Memory Keepers

Do you think of your own family as one of your greatest sources of inspiration? By invoking the stories of those who have gone before us, of those whose blood runs in our veins, we can help preserve history. As my parents enter their mid-80's (and believe me I feel fortunate that they are still around to tell me stories) I realize I will never know as much as I would like about the history of their lives. These are people whose experiences includes the Great Depression, WWII, witnessing the atom bomb and a cure for polio, the Korean conflict, and simply growing up in Arkansas in the 1930's and '40's.

I was reminded of the importance of capturing these memories by an article in this past Sunday's Arkansas Democrat Gazette. In the "Perspective" section of the paper is a wonderful article called "Song of the South" by William D. Downs Jr. His book is called Stories of Survival: Arkansas Farmers During the Great Depression. In his article, he quotes from a few of the interviews in his book. I recognized my grandparents and parents in these short and well-told stories. Eight out of ten Arkansans lived in rural areas during the Wall Street crash, and my family on my mother's side was one of them. I was touched by the stories in the article as I have been touched by the stories told by both my mother and father who survived those times; my mother in rural Rosston, AR and my dad in Little Rock.

It's not always easy to get your parents to tell you their stories. These are stories of loss and hunger, clothes made from flour sacks, when holidays or birthdays meant getting one gift, a book, and that was a big deal. Your elders may be reluctant to talk at first. But the stories are poignant and important enough to persist. As far as that goes, they may come in handy for what could soon be the next Great Depression. They will certainly fill you with pride for the endurance and strength of character it took for your people to survive through the worst of times, and then send you and your siblings to school and on to an easier life.

If you would like to capture some of their stories, or even those of some of your older neighbors', and aren't sure how to begin, I would like to suggest a helpful guide. My partner, Leigh Wilkerson, put together a wonderful booklet of story-starting statements that can be used to help you with your own personal interviews. It's called The Memory Keeper: Glimpses of a Lifetime. Leigh wrote it to help families whose elders are hospice patients record the memories that are most important to them. For the dying, this is "life review." For those hearing the stories, I call it learning.

Within their memories lie the inspiration for a lifetime of writing stories, poems, and songs. Many of my own poems are based on family remembrances. I wrote Across the ArkLaTex: A Cross Family Cookbook based mainly on the Thanksgiving memories I have of visiting my grandparents with all my aunts, uncles and cousins in Camden, AR. Their stories contain the often hidden bonds that hold families together. In a time when these bonds are weakening, it seems more important than ever to capture the love that helped your family survive the suffering and appreciate the joys that is all a part of life.

You can order The Memory Keeper from Compassion Books online or pick one up at Nightbird Books if you need a boost to begin writing down the stories that will be keepsakes for you and your family. Nothing you inherit will be more important than this – what was important to them. Not the heirloom china, not the family table, or the antique clock. What you will carry with you when they are gone is what they loved about their lives. Most likely, one of those things will be you. As The Memory Keeper says, "We always think there will be time to collect family stories tomorrow, next week... Don't wait. Do it today. Just sit down together. Ask a few questions. Tell a few stories."

Really, my writing friends, don't wait to write your true inheritance. Powerful, painful, beautiful—these family stories from the past are important to growing into the fullness of your own life and time.

Mo' Better Poetry

I hope my friends in the band Big Bad Gina–Jori, Melodie, and Renee–won't mind me borrowing the title of one of my favorite originals from their CD, "Amazon Warrior Princess," to use as the heading for today's post. The phrase suits so well what I have to say to my poet friends. It's a terrific song and the band is a great example of what can become Mo' Better when you work at it with that kind of head-down determination. I am sure that the three of them, both together and alone, listen to CD after CD of other musicians in order to acquaint themselves with various styles and rhythms and from which to draw inspiration for their own unique lyrics and music. They are a terrific band, as original as they come, with music so varied that it can make you want to dance, croon along, or make out in some hidden corner of the bar.

