ONE DAY... NATIONAL POETRY DAY 4TH OCTOBER 2001
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Maryann Hazen-Stearns Lincoln Street House, NY |
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Morning | (1) my eyes are
open it's half past six o'clock |
part 1
|
(1) 9am the morning adds up behind me, tallies its familiar load; darjeeling and post the harsh gulls calling and, dear on the air, the rough purr of a new day |
wait for the fun to begin maybe an audience in the public library a minute to go nobody but poets have shown so far wait! the coffee has come |
10.47 am
|
(1) Dawn in Northwich,
the sun still in bed, still dark with a hint of
Winters |
(1) 8.am - Work |
9.05a.m. already five minutes late the traffic is spoiling a day that feels like a birthday I want to celebrate have a party read a poem at the cross roads I always seem to hit red |
(1) Phone rings wakes me call from mum she says the sun is shining I try to tell her about a new working group later today you would be better off at home she says for the thousandth time But I am at home I say Outside it is raining |
he's late, the oblong in my door is occasionally stared at. |
(1) Inspiration ?
|
Breakfast I've never understood that word I think it means to break the fast the fast when you abstain from food not the fast when you hurry It could be the hurry fast perhaps break fast emergency stop Fill your belly and run |
(1) I can hear the
noise |
(1) collect mail |
(1) Turned on radio 4 |
7.30 a.m. There is a cardigan folded neatly over a dinning chair and three books left on the floor someone is cooking fish and left their window open the smell is swimming in through my open window mixing with the sound of gulls and street noise It is time I start to notice things to write down notes but there is nothing just smells and sounds thoughts of the day ahead and wondering who has left the cardigan and if she will come back for it |
10 A.M
|
6:16 PST as any other day wake to heartburn 57 emails though no spam today no plan except to mow if here in the Big Wet the drought does not continue as any other day coffee to make dishes to wash clothes to fold a poem to find regardless of here in the Big Wet the drought continues as any other day |
(1) 8 AM Paws gallop into room launch Chicken-Leg onto my stomach remind me how badly I have to pee His cold wet nose burrows under covers curls into curve of my knee I lie in flannel smell chocolate almond perking begin plans for the day Reach for birth control pills Mike left early today dressing in the other room so as not to wake me Elastic gets tighter around my waist Chicken-Leg kicks me smacks his lips and snores I shouldn't have left the window open last night |
7:45 a.m. I wake to jammed e-mail NPD and already your creative juices flowing on the other side of the world. I still have fog in my eyes the dew still wet on the dog's feet the day not sure what to wear. Better put the coffee on. I feel like the foster child hurrying to catch up. |
(1) - 5:00 AM CBC news clock
radios me awake |
Afternoon | (2) - Lunchtime paperwork
goes on and on no end |
(2) mick says, "Do
you want your man?" |
(2) We have read
journeys into everything |
(2) my god, is that the time? |
(2) Noon Noon passed and
still no sun, still waiting for inspiration, started to |
NOON - Work Thursday is National Poetry Day The weather forecast was temperate Though I still expect it to rain which may Spoil some outdoor events planned for this date So I hope the clouds break and the Sun shines. We'll write happier poems without dimmed Cold, wet spirits, for the Muse has declined To dress nicely and leaves her hair untrimm'd Causing optimism, like her smile to fade But of course it's Autumn, and the Gods ow'st Us no favours for choosing Winter's shade Month over Spring when hearts, like flowers grow'st Giving me more inspiration to see More clearly why it is that I love thee |
12.30p.m. group of young people learning a game in a big wide world a visit to a cafe learn to order a coffee nothing too difficult but first we must learn to use the crossing wait for the red light to stop the cars young boy dances with excitement he thinks we're going to a party |
1 pm this afternoon I'm cold the sun shines but I am stuck in shadow waiting for the ambulance there is no poetry in my pencil only lead |
Midday Liverpool Songbird arrived, |
(2) - at work Learning about screenplays The man said it's important to remember: Story - Plot - Genre - Location Characters - Developing Theme Issues Tension Building - Situation Realisation Point of view - Restricted and Omniscient Positive / Negative cause and effect four hours later and this character has lost the plot is getting tense wishes he were in a different location is developing a nervous tic and realising in this situation his restricted point of view is having a negative effect |
(2) Liverpool, Lunch Time Allergy induced words arrive from knowhere |
Wallasey 12.05 pm 4th October 2001 I smile remembering the children's faces from an hour ago four poems a few questions over in a flash but the echo of their laughter lasts much longer now Maggie and Monty fuss round my feet trying to attract attention while I think of afternoon another school TV and the library in the garden flowers bright after the rain bags of pebbles wait to look like something Japanese |
(2) From Caldy
Hill, overlooking the River Dee, |
1.30 One down |
12.30 M&S Douglas IOM the sandwiches are slow I used to make my own but buying them prepacked is more of a surprise ques at the till listening in no one is talking about poetry outside the salt air speaks of the sea |
