Haiku #273

February dream:
a light-speckled
river

Haiku #271

winter evening:
somewhere a boat with cargo
going forth in the dark world

Floreta and the Ohio

Just had a great editing session with the second Floreta story. I think it's ready to send out.

I have definitely decided that the Floreta stories will comprise the Ohio River novel, which I have been working on for four years.

The Ohio River novel has been tough going, not for lack of material but for lack of story. I've had touble finding the right characters and a central conflict that works. Everytime I'd get the narrative action to Pittsburgh, the story would die. I'd lose interest.

The only way I can stick to a project is to be curious about what will happen. I now have a character with a compelling problem, miles to go, and enlightenment waiting. Getting her to the end is going to be a lot of fun.

Now that I have two Floreta stories, essentially Chapts. 1 and 2 of the novel, I can see exactly how to structure the novel. I did an outline of it tonight (a very sketchy one) and was so excited because the entire project looks like something I can accomplish now.

I have all the writing I did at Provincetown and writing I've done since Provincetown. I just have to figure out how it all fits into my scheme.

The trip out west this summer showed me what I needed to do. A similar thing happened when I was working on my first novel. I floundered for many years until I took up weaving. We bought a floor loom and I learned how to use it, making rugs and scarves. It was such a meditative practice and it taught me that I am a weaver not just of yarn and cloth, I am a weaver stories, too. So, to emphasize this new awareness, I made my main character a weaver in that first book.

The western trek changed me: As a result of that trip, I understand so much more about the world. The unusual landscapes spoke to aspects of myself I had not formerly explored, had not known existed. So as I introduced the loom in my first book, I have brought the westward trek into my second. This provides structure and also meaning.

I start back to school Monday happy about what I accomplished over break. I hope to be able to keep writing, although I know this will be a very busy semester. Then I hope to make real progress this summer. It would be so good to finish the summer with a full first draft of the book: maybe I'm overreaching here. I guess I'm just excited. I realize the task of writing even one story is harder than it may first appear. There's no end to the trouble that a writer can run into. But I've hacked through some serious weeds the last week, and the view is much more clear ahead than it's ever been.

Haiku #241

Seagulls fly over the Maumee

I took this photo with my old point and shoot camera. I wished I had my SLR with me because there was a moment when the scene was all birds, wing tip to wing tip. By the time the point and shoot got fired up, the most beautiful part of the show was over.

Late summer we ready

our boat on shore a crow laughs

at us from his tree

Provincetown 46

O Child, Do Not Fear the Dark and Sleep's Dark Possession

The title of this piece is taken from a poem by Delmore Schwartz.

The poem begins:

O Child, when you go down to sleep and sleep's secession,

You become more and other than you are, you become

the procession

Of bird and beast and tree: you are a chorus,

A pony among horses, a sapling in a dark forest,

Lifting your limbs and boughs to the sky, leafing.

And then you are one with the beaver, one

With the little animals warm in the sun

Resting and hidden when it is white winter:

And in sleep's river you sleep

Like the river's self and the marine

Beings who mouth as they glide, nosing

And sliding lithely and smoothly

Gleaming serenely and sleekly.

I had just been reading a collection of stories about the Buddha, and in several of the stories, the Buddha takes the form of an animal. In one of my favorites, he takes the form of an Ibex, and one of the lessons of the tale is not to kill for sport.

Schwartz writes about the river in another poem: "The River Was the Emblem of All Beauty: All":

The river was the abundant belly of beauty itself

The river was the dream space where I walked,

The river was itself and yet it was--flowing and freshening--

A self anew, another self, or self renewed

At every tick of eternity, and by each glint of light

Mounting or sparkling, descending to shade and black.

There is so much in this poem. The fecundity of a river, the renewal properties of the river. The river becomes all of life: joy (mounting or sparkling) and despair (shade and black). Yin and Yang.

This collage has a lot of personal meaning for me. It connects me to my thoughts about my river journey in 2005 and to my thoughts on life, death, and eternity. It also connects me to my childhood: my favorite toy was a mountain goat named "Oddie." I have written about Oddie here before. Oddie was lost but he has remained in my imagination and continues to be my muse.

