Yesterday, The New Yorker tweeted that Wendell Berry had died. He was 92. They featured, appropriately, his profound poem, The Loved Ones. I sent the news to a few friends. One of them is the director of MIU’s MFA in Creative Writing. We shared some favorites, and today she sent me this wonderful poem, How to Be a Poet. It’s so good I just had to post it.
Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places.
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Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.
The loved ones we call the dead depart from us and for a while are absent. And then as if called back by our love, they come near us again. They enter our dreams. We feel they have been near us when we have not thought of them. They are simply here, simply waiting while we are distracted among our obligations. At last it comes to us: They live now in the permanent world. We are the absent ones.
If you’ve ever loved and lost a favorite person, pet, or thing, this poem’s instructions may help. The last nine lines of Mary Oliver’s 36-line poem, In Blackwater Woods, instruct us on how to live in this world by being able to do three things.
In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver
Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars
of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment,
the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders
of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is
nameless now. Every year everything I have ever learned
in my lifetime leads back to this: the fires and the black river of loss whose other side
is salvation, whose meaning none of us will ever know. To live in this world
you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it
against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.
Mary Oliver’s most acclaimed volume of poetry, American Primitive contains fifty visionary poems about nature, the humanity in love, and the wilderness of America, both within our bodies and outside. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in Poetry.
Read more about America’s most beloved poet complied in this Remembrance of Mary Oliver (1935-2019) and her astonishing poetry. It contains links to articles, interviews, and poetry readings, as well as many of her favorite poems I’ve loved and posted over the years.
— Written and compiled (citing sources) by Ken Chawkin for The Uncarved Blog.
It’s funny how events that happened thirty, even forty years ago, can come back to life in your mind. Sometimes all it takes is one thing to trigger old memories. Here is an example of that one thing, one quote, one memory, that led to another, and another, which then turned into this two-part blog post on learning about and facilitating the writing process in myself and in others.
Part One
I usually sit in a mini recliner chair next to my library when I meditate. The top shelf is filled with books on poetry and writing. After a recent morning session, I pulled out a favorite—Early Morning: Remembering My Father, William Stafford by Kim Stafford. In it were a few of the thin plastic liners we used to peel off to seal and mail back DVDs in those Netflix red envelopes. They made perfect little bookmarks to highlight certain poems or quotes on writing I liked. I recognized some that ended up in blog posts on this well-known seminal poet and non-conventional writing instructor.
What a writer is
One sentence that stood out for me is on page 160 in the chapter, Priest of the Imagination, the same title of an essay William Stafford had written on his unique way of facilitating writing in students. The quote was featured on the back cover of You Must Revise Your Life highlighting his earlier compilation on the subject, Writing the Australian Crawl: Views on the Writer’s Vocation, which opens the chapter, A Way of Writing, on page 17. It epitomized Stafford’s approach to writing.
A writer is not so much someone who has something to say as he is someone who has found a process that will bring about new things he would not have thought of if he had not started to say them.
The paragraph continues: That is, he does not draw on a reservoir; instead, he engages in an activity that brings to him a whole succession of unforeseen stories, poems, essays, plays, laws, philosophies, religions, or—but wait!
A writer is not so much someone who has something to say as he is someone who has found a process that will bring about new things he would not have thought of if he had not started to say them. — William Stafford
Committing to the process
That act of submitting and committing to the process, and what unforeseen things might follow from it, reminds me of a famous quote from William H. Murray, author of The Scottish Himalayan Expedition.
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.
I found another bookmark between pages 164 & 165, and wondered what part I thought was worth quoting. I hadn’t yet, but this first of two sentences stood out to me, and is worth posting here now.
Once you decide to write in your own voice, for your own purposes, in your own way—then the act of writing is your teacher. Other writers, perhaps some in the role of “teacher,” become companions in our common search for uncommon things.
Once you decide to write in your own voice, for your own purposes, in your own way—then the act of writing is your teacher. — Kim Stafford
Kim Stafford discussed his father’s approach—asking students questions “to get at the heart, the origin, the authentic source of the student’s life in writing. … It wasn’t about texts for improvement, but about the pure beginning.”
