Poetry Blitz, Nine.

Tonight's edition of book ends' National Poetry Month poetry blitz (read more about it here) is an extra-special edition for two reasons. First, because I am going to post a poem written by none other than yours truly, the very poem that is mentioned in this post--as requested by a faithful reader of mine. Second, tonight's post is special because today is an important day... the 5 year anniversary of the day T & I started dating. And the poem that I am posting just happens to be about him. So, happy anniversary, T!

Rain, Snow, and Other Weather

by Lauren Stacks

[Found in Time You Let Me In: 25 Poets Under 25]

I'm like the weather, never really can predict

when this rain cloud's gonna

burst; when it's the high or it's

the low, when you might need a light jacket.

Sometimes I'm the slush that sticks

to the bottom of your work pants,

but I can easily be the melting snowflakes

clinging to your long lashes.

I know that some people like:

sunny and seventy-five,

sunny and seventy-five,

sunny and seventy-five,

but you take me as I am and never

forget to pack an umbrella.

(c) Lauren Stacks

photo: weheartit

Why I Write

I had the loveliest thing ever happen to me last week, and I've been hemming and hawing over whether or not to share it here, because it might sound a little like I'm tooting my own horn. But I've decided to share because, ultimately, this little story is about writing--and why I, personally, write.

While I was in Denver, overwhelmed by the number of successful writers around me, it was easy to feel a little discouraged. Sure, I have three poems published in a delightful anthology, but the high from one's first publication can only last so long before a writer starts feeling pressure for another publication, and then another and another. But then, I went back to our hotel one night, and found a positively uplifting email in my inbox.

It went a little something like this: A woman, a librarian in upstate New York, emailed me and told me that she loved Naomi Shihab Nye, and had run out and picked up her anthology as soon as she heard about it. When she finished reading the book, she looked back at her favorite poems, and realized that a lot of them were, well, written by me. She could have simply ended the email right there, and I would have been giddy simply knowing that I had stood out in a anthology of 25 poets to someone out there. But, she continued: at a faculty meeting at her school, she had decided she wanted to read my poem, "Rain, Snow, and Other Weather," at the beginning of the meeting. She read aloud, but when she got to the last two lines, she found herself crying and unable to finish. One of her co-workers had to finish reading the last lines for her.

This, my friends, is why I write. And in the literary community, in an MFA program, and surround by successful writers, it is sometimes easy to forget about this. Many people write to be "artsy," to be published, or to make money. But what I've always loved about reading was how it could touch you, how the words could leap off the page and mean something, even though they came from someone else's mind, someone else's experience. In the past, I've been told that my poetry is "sentimental" and often, there is a touch of distain that comes with that word, especially when uttered by writers who reach only for the artistic. But me, I'm fine with being sentimental if it means that I can touch the average person, if it means that my writing can go beyond just the literary community, and into the lives of those who might not have an MFA or a PhD, who let my words show them a mirror of themselves.

L. Stacks

Photo: weheartit

Dork, Nerd, Dweeb or Geek?

Here's a little fun for my Friday post, because, well, we all need a little fun every once in a while, and this week especially I need some. I have been a little off in my postings, but I hope that after my weekend of cracking down and getting things done, I will be back to normal by next week.

I am cracking up over this image, which was found at thegreatwhitesnark.com by a friend of mine, and posted on her facebook:

I'm glad that I now know that I was incorrect in referring to my teenage self as a "nerd"--because, while I had the intelligence (I cried when I got my first, and only A-) and the obsession factors (I would read while walking home from school for heaven's sake), I fortunately was blessed to be socially competent. Therefore, it would be much more accurate to call myself a geek rather than a nerd. I'm so glad this has all been cleared up, aren't you?

Readers, while I'm sure you all are the coolest people on the planet, do any of you fall into these categories? How would you be labeled? (And do you agree with these definitions?)

Happy Friday,

L. Stacks

Photo: weheartit

Poetry Blitz, Eight.

This post is the eighth installation of book ends'

National Poetry Month poetry blitz. Read about it here.

