What has my life taken out of your pocket?

I have made something.

(Although it is small and nearly imperceptible.)

It signifies my existence. It signifies

love I have given and received.

It signifies the things I have accepted

and that which I reject.

This lifework took years

and it has worn me.

I rise from bed dark mornings

because the desire to become

more real hunts me and haunts me—

even in sleep—that dark dance.

The desire to create is the desire

to become more real.  It is the desire

to deepen understanding

of Self and Other.

I am ready again, again, again 

to succumb; to give myself

over to the art engendered

within and without.

Occupy the Audience

This is me. Please enjoy.

 

Thanks to Jonathan Penton of Unlikely Stories and to Cite des Arts.

 

 

In the Rear-View Mirror

The Writing Life Year 2011

Thanks to all of the editors, hosts, friends who have supported me this year and for many years through our literary endeavors.

Nominee, Sundress Publication’s Best of the Net 2011, nonfiction category, for “The White Crane,” by Referential Magazine

Nominee, Dzanc Books’ Best of the Web 2011 for “Winter Brought Out All the Knives,” by Melusine: Woman in the 21st Century

Readings

Cite des Arts, Lafayette, LA November 4th

10th Annual New Orleans Book Fair, New Orleans, LA November 5th

The Maple Leaf, Everette C. Maddox Memorial Reading, November 6th              

 

2012 DAF Grant Recipients Celebration

Acadiana Center for the Arts, Lafayette, LA, October 24th

 

100 Thousand Poets for Change                      

Acadiana Center for the Arts, Lafayette, LA September 24th

 

Open Mic Series at Casa Azul

                Featured Poet with Lana Wiggins, Grand Coteau, LA April 21st

 

Publications 

“Note to Self” The Centrifugal Eye, April 2011

“Haunted” Referential Magazine, Spring 2011

“Lost” Redheaded Stepchild, Spring 2011

“The Bird in My Ribcage” Redheaded Stepchild, Spring 2011

“How it Comes” A Clean, Well-Lighted Place Vol. 1, Issue 1

“Meditation on Intimations of Winter II” A Clean, Well-Lighted Place Vol. 1, Issue 1

“Poem at Red Moon (Full August Moon)” Unlikely Stories, September 2011

“Secrets Alluded to But Never Told” Unlikely Stories, September 2011

 

Press 53’s 2011 Spotlight anthology

 “Eating the Heart First” first appeared in Eclectica Magazine

“Poem Composed After Reading Plath’s Ariel at a Junkyard”

“4-Way Stop at Dusk” first appeared in Farmhouse Magazine

“Tattoo” “first appeared in Press 1

“Life Expectancy” first appeared in Blood Lotus

“I Have Learned To Hold My Tongue”

“To His Disquiet We Owe Recompense” first appeared in the Dead Mule

“Punishment”

“Starving Horses” first appeared in the Dead Mule

“The Gift” first appeared in the Dead Mule

In addition, I signed on as a Teaching Artist with the Acadiana Center for the Arts. I have high hopes that this will be a rewarding opportunity.

 

Looking Ahead:

2012

“What Winter Told Me” THRUSH, forthcoming January 2012

“Seeing Through” blue five notebook, forthcoming April 2012

“Ink on a Mirror” Louisiana Literature, forthcoming 2012

“Convergence” Louisiana Literature, forthcoming 2012

30 years from age 13

I was a bit anxious before we set out–I had not been to New Orleans since August 2005–a couple of weeks before The Storm. It was so good to be in the city again and to experience needed psychic healing by seeing a vibrant, energized city. Maybe it was the great weather but the peeps seemed joyful all around.  We didn’t have any negative experiences. Everything was cool.

My first visit to New Orleans was when I was 13 years old. I went with my parents and we stayed on St. Charles. I fell in love with the city–it wasn’t just a teenage crush–I rode the streetcars up and down the line over and over again and longed to live there when I grew up. Something caught my eye in a small NOLA newspaper I picked up on that trip back in 1981. A notice for a poetry reading at The Maple Leaf Bar. Wow. Poetry. Cool! I was just beginning to write pimpled and hormone-soaked lines.  I BEGGED my parents to take me or let me go on my own. I had never ever been to a poetry reading before. I had never ever been to a bar either but that didn’t factor into my comprehension of the potentially incredible, once in a lifetime possibility. A poetry reading sounded chic and exotic compared to my just up from the country-boudin and cracklin upbringing. I was really messed up when my parents wouldn’t let me go and I considered sneaking to Oak St. because I wanted to be there so badly.  (Same thing happened when the Stones played the Superdome in 1981. It killed me that I couldn’t go.)

