The Red Letter Poem Project: The Red Letters 3.0: A New Beginning (Perhaps)

 The Red Letter Poem Project

 

The Red Letters 3.0: A New Beginning (Perhaps)   

At the outset of the Covid pandemic, when fear was at its highest, the Red Letter Project was intended to remind us of community: that, even isolated in our separate homes, we could still face this challenge together.  As Arlington’s Poet Laureate, I began sending out a poem of comfort each Friday, featuring the fine talents from our town and its neighbors.  Because I enlisted the partnership of seven local arts and community organizations, distribution of the poems spread quickly – and, with subscribers sharing and re-posting the installments, soon we had readers, not only throughout the Commonwealth, but across the country.  And I delighted in the weekly e-mails I’d receive with praise for the poets; as one reader recently commented: “You give me the gift of a quiet, contemplative break—with something to take away and reflect on.”

 

Then our circumstance changed dramatically again: following the murder of George Floyd, the massive social and political unrest, and the national economic catastrophe, the distress of the pandemic was magnified.  Red Letter 2.0 announced that I would seek out as diverse a set of voices as I could find – from Massachusetts and beyond – so that their poems might inspire, challenge, deepen the conversation we were, by necessity, engaged in.

 

Now, with widespread vaccination, an economic rebound, and a shift in the political landscape, I intend to help this forum continue to evolve – Red Letter 3.0.  For the last 15 months, I’ve heard one question again and again: when will we get back our old lives?  It may pain us to admit it, but that is little more than a fantasy.  Our lives have been altered irrevocably – not only our understanding of how thoroughly interdependent we are, both locally and globally, but how fragile and utterly precious is all that we love.  Weren’t you bowled over recently by how good it felt just to hug a friend or family member?  Or to walk unmasked through a grocery, noticing all the faces?  So I think the question we must wrestle with is this: knowing what we know, how will we begin shaping our new life?  Will we quickly forget how grateful we felt that strangers put themselves at risk, every day, so that we might purchase milk and bread, ride the bus to work, or be cared for by a doctor or nurse?  Will we slip back into our old drowse and look away from the pain so many are forced to endure – in this, the wealthiest nation on the planet?  Will we stop noticing those simple beauties all around us?  The poet Mary Oliver said it plainly: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  I will continue to offer RLP readers the work of poets who are engaged in these questions, hoping their voices will fortify all of ours.

 

Two of our partner sites will continue re-posting each Red Letter weekly: the YourArlington news blog (https://www.yourarlington.com/easyblog/entry/28-poetry/3054-redletter-092421), and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene (http://dougholder.blogspot.com).  If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to: steven.arlingtonlaureate@gmail.com.

 

In ancient Rome, feast days were indicated on the calendar by red letters.  To my mind, all poetry and art serves as a reminder that every day we wake together beneath the sun is a red-letter day.

 

                                                                                              – Steven Ratiner

 

 

Red Letter Poem #79

 

 

when they strike the bell
these gingko leaves are falling –
Temple Kencho-ji

 

–– Soseki Natsume

 

Do you, too, wait for them each year: a thousand yellowy fans fluttering from wide branches?  But the gingko biloba tree is more than just a treat for the eye; it’s referred to as a ‘living fossil’ and its history runs back 270 million years.  One of the most honored trees in art and poetry – especially throughout Asia where it had its origins – it’s praised for its elegance and strength as well as its medicinal qualities.  Every autumn, for example, tourists flock to Xi’an in China – not only to view the Terracotta Warriors, but to visit a 1,400-year-old ginkgo tree at the Gu Guanyin Buddhist temple as it bathes the courtyard in gold.  Now Lawrence Kessenich is adding his poem to a long and honorable tradition: viewing the beauty – and brevity – of our human existence beside this timekeeper of eternity.

