A CHAT BETWEEN TWO POETS ~ WRITING THROUGH DIFFICULT TIMES

Some weeks ago, in one of her emails, Susie Clevenger, who writes so brilliantly at Confessions of a Laundry Goddess, joked wryly, "How does one write, when your brain is scrambled egg, and life keeps hitting your family with a hammer?" My antenna perked up, at a potential Chat, since we all go through hard patches in life and, somehow, write our way through. 

I thought this was a topic worth exploring, that many poets will relate to. Susie graciously agreed to go under the microscope. She said she didn't mind sharing her family's story, because it might help someone else. So pour yourself a tall mug of tea, and join us by the fire, as together we try to figure out how and why we continue to write, through the most difficult of times.

Sherry: Susie, I so appreciate your willingness to tackle this topic. Do we write to know we're not alone? To pour our pain out onto the page? Or because we are poets and writing is what we do, how we figure out how we really feel?

I have so admired your ability to write your way through the hard stuff. Would you like to start off by giving us a  snapshot of the biggest things your family went through this past year? 

Susie: It seems just when you are breathing air, circumstances cut off your oxygen. Our family had high hopes for 2014, having endured Charlie’s knee surgery, my broken foot and our daughter’s numerous emergency procedures to replace kidney stents, in 2013. Then February opened the door to unwelcome health guests.

Because cancer had robbed Dawn of her left kidney in 2008, the health of her remaining kidney hit critical mass. On a sunny February day she had an eight hour Robotic Ureterolysis with Omental Wrap. What that means is the doctors had to free her ureter from scar tissue and then take the fat that covers the bowel and wrap it so it could function properly and be protected. It was a delicate, dangerous procedure that needed to be successful because a kidney transplant was looming. As if that wasn’t enough Dawn got shingles, numerous infections, and lost her hair in the months to follow.

Sherry: Oh, Susie. It was even more harrowing than I knew. Poor Dawn! Some people, when they are overwhelmed with crises, are unable to write, and set aside their pens until the crisis is over. Did it help you to write your way through? 

Susie: From years of internalizing pain, with its side effects of anger and depression, I knew I needed to use the release valve of poetry to keep from sliding down into a dark rabbit hole. Knowing it was necessary didn’t always translate into words. Part of the time it felt like trying to write through bricks. 

Oddly enough when I look back at what I wrote, I feel it was some of my best work. If you look at numbers, I had written 235 poems the year before, and it fell to 159 in 2014. It was a bit like having laryngitis. My psyche was infected by the drama of life circumstances, leaving my poetic voice struggling to be heard.

Therefore what I could say meant so much more to me.

Sherry: It is often that way. Maybe our emotions are at their deepest and most undefended, when we are suffering. As writers, we are fortunate to have an outlet, a way to release some of the pent-up pain.  How are things with your family now? Are you anticipating a better year in 2015?

Susie: My husband, daughters, and I are incredibly bonded with love. We are doing well and don’t dwell on what could happen. Life never follows the easy path, it seems, yet we have more laughter than tears. We are believing 2015 will be a good year, a blessed year. After all, a walk through the valley brings a deeper appreciation for the moments spent on the mountaintop.

Sherry: This is true, Susie. You have a Mama Lion heart, where your cubs are concerned. This is what I know about you. Let's look at  three of your poems, written through this time. Maybe you can tell us a bit about each.  This first one really spoke to me.

A Faux Death

I slept a faux death

on pristine grass

void of the claws

of spade or tears.

A mere three feet

from your marbled name

I lay comforted by the moon

in its cradle of night.

Taken to a place where

dreams are forbidden

I was free from last words,

sunburned wishes, lips

that teased with promises unkept.

For a few hours I didn’t mourn

you had wings; that gravity

had tied me with ropes of pain.

Now without my shield of sleep

I see wildflowers rioting in purple

across your grave; hear sparrows

sing of angels; breathe spring air

free of the scent of dying roses.

Encircled in living watercolor

I wonder if it is your brush

painting life across my irises.

My heart feels less a stone

and more like life drumming

inside my chest.

Can this be hope?

Sherry: This poem went straight to my heart, my friend. I love the painting of life across your irises, and the note of hope at the end.