He previously mentions a 1950s handout his father gave students, “Assumptions About Literature Classes”. He sought freedom for the private writer, but with the benefit of company. The course description lets students know there would be no pressure to write and they would not be graded. As for “Difficulty, etc.: Kim quoted the description:
The course is easy, no hazards. Minimum involvement can be very light. At an extreme of involvement, the course could become a career.
I had to laugh at the sincere understated irony of that last statement.
The practice of the writer
Kim goes on to say: “The last point is the core of my father’s teaching: start the utterly authentic life right now. We are not practicing to be writers; we are entering into the practice of the writer, revising our very lives, yielding in each moment to the vocation that demands our deepest allegiance.”
For Kim’s father, the classroom was a collaborative place where young writers could help each other with their writing by giving feedback. Further down the page he elaborates: “The class was a village honoring each student’s native discoveries, and learning occurred as a process of mutual discovery in which the teacher’s principal concern was to avoid the occupational hazard of hoarding authority.”
Recalling the quotes in Part One triggered memories of when I worked at a Sylvan Learning Center in North Vancouver, BC after I had returned to Canada in the mid-90’s. The center offered individualized tutoring with a school-aligned curriculum in Math, Reading, Writing, and Science. When it came to helping students after school with writing, instead of working with the curriculum, which included lessons on grammar, the administrator I reported to—an upbeat American woman who was familiar with the newer student-centered process approach to writing—thankfully gave me free rein due to my training and the success I was starting to have with some of the more stressed students. They were very nervous about having to write anything. So, I first set them at ease by asking them questions about their personal interests. I wanted to know what they were passionate about, what was meaningful to them.
A girl and her horse
One young girl talked about her horse, how she liked to groom and ride him. I encouraged her to write that down and to tell me more about the horse, to describe him. What color was he? Before she knew it, she had written something worthwhile. I asked her to read it aloud. When done, she smiled; it wasn’t as difficult as she had imagined it to be. She felt good about herself as a writer. This was a good beginning.
Hollywood North connection
I later remembered her mentioning that her uncle, a cameraman for The X-Files, met and fell in love with the show’s costar, Gillian Anderson, who played FBI Special Agent Dana Scully. She was like an auntie to her. One day, her uncle and Anderson walked into a North Vancouver jewelry store to pick out an engagement ring. Someone later verified it and the news was told to a local columnist. The story went viral.
Not long after I had arrived in Vancouver, a friend had taken me for a meal at The Naan, Vancouver’s well-known vegetarian restaurant. It was so popular, people would line up outside to get in. I soon realized that I was standing behind David Duchovny, aka FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder! He was there with an older lady friend for lunch. When we were seated, our table was along the same wall close to theirs. A few pretty young women walked up to David to tell him how great last week’s show was.
Which reminds me of another story I heard on the local radio station while I was there. It involved a very famous Hollywood actor who was in town making what would become a popular movie. Scroll down to the second part of this blog post to read the story and discover who it was. But I digress.
What, me worry?
I don’t remember working much with this student, but he is worth mentioning. This boy showed up wearing a T-shirt with Alfred E. Newman on the front, Mad magazine’s mascot. The crazy thing was, he looked exactly like him, with the same red wavy hair, freckled cheeks, silly grin, and protruding ears. Instead of being made fun of, he took advantage of the similarity, which made him popular. Smart move.
A boy and his bagpipes
But I do remember this one boy who was so nervous about having to write, his hands were shaking. He said he couldn’t write and really didn’t want to. With some gentle prodding I found out that he played the Scottish bagpipes. He was so good, he had been asked to play with the local college marching band on weekends! I checked with my advisor first and then asked him if he would bring his bagpipes to the next class. He did, and before the sessions started, he played for all of us. He was very good. The sound of the pipes filled the room with traditional Scottish music. Everyone was impressed and applauded. Flush with excitement and appreciation, he sat down and agreed to write about the bagpipes, a natural topic for him. When he realized he could do it, his fear began to lift; he felt more self-assured, happier.
The mystery writer
Another boy wanted to write a detective story. He was excited and highly motivated. I asked him to tell me about it. He shared some ideas, and I told him to go for it. At some point, he wanted to know how to show characters speaking to each other. I asked him if he knew what quotation marks were and how to use them. He did not. So I suggested he bring that large grammar book to the table. We looked it up and reviewed it together. He began to write dialogue. He was pleased with himself. He was learning through his own writing. This was his project and he continued with it from class to class until he felt it was finished.
