I’m sure we’ve all heard that you should never date a poet,
because your life can become a poem for everyone to read about. I don’t agree.
I think we all have things we don’t want to write about, or feel we shouldn’t
write about, and that’s okay. My husband Jeff inspires my poetry all the time,
and I write about him all the time. Many of his books have poems written to me.
We’re fine with that.
Listen, Tobi
by Jeffrey Alfier
We came to watch more than trawlers
drift stony miles north of our island—
all those slow clocks of commerce.
On the ferry over, nerves ran tight
when tall waves scaled the sheerline,
lustering us cold at the railing. We laugh
at it now, in this late light dimming
out of sky, trusting night birds to circle
back and hunt low—their gothic plunge
of wings, sudden wind to lift them,
like your hair, through this paling Irish
light. So let the white scrim of gulls loiter
above us. Let them screech like Cromwell’s
ghost. We’ll learn the Gaelic word for kiss
and glare at sea and sky till they dissolve
like remote music. Here, we need the stone
junctions of cemetery walls, rutted tracks
that flank them into darkened arbors of trees.
All the wildflowers that find our fists.
All the roads our maps find no name for.
For me, there are four things I don’t write about, or rarely
do. The first is if something is told to me in confidence, my lips are sealed.
There is no way you can change something enough so that it’s unrecognizable. Either
be a trustworthy person, or write a memoir. I would like to be trusted.
I also rarely write about my divorce (2006), work, or my
health. I’ll admit it, I have a poem that’s funny as hell about my divorce. It
has been published, but you’re not going to read it here. It got laughs when I
read it, but it is hurtful. I don’t want to be that kind of person. Maybe if I
were a standup comic I’d riff on it for a while, but I’m not. I’m a poet. And
that’s a subject I don’t consider poetic. The end.
Work? In forty years I’ve written probably five poems about
work. And they are very well disguised. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to
figure out what “Hostage Negotiation in Negative-Land” is about, but on the
whole, it’s not poetic.
You’ve heard me talk from time-to-time about walking
challenges, not traveling anymore, getting inspiration from Jeff when he
travels and sends me photos and texts, and so on. If it ends in “-osis”, I
probably have it. Read the fiction book
If Not For This by Pete Fromm. It’s a gorgeous, gorgeous love story with an
element of illness that says it more beautifully than I can ever say.
But that’s just me. I rarely
write about it. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but not in a poem. Other
poets do write about health challenges as a way of exorcising them, or
explaining them. Maybe while they’re writing, they’re not experiencing them. If
you are a submitting poet, there are lots of anthologies looking for your work.
There are lots of journals as well.
A wonderful journal to submit to is Kaleidoscope Magazine. It’s
published by United Disability Services in Akron, Ohio. The magazine “creatively
focuses on the experiences of disability through literature and the fine arts.
Unique to the field of disability studies, this award-winning publication
expresses the experience of disability from the perspective of individuals,
families, friends, healthcare professionals, educators and others”.
(Under guidelines): “The material chosen for Kaleidoscope challenges
and overcomes stereotypical, patronizing, and sentimental attitudes about
disability. We accept the work of writers with and without
disabilities; however the work of a writer without a disability must focus on
some aspect of disability. The criteria for good writing apply: effective
technique, thought-provoking subject matter, and in general, a mature grasp of
the art of story-telling. Writers should avoid using offensive language and always
put the person before the disability.”
They accept previously published work, and they pay.
I really do believe everybody has something challenging. Not
everyone writes about it. If you do, and you’d like to see it in print,
Kaleidoscope may be an opportunity for you.
Under the Bridge
Sometimes she doesn’t have enough skin to cover her knees.
She can’t really explain it but they nod and say
“Yes, I know”, jotting notes to remember for next time
so she doesn’t feel so alone. They always ask about her son,
and now they will ask about her knees.
Her legs hallucinate—static charges blossom
up her feet; they jump like marionettes.
She thinks she wears the “scarlet letters”
by the way she walks, but they are only
on the inside. No one
knows.
She holds her breath in the tunnel under the covered bridge,
wishes for good fortune for those who surround her.
The bridge is long, she passes out, wakes up in an
ambulance.
The nurse recognizes the pendant she is wearing
from the last time. She is identified and given an
ultrasound
before fully alert. She nods and says “Oh no, not this
again”.
There are berries at home, she must eat the berries.
There is a whole quart of milk, and messages to return.
The gardener waits for his check, shirt unbuttoned
to the belt, the cowboy hat shading his eyes and smile.
Mundane trivialities do not want to wait,
but the IV means she will be here for a while.
Could someone please turn up the light
and bring her some books?
Previously published in
Pilgrimage, and Kaleidoscope: Exploring the Experience of Disability through Literature and the Fine Arts
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Tobi Alfier's most recent collection of poetry is Slices Of Alice. She is also co-editor with Jeff Alfier of the San Pedro River Review. Don't miss Tobi's columns on the craft of poetry: insert your email address in the "Follow By Email" box to the right of this article and you'll be notified every time a new article appears.
