Okay, is it me, or has anyone else found the Zentangle form a bit… much?! Have you felt like your designs were too busy, too messy, too wordy, or just somehow subtly wrong? Don’t despair! We can make this work! Remember – it’s supposed to be fun. (I am telling MYSELF this, trust me.)
If you’re in need of a little design help, Strathmore has some great examples of patterns for the Zentangle. Can’t wait to see what you come up with Friday!
If you, like me, had never before heard of the zentangle art phenomenon, it began way back in 2003. People drew tiny doodles and …relaxed, I guess? (YMMV) With the recent resurgence of adult coloring books, zentangle picked up speed and gained a new form – found word poetry, which is more familiar ground. If you don’t feel you’re an artist, and the idea of defacing a book feels you with fear, use a copier, keep it short and simple, and let yourself try. Nothing to lose there, right? Above all else, Peeps, remember: this is supposed to be FUN.
You’re invited to try our challenge in the month of June! Here’s the plan: We’re going to write a Zentagle Poem, on any topic. Interested? Good! You’ve got a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering (or someone else’s) with the rest of us on June 25th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals.
Sometimes, writing an ekphrastic poem is a lot of fun, and other times, it’s just this HUGE challenge. Art speaks to us in myriad ways, based on the day of the week or the angle of the light, and even once we narrowed down our plethora of museum images to two, I still struggled. There was so much to say about each piece! But, what united them? Or was there anything?
Well… I found a link, I think. But, I don’t remember. See, my laptop died… and my poetry, in an open file that was just kind of sitting on my desktop? Died with it. Even our conversation about the poems we wrote amongst the poetry sisters was lost, because it was in Zoom. SO. I had to start over… This morning.
Fortunately, I always begin my poems on paper – a dependable medium – and I recalled that we were playing around with the 4×4 Poem form as invented by Denise Krebs, which uses four syllables per line, four lines per stanza, and repeats the first line in the position of first through fourth line within the text. (And uses a bonus four syllable title!) Additionally, I remembered that I was struck by something one of the artists, Roy De Forest, said. “For me, one of the most beautiful things about art is that …it is one of the last strongholds of magic.”
That phrase reverberated.
“the last stronghold
of magic, art”
look for me there,
learning, by heart
to make. believe.
the last stronghold
less “place to hide”
than to grow bold.
can spiders dress
in twists of wire?
the last stronghold
makes whimsy fire.
express yourself!
we’ll never scold
take up space in
the last stronghold.
Is this the poem I wrote? Nope. Is this the sentiment I wanted? Close. Is this what art does for us? It should!
The rest of my Poetry Peeps did a much better job – Tricia’s poem is here, Laura’s is right here, and Sara’s link is here. Kelly joins us her, and Liz’s project is here. Ruth’s ekphrastic is here, and Carol’s poem is here. Various Poetry Peeps will be added throughout the day, so stay tuned. Poetry Friday is beautifully hosted today by Michelle Kogan, who is occasionally one of our poetry peeps as well. Do pop over and check out her artwork! She’s even added an ekphrastic haiku!
EDITED TO ADD:
Hours later, Tech Boy took pity on me and dug into the old hard drive – bless him. He wrestled out two more poems for your perusal:
Nothing alike:
Spider dresses
and wooden snakes –
Could both be art?
“Funk art” creates
nothing alike:
Bottle brushes
against brass wire –
A last stronghold
where magic hides
nothing. Alike
in artistry,
We make space, or
Make-believe we
are everything.
Nothing. Alike.
We make believe:
Bottlebrushes
Wire, and paint.
We call it art.
Spider dresses?
We make believe
With all eight legs,
Dance our hearts out.
A last stronghold,
where magic lives,
we make believe,
and art forgives.
The one safe place
Where magic hides
Is art’s embrace.
We make. Believe.
And I hope that you a.) have reliable technology, and b.) get out – or stay in – and make some art this weekend.
(ART WORK: Pictured from the left, Serpent and Spider Dress by Isamu Noguchi, and El Grande Hombre by Roy De Forest.)
