The PK Featured Poet 11 – Carol Sircoulomb
"I started writing so my grandchildren and their children would know me, and my parents, and my grand-parents." - Carol Sircoulomb
As this feature presenting the work of Carol was being prepared, it was announced that she was the winner of the Poetry Super Highway Favourite Featured Poet for 2001. This is an award voted for by the thousands of people who use the Poetry Super Highway site on a regular basis. To those of us who know her work and have watched it develop as she worked with various forms over the years it came as no surprise, but it is nice to see a talented and inspirational poet get the recognition she deserves. (Jim Bennett)
Featured Poet 11 – Carol Sircoulomb
Bio.
My name is Carol Reed Sircoulomb, and I am
a Professional Photographer. I always said I belonged to someone
else, first a daughter, then a sister, girlfriend, wife, mother,
and now a grandmother. I was born into a middle class
family in Oklahoma, a place I always felt was wilder than other
places. As a child I lived in Texas ,Oklahoma and
Indiana.My parents still live in Indiana. I have been married
almost 30 years.As an adult we have lived in Oklahoma, Germany
,Maryland ,Virginia.,we did not mean to end up in Kansas but we
did . I have 2 adult daughters, and a son 13, a granddaughter, a
step grandson and a new grandchild on the way
How/when did you start writing?
All of my creative endeavors, except photography, began in
earnest about 6 years ago. I have told people that I had my
mid life crisis with a mental breakdown and then started writing,
sculpting, throwing pottery, and gardening .
In reality it was not a breakdown but an undiagnosed pituitary
brain tumor. I began to think in a different way, my mood
was sometimes high and sometimes low.One of my sisters told me
that I could not do everything I wanted to do in life and be good
at it.I have tried to prove her wrong. I started showing my
writing to close friends and one told me to get out of the
closet and submit something to a publisher. Instead I
joined a couple of Internet lists. I really enjoyed one
list and was learning poetry history and different styles.The
list manager took it private, you could only participate if you
had beenpublished and send him a list of published works. I
had none, and I was summarily declined entry on the list.This
turned out to be the best thing to happen to my writing. I
submitted to an American E-zine and was accepted.
Was there anything that particularly influenced you?
One of my greatest influences was reading the work of Jane
Kenyon. I discovered she was dead after I had read two of
her books and I was devastated. I knew then so many words,
important words, were lost. I also have been impressed with the
poet Phillip Levine. I do not beleive I ever was taught poetry in
school. I just found it on my own. I like to write short form
poetry, so I started studying Asian forms. My favorite book
on Asian form is The Ink Dark Moon. I also like to put
poetry and photography together and I have had several local
public showings. One even sparked some local controversy.
How do you write? Do you have any particular method for
writing - time of day?
I write in the car, in the store, in my bed just about anytime
anywhere. At least one year was spent with my brain constantly
thinking of words,
beginning lines, etc. I was obsessed! I hate losing
thoughts when I do not have time to write them down, especially
haiku moments.
Why do you write poetry?
Why do I write? I do not know....because the words are there
looming in my head. Just like when I sculpt I start and it
creates itself. Oh I know this sounds crazy and illusive. I
talked to a lot of artists, with a friend, grassroots artists. I
asked all why they created, trying to figure out why I do, what I
do. They all just thought of it without thinking, I am going to
create something today. My words just happen. Last night in my
yoga class I kept thinking about the blue sky ,my mind was
supposed to be on nothing.
Is there anything else you would like to add?
I started writing so my grandchildren and their children would
know me, and my parents, and my grand parents. I often
write dark things that have nothing to do with my real life. The
words just arrive and I write them down. Sometimes I will
cry the whole time.
POEMS
Yoga class
Breath in breathe out
to the count of five
relax your feet
your calves
your groin
I laugh to myself
what a word groin
clear your mind
of the past and the future
I breath in and out relax
think of the water
pounding on the round rocks
of lake superior
the sky line infinite blue
my husbands eyes
he kisses me
lips so soft and moist
deep breathes
in and out to five
stretch from the tip of your fingers
to the tip of your toes
************************************
A child of violence
She was locked
up in the closet
at the age of eight
by her mother the awful woman
She was locked
up in her bedroom
frequently with him
his machette at her throat
as he invaded her small body
She danced and smiled
danced some more
in small confines
the awful woman watching
She kicked the door in
screaming her rage
at her mother
the awful woman
She was dragged by her hair
in the vortex of the tornado
twisted arms
head banged till she bled
by the awful woman
She dances now
in the fetal position
of the closet
the awful woman smiling
************************************
I led a very sheltered life. I did not know true meaness. I know
now from several encounters with abused kids. I wrote this poem
on an old door with a hand on the knob, a ceramic hand (pale
white with black cracks) and ballet slippers. It nearly got me
thrown from the library plus a photo of KKK graffitti I wanted
people to know racism is here even if we do not want to know.
falcon cry
carried
on the cumulus
This was published in Echoes and Voices,
Haiku Society of America Members Anthology 2001
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Published in the best of miniwords 2001 Anthology -
Charnwood Arts Competion. Although it did not place in the
competition it was selected for the publication.
spring on the range
burnt black grasses
waiting for green
************************************
A poem I wrote before I knew of the Lady Tanka
writers of Japan this one is very similar to several written in
the eleventh century
Pyre
Orange and blue,
Dancing around the wind
Licking the frost in the air
Keeping my body warm
Soon I will be this.
************************************
I walked outside one summer evening and
I heard the rythem of the heart
evening heat
cicadas sing
to my heart beat
************************************
Winner of Charnwood Arts Miniwords competition
2000
The bucolic meadow
purples yellows greens
bruises from you
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Sijo - a Korean Form
My mouth loved to bite your neck and taste your masculine sweat
We would giggle in our passion, rolling and touching in ecstasy.
Now we stare at our computer screens never wanting to touch.
************************************
The large mountain rock, teetering above the winding road.
Roots twisted like human legs, holding the rough rock to the mountain.
Our bodies intertwined, earthy passion unrestrained.
************************************
I walk over the wooden bridge, a big space between each board.
A fog from the stream rises, water races over rocks with a roar.
Our steps quicken to a run, as my heart leaps towards you.
************************************
Published on the internet E Zine Prairie
Poetry November 1999
Car Phone
"You got one of them car phones do ya?"
"Take the rock road not the dirt one,
why didn't ya turn at the sign"
we laughed in the truck
this was our third call
five story buffalo loomed on the hill in front of us
two miles away
We were women from the city
looking for the meaning of life
and art
laughing until we cried
We had found it
wrong turns blue sky
prairie grasses
concrete buffaloes
and a car phone.