Pretty How Town (Kris Delmorst)

April 1 is most certainly April Fool's Day... but it is also the beginning of National Poetry Month:

Inaugurated by the Academy of American Poets in 1996, National Poetry Month is now held every April, when publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools and poets around the country band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of businesses and non-profit organizations participate through readings, festivals, book displays, workshops, and other events.

More here...

P.S. SMM here, here and here...

SONG: Pretty How Town by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK: Poem in Your Pocket: 200 Poems to Read and Carry, edited by Elaine Bleakney

POEM: How to Read a Poem: Beginner's Manual by Pamela Spiro Wagner

First, forget everything you have learned,

that poetry is difficult,

that it cannot be appreciated by the likes of you,

with your high school equivalency diploma,

your steel-tipped boots,

or your white-collar misunderstandings.

Do not assume meanings hidden from you:

the best poems mean what they say and say it.

To read poetry requires only courage

enough to leap from the edge

and trust.

Treat a poem like dirt,

humus rich and heavy from the garden.

Later it will become the fat tomatoes

and golden squash piled high upon your kitchen table.

Poetry demands surrender,

language saying what is true,

doing holy things to the ordinary.

Read just one poem a day.

Someday a book of poems may open in your hands

like a daffodil offering its cup

to the sun.

When you can name five poets

without including Bob Dylan,

when you exceed your quota

and don't even notice,

close this manual.

QUOTE: "Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary." ~ Kahlil Gibran

Garden Rose (Kris Delmhorst)

Today was Flower Communion Sunday at our UU church, and it's always been one of my favorites - since the member who usually coordinates the ritual had to work, I was called into service (no pun intended!).

Congregants were asked in advance to bring a flower of their choice, either from their own gardens or from the field or roadside - when they arrived at church, a variety of water-filled vases were arranged on a purple-cloth-covered dais in the sanctuary and each person was asked to place their own flower in the vase. Reverend Gail used The Summer Day (below) as the cornerstone of the service - she and I read other Mary Oliver selections interspersed with talks by three members sharing their "wild and precious life" stories... :-)

From the Unitarian Universalist Association website:

The Flower Communion Service is perhaps the most widely-celebrated ritual in Unitarian Universalist congregations today. Every spring, most of our churches and fellowships devote a Sunday to this festive participatory service which celebrates both the earth's beauty and humanity's oneness. Its simplicity and universality make it meaningful for children as well as adults.

The Flower communion service was created by Norbert Capek (1870-1942), who founded the Unitarian Church in Czechoslovakia. He introduced this special service to that church on June 4, 1923. For some time he had felt the need for some symbolic ritual that would bind people more closely together. The format had to be one that would not alienate any who had forsaken other religious traditions. The traditional Christian communion service with bread and wine was unacceptable to the members of his congregation because of their strong reaction against the Catholic faith. So he turned to the native beauty of their countryside for elements of a communion which would be genuine to them. This simple service was the result. It was such a success that it was held yearly just before the summer recess of the church.

The flower communion was brought to the United States in 1940 and introduced to the members of our Cambridge, Massachusetts, church by Dr. Capek's wife, Maja V. Capek. The Czech-born Maja had met Norbert Capek in New York City while he was studying for his Ph.D., and it was at her urging that Norbert left the Baptist ministry and turned to Unitarianism. The Capeks returned to Czechoslovakia in 1921 and established the dynamic liberal church in Prague; Maja Capek was ordained in 1926. It was during her tour of the United States that Maja introduced the flower communion, which had been developed in the Prague church, at the Unitarian church in Cambridge. Unfortunately, Maja was unable to return to Prague due to the outbreak of World War II, and it was not until the war was over that Norbert Capek's death in a Nazi concentration camp was revealed. From this beginning the service has spread to many of our Unitarian Universalist congregations and has been adapted along the way.

Call to Community: It is time now for us to share in the Flower Communion. I ask that as you each in turn approach the communion vase you do so quietly--reverently--with a sense of how important it is for each of us to address our world and one another with gentleness, justice and love. I ask that you select a flower--different from the one you brought--that particularly appeals to you. As you take your chosen flower--noting its particular shape and beauty--please remember to handle it carefully. It is a gift that someone else has brought to you. It represents that person's unique humanity, and therefore deserves your kindest touch. Let us share quietly in this Unitarian Universalist ritual of oneness and love.