 

Lawrence certainly deserves to be called a man of letters; a prize-winning poet, novelist, playwright, essayist, and one of the managing editors of the journal Ibbetson Street – he has devoted much of his adult life toward helping nourish our literary endowment.  To my mind, what he’s offering with this new poem is really a praise-song to that beleaguered emotional territory we each must contend with: our fragile sense of hope.  It portrays, in microcosm, an aspect of the continuity that’s sustained our species, our planet – even through the darkest of eras when survival seemed most threatened.  I’m reminded of the great poets from Song Dynasty China like Ouyang Xiu (who, incidentally, also wrote a series of poems about the gingko tree); they championed the idea that our most commonplace moments were worthy of poetry – a literary concept we normally attribute to modernity.  When we practice deepening our attention, we find instances of beauty that are plentiful and close-at-hand.  And likely that feeling is accompanied by the thought – the hope – that such beauty will remain available for our grandchildren’s eyes, and for their grandchildren as well.

 

Emily Dickinson wrote that “Hope is the thing with feathers/ That perches in the soul.”  Then again, it may be a yellow fan-shaped leaf that falls lightly onto the path we’re walking.  Or the urgency of any moment that holds us still, compelled to truly register one vivid impression of a day that might otherwise go unnoticed.  This is not the province of poets and painters alone, but of all of us aging children who are capable of – dare I say it – wide-eyed joy.  Yes, even in these bleak times – at least I hope so.

 

 

 

Ginkgo in Fall

 

 

 

It hemorrhages glowing yellow leaves,
which pool at its base like preternatural
honey, a circle of surrealist sunlight
on still green grass under a cloudy sky.

If I were a painter, I’d break out
the cadmium yellow, then raise a black stalk
of tree and dab bits of color on its branches,
a filigree of falling leaves beneath them.

The tree is Michael the angel, from the movie,
releasing feathers like snowfall as his life
begins to ebb. It’s hard to look at trees
losing their leaves and not think of death,

but I’ve learned that it’s the buds—new life—
that push the leaves into their fatal fall, buds
that will endure the frigid blasts of winter,
produce the next generation of tiny suns.

 

 

                        –– Lawrence Kessenich

New Somerville poetry anthology announced by Somerville Poet Laureate Lloyd Schwartz.

 

 New Somerville poet anthology announced by Somerville Poet Lloyd Schwartz.

I received this letter from Somerville Poet Laureate Lloyd Schwartz.   It is a fine opportunity for young Somerville poets to be published.  Please check it out! 

As a poet myself, who has lived in Somerville for many years, I was honored to be named Somerville’s Poet Laureate, the person who’s in charge of spreading the word about the importance of poetry in all our lives. I’ve been discovering that some really good poems are being written by our younger citizens—high school students and even students younger than that.

This year I was one of 23 American poets from around the entire country to be awarded a “Poets Laureate Fellowship” from the Academy of American Poets, which provided me with some money to fund a variety of programs related to poetry.

The one I’m most excited about is the creation of an anthology of poem by younger Somerville poets, 6th through 12 grades. I’ve met some of you and I’m very impressed with how good your poems are. So I’d like to invite all Somerville students, from grade 6 through high school seniors to write poems about some aspect or quality of Somerville. It could be about your experience of living in or moving to Somerville, your room, your house, your neighborhood, your friends and neighbors, what you see from your window, where you like to hang out or eat, Somerville’s diversity, or even something about Somerville’s fascinating history (like the Nunnery Grounds, Paul Revere’s ride, or even how Somerville got its name). Your poems could be about what you like about Somerville, what you don’t like about Somerville, or how you think Somerville could be better.

What interests you about Somerville that you could write a poem about?

Could you please send me one, two , or three poems to somervillepoet@gmail.com? A committee will help me select up to three of your submitted poems to be published in a book called The View from Somerville: Somerville Poems by Somerville Students. Contributors would each receive 20 copies of the book, which you could sell for whatever price you chose (say $15 or $20) or give as gifts. You’d be a published poet!

Please submit your poems by November 18, and I will get back to you as soon as possible after that date. I know you will have some great poems and I look forward to seeing them!

Sincerely,

Lloyd Schwartz

Somerville Poet Laureate

This publication is made possible by the Academy of American Poets with funds from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.

