Blog of the Week ~ an Update with Audrey Howitt

 This week, my friends, we are swooping down the spectacular Pacific coastline, to visit Audrey Howitt, near San Francisco. Audrey, who blogs at Audrey Howitt Poetry, Alive and Well, is a long-time member of Poets United. We last spoke to her in 2013, so I thought it was time we stopped by to see what she’s been up to recently.

Life of a Poet ~ Audrey Howitt

Kids, today we are heading along one of my favorite highways, Highway 1, along the stunningly beautiful West Coast of the USA, to visit our friend, Audrey, whom you will  find  writing regularly at Audrey Howitt Poetry, Alive and Well. Audrey and her family live in the San Francisco area. Smell that fresh sea air, and pull on a sweater. The fog can be chilly. I believe Audrey has the tea on.

Poems of the Week ~ with Audrey and Annell

Today, my friends, we are featuring three wonderful poems by Audrey Howitt, of Audrey Howitt Poetry, Alive and Well, and Annell Livingston of Somethings I Think About.  Pour yourself a piping hot cup of tea, and settle in to enjoy the words of your fellow poets.

This poem from Audrey  really took my breath away when I first read it. Let's take a look:

Audrey Howitt photo

THE POET'S BREATH

i met you in the sun

you wrote your poetry
on clouds
blue on white
a daisy, your pen

until grey streaks pushed
your kind aside
deeper and deeper
into the edges
pulling petals apart
a litany to tiny ends

the wilt of a berry
on your breast
rebirth it's red
this new ink
the leaves your pages

poetry, your breath.

September 16, 2016

Sherry: Wow! So beautiful! Tell us about it, Audrey.

Audrey: I am honored and thrilled to be featured---I feel like my poetry is shifting right now--or I as a poet am shifting--one or the other or both--anyway, something of the old is being left behind as the new starts to take more focus--this piece was about that process for me--it feels like a loss of some kind, and I am uncertain right now where this shift is taking me--but I am trusting that it will be a good place for me--

Sherry: It is always interesting, when things start shifting within. Would you tell us a bit about this inner shift?

Audrey: So as much as I understand this shift, and I am not really sure that I do, I sense a kind of deepening or maturing that is starting to happen in my writing. I think I have been writing for 5 or 6 years now. When I first started writing, I was always trying to make my pieces poetic--make them beautiful by putting the words together in a way that pleased me--they were pretty I think--and then I started running out of things to say in that way--I would sit for long periods of time with blank paper in front of me, or worse, start writing and then hating it, just tearing up my work--I began to think that maybe that was all there was to my writing--and that maybe I was done --I had never really thought much about what I wrote--I wrote it and very seldom edited anything.

Now, I feel as though I am waking up a bit more in my writing. I am paying more attention to metaphor and the emotional content that underlies the writing.  I am also sitting with my pieces longer than I used to before I post them. I am trying to understand where they come from and what they mean to me on a deeper level --all of that means that I am posting less often--and working and re-working my pieces more than I used to.

I want my pieces to be good--really good--and I think for that to happen, I have to tell the truth in my writing--and as I move more toward truth, I find that making my pieces pretty is less interesting--that is the story behind this piece--

I feel a bit adrift--

Sherry: Sometimes these shifts can feel discombobulating, but I view them as very positive, personally, as it means growth is happening. And I think the most authentic poems, the ones we respond to most strongly, are the ones that speak the poet's truth.

We will watch where your work takes you with interest, Audrey. You posted another poem recently that I found a very positive response to the political climate we are struggling with these days.  Let's take a look:

Audrey Howitt photo

A Reweaving

i awoke to a world gone mad

hatred its main bargaining chip
and though i didn't want to,
i cried with each step this morning,
picked up worn linen
woven in youth's innocence
its nubs a part of its landscape

i will reweave it
over time
make it stronger
though you may shout your imprecations
loudly in my ear
i will not falter
i will not halt
i will not hate

so that our children
need not fear

Audrey: I was stunned at the election results. I am still stunned and trying to find words to put to the feelings that not only I, but so many people are experiencing now. So many people are really terrified at what this election will mean for this country, the world, the planet---so many people will suffer I fear. Since the election, hate crimes have skyrocketed here--even at the local elementary school, racist graffiti was found this last Friday. And I think we are just seeing the beginning--

I had not been to a protest since the Vietnam War era--but I went to one Sunday, and held hands and sang the old songs--We Shall Overcome seems so appropriate right now. 

