SOLSC March 26: Too Busy a Day

1. I wanted to go to the outdoor exercise/dance class in my neighborhood this morning — I haven’t been since the fall because it’s too cold. But during the eight-block walk, it was windy, too windy, and while it got over 60 degrees later in the day, it wasn’t there yet. I had to give up.

2. On to the farmers market, where I got my weekly supply of apples, as well as carrots and brussels sprouts — and chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.

3. Next, supplies for lunch at the Lebanese supermarket. Can of chickpeas for making beet hummus. Pitas. Eggplant and chickpea salad. Tomato and cucumber salad.

4. Home to make the beet hummus. But I can’t find the recipe. I had a printout from when I first made it, but it wasn’t among my recipes. I searched through twice, until I realized I was wasting time.

5. To the computer to search for the recipe. Had to look at three or four before I found the one I wanted, at theforkedspoon.com. (Do try this, it is delicious.)

6. But when I first opened up the computer, I saw an e-mail from a friend who’d invited me to go to the theater with her. She’d already bought her ticket online, and now she was letting me know what her seat was so I could get one near her. But I was halfway through the ordering process when the website said “Error page not found.” I had no time to call the box office for help.

7. Start the hummus, then my daughter arrived. Christie was coming for lunch and the continuation of a sewing lesson.

8. But first we were attending a Zoom session of Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon, a writing community I’ve been part of for 10 years, and Christie also came to occasionally. Because of Zoom, today’s group had women from Los Angeles, Georgia, Alabama, and Trinidad and Tobago. We talked about our plans for National Poetry Month, and I mentioned the Golden Shovel poem form<https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/27/at-home/golden-shovel-poetry.html> using New York Times headlines as source. One of the women on the Zoom said that based on my description of this form, she’d written a Golden Shovel poem, and it was published!

9. After the featured poet reading at the Poetry Salon, we left to get on with the sewing. Christie is making a dress from a 1950s pattern that fits her body type, but she needs guidance. She’s about 75% done, and today’s sewing created a problem that required a bit of ripping out and redoing.

10. As we moved on to the next step, I began to feel the third of what might be Covid symptoms. (I’ve still not had Covid.) The home test I was about to take had expired last November. I had to get to the nearest urgent care center, and it was going to close in 45 minutes. Christie said she’d clean up. I reminded her to take half of the beet hummus. Walked to the urgent care. They gave me both a Covid and a flu test. Both negative! Whew.

11. Walked over to Riverside Park and sat on a bench, watching the sun. Now it was much warmer than it had been in the morning.

12. After dinner, it was time to do the laundry. And write this slice. End of day.

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I’m participating in the 16th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 26 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

 

Covid Events, Cancellations, and Postponements

(from my datebook—EDITED)

March 10, I attend a performance of Hamilton as a guest of a friend.

March 11, I ride the subway for the last time.

March 13, Gender & Transformation workshop canceled.

March 14, I eat in a restaurant with a friend, for the last time, and shop for groceries, for the last time.

March 15, the funeral of an old colleague of Jack’s is postponed to an indefinite time.

March 15, movie discussion group (Sorry We Missed You) is canceled.

March 18, lunch with a friend canceled.

March 20, book group 2 postponed.

March 22, plans to see Drunk Shakespeare are canceled.

March 23, talk at CUNY by Victoria Phillips on “Women, Power, and Intrigue in Cold War Berlin” is canceled.

March 24, book party for Ann Snitow’s posthumous book, Visitors, and a book by Daniel Goode is canceled.

March 25, Vivien Gornick and Alix Shulman in conversation at the Center for Fiction is canceled.

March 26, Big Words reading on the theme of “Dreams” is canceled.

March 26, opening day for baseball season is canceled.

March 28, the group of Mets fans I was going to join at Bobby V’s bar in Stamford is canceled

March 28, Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon meets via Zoom.

March 29, New York Antioch Alumni chapter gathering postponed.

March 30, staged reading of a play by Robin Rice is canceled.

March 31, check-up with my doctor is canceled.

April 1, my women’s group meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

April 3, book group 2 (The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu) meets via Zoom, postponed from March 20.

April 4, New School panel on Ann Snitow’s book Visitors is canceled.

April 4, book group 1 (T.R. Reid's The Healing of America) meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

April 8, dentist appointment is postponed.

April 11, Pauline Olivieros's music meditation via Zoom.

April 12, family meets via Zoom, a new event.

April 14, North Star gala is canceled.

April 15, income tax deadline extended to July 15.

April 16, book group (A Long Petal of the Sea) meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

April 17, Gender & Transformation panel on Ann Snitow’s book Visitors is canceled.

April 17, Publishers Weekly happy hour via Zoom, a new event.

April 18, Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon’s 9th anniversary via Zoom, a regularly scheduled event.