On the river

Allen and I went canoeing in the Portage River on Sunday. My favorite part was when we paddled into the shallows to watch the big carp spawn. Today we did some last minute shopping for the P-Town adventure. The next time I post will be from P-Town.

Very nice article about my residency here!

22/50

Buddha on Griffin Island, the Ohio River, 2005

I am riding high on the fact that in the last two days I have further cemented my ideas for the Ohio River novel. I have been thinking, writing, researching, and struggling with this project since my return from the Ohio Journey in the late summer of 2005. I believe it is finally starting to come together in a way that truly pleases me.

I just looked out the window, and the snow is getting really deep outside.

I'm so glad we did our grocery shopping, got perscriptions filled, and got plenty of wood into the house!

Gretchen asked...

Gretchen asked...

Is this the method where you don't know the end and find it by writing? Or do you finally have the end and have figured out the steps along the way and will weave mystery into the journey? Or have you found a new way in to alter the whole tone, plot, characters and landscape? Or??? Curious minds want to know---

Answer...

All of the above, I think. Since the story is based on an actual journey I took with Allen in 2005, I have lots of material, but I've just begun to discover the characters. I don't want the characters to be thinly disguised versions of Allen and me. The challenge for me has been to forget the "real" experience enough to be imaginative with the material. I want to stretch myself and do something different than I've done before. I could write a book based on what I've been doing all along, but there doesn't seem to be any point to doing that. It would yield a book but not the experience I want. I do have a vague idea of what I want the characters to achieve, but everything is fluid and subject to change.

I know I've said this before

I know I've said this before. But I've got an idea for how to do the Ohio River book. It has been two years since my Ohio River Journey, and I've struggled with how to write about it. I have hundreds of pages written, but no direction. Last summer I wrote fifty pages of what I thought was "the book." I gave up because the writing didn't excite me. It was too plotted, too planned. I knew the outcome. Boring. My new way preserves plenty of mystery. I need mystery. That is what keeps me coming back to write, the need to know how it will all turn out.

Pow Wow

I was tired from a week of teaching and slept late. Allen got up early with the dogs and drove a few miles to Perrysburg and attended a Pow Wow. He returned after noon and I was still in bed. He'd bought me a cap, black with pretty feather designs on the front and back. I dressed and we went back to the Pow Wow. I got a piece of fry bread and split an "Indian Taco" with Allen. I bought a book about Native American mythology and the skull of a snapping turtle. After the Pow Wow, Allen and I got some tacos at Taco Bell and drove to a place beside the river.

We sat on the tailgate of the truck, looking out over the river. The river was low and you could see the rocky bottom in many places. Water birds stood on these rocky islands. Allen and I sat and watched the river. The sun went down. It was the best part of the day.

Independence Day

Our Independence Day Celebrations were safe and happy. Those are the two things I wish most for each and every day. We had our three sons over for a cookout on Saturday the 1st. We had beef and chicken kabobs, mounds of them, and I thought I'd made too many, but at the end of the night, nothing was left. For the middle son I always make mashed potatoes--this time I used half and half, garlic, and lots of butter. We took our big stereo out onto the patio. This stereo has such grand speakers that if you crank them halfway you can hear the music anywhere on our property, and we live on 12 acres. I bought this system fifteen years ago with extra money I'd earned from supplemental teaching jobs. It cost a lot of money, but I've never regretted buying it because the family enjoys it so much. I burned five "party" CDs with favorite songs. For Allen, Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Pride and Joy." For the boys, many of their favorites, like "American Pie" and Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Then on the 4th, Allen and I set out for the river to watch the Toledo fireworks. It's one of the events Toledo puts on that always brings out lots of people. Generally I don't care for big celebrations or crowds, but this would be one exception. If you're going to watch fireworks, the only way to do it is on the river in a boat, I think. Hundreds of boats come out for the event, gather at the observation points just before dusk, and wait patiently for the show. This year, there was a boatload of young men just behind us. As the fireworks burst in the sky, they were screaming, "Woohoo!" and "Yeah!" and "Happy Birthday, America!" They were so authentic in their enthusiasm that it made me feel happy.

"The Star Spangled Banner" echoed across the water in a most ghostly fashion. The sound was hollow and other-worldly, or like a dream.