Today, I want to convince you writers and poets, in particular you newcomers to the art, that in order to write mo' better poetry you must read poetry, just as songwriters must listen to loads of music. Poetry is at the top of few summer lists of "must reads." Even practiced poets don't read as much of their peers' work as they should. I am telling you now, though, that the only way to improve your own poetry, to become "mo' better," is to read more poetry.

As a bookseller, shoppers would always be amazed when they stacked up a pile of books in front of the cash register and I would ask, all innocence, "Are you a poet?" Their jaw would drop as they nodded, thinking to themselves, "Wow, a psychic bookseller." But no, I'd seen the two books of poetry sticking out of their stack and knew quite well that the biggest buyers of poetry were themselves poets. There's a reason for that. The best are in love with poetry, and not just their own. The rest are wanting to become mo' better writers and realize, in order to do that, they must read accomplished poets.

I took a poetry writing workshop at the local university when I first arrived in Fayetteville. This was a senior class, and although I was at least 35 years older than the oldest student, and perhaps 20 years older than my professor, I felt like I could learn something from the exchange of ideas and poetry in the classroom. It had been a long time since I had attended a class on poetry writing. The prof was excellent. He gave good prompts, was full of fine ideas, and his criticisms were spot-on. He was extremely well-read and tried hard to pass on his love of poetry to his students. He himself was a published and prize-winning poet, and I adored both his work and him.

My complaint was not with the teacher. No, it was the students with whom I could not identify. They arrogantly went about their writing like school children (not college students, but second graders). They blatantly stole from the works of poets they were forced to read in other classes, and focused entirely on their small little circle of friends and interests when writing. I never heard such bad poetry, even giving them a break for being so young. I had heard better poetry at my open mics from 16- and 17- year olds. These were seniors in college. Finally, having just referred to a famous Frost poem and receiving only blank stares in return, I shouted out in pure frustration, "Doesn't anybody in here read!?" They shook their heads "no." Some said they had too much required reading, while others just shrugged their shoulders. I understood then that they considered this an easy elective and were just rounding out their credits. Maybe three of us were interested in writing mo' better poetry.

If you take away nothing else from this post, please take this away: to become a good poet, you must read good poetry. I think poets want to read good poetry, but the mind is lazy if left to its own devices. One must think when reading poetry. One must consider the metaphors, listen to the sounds employed, let the images sink in deep. Poetry can be slow going and is not meant to be read in a hurry. It is best read silently and then aloud, even if you are all alone. It's even better when you can share it with another poetry- or potential poetry-lover.

I implore you with compassion to read poems other than your own. I say, "with compassion," because for long periods, I too, fail to read the work of others in order to get mo' better at my own poetry. Yet, every time I do, like this morning, I am inspired into thought-provoking images and memories of my own. The work I write after I've read Mark Doty or Dickens or Walker or Nye, is not a copy of their work. No, it is originally my own, with the spice of their inspiration and knowledge flavoring what I've written in such a way as to make it better. Mo' better everytime.

If you don't have a favorite poet, let me suggest the Norton Anthologies of poetry. They are full of luscious poems by hundreds of different poets--the best poets in the world, past and present. This way, you can fall in love with a few of your favorites and purchase their books in order to familiarize yourselves with their work. Here are just a handful of mine, and believe me they are not all dead white men: Shakespeare, Langston Hughes, Sylvia Plath, Richard Wilbur, Alice Walker, Naomi Shihab Nye, Patricia Smith, Robert Frost, Yusef Komunyakaa, Rumi, Lucille Clifton, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Bishop, Walt Whitman, Mark Doty, Sonia Sanchez.

Why, right here in Fayetteville are Miller Williams, Davis McCombs, Geoffrey Brock, myself (I say this in all modesty among such poetic company) and many of the poets who read at the open mics here in town. We have a nationally known library, a great independent bookstore, and an amazing used bookstore in which to find all kinds of fine poems. Truly, there is no excuse. We all have ample resources for becoming mo' better poets and writers. So read, and then write on.

Thirty in Thirty: Test Your Commitment

I tried it before and petered out in less than a week. This time, I was inspired by my friend Nave's determination to write 100 poems in 100 days as a way of healing from cancer surgery. I decided to try again. Thirty poems in thirty days. I know some poets think of this kind of exercise as a glut of words. Why would you write a poem when you weren't particularly inspired? A waste of time. A blasphemy of poetry. I couldn't disagree more.

