>In our quest to get out of our busy life and into the wilderness, we decided on Cape North, the northernmost point of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. This is a place of sea, moose, bear, and mountains. There was hardly a car on the road and the beaches were mostly abandoned. In a little bed and breakfast, we hunkered down to what really matters–long hikes up winding trails that spiraled around vistas of crashing waves and mountains dotted with fir trees. The air was briny and pine-filled–a total sensory experience. Our B & B was rustic–no frills. Mid-week, we met a lovely photographer and poet couple that might have been us some years ago. They were from Quebec. We shared wine, photographs but alas no poetry since my French is not what it used to be (though I’m working on it) and she doesn’t write in English. Still the sensibility of poets and photographers is a universal language (as is wine and fruit…) I return to my work at hand–two collections that I am polishing at the moment–one is my collaboration with Geraldine Mills and one is my own collection. I hope the end of summer will bring completion to both so I can begin my teaching poised to create new work.
>All the Difference
•July 22, 2010 • Leave a Comment>I like to push the edges when I write. It’s easy to self-censor–the little voice inside that tells you what you are writing doesn’t make sense or perhaps goes too far. Too far where? Pushing to uncomfortable places when you write is usually a sign that you are getting to what matters. We all want to feel something when we read. It’s not always possible for me to get to the place where I can access my unconscious mind. Often I’m too controlled in my writing. It’s when I really let go that I’m amazed at the way the words tumble out. I’m not sure I understand the process but I am humbled by it. All artists know what it feels like to be an instrument for your art. It’s liberating and intoxicating.
>Illusion and Reality
•July 6, 2010 • Leave a Comment>My horoscope says, “If you can create the illusion of success in public, it could become reality.” I’m not sure what the illusion of success is. I think success means different things to different people. To some, success is a new car, a vacation abroad, a healthy bank balance. To artists, success may mean public recognition–such a fickle thing. I’ve done poetry readings with over 100 people and I’ve read for 3 people. I like to think that I read with the same expression and enthusiasm for 3 as I did for 100. I measure my life’s success by loving others and making a difference. I advocate for my students as I advocated for my clients when I was in the counseling profession. It’s hard for some people to find a voice and I remember when it was hard for me to speak out and say what I thought was true. Sometimes I still hesitate.
A man came into the office a couple of weeks ago. He was lost, looking for work and hungry. I gave him money but first I ran the same dialogue in my mind we all run–is he just going to use it to buy drugs or alcohol? Is he a con artist? His story was convincing to me and I’m a person who attends to stories. It sometimes feels right to reach out just as an American couple reached out to my daughter and her friend hiking in the Alps. They took them out for a good dinner when they had been subsisting on hostel breakfasts and whatever else they could scrounge on a meager college student budget. I guess I don’t care so much about financial success or even national recognition (though I wouldn’t turn either down). I care about art, family, friends, and being honest in the world and in my life. Living with integrity is important. I am ever aware that I am lucky to have these choices. There are many people who must do work they don’t believe in because they have to feed their families. It is a reason I advocate for education–though education alone can’t always free a person from those difficult decisions.
I am working on a manuscript–a humbling task. Lately I am also working on paying attention to myself as well as the outside world. What are my illusions? What is my reality? There are no easy answers as I continue to write the story of my life.
>Little Explosions / Poetry
•June 14, 2010 • Leave a Comment>Returning from an intensive three day conference in the Berkshires, I am looking at my work anew. Never one to adhere to “poetry trends”, I need to reconcile what I know about the current publishing climate with my own aesthetic. Having so many astute readers of my manuscript was a privilege. It was also wonderful to hear the great work of fellow poets. That said, I remind myself of why I do this–and it isn’t for money or fame. Ellen Dore Watson (one of the faculty at this conference) asked what we would do if we knew we would never get published. That’s easy, I thought. I would write anyway. It’s a process–a way in which I interact with the world and myself. I pursue publishing because I do believe that literature should be in the world, not in a drawer (or on one’s personal computer). It’s exhausting to face the months of revision but exciting to reinvent poems I thought were finished. Re-imagining is what we do as writers—turn it sideways, upside down; view it through the window or from the air. Poems can be improved to evoke feeling, communicate senses. I remember hearing Galway Kinnell read once at the Geraldine Dodge Festival and he was changing words as he walked to the podium. A poem is never finished, only abandoned, said French critic and poet Paul Valery. I am back on the journey to find the perfect pairing of words to make the little explosion that is a finished poem.
>Heat Wave
•May 27, 2010 • Leave a Comment>I used to love that song sung by Martha and the Vandellas. Just thinking of it brings back long hair, granny dresses, halter tops, and Jimi Hendrix. The temperature climbed into the 90s today, making it feel like August instead of late May. Not acclimated to the heat, I found myself longing for January and the silence of falling snow instead of the bird calls and insect noises I hear these days in early morning. And that’s how it is. No matter what we find around us, there is always something else to yearn for–the unreachable moment,place, relationship. The school year is winding down and I can actually think about long writing days stretching in front of me. I will continue work on my collaborative collection of poetry as well as another collection and fiction and nonfiction in process. It’s all a part of the rhythm of my life–this change with the seasons. When the heat finally breaks and spring returns, I will carry the warmth within–a reminder of AM radio, ragtop cars, long days, and the thrill of two months of relative freedom from the structure of the rest of my year.
>Rain and Change
•May 12, 2010 • Leave a Comment>The rain is a constant drumming on the tiny patch of pavement by my front door. Hummingbirds don’t care, bustle by my feeder with their vibrating bee-like wings. How lush the trees are, filling all eight panes of my window with tear-drop, ovoid and lace-edged leaves. I’ve been reading student responses to the poems of Tony Hoagland, Natasha Tretheway, Mary Oliver. I always hope that embedded in the stress of being a student, a little glimmer happens–a particular poem touches a student who never before interacted with poetry in that way. From their responses, it seems as if this does occur. It’s why I teach. A few great teachers changed my life and my perceptions though a few did the opposite. It is my goal to value every student. I cringe when I see students humiliated or told they are incapable. We are all imperfect and learning is a process that never ends. How each of us approaches a task is highly individual. I strive to make classes meaningful for students who have no desire to be writers as well as those who do. It’s not an easy task to teach, competing with text messaging and email–I understand the frustration of teachers. Even in a college class, many students have outside pressures. In the years I’ve been teaching, I have had a number of college students who are raising children, caring for sick parents, working full-time, or coping with their own medical challenges. I worked full-time when I was both an undergraduate and a graduate student and it was not easy. I would have gotten more out of my classes and probably put more into them as well if I didn’t have to make a living. People have complicated lives. I like to think of a classroom as a place for a student to relax into learning and get excited about something outside him or herself. It’s good to focus outside oneself–it’s how we finally grow up. It is also good for writers to look around and see what isn’t easily seen; the rabbit under the hedge, a honeybee hovering over the iris, seed pods blowing in the May breezes.
Literary Imaginings by Lisa C. Taylor 