April 19, New York Antioch Alumni chapter meets via Zoom, postponed from March 29.

April 19, family meets via Zoom.

April 21, National Gallery writing workshop, via Zoom.

April 24, book group (New York Times special section, "One Nation, Tracked") meets via Zoom, on scheduled day.

April 25, staged reading of Jen Abrams's How to Queer a Stroller, via Zoom.

April 28, New York State primary is postponed.

May 1, Gender & Transformation workshop is canceled.

May 2, Orpheus Chamber Orchestra concert is canceled.

May 2, book group 1 (Homegoing) meets via Zoom, on regularly scheduled day.

May 3, family meets via Zoom.

May 6, women’s group meets via Zoom.

May 6, dermatologist appointment is postponed.

May 7, book group (The Testament of Mary) meets via Zoom.

May 12, podiatrist appointment is postponed.

June 3, women’s group meets via Zoom.

June 6, Orpheus Chamber Orchestra concert is canceled.

June 23, New York State primary rescheduled is canceled.

July 1, dentist appointment is rescheduled??

July 29, dermatologist appointment is rescheduled??

The future?????

SOL29: Zooming Poetry

            Yesterday  I was in my first Zoom gathering. The Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon, created and organized by the incomparable JP Howad, met on Zoom for three hours, and it was amazing. More than 60 people were online and in the room, with JP, and her experienced Zoomer, Cynthia Matick, hosting. We didn’t have the usual check-in, where we go around the table, ID ourselves, and say what kind of writing we do, because when we meet in person there are usually 15 to 25 people. But via Zoom, we could have participants who are far-flung.

            The Salon had a short workshop, in which we wrote to a prompt, then went into breakout groups to share what we wrote and speak to each other. JP also gave us a second prompt to do on our own time. Then we had three featured poets reading from their new work: Rosebud Ben-Oni, turn around, BRXGHT XYXS; Roya Marsh, dayliGht; and DaMaris Hill, A Bound Woman Is a Dangerous Thing . Their work is powerful and moving. And following the features, we had a brief open mic. All in all, it was an energizing and moving afternoon, not as good as if we’d met face to face, but way better than sitting alone in our homes.

            The first prompt was to write a autobiographical praise poem by completing each of the following lines:

first name

who is

daughter/son of

who loves

who can’t stand

who needs

who feels

who fears

who would like to see

who/how I live

last name

            Here’s what I wrote:

Sonia;

who is old (in the best sense);

daughter of Leah;

who loves her friends and family, the world, my music, books,  and dancing, and baseball;

who can’t stand my country’s “leader” who is incapable of leading;

who needs contact with other people;

who feels optimistic and pessimistic at the same time;

who fears the effects of this pandemicon everyone, every way in which all people on this earth live;

who would like to see common sense and rationality and humility and tolerance overcome fear and hate;

who lives in the moment while connecte to the the past and hopeful for the future;

Robbins

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I’m participating in the 13th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 29 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

SOL24: Poetry Workshop

            This afternoon I went to a Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon, a workshop led by Peggy Robles-Alvarado. Over a little more than two hours, we read eight poems and had five- and ten-minute writing exercises after each one. After “From the Book Titled Nejma” by Nayyirah Waheed, we had the prompt, “who does your body make a home for?”; here’s my draft for that one:

My body

makes

a home for

the lost ones.

My body halts

the oncoming winds.

It cries out

for

soft kisses.

It brings home

the birds at sunset

My body lies

on the ground of

sand, shifting

with

the water edging

along the shore.

My body craves

tea leaves,

orange blossoms to

feed

your insecurities,

to heal

my insecurities.

My body lifts up

to the universe,

stars speckling

the dark sky.

My body makes

a home for memories

it can’t escape,

for memories it

feeds on,

for memories that

nourish and

memories that starve,

memories that have

no end,

memories that ride on

dirt tracks to

nowhere,

memories that can’t

be completed,

that stop at the

edge

of a canyon rim.

My body wants a home

that no longer exists.

My body builds a new

home from

nails, wine books,

words, words, words,

letters, numbers. 

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I’m participating in the 12th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 1 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

SOL2: Small World

            A week ago I was at a writing community I’m part of, Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon. Every month, the organizer, JP Howard, brings a published writer to the salon for a workshop, then to read her (usually, though sometimes the feature has been a man) work and to answer questions, about writing, about being published, etc.

           A week ago, the featured writer was DaMaris Hill. Her workshop was about revision, how to take a poem, or any piece of writing, that is or has become lifeless and wake it up. Partly, she suggested doing this through using methods from hip-hop, like remixing and sampling. (I won’t go into any detail, since this is her work, and I don’t want to be appropriating it.) The book she read from is her most recent, A Bound Woman Is a Dangerous Thing, in which she writes persona poems for African-American women, from Harriet Tubman to Sandra Bland, some of whom have been incarcerated. As Publishers Weekly wrote, “Hill's poems illustrate how oppression can summon inner strength, resistance, and revolution.”