The significance of the flower communion is that as no two flowers are alike, so no two people are alike, yet each has a contribution to make - together the different flowers form a beautiful bouquet. Our common bouquet would not be the same without the unique addition of each individual flower, and thus it is with our church community - it would not be the same without each and every one of us.

Thus this service is a statement of our community - by exchanging flowers, we show our willingness to walk together in our Search for truth, disregarding all that might divide us. Each person takes home a flower brought by someone else, thus symbolizing our shared celebration in community - this communion of sharing is essential to a free people of a free religion.

Just before he was put to death in Dachau, Dr. Capek wrote this prayer reflecting on his own life and the state of his spirit:

It is worthwhile to live and fight courageously for sacred ideals.
Oh blow ye evil winds into my body's fire; my soul you'll never unravel.
Even though disappointed a thousand times or fallen in the fight and everything would worthless seem, I have lived amidst eternity.
Be grateful, my soul, my life was worth living.
He who was pressed from all sides but remained victorious in spirit is welcomed into the choir of heroes.
He who overcame the fetters giving wing to the mind is entering into the golden age of the victorious.

More here...

To my knowledge, I've not duplicated a song/book/poem/quote in the 375+ days I've been writing this blog, but today I do so deliberately - Reverend Gail paraphrased Barbara Cooney's Miss Rumphius for her Words for All Ages in today's service and, although I used it in a post almost a year ago, it begged repeating. The story became one of my favorites when I was a preschool teacher (I always asked one of my students to bring me the tissues before I read it aloud... =*) and I forever dreamed of traveling the world and living by the sea - I continue to challenge myself and others: "what will you do to make the world more beautiful?"... and I've gifted many a friend's new baby with the book as well...

Speaking of "one wild and precious life", and following up on my blog of a few days ago, Utah Phillips died yesterday - here can be found the official obituary as provided by his family and a YouTube video from the Strawberry Folk Festival last year in which he retells the funniest story he ever heard. He will be much missed...

[Added 5/26/08: various articles over the years have mentioned the phrase "Rose Tattoo" in conjunction with Utah - I finally went googling today and came up with a definition ("the self-inflicted mythic fraternity of tramps, hobos and rare-do-wells"), the following explanation by Utah...

"Well now, what is the Rose Tattoo? I am not sure. We are not an organization. We are not a band. We are not something - yet. We are our own community, a circle of friends who go 'way back together. We have traveled and played together for years, and share a common experience on and off the trains. I guess you could say that the Rose Tattoo is made up of old friends who sing old and new songs, bring forward in our lives the lore of trains and tramps and carry a rose tattoo. There are more of us than you'll find here; how many? Nobody knows. We're scattered out all over North America. There might be one standing next to you right now."

...and this website.]

SONG: Garden Rose by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK: Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney

POEM: The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

QUOTE: "For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous. Bricks to all greenhouses! Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant!" ~ Edward Abbey

Garden Rose (Kris Delmhorst)

I had a very full weekend... my husband's out of town until tomorrow evening... I think I'm coming down with some sort of cold or flu bug... my son Eric is leaving Friday to go back to college... I'm under-rested and overwhelmed... went into work late and left early - not sure how to describe my feelings other than out of sorts... discombobulated... not quite focused? Have decided to spend about 30 minutes catching up on e-mail and then popping 3 extra-strength Tylenol and crawling between the covers - will probably take the phone off the hook to avoid interruption. The way I feel, I could very well sleep straight through until tomorrow morning - bliss...

SONG: Garden Rose by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK: New Menopausal Years, The Wise Woman Way: Alternative Approaches for Women 30-90 by Susun S. Weed

POEM: Thistles by Louise Erdrich

Under ledge, under tar, under fill

under curved blue stone of doorsteps,

under the aggregate of lakebed rock,

under loss and under hard words,

under steamrollers

under your heart,

it doesn't matter. They can live forever.

The seeds of thistles

push from nowhere, forming a rose of spikes

that spreads all summer until it

stands in a glory of

needles, blossoms, blazing

purple clubs and fists.

QUOTE: "What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Everything Is Music (Kris Delmhorst)

I am very involved with our South Florida folk and acoustic music scene (have been since February 1998, a story for another time) - one of the events we promote is a monthly songswap. The gathering is held in a member's home and is a circular sharing of music (originals and covers, solos and jams), as well as a potluck and social occasion - I've been hosting the June Open House for 6 or 7 years now. I don't sing or play an instrument but I call myself an active listener - it's a lovely time, with so many different types of music represented (folk, traditional, pop, rock, etc.) and so many instruments and voices chiming in. Feels like family and I do so look forward to the annual opening of my home and heart - 5 p.m. cannot get here soon enough!

