The Otram Slabess group currently consists of Warren Slesinger, Quitman Marshall, Teresa Bruce, Steve Johnson, Karen Peluso, and myself–Jacquelyn Markham.  You can read more about this event and the group  in the The Lowcountry Weekly which begins with an invitation to ”Celebrate National Poetry Month with the Otram Slabess Group at the Charles Street Gallery’s third annual International Poetry Reading.”  It continues “Readers include a poet laureate of the state, Warren Slesinger, and other Otram Slabess members. The group takes its name from a 13th-century Persian poet who believed poetry could cause ‘great effects in the order of the world.’ Each poet will contribute a cherished poem or two from the wide world of acknowledged masters and original work.”

              Another way  to think of this International theme is to think of the relationship between the writer and his or her world, what Denise  Levertov has called The Poet in the World in her essay and book of the same title.  She believed in the “mutual reinforcement of the meditative and the active,” her idea of  “political commitment.” As I see it, our words belong in the world, they are not for our eyes alone.  Yet, this coming out into the world with our words is not to be taken lightly. Levertov explains, “when words penetrate deep into us they change the chemistry of the soul” (114). 

            What do you think about the words changing the “chemistry of the soul?” What are some of the words you hope will “cause great effects …in the world”? 

 

April is National Poetry Month!

Irises

take me home
 where canals flow
between iris-banks
H.D.
           

            I peer into this iris mother
            center deep with violet
            down to succulent stem    entrance
            to earth    nourishment    blue perfume
            floats to summer days  
                           Michigan cool

            iris bed     lily of the valley sweetness
            shadows on the north side of the house
            years’ old mountain of forsythia bush  lush
            under the secret dome of branches
            yellow flowerets   light interiors of spring
            changed now to a summer cave of moss
            black earth and silence    for a child alone

            where were they all?  the children?
            taking naps?  at school?  leaving only you and me
                                    you left me to myself
            in my haven   feeling you there
                        from window looking out
            buffalo grass my pillow    thick and cold
            only one white jet stream cutting
                        azure sky in an entire afternoon

            a clatter of plates would wake me
            kitchen bright and steaming
            reaching out    I would come to you
            lily of the valley bouquet       an offering     
                        damp fragrance of irises in my hair

                                                                   Jacquelyn Markham
 

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The first wolverine spotted in Michigan in two hundred years 

Today, instead of worrying about the mortgage and the stock market, would it be a good idea to do something toward preserving or reclaiming heritage?

It could be as simple as dialing up one of the elders of the family and asking about a generation before her or him and jotting a few notes down to be explored further on another day.  It could be a request for a recipe or a photograph that few family members have seen.  It could be taking a trip to a historic museum or the history archives to really escape the worries of today. You may be the one to preserve a language or a way of life as here in the Sea Islands where the Gullah language and culture are now recognized as treasures to be preserved. You may do something to preserve a part of our earth as the earth and its creatures are our heritage too.

Of the many endangered species, the American Wolverine came to my mind today because I remember learning about the small mammal as a child in Michigan, which is nicknamed the “Wolverine” state.

What has become of the American Wolverine?  Our heritage?  It is endangered!  In 2004, a wildlife biologist, Arnie Karr, spotted the first wolverine in Michigan in 200 years!  And it wasn’t in the upper peninsula either. The wolverine was spotted just 90 miles north of Detroit.

Here’s the story: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/4374309/#storyContinued

Endangered Earth, (the Summer 2008 newsletter for Center for Bilogical Diversity), gives an update on the species.  Though it is in “grave danger,” it has been denied protection south of the U.S. Canadian border. Earthjustice is suing the current administration on behalf of the wolverine.  The wolverine is part of our heritage, my heritage, since I claim Michigan as my birthplace. How can I help to preserve it?  I can tell you and you can join me in a campaign to preserve heritage in all of its forms.

Learn more at www.BiologicalDiversity.org

Stock markets go up and stock markets go down, but our heritage, once lost, can not be regained. 