Susie: A Faux Death is part factual, part metaphor.  One of my darkest hours found me lying face down on my parents’ graves. I poured out the agony of grief-filled questions that would never bring answers. My husband was so frightened I was slipping into an emotional chasm where he couldn’t reach me. I think the poem’s timing wasn’t an accident. Metaphorically, I was in a place where normal everyday had died.

I was grieving and angry my child had her world turned upside down again. Being who I am, I couldn’t camp out in pity, so I looked with Dawn’s courage at the world around me. The color, vibrancy of life was my medicine for shadows.

Dawn

Sherry: Oh, Susie, that image of you crying on your parents' graves. I am so sorry for all you are going through. But I so admire how your family is going through it!

Dawn is a remarkably courageous and positive girl. I loved the piece she wrote recently, shared on facebook, Losing My Hair, Finding My Faith. And that leads us to your next poem, my friend.

Knives And Woody Guthrie

You don’t know how much

you can take until too much

puts steel in your spine.

There wasn’t much brand new

on the apple drop before one

child faced a knife and the other

channeled Woody Guthrie.

Putting miles on wings

my youngest brought

dust bowl determination

to see her sister safe

on the other side of the fog.

Planted in a garden of leather and clocks

prayers watched hours spin while faith

didn’t surrender a thought to negative.

When doctors’ hands had finished

chipping through stone to bring freedom

two sisters curled into giggles of healing.

Sherry: Oh, how I love the image of those two sisters, who have both been through so much, collapsing into giggles together. So loving, so close. And I can see that strong maternal spine stiffening to meet any threat to her chicks.

Susie: The beginning of this poem speaks to what we all experience. You don’t know what kind of steel you have to cope, until you are put in the position to need it. Barely into a brand new year, Dawn was going under the knife and my youngest, Carrie, needed grit to be there for her sister. 

Carrie

Carrie works at The Woody Guthrie Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Each work day she is surrounded by his story, and those who survived the dust bowl, so I feel it gave her already tiger spirit some added strength when she headed to Texas for her sister’s surgery. The two of them will never grow up, so giggles will always be their go-to for healing.

Sherry: Laughter heals, and thank God for a sense of humor! I love the strength and determination - and grit! - in this final poem, as you bade farewell to 2014 and turned to face this brand new year.

January’s First Step

“For last year's words belong to last year's language

And next year's words await another voice.”

― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

I have torn the last page

from the damnable year

that brought lessons I am

not sure I learned.

A vocabulary of pain will not

be my companion as I cross the

threshold of a new calendar.

Why would I wish to greet January

with sooted lashes crying

of spilt milk and yesterday’s words?

The path before me has no footprints,

no can’t, no rewinding, no history.

My journey waits for me to take

that first step with the boldness of hope,

and the wisdom to know joy will not

abandon me if happy finds it

has mountains to climb.

©Susie Clevenger 2015 

Sherry: I adore those closing lines: that "joy will not abandon me if happy finds it has mountains to climb." Bravo, Susie! 

Susie: This poem is closure for a difficult year and hope for a new one. Of course I can share about the difficulties in 2014, but I don’t have to live there. We survived the storm as a family. I can’t know what this year will bring. I may have struggles with happy, but joy has deep roots in me. 

Sherry: I know it does, Susie. Over the years I have known you, I have so admired the courage and spirit with which you see your family through whatever comes. With the four of you so close, I know there will be no shortage of love and support, for whichever family member needs it. You are blessed that way.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. May 2015 be everything 2014 was not. May all good things unfold for the four of you, and may Dawn come through to healing and health once again. 

Susie: Sherry, thanks so much for asking me to take part in the chat.  I hope it helps someone to write through whatever shades of gray they find themselves in.

Dawn got good news at her oncologist recently. Her blood work looked great. Her white blood cell count was in normal range! That rarely happens. She is stepping down on her steroid dose and her hair is growing back. We are calling what she has and is going through, rebirth. 

Sherry: That is good news indeed and it is so heartening to hear it. Susie, we thank you for sharing your family's experience. Blessings to the four of you.

Amazing journeys we make, week by week, visiting each other's lives, are they not, my friends? This has been a special one it was my privilege to bring you. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!