SONG: Everything is Music by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK(S): Thank you for the Music by Jane McCafferty

The Song Reader by Lisa Tucker

POEM: Sonnet by Elizabeth Bishop

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

QUOTE: “After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.” ~ Aldous Huxley

Hurricane (Kris Delmhorst)

From Wikipedia: "The 2007 Atlantic hurricane season officially started June 1, 2007 and will last until November 30, 2007. Hurricane experts predict above-average activity (17 named storms, 9 hurricanes, 5 of Category 3 or higher). The forecast indicates a 74% chance of at least one major hurricane striking the U.S. mainland, which includes a 50% chance of at least one major hurricane strike on the East Coast of the United States including the Florida peninsula and a 49% chance of at least one major hurricane strike on the Gulf Coast of the United States from the Florida Panhandle westward."

We were very lucky last year but, considering the frequency and intensity of 2004 and 2005, it was nice to have a bit of a break - we moved here in March 1992, 4 months before Hurricane Andrew made landfall and we've certainly learned our lesson over the years regarding early preparation... which reminds me that I need to go to the grocery store this weekend and stock up on storm supplies (canned foods, Pop-Tarts, bottled water... and E-Z-CheeZe, a family tradition... :-)

I wrote the poem below on 9/5/04, in anticipation of Hurricane Frances - the storm, downgraded from a Category 4 to a Category 2, made landfall on the Atlantic coast of Florida, near Stuart, on September 5, 2004 and moved across the state dropping up to 13 inches of rain. Frances made a second Florida landfall, as a tropical storm, at St. Marks on the Panhandle on September 8 - more than 2.8 million people were evacuated, damages were estimated at $9 billion and the storm killed at least 38 people.

SONG: Hurricane by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK: Florida's Hurricane History by Jay Barnes and Steve Lyons

POEM: Prayer to St. Margarita (Be Careful What You Wish For)
She began as a twinkle in my mother’s eye
As we floated in the pool one South Florida summer day
“What this backyard needs is a statue”
And we went on a quest

We bought this house from a former Chicagoan
He called the yard his Wrigley Field
Because of the high ficus hedges
Surrounding the property on three sides

Being a literary rather than a sports enthusiast,
I dubbed it my Alice in Wonderland backyard
I could envision a door hidden by the foliage
Leading to faraway lands and magical adventures

“What this backyard needs is a statue”
And the quest began
A mermaid? A fountain? A dolphin?
A goddess… not too big, not too little, just right

We loaded her into the back of the minivan
And coerced our men to position her… a little to the center, a little to the left, just right
Nestled amidst an island of greenery
She surveyed her new kingdom from a poolside vantage point

Her eyes were comforting yet mischievous
The pitcher in her left hand dispensing imaginary well water or alcoholic concoctions
So we hot-glue-gunned a plastic margarita glass to her right fist
And the goddess was canonized

She’s witnessed a decade of baby showers and bums-by-the-pool days
She’s overheard the confessions of sleepovers and midnight Jacuzzi soaks
She’s sworn to silence of teenage birthday parties and adult couplings
Always a knowing smile, always sealed lips, never a judgment

A heavy rainstorm once upset her equilibrium
The next day found her lower half reclined on the concrete
And her upper half immersed in six feet of water
Smashing her right arm into a useless appendage

Fearing she’d never live to see another tequila sunrise
We hoisted her from the depths and began the reconstruction
Resurrecting her like the phoenix or a time-worn quarrel
Re-igniting the dispassionate fire for a hopeful future

Patroness of blender drinks and village women,
falling-star viewings and moonlight skinnydips
We balance the storms on our horizons with the calm of an eye
Our vision is clouded by history, yet clear with love

St. Margarita, deliver us from normal and lead us not into stagnation…

QUOTE: "Some of us still get all weepy when we think about the Gaia Hypothesis, the idea that earth is a big furry goddess-creature who resembles everybody's mom in that she knows what's best for us. But if you look at the historical record—Krakatoa, Mt. Vesuvius, Hurricane Charley, poison ivy, and so forth down the ages—you have to ask yourself: Whose side is she on, anyway?" ~ Barbara Ehrenreich