First date . . .

I recently wrote a poem about the first date my husband Tom and I had. It was way, way back in February of 1967 when we were both 19, a blind date arranged by a mutual friend. We went to a Minnesota Gophers hockey game at Williams Arena. We've been together ever since and in May, we'll celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary! I submitted this poem to Dust & Fire at Bemidji State University in August and last week I got the following response:

"We appreciate your submission to Dust & Fire 2011 and are pleased to notify you that the following work has been accepted for publication in this year's anthology."

Unforgettable
She remembers it was snowing
and she wore new leather gloves,
expensive nut-brown kid gloves
from Paris, France, the kind
that fit her fingers snugly
and stretched just the tiniest bit
each time she wore them.
They held hands in the frosty dark
while snowflakes tumbled all around,
some landing in his hair.
Removing her glove to brush them
away, her fingers grazed his cheek.
Little shivers of pleasure fluttered.
Unforgettable, that's what he was.

~Marianne McNamara 2010

What's been happening over here ...

It may seem like I haven't been posting much in the recipe department lately. There's a fairly good explanation for this. I've been delving into poetry deeper than ever before, studying the likes of poet Jacques Prevert and beat poet Charles Bukowski. I've been reading more and writing more! I've also been writing to several poetry prompt blogs. A prompt blog provides new ways to get or keep moving on the writing journey. What this means for you, dear readers, is I haven't spent much time in the kitchen. Don't get me wrong, I still cook, just nothing new or fancy these days. Seems I fall back on the tried and true when I get this involved. Just thought you should know, in case you noticed ...

And since it's glorious summer here, I'd like to share this wonderful old poem I just came across ...

Summer Song
Wanderer moon
smiling a
faintly ironical smile
at this
brilliant, dew-moistened
summer morning,—
a detached
sleepily indifferent
smile, a
wanderer's smile,—
if I should
buy a shirt
your color and
put on a necktie
sky-blue
where would they carry me?

~William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)

It's lilac time again ...

The photo was taken in my backyard. The poem was written by the American poet, Alice N. Persons. I love her writing style!

Stealing Lilacs
A guaranteed miracle,
it happens for two weeks each May,
this bounty of riches
where McMansion, trailer,
the humblest driveway
burst with color—pale lavender,
purple, darker plum—
and glorious scent.
This morning a battered station wagon
drew up on my street
and a very fat woman got out
and starting tearing branches
from my neighbor's tall old lilac—
grabbing, snapping stems, heaving
armloads of purple sprays
into her beater.
A tangle of kids' arms and legs
writhed in the car.
I almost opened the screen door
to say something,
but couldn't begrudge her theft,
or the impulse
to steal such beauty.
Just this once,
there is enough for everyone.

"Stealing Lilacs" by Alice N. Persons,
from Never Say Never. © Moon Pie Press, 2004.

And it's spring ...

I'm so glad spring is officially here. Even though it's been a warmer than normal March, I'm happy to see the end of winter. But it's Minnesota and we can still get snow. Pansies are one of the first spring flowers in these parts. They tolerate cool weather quite well, but it's still too cold for them. In honor of spring, I want to share one of my favorite spring poems, by one of my favorite poets, e.e. cummings. I actually tried writing poetry in the cummings' style, without caps and punctuation, when I first started writing many years ago. But it didn't work for me. I think there's only one man who can do it successfully! And by the way, mud-luscious is a wonderful word, isn't it???


in just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and
the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

e.e. cummings

Waiting for winter to end ...

These mid-March days are dreary and dismal. No sunshine here in Minnesota. I'm tired of winter and anxious for spring. I equate sunshine with cheerfulness. I could really use some of that right now.

A Season Almost Ended
Bloated raindrops drip from the eaves
of the house next door, crash loudly
on the cracked asphalt driveway.
Mottled oak leaves cling to scraggy branches,
holding tightly, not ready to let go.
Random patches of snow shelter the grass
and a weary grayness permeates the afternoon,
flat and used up like an old woman.
Layer by layer, winter melts away.

Marianne McNamara

A Christmas Candle

A Christmas candle is a lovely thing;
It makes no noise at all,
But softly gives itself away;
While quite unselfish, it grows small.
~Eva Logue

When The Snow Falls

When The Snow Falls
I tune the radio to a good jazz station.
The sky is low and gray and snow begins
to fall with a faint ticking sound as it hits
the dry leaves. I hold my breath and listen.
The moment seems fragile as a spun-glass bird.
It falls thickly, whitely, deeply, endlessly.
I toast the occasion with a glass of wine,
eat summer plump figs and goat cheese,
discover you don't have to be young to feel young.

Everyday Poems for City Sidewalks Contest

Saint Paul’s Department of Public Works and Public Art Saint Paul sponsored the 2nd annual sidewalk poetry program and contest again this year. St. Paul residents were invited to enter the contest to have their poems permanently installed in city sidewalks. Poems had to be no longer than 300 characters including spaces. Poems could be inspiring, funny, meaningful, cynical, mundane... anything appropriate for the general public. Over 400 poems were submitted.

Sidewalk poetry’s genesis began with Marcus Young, Saint Paul’s artist in residence. Young conceived the idea in 2008 after learning about the public works department’s annual sidewalk replacement program. Because of age and deterioration, the city replaces about 10 miles of sidewalk each year.

“I like the unlikely pairing of poetry and sidewalk replacement,” Young said. “Sidewalks are clearly a necessity, yet creating beauty and mystery with public art is equally important. We must build well both the hard durable structures of our city and the soft spaces for our collective imagination. That we can do both at the same time is really fun.”

My poem, November, was one of the five poems chosen to be installed. I saw it for the first time today. Hope you enjoy it!

November
Autumn wind drags leaves from trees,
clogs streets in a dreary finale.
Bare branches crisscross heavy skies.
Icy rain spatters, ink-blots pavement.
I settle at my window, stare
into thick black flannel, search
the woolly lining of the night for winter.

As of 10/30/09, my poem has been installed
at the following addresses in St. Paul:
2189 E Mitchell
2179 E Upper Afton
2155 E Minnehaha
700 N Hazel
1842 Reaney