Laural Winter

Pilcrow Lit Fest part one and poem

It's been a few days!  I am in Chicago right now for the Pilcrow Lit Fest and visiting my friends Keath and Evelyn.  It has been a whirlwind trip.  I arrived at O’Hare on Thursday at 6:30.  I jumped on the Blue Line EL rode part of the way into Chicago.  I thought the subway was a bit slow but noticed we were moving faster than traffic on the freeway.  I jumped off at Irving Park and caught a cab to Lakeview area and the Fixx Coffee Bar on Sheffield and Barry.  Jami Attenberg and Katie Schwartz were reading.  Jami is our friend so it was so great to hear her read.  She was reading her piece from the anthology Cross My Heart and Hope You Die!  It was a short story about an ex-boyfriend.  It is hilarious and painful.  Painful because it reminds one of how we can be wishy washy about breakups and have post breakup sex or makeout sessions etc etc. You know you have been there!  Katie Schwartz read a funny and squeamish piece about someone shitting in her toilet. The wonderful Amy Guth was the emcee. She is the founder and organizer of of this ah-mazing weekend event.  I was on two panels yesterday. First panel was Gatekeepers Panel: Librarians, bookstore employees, editors and profs dish. This was my second panel ever.  I have learned a couple things now.  Listening to the other panelists is crucial so you can expand on what they are talking about at the moment.  I actuallly took notes of topics of what they were saying and what I wanted to say.  I got to say that one of the library's missions is to represent all points of views and if we don't have anything in our collection that pisses you off then we have failed.  I actually said pisses.  And I mean if we don't offend you then our collection isn't representing all points of view. Also I stressed at differents points that if you want more small press in your library then request them. Either on your local library's website or with a form inside your local library.  Voice your opinion about your library's collection.  You may buy your friend's small press book but others may need to be introduced and your local library can help you do that.

My second panel was the Poem Is The Event: Not all fiction. Not all non-fiction. Poets discuss. We discussed things like the poem being character driven and not necessarily autobiographical. (I'd fix the font but this computer is being a little unresponsive).  One panelists said poetry should hurt.  I think I used to believe that.  So here's a character driven fictional poem of mine.

Wonder Woman

Can I tell you I have this Wonder Woman fixation?

I want to be an Amazon and administer justice in my own court of law!

I want the invisible plane.

I want to hurdle through the windows of crooks and make them bow down in fear.

Ahhh but revenge sweet revenge would get in the way

because I would want to take the lasso

wrap it around your head and

choke you with the truth.

 

Tuesday Haikus- guest author

We have weather that changes every few minutes.  We know spring is coming.  Some of us can get grouchy when we have 78 degree day then a 40 something degree day the next.  I am not too grouchy about it.  I think it is kinda funny.  Guest author and friend Kari Hauge has some opinions about spring that is apparent in her haikus.

Snow, then hail, now rain.
Forget this lion/lamb stuff:
I demand my spring!!!

Cold rain is dripping.

I huddle in my parka.

Oh you brave tulips!

Tuesday Poem -Spoon

This was the first poem that I wrote that really resonated with me.  I would practice reading it out loud most of the time before readings.  When I first wrote it I read it aloud about ten times.  I was so thrilled!  Sixteen years later I recognize its importance but time does heal.  I don't feel as intimate with the poem. It was published twice by the Feminist Broadcast Quarterly.  I would like to thank editor Mimi Yahn for that pleasure!

Spoon Fed Our Daily Dose of Violence

You may wonder but may not care about my primal deep weep.

Or my cautious unspeaking nature.

Sure the words can be spelled or spilled upon the page but when real things are said I stutter.

I feel people shy and not so afraid of death.

I am ever-ready and prepared to roll with the punches.

Everytime I was struck part of me died.

Everytime I was a witness part of me shied.

So I wound myself tight into a tiny fetal ball for safety's sake.

I was fed death on my yo-yo string.

It was death in my playdoh.

Death is the soap my parents used on their large capably violent hands.

Death was always a welcome dinner guest in our house.

I used to whisper "take me away" to that star I was wishing on.

And when I cried I felt the pain wash my veins like a drug or a slug. 

As I have come to this life I know I would try anything.

Anything not so close to death.

The anything I will try is living and an unwinding of my fetal position.

Wednesday Poem- Yesterday part II

Here's the photo of me reading at the Show!  It was 1993 at the Hastings Community Center.  Here see the flyer.    Just in case you can't read the bottom it says overthrow cockrock.  You know how photocopying doesn't work sometimes. Cub played after me.  They are great band and nice people.  Are they cutecore?  I can't remember. Do you remember?  Anyway my first poem was Spoonfed Our Daily Dose of Violence from my first poetry chapbook.  Kevin Sampsell of Future Tense fame helped me make my first two chapbooks. Thanks Kevin!  It means a lot. Chapbooks help keep poetry organized.  I might do another for the Pilcrow Litfest in May.

Here's the cover. It is ancient from 1993. It is rumpled.  But it has come in very handy and got me a lot of readings.  And yes darlings those are rub on letters and cut out pictures!  Thanks for going down memory lane with me.  It is one of my most perfect and important days.

Wednesday Poem-Yesterday

Talking about Weight Watchers makes me think about this poem I wrote a while ago.  When I was younger, my late teens, I would get upset and not eat all my regular meals.  Also I got a Women’s Studies certificate from Portland State University.  In my Women’s Studies classes eating disorders were discussed.  I wrote this poem in reaction to these two factors and our culture in general.  A special thanks to Coral Short of the zine Riot Grrrl Vancouver for publishing my poetry and having me read at one of their shows. 

