Oh Time!

It is hard not to feel overwhelmed in December. The holidays are fast approaching, my responsibilities mounting--papers to read, portfolios to grade. Meanwhile the weather vacillates from moderate to frigid. We had a snow day last week--precious day in the middle of the week that allowed me to read journals and grade papers. The wind whispers through the naked branches. What little sun there is offers no warmth. This is the time of year when we need to gather in--hold dear ones close and write letters to those who are afar. My definition of family has changed through the years. I am grateful for the ability to redefine that which is most important to me--my evolving and creative adult children (odd phrase, that one...) and my life partner who is also my closest friend and confidante. Friends also add warmth and meaning to my life.

The writing is there too--beckoning me to see life as words on a page. I taught metaphors to second graders and villanelles to high school students in the same week. The moon was a banana, a button, a sliver of cheese. The villanelles were haunting--mythic and personal. I see words swirling around the room and students struggling to catch them. When we read, it's as if each student is able to find something in memory or perception that solidifies his or her truth. I'm a witness to this awakening on a weekly basis. It helps me to understand language as a powerful tool. How can I become complacent when I have so many words to choose from?

Frost and Warm Cider

This morning startled me with its sudden cold; frost on the trees, clinging to the remnants of plants left in the garden. The only color is the dusty green of pine rising beyond the queue of barren oak and ash. I feel as if I should be slowing down, making soup, snuggling under the down coverlet. Instead I run from here to there, teaching children of all ages to love words. We try out the sounds, letting vowels roll over our tongues. We click through consonants, understanding the power of rhythm. Yesterday my second grade project wrote a story about a seadragon and a hammerhead shark--unlikely friends who part ways over a misunderstanding. There is wisdom in this story. The dragon had previously warmed the cold Atlantic with his fiery breath but now the shark must contend with relentlessly cold waters. Sometimes we cannot realize what friends bring to a relationship until it is no longer available to us.

The poetry class I teach at the university is coming to a close. Students have had a poem to interact with all semester. They shared a representation of what they learned--via a storybook made, a sculpture, a painting on wood, a collage, and dramatic readings. There were also powerpoint presentations, animations, videos, and musical representations. The important thing for me is that they had to look at a poem from all sides. Whether or not it resonated for them mattered less than the time they spent. That's what poetry is--a slow and conscious way to look at the world. Though I was tired at the end of the day, I felt lucky to be a witness to the process. It is a little like being a conductor of an orchestra--I don't create the music, I simply move it along and keep the balance. Now if only I can learn that balance in my own life!

Late November and the Waning Sun

The days are getting shorter. When I awaken early, it is still dark and I am fooled into thinking it is still night. It's been an extraordinary November--filled with mild sunny days and cool star-filled nights. I'm finding my muse again--beginning to reserve some early mornings for writing. I feel out of balance when I go too long without paying attention to my art.

Kira wrote that it snowed in Antarctica and she never tires of snow. I don't completely share her passion for winter weather. I love the first snows--pristine and unexpected. Looking out my window from my hilltop view, I feel serenity until March, the longest month. By then I am craving light and warmth. The grayness of the days and lack of anything growing begins to nag at me. I follow cold rain eagerly, hopeful that soon there will be small sprouts and flowers pushing through the intractable ground.

Now I am settling in--awaiting the long evenings with stacks of books I want to read. Although I have far less time in winter, I seem to do most of my writing on cold, dark mornings when I am the only person awake and the tops of the trees are just beginning to be fringed by light.

Provincetown

Discovery

There are places I can return to with new discoveries each time. A weekend in Provincetown yielded horses running on the beach, a particular way the autumn sun hit the bay, an almost deserted Commercial Street in midday. It was surprisingly warm with lucky sun. Reading on the deck, walking on the quiet street, visiting with Scott at Joe's Coffee--all noble ventures. I never tire of the dunes, the rippling bay, galleries and street musicians. It's all part of the observation, the living that makes writing possible.

