BLOG OF THE WEEK - PAT PALAZY

Today, my friends, we are visiting with Pat Palazy, who blogs at FINGERPRINTING MY EYES. Pat lives in Quebec, in eastern Canada. She tells us she has been visiting us for longer than we knew; she was just shy. We are happy she has come out into the light of day, so we can get to know her better. Smiles. Pat is sharing some wonderful photos with us, along with her poetry and thoughts about writing. She tells us her poet photo is a self-portrait. Let's jump in!

Pat - A self-Portrait

Sherry: Pat, it is so nice to be chatting with you. First question: do you have any animals, and might we meet them? Smiles.

Sierra, Niekah and Salem

Pat: Hi Sherry! thanks for showcasing my words here at Poets United.

Sherry: Oh, you are so lucky to have three animals! They are lovely. When did you begin writing, Pat?

Pat: I can't remember precisely when I began writing; first and foremost, I was a story-teller - and writing stems from this oral tradition; in fact, one of my childhood nicknames was "chatterbox" - if I wasn't being dead quiet and shy, I was chattering away, regaling in fine court-jester fashion. 

Naturally inquisitive and curious, I have a memory for specifics and details, and painted very vivid scenes. So if I wasn't actually putting pencil to paper, I was writing, in my head. (Or like most who love words, was buried in books.) And of course, I had journals and diaries, stacks and stacks of paper, pens, all kinds of "stationary." Reams of it. (Yup, I'm probably responsible for several acres of deforestation --- I'm so sorry, Trees and Earth.)

Sherry: Did you write prose first, or start right off with poems?

Pat: Stories. Stories. Prose. Fiction. One of my first acknowledgements of verbosity was in kindergarten. There was this school competition within each grade, for the best written and spoken-aloud story; I won representation for my class, and then competed with each student from the other six grades. It was a really big deal back then, (it was the early-mid 1970s), and I found myself up on stage, in front of the entire school and all these parents, "performing." Normally it was the older students who won these annual competitions, but not that year; in fact, I think that's probably when my parents realized I was more than just a "chatterbox." 

Sherry: That was a clue, for certain! What do you love about poetry?

Pat: I have an intense love-hate affair with writing and poetry, because the best relationships are passionate and wild, unpredictable and challenging - or maybe, that's just my nature? *smiling*

Actually, what I do appreciate about poetry is its inherent flexibility. If you write prose, fiction, whether it's short stories, (I'm talking about "old school here, not today's "flash"), or aspire to be a novelist, for the most part you're tied to "function and form." You create scenes, characters, settings, scenarios, and the way you have to bring them to life is usually far more concrete and defined, without too much room for metaphors, symbolism, or layering. The complexity and/or simplicity of a well written story is like setting out to build a stylish, hand crafted piece of furniture, say, an armoire, starting from the actual choosing of the wood/tree and working from this point on, felling it, etc. to the end product. 

Poetry, on the hand, is really different. Poetry is like walking through the countryside, and spotting an old building - its weather-stained wood, flaking paint, lighter hued on the west-end high sun-side, with rusty half-pulled bent nails sticking out here and there, (but it's still a fine solid worthy structure) and you swear you can hear whispers and giggles drifting on the wind, or the whinnying and hot, deep snorting of breath - and you wonder - 

Poetry is im/precise wilderness and prose is precise wildness. 

Sherry: Well, that is  a truly wonderful comparison of the two! Very cool. Do you have a favourite poet?

Pat: Dr. Seuss! Right? Who doesn't consider Seuss a poet and not love all those glorious, helter-skelter, tumbling, tipsy tongued rhymes, and stories wrapped up in tertrunkits and blerplunkets and fine fancy bows? *laughing*

Actually, I don't think I have a particular, an absolute favourite poet. I like to read in an eclectic fashion and actually think it's really important to read ALL kinds of things, crossing genres and styles, because exposure is crucial to craft. 

But if I had to choose a poet whose works really affected me, and still do, that one moment, that absolute pure "I've gotten under your skin, caressing you the whole  way, and now you'll always remember me because I live behind your eyes, and have absconded with a piece of your soul" - it would be Master of masters - Cohen. Yup. Leonard Cohen - master of words  - stories, poems, lyrics and music - and mystique.

Sherry: He was a maestro, for certain. When did you begin blogging, Pat? And how has blogging impacted your work?

Pat: Oh, now I'm totally going to date myself here; I began blogging when Blogger was basically the only platform available, (when the only templates were the "classic" ones), and you had to know HTML coding. This was way back in the day when your internet service provider usually provided you with X number of gigabyte space to set up Web Pages/Sites. The only alternatives were Typepad, and Wordpress was a babe swaddled in sackcloth and ashes. Yup, I've been in the cyberworld that long. 

Sherry: Ha, I am glad I began after the html period. I would have been sunk!

Pat: And now? Well, blogging for me, still, is more or less about just having a space to share and to adventure - to wander and read, to listen to the stories others have to share. And to find inspiration. As for how blogging has impacted my work?

Well, all this online armchair travelling opens doors, and windows, of infinite possibility. You can so easily access all kinds of things. You can challenge yourself and discover; it's like a wanderlust project cloaked in the justification of "educational research" - and of course, it's the friendships, the exchanges, that offer the most fascinating and rewarding aspects and elements.

Sherry: A wonderful description. Would you like to choose three of your poems and tell us a little about each one?