Somerville As Muse: Poetry Reading and Open Mic: Lloyd Schwartz, Denise Provost and Doug Holder

 

The Red Letter Poem Project The Red Letters 3.0: A New Beginning (Perhaps)

 The Red Letter Poem Project

 

The Red Letters 3.0: A New Beginning (Perhaps)   

At the outset of the Covid pandemic, when fear was at its highest, the Red Letter Project was intended to remind us of community: that, even isolated in our separate homes, we could still face this challenge together.  As Arlington’s Poet Laureate, I began sending out a poem of comfort each Friday, featuring the fine talents from our town and its neighbors.  Because I enlisted the partnership of seven local arts and community organizations, distribution of the poems spread quickly – and, with subscribers sharing and re-posting the installments, soon we had readers, not only throughout the Commonwealth, but across the country.  And I delighted in the weekly e-mails I’d receive with praise for the poets; as one reader recently commented: “You give me the gift of a quiet, contemplative break—with something to take away and reflect on.”

 

Then our circumstance changed dramatically again: following the murder of George Floyd, the massive social and political unrest, and the national economic catastrophe, the distress of the pandemic was magnified.  Red Letter 2.0 announced that I would seek out as diverse a set of voices as I could find – from Massachusetts and beyond – so that their poems might inspire, challenge, deepen the conversation we were, by necessity, engaged in.

 

Now, with widespread vaccination, an economic rebound, and a shift in the political landscape, I intend to help this forum continue to evolve – Red Letter 3.0.  For the last 15 months, I’ve heard one question again and again: when will we get back our old lives?  It may pain us to admit it, but that is little more than a fantasy.  Our lives have been altered irrevocably – not only our understanding of how thoroughly interdependent we are, both locally and globally, but how fragile and utterly precious is all that we love.  Weren’t you bowled over recently by how good it felt just to hug a friend or family member?  Or to walk unmasked through a grocery, noticing all the faces?  So I think the question we must wrestle with is this: knowing what we know, how will we begin shaping our new life?  Will we quickly forget how grateful we felt that strangers put themselves at risk, every day, so that we might purchase milk and bread, ride the bus to work, or be cared for by a doctor or nurse?  Will we slip back into our old drowse and look away from the pain so many are forced to endure – in this, the wealthiest nation on the planet?  Will we stop noticing those simple beauties all around us?  The poet Mary Oliver said it plainly: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  I will continue to offer RLP readers the work of poets who are engaged in these questions, hoping their voices will fortify all of ours.

 

Two of our partner sites will continue re-posting each Red Letter weekly: the YourArlington news blog (https://www.yourarlington.com/easyblog/entry/28-poetry/3054-redletter-092421), and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene (http://dougholder.blogspot.com).  If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to: steven.arlingtonlaureate@gmail.com.

 

In ancient Rome, feast days were indicated on the calendar by red letters.  To my mind, all poetry and art serves as a reminder that every day we wake together beneath the sun is a red-letter day.

 

                                                                                              – Steven Ratiner

 

 

Red Letter Poem #78

 

 

In his essay "A Defence of Poetry", Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote that "poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world".  Award-winning author Martha Collins might just be the sort of poet he had in mind.  Shelley was not advocating that poets ought to control the levers of government; but he hoped the clarity of their thought, the power of their moral suasion might provide the sort of wise leadership a people could rely upon.  Many writers have become self-appointed ministers-without-portfolio, taking on the vital social and political issues of their time – and Martha is a perfect example.  After discovering that her father had witnessed a racial lynching as a young boy in Cairo, Illinois, she “became obsessed with thinking about what that experience might have meant to him.”  Like a one-person legislative committee, she began a far-ranging investigation of the ways our concepts about race are embedded, often invisibly, in our individual and collective imaginations.  It was clear to her that no political solution could effect any real change unless these ideas and images were untangled first.   