Kira with uke landing in Antarctica

Understanding Geography and Other New Learning

I awakened this morning thinking of my traveling daughter. When she was a freshman in high school, the subject she liked the least was geography. In the hands of a creative educator, this subject could surely come alive but she was faced with memorizing capitals and the topography of places unfamiliar. The irony is that she immerses herself in geography now, having visited most of Europe, China, remote Alaska, and living a year in New Zealand. She is presently in Antarctica. I wonder what her former teacher would think of that, having written her off as a mediocre geography student. Yet there are teachers who inspire students--my comparative literature professor in college, Glauco Cambon, who sadly died of a heart attack at 67. He made the Italian Renaissance come alive for me when previously it was just six pages in a history book. I happily immersed myself in all he recommended, encountering what is best about learning--discovery guided by someone who passionately loves the subject he is teaching. I have been lucky enough to have wonderful mentors in both my undergraduate education--Lee Jacobus and Jim Scully come to mind--and my more recent graduate education--Baron Wormser, Terrence Hayes, Laure-Anne Bosselaar Joan Connor, Barbara Hurd, and more. I know it makes a difference. I aspire to be this kind of educator--a writer who teaches, believing that the written word is a tool for change, inspiration, comfort, and just plain enjoyment. Reaching non-traditional learners is something I love because they are the non-conformists of the world. Interacting with material in a way I wouldn't have thought of, they teach me as much as I teach them. It is in this way that I remain fresh and engaged as a teacher. I know I cannot make every student enjoy poetry but I do believe I can make every student engage in one poem. One poem may lead to another poem in the same way that walking around the block may lead to walking a mile. We never lose our ability to learn and grow. My own children have taught me a great deal about wonder, risk-taking, critical thinking and engagement. The adventure can continue for a lifetime.

The Places We Go

Having writer Geraldine Mills visiting has helped me to see new things about my students, my environment, my networks. Sometimes I drive, not noticing the mesh of colors, the doe in the field, two rabbits behind a tree. My students have been inquisitive and focused. She has brought her perception, humor and unique way of being in the world to New England. For me, it provides more validation of the power of words and the world of writing. Too often, I allow life to crowd my writing time. Some of this is a bad habit--like checking email instead of writing. Geraldine speaks of writing in her car before she goes to work. I have the luxury of two mornings a week. Viewing time differently would help. Coming from scarcity crowds the small moments I could spend writing. I've learned to fill every moment and need to let time out of its cage. Time sidles up to me in parking lots, taps me on the shoulder in the early morning. So I resolve to be a good friend to my minutes and hours, nurturing each brief respite so it will stretch lazy legs and become strong. It is possible to fit a lot of creativity into a small space, necessary even.

Making Preparations

I read poetry to second graders, high school students, and college students. Today the second graders were rapt as I read a poem by Carl Sandburg and another by Lucille Clifton. We talked about the layers of a poem, internal rhyme; that subtle music. One student raised her hand and said that poems should make you feel something. Yes! I am lucky to be able to share my passion for words. Some days I feel as if I no longer have time to write--I'm rushing here and there trying to teach enthusiasm for what I love and scarcely do during this busy season. I'm making preparations for a quieter winter, snow and dark evenings where thoughts can flow freely.

Right now I'm awaiting Geraldine's visit. She has arrived from Ireland today and will come to stay with me for the week, beginning tomorrow. I know I'll recover some of the magic I felt in Ireland. When I am able to write each day, I feel balanced and energized. It's important work though it may never yield any financial reward. This is a season of reevaluation. I will look to the sky for answers.

What Weather Has to Teach Me

It began snowing while I was teaching this afternoon. That's enough to distract me, never mind a classroom of 22 teenagers! October! Snow! It began as a cold rain, that kind that makes you want to wrap yourself in a blanket and sip chai or hot chocolate. Suddenly big snowflakes pocked the ground. I can't remember a snow in October though I do remember some white Novembers.

