Tears

Beauty

found: Eloise Street, North Side, Pittsburgh


the text:
Beauty
must be defined as
what we are,
or else the concept itself
is our enemy

To see beauty is
simply to learn the
private language of
meaning which is
another's life--
to recognize and
relish
what is.

Why languish in the shadows of a standard
We cannot personify and ideal we live

My Reading at MWFA Gallery

My Poetry Workshop had their end of term reading in conjunction with the Non-Fiction workshop at the Most Wanted Fine Art Gallery in Garfield. My friends Rachel and Vijay came out to show their support.

Senseless

Senseless

I have a hard time putting things into boxes.

When I move I have full garbage bags labeled DO NOT THROW AWAY.

I have as hard a time with mental boxes-->categories-->gestalts.

I can put dog in a small furry animal that barks box,

but what can I do with 16 yr old kills my 28 yr old Syrian student, Jamal?

28- Not old enough to have been his father, but at least a brother

an uncle a mentor a teacher if life made sense

If 57 choices were made that weren't

and 3 that were, weren't.

I hope he gets tried as an adult

because I'm trying to believe

children are too innocent to kill

or die.

God, it's true

I just realized

I have a stuffed camel called Jamal.

Clarence, my friend stationed in Iraq, sent me 3 yrs ago.

Now Clarence's son is in Iraq

training Iraqi soldiers

how not to get killed.

The son's name is Tony. He's 29.

The killer's name is Eric.

He is somebody's son,

probably somebody's brother,

maybe somebody's nephewunclecousin friend student

He's a child.

I have 2 stuffed camels, Jamal,

and one from Camel Rock Casino on Tesuque Pueblo,

where I met Clarence,

who taught me how to say I love you

in Tewa,

where I learned that I can understand

that I need to understand

what I don't understand

that I can't understand.

Is there a word for this plurality

in Tewa?

in English?
in Arabic?

Remembering Jamal Mouzaffar

Yesterday evening, I went for a walk to clear my head...or to look for a sign to make sense of all this. I saw flowers growing in weeds, I saw new leaves growing from a lightning charred tree. I tried to run, but couldn't run fast enough. I sat in the garden. I searched for some comparison, something that would give me a reason. I couldn't find any. I spent some time writing in my Nature journal that i had put away back in the beginning of June. I wanted to feel connected to the Earth.

Inshallah
God Willing
like we don't have
a choice
Because we really don't
It means
I want the best
for you and yours
but have no way to guarantee it
Inshallah
God willing
by and by
Vaya con Dios
We all have a way to say it
but how can we make sense
of your death?
We're not supposed to
but God willing
one day we'll see
clearly
face
to
face
Go with God, Jamal
We don't have a choice
in this life
when we come and go
but God willing
I will see you again habibi
dear one
friend

----

When I returned home, I found a passage in one of my books of poetry by Rumi that struck me as particularly relevant. I'm sharing it with you here:

On the day I die, when I'm being carried
toward the grave, don't weep. Don't say,

He's gone! He's gone. Death has nothing
to do with going away. The sun sets and

the moon sets, but they're not gone.
Death is a coming together. The tomb

looks like a prison, but it's really
release into union. The human seed goes

down in the ground like a bucket into
the well where Joseph is. It grows and

comes up full of some unimagined beauty.
Your mouth closes here and immediately

opens with a shout of joy there.

~mevlana jelaluddin rumi - 13th century

Wedding Waltz

Wedding Waltz
Bride
White Dress
Groom
Black Tux
You Begin
The New
Start
Today
Tomorrow
And Tomorrows
This Comes First
And Last
End
The Old
Yesterdays
Today
Then
Always
One

----

My sister Risa Masamura was married to Scott Saunders on July 15th, 2007. To see more pictures of the big day, see http://www.risamasamura.com/wedding/download.html . To order a copy of the book of poems I wrote for the couple, go to http://www.lulu.com/content/686404

On the Nightstand

Well, I don't have a nightstand, but if I did I'm sure the books I'm reading at present would be on it at night. I had 4 books on hold at various times the past couple months thru Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh (excellent service, this requesting of books on the Internet to pick up at whichever branch one desires). They came up at different times, so there are three separate due dates for four separate books, which would be a bit of a hassle except that the Library also offers an e-mail reminder service for due dates (good thing or I'd be paying a lot more late fees). In any case, the four books I got from the Library, of which I am really only reading 3 at a time, but give me some time and I might get all four going are as follows, with my initial impressions. In order that I received the books:

