the abnormal is not courage

The Abnormal Is Not Courage
The Poles rode out from Warsaw against the GermanTanks on horses. Rode knowing, in sunlight, with sabers,A magnitude of beauty that allows me no peace.And yet this poem would lessen that day. QuestionThe bravery. Say it's not courage. Call it a passion.Would say courage isn't that. Not at its best.It was impossib1e, and with form. They rode in sunlight,Were mangled. But I say courage is not the abnormal.

Not the marvelous act. Not Macbeth with fine speeches.
Not the marvelous act, but the evident conclusion of being.Not strangeness, but a leap forward of the same quality.Accomplishment. The even loyalty. But fresh.Not the Prodigal Son, nor Faustus. But Penelope.The thing steady and clear. Then the crescendo.The real form. The culmination. And the exceeding.Not the surprise. The amazed understanding. The marriage,Not the month's rapture. Not the exception. The beautyThat is of many days. Steady and clear.It is the normal excellence, of long accomplishment.-Jack Gilbert Gilbert has several books. One is *Refusing Heaven,*

letter to a student

Dear Scott,
I wanted to tell you some of my thoughts after our lesson, as I have been able to process over the past day.
I noticed a very big difference in your breath control, especially when you were singing Amazing Grace, and I hope you can see that this summer you did make a lot of progress. I realize now that I was indeed overlooking the bad breathing habit you had formed while focusing on other things like pitch recognition and repertoire for the recital, and it was time for you to move from building strength to focusing on subtler control. Jared was right on with the things he was having you work with, and I am so glad that he was able to point you in just the right direction. I noticed that your hard work of the summer truly paid off, and I hope you can see that progress more clearly as you move into the fall.
I can see why you are interested in continuing with Jared, he has so much to offer and you have also made great strides working with him. Mary mentioned that it took a lot of courage for me to send you to other teachers and that most people wouldn't ever do that for so many reasons-- I guess it just never occurred to me no to. You are so eager to learn and so disciplined, singing is kind of becoming a lifestyle for you. I would almost venture to call it a "practice". My thought was that learning different approaches or hearing what others have to say could only be beneficial to you, and if that means you move on to other teachers, well, I want you to find your way to your voice however you need to! I really mean that.
So then I started getting a little doubtful of myself. Asking, what the heck do you know anyway, Heidi? I don't have a PHD, I can't play piano (damn my parents! why didin't they force me? ha ha), I just had a baby 6 weeks ago . . . well, you know how these things can go.
But you gave me a great gift on Monday, I had an AHA moment that has continued over the past couple of days. I think I found the secret to my talents that I need to be focusing on, and I wanted to share it with you because you helped me put a finger on it with something you said. You mentioned something to the effect of yes, you learned a lot with Jared, but you have fun with me . . . and I said something about connection, but later on I thought more and realized that maybe you were saying I help you to be inspired .
I hope I am not sticking my foot in my mouth if that is not what you were really saying, but I realized that that is why I love coaching people to sing (I would rather call it coaching). I feel their inspiration, and I am also inspired in the process. You know that part I was saying about how nobody can teach you to sing, you have to find your own voice, and I think that is really true -- but you have to be continually inspired to want to keep going deeper. I don't want to say I inspire my students, but I think I help them find their own inspiration. What is it to "inspire"? Doesn't it literally mean "to breathe in"? (Okay, i didn't look it up, but let's go with it).
I realize now, as life becomes more work and less fun the older I get and the more responsibilities I have, that inspiration is the precious water we are thirsty for. When the well runs dry, I feel like I am not alive anymore. It is also harder to feel inspired because I have my head down in the muck of life and not up in the heavens where music and art and poetry and dance, etc live. But what is the first thing we give up when life gets too hectic ? -- the "extras". I see now that inspiration is food for the soul, and if we don't get it we starve in a very slow and harmful way. Perhaps this is the reason why so many people are depressed and anxious -- their souls are hungry for inspiration and we have forsaken the Arts in our culture as a needless extra.
All that said, I wanted to thank you for continuing to inspire me with your generosity and insight, and for helping me learn this important lesson in my life. I realize now that I must use my gift to inspire in every way . . . and I need to stop holding back wherever that may be happening in my life.
As for the scheduling of lessons with Jared and me together, I don't know how that might work, but I am willing to try it once and explore the possibility, see how it goes, etc. Please feel free to talk with me about anything, I am open to suggestions and I know there is so much for me to learn. Sorry I may not have left enough room to hear some of that on Monday. Let's keep talking.
Okay, thanks for listening to me ramble.
Heidi

gorgeous

Lament for the Makers
, , -->
Not bird not badger not beaver not bee
Many creatures must make, but only one must seek
within itself what to make
My father's ring was a B with a dart through it, in diamonds against polished black stone.
I have it. What parents leave youis their lives.
Until my mother died she struggled to make a house that she did not loathe; paintings; poems; me.
Many creatures must
make, but only one must seekwithin itself what to make
Not bird not badger not beaver not bee
•
Teach me, masters who by making wereremade, your art.
Frank BidartStar DustFarrar, Straus and Giroux

back to poetry

I would've written this one just this way, I feel so reminiscent all the time! And I am still so young . . .