Later I ran into an old friend and her husband; people I have not seen in a long while. Health challenges have changed their lives. I remember how I saw things differently after having cancer. The blues became cooler, reds were hot to the touch. There were nuances I had missed like the gradation of gray on the underside of a cloud. How many days have I wasted? Hours? Minutes? Always I resolve to do it differently but mostly I forget and dash around.

Let the wild snows come. I will gather in those I love most, even if from afar. I will teach acceptance--of one another, of temperature fluctuations, of the crazy way in which we blunder in relationships and in life--only to come out on the other side stunned by what we learned. Growth is a lifelong process and I hope I have "miles to go before I sleep." There is so much to teach and I am not done learning.

Holding onto Autumn and Promises of Peace

Autumn is a fickle season; the patchwork of leaves tempered by wind and rain. The storm last week scattered the leaves across my wooded yard and driveway. I want the leaves to hold on a little longer so that Geraldine can see them in their glory, painting the landscape with a riot of hue. The maples are crimson; birch is burnished gold. Yesterday we walked at Mansfield Dam; a walk I hope to be able to go on when my friend and collaborator on this collection of poetry, Geraldine Mills arrives. I want the winds to be soft as a breath so autumn will not give in so easily. It's a good quality--not giving in to pressure. I teach it to teenagers and try to practice it in my daily life. Finding my own truth is not the same as following the proported truth of others. We all have a path that makes us feel most at home, most productive.

Barack Obama won the Nobel Prize for Peace which caused some to celebrate, others to be angry because he hasn't yet proven himself. Don Williams, publisher of New Millennium Writings and an eloquent writer, said it better than I ever could but I think the gist of his writing was that Barack Obama thus far has been a unifier rather than a divider. He found a place in his administration for his chief rivals. He hosted a dinner for John McCain on the eve of his inauguration, and he invited both a gay bishop and a fundamentalist minister to his inauguration. He has made progress by coming to the table around issues of nuclear proliferation and our environmental challenges. The answers to the complex problems facing America and the world will never be solved by dividing us. The urge of some to invalidate everything he has done thus far is not useful. The Nobel Prize for Peace is an invitation to Barack Obama. It is a vote of confidence--go forward and do more. The world needs a visionary leader. America needs a president who is ethical and forthright. I believe the Nobel committee consciously cast their vote for a candidate who demonstrates unifying leadership and a vision of a more peaceful world. Will America get behind it?

Mansfield Hollow Dam

Wild Wind

The weather is unsettled today, going from thunder to balmy breezes within an hour. Now the evening chill has taken over and wind is shaking the autumn tinged leaves from the trees. Torrential rain kept me from walking this morning but I took this shot right before dusk when the weather suddenly turned mild. I'm trying to write work that matters and some days I'm not sure what is relevant in a constantly changing world. I try to teach the way I live, with eyes open and senses keen. There is much yet to discover. I love driving home under a canopy of brilliantly colored leaves. Today the branches were swaying as if to push me forward--go here. I have always liked extremes in weather because it shakes me out of complacency. I notice icicles hanging or snow swirling or today, a wild wind animating trees and strewing the ground with riotous leaf confetti.

Night in New York

New York City in Autumn

I spent a charmed weekend at the Surdna Convocation in New York City. Meeting the other fellows was inspirational....trips to Haiti, Ghana, Brazil, China to teach, learn, explore. The other fellows represented schools crossing the United States--Los Angeles, New Orleans, Washington D.C., Mississippi, Alabama... A strong dedication to students and the arts was a common thread. Sometimes it feels as if I'm in a world that has forgotten beauty. Spending a weekend with dancers, visual artists, writers, actors, and musicians--all of whom believe that education in the arts isn't an extracurricular activity but a necessity gave me new ideas and strengthened my own committment to nurturing young artists. How lucky I am to have had an opportunity to broaden my own artistic vision. Although I am not a city person, finding my inspiration in open space, mountains and seascapes, I was happy to be in the company of fellow artists. New York was bustling with life and light and the full moon and cloudless sky welcomed me home.