A mother’s feedback
Some time later, a day was arranged for parents to meet with administrators and teachers to review their children’s progress. The mystery writer’s mother showed up and told us that her son’s grades had improved, not only in English, but also in History. (Learning how to express oneself in the written and spoken word are skills needed in most disciplines.) She added that he was more confident in class. And, he was happier at home. His public school teachers had noticed these changes in him and mentioned them to her during their parent-teacher meeting. She was very appreciative. Great feedback for a writing tutor!
The pianist
An older Asian girl was there to improve her English skills for college entrance. I asked her about her hobbies. She played classical piano. I asked her who her favorite composers were and which pieces she liked to play. She had a lot to say about that and started writing. In another session, she shared an unusual event that her grandfather had told her about when he was a young man traveling throughout China. I suggested it might make for an interesting story and asked questions for more details, which she willingly wrote down. In both cases, when questions about vocabulary or grammar came up, we resolved them together. She reworked her drafts. They turned out to be excellent pieces of writing. Even the other teachers were impressed with her growing language fluency and skill as a writer.
Taking care of the writer
In each case, I asked questions to draw out more information, to provide more details. When they said something interesting, I suggested they write it down, and then continue. Like this, they lost their fear of writing, because they were free to share what they were passionate about, to tell their own story. Once they had an initial draft on paper, I had them read it out loud to the rest of us at the table. Some liked it. Some had questions for further clarification. As listeners and readers, they instinctively knew what to do. They revised and improved their written drafts—something they were motivated to do. They were finding their own voice as a writer with something to say that was unique to them. Surprised, they ended up with a piece of writing they felt good about.
They were finding their own voice as a writer with something to say that was unique to them. — Ken Chawkin
Satisfied, it confirmed for me what the leading researcher and teacher of writing in school, Donald Graves, had said about the profession: “If you take care of the writer, the writing will take care of itself.”
If you take care of the writer, the writing will take care of itself. — Donald Graves
William Stafford (January 17, 1914 – August 28, 1993) was a poet, a lifelong pacifist, and National Book Award winner. He was a conscientious objector during World War II, and taught at Lewis & Clark College for decades. He was also a Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress, now called, Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry. He later served as Oregon’s Poet Laureate for many years.
William Stafford rose very early every morning while it was still dark out, made himself a cup of coffee, reclined on the couch, and wrote in his journal before anyone was awake. He cultured this habit while working in public service camps for COs during WWII and continued the practice throughout his life. He wrote at least one poem a day, along with letters to friends, submissions, and other correspondence.
Towards the end of putting this post together, I came across a program celebrating the 100th anniversary of his birth. In the January 16, 2014 OPB Oregon Art Beat Special, Discovering William Stafford, (Season 15, Episode 8), Oregon’s beloved poet laureate describes how he captures and expresses life in words. “I have an appetite for finding that perfect fit of language with the experience of life as you’re having it right now. Every now and then you can break off a piece of that and call it a poem.” How did he do this? He lowered his standards and kept going—what he told his students to do when they said they couldn’t write a poem a day.
Also available on Iowa PBS, Discovering William Stafford is a wonderful short biography featuring many voices, some well-known, like Garrison Keillor, who, in the promo, says something surprising, yet so true: “The basis, I think, for loving Stafford, is that you read him and you feel that you and he are friends.” He opens the program reading Once in the 40’s. Throughout the show, writers and artists take turns reading Stafford poems. One that had introduced him to me and got me hooked, was When I Met My Muse. Stafford’s son Kim and daughter Barbara, and the others, conclude the show alternately reciting lines from The Way It Is—a most appropriate way to remember and honor this much-loved, unassuming, compassionate, creative soul.
If you made it this far, I’ll leave you with this final thought I had as I’ve been rereading, remembering, adding, and revising what I wrote. I’m reminded of the difference a good teacher can make in a student’s life. My grade six teacher did for me. Maybe there was one who did for you. Teachers who enter the profession generally aspire to make a difference in their students’ lives. I remember reading a book about it that you may also enjoy: An Apple for My Teacher: Twelve Writers Tell about Teachers Who Made All the Difference. Bye for now. Keep writing and rewriting. 😉
— Written and compiled (citing sources) by Ken Chawkin for The Uncarved Blog.