At the show I remember I was scared to read.  It was one of the biggest crowds I had ever performed for-still is.  Some poets have read in between bands playing I hadn't before. 

So imagine this-first I meet a woman at a show at the Clinton St. Theater where I read.  Her name is Coral Short and she buys one of my chapbooks.  She asks if I would come up to Vancouver BC to read?  I say yes. I go to Vancouver BC with my friend Suzanne. We meet up with Coral at a community center.  There are about 150 people there in the audience.  Tickle Trunk, a band, plays. I go up on stage after being introduced.  The audience is sitting on the floor.  I read Spoon Fed Our Daily Dose of Violence.  They scream and applaud. It felt like a roar that many people applauding.  It was amazing!  I read for about 20 minutes.  I have about 30 copies of two of my chapbook titles and I sell all of them.  Kids come up and talk to me afterwards.  I’ll post the picture from the show tomorrow.  This reading is one of my perfect days.  My wedding day is another. 

Here's the poem:

Yesterday I Remembered What It was to Feel Full

Hunger kicks in and I deny it’s call.

It’s another fear, fear of fat, fear of so-called ugliness.

So I hear instead the media’s call to be bone thin,

to make up,

to thin down,

to diet,

to starve,

to poke pills,

to teeter on heels and to know no matter how close to a fashion plate

I am that that plate is empty and time will always beat that

so-called beauty.

Wednesday Poem-the Poppy

This poem was published in Stanza Literary Arts zine in 1991. Thanks for publishing guys!  It was my first published poem.  Please channel your inner goth girl while reading.

 

Photo courtesy of Janice of NZ on Flickr.

The Poppy

She came upon a darkness in her soul

and she laughed a hearty laugh.

A light shine through her window

splattering darkness in her bowl.

She laughed.

She dove into her blood

to shine of life; to live.

She rains dark tears upon her face

and pounds her wrists upon glass:

hoping.

Hoping for the end of pain;

of the reign of tears.

She shears not her wrists but her hair

in a symbolic act of grieving

for the deadness of her soul.

She is a runt of a poppy;

a wilted poppy tilted toward

the darkness of the soil

while the sun has been left behind.

Tuesday Poem-Intruding Spatial Qualities

Hi there- not feeling 100% and here's poem that goes along with that feeling. Thanks to 26 Books and Dan Raphael for first publishing it. (Can't find a link for 26 Books).

Intruding Spatial Qualities

Sometimes I get away inside myself.

I crawl to the back where the ride is less bumpy

and the view less cluttered.

I take care of all aspects of things,

manage quite well.

Though the thought of another being there seems ridiculous.

Then I know that I am a citizen of outer space on the yellow planet

called pain.

Or just making another pretty place in limbo.

So that I become cantankerous.

Unused,

dusty,

full of too many bad movies.

Misplacing happiness

in my files

in my closet.

Happiness could be a new friend I am shy about calling.

Or it's the room where everyone huddles together all composed,

and I can't shoo my way in.

I am an obtuse piece ready to fall apart.

I am a new dance step.

Clumsy,

my feet unsure,

my smile rusty,

my face sometimes unwilling

to call in the score

though a smile would do the job; it's too much.

The lips are tethered,

safety straps down.

The frustration takes my attention

and the moment of chance

is gambled away

while I still try to shake off the dust.

Monday Poem on Tuesday

Honesty

There is always something to say.
Always.
When there are no restraints
come what may,
we find words.
Maybe not the right one.
Maybe ones that won't sooth.
But necessary ones.
Ones waiting for their time.
Sometimes patiently,
sometimes not.
If we don't have honesty
what do we have?
A life half lived?
Life lived in fear?
Which is no life at all
but just existance.
Then reasoning becomes stilted.

Bears can exist,
monkeys too. 

But we are more than that:
human beings.

Poem-Cement

New poem that is either called Cement or Untitled.

Cement or Untitled

Things happen:
trees fall into people's living rooms.

Other things happen:
broken hearts.

This happens:
love that surpasses
all points of reference
to where one builds new references.
At first it seems like a house of cards,
unstable
and vulnerable to any capricious wind.
Then the foundation cements.
The walls go up one by one,
get torn down
and rearranged.
Roofing is established.
Thatch at first,
vulnerable to the flammability
of outside passions.
Wind and time pick at it
until established lovers
know any roof worth its
salt is shingles,
tar,
gravel and stardust.

Tuesday Poem-Don't Wanna Get Outta Bed-Dating

Remember dating?  Remember thinking you fell in love? I remember thinking I fell in love. I had a starter relationship from 19-25 years old.  I started dating at 25 years old until I met Peter again at 31 years old.  Boy was dating a rollercoaster!  I met some wonderful people.  Though I broke my heart quite a few times.

Don't take for granted the fact that you aren't dating right now.  If friends seem whiny because they are dating remember dating is hard.  Sometimes dating is wonderful and much of the time dating can SUCK! Reach back into your dim memory. Remember the sucky part of dating.

Don't Wanna Get Outta of Bed

I

always

always

no

matter

the

pain

try,

try

hard

to

be

optimistic.

But

sometimes

I

feel

I

am

weighted

with

becoming

faithless

from

the

phrase

love stinks.