(2) on the news, 4.10 >From
Tokyo, |
12
PM I wipe sweat from my face shut off lawnmower The mailman waves a letter at me He says if this is going to England it needs more postage I take it into the cool house Toss it on my desk I don't think Arthur will mind another day gone by It's time for a break anyway I sit down to 112 pieces of electronic correspondence Heather comes home for a quick lunch before she returns to her class I'll get back to work on my grandmothers memoirs or critique some poems all the while my eye strays toward the back yard ears alert for the sound of Mike's car in the driveway London broil and cauliflower for dinner tonight Is that him? No, not yet. |
(2) the day has chosen
to wear her colored skirt |
(2) - 1:00 PM lunch chatter bounces into tiled ceilings I strain to link to my mailbox for silent poems that spill loudly Celia frets her husband who loves slam dunks sleeps with basketball broadcasts |
||
Evening | (3) - 5:00pm Moorabbin -
Melbourne, Australia - |
PART 2 In the afternoon,
at the town's festival of Sukkot, |
5.00 pm Practice |
(3) Scientists discover a new white tailed
species of bee and suspected |
5 pm TO SLEEP
PERCHANCE TO DRE........ |
5.30pm second group done another coffee ordered another game played another party then home again squeezing through bottlenecks and red lights |
(3) 6pm Billy brought me home left me at the outer door it's quiet inside not like an evening darker than usual more shadows I switch on lights turn up the stereo to make it feel like a place I want to be there is no poetry here |
(3) I imagined fields of gold |
Chewy (in the style - sort of - of Roger McGough) walking home in the rain I noticed how much chewy there is on the pavements a million multi-drab-coloured pebbles worn flat imagine what you could make if you picked up all the chewy if you picked up all the chewy you could make a statue of Carl Jung or Wilfred Owen even Gerry Marsden but not the Beatles, again if you picked up all the chewy if you picked up all the chewy you could make a pair of standby Liverbirds in case the originals fell down and as the legend has it Liverpool was falling too if you picked up all the chewy if you picked up all the chewy and rolled it out dead thin you could make a new translucent roof for the Anfield pitch if you picked up all the chewy if you picked up all the chewy you could make lightweight waterproof shelters for the homeless and feeding dishes for their dogs if you picked up all the chewy if you picked up all the chewy you could make a thousand different useful household items like salad bowls cat litter trays and stuff to stick daft things on the fridge if you picked up all the chewy if you picked up all the chewy I wouldn't tread in into my carpet when I came home |
(3) Supper Time |
5.45 p.m. dinner cooking we sit in the kitchen talk about our day so far as she speaks I can't help watching her mouth move and I want so much to kiss her she talks about her classroom and her course the children she is teaching she talks about her day and all the time I want to kiss her |
|
(3) Should not be
sitting here. |
(3) This afternoon the
library was quiet |
evening I pass the swan
colony |
(3) I walked the woods,
|
(3) - 5 PM Rachel finds us at nap takes the dog from between us Mike gets brown paint to finish the house trim Lawn mowed fertilized and zinnia heads plucked Small gardens weeded seeded and fed Barbeque dismantled scoured and reassembled I've overdone it again continue to snooze with the next generation of Star Trek drones battling in the background Screw the london broil it's Chinese take-out or nothing |
(3) - 5.00pm unreal how a day
can dissolve |
(3) - 5:00 PM Mr. Lincoln rose is languid in my garden rubs against coin brilliant afternoon heat beneath my fingers velvet petals urge conversations day drops into flowerbed dust ISP sifts poems into my embrace |
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Night | (4) - Cheltenham
- Melbourne, Australia - 11:30pm the kids must have really been tired they went out like a light four voices stilled in a moment and tracey has a man in the wings it's about time something like that happened what a wonderful night we had so good to have children and friends in our lives it's almost time to dim the lights goodnight goodnight |
(4) the day has carried
everything away |
(4)
|
(4) Night and
were settling down to love at last |
(4)
11pm Line One
- just found something to write on |
(4) Close of Day |
(4) 10pm National Poetry Day was waiting for me took me by surprise a hundred emails a thousand thoughts a million memories from across the world made this day special the room looks brighter now |
(4) Later I looked in
on him |
(4) - last thoughts at
bedtime Best Kept Secret It's National Poetry Day not that you'd know it it's not in the newspaper or on the telly I haven't seen one poet standing on a street corner pouring out their heart I've seen no adverts on buses no posters on hoardings no leaflets through the letterbox no mention on the radio perhaps they decided it's best kept secret? |
(4) Bedtime |
(4) - 11.45pm I arrive home greeted by the dogs the day is nearly over tell Hilary about the great night of poetry at the Pilgrim she goes to bed
|
(4) - 9pm After poetry
reading in which local children took part. |
(4) - 9pm A plane gone down, |
(4) - 11pm Douglas IOM The cardigan was Christines she called tonight and stayed I told her it was poetry day she took a pencil and began to write will you write a poem for me she asked or is that just for your ex's oh no I said this one's for you I'm pleased I didn't go to Liverpool |