Early Morning

Last night the rains pummelled the roof. It reminded me of Ireland and the windy rain I often heard at night. Windows were open and the air smelled like autumn leaves. This morning I walked amid the fallen leaves, pulled prematurely from maple and oak by the rain. The light was phenomenal and only my camera can convey just how beautiful it was.

There is a winding set of stairs leading to my hilltop home. In the morning light, it seemed to stretch endlessly toward something it would never quite reach. Sometimes I feel that way when I am writing--as if I can visualize what I'm after but it is so hard to express with the limitation of language. Nevertheless, every once in a while I convey the nuance of light and seven shades of green so effortlessly displayed in front of me this morning.

Poetry, Observation, Light

I read an excerpt from James Wright to second graders today. Metaphor comes easier to young children than it does to teenagers and young adults. We learn to be concrete--just the facts. I asked them to describe what they saw on their bus ride--the leaves turning, falling, light across the road, animals. It was a joy to see their excitement about poetry. How do we lose that? I remember hating the line-by-line analysis that is so much a part of the study of poetry in high school. I like approaching a poem like I approach a painting or a piece of music--I just take it in, think about it, hang out with it for a while. If it touches me, I invite it back into my life again and again.

On my morning walk, the air was tangy and cool. I miss the wind and salt-sprayed air of Ireland. I do love the light here though--especially when it is filtering through trees just beginning to burst into color. Autumn is a time of gathering in--putting away sandals and tank tops and taking out sweaters and warm socks. I am making preparations to go into the darker space of winter.

Looking Out

Everything is changing. From startlingly cool nights, we're back to summer's moderation. Last night I heard rumbles of thunder. In my poetry class, my students picked an inanimate object and transformed it into something else--from nails to memories, their poems were original and playful. Outside there is a metamorphosis in progress. From green to the wild jewels of autumn, I witness; we all witness.

Last weekend we went to a wedding in Vermont--friends of our children. Behind the bride and groom, the green mountains just beginning to invite color. There was music, all manner of dress, frivolity and cupcakes. Last night an old friend called to share that she is blissfully in love. So change continues to wield power and love moves forward with a purposeful stride, in any weather.

Change is a way we remain fluid and creative. Our fear is the same fear we have climbing to the top of the peak where the best view awaits. We arrive winded and disheveled, heart pounding; perhaps we are thirsty and out of supplies. When we look at the stunning expanse around us, we are glad for eyes and breath and stamina.

Go outside. As Maude says in that wonderful film "Harold and Maude"--"Go out and love some more." Not just people--trees, shy animals, mushrooms (that one is for Kira), waning wildflowers, receding tides, colors, and your own possibilities.

Ups and Downs

I remember honoring the light and weather in Ireland and so I took my class outside on this most perfect of September afternoons. It didn't please everyone and there were distractions like sirens and cars whooshing by. We read Langston Hughes and Tony Hoagland under a spreading maple tree with leaves of polished green. Fall has not yet arrived. Soon it will be dark out in the late afternoon and the ground will be bare and hard. I won't take them outside again; I will have to bring the outside into the classroom, hum of the air conditioner and stiff wooden desks. Learning can happen anywhere. Distraction can happen anywhere. I remember looking out windows when I was in undergraduate college classes. Probably I could tell you everything I saw from the high window of the English building. In my graduate program, we held class in a fireplaced living room or a stone porch or outside on the lawn. Once we were even in a garage with hints of old gasoline and oil smudges on the floor. By then I had learned to listen. The words carried me away from the physical space so I was quite literally inside the images of the poem. I know I can't expect that to happen for everyone in an introductory undergraduate class. I keep trying to find an analogy they can relate to--how the movie theater falls away when you are immersed in a film. The truth is: I don't have the answers. I'm just a poet who teaches, hoping that beyond learning craft and reading good poetry, some of the magic will happen for a few of them. I know that poetry saved my life many times. We all need a lifeline from time to time. Unlikely as it may seem, words can serve that purpose--and they ask nothing in return.