THE LANGUAGE OF STONES

I finger hot river rock in my hand
– speak speak
I ask you to teach me of skins long shed
of the scales of the dead for the weights that fill your belly –

preach to me of herstory in love with history
of the silver fox who leaps to catch a vole,
of the snowy owl who has long grown cold for the shadowy chase of the hare –
I ask for the lessons of sand and soil
for the voices of fungi singing in the hollows and shallows –
explain how the earth shatters and quakes
I long to know the thunder errupting as the belly births
fire in heat for the fossils of the flame
to dissipate, as water steams and smokes –
these are the lessons I need named
–
but still, I can’t find stone’s essences
–
naturally I bend, contract myself small and squeeze –
blind-eyed finger pick in my hands
choose the only reasonable course –
Lick
to taste in wonder of grit
to map this story into my skin
to let striations vein the blood of my own
to soak myself in this composite amber
– perhaps
if I slow chew
crack
break teeth and cut tongue
swallow
I will find myself in angles and rounds
in these crevices and pits
polished by fire and water from outside in
opening myself to the compression of the downward weighing sky
knowing finally, what it means to die –
to lie
to crumble
to dust down to speckled sand
to sliver in shards
until I am nothing denser than quivers
not light enough, still, to feather myself on wings –
but born to carry the weight and language
of stone

Sherry: I really relate to this poem. I am a lover of rocks, and always reflect on the history they contain, when I hold them in my hands.

Pat: The Language of Stones, is about learning the language of the earth, and her elements; it's about going beyond just puttering in the garden or slavishly killing yourself in creating something (which I did for many years for my paid work) - because essentially, we are from this earth, at least in bodily form, and we've long forgotten these ancient stories, the codes, the mysteries. 

We're so disconnected from the land, we are living a totally dysfunctional relationship that is entirely destructive.  Mother Earth has and is paying a horrific price; and not only is this super important to me, to "own" - but to understand. We are stewards of this place; I don't think we can really appreciate it until we strip ourselves away and really break ourselves back down to the elements, listen to the stories, familiarize ourselves with these tongues; it's all about energies and absorbing them.

Small Girl

A small girl in pink gingham check cried as I wrote a poem
on the inside of egg shells. 
Wildfires burned a hole in a thrift store dress; it was pinned
to the poem of the small girl.
The flaming checks of the crimson-yellow sunset were flecked with red
specks of sharded glass, the wallpaper of my closed eyes.
And the small, lost girl cried
as a reckless surgeon fingered his silver-sharp scalpel, 
set to incise a wound, 
poemed on the inside of egg shells.
My wildfire eyes burning, behind these paper white
shells, as the small girl held, cupped in her hands, 
the bright yellow yolks. 
And I cried.

Anyone who is familiar with my writing knows I tend to write from a hard-edged, high energy and much darker place.  "I don't do Hallmark" is like a trademark phrase for me. Light can't exist without its sister/brother Shadow, and I think it's really important to explore this, and I always have, either subconsciously or deliberately. This aspect of writing has always been thematic in my words. 

What I appreciate about this poem, which is a more recent work, is that, in some ways, it represents a "pivot" - a change in my perception and direction in some way. I feel like it's still edgy, just softer in some ways, and there is a certain vulnerability and fragility in it that I'm content to let breathe.

Sherry: Your explanations are as wonderful as your poems, Pat. I love both poems, but “Small Girl” especially, for that very softness.

Pat: I'll let you choose the other poem Sherry. *smiling* - because I'm curious to know what makes a favourite or one of particular interest for you, and perhaps others too. 

SING OF THE EARTH

hear the song of ice and snow
spirit of the wind
whisper the slow rise of mountains
sweep far below into the earth’s drumming fire
let us dance the ancient northern starlit night

  

Sherry: For me, poems about nature always resonate, so I loved this small gem. And Pat, your photos are GLORIOUS! I also love the following poem and want to sneak it in here.

DANCING WITH HAWK

I am one with the warrior spirit of hawk
grounded in the jutting steps before the lift
slow-to-wings extending before the high rise flight
I am whirling precision carried on the air's swing
circular swirling before the deadly strike

This is wonderful to read. I love "being one with the warrior spirit of hawk". You would love the book H is for Hawk.

How did you find Poets United, Pat? Is there anything you’d like to say to us?

Pat: I came to Poets United ages ago; lurking in corners, reading the posts and wandering about reading what people were sharing. I most likely found this space through another person writing to a prompt, and was significantly curious to check it out. But like the essential dueling/duality nature of much of what I write, I'm either really outgoing or exceptionally shy, so it was a very long time before I actually said "Hi!" 

Sherry: Wow! That’s interesting. I thought you were fairly new here. We are so glad you came out into the sun to say hello! Smiles.

Pat: What I really appreciate about Poets United is the diversity of voices, which translates into so many interesting perspectives, stories, experiences and points of view. It's really a global community, with those who host this space sharing their time in dedicated efforts - and for those who frequent, it offers a rewarding and very openly welcoming space.

There is a certain dynamic energy here, that makes for some very rich story-telling. And I love that it's so culturally expansive. And finally, well - thank you to everyone - those who host, for your time and efforts, and energy in offering such a wealth of poetic offerings, and to those who participate and have visited with me - it's always appreciated. 

Thank you Sherry, it's been a pleasure. 

Sherry: Thank you, Pat. It has been delightful. And thank you for your kind words about Poets United. Pat those furry critters for me!

Wasn't this a lovely visit, my friends? Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you! (Hint: next week we are featuring one of our poets who is also an artist. You won't want to miss it!)