haikus from a year ago

I promised Prajna about a year ago I would share with her the haikus I wrote while walking around Eden Hall Farm last fall. It's taken me a year, sadly, to get them typed for her. I thought I would share them here, my own personal auditorium, because haikus are an interesting artform that have more to them than mere line breaks and syllable count. I'm not very good at them, but they are fun and can sometimes get out something we are burying, which is true I feel for most writing forms. As I am in perhaps not a writers block but a lifestyle block where I cannot seem to allow myself time to sit and write, perhaps in fear of what may or may not come out, it is good to go back and look at where I was a year ago. Looks like I was in about the same place, all things considered. Here they are:



Haikus inspired by a solitary walk in the woods near Eden Hall Farm. Autumn, '08.


Carolyne Whelan

whelan.writes@gmail.com




But what if I

don't want to head into

this wilderness



Life my bare belly

high into an unheard

ocean of a scream?



I yell at traffic

throw rocks at it, shout it

straight into phone poles.



My hat pulled over

my eyes still does nothing

to block the blaze.
*



Navigating trails

back to the farm, I hear

footsteps – everywhere.



Twigs crack under

the bruise of my bootstep, but

another prowls here too—



In the woods, coyotes

prey on the last drips of sun

dying on low leaves.



I think of poetry while

the birds chant migration songs

mantras of loneliness.



On the roof, a squirrel

gathers nuts against the sunset

and above – the hawk.


What was Eden but

a place of trees and prey

and humans, who chose The Word.



No matter how loud,

"Let there be light" will never

return to me the sun.



The birch tree is bare

but for the grey sky it surrenders

and the hawk nest, so high.

to buy or not to buy....a house....

So I had a reading last night at Most Wanted Fine Arts Gallery in Garfield (Pittsburgh). They recorded the reading, and then had me get up again to do an official recording of one of my newer "hits" which is in itself a strange and awkward concept. The request from people was "Things Ive Left" which was actually a blog entry posted on here a while back, if you feel like scrolling. Here's a link to the video if you want to see it. I think it's less energetic and entertaining than the original performance, since I was out of the groove, but I also think I'm probably trying to talk myself up and pretend that I'm a better performer when, actually, I'm probably pretty lousy at it. Mike Simms was there, founder/editor/publisher of Autumn House Press, for whom I used to work until last week when I was finally begrudgingly but inevitably laid off. He gave me astounding praise afterwards, which I wasn't expecting. He must have seen the look on my face because he added, "I don't think you even realize how gifted you are. Please, I mean it, send me your work as you can, I'd like to stay in your loop." That doesn't mean I will be an Autumn House poet, in fact I think that by working for them I am guaranteed to never be published by them, but it is nice to know that someone out there who knows poetry thinks I'm something, even if I can't get published. Later, he also wrote me an email to reiterate that sentiment. I believe this is at least partially because I was so recently let go that it's important to keep the lines of communication open and positive - like a break up when people are still trying "to be friends." Oh well.


I also got my first real fan mail today, from someone who's read my thesis all the way through and isn't a friend of mine past that I got tipsy on Belgiums and moulles with him when he was in town for a reading at my school a while back. I'd read his manuscript and gave my opinion and some tips, and he graciously paid me the same attention. The letter remarked how I reminded him of an old whimsical friend from whom he'd been estranged due to a jealous wife, how he never got to grab a final beer with her and how reading my manuscript was like sharing that final beer and final laugh. It was the nicest letter I've ever received, except perhaps for a letter Anastasia Dubrowsky wrote me in high school that I still have saved at my parents house in a drawer. Certainly the nicest regarding my poetry, if only because he has no reason at all to stroke my ego He said to let him know with some lead-time when I will next be in New York, because he will set up a reading for me. The Big Time! I am heading to Massachusetts in September for my cousin's wedding - maybe I can do a reading en route, or while Evan heads north to visit cyclocross heartthrob Adam Myerson.



While on the topic, I still have chapbooks (or, Glass Key Press does, as I left all mine at the art gallery to be purchased) so if anyone would like one, as if anyone reads this thing, let me know! It's good I promise!