Archaeology
The older we get, the deeper we dig into our childhoods,Hoping to find the radiant cellThat washed us, and caused our lives to glow in the dark like clock handsEndlessly turning toward the future,Tomorrow, day after tomorrow, the day after that, all golden, all in good time
Hiwassee Dam, North Carolina. Still 1942,Still campfire smoke in both our eyes, my brother and IGaze far out at the lake in sunflame,Expecting our father at any moment, like Charon, to appearBack out of the light from the other side, low-gunwaled and loaded down with our slippery dreams.
Other incidents flicker like foxfire in the blackIsolate distance of memory, cross-eyed, horizon-haired.Which one, is it one, is it anyone that cleans us, clears us,That relimbs our lives to a shining
One month without rain, two months, third month of the new year,Afternoon breeze-rustle dry in the dry needles of hemlock and pine.I can't get down deep enough.Sunlight flaps its enormous wings and lifts off from the backyard,The wind rattles its raw throat, but I still can't go deep enough.
Charles WrightScar TissueFarrar, Straus and Giroux

sisters

A poem in progress for my doulas:

This I know for sure:
many years from now
when all detail slips from this memory of my labor
like a young child quickly grows old
(and we forget the cloudy grey of their infant eyes)
I will remember these few things
you gave me in those short hours we stepped together
behind the veil that separates this life from that --
when darkness set her teeth upon me,
when pain cinched its rope around my chest
and squeezed the breath from my lungs
when loneliness crept like a spider into my heart
and threatened to overcome me --
and somewhere in that frightening world
I might've been lost forever.
In that darkness, I felt your hands'
firm touch, heard your strong voice
your breath in sync with mine
and there was dignity where none would have been
dignity before the knife, and your steadfast sisterhood
holding me up, keeping the door closed
on my deepest fear.


and another post-cesarean poem

I have been to this place before:
sweet baby's breath,
hot mother's tears,
slow, aching body
cut down the center.

I have been to this place before
(I remind myself again and again)
of loneliness and despair,
stark beauty and regret,
guilt for my body's sorrow.

What sacrifice a mother makes!
For surely I would've died to bring you here
as so many have before. Twice the knife
of a surgeon released these children
I would not otherwise have.
And who would this mother be,
otherwise?

I have been to this place before,
weeping for a torn middle self
smiling with the secrets of this precious baby
miraculous pleasure bleeding lonely pain.

I have been to this place before
only this time I know I will make it out alive.
I will not stay long.
This time I will turn quietly, gently
and make my way home.

poems about birth

Thanks to Lisa for this one via Adrian Blevins!
I just found this poem by Steve Scafidi—it’s from For Love of Common Words, which is just out from Louisiana State University. It is just perfect for Mother’s Day. It will tell you why. Here it is:
Witness to the Work

If I could knock a house down with my crotch or pull a train
cross-country with a little string tied to my cock well then
that would be something. Not much, but at least something.

If I could breathe in sharply now and swallow the western half
of Portugal with its bright umbrellas and pointy cathedrals
and its statues of Fernando Pessoa it might be the same.

If I could just think of the pain I would fall over like a lettuce,
as it is, a great and growing awe comes between us now
and we do not speak of it. Months pass. More months.

She cries out suddenly and her cries are deep like nothing
I’ve ever heard and the car zigzags and we are there.
Then the hours pass filled with a difficult kind of grace.

And she pushes that baby out of her and the baby finally
says OK and galumph, just like that, this lump of breath
falls into the world and is lifted to her mother’s breast.

And she is crying and people are nipping and cutting, saying
Oh isn’t she, isn’t she and the room is spinning hard
and this spinning spins the earth and the earth spins faster.

And I always thought that life was like a blue donkey
named Disaster that we ride to death and whisper to.
Now I know. It’s this bloody holy work the mothers do.