Sherry: We are being set back 50 years. At my age, I feel very tired, from all the overcoming. Sigh. 

I love "I will not hate so our children need not fear." That really speaks to me, my friend. But it is hard to hold onto hope.  I find your work strong and powerful; you seem to be tapping into a deep well these days. Thanks so much  for sharing your poem and your thoughts with us today, and where you are at on your journey.

This fall, Annell shared a pensive poem about memories of past summers, that I think you will find very moving.

Fragments Geometry and Change

by Annell Livingston (2015)  

#204  11”x11”  gouache on w/c paper  

MEMORIES OF SUMMER

regrets        lie around       like dead flowers in the garden

the season for fresh blooms     is gone    i prepare for winter

leaving wet suits    on the line      summer's laughter fleeting

yet my heart is filled   with the warm cargo of summer   beach parties

picnics      hold the shell to your ear       gentle breezes heard

waves pound the shore   seagulls scream   the sun sets in the west                                                                                          

regrets left behind     to return another season      with thoughts of you

hearts entwined with silver thread        there is no danger we will forget

our tongues lap warm milk from the bowl            you were torn from me

years gobbled up                     your brindled coat thrown over the chair

your presence remains            memories of summer        fill my heart

from the bridge             i see the ship               leaving shore  

mist settles in       the view becomes obscure      the afternoon light

lingers                  still, i try to follow the ship         until out of sight          

there is a trail across the water      white foam       reflections of sky

with a tiny needle    i make small stitches     to hold memories together

bind pages into the book    whisper words           hoping you will hear 

October 7, 2016

Sherry: This pings at my heart, Annell, the loss, the golden memories, the stitching together and, especially "hoping you will hear." Sigh.

Annell: Thanks for asking for this poem, and for giving me the opportunity to talk about it, and what I was thinking.

regrets       lie around                like dead flowers in the garden

(so many things I wish I had done differently…..)

the season for fresh blooms  (spring)     is gone    i prepare for winter

leaving wet suits           on the line 

(children leave their wet swim suits on the line, and at the end of summer,
you will often find them there)   
          

summer's laughter fleeting     yet my heart is filled

(though my heart is filled with regrets, it is also filled with the fun we had)                                       

with the warm cargo of summer        beach parties

picnics             hold the shell to your ear  

(when summer is over, that one precious shell, found at the beach is there on the shelf, 
when you hold it to your ear, you can still hear the sounds of summer)           

gentle breezes heard

waves pound the shore       seagulls scream            the sun sets in the west 

(the idea of the setting sun, end of day, end of summer—
there is a certain sadness  in this idea)                                                                                

 regrets left behind (sometimes we forget the regrets)      

to return another season         with thoughts of you 

(yet when I think of you, the regrets return)

hearts entwined with silver thread 

(I have an image that I carry, my heart entwined with the ones I love 
with silver thread  that cannot be broken)    

there is no danger we will forget  

(we can never forget the ones we love…the love remains)

our tongues lap warm milk from the bowl 

(I am thinking of my precious kitty here, the beauty of his being)             

you were torn from me (and quickly my thoughts change, your death,
which came too soon)

years gobbled up (the years you were lost to me) 
                       

your brindled coat thrown over the chair imagining it was the coat you wore

your presence remains  (and even when a person is gone, they are still there,
they pop up unexpected anytime)             

memories of summer     fill my heart (still I think about the time
we did have together)

from the bridge   i see the ship  (again imaging, when you died, you left in a ship)              

leaving shore    

mist settles in      the view becomes obscure (I follow the ship with my eyes,
until I can see it no more, you have gone to a place I cannot follow….yet)  
the afternoon light

lingers       still, I try to follow the ship          until out of sight 

there is a trail across the water      white foam        reflections of sky

(perhaps it is the silver thread, that is wound around our hearts…
that creates that line to you)

with a tiny needle          i make small stitches        to hold memories together

(I imagine myself, sewing, making stitches, holding memories together)

bind pages into the book (a book of memories)   whisper words
(perhaps I speak to myself, or maybe to  you)

(I hold you close, and in some mysterious way, I hope you will hear
what I say to you, you will know how much I loved you)  hoping you will hear

Note:  It has been two years and five months since my Son died, in some ways it happened yesterday, and in other ways it has been a lifetime.  The shock has softened, and I am glad he no longer suffers the pain of his illness, (here it comes) but I still miss him so.  Wish he had not died.  Wish I could have known he would die so soon….wish it could have been different….he was who he was, and I am who I am….I suppose it was as it was, and could not have been another way.  I wonder….what makes us think it would have been better if it had been “my way?”   I am grateful I was there when he died.  To be with him, to comfort him, to hold him…it all happened so quickly, the healing takes time, an important element in the healing.

