The Work of the Poet

Image: Markus Winkler

Introduction

This week we consider the work of the poet, as influenced by the two mentor poems.  Diane Ackerman suggests the work of the poet is "to name what is holy,"  and, as in Clemonce Heard's poem, it is to register a response to a current event.  In our writing practice, PoBo writers try their turn at each of these challenges.  Stay tuned, because the work of the poet is an idea we will revisit again and again.  

First Mentor Poem

The Work Of The Poet Is To Name What Is Holy
DIANE ACKERMAN

The work of the poet
is to name what is holy:

the spring snow
that hides unevenness
but also records
a dog walked at lunchtime,
the hieroglyphs of birds,
pawprints of a life
tiny but resolute;

how, like Russian dolls,
we nest in previous selves;

the lustrous itch
that compels an oyster
to forge a pearl,
or a poet a verse;

the drawing on of evening
belted at the waist;

snowfields of diamond dust;

the cozy monotony
of our days, in which
love appears with a holler;

the way a man's body
has its own geography––
cliffs, aqueducts, pumice fields,
but a woman's is the jungle,
hot, steamy, full of song;
 
the brain's curiosity shop
filled with quaint mementos
and shadow antiques
hidden away in drawers;

the plain geometry
of you, me, and art––
our angles at rest
among shifting forms.

The work of the poet
is to name what is holy,

and not to mind so much
the pinch of words
to cope with memories
weak as falling buildings,

or render loss, love,
and the penitentiary
of worry where we live.

The work of the poet
is to name what is holy,
a task fit for eternity,
or the small Eden of this hour.

Source: Journal Therapy, Compliments of the Center for Journal Therapy

Writing Prompt #1

• Name what is holy in your life. Make a list, or a “list poem,” as Diane Ackerman has done.
• Tell me about the “work of the poet.”  What is the work of a poet?
• What is the role poetry plays in your life? What role would you like it to play? How can you bridge the gap between the two, if there is one?

Second Mentor Poem

All My Stresses Live in Texas
CLEMONCE HEARD                                                                 
 
Now I’ve seen everything:
Ivy sagged like an IV neck-
lacing the windows of the burning
house; snow killing my neighbor’s
cacti in their terracotta pots
dwarfing the one my friend sent
a picture of, lampshading a pillar
candle cordoned off by a coup-
le of cinder blocks that would help
heat his house in a blackout
if it was 10,000 sq. ft. smaller. Trans-
 
former state senator feels no way
about the system he helped deregu-
late over two decades ago.
Says he’s only lost power tw-
ice since then, & notes how,
hunched over, he makes coffee
in his fireplace. I counted two rats
 
sniffing around my cracked porch,
curled inside my idling sedan.
I spoke to Wisconsin, who s-
aid she smelled gas the same time
I smelled burning wires & thought
it was my battery I hadn’t replaced
before I’d left the Midwest.
How I’d wished it wasn’t the alt-
ernator as it was in the negatives
that day, & I’d have to take so much
out to get to the problem.
 
Source: Rattle, Poets Respond feature, Feb. 21, 2021

Writing Prompts #2

• Write notes in response to a recent (within the last week) news story.  Choose a local story, neighborhood story, national or international story.  A science story, an education story, a human interest story.
  
• Write about how a recent news story directly affected your life. 
  
• Write about how you mulled over the recent news.  Were you grocery shopping when it popped into your mind? Jogging? Sleeping, and woke up? Write about how you processed a recent news story.

For Discussion

Jogging after the Vatican Resolves the Dubium “Does the Church Have the Power to Give the Blessing to Unions of Persons of the Same Sex?” 
KAITLYN SPEES                  
 
The paths I love, my Lord, are narrow and switch-backed
and I’m puffing my way up them parsing
my disappointment--
Today the Vatican confirmed that the Church cannot
“bless the unions of persons of the same sex”
because they say that “blessing” treads
too close to “sacrament” for comfort, and moreover
sex divorced from procreation
is apparently still a sin.
 
Rattlesnakes drowse on the trails I love, Lord,
and I knew I wasn’t suicidal anymore
when I accidentally stepped
between a knotted pair napping in the dust.
The diamond band of their backs pressed
my brainstem even before I parsed them
into snake, into threat, but—here’s the miracle--
once I understood I still gasped “ohshit” and pounded away.
The seatbelts and bike helmets came back later.
 
Lord, I thought the rattlesnakes were going to be
metaphors. I thought that next I’d bring up
my mild familial allergy to apples just in case
the imagery wasn’t blatant enough already.
But, Lord, I loved the woman who ran
these trails with me. I didn’t know I loved her.
It ended badly. And the way that I love, Lord,
is narrow and branching and switch-backed and, Lord, I love you.
Lord, I will not let you go. Bless me. Let me bless you.
 
Source: Rattle, March 23, 2021

"Poets Respond"

. . . is a feature of Rattle's online poetry magazine,  highlighting the immediacy of poetry, instead of the customary publication time which would lag by months behind the current news cycles.  I love the Poet's Respond challenge because it requires a writer to process unfolding news enough to craft a poetic response.  Check it out their overall content, consider submitting to Poet's Respond, tune in to the podcast!

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