(4) - Night When my hands stop moving the neat words disappear, instead, there's small white stars, or molecules, moving through darkness. |
(4) still half asleep |
(4) 8 PM Damp from shower I powder under breasts arms and behind legs I force myself not to scratch poison sumac hands Smear Calamine Lotion on with cotton balls Crawl into pajamas with a sigh I hear Mike's computer holler in Age of Empires battle Heather watches something on the TV in the living room Rachel leaves for Bruce's house with seeds for Lourdes' garden I pick up the book Give Me My Father's Body settle down for a journey into someone else's life before sleep takes me into my own tomorrow |
4) Evening Lexington Christian Academy's varsity football game 8:00pm what warmth the day was able to clasp has slipped off my skin, left me scrambling for a jacket. perfect football weather. the stands fill with students, parents clasping stadium blankets and thermoses of coffee. we've only won once, still we come to see you wear your heart on the outside of your shoulder pads. your face is determined, lips set. team's first year in the "A" division, no bench, you play offense, then defense, bracing your 173 pounds against 320 again and again. hard for this mom to watch this test of you. I realize the transformation I am witnessing and weep in awe the birth of a man. |
(4) - 11:30 PM sunrise clouds in watercolour skies nudge memories of morning and Fra Angelico splattered by hard rock noise spewed by late model black car screech tearing into intersections in the shower day's poems wash over me |
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PS | Cheltenham - Melbourne,
Australia we do not have a national poetry day here at least not one that I can easily discover it seems a sad thing only a very small sadness not ranking with the great events of today's world but there are few in this country that will share a wonderful day in the wonderful lives of a handful of poets writing their humanity in places all over the world and that is a small sadness for me at least |
PS It's all starting
to fade now, |
PS Square eyes PS trying for
connection |
Time and date withheld to
evade Word Police. The Walls Came Tumbling Down ac cep tac ci dent all yacco m mod at I on ach i e veacr o ssad dress ad equ ate ad vert I semen taf fect aggr ess I o nag ree able alot ofa mon gapp all in gapp arent appe al in gap pear appe arance arc tica rg u ing arg u ment |
Postscript: The Next Day Hesitant eyelids creep open What day is it Oh yeah Friday I hear the shower the bed is half empty I have to throw in a load of laundry take a trip to the store bank post office library pick up wool for Granny Suddenly like a six year old the day after Christmas I throw off covers scurry to the computer even before the bathroom coffee or vities All other plans for the day immediately scrapped I've dozens of electronic word-photos from friends around the world In permanent grin it occurs to me I'm actually afraid to delete for fear of loosing even one wonderful scrap of this incredibly fulfilling event of a lifetime |
NPD Postscript the day came brought with it the innocence of all new beginnings started with a yawn a pot of coffee checking e-mail. you the day went and with it the innocence that could not hang on til night could fall and breath its prayers checking e-mail for the hundredth time I let out a sigh because you are still there absorbing the pain today brought. BBO (c) 10-5-01 |
October 4,2001
Postscript
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Other Single Poems
Grasshopper | Arthur Chappell Manchester, U.K. |
Carol Sircoulomb | Gary Blenkinship Bremerton, Wash | Gary Blenkinship, Bremerton, Wash | Gary Blenkinship, Bremerton, Wash | Gary Blenkinship, Bremerton, Wash | Gary Blenkinship, Bremerton, Wash | Neil Defain |
World Poetry Day The earth yells Tee Hee |
WHAT'S IN A NAME? Arthur Chappell is fourteen letters long!
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ctober 5, 7:30 am so busy back to work after a long time 2000 e-mail I read a few thinking what I missed work an 81st birthday party a daughters engagement and a funeral taking all of my extra time |
11.09 pst
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a bit of lawn mowed yards to go i hate spiders hate'm hate'm arthur now part of yeats homestead cooperation surprises a bit write, silly thing #13 in the garbage collection added below if you wish likely the collection will be read at a local venue when we get to 33 the size of an average can more or less still no ben and jerry dumpster dive you can suggest flavors and be part of history or not |
2.47 pst lawns clipped |
homestead acts up yeats' stomach upset from too many boiled mackerels broken printers impossible to fix accidents explanations impossible to define vote today for Richie ahead if this a game all the same today |
still half asleep dissatisfied the walk in the woods productive no poison oak no wasp nests a rock in my foot and blisters satisfied records fell like autumn leafs or clichés in a CBE Bonds the M's record Ichero again and games to go listless without that first coffee the mail read first restless a good day to make banana vanilla wafer pudding |
Nowt to say Just too bloody busy is all I can say when the cameraman's batteries run dry A day in the life of a boring old sod who's too hectic to talk to his wife Just too bloody busy though it's poetry's day I've nowt to say just too bloody busy for words |