 

The result was, not one, but three complete poetry collections published across a decade: the first, Blue Front, was issued by Graywolf Press; the next two, White Papers (where today’s Red Letter selection first appeared) and Admit One, under the imprint of the University of Pittsburgh Press.   Employing original source material from her extensive research, her poems interweave the fragmentary strands of consciousness – the sort that might be spoken in public as well as the private monologues we might never dare give voice to, not even within the walls of our own homes.  Hers are more potent than any congressional ‘white paper’ in that they are documents of psychic intimacy in whose presence we too may come clean to ourselves about what we actually feel.

 

Because she is quiet and self-effacing, I suspect Martha might bristle at my use of the Shelley quotation.  So I’ll say that she’s, if not legislator, then certainly educator-at-large – because this poet has assigned herself this intensive exploration in order to come to grips with the emotional material she herself was carrying.  Martha’s work makes the facts of our American condition manifest and inescapable.  But like any good teacher, she knows these tools might then become of use to all the rest of us who’ve come to understand – especially in the age of Trayvon Martin, George Floyd, Philando Castile, Breonna Taylor – how much we’ve yet to learn.

 

 

 

White Papers #1

 

 

 

Because my father said Yes

but not in our lifetimes Because

my mother said I know my daughter

would never want to marry...

 

But mostly because they rarely spoke

of or noticed or even whispered

about and did not of course ...

 

Because magazines rarely TV

rarely textbooks rarely or not

at all except for figures like

George Washington Carver

who'd lived in our state

 

Because among the crayons

there was one called Flesh

 

Because paintings rarely or never

until because books from the library

never until because college literature

not at all the American lit anthology

had only Gwendolyn Brooks

who was not assigned

 

Because a few years after Brown

v. Board of Education I wrote a paper

that took the position Yes but not yet

 

 

                         –– Martha Collins

Katya Popova: A Somerville Artist whose ideas charge her visual decisions.

 Katya Popova, is a Somerville artist, who maintains a studio at the Vernon St. Studios in our city. She is a woman brimming with ideas, and the ideas spark her visual and sound presentations.

Popova, who is originally from Moscow, in the Soviet Union, said she moved here in the summer of 2008. She said, " I was impressed with the vibrancy of the community." Soon she got involved with an artist collaborative in Sullivan Square. She became acquainted with a number of artists, who worked in many different mediums. She reflected, " That was fine. I fit between many different mediums. Here I found the opportunity to express myself. Somerville in general has this wonderful mix of working class, tech people, students and artists. It was very stimulating." Sadly, Popova and her husband had to leave Somerville because of pandemic concerns, and skyrocketing rents.  They hope to return in the near future.

Popova told me that over time she became interested in music.  She said, " When I was teaching music in the  New England Conservatory I became acquainted with many students and faculty, and I started to experiment with audio.  I worked with toy theatre on Zoom,  street theatre, and other projects. More and more I started to get into performance art. Performance art is all about working with time.  I love the ephemeral quality of performance."

I asked Popova if there is a Russian community of artists in Somerville. She told me that she doesn't see that. The artists are there but they are all spread out. She continued, " People of my father's generation hung out, drank and talked about craft and life," But for Popova this is not evident here.

When the artist came to America she lived on the North Shore. She was 17 or 18 and became fascinated with the ocean. Before her transformation into a multi-media artist, she gravitated to the sea. This was natural for her. Popova reflects, " I was into landscape painting in Russia--so painting the sea fit naturally." Popova also told me that she was influenced by the Gloucester painter Edward Hooper with his muted colors and stillness.

Popova also creates and works with puppets. She has worked at the famed Bread and Puppet Theatre. Presently she is involved in a project, that as she describes it deals with, " The absurdity of creating weapons of mass destruction. She said, " It is heavy but it also has abstract beauty. It is influenced by opera, particularly Wagner's " Ring Cycle"." She said, " The piece makes a moral compass to the horror of the production of weapons of mass destruction."

I asked her if she thinks believed art should provide a moral compass. She replied, " I don't want art to veer off to propaganda. Coming from Russia I am very sensitive to this. But, of course propaganda art can be very good in itself."

To find out more about Popova go to:   https://www.popovadesign.com/about-1