This poem could have been called a “Mother’s Lament.”  There are some things in life that are hard, and over time, they do not fade away, they crystallize into marble.  Some regrets will always be there.  We will live with them for as long as we live.                       

October 7, 2016 

Sherry: I think every mother's heart is filled with regrets, things we wish we had done differently. But we know we did our best. Thank you for this very moving poem, Annell, and for sharing your thoughts behind and between the lines.

We hope you enjoyed these beautiful offerings, friends, each one straight from the poet's loving heart. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Wild Fridays: Poems of the Week

No-one can replicate Sherry's wonderful Monday features! We're not even going to try to emulate her fabulous interviews and full schedule. But, as our Friday topics are already varied, we thought we'd sneak in some Poems of the Week here too – not every week but now and again. It's always been such a pleasure to read those features which showcase members of our own community. (Note: 'Poems of the Week' doesn't mean they were written this week, but that they are chosen to be shared this week.)

Two Poems by Audrey Howitt

(aka Divalounger) and a chat.

Dreams of Trees

The night coats the rim of the moon with its cloak.

The night pours its lush scent into the secret indentations of the trees,

Into the carnal world of darkened bark.

The night lives in the scent of its admirers,

Those admirers who pour into its blackness,

Who come covered in oils so rich in fragrance

that they ooze the carnality of the trees, of the night, of the moon.

Oh radiant moon, find me this night and cover me in the softness of your down,

That I may scent you in my dreams and sight you in my eyes.

My Soul's Song

I sing my soul alive each day,

With the grace of the breath of the great light

United and shining within.

Intoxicating, this song.

I am drunk with my life

As it fills and sates me.

Who will sing my soul alive

When my body lies desiccated,

Mere dust upon the crust of the earth?

I hurry not toward death’s door,

For its hinges creak in unseemly harmony,

Discordant to well-tuned ears.

Yet I feel death’s dark breath upon my back

As I hurry away.

The song of light calls.

Audrey, who describes herself as 'Poet, Singer, Voice-teacher, Recovering Attorney, Psycho-therapist, Middle-aged Mama and lover-of-life', has recently renewed her active participation with us after being otherwise occupied a while. But for these lovely pieces I went back to earlier posts at her blog, so hopefully not too many of you have already seen them. There are two because I love them both so much that I couldn't choose! In both poems I find the combination of mysticism and the obvious feeling for nature inspiring and moving.

Following Sherry's example, I asked Audrey some questions:

Rosemary: Would you care to tell us how each of these poems came about?

Audrey: Trees are a favorite subject of mine. I write a lot about them and feel a special pull toward them.  Dreams of Trees is an early piece.  I was just starting to write poetry then. It was a time of intense stress for me in my personal life. We were putting the kids through college, I was back in school and still trying to make enough money to pay the bills.  Dreams of Trees grew out of my feelings of needing to escape, to be cradled again by the trees I spend most of my time with in my yard. 

Rosemary: I'm very fond of trees myself and think they are wondrous, sentient, benevolent beings. No wonder you turned to them – and no wonder I liked this poem!

Audrey: I wrote My Soul's Song during my mid-50's--I was feeling my age and starting to focus on what I wanted my back half to look and feel like. (I am optimistic I think--maybe it was my back 1/3rd).  I have always felt a pull toward the light and connectedness that exists between us. For me, this piece was about being in the light as I move toward older age. (I hope this doesn't sound too weird Rosemary.)

Rosemary: Not to me! It is very much what I'm up to as I age, too. Also I do believe that our poetry can be one way of spreading the light to others – when we happen to manifest it in a poem, as you have done with this one.

I notice that some of the comments on your recent posts remark that you are a master of minimalist poetry or micro-poetry. And I agree! You can encapsulate an essence and, in just a few words and some excellent placement of spaces, succeed in conveying both fine nuances and depths of meaning. Yet the two pieces I've chosen, which are earlier, are longer and more detailed. Is brevity something you've arrived at gradually?  And was it a conscious choice from the outset, or something that snuck up on you?

Audrey: I have come to minimalism gradually. and not really intentionally. I have always been drawn to smaller forms, especially the Japanese forms. Japanese poetry is so clear, simple, and elegant. But I am a rule-breaker and so I was not interested in the stringency of the forms.  I started experimenting. I wrote pieces in English and then translated them into Japanese, trying to get the feel of clear, simple images in both languages. The minimalism grew out of that. But I still write in longer forms as well, I am working on a series of pieces right now in longer forms.