I'm always turned off by hyper-patriotism, but I didn't see any of that. Just a lot of good people out to enjoy the evening and participate in something good. The photos show the water just at dusk and then as dark fell and the boaters turned on their lights. Be sure to click on the photos for a larger view.

After the fireworks, people cranked their motors and moved in an orderly fashion to the boat ramps. Their white departing lights reminded me of those paper lanterns that are sometimes sent out on the waters during ceremonies. And it was a surprisingly quiet moment.

Allen and I stayed in the boat overnight, so we had plenty of time to cruise up and down the river after everyone had gone home. At times, it was like the river belonged to us because it was only us riding on the choppy waves.

It was very chilly, even with our jackets, and once we passed someone on shore who was sitting next to a fire. The fire smelled sweet and made me long for its warmth. This morning when we putted past the area where the fire had been, it looked desolate and worn. Some railway cars were just a little way from where the man had sat, warming next to his fire, and it made me wonder who the man was and why he was on the banks of the Maumee River alone in the wee hours of the morning. Fires are prohibited there.

So are fireworks, but after the show, people continued to set off fireworks for much of the night. The booms ricocheted off the buildings and with most of the people gone the river seemed vast. These after-fireworks shows had an eerie quality not unlike one of those weird scenes in Apocalypse Now

We got up early this morning and walked to Big Boy's for breakfast. It was a good time.

I've been doing a lot of reading about Theodore Roethke the last few days. And today I'm reading Truman Capote again. I want to write about these things in an entry soon.

A Night on the River

Allen and I spent last night in the boat on the Maumee River. We started at Rossford in the late afternoon and then putted up to Toledo. After my Ohio River Journey last year I have a new appreciation for all rivers. The BGSU Monitor recently did a piece about me. If you're interested, you can find it here. In the article I talk a little bit about the river and what it means to me.

I took a few photos. On the top is a photo of graffiti. I've always been intrigued by graffiti. I like thinking of the psychological underpinnings of these markings. Last year on the Ohio, Allen and I took the tour of the West Virginia State Penn., and my favorite part was looking at the graffiti on the cell walls. Graffiti is a way of establishing one's existence and perhaps one's mortality. In a sense, it's not so different from what I do when I write poems or stories. Graffiti can sometimes be quite beautiful. Every time I pass the "East Side" graffiti, I enjoy looking at the zany lettering. It seems so "sixties." It's true that graffiti often gets a bad name because of gangs and because it sometimes defaces truly beautiful things. However, I think the impulse to create it is here to stay, and I wouldn't want it to be everywhere prohibited.

The afternoon was beautiful with temperatures in the low eighties and low humidity. We spent a cool night, covering ourselves with our sleeping bags. In the second photo, you see our Boston Terrier, Buddha, riding on Allen's lap. I love taking photos of this dog. He is so sweet and well-behaved. Behind Buddha is Toledo. I took a Toledo sunset photo that turned out quite well and I almost posted it, but then it seemed too predictable, a sunset. I could picture people glancing at it and saying, "Oh, a sunset." Sunset photos are so prevalent that our ability to appreciate them has definitely become diminished.

We awoke this morning to light rain--this rain wasn't predicted until afternoon and we'd planned to be back home before it ever started. But there's no predicting the weather. We waited a while, watched a huge grain-laden boat pass, and watched as thin filaments of lightening streaked across the sky. Finally, fearing wind and stronger rain, we got underway. We'd planned to walk up to Big Boy's in town for a hearty breakfast, but we didn't get to, and we were too wet to stop on the way home. Now, after a long, hot bath while reading some poems by Hayden Carruth, I'm dressed and ready for that breakfast. We are practically on our way out the door now. As far as writing goes, I've been working on an older story and I think it is mostly finished. After being away from it for a good while, I realized I was trying to accomplish too much in a single story, and I streamlined it. I went through it a couple of times on the computer and then printed a hard copy. Then I hand-edited that. Next, I made the changes on the computer. Sometime later today I hope to make another hard copy for editing. I'm still not making the rounds as usual on the Internet. It seems to pull me out of my writing zone.

The next days are supposed to be rainy, but it will be cool and comfy. Nice writing weather, I think!