• Book of Blues, by Jack Kerouac: I am alternatately awestruck and stupefied. At times I find the writing brilliant and full of such clarity and true vision. At other times I am not sure what I'm supposed to be getting out of it. Sometimes I am struck by the accuracy of the unexpected metaphors and imagery, other times I am baffled. I guess that's Kerouac until reading more Kerouac hopefully trains me in how to read Kerouac. This is my first real forray into Kerouac's poetry outside of anthologized material. My favorites so far are the 27th chorus in "San Francisco Blues" (the city as muttering bum), the 38th, and the first half of the 30th chorus in the same:
  

  Old Age is an Indian
  With gray hair
  And a cane
  In and old coat
  Tapping along
  The rainy street
  To see the pretty oranges
  ... (p. 31)

• White Teeth, by Zadie Smith: I was just rereading the jacket of this book to try to give you a more concise summary of it than trying to recount everything I've read so far. I'm a little annoyed that Zadie Smith was 24 when she wrote this. I guess I should be happy that she's so brilliant at 24. Anyways, this is a very compelling book so far. It does, as the jacket states, take on "the big themes-- faith, race, gender, history, and culture-- and triumphs" The stories and characters are strong. There is some jumping back in forth through time, but it's structured so that it's manageable. My only issue with it has been the voice of this omnicient narrator who isn't always there jumping in from time to time. At first it pulled me a bit out of the flow of the story, but then I started liking the humor and cynicism it brought to parts of the story that might otherwise have come off as cliche or overdramatic. I am not sure WHO this all-knowing-eye is, perhaps the writer herself, but it helps keep perspective. Current status: p. 201/448pp.
  
• Bushido: The Way of the Samurai, based on The Hagakure by Tsunetomo Yamamoto, edited by Justin F. Stone, original translation by Minoru Tanaka: I was first turned on to The Hagakure by watching the movie Ghost Dog, mentioned in the previous post. In this movie, Forrest Whittaker plays a modern day Samurai, and the movie is interrpted with quotes from The Hagakure, some of which I found quite intriguing. I put this one on hold a while back, but there's apparently only one copy and others had it for a while before it got to me. I'm now on page 30 of 98. Some of the words strike me as very apt and wise. Others strike me as being the ideal, but hard to achieve. Yet others are too superficial for my liking, and at tension in my mind with the more philosophical and intrinsic entries in the same book. I have greatly devoured the sections thus far on thinking and self-discipline and achievement and perception of oneself. However, the portions on not yawning, on not doing arts and crafts, on how to behave at parties strike me as less useful. I suppose how others perceive you does have an effect on an outcome you may be trying to achieve, but I hate playing a game.
  
• Disappearing Acts, by Terry McMillan: This is a book that is on Rhoda Mills Sommer's list of suggested reading (as was White Teeth). I have not started on it yet, so I'll quote her blurb here:
  

  "This is one of her first three books. These were more substantive than the books that followed afterwards. She beautifully captures men who don't follow
  through" ~ Rhoda Mills Sommer

Well, that's a long enough break from the reading. I want to be finished with all four by the time my Fall university classes start!

~S

Poetry Map

Poets.Org has launched a "Poetry Map," with individual websites for each of the 50 states in the U.S. To get to the page for a state, just add a forward slash and the two digit postal code abbreviation for your state after poets.org. For example, Pennsylvania's page is http://www.poets.org/pa On these pages, there are featured poets hailing from the state, history with regards to poetry, poems about the state, as well as links to lit mags, publishing houses, organizations, readings, etc. in the state. If you see something that's not there that should be, you can e-mail suggestions to map@poets.org
I sent them a few Pittsburgh poetry links already!

~Sarah

Bring on the Rules of Poetry

Tonight I had my first summer class at Chatham University. This is an experimental hybrid type of class. It is partly on campus/residency, partly on line. Three days on campus-- Wed 6-9pm, Thurs 6-9pm, Fri 9am-5pm, then four weeks of online connectivity, then three more days on campus. This class is called Bring on the Poetry and incorporates rhetoric and performance into the curriculum. I HAD to write down what the teacher, Jim Coppoc, said were his two rules of poetry (there are only two). I don't know if he came up with this off the cuff or if he has thought about it for years, but here they are:

Jim Coppoc's Rules of Poetry**

1. Have something to say
2. Don't f--k it up.

** for the purposes of this class, a poem is something that has an author (ethos) who attempts a purpose (wants the audience to think, feel, or act differently after the poem), with an audience, under a context (where it's delivered, how it's delivered, cultural context, etc.)

The Dream Nest

I had an awe-inspiring surreal experience yesterday on a visit to the "House Poem" by Huang Xiang. Located on Sampsonia Way in the North Side of Pittsburgh, this is the home of Huang Xiang and his wife Zhang Ling. The house is covered in calligraphy of his poetry. This is an amazing attestment because Mr. Huang's work was banned in China, and when he lived there, he had been imprisoned altogether over ten years of his life. He and his wife came here in 2004 as refugees with the help of the City of Asylum Pittsburgh.