My old, fuddy-duddy folks were so lame! So I didn’t go and wouldn’t go for another 30 years.

Today was my first time ever at The Maple Leaf. Today I was actually a featured artist there thanks to Jonathan Penton of www.unlikelystories.org   The Everette C. Maddox Memorial Prose & Poetry Reading held every Sunday at 3 PM in the courtyard of the Maple Leaf Bar is the longest running reading series in North America.  It was a great high for me to read there and be a part of the Louisiana tradition.

We arrived during the third quarter of a home Saints game and the bar crowd was wild to put it mildly. The Saints won and the Unlikely Saints did too. Our readings were sublime in my humble opinion. I hated leaving at the start of the open mic but tonight’s a school night and we had a long drive home.

This weekend in New Orleans, among many things, I experienced the Good that poetry is and the Good it can do. There was “good” poetry (and prose) for certain but I think our group the Unlikely Saints (Jonathan Penton, Michael Harold, Frankie Metro, Wendy Taylor Carlisle, and Kristina Marshall) and our audiences experienced the Good Vibrations that can occur in optimum circumstances when lovers and makers of art gather to expeience creative work.  Thanks to everyone who came out to listen, read, laugh with us. Most especially thanks to Jonathan for the invitation and all of his hard work.

Tuesday will be my birthday.  30 years from age 13, I have two completed manuscripts with good prospects, poems published in the double digits, a strong writing practice and lots of love and good energy surrounding me. This weekend was a circle completing and I hope to widen an (unbroken) circle in the future.

And I leave you with these humble words as a gift: 

Bless you, you who create art. Believe in your craft; give to it as much as you can.  Let it awaken you and be the matter of your dreams—

Your voice is both vulnerable and strong. Care for it. Bring the words which fly madly through you into the world through the discipline to which you adhere.  Share it. Give it another life in someone’s mind and heart.

And follow this creed—

“Each success, no matter how small, in the practice of what I love is a lightning strike against the dark.”

Clare

 

 

Clare Reading at 100 Thousand Poets for Change

Me.

Expanding Circles: Readings in Lafayette and New Orleans

I have been invited to be a part of the Unlikely Saints “mini tour” organized by Unlikely Stories. Thanks to Jonathan Penton for this opportunity!

Details follow.

 

READINGS BY UNLIKELY SAINTS:

Friday November 4th 8:30 PM

Cité des Arts

109 Vine Street

Lafayette, Louisiana

 

Wendy Taylor Carlisle
Michael Harold (a.k.a. Michael Aro)
Clare L. Martin
Jonathan Penton

 

Saturday November 5th

In conjunction with the 10th Annual New Orleans Book Fair ( http://nolabookfair.com/ )  
Wendy Taylor Carlisle
Frankie Metro
Clare L. Martin
Michael Harold
Kristina Marshall
Jonathan Penton

The book fair runs from 500-600 Frenchman Street. From 10am to 6pm the bars and clubs of this block open their dance floors and sidewalks to a number of publishers and booksellers. After 6pm, the clubs will run literary-themed events.

 

 Sunday November 6th at 3 PM

Maple Leaf Bar

8316 Oak St., (west of Carrollton)

New Orleans, LA

Unlikely Stories’ “Unlikely Saints” will read at the Maple Leaf Bar and Grill in conjunction with the Everette C. Maddox Memorial Prose & Poetry Reading, the longest-running reading series in North America! An open mic follows.
Wendy Taylor Carlisle
Frankie Metro
Clare L. Martin
Michael Harold
Kristina Marshall
Jonathan Penton

Hope to see you there!

 

Quickie before bed, well…

I was asked to participate in the Acadiana Center for the Arts DAF FY2012 AWARDS CELEBRATION for grant recipients held Monday—I was asked to read for this as one part of a showcase of local artists who are in partnership with the AcA.

As part of the entertainment segment of the “Celebration” there was an excerpt performed of an original contemporary dance piece “I’VE STOPPED HAVING THAT DREAM I’VE BEEN HAVING” choreographed by Paige Krause (which will be performed in its entirety November at the AcA.) Rose Hoffman Cormier and Jessica Jouclard, from a locally produced musical, sang a rousing bit about road kill! There were two of us poets—Kelly Clayton and myself.

It was such a thrill to be invited to this celebration. The state grants awarded in this ceremony, the people who implement the arts programs throughout the parishes the AcA serves, cultivate our creativity-rich Louisiana culture, making economic gains for the Acadiana area and beyond, and enhancing value for our state. These arts programs enrich, inspire, educate, and transform people.

It was a joy to hear Kelly read. I love Kelly’s work—it is clear, often tender and truthful, always strong and lyrical—hers is well-imagined art.  She is a passionate woman and writes with that great passion needed to process an experience into art.

