One Small Corner

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One Small Corner  with its subtitle, A Kingsbrae Chronicle, is now available at CreateSpace. It will also be available online at Amazon in a very short time.

One Small Corner consists of 102 pages. The poems were written at Kingsbrae during the June 2017 residency of the KIRA program (Kingsbrae International Residency for Artists).

My thanks and best wishes go out to all (too many to name individually) who helped me to write and publish these Kingsbrae poems. The three standing stones in the above photo were unveiled on June 21 to coincide with the summer solstice. They resonate for me with all the history of the standing — and Gorsedd — stones that occur throughout Wales (and Ireland and the rest of the British Isles) and are exemplified in Stonehenge (3,500 BCE).IMG_0067

One Small Corner has several linked meanings. In the above photo, taken by Carlos Carty (thanks, Carlos), I am writing in the one small corner of my room, so thoughtfully provided with a desk and a view out over Minister’s Island and Passamaquoddy Bay. One Small Corner also refers to the KIRA Residence itself, to the Kingsbrae Gardens with their multiple small and delightful corners, to Jarea and Holt’s Point, to the delightful sea-side town of St. Andrews, and to the Sunbury Shore region of New Brunswick. A more personal meaning is that of the one small corner within ourselves from which we write and create.

Identity: Wednesday Workshop

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Identity
Wednesday Workshop

5 July 2017

Today’s workshop settles on the question of identity, loss of identity, and the attempt to recover any form of cultural identity that one feels one has lost. These questions are particularly important in the current age when so many differences are so easily erased. Language, culture, identity, music … they are all tied closely together.

The search for identity runs parallel to the search for the poetic voice (or the writing voice) that is so unique to each good writer. In fact, one can distinguish between good writers and lesser writers merely on the basis of voice. Lesser writers rarely establish a distinct voice while good writers usually have voices that are uniquely their own.

What to do we mean by voice? When we read Shakespeare or Miguel de Cervantes we know almost immediately whose work we are reading. The same is true of the great musicians. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Mahler, all have sequences and styles that are individual to them, as do Scarlatti, Brassens, The Beatles, Gordon Lightfoot, Gilles Vigneault, Edith Butler … their style, their voice is established. We listen to them and we know who they are.

Cultural identity is also very important. It is tied into language, childhood beliefs, fairy tales, myths, the basic culture that we receive as children. When we all listen to the same radio stations, or download the same ITunes, or watch the same TV programs with their infinity of ad nauseam advertisements, then we are socially engineered to be the same or, if not the same, remarkably similar within a series of very limited and extremely limiting patterns. When we establish our own identities, — and this is always difficult both for people who have had their culture taken from them and for immigrants, or the children of immigrants, who want to retain their culture at the same time as they blend in and fit in socially — then at the same time we develop our own voices.

When I hear the poetry of Lorca, of Antonio Machado, of Miguel de Unamuno, of Octavio Paz, of Dylan Thomas, of Gerard Manley Hopkins, of Wilfred Owen, I hear their very distinctive voices and recognize their individual styles and the cultural / poetic identities that they have established. The goal that we, as writers, are aiming for is to establish our own style, our own voice. To do this, we must listen to ourselves and discover how we think and how we feel. Then we must listen to others of our own generation. We must make comparisons and establish what we do differently, why we are different, what forms our differences … our own individual voice may come from speech rhythms, from language usage, from the establishment of a certain form of narrative, from the use of imagery or metaphor … there are so many different ways in which we are, each of us, different … or capable of being perceived as different.

When we write often enough and frequently enough, we at last begin to recognize those words, those phrases, those rhythms, those ideas, that are ours and nobody else’s. This is when we start to discover our own voices and our own personalities. It is a goal worth striving for … step by step … poco a poco … little by little … and a step forward everyday … until we grow into the type of writer or poet, fully established (or establishing), that we were always meant to be.

It is never easy to capture oneself and place oneself on the page in readable form. It’s a bit like trying to draw Picasso’s blue vase using only one blue pencil: not easy. It’s much easier to take a selfie with a flashy cell-phone.  Cell-phone selfies are easy, but verbal selfies are what we are seeking for. They take much longer to ‘produce’ and it is only when we finally achieve them, that we realize how difficult they are to actually achieve. But remember, read and re-read my earlier postings: don’t give up; don’t get off the bus!

 

Exhausted

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Exhausted

     To all my blogging friends and partners: an apology. I did not realize how much the arts residency at Kingsbrae was taking out of me. Up at 5:30 -6:00 am. Two hours writing before breakfast at 8:00 am. More writing between 9:00 and 12:00 noon. Lunch with artists. An afternoon driving, parking, writing, sitting by the beach, making notes …

     Back to the KIRA residence for 5:30 pm. A drop of wine before supper at 6:00 pm. Discussions, delightful, de sobremesa, over the supper table. Withdrawal to the drawing room for more discussions between 7:30 and 9:00 or 10:00pm. More writing between 10:00 and midnight. An occasional fire alarm. Some broken sleep, Perchance a dream or two. Then up at 5:30 – 6:00 am to start the day again.

    I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I finished the first draft of One Small Corner, put it up on CreateSpace, and started to relax. I have done virtually nothing for nearly a week. I have slept, eight to ten hours a night. I have taken an afternoon siesta of two hours or so. My thoughts no longer function. My words no longer rhyme. This is the first time in five days that I have managed to write a post for my blog.

     I have been thinking of you all. I have tried to get online and check in and read your blogs. I have missed you all. But there is only so much a human being can do … and yes, I have hit a wall. I have driven into it at full speed. The writing and reading and talking tanks are empty and I must, and will, refill them.

     Bear with me. I will be back. Best wishes to all. Do not forget me