Stan’s homemade bread and Grandma’s wooden spoon

The doorbell woke me this morning after a sleepless night.

I began jangled, but I centered myself on the morning’s pleasures: fresh orange juice in a cut glass goblet, toast from Rosemary bread made by my love, a dollop of yogurt in a rose-colored cup from Portugal, a marigold and zinnia from my summer garden in a tiny vase, my cats romping in the almost cool morning, a deep purple morning glory winding ’round the okra that needs to be pulled, a chickadee in the zinnias. 

Let the phones ring! I won’t hear them.  It’s only noon and the phones have been ringing nonstop.  I just turned them off.  I won’t let the frantic Monday atmosphere throw off my balance. It’s Autumn Equinox after all: the day of perfect balance.

The geese fly overhead–low.  I see them in their beautiful pattern of flight.  I hear their triumphant cries. I feel their joie de vivre!  They worry not, but take flight and look down at the world from the skies.

Joy: fresh organge juice in a cut glass and a poem to celebrate the return of the geese.

The Geese Have Come Back

The geese have come back

to the dark pond beyond the kitchen window

since then

my heart opened

my body pushed out of the cocoon

The geese have come back

to the sun filled tidal creek

across the road

since then

my rhythms ebb and flow

with wingbeat and primal sounds

Sometimes they wake me with their triumphant cries

Sometimes they give me rest

The geese have come back

Now, I return to myself

            Jacquelyn Markham

            September 22, 2008

Joyful Equinox!

The circle turns and Autumn Equinox is here. 

Whether the season brings autumn leaves, more rain, darker nights, or a bountiful harvest, it signifies that shorter days and longer nights are before us. On this powerful day when the sun crosses the plane of the earth’s equator and day and night are equal, I will focus on balance in my life, which means to me, more joy.  

We hear of so much sadness and we experience so much stress in today’s world.  Tainted food and formula, failing economy, violence, health issues, mortgages, hurricanes, gas prices, unemployment–stop, let’s focus on more joy!

The question I want to ask of you is what simple pleasures in your life bring you joy?
Who brings joy to you when the world is mad outside the window?  Can you envision a world with more joy?

What will you do to bring more balance and joy to yourselves in the months ahead? 

You can begin by visiting the website of one of my favorite free spirits, Joy Harjo at www.joyharjo.com.
EnJOY!

Jacquelyn

I am almost finished with my book and its current title is Peering Into The Iris: An Ancestral Journey.  It has all been a journey–the writing of it, the collecting of it, and now the desktop publishing part of the book.  Oh dear! More computering.  With so much work on the computer and at the desk, the wonderful world of herbs,  in the garden, in the teapot, and on my neck and temples has come to my rescue.  So, I have decided to link one of my favorite businesses to my website:  Mountain Rose Herbs!  Oh, they are delightful! 

I hope you will visit and click into their website from here (after you leave me a comment, of course).  As an affiliate, I will benefit from the sales and then, I can keep my blog afloat and continue to share my paintings and poetry with all.  The banners and link to their site should be up and available in a few days.  Come back to see.  While you are here, please take some time to explore my website and look at my book cover and other surprises. Our desire for creative expression sometimes means we have to work diligently.  Add that to the weak economy when most of us have to work harder to live well and we are under more stress.  This is a reminder to remember your herbs! Remember to sip a wonderful cup of herbal tea for a restful sleep and a moment of enlightenment and relaxation.

Tell me about your favorite herbs in your garden, your teapot, and on your temples!Lemon balm will make a headache vanish! Lavender oil on my temples gives me restful sleep.  Rose oil takes me to heaven and the pungent Rosemary picks me up.

TO POST A COMMENT: Scroll on down below this poem, click COMMENTS, then POST A COMMENT.  It’s easier than it seems. I look forward to hearing from you!

Here’s a poem from Peering Into The Iris: An Ancestral Journey.  I hope you enjoy it.