In other news, Evan and I are still in search of a house. We lost one bid on a perfect house in Regent Square, but that's all over and done with. Now there is a new perfect house, that is beautiful on the inside, and about $20k cheaper than the first house. It is in Greenfield in the Hollow, which means our back yard would literally be Schenly Park - there's even single-track that goes right from our yard, and an 8-point buck stared at us while we were checking the place out the other day. The only thing, though, is that I am getting cold feet because I am bad at decisions and if there's anything I'm worse at, it's commitment. Maybe to me they are the same thing. Once a decision is made, commitment to that decision is involved. I don't like the idea of having to say I like vanilla or I like chocolate, I want to live in the desert or by the ocean, I am a poet or a punk. I don't want to "other" any part of my personality, and I feel that any decision, in general really, has that effect. Purchasing a house certainly does. By saying, "I will own property here, with someone else," I am also saying, "I will live here, and not 'there' wherever that is; with this person, and not 'that' person, whoever that is." The great thing about this house is that it is in the middle of the city, generally speaking, but also in the woods. It is relatively cheap, so the financial burden isn't so great. It's only one bedroom, so we can't take on another roommate, but Evan assured me that if I freak out and have to move - for any of the billion reasons why I may freak out and have to move, almost all of which have to do with the eternal internal struggle of the poetpunk, he can build a wall so the master bedroom is more sealed off and someone can live in the office space. That does make me feel ions better about it all.

It's hard because this is the first house where I've really pictured myself living, and enjoying the space, and having a wonderful life. But for how long? That is always the question. It's like I am an optimist on a circular graph almost to the point of being a pessimist. Perhaps its my struggle with paranoia that swings it into that foggy and uncomfortable territory. But anyway, really, look at it - isn't it darling?



The other day, I went to see the Subhumans at Altar Bar in the Strip District. This band has been a favorite of mine for probably 13 years now, and I've seen them probably five times and it's always been incredible. I haven't even spent so much time watching them, because I go nuts and dance and laugh and rekindle friendships and release energy and agression and refind myself. This band makes me feel punk, makes me remember why I was punk and why I am punk. They cause me to question the directions I take in life, whether they are because they are easy, or because they are what I truly want, or because what I've learned I ought to want. I talked extensively with my good friend Ted about it (amongst other things) and it helped sort things out in my head about. How a lot of songs that are still anthemic to me are by/about/for teenagers, and how I'm not a teen anymore by almost ten years, but still can relate deeply - then it flips the coin a bit on why I still hold punk dear, whether it's because it's something I've conditioned myself to love, or whether it's something that still reigns true despite so much change in my life, that still forces me to answer back to myself and remember what I know to be bullshit and unacceptible.



Anyway, it's bedtime now and I've decided to buy the house, hang out with the turkeyfriends I will make in the new yard in the woods, and roam freely wherever I want/need. At least my rent will be paying off my own mortgage, not someone else's. I am putting my punk foot forward. Plus, of course, this place has plenty of writing space.

funk is bubbling

I've been having stomach problems lately. Lots of burning/stinging feels in the general abdominal region. Sore ribs have gotten more sore. Heart burn. Etc. Waxes and wanes between hardly noticeably to manageable to keeling over in pain. Lots of weird dreams (friends as 9-year-olds getting raped, living in a boarding house, stuck in weird vortexes, etc.). Also, lots of general aches as if from the marrow of my bones. Plus some joints. Didn't sleep well last night and woke up early for a mountain bike ride. Got a new bike (pictures later, when I bring my camera home from work). Trying to sell the Ted Wotjic frame. No appetite. Tired. Bills to pay. Thank You cards to write.



Major Tom ran away last night. Only for an hour, then he came back. Same with this morning. Where does he go? What does he lack? We took him to Jodie's house for a few hours while we went mountain biking and slept a lot of the day afterwards. We took a nap together after work while Evan went out for a road ride.



I'm introducing poet Rick Campbell at Chatham University next Monday. What should I say about him? He told me he likes cereal, so that's something. Also, I got default promoted at Coal Hill to "co-editor" from "assistant editor" and am not sure how I feel about it. I feel like after finishing my MFA I would feel light-footed but I still feel over-burdened and full-scheduled, sick with the stress of it. Tuesday, after the farm, is a slam I've been asked to compete in. Hopefully I will get some rest before then so I can contend. Thinking of doing the poem, "Why I Walked Home From Flushing in a Blizzard." My dad read my thesis and liked it. He wants me to write his memoir. I said I will.



Time for a shower.

re-entering modern humanity

June is here, and its brought with it my ability to re-enter modern humanity in all its dumbfounded glory. Friends? I remember those! Fun? Sure, that rings a vague bell. Bruises and scabs? Got them back like muscle memory.