The Language of the Couple

By Heather Sellers

[From the collection, The Boys I Borrow, originally published in Smartish Pace]

The tiniest anything in the sweet whole world

Is named new, just you two know bike is Pony,

Boy is Rug, van is Pookatron, husband, The Pook.

An adorable adoring dictionary feeds you two

You have your names for each other engraved

In your wedding rings, you have names for a chair

The bed, the way you lean back when he holds you.

You name the compost pile, you name the dogs

Over and over and over with new and ever sicklier

Goopier names. Oh Bowser, oh Cutie. Oh Pookadoo.

No more named things the sons protest, it’s just

Jake, stop, stop with The Bug, the June, Junie June Bug

Everything doesn’t have to Be

Named. They repeat.

Whatever.

The Less Said

The Better.

But it does. Everything does have to be named.

Naming’s the knitting love does to keep you

Snug, it’s the country you make

The place you live in. Its language is a two people

Fluency. The extra names gild a thing, a boy, a heart—

The more names the more loved. The more

Loved the more worth, the more you want it.

And so we continue

To summon the bicycle, the car, the garbage

Can, the boys, the hounds, the dishes, the heart

By the love names, the wings Words have when they are

Just yours and his, tongue of two of one of you.

L. Stacks

Photo: weheartit

Poetry Blitz, Seven.

This post is the seventh installation of book ends'

National Poetry Month poetry blitz! Read about it here.

Reasons Not To Have a Daughter

by Twilight Greenaway

[From Ninth Letter Vol 5, Issue 1]

She’ll shed like a dove,

molt and scrap and reassess

herself in patches like crops

gridding land from above.

She will be all sandal strap

and knee. Snaps and clips and hair

in mouth. Fabric sliced right off

then yearned precisely for.

If you’re any good at all,

she will radiate contentment,

accept recipes and underwear

long after she needs either.

She will also one day know

how small your life is

when set against the debt

you’ve kept at bay

to the bank and the world.

For a place you’ve carved:

a stubborn floor, a bird, a girl.

L. Stacks

Photo: weheartit

Poetry Blitz, Six.

This post is the sixth installation of book ends'

National Poetry Month poetry blitz! Read about it here.

if you like my poems let them

by e.e. cummings

(found at americanpoems.com)

if you like my poems let them

walk in the evening, a little behind you

then people will say

"Along this road I saw a princess pass

on her way to meet her lover(it was

toward nightfall)with tall and ignorant servants."

L. Stacks

Photo: weheartit

Back in Chicago, Sea-Level

Lovely readers, I'm back from Denver, and while I had a great time during my whirlwind visit, I'm glad to be back at sea-level. I was really surprised how much the altitude messed with me--I woke up with headaches each morning, and felt exhausted by 10 p.m. each night. Chicago is now fully green and blooming, and all the extra air sure feels nice in my lungs. I only took a few pictures during my trip, so here a just a few:

16th Street Mall, with its Free Mallride and streets without any cars allowed

Cute Larimer Square, where I ate at a delicious French restaurant.

The Capital Building, in Capital Hill, where we stayed.

Overall, my trip was a blast. I did tons of writerly things--attended a reading by George Saunders and listened to Michael Chabon speak (and I'm currently reading his book The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay!). I got lots of free literary magazines, made some great contacts, and even had lunch with a friend whom I met on a plane ride in January!

I attended some great panels, and others that weren't so great. But they all had wonderful titles: Mommy, I'm Having an Existential Crisis!: Voices of Children in Fiction; All Around Bitch: The Challenges of Writing Unlikeable Female Protagonists; and Sick Humor: What's Not Funny About Serious Disease? On Saturday evening, we went out to what is apparently a Denver hotspot, The Whiskey Bar, where baseball fans could bring their ticket stub and get a free PBR after the game.

I'd definitely love to go back to Denver when I have more time. And I'm already planning on attending next year's AWP Conference in Washington D.C.--I just haven't told my fiance yet.

L. Stacks