Screech Owl

A screech owl's cry permeated the early evening two days ago. It was otherworldly; the cry of a predator and a living being. Yesterday during my early morning walk, I saw a fawn prancing in a field, two snakes by the side of the road and a red-tailed fox on a grassy mound. I'm wondering what meaning there is in all of this. So much of my life is spent going here, doing this. All around me, animals hunt, run, propagate.

The choices that comprise a life are complicated. We choose professions or they choose us. We choose partners or they choose us. There's a certain amount of unconsciousness that follows as we continue with our choices as if they never again need to be reflected upon or changed. Two people I know recently left long marriages for the promise of something else. A close friend is traveling to try to find his lost daughter--now a young woman he doesn't know. Hope is like breathing.

In Ireland, there was time to notice the changing light. I liked the wildness of the weather. The sea has always spoken to me, invited me to inhale deeply. It will take time to understand all these messages--the owl, the fox, the choices. I do believe that writing brings me closer to the truth.

Remembering/Time

It's easy to become caught up in life and forget to look around. My morning walks have been an essential exercise in observation. The way the light filters through the thick foliage and the glint of sunlight on the river are there each day.

I'm back to teaching and my classes are huge. I want to imbue my students with an excitement about the natural world, with dynamic lessons that will make them want to write. It isn't easy to remain centered when I'm running here and there. In Ireland, it was easy to have the time to write and to notice how light is different in the morning than it is at dusk. I remember the call of birds and the rabbits scooting across the field. The weather has been spectacular and last night there was a full moon. All of these things matter. In slowing down and really seeing, I will continue to absorb what I learned about myself, what really matters.

Life and Poetry

It is hot and sticky today--as it has been since I returned from cool and windy Ireland. I am not used to this weather and thus find myself a lot more uncomfortable than I would normally be in August. The sky, however, is a mass of interesting cloud formations. I have also noticed the abundant variety of trees in our area--maple, oak, cherry, dogwood, birch and ash. Everything is flowering; crimson and yellow flowers dot the roadsides and front yard gardens.

I am back to work this week. Meanwhile I'm thinking of how to internalize what I learned this summer so the writing continues. For every day I don't write, it takes three days to get back to the writing--Geraldine told me this and it is true. I have taken a break since I returned home, concentrating on the mundane and the important--paying bills, cleaning, renewing my contacts with friends and family. Goals were developed this summer. I hope to make them as much a part of my life as work and relationships.

I went to Ikea for the first time today--not a literary experience but certainly an interesting one. It's rather overwhelming--huge and filled with colors, textures and choices. Probably the best part of the experience was dinner at a random Italian restaurant* where I had the second best Puttanesca sauce of my life--it was subtle and redolent with flavor. Having seen the film Julia and Julie this week, I realize that I am a bit of a "foodie" though French food is way too rich for my tastes. Good food can be like music or poetry--layers of flavor that are revealed slowly. So--I will write Puttanesca this week--tangy, with undertones of saltiness, the texture of whole tomatoes, capers, onions, and Kalamata olives.

*The name of this restaurant will be revealed to anyone who asks.

Thatched House on Inishmore

Dun Aonghasa --A 3,000 year old fort on Inishmore

Reality Sets In

I had mountains of mail awaiting me. Between the post office, the grocery store, phone messages, checking in with the family, and numerous bills to be paid, I felt as if I was rudely thrust back into the world. I'm trying to keep the feeling that was so prevalent during my time in Ireland--a reverence for the natural world, music, conversation, and culture. Writing was my reason for being in Ireland and what I learned about the culture of the country, flora, people and art is more than I can begin to put into words.