You’re invited to try our challenge in the month of May! Here’s the plan: We’re going to write an ekphrastic poem using a photograph taken in a museum. We’re sharing a few amongst ourselves, but we’re sure you have some of your own – and it’s a great way to get us revved up about going back to museums! Interested? Good! You’ve got a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering (or someone else’s) with the rest of us on May 28th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals.
Andi challenged us with Linda Hogan’s poem, “Innocence“ this week, a fitting finish to the entire National Poetry Month celebration. We wanted to go out with a boom and boy was it a doozy. Here’s what Sara did with it. Kelly and Laura are taking a breather this week, but Tricia’s poem is here, Kelly’s is here, Liz’s is here. Andi’s is here. Check in throughout the day to find out what other Poetry Peeps have done. If you’d like more Poetry Friday content, Matt Forrest Esenwine is graciously hosting the roundup at Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme this week. Thanks, Matt!
“Innocence” is beautiful, deep and… utterly inimitable. It falls outside the usual topical sphere for my poetry, so I approached writing “in the style of” from a number of different angles. My Poetry Sisters all threw out their own recommendations, and I tried using haiku, then sijo, then mimicking Hogan’s topics – nature, growth – and her pattern of lines and syllables – 10-6-4. None of that really worked for me, so I set my attempts aside to really think about the title.
Contrary to all appearances, innocence is conceptually complicated, often a loaded concept for some growing up an ethnic minority, female, and/or religious. Some people are never embraced as innocent, witnessed by the number of girls sent home for dress code violations, as if they are only their bodies and are threat and distraction instead of children, or viewed askance because of early maturation, or even early pregnancies. Because there was so much – too much – swirling around a single word, I grounded innocence as far back as I could – to an image from childhood. This poem is based on one of my earliest memories, of watching my older sister at church, who was probably no more than five at the time, wearing what my envious sister eyes determined to be a fabulous yellow dress, standing up to recite with her class. (And yes: this is my sister, nearly five, in The Dress. Some fortymumble years later, I figure she won’t mind if I show her off. She looks the closest thing to a baby, yet I remember thinking she was oh, so grown-up then.)
How much of what we held in childhood do we keep? How do we navigate the passage between childhood certainties and adulthood’s intricacies? What does it mean to be young at heart, or have a child’s optimism and faith? I don’t know. I’m not entirely convinced I was able to go where I wanted to in this poem (you don’t want to know how many times I rearranged lines and fiddled), but as I wrestled with at the eleventh hour, I reminded myself – and you, too: the challenge isn’t perfection, but persistence. So, here we try again:
Is there anything more innocent
than an unformed soul clutching tight her crayoned crown,
as, words a wavering childish treble,
she recites revelation? ablaze with
purity, knowing neither faithfulness
nor death she
stands; stray sunbeam whitening a dress already luminous
proclaiming borrowed words, she is, personified,
a mother’s pride, transformed larger than life
in these two wondering eyes
We grew, wholesome as wheat, but I backward looking, linger to
wonder: who decodes such concepts as
faithfulness and faith? whose hand, holding keys to childhood certainties
points toward one door, while locking tight another? Perhaps
pushing past crowns and covenants, we all return at last
to merely human
a child, I watched, awaiting my turn, lips shaping
each confident consonant. Child-hearted now,
in uncertain innocence, I
claim my chance to choose my crown
Coming up this week! Maybe it’s not innocence for you… maybe it’s foolishness, boldness, kindness, evil. Maybe it’s looking at the structure of Linda Hogan’s poetry and counting lines, or looking at the moods in each stanza…? Can’t wait to see what you come up with!
You’re invited to try our challenge in the month of April! Here’s the plan: We’re going to write an “in the style of” poem after Chickasaw poet Linda Hogan’s “Innocence.” Does “in the style of” mean a line-by-line imitation, including the idea of innocence in the theme, or using the word within your poem? Only YOU know for sure! Interested? Good! You’ve got a month to craft your creation(s), then share your offering (or someone else’s) with the rest of us on April 30th in a post and/or on social media with the tag #PoetryPals.