What better way to prepare yourself to write a poem at the highlight of inspiration as opposed to putting it off until the brilliance has grayed, sunk deep into the quicksand of brain matter? Practice makes perfect. Here's a slightly violent metaphor: When asked why we had to practice shooting, using our batons, or our quick draw over and over when I was a cop, our trainer gave a simple answer. "When the time comes to use what you know, you won't have time to think. You will simply do what you have practiced. It becomes a physical memory, the natural response. You do what you practice."

I would say this is true for the writer. When we practice writing everyday, we are ready when the bright green glow of a shooting star lights the horizon. We do not wait until we've lost the freshness of watching the hawk bathe on a low branch just above the cow pond, or the eagle soars out over the lake on a late October day. We sit to capture the lushness of the July garden after a thundershower or the snake's writhing passage through our back yard. We learn to appreciate , notice, and praise the everyday events of our extraordinary lives; how lucky we are to be here, to be participating in what Joanna Macy calls "The Great Turning." We, as artists, should be documenting the ending of what has been and the beginning of what is to come. The wars. The revolutions. The farmer's markets. Our children and their discoveries. Our pets. Our love stories.

One good way to establish and to test your commitment as a writer, an artist, a poet is to take on the challenge of thirty in thirty. Whether it is 30 poems in 30 days; 30 sketches in 30 days, 30 pages in 30 days, the process can teach us so much about ourselves. We learn that everything we write or paint or pot is not precious. It doesn't need to be perfect. We discover that life itself is precious as we learn to express our gratitude for what we all too often take for granted. We write about those things in ourselves and in the world that we would like to change. We see that our writing is the first step toward making that change.

We plow ahead when the going gets rough. If all we can squeeze out is a haiku, we are satisfied. We don't allow ourselves to be deterred by anything, but carry on like soldiers of the word. It isn't easy. We start to notice how easily time gets away from us, but instead of moaning and groaning, we write about it. Below is an example of one of those days I could not think of anything but how hard it was to feel inspired every day for an entire month. I had begun to think I would fail and, indeed, had missed and had to make up days. Instead of throwing up my hands and giving up (the easy way out) I simply wrote about that, too.

After all, I had a few rules to help me accomplish my goal. I could write about anything. The writing could be a poem, a haiku, or a poem start (writing that would become a poem). Most importantly, the poem could be bad. What the practiced writer learns is that it takes the courage to write bad poems (or create bad art) in order to write good poems and create good art. The "30 in 30" exercise is one of the best I know for bringing this truth home, inscribing it on our hearts so that we don't forget it. This exercise makes us brave and gives us the joy it takes to want to create, even if it's just because we saw that incredible sliver of moon floating red in a darkened sky. That's enough. That's all we need. Prove it. Take the challenge. You'll be glad you did.

30 Poems in 30 Days

Time is a trick done
not with mirrors but with ticks
and tocks, watches, wall clocks,
wrist watch, cell phones, computers, dash.
Time wraps itself around your shoulders at dusk
thick, weighty, worn out as old grandmother's shawl.
All you can do is lay beneath it,
watch TV, snack, stop, drop, and roll into bed.
It all starts with a braying alarm
incessant beeping, NPR
and that first cup of coffee.
You want to write your poem then.
You do. You need to. You know you do.
But you don't. Instead
your head nods, eyes droop close
until you wake to find your cup
clutched between your fingers,
tilting coffee at the brim.
Time to get up, go to work
arrive at appointments
fix breakfast
get the kids off to school.
For the rest of the day
time is minutemen marching in camp:
double-time, quick-step,
here and there a half-step
until all of a sudden
day is done.
The wrist and hand are weak from working
at everything, at anything (but writing).
Your mind writhes beneath the worries of another day
of doing, doing, left undone.
Don't ride yourself to death
on the back of pen and paper.
This time you know exactly what to do, saying,
"Alright then, tomorrow I'll write two."