I had promised postings of various pictures but slow and unpredictable internet coverage made that impossible. I will try to post some of my many experiences--in photos.

Geraldine Mills, Irish Poet and Writer

Goats on Inishmore!

Slán Go Fóill

The Last Days of an Amazing Journey in Self-Discovery and Poetry

I am so sad to leave this place. Not only have I met creative, gracious, and unique people--some of whom have become true friends, I have had more time to listen to my own writing voice. I've written steadily and in my writing, I have discovered my relationship with the land and the people of Ireland. The music festival brought me to another place with art. On one of my last days, I went to the island of Inishmore--one of the Aran Islands--and saw yet another part of Irish culture.
What is different? The food (okay, I miss big salads and blueberries), the incredible hospitality, the Guinness (yes, it really IS different there), the huge role that music plays in the lives of most people, the pace (much slower), the driving (sheep in the road and very narrow roads AND they drive on the left), the incredible green everywhere, the weather (much colder), the conservation of energy that is commonplace, turf fires even in August, scones, salmon, showers that took me a while to understand, thatched houses, wide open space, and a feeling of safety in the small towns. I felt as if I really experienced Ireland in a different way this time and I could never go back as a tourist again. Living with people, going to events in the town, listening to music in a pub--all of these things made me begin to feel the country as well as see it.
This opportunity was transformative for me. I wrote with passion, interacted with people in a new place, had other writers share and give feedback, and experienced both the stunning beauty and culture of an extraordinary country. It may take many months to fully assimilate all that I have learned.

Kilcar Beach Walk

Kilcar Echo Glen

Kilcar Echo Glen

Last night I attended Echo Glen--music played across a glen. It began with bagpipers playing. When they stopped, bagpipers across a glen played an answer. It then moved on to fiddlers which were harder to hear across the glen with the sheep, wind and occasional cars. It was a cool, clear night but the midges (like mosquitoes) were out in full force and I have the bumps to prove it! When we returned (via a bus) to town, we stopped at a pub and found musicians gathering to play. We also met a Dutch family traveling by caravan and visited with them for about an hour before walking the 1/2 mile back to our little rented homes.

I am trying to get some writing done today--it's a rainy day and there's a turf fire going in the fireplace. It's a perfect day for reading and writing. Yesterday we hiked to the beach--about 4 miles each way. It was spectacular. Tonight there is another music and dance event and we will likely attend. It will be hard to leave Kilcar on Sunday. We are heading for Galway and the Aran Islands. Kira and Jenny will stay in Galway so we will part ways at that point.

I am nearing the end of my month in Ireland. I have written a lot of poetry, two short stories and I have spent valuable time with writers--Geraldine Mills and Ted and Annie Deppe. I could not imagine a better place to be for writing and renewal!

Kilcar Fleadh/Ceardlanna Ceoil Agus Damhsa Music and Dance

This is a week of traditional Irish music and dance in Kilcar. Our lovely home here is walking distance from town. Last night there was a band and dancing in the street! After that ended around 11 pm, the band and other musicians moved to the pubs and had a jam session that lasted until the wee hours. As they say here, it was brilliant! There were numerous multi-talented musicians playing fiddle, accordian, guitar and other instruments. I lasted until about 12:30. Kira has joined us and has her friend Jenny visiting (she is working on a farm in Bantry which is quite far from here in the southern part of Ireland, Country Cork.) I worked on editing my collection in the morning and spent the afternoon and evening taking in the beautiful environment here. It is a friendly town--and the small library allows us to take out books which makes us all very happy.