Reprinted by permission of Louisiana State University Press from For the Love of Words: Poems by Steve Scafidi. Copyright C 2006 by Steve Scafidi.

mothersong

Dear Mom,
The full moon woke me up thinking it was morning, but in fact it was only 1:30 or so. I bet you have had many sleepless nights like this one in your life, I suppose it is pregnancy right now keeping me up.
While I was lying in bed I realized I needed to tell you about how hurt I felt after something you said on the phone the other day. This is not an attack, I just need to share with you some things that have been an issue for me for a while, and I haven't known how to tell you how hurt I have been. I hope that you can hear this with an open heart and not become defensive and perhaps look gently into a way to fit my request into the business of your life as it is. Oftentimes we complain when what we really want to do is request something -- like I complain to Andy that he hasn't done the dishes in a week when really all I need to do is say, honey, could you please find time to do the dishes. So behind this is a request, and a big one at that.
The other day we had a great conversation on the phone in the morning, and at one point I told you something about Luka being more this or that than other kids (I don't even remember what quality in particular it was, but it doesn't matter -- I think it was something about needing lots of stimulation and interaction). You quickly replied a seemingly harmless sentiment something like, "well, I am sure he is not any more this or that then any other child his age." It was very much "seemingly harmless", but actually patronizing and, simply not true.
You see, there are many ways in which Luka is more or less this or that than other children, as we are all unique and special and different and have our own needs and speeds of development. For example, he is verbally way more advanced and gifted than most children I know who are 3. He is also an insanely gifted athlete with balance on a skateboard that amazes most people. We think it is such a joy to discover the secret talents of our son. Do you know that he has these talents? Sure, every parent thinks his or her child is more special, or the best at something -- and in fact in the case of your own children, all of us turned out to be gifted and special in some unique way, I am sure you can't argue with that. As Luka's mother, it is my job to be tuned into whatever his talents or struggles are and to help him find his unique abilities and to guide him towards his bliss.
What your comment made me realize profundly is that I feel you hardly know your grandson at all, and certainly not nearly enough to ever make the assumption that what I may say about him is or isn't true. This is simply a sad fact, and I realized that what hurts me most is that over the past year especially, you really didn't seem to care or to want to make any effort towards knowing him better. On a couple of occasions you had said you would come visit and then didn't, citing financial difficulties or time or whatever, and then you spent numerous weekends in Ohio visiting Willie. This especially was exceedingly hurtfult to me, because over and over it felt as if you chose him over us, and on top of that you didn't even seem to notice.
Obviously I want you to have a happy and fulfilled life of your own. I want this for you deeply. But I also long for a loving, engaged, and yes emotionally and physically present grandmother for my son. He hardly knows you. He needs his relatives and grandparents in his life. He needs you to know that he is in fact very different from any other kid, and he needs you to know things like what his favorite food is and what time he goes to bed and what his favorite activities are.
I hope that you will not take this letter as a harsh attack, because that is not how I mean it. I don't mean it to be a list of ways that you have failed as a grandmother or mother and I am sorry if that is how it comes off. What I mean is for it to be a request. I am requesting that you become more of an active participant in your grandchildren's lives, starting now, and make them more of a priority. I know you go to fiddle camp with Cammie once a year, but let me impress upon you that once a year may not ever be near enough to know your grandchildren, and their time with you on earth may not be long!!! My grandmother died last year and I hardly knew her. She was cold and distant much of my life. I am very saddened by what I lost by not knowing more of her. Now my own father and Luka's maternal grandfather may never be as present for him as I wish, so this leaves even more responsibility to you to be a more present grandparent.
I don't know how you can fit it into your life to be more involved with Luka and his sister, but I am asking you to please think about how deeply important it is to myself and more important to him that you be there for him and his sister through their lives consistently. As they are young right now, it is perhaps more important for you to travel to see them and make a concerted effort to reach out to them, as they can't do that for themselves -- and as Andy and I are in the process of raising small children, travel to see you is not so much an option for our family.
Wisconsin is only 4 hours further than Ohio from St. Louis, and I am sure you went to Ohio an average of once per month or more over the course of 2005. Do you think you could make 3 trips to Wisconsin to see us this year? Maybe that would be a possible place to start, or maybe 2 trips is more realistic since it is already April.
I am deeply grateful for the ways that you have supported us, and I know that you have done your best to give financially and otherwise throughout the past few years to me and my new family, and I know it hasn't always been pretty, in fact these have been the most difficult years of my life. (Still, I don't consider my children accidents or burdens at all despite the struggle I have been through, in fact I consider them to be the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life and my life's most important work.) I want to thank you for the ways you have helped, nurtured, and supported us. But I also need to request that you start thinking of your grandchildren as a priority and responsibility. They need you. They want you in their lives. Perhaps you were not ready to be a grandmother, but they are ready for you to be one right now and always, when they need it most.
Thank you for listening Mom, I know I challenge you.
I love you very much
Heidi