Huang Xiang reading

I suggested this venue for part of a Literacy*AmeriCorps Pittsburgh training day, and was thrilled when City of Asylum via Henry Reese helped to coordinate this. Huang Xiang was very gracious and thrilled us by reading seven poems and taking questions and comments. I am planning to blog more about this soon, but for now, here are some pictures from the event. I was asked to read the English translations of Mr. Huang's poetry before he read each poem in Chinese. Josh Cohen and Steve Thomas, also AmeriCorps members each read a poem as well.

Me reading English translations with Huang Xiang looking on.

Steve Thomas reading with Huang Xiang

The House Poem

Poetry Links

Here are some links to free POEMS on the 'net:

• Representative Poetry Online
  
• Poets.Org:
  
  
• Clickable Poems
  
• Magnetic Poetry (Play Online)

In Memory of My Grandma (d. 2006)

I want to post a poem to now that my Grandma actually helped me a bit with. I was having trouble describing the particular sound of the tug boat horns we always heard on the river, and went to her with advice. Later, in the hospital, I told her I thought I found the right words, but she never got to hear the whole poem. This is a poem that, on the surface, seems to be more about boats and the Ohio River. However, in reality, and on a somewhat deeper level, this is completely a poem about the world’s best Grandma, and the powerful effect she had on her grandchildren, who were blessed to have her. By the end of the poem, the sound of the river boat horns seems to be equated with Grandma’s welcome voice calling us in to her home from out playing. This poem is emotionally true. Factually, the poem is more of a combination of many, many, many wonderful events all smushed together to form one scene. The line breaks are not showing as written, so I am putting a forward slash at the end of each line as intended. The first time I read this poem publicly was the exact day in December 06 my Grandma was admitted to the emergency room. This also happened to be the day of my last Craft of Poetry class, and a public reading in the art gallery at school. I was torn up reading it then.

Sleepovers at Grandma’s House on the Ohio River

Lightning bugs lit the way for us cousins in our buttercup necklaces /
as we followed our Grandma’s welcome voice to the porch and indoors, /

where, before we could hear the stories behind the bleating of the river boat horn— /
my Grandma’s imaginary boyfriends’ echoed greetings— /

we washed off our dandelion makeup and dirt under fingernails, /
while Ivory soap smells bubbled in our noses, /

then settled into the big blue-room bed, with its blue walls and comforter, /
to play twenty-questions and giggle at ceiling tiles until we were shushed /

and drifted our way to dreams— /
times like that, it seemed summer would never end. /


Then we grew older. /

We drifted more and more apart. /

The flood forced relocation to a smaller house. /

The rising river ruined almost everything that had made our summer days. /

The carpet we had sat on cross-legged playing Atari when it rained. /

The box of toys like Evil Knievil motorcyclist and Indian brave. /


But sometimes, even though I’m away, alone in my apartment, I think I hear the welcome river boat greetings./

Sleepy Poem

i have no recollection of creating this other than the vaguest idea about using the garden kit to make a poem the other day...the funny thing is, i'm so tired right now that i probably won't recollect posting this until i check my blog a month later.... should i be worried that i'm not getting enuf sleep?

Okay, so, I lied...

... but this is almost as good as therapy ;). Here's my daily dose of magnetic poetry, and bonus- it's a haiku!.......
www.magneticpoetry.com/play.html

Now I *really* need to stop!

yes, this is another magnetic poetry posting. don't read it if you're tired of it!
this is sort of liberating, though, because I NEVER write poetry like this when i only have my own words to choose from. being forced to make poetry out of a limited amount of words isn't as constrictive as you would think...i've found it to be more freeing of my faculties of creativity! okay, last two for the night (i promise *crosses fingers just in case*)...

More Magnetic Poetry...

Hello, my name is Sarah, and I'm a Magnetic Poetry Addict. I'm going to actually do some on the fridge too, and I'll post a picture if any turn out! haha. For now, here are three more from the magneticpoetry.com website! The last is from the Shakespeare Kit that's on the separate Java site.

i'm addicted to magnetic poetry

and in the categories of "poet" and "artist"...............
remember, it's http://www.magneticpoetry.com let me know what you end up with!

Public Reading

I had a public reading on 12/29/2006 at the Art Gallery on campus. Above is a picture of me in action. I read the following of my poems: "Sensory Recall," "Grandma's House on the Ohio River," "Whirling Towards Ecstasy," and "Nettle and Dock." Below, is a picture of me after the reading, greeting my adoring fans (haha, just kidding).

Online Magnetic Poetry

I put together some online magnetic poetry at http://www.magneticpoetry.com Try it out, it's fun! Here're my best two results. The first is using the "Romance" kit, and the second is with the "Genius" kit.