No Language is More Beautiful Than That of a Poem

“I stand in ruins behind you / with your winter clothes, your broken sandal straps. / I love to see you naked over there / especially from the back.” So sings Leonard Cohen in “Take This Longing,” and so the 2017 Poetry Marathon kicked off. 

Since 2009 (less one summer when funding disappeared), I have had the great fortune to spend my summers working with teachers through the Wyoming Writing Project (WWP). This morning, I sip coffee from my WWP mug – a gift from last year’s leaders. It’s a cup I only drink from on special occasions.

 

The Poetry Marathon is special.

• ·       The goal: Write one poem every 24 hours.
• ·       The reward: In one day, I will have a chapbook worth of poems.

This was daunting (I posted my first poem at 7:59 a.m. with one minute to spare). It was engaging (I used the prompts they posted for guidance). It was cathartic (I let the words and ideas and dreams spill onto the page). 

I believe in teachers as writers. And so, we write. Throughout the summer, I read blog posts from this year’s participants and leaders in WWP. They were inspired and motivated. They were courageous and bold. It was with this in mind that I returned to my own blog, and I did it with nervousness, anxiety, and wondering

I write for others. I write a Core Grammar blog through a publisher, compiling an editorial calendar through shared ideas about what others might need. I write plans and emails at school from which others glean information. I write Tweets to share, Facebook comments, texts, and Snapchats. Each is for others.

Today, I share the writing I want. It’s not regurgitated. It’s not required. Yet, it’s for others, and I want it that way. 

Two days ago, I thought about sneaking out to the Farmer’s Market or going to school to finish my classroom. 

Yesterday, I was looking forward to what was to come. 

Today, I feel accomplished. My eyes are tired, but my mind is moving, knowing poetry is necessary and writing is challenging, rewarding, and some of the most important work in which we can all engage. 

Here are some poems from the 2017 Poetry Marathon (to read the complete list of 24 poems, click here).  I hope you enjoy.

 Poem 8, Hour 9

“Having a Drink with Charles Bukowski”

“ … later she sat there in her slip / drinking Old Grandad / and she said / what’s a guy like you doing / living in a dump like this?” from “A 340 Dollar Horse and a Hundred Dollar Whore” by Charles Bukowski

I.

After you wrote on a slip

of paper, we took turns sipping Old Grandad

from a Dixie cup, and you said

“What are you doing

with someone like this?”

II.

She said she would visit later,

her eyes betrayed her. Everyone knows she

a liar. She was real, though, she sat

right there in

her filth and cigarettes and disingenuous attitude. Her

fingers flicking the end of her Marlboro Red. After two bottles of Old Grandad, she will slip

away. 

 Poem 16, Hour 17

“Last Yesterdays”

Scars from 18 years ago

mark your shoes.

Muses from the lost yesterdays

sing tunes –

you’ve forgotten the words.

Dirt devils skip down

that sidewalk you once walked.

A penny looks up from the dirt –

1973.

I found you there, lost in the tomorrows

you had not yet dreamed.

Looking at today through eyes

of youth

and age.

Poem 18 (Hour 19): Write a poem set in space. The details are entirely up to you!

“The Milky Way”

That night, I stood opposite of Cassiopeia

reading for her as she smiled at me, iciness

between us. I floated from her grasp

into outer space.

Orion hovered, casting a shadow, 

eyes locking with mine.

I ignored him; chose, instead, to sip from the Big Dipper,

spend 84 years traveling with Uranus.

date Aquarius,

befriend Ursa Minor, that lovable bear,

surf on the rings of Jupiter,

laughing without a sound. I danced a slow dance

with each of Saturn’s moons, taking a bow after the ninth

set me free. My muted mouth moving, wordless.

As I back floated through the Milky Way,

the Queen gazed in mirror.

Here are some reflections from the Poetry Marathon:

• ·       At the six-hour mark, I am feeling rejuvenated. The words are flowing nicely. Of the six poems I have posted, four are original and stem from the prompts. One titled “I Do” is a revision of a poem I wrote in 2009 and found in a journal. “The Tire Swing” is a childhood memory and a revision (from a story to a poem) that I started in Wheatland, Wyoming, during WWP’s first staff development session in 2017. 

• ·       At the twelve-hour mark, I am engulfed in family history. I wrote about my Grandma Mae’s dementia, trying to make sense of the end of her life and our time together. I penned “E_N” – the Baldwin family brand – and I know I will return to this again and again to make it just right; it feels unfinished and contrived. Poem 11 is a mix of “Po Boy 40” and “The Buck Horn” two poems I originally wrote in 2009 during a three-week stay in Laramie, Wyoming. The day is passing quickly. While I am thinking there is so much to do, I feel fulfilled by this writing.

• ·       At the 20-hour mark (2:32 a.m.), I took a nap and awoke with 30 minutes remaining to write the final four poems. I combined the last two – it made sense based on the prompts -- wrote an ekphrastic (which was new!), and attempted to use exaggeration which was the most difficult prompt during the 24 hours.