Two and a half years ago, I heard that Jeff Beck had died unexpectedly. It sent shockwaves throughout the music world as the media reported the news to fans everywhere. Not knowing that much about his career since the early days, I checked out those reports, went to YouTube to look for his music, and discovered so many riches. Equally at home in different musical genres, this amazing, innovative musician had his own unique style of playing that defied categorization. Jeff was in a class by himself. I shared what I had discovered as a way to appreciate and honor the man: The virtuosity and versatility of Jeff Beck was unique among rock guitarists. One of the best!
From L-R: Jeff Beck, Vinnie Colaiuta, Tal Wilkenfeld, Jason Rebello
I really enjoyed Jeff Beck – Performing This Week… Live at Ronnie Scott’s, with its many outstanding performances, including special guest artists. Accompanying Jeff on guitar were Vinnie Colaiuta on drums, Tal Wilkenfeld on bass guitar, and Jason Rebello on keyboards. Amazing musicians in their own right, they produced an exciting cohesive sound. The joy they shared making great music together was self-evident and the audience responded in kind. Surprise guests included Joss Stone, Imogen Heap, and Eric Clapton. One highlight was Jeff using a glass bottleneck slide to delicately tap out high notes at the lowest position on the strings towards the conclusion (4:23) of Angel (Footsteps), which drew a standing ovation from the audience, and a satisfied smile from Jeff. Beck was interviewed on the success of the 5-night run at Ronnie Scott’s. He talked about each musician and every song on the set list. The show was edited into a 1-hour program for broadcast on the BBC.
But I keep coming back to three sublime pieces from that one-week residency in November 2007 at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club in London: Stevie Wonder’s Cause We’ve Ended As Lovers* featuring Tal’s impressive bass solo after which we see Jeff proudly saying “I’m not going to play anymore,” Imogen Heap singing and riffing her way through a jazzy-bluesy performance of her song Blanket with Jeff contributing two short sublime solos, and Jeff concluding the night with the hauntingly beautiful Where Were You.
*Also see them play that piece at Eric Clapton’s Crossroads Guitar Festival in Chicago Southland July 2007 featuring Tal’s bass solo and Beck repeating his enthusiastic response to her playing, only this time without a break in continuity.
Mary Oliver went Swimming, One Day in August, to deepen and quiet her spirit, then wrote about it. The poem was published in RED BIRD (2008) and posted @maryoliverofficial Instagram with other wonderful poems. It is a perfect metaphor for transcendence and renewal. We may not be able to swim in the sea, but we can dive daily into our own consciousness with our TM practice to experience “the deepening and quieting of the spirit,” then come out refreshed to take on the day.
Swimming, One Day in August
It is time now, I said, for the deepening and quieting of the spirit among the flux of happenings.
Something had pestered me so much I thought my heart would break. I mean, the mechanical part.
I went down in the afternoon to the sea which held me, until I grew easy.
About tomorrow, who knows anything. Except that it will be time, again, for the deepening and quieting of the spirit.
Publisher Beacon Press on Red Bird
“Red bird came all winter / firing up the landscape / as nothing else could.” So begins Mary Oliver’s twelfth book of poetry, and the image of that fiery bird stays with the reader, appearing in unexpected forms and guises until, in a postscript, he explains himself: “For truly the body needs / a song, a spirit, a soul. And no less, to make this work, / the soul has need of a body, / and I am both of the earth and I am of the inexplicable / beauty of heaven / where I fly so easily, so welcome, yes, / and this is why I have been sent, to teach this to your heart.” — Taken from Mary Oliver’s publisher Beacon Press on Red Bird.
See this remembrance of Mary Oliver (1935-2019) and her astonishing poetry, with links to articles, interviews, and readings, as well as more of her favorite poems I’ve loved and posted over the years.
— Written and compiled (citing sources) by Ken Chawkin for The Uncarved Blog.
These days we are constantly bombarded with social media and advertising messages on our portable devices. Life has become a lot more complicated than in the past. This short poem by Wu-Men reminds us to take time to notice the simple pleasures that each season brings. And with a peaceful mind we can enjoy our best life.