Rosemary: You speak and read Japanese???? I'm impressed! How did that come about?

Audrey: I speak Japanese and Russian--I lived in Japan as a young adult and then studied the language, but quit in the face of learning all the Kanji. Russian is the first language I learned. (I am the first child born here of Russian immigrants.) I learned English from watching cartoons.  

Every time my younger daughter hears me sing in German, she says that it sounds like a Russian singing in German--

I like languages!

Rosemary: Wow!

And this answer leads to more questions.

When you say, 'the first child born here of Russian immigrants', where do you mean by 'here'? 

Audrey: I am the first child born in the US.

Rosemary: How amazing is that! I thought maybe you meant in your little corner of it.

And where does the German come into it? More and more intriguing, lol.

Audrey: I sing and teach classical singing – opera and art song – so I sing a lot in Italian, French and German.

Rosemary: Ah yes, the 'Divalounger' aspect of you. How lovely it must be to have a gift for music as well as poetry!

I see that, like me, you sometimes play with Satya Robyn's and Kaspalita Thompson's initiatives such as 'small stones' and 'writing your way home' – using writing as a way of mindfulness and, in the case of the small stones, looking outside oneself for inspiration. Has this influenced your development of poetic less-is-more?

Audrey: Small stones fill my notebooks--I am not sure that they are all poems, but they are my way of dealing with life and sometimes poems grow out of them.

Rosemary: Well, small stones don't have to be poems. Most of mine are, because that's what I like to write, but sometimes doing them in prose feels right. I turn to them when I'm blocked. I find it a very useful practice, not only to keep writing alive, but for my own wellbeing too. It's so nice to come across others around the world who are still writing small stones years after being introduced to them.

Many thanks, Audrey, for being so open with us, and allowing me to share your lovely poems.

******

Hope you enjoyed this post, everybody – and, as Sherry would have said: Next time it might be you!

And now – I'm excited to announce that the wonderful Rommy Driks has joined the staff of Poets United, and in the very near future will start hosting some of the Sunday posts.

Material shared in this post is presented for study and review. Poems, photos, and other writings and images remain the property of the copyright owners, usually the authors.

Pantry of Poetry and Prose #3

Autumn snow, Pinterest 

Snow danced in the light, choreographed by November as days slide slowly toward winter. Hello everyone! This is Sanaa and I will be your hostess for the Pantry of Poetry and Prose this Sunday. 

This week, Susan intrigued us all with her Midweek Motif, "Authenticity," to which there were several great responses! It's amazing how a prompt can elicit different emotions in people. 

Rosemary delighted us with her "Wild Fridays: Poems of the Week," where she featured our very own Audrey Howitt and had a lovely conversation. Do scroll back and check it out in case you have missed it!

For now, I invite you to share your entries, as Poets United welcomes both poetry and prose (i.e. stories, articles, essays) feel free to link anything new or old and relish in the work of others. Also, if you opt to share prose then please keep it to 369 words or fewer.

Optional: For those of you whose muse desires something, here is a beautiful poem by Maya Angelou. Remember to give credit if you decide to write inspired by it.

Pierre Bamin, Unsplash

 Next Wednesday Sumana's Midweek Motif will be ~ Winter

And now, without further ado, let us dive into the Pantry! Looking forward to grabbing a cup of coffee and reading you all! See you on the trail!

POETRY PANTRY # 337

Early morning at the beach

Happy dogs

Lennard's Light

Sunrise

Sunset

Here are a few more photos of the beach in Tofino, B.C. Hopefully you aren't tired of them. Smiles. If any of you have photos you would like to share in the Pantry, please send them to me by email (wildwoman2@shaw.ca). We hope you all had a productive week of poetry, and are ready to dip into the Pantry for some good reading. 

Did you catch Rosemary's feature last Friday? Rosemary always has an interesting poem and poet for us at the end of the week. This past Friday's was very entertaining. This Monday, we are featuring poems by Audrey Howitt and Annell Livingston, and on Wednesday, Sumana's Midweek Motif prompt will be: Change. An appropriate topic for these political times. Looks like a great week for poetry, my friends.

Link your poem with Mr. Linky, say hi in the comments, and do visit some of your fellow poets in the spirit of reciprocity. We are so happy you are spending your Sunday morning with us.

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