Did you grow up with a family who did Spring Cleaning? I didn’t, not really – we just cleaned house like it was Spring, every Sunday. Somehow though, no matter how I didn’t grow up, we still end up doing a version of Spring Cleaning at my house. It rarely coincides with the actual start-date of Spring, but it starts out with “we should really get the windows cleaned” and devolves into a flurry of vacuuming and organizing shelves. This past Sunday, I got a burst of energy – a rarity lately with this autoimmune disorder – and tackled the dust under the futon which had been leering at me. We washed duvet covers and pillows, scoured vinegar and baking soda on the shower floor (it’s supposed to be good for granite), organized the fridge and freezer, sanded and oiled the porch rocking chair, re-potted a couple of plants, and even raked up the last of the little spiky tree balls on the lawn. I felt pretty good about all of the work we got through, until I saw the texts from my poetry group. Are you coming? Are you joining us today?
Oops. Darn it!
Sadly, as my writing group can attest, housework occasionally gets the better of me. I fully intend to be where I’m meant to, but a dusty shelf or a streaky mirror distracts me. It’s not as if I even prefer to clean than to write – not even a little tiny bit – but I had my father’s preferred activity for me pretty well braided as an extra strand into my DNA through childhood. Though it’s nice to have vacuum lines on the living room rug, I missed talking words, hearing what everyone’s reading, and discussing what we’re doing next month. So, my dizain today is slightly narrative (but since I write fiction, it’s emotionally true rather than factual).
“Appointment with the Arts” my notebook read,
but I skipped reading for a messy chore,
letting my planning for the week ahead
drain from the weekend’s restful reservoir
the freshness, verve, and life it held before.
I chose a solid thing – hard-edged, *brick shaped,
and fed my soul on duty, scrubbed and scraped –
exchanged the weekend vibe for day-to-day,
set my own snare, and foiled my own escape!
Dull Jackie chose to work when she should play.
Dizains always involve some finessing for me – I forever think I have the pattern cold, and then when I read back, realize I’ve gotten something (usually several somethings) out of order. And then I do that deep breath/eye roll thing and start over. It’s all about patience with the process! I loved the idea of work/duty/responsibility as something pedestrian and brick-shaped, so borrowed that phrase from Barbara Kingsolver’s “How to Drink Water When There Is Wine,” a poem which Tricia shared with the poetry group last week.
My Poetry Peeps have doubtless produced less dispiriting dizains than mine! Please do check out Tricia’s here. This one is Laura’s, and Kelly’s is here. Here’s Liz’s and you’ll find Sara’s poem here, and Michelle Kogan’s is here. More Poetry Peeps will check in throughout the day, so stay tuned.
Art by Marc Johns.
More poetry? Yep: Poetry Friday is gloriously blooming today at Susan Bruck’s Soul Blossom Living, where she’s doing a round-up of who is doing what next month for National Poetry Month. I’m going to try for a poem-a-day, but we’ll see where that lands. For now, here’s to sitting down with a book, or grabbing a jacket and finding some tadpole puddles, and ignoring those cobwebs for one more day. Happy Weekend.
The dizain: a French form from 15th-16th c., with a 10-line stanza · 10 syllables per line · And an ababbccdcd rhyme scheme. It’s not got repeating lines, so the only sense in which it dizzies is that it’s sometimes a tiny bit frustrating (but nothing you can’t handle). See for yourself, and join us this Friday, March 26!
Never heard of a dizain? Not sure why you’ll be stumbling and spun with its dizzy delights? The short version is: it’s a French form from 15th-16th c., with a 10-line stanza · 10 syllables per line · And an ababbccdcd rhyme scheme. A bit longer of an explanation can be found at Writer’s Digest, with a few helpful tips and an example. Interested? Good! Hope you give it a shot!
…even if you’ve got your head in the clouds, you won’t want to miss the fun. The metaphor generator, Perchance is full of… weird and wonderful phrases, and after having sister poet Laura Salas throw hers for me, I’ve discovered that metaphor dice are possibly even weirder! So, look forward to some thoughtful, random, and possibly offbeat poetry – see you Friday!