Today This Jar of Pickles Is My Poem
I struggle with domesticity
as I sterilize jars, clear
pack fresh cucumbers, garlic
sharp smelling dill
breathe steaming vinegar
vapor that unclouds the brain
Lids bounce in boiling water
I fish for one and quickly seal
each jar, this could be a poem
each jar, this a painting
each jar, I question
and justify
An early April morning I worked in the dirt
shoveled compost cursed flies
 organic clumps on my heavy boots
I imagined lavender blooms turning eggplant purple
Later, I shaped mounds to protect tender roots
planted tiny dill seeds and the rains came
planted dill and they came again
planted dill that flourished
I bordered the plot with marigolds
giants, yellow and orange
basil and sage
I penciled plans
hammered stakes     ran strings to mark my rows
hoed a long pain into my spine
On gray winter days
sculptures in glass on my shelf
green peppers and cayennes twist in to form
zucchinis and crookneck yellows
wind, curve around each other
speckled beans, mosaics
I take down jar after jar
chill or heat the colors
shapes, lines
patterns that turn to food and are eaten
                                                      Jacquelyn Markham 

May your garden be fruitful!

Jacquelyn  

I have explored my identity through my heritage, especially through my mother, my grandmother and beyond—to ancestors I never really knew—but could only imagine.
Exploring heritage, for me, eventually reached further—to myth and legends of feminine strength and spirit, and remembering my foremothers. 
“Remembering” infuses all of my creative work—poetry, prose, and
visual art—because I believe that reconnecting with our past helps us see and know ourselves in the present.
This reading, the project, is deeply spiritual in so many ways:  I read my work in reverence to my ancestors, I call attention to Women’s History Month, I read at the Penn Center, and I gather my writings into a book and CD (partially funded by a community arts grant).

Today is Vernal Equinox and I am undergoing a rebirth.  I planted a row of Cherokee Trail of Tears beans (Heritage seeds) as the sun went down and the full moon rose.  (The gnats biting viciously!) 

 I am exhuming work from dusty boxes and I’m revising and writing anew.  I’m looking at major themes in a new way. My focus on “Exploring Heritage” continues as I expand my writing to music and art.  I am not a composer, but I compose melodies to grandmothers and imagined ancestors.  I play my flute from the heart.  “Legacy Collages” come together from layering of art, photos, poetry, and heirlooms. 

All comes together in this new book: Peering Into the Iris. 

Painting: “Irises,” 22 x 34, watercolor on Arches paper, copyright 2008, Jacquelyn Markham

Another calendar year passes; another cycle of the seasons as the light returns with each day.  January 22 is a winter full moon and so the cycle continues!

So many new and exciting happenings in my life have occurred! I dedicated December to friends and family as so many do.  Isn’t that a wonderful tradition? It’s very rewarding when one finally learns to let go of the pressures and enjoy the present with good food, warmth, holiday lights, and flickering candles shared with those you care for and have known forever or with new acquaintances.

Some good news: I have been awarded a modest grant from the local arts council to compile my 20 plus years of poetry and to record a CD of combined spoken word spiced up with my flute solos! Isn’t that lovely?  Now, to find the time… I will focus on poems exploring heritage, stories of my ancestors–real and imagined, based on an early collection: China Baby.

Always at this turn of the wheel we meditate, contemplate on our lives.  Some make resolutions; others do not.  We tend to mark changes by holidays, special occasions, birthdays, but really, life is a continuum.  And, I find, when I experience life as a continuum, I feel less frantic, less concerned about the passing of years, the passing of time. 

Still, a life unexamined is, a life unlived and I do reflect upon life’s experiences, calling them back: “rewind.” My life, my mother’s, her mother’s and beyond…

Here’s a poem from the collection.  I hope you enjoy.

Painting: “Full Moon in Winter,” Acrylic on canvas panel, 9 x 12, copyright 2007, Jacquelyn Markham .

Photo: “China Baby,” b & w, taken and developed in the old way by, copyright 2000, J. Markham.

China Baby 

The rotten egg smell of paper mills excited me,   

Manistee and Grandma’s house. 