The Learning Curve

A man in Golden Indian Restaurant in Kilcar told me that every place has a Bundoran. Having booked a place in Bundoren, County Donegal only to find the promised ocean view obliterated by the "Crazy Mouse" roller coaster, I thought back to my own "Bundorans". In the coastal town of New London, Connecticut, Ocean Beach Park is such a place. Beyond the boardwalk, there are frozen custard stands, arcades, and rides. But my wise Irish friend also told me that there are two Bundorans. Walking beyond the golf course, I found the fairy bridges and the path to Tullen Strand, a beach with sea caves and blue-green waves. There were surfers in multi-colored wetsuits because it never really gets too warm here. From the cheesy chip shops and arcades, there are hidden vistas and rugged cliff walks. It wasn't enough to keep me there a week, however. I have moved on to Kilcar--a sleepy little town with a music festival happening this week. My host has given us two places--one for Kira and her visiting friend Jenny (who took way too many buses all the way from a farm in County Cork) and one for us. Both have turf fires and a lovely view. It is walking distance to this town which has one of the best Indian restaurants ever. It is also close to beautiful cliff walks and historical sites. More on that later. I will post pictures when it is possible. Internet access is dear in this town. I should have plenty of time to write. I had a wonderful day on Saturday with poet Ted Deppe and his wife, the poet Annie Deppe. His help with my collection was invaluable. We also shared both lunch and dinner in their lovely new home. I feel lucky indeed to have had time to go over my work with a poet I so admire. I also made a connection with my hosts in Connemara. Their children attend a small Irish speaking school and two of them are the same age as the children in my project for second graders. I hope to find a few students willing to have some Irish pen pals. I was sad to leave the stone cottage in Carna. Barbara and Josie were grand hosts and the environment was wild and unspoiled. I hope my time in Kilcar will be similar.

The Wind

We fall asleep to the wind and we wake to the wind. Clothes can dry on the line in an hour if it isn't raining. Things I've noticed: there are no planes overhead--ever. There are no insect noises like katydid and cricket. The landscape is redolent with orange, magenta, violet, and yellow. Sheep are more abundant than people here. They graze on the side of roadways, in yards, on rocky overlooks. It is challenging to drive the narrow roads. Today I took a coastal walk by Dog Bay in Roundstone. I will post those photos when I can--it was spectacular. It was one of the best days weather-wise. It tends to be very cold and rainy most days--and even today, there was a drenching shower for a short time.

New Connections

I had a wonderful reading at the home of Geraldine Mills and Peter Moore last night. Many writers attended and I had the opportunity to hear the work of others and to read. It was so grand to meet artists from Ireland--and to share good food and wine. This fellowship has afforded me so much--a chance to have undisturbed time for writing, meet new writers, and grow as a writer. I hope to continue to be productive in creating new work in this amazing landscape.

Week of Writing

We have finished our intensive week of writing, creating much poetry for our collaborative collection. It has been both fruitful and wonderful working with a poet from another country. We have found many commonalities and I have learned more about the culture of this beautiful country. I've also learned about Irish plants, animals, and traditions. We walked on the beach daily, drank many cups of tea and hot water with lemon, ate simple meals, and shared art and thoughts. I am sad that this week is over but I look forward to more writing on my own in the coming weeks.

Carna and Surrounding Areas

The wild and unspoiled beauty of this place is unparalled. This morning we walked over stone walls to another beach. There were cows grazing nearby and lots of rabbits and gulls including one we've named "the gull of a different color" because he is dark with a dark beak. It is cool every day and we have a turf fire in the fireplace each night. We've been cooking our meals--simple fare like rice and vegetables. We have a supply of local goat cheese and our host just brought over homemade brown bread this morning. I have been productive writing-wise today. We are working on sonnets from an exercise we did by the fire last night.

Connemara

I am in the remote Connemara area of western Ireland. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) internet is very hard to come by and thus I will not be posting very often. I'm staying in a stone cottage with peeks of the sea, sheep, a friendly pony, a dog and gorse, purple vetch, woodbine, purple loosestrife, agrimony, and self-heal. Our cottage has a turf fire and a loft where I work and watch the new calf swanning around with his gold-colored mother. It has been productive for me---many new poems and stories happening. I cannot post pictures because they aren't on this computer. Just picture the most beautiful, unspoiled place you can imagine and you will have some idea of what it is like here.