I first discovered this text as one of a four-book compilation by Paul Reps and Nyogen Senzaki in Zen Flesh, Zen Bones: A Collection of Zen and Pre-Zen Writings, published by Tuttle in 1957. I had bought a paperback copy of the 1961 Doubleday Anchor Book from a Montreal used book store in 1967 and carried it around with me.
That summer, I had an awakening experience, and those contradictory koans I read somehow made sense. I had become a seeker and learned Transcendental Meditation (TM) on September 30, 1967, three weeks after Maharishi had visited Expo 67 to speak at the Youth Pavilion. This was during Canada’s Centennial Year and what was considered to be one of the most successful World’s Fairs of the 20th century.
When the school year started, I set up a SIMS club—a chapter of the Students International Meditation Society—then arranged for and publicized a TM Introductory Lecture on the Loyola College campus. Other new meditators had done the same at McGill University, and Sir George Williams University, which, with Loyola, would later become Concordia University.
Many hundreds of students learned TM that school year in Montreal, and some of us would go on to become TM teachers. The same situation occurred in cities across Canada and the United States. It was an exciting time, especially when the Beatles had learned TM and went to Rishikesh, India to study with Maharishi. “Dear Prudence” Farrow Bruns was on that course, along with Beach Boy Mike Love and Donovan. From June 10-14, 1968, I joined other meditators to study with Maharishi at Lake Louise.
I never imagined that posting a little poem by Zen master Wu-men would awaken memories of reading Zen Flesh, Zen Bones, and learning to meditate all those years ago. TM continues to help me live a better life.
Also enjoy reading the fine poetry of Ryōkan, another Zen master.
Stephen Mitchell later translated and read Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu (The Book of The Way). I first enjoyed reading The Way of Life According to Laotzu translated by Witter Bynner. George Harrison was inspired to write “The Inner Light” based on Chapter 47 of this ancient text. It was first released March 15, 1968 by the Beatles as a B-side to “Lady Madonna”.
— Written and compiled (citing sources) by Ken Chawkin for The Uncarved Blog.
This simple yet profound little poem seems to indicate that Mary Oliver was in a very good place when she wrote and published it later in life.
Everything That Was Broken by Mary Oliver
Everything that was broken has forgotten its brokenness. I live now in a sky-house, through every window the sun. Also your presence. Our touching, our stories. Earthly and holy both. How can this be, but it is. Every day has something in it whose name is forever.
Felicity: Poems (Penguin Books, 2015, 2017)
Mary Oliver eventually overcame her damaged psyche. She found love, creatively expressed her deep appreciation of nature, and manifested her destiny as a great, beloved poet. Her poetry inspired, instructed. Brokenness transformed into wholeness. She lived a fulfilled life.
Devoted fans forget their brokenness when they read Mary Oliver’s transformational poetry. It heals. See a related love poem, Coming Home.
“Yes, I was the brilliance floating over the snow and I was the song in the summer leaves, but this was only the first trick I had hold of among my other mythologies, for I also knew obedience: bringing sticks to the nest, food to the young, kisses to my bride.
But don’t stop there, stay with me: listen.
If I was the song that entered your heart then I was the music of your heart, that you wanted and needed, and thus wilderness bloomed there, with all its followers: gardeners, lovers, people who weep for the death of rivers.
And this was my true task, to be the music of the body. Do you understand? for truly the body needs a song, a spirit, a soul. And no less, to make this work, the soul has need of a body, and I am both of the earth and I am of the inexplicable beauty of heaven where I fly so easily, so welcome, yes, and this is why I have been sent, to teach this to your heart.”
But before she read the poem, Lisa told the audience she was “taking a tiny bit of poetic license tonight, changing two letters, and I’m gonna call it, Red Bird Explains Herself.”
Even though Mary’s muse, Mother Nature, epitomized as the Red Bird, inspired and informed her, Mary’s poetry did that for us. She is our Red Bird, the song that entered our hearts with the beauty of heaven—a living testament to her life here on Earth.
Bill Reichblum, literary executor of the Mary Oliver Estate, spoke first 1:13, followed by Lindsay Whalen 7:00, Secretary Hillary Rodham Clinton 11:55, Maria Shriver 18:11, Coleman Barks 28:04, Lisa Starr 33:05, Eve Ensler 50:30, John Waters 58:10, and Mary Oliver 1:04:43, from a recording of her 2012 reading of Wild Geese at the 92nd Street Y.
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