I graduated from grad school and now have my MFA in creative writing from Chatham University (finally). I was first runner-up for best poetry thesis, which is interesting because my thesis wasn't (solely) poetry, I got my degree technically in cross-genre/experimental, but maybe the poetry stuff was most prevelant? I dunno. Anyway as much as I would have liked to win best thesis, I am glad the person who won (Sara Reiss!) got it because her work is pretty fantastic. Since that's been over, including the stress and planning of the whole graduation ordeal, things have settled down a bit, thankfully.



I had a reading the other night that was PACKED. I was a bit nervous, did fine but probably should have been a bit louder. I set up my watch ahead of time to stopwatch mode so I could time myself and read accordingly (I had a whopping 15-20 minutes to fill up and I have very little idea what that feels like, as most of my readings are 5-10 minutes). After two beers and a few more runs to the bathroom (better out than in, right?) from the nerves, I was up there reading away and had forgotten to press the button. But the way I see it, better to leave them wanting more than have everyone feel satisfied enough to never come to another reading. Laura sold some books, lots of people who'd already read it came up to me and said they were so happy to see me read because they loved the poems in the book. Oh yeah, if anyone wants to purchase my chapbook, let me know and I will post my (work) address where you can send a check for $8. I'll even cover shipping! Although the photos of the event are pretty crappy as far as how I look (imo), the response was great and overall it was a fantastic time. there were a ton of people there who I didn't know, lots of new faces, and the other poets (Kellee Maize and D.J. Brewer) were also fantastic. We all brought our own crowds and it was great to see the blend of everyone in the younger Pittsburgh poetry scene(s) come together. I hope it marks the beginning of new collaborations and a more integrated and collaborative community.



I've also been trying to spend more time actively submitting to publications and (gasp!) keeping track of my submissions using Duotrope's submission manager, which is incredibly helpful in making sure you don't catastrophically screw up (helping you help yourself!). I hae submitted to about ten different journals in the past week, and hope to continue in the battle to not completely drop out of writing now that I've graduated.


M O U N T A I N B I K I N G ! ! On a beautiful day such as today, I feel it deserves such a headline. I won't go into every ride as many of you mountain bike and many of you live near nice parks just as I do and can jump in the woods when you have a spare moment (which is still rare for me), but just this morning's, which took place in Hartwood Acres, a rare treat for me. Soupie and I woke up at 7:30 and were out the door by 10 of 8. Were at Tazza d'Oro by 8 a.m. in time to see poor Braden's sleepy face while he made me their famously perfect iced Americano (the i.A. isn't famous, per se, so much as their espresso in general, amongst other things coffee-related and I could go on about Pittsburgh business ownership and community and whatnot, but this is about biking right??). Sipped those and listened to old episodes of Radio Schizo on cd and got hyped up. Arrived first of the pack, exactly at 8:30 - ON TIME?? Shortly, we saw Speck and then Adam Rosenberg. The four of us hung out for a minute, got situated, and went for a short ride around a trail. By the time we got back to the cars, Drew and Jen had shown up. I was excited and nervous because this was my first time riding with another woman, if you can believe that. It was also my first real group ride! I had ridden of course with Evan and a friend or two of ours before, like Ted or Dingle, or have caught on a ride with Allen and his buddy in the woods, but never a big group of people who all just love to ride. I was the only one on a fully rigid mountain bike, and only Adam was riding a hardtail - everyone else was riding full suspension bikes. While I think that's a bit overkill for a park like Hartwood, it did make me really want to get a hardtail bike especially since I mainly ride Frick Park. Anyway, we rode until 11 a.m. - it was a nice ride, no killin' it, but a pretty good pace the whole time. I would like to do a ride soon that goes all day, where we bring a lunch and hang out and make a whole day of like seven hours of mountain biking and hanging out in the woods. Adam took photos and hopefully he'll have them posted on the internet soon and I can share them. I was pretty happy with myself for the most part, as far as riding challenging things, pushing myself up hills, and keeping a good pace with everyone for the most part. I am still, as always, mad at myself for not doing some of the obstacles that I know I can do, and that are part of what make mountain biking so much fun! I am hoping that a hardtail will help me out a little with that, because it is so painfully obviously psychological for the most part. The point is, who wants to meet me in Frick Park tomorrow at 8 a.m. to get an hour or so of riding in before work?