The James Devon Moncus Theatre is a great space and this was only the second time I’ve read there. I read recently for the 100,000 Poets for Change event on September 24th and Monday.

On Monday I read three poems: “Remembering,” “Winters at the Lake” and “I Have Learned to Hold My Tongue.”  I was a little nervous but I think my voice was strong, although I was breathy.  I joked a bit with the audience and spoke plainly about my turn to The Writing Life seven years ago after a family member (my son) died, as a way to process grief.

I think I recall too that I said that I embraced my gift and honored it so that I could do what I was born to do—be a poet.  That’s not arrogant. It’s the most humble thing I’ve ever spoken.

The reading felt good.  I wanted to share poems that were specifically Louisiana-themed, although “I Have Learned…” is not. So many people who are arts-connected were there and gave both Kelly and me  heartfelt compliments and comments about the readings.

I was in a swoon and may have said silly things! I am still in a swoon–it’s Thursday and Monday is still on my mind!

A few months ago I bought blank business cards from Office Depot and found a template in Word that helped me make a personalized card for myself. It simply reads: Clare L. Martin POET and has my contact info. I was able to mingle with the recipients and guests after the program, and was asked for contact info so I handed several out.

Seven years ago, when I made my commitment to The Writing Life, I asked myself, “What is the smartest way to become successful at anything?”  I decided to treat it like a job. Give myself respect. Put in long hours. Always push myself to be greater than myself. Don’t compete with others but with myself—I can be better than me!  Learn as much as I can and let experience deepen me–say yes when the Boss asks you to do something.

I have said yes to almost every opportunity that has come my way in these past seven years.  I have accumulated a ton of raw material and finished works that I am actively and successfully marketing. Yes, I made silly “poet” cards to hand out to people I meet. It‘s quirky and I get weird looks sometimes but it is a true fact that I am a poet, and as a professional poet I need to be prepared and ready when opportunities to connect and share arise. 

Congrats to the Acadiana area DAF 2012 grants recipients and thank you for giving so much to the communities you serve through arts programming.

So much more could be said…time for bed.

WHITE ROOM

The other day I walked into a white room and it was perfection. The wide, wooden floorboards shone. My footfall echoed in soft flip flop-claps. The air hummed coolly. White linen curtains glowed mellow light. I gasped; I felt punched because I recognized something in that clean, sharp room that we do not possess—an order, a becoming that was whole and indelible. (We live in squalor, awash in grief.) Could we be born again? Could we fit into a white, sunlit room of our own? In this room was a laughing wife, snuggling her beautiful son. Her clean-shaven husband entered their white room, kissed his family and sat beside them. There was no hardness between them. I don’t believe your promises anymore— you, who will not build me a white room. How long can I continue to sneak away to motley motels to luxuriate in aloneness, to delineate my own everything? There is someone else. There must be. There must be someone who would build me up bone by bone; fill me with a simple and clear eloquence, and renew me. Such is an interior white room. I am separating myself from myself from myself ad infinitum to find the door to the white room that eludes me and walk through it.

Baited hooks in the water…waiting for bites

Inventory: 26 (different) poems to 5 journals (no simultaneous subs) 3 poems in a contest, 1 chapbook in a contest, 1 full-length collection being considered, and 9 poems withdrawn due to lack of response over one year. (Grr)

The 9 poems I withdrew are in my ready file to be looked over again and re-submitted. Maybe tomorrow. :)

 

Also, 5 poetry readings scheduled in the next few months!

AT LAST

A green shadow flits across the wall. I grow old between breaths. The memory of you heartens me. You are the net beneath my aerial act—

As close as we are and as close as I hope we become, it was important for me to get away, to bury myself in cool sheets to stare at the ceiling–rain chattering above.  It was important for me to delineate myself; to work alone, eat alone. It was so important for me to lie awake in bed thinking of the long ago-summer in the south of France. I shyly spread my towel over the pebbles and sand and removed my top.  The old couple fished with nets in the water near me. They laughed and I lost my embarrassment. It was important for me to remember the lover I took—to remember myself young and unknowing.

There is a highway between us and through it we are connected. When you wake miles away, I wake. When a thought of me surfaces in your mind I am aware too of you. I believe in a psychic fabric that connects us all.

I wish I had brought an instrument to play in these lovely, lonely hours—a guitar, a harmonica; or even a great and grand piano, hauled miraculously on my very own back.

I will miss this place. I wish to return soon. I found peace here in the sweet Casita Azul.

Final entry from Retreat Writings–July 2011

Casita Azul, Grand Coteau, LA.