year.
He laughed at all I dared to praise,
And broke my heart in little ways.

Year be springing or year be falling,
The bark will drip and the birds be calling.
There’s much that’s fine to see and hear
In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year.
‘Tis not love’s going hurts my days,
But that it went in little ways.

June Shower
by Florence Percy/Elizabeth Akers Allen (1856)

.        How this delicious rain
Brings up the flowers!  One might almost say
It rains down blossoms–for where yesterday
.        I sought for them in vain,
They lie by hundreds on the wet green earth,
Rejoicing in the freshness of their birth.

.        With idly folded hands
The farmer sits within his cottage door,
Watching the blessings which the full clouds pour
.        Upon his thirsty lands–
Where written promise by his eye is seen,
In visible characters of living green.

.        Unyoked the oxen stand,
The cool rain plashing on their heaving sides,
And with wide nostrils breathe the fragrant tides
.        Of breezes flowing bland;
Then, as though sated with the odor sweet,
Crop the new grass that springs beneath their feet.

.         Bloom-laden lilac trees,
Their purple glories dripping with the rain,
Shake off the drops in odorous showers again;
.        And the small fragrances
Of cherry blossoms, and of violet blue,
Come balmily the open window through.

.        No harsh or jarring sound
Breaks the refreshing stillness of the hour;
The gentle footfalls of the passing shower
.        Patter along the ground–
The swallows twitter gladly from the eaves,
And the small rain talks softly to the leaves.

.        Sweet is the gushing song
Which the young birds sing in the summer time,
The wind’s soft voice, the river’s wavy chime,
.        Flowing in joy along.
But more than all I love the pleasant tune
Sung by the rain-drops in the month of June!