More of Galway City

Today I walked around, wrote, read and generally took in the atmosphere of the lovely city of Galway. There were singers and street performers of all types. We went to an amazing performance of The Merchant of Venice tonight--an all male cast set in a prison. It worked. Tomorrow I am heading to Barna to meet with a teacher to set up some exchange of work between his class and my creative writing class. Then it is off to the Connemara area and a week writing in our cottage near the sea. My internet access will likely be very limited so I may not have a post for a while. I've been writing regularly and hope that the week will inspire much new work.

Galway and Eyre Square

I walked around Eyre Square last night, saw twirlers and dancers, dog-walkers and young couples. It rained for moments, then cleared to a brilliant blue sky and unabashed sunlight. Today is cloudy with peeks of sun. I will be going to see a Beckett play tonight and a dance performance--Circa Furiouso. These activities are a part of the Galway Arts Festival. My writer friend Geraldine Mills will meet up with me later. Right now I need to get to the business of writing; my true reason for this adventure. At my Bed and Breakfast, the internet is spotty at best upstairs so I have temporarily moved my operation to the "TV Lounge" where my hostess just brought me a cup of tea and biscuits. I could learn to like this! I'm certain that tea and biscuits will help my writing.

First Stop: Galway

I'm here! After many changes of planes, a long and sleepy bus ride through misty green hills and small towns, I arrived in Galway at the Eirann Bus Station. My writer/collaborator Geraldine Mills kindly picked me up and transported me to the Bed and Breakfast which was a very good thing because my luggage is heavy and by then it was raining. My Bed and Breakfast is called College Crest and a very nice young woman named Helena helped me to get the fickle wireless going. I took a cool to cold shower because the hot water was apparently not turned on--but it woke me up which is probably a good thing after only 2 hours of sleep last night. When the rain stops (yes, it always stops) I will force myself to walk into town knowing that it is best to get on Irish time as quickly as possible. The way to do that is to stay up and go to bed at a reasonable time. No promises. The town should be hopping with the arts festival. When we drove by the green (Eyre Square), there was a marching band. True Irish hospitality! I wish my luggage would lose some weight. I truly understand the benefits of traveling light because I didn't do it!

Where will I find the poetry in all of this? Will it be in the crowd of French schoolchildren sitting on their duffel bags in the bus terminal? Is it in the magenta blossoms in a window box I saw on my bus ride from Shannon to Galway? I can smell the sea from here; hear doors opening, traffic noises. The rain has slowed to drizzle and the sky is opening up. I will go outside and see what I can find.

Tomorrow!

Tomorrow is the day I embark on my journey. I'll be flying into Dublin, then taking another plane to Shannon and a bus to Galway where I begin my adventure. The city of Galway will be abuzz with the Galway Arts Festival, a multi-day festival of theater, literature, music and dance. I'll be attending some performances--a Beckett play, a dance performance and perhaps a Shakespeare play. Galway is a modern city with a beautiful town green--Eyre Square. Everything is centered around the town square. The city is on Galway Bay. I will post pictures as I can.

As a writer, I look forward to returning to one of my favorite places. I can already hear the sounds, and imagine myself walking to a pub to hear some local music.

Seven Days to Go!

Only seven days and counting until my adventure in Ireland! I'm dreaming of dipping hills and rocky paths leading down to the sea, pubs and lively music, the Galway Arts Festival, and Geraldine's lovely poetry and company. It's an amazing opportunity to fly out of one life and into another--a totally different reality for a month. This opportunity is precious and fleeting. Please come along with me as I embark on a journey to write a collection of poetry with Irish poet and writer Geraldine Mills. We will hike in Connemara, walk by the sea, stay in a stone cottage, and take in the natural beauty of her home country. When I return, I will bring my collection of new ideas, like shells and beach glass, to my students to shimmer and transform the classroom into a place of wonder where imagination will take hold and sing in a clear, new voice.