Rogue Budha

Rather than having our writer's group last night, we English grads went to a poetry reading at an art gallery in St. Paul. Our teacher, Amy McCann, presented some of her work, and I was in awe. Her language is very elegant and gentle, and she expressed tragic, disturbing things in beautiful ways. My favorite poem of hers spoke of a dead hawk that her friend lifed into his arms and examined its wounds while Amy took a picture of its fallen, open wing. That moment left a very nice taste in my mouth.

The art gallery itself was very intriguing as well. All the work was done by the same artist, a painter who favored portraits with long necks and large hands. Each of the faces had deep eyes, like an entire story, an entire life was within them. Very haunting. I may have considered buying one if they weren't $2,000 each!

Some more notes on the reading:
1. Having wine and cheese was very classy, and I wished I had been wearing an artsy type dress.
2. There are so many different styles of poetry, and I find it fascinating how different people express their voices.
3. One woman wrote a long poem that was really a series of shorter poems. Each page had only a few lines on it - a little poem that could stand by itself. And each little poem contributed to the larger one. So cool. I think I might try that sometime.
4. A man wrote one called "Sleepwalkers" which I really loved. He described different people sleepwalking, giving each person two or three lines and separating each story with a pause. Apparently, I'm drawn to sectional poetry. It can tell so much in smaller doses. And it lets the silence speak.

And finally, here are some other poets' lines that stuck in my head (I wish I knew the line breaks, because they would make the moments more powerful. That's the one bummer about poetry readings. You don't have the work in front of your eyes.):

"You can't find a wife in a line-up of bridesmaids."
"Medicine in the breeze we inhale when we open the windows."

I should go to more of these things, because I come home all buzzing with inspiration. :)

Hanging Beauty

When Josh and I were up in Madeline Island, we browsed in a few art shops. Apparently, art is held in high esteem on a Lake Superior island, because there was a lot of it! While there, I fell in love with an oil painting. Still Life with Branches. I'm almost haunted by this picture. There's something so peaceful and powerful about it that every time I see it, I sigh and smile.

I hope you enjoy it too.

Still Life with Branches

Terrie Meyer

Inspirational Moments

Last summer, my parents and I spent an extended weekend in Blacklock's Artist Cottage on the North Shore of Minnesota. It is a sanctuary for artists looking for refreshment and revival, and my mom happened to find it in a brochure. It was the perfect place for my writing-starved self.

The room smelled strongly of fish - my dad had just eaten a herring - and my mom sat at the table calculating the time difference between here and Europe. Her eyes were elsewhere, perhaps seeing my sleeping brother in Switzerland.

There was a five-year-old journal on the coffee table that was filled with notes of encouragement, frustration, and advice. I loved glimpsing into the moments of other people, artist and tourist alike. Perhaps they'd have something to say to me.

One woman left a book of poetry in the bookshelf. David Daniel's Seven-Star Bird. I brought it with me to the deck, read it while the waves of Lake Superior sang a lullaby below me. Here is my favorite poem from that collection. It's so simple and short and yet so emotionally present. I love it.

Good-Bye Poem
A day comes
when you have to say good-bye,
when you point to your hand and say,

I believe this is my hand, waving.