After Grandma’s marshmallow skin hug 

came the china baby in a peanut shell, tied with a ribbon,  

untouchable in the china cabinet till Grandma brought it down. 

In later years, I remember her in a dining room spread with yellow light 

oak table piled with newspapers, post cards, and anything too good to throw away. 

She said rosaries and read Polish prayers, Piesni Postne for the poor. 

I heard when she was young, she washed and stretched

other people’s lace curtains, ironed organdy dresses for children not her own,

and stemmed black cherries at the canning factory. 

No one talked about what happened to Grandpa 

who left her and six children without a word. 

She must have searched in every stranger’s face 

for the features in that oval portrait 

hanging in the closed off room upstairs. 

They sold her house to pay the bills of dying, 

belongings sorted like a tug-of-war. 

Mother said what’s the use. After grandma’s routine caretaking, 

no one puts flowers on her grave. 

Now, the china baby is in my china cabinet 

and my sister’s child peeks in with envious eyes. 

                  Jacquelyn Markham©2007                     

…I want to place myself in these years
between womb, afloat
and space shuttles
when women walk in space
Experiences pile up
I call them back
rewind, looking for continuity
pulling in–uuncertain alliances
false moves and happenstance
deflated dreams
time before memory–
pulling them all
suspended molecules
returning to gravity
parts of my brain, dovetailed
tangible puzzle pieces
yin and yang cut from wood
glued
filled with wood putty
sanded, finished
a complete circle
fissure unseen

Now, as the sun slips from the coral sky
I stack logs split through the center

(“October” by Jacquelyn Markham, first published in The South Florida Poetry Review)

Greetings all!

“October,” the poem, speaks of another time and another landscape with pecans and a cooler climate.  ”River and Marshes,” the painting, now reflects my landscape.  Instead of Pecans dropping “plunk,” acorns from the Live Oaks drop here and there on the wood deck and the marsh grasses transform to a golden hue whose beauty is beyond belief! I made an attempt to paint the scene en plein air  (my favorite thing to do!) as you see in the painting. 

I do “want to place myself in these years” even now. Photographs of the past seem to drop out of books.  Old address books work their way from the bottom of a drawer and fall open to a page that bears the name of a person who once featured greatly in our lives, but now we no longer see or hear from.  A framed photograph of an ancestor falls from the shelf.  A glimpse of ourselves in the mirror reminds us that yes, changes have occurred in the body as well as in the spirit and mind.  This time of year as the days darken until Winter Solstice is a time for reflection and deep thought–a time for “looking for continuity.”  “The opportunity of life is very precious and it moves very quickly,” says Dhyani Ywahoo in Voices of Our Ancestors. 

Have you ever noticed how at this time of year you begin to think of your grandmother, your once close friend, your childhood?  The outer world is ever busier as schools begin and the days cool, but the inner world picks up too.  You really want to just sit and meditate, but it’s soccer, light bills, and school clothes that take precedence! Z Budapest says in Grandmother Time, “In October, this other world [of the dead] comes very close to the world of the living.”  Spooks, masquerades, and trick or treating aside, I hope to honor my own deep reflective time and the visions and messages from the ancestors that may come to me and illuminate the “continuity” that eludes my ordinary self rushing to and fro.  I want to pull in those experiences and connect them to my life as it is today–to see the wholeness.  I wish the same for you. 

Jacquelyn

Summer, gardens, family reunions, and teaching–all add up to quiet blog time.  I returned from a long, long road trip late last night (about 2,000 plus driving miles) to find this email below from my dear friend, Lori, who like me, has moved many times.

It is timely.  My first act this morning–peer out the window at my garden.  The second: a cup of coffee.  The third: a trip with a wooden bowl and a knife to gather my goodies, one of them a beautiful eggplant.  Here’s the email from Lori: 

Hi Jackie,

I just spent the past hour tearing up my house in search of your poem about growing eggplants. Alas, too many moves … it is in hiding, I am afraid.

Can you help an old friend and forward a copy to me? It is one of your most memorable for me. Many thanks and blessings to you – Lori