            A few days later, on Facebook, I saw a post by a friend from my college days about his being in a conference and meeting a couple of his former students—one of whom turned out to be DaMaris Hill.

            Two people, from vastly different times in my life, who know each other, and know me. I love these small world stories.

            What was your last small world story?

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I’m participating in the 12th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 1 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

SOLTuesday: Poetry in the Park

            I’ve been going to a monthly poetry salon for about six years. JP Howard is the founder of Women Writers in Bloom; she invites a writer, usually a poet, to give a short workshop, read from her (usually it’s a woman) work, answer questions, and it’s all followed by an open mike.

            BryantPark, behind the New York Public Library in midtown, has hosted readings during the summer for several years now. And tonight Women Writers in Bloom presented, for the second or third year, four of its established and emerging poets. It was a beautiful evening, and each poet was stupendously better then the previous one.

            I arrived a bit early and saw several people I knew, from the salon, but also a woman from the gym. Found a seat, ate the delicious Indian food I’d gotten from the food fair over on Broadway, and absorbed the moving and inspiring poetry, and tried to ignore the sirens of multiple emergency vehicles storming down 42nd  Street. (Had something gone badly wrong somewhere? Who knows—it’s only New York City.)

Catching Up, II

On Sunday, I attended a Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon in Brooklyn(link). Nandi Kaye led us through a mental, then we wrote, then we wrote some more and we had a physical writer warmup. Here is what I wrote.

I

I remember because that is all I have left. Someone once wrote, "Death ends a life, but not a relationship...." Death ends the accumulation of new memories, while the old memories remain as fresh or as stale as they want to be. Memories hide in the weeds of my forgetfulness, they jump out to startle me as I lie abed. Memory cannot wrap arms around me, cannot kiss gently, or passionately. Memory rouses grief and mourning, but forgetfulness erases life, us, me. Memory wants me to forget loss, to move on, to move ahead. But memory also anchors me to the moment of death, with a rope stretching, stretching, stretching without breaking.

II

Happiness comes from my pink hair. Jack loved my pink hair. When strangers say they love my pink hair, I feel 50 degrees warmer. I glow. I feel connected. My pink hair is the magic token I've looked for all my life. My pink hair is the guardian angels protecting me from despair. My pink hair is punk, is rock and roll, is a happiness drug. My pink hair matches all of my favorite clothes, well, almost.

 

Thank you, Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon

Thank you, JP Howard, and Samiya Bashir, and the Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon for your organizing and energy and support. I have not written anything for weeks, then today was the August Salon, and this is what came out. I will write more, and more often.

How to Connect When You Do Not Feel Connected

1. Connect  one thought to another thought.

2. Connect one thought to an action.

3. Conect one action to another action.

4. Connect yourself to yourself.

5. Connect your pain to your fear.

6. Connect your fear to what feeds it.

7. Disconnect your fear from its source.

8. Bypass your pain with a dream.

9. Chase your dream into the underbrush.

10. Track your dream with stealth and love.

11. Ambush your dream as it steals away.

12. Hide from your dream.

13. Let your dream find you.

14. Connect yourself to your dream.

15. Connect others to your dream, one by one, until you are multitudes.

Slice of Life, #29

            Communities of writers are wonderful and necessary. They nurture and provoke, engage and challenge. They can take many forms: writers’ groups, workshops, reading series, salons, open mikes (“mic” looks to me like it’s pronounced “mihk” and only came into use when “mic” was engraved on recording equipment in the 1980s; “mike” was the word before then). I am in several: a writers’ group I’ve been in for more than 20 years (and it’s been in existence for more than 30 years); a continuing workshop with an old friend focusing on short fiction, as well as the Blueprint Your Book workshop with Minal Hajratwala; the Big Words reading series; and the Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon and Open Expressions Harlem.

            Today the Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon met at the Brooklyn Workshop Gallery for an afternoon with featured poet Cynthia Manick. Cynthia led a workshop on character poems, with examples by Patricia Smith (“Medusa” was really powerful), Lucille Clifton, Carol Ann Duffy, and Cornelius Eady, and direct address poems, with examples Chris Abani. We then had the opportunity to write our own examples, with many amazing poems written in just 10 minutes. Cynthia read some of her own work. And then the open mike, with, again, many beautiful pieces of writing. And of course, the Two Writing Teachers, with their Slice of Life Story Challenge in March, and National Novel Writing Month, in November, which pushed me to finish the first draft of a novel some years ago (it still sits, with half a dozen attempts at a second draft, in a drawer).

            There are more out there. In April, National Poetry Month, there are at least a couple of 30 Poems in 30 Days challenges. I hope you are in more than one writing community; maybe you can join one in April.

            Write on!