This month I get to exuberantly promote my favourite writing teacher, mentor and divine friend, Sue Reynolds. Without her, I’d be nothing. Okay, that might be taking a bit far… but I am very pumped to be able to share her with my local community at the upcoming WCSC’s December luncheon meeting, where she will not only be our guest speaker but she’s also facilitating a free mini workshop on the craft of memoir for everyone who registers for the luncheon.
Everyone has a story to tell, and one of Sue’s great gifts is her midwifery skill for those who need some help birthing that baby. I’ve taken many day-long and week-long programs with her to that end and I never cease to be amazed at all the ways words can be configured to tell one’s story.
I’d like to share a poem that came from one workshop a couple of years ago. It is my autobiography. Perhaps I could use it for a long bio, instead of all that point form stuff
This Life
I am from
cocktail parties, red velvet dresses,
Mom’s sparkly shoes and matching purses,
Dad’s business trips,
trying too hard,
and
you’ll end up crying if you don’t stop
I am from
matching bikinis – sister, mother and
the one left behind
because I’m too small
I’m from
climbing trees
and deep woods dreaming,
The Avengers and Little Joe,
wet pants, doctor’s visits,
razor-blade pain and empty hospital beds.
I am from
open fields and thirteen cats,
crawl spaces claimed
in an ancient farmhouse,
Mom gone to be with her dogs,
moved to the kennel,
alone in the house.
I am from
gray hospital walls,
orderlies with nasty hands
and green-eyed Michael,
his arm crushed in a wringer
I am from
horses who kick
broken bones and twisted hip,
blooming bruises no one can see
and the glare of lights in surgery
I am from
a trip anywhere at all,
somewhere to go, something to see
pushing back chairs,
turn up the hifi –
Aretha Franklin and Mick Jagger
when nobody’s home.
I am from
a new adventure
out there, far away,
talking too much, trying too hard,
take me anywhere, let’s go
pulling the friend,
come on, it’s fun
I am from
a midnight drive,
fourteen and cruise to town….
where’s that boy?
let’s go, why stay?
a bus, a train, a car, a bike,
I’ll walk, let’s go!
I am from
kisses too soon,
heavy hands, hot nights
empty mornings
I am from
drained wine glasses
rain slicked streets
and the wrong way home
I am from
leaving before it’s over and
staying when it is,
laughing before tears come
and running when they do.
I am from
dreams as plenty as stars
each one dazzling
before it dies,
long trips far away
and longer trips home
I am from
hope beyond reason,
jumping too soon,
landing too hard
I am from
a cabin in the mountains,
west coast beaches,
the dark backs of whales
and eagles overhead
I am from
a gallery in Paris or Rome,
comrades singing in piazzas,
a full-lipped lover in The Hague
and Leonard Cohen in Berlin
I am from
dances on the lawn,
a balcony in Rome,
a studio, a hall,
a place where lovers meet
I am from
stolen fruit and stolen kisses,
stolen husbands
both yours and mine.
I am from
new dance too late,
three a.m. speakeasies,
artists and poets
and lovers like water.
I am from
plates of food
served with finesse,
dawns at an Underwood
poetry and stories
in real black print
I am from
dreaming of a teacher
and being found by a Master,
resisting until it was futile
I am from
a commune in redneck land,
an ashram in the far-east,
homeless in the big wide world:
Buddha in the marketplace.
I am from
hands that heal
marble pathways
a bamboo grove
the cacophony of cockatiels
I am from
leg bells and eagle feathers
drums, and swirling colour
deep dark sweat lodges,
secrets and release,
headaches and puking,
scrubbed clean.
I am from
forty-eight hours of labour
a lifeless son
who cried at last.
I am from
that child at five
remembering his birth –
those still moments,
that busy room
I am from
a house full of strangers
demanding blood,
ten showers each morning,
a husband who helped himself
I am from
trust without borders
skin in shreds
and a sacrificial womb
I am from
the shock of morning,
remembering to breathe
and learning word by word
to tell the truth
There are so many ways in. I found this exercise gave me a whirlwind tour of my life, and from any place within this piece I could launch a memoir. I have chosen a place right in the middle… I’ve written about a hundred pages already, but I’m going to take Sue’s memoir writing course in January. (That way, it might not take three more years to get it written!)
Interesting. I’d like to hear your story in detail.
I’ll autograph your copy at the book launch!
Beautiful. I can’t wait to read the long version.
You tapped in and out came an amazing poem. I know you now.
I enjoyed this beautiful poem so much Deepam and learned a whole lot more about ‘Deepam’ through perusing it. The repetition and the differences – these are the annointed oil which hold this work about your life together. Thank you so very much for sharing. Elizabeth.
Thank you so much Elizabeth. Your feedback is encouraging.
That poem is a song about life. It sings. Incredible.
It’s so wonderful to receive this feedback, because I can tell you, I had some anxiety about posting it! (which is why, of course, that I did.)