Ever heard James Taylor's song Line 'Em Up? It's on his Hourglass album. I'm not sure when or where, probably at his concert, he talked about his inspiration for the song. He told the story of watching Nixon's departure from office and all the people lined up to shake his hand and say goodbye. He was struck by the awkwardness of the circumstances. The first verse of the song depicts this scene:
I remember Richard Nixon back in '74 and the final scene at the White House door
and the staff lined up to say good-bye, tiny tear in his shifty little eye,
he said, "Nobody knows me, nobody understands.
These little people were goodto me, oh I'm gonna shake some hands."
The rest of the song is all about places and situations that line things and people up. It's a great little song. If you read me at all you know I think pretty much every JT song is a great song. But the simple imagery in this song strikes a chord that surfaces in my mind pretty regularly as I see similar examples of lined up items in the everyday. Such is the case this afternoon.
I'm in the local nail salon enjoying a pedicure as I write this. I've been using this salon for years. The people who work here are consistent- very kind, personable. Like so many other successful salons, it's lined with massage chairs filled with Floridians trying to keep their ever exposed flip-flopped tootsies groomed and painted to beach worthy perfection. Along the walls, lines of colorful paints and glitters to fit anyone's taste. At the foot of each chair, a line of hard-working hunched-over men and women of varying ages diligently clip nails, rub feet, polish and perfect the toes of strangers. I gotta admit, I don't think I could do it. The regulars, ok. Like me, they're pretty much guaranteed to be well-enough groomed from the last appointment. But you should see some of the nasty feet that walk into these places, yuck!
Anyway, a nod to these kind people, providing a service many would turn their noses up at for work, all lined up like another verse in James Taylor's song.
I'm not sure if this poem works. My friend Helen challenged me to write a found poem from a favorite song and post it with the video of the original song. I have always loved James Taylor, his melodies and acoustic guitar, his warm smooth caramel voice, and his story telling.
Several years ago, I either heard an interview or read an article about his song "Frozen Man" from the New Moon Shine album. It's one of my favorite albums and this song is uniquely haunting. JT had read an article in National Geographic about a body that had been found buried in ice and therefore was relatively well preserved considering how long it had been there. I think it was this story. He wrote the song in first person from the perspective of the exhumed body. I liked the song first time I heard it, but once I knew the story behind it, I liked it even more.
Here is my found poem, all words and phrases from the lyrics of Frozen Man. I added nothing of my own, as tempting as it was. Below the poem you will find a video of a live performance of Frozen Man with a brief explanation from JT about the origin of the song.
Angel of Mercy
Lose
a little
life
with
every
breath
Say goodbye
to life on earth,
swallow me whole!
Shock to my body
Mercy from God
Next words spoken to me Walk the world again
Angel of Mercy
at
the
foot
of
my
bed Come around again
It's been a while since my last post. I simply haven't had the time or the energy to write. I don't need to get into the particulars of running a school on short staff and trudging through testing season, so let's just say I haven't had the time or the energy. What I did find time to do in the past month, is coordinate a writing retreat for several of my writing buddies and me. It's something I have thought about often over long periods of time. A sort of mini vacation in a relaxing locale that would give me environmental respite and communal inspiration. I just wasn't sure anyone would be on board to join me. I wasn't interested in becoming a major event planner or a collector of funds. I would set the course, make the plan, and it would be up to others to come or not to come.
After a few discussions with my writing group, it seemed there would be some interest. We sorted through some recommendations and I started by booking myself a room at Lover's Key Resort. A quiet resort by the beach with enough room to write, a pool, a restaurant, and a room with a fantastic view. Sounds like a perfect recipe doesn't it?
I have to admit, as plans solidified and the virtual invites went out I was disappointed at the lack of response. So many of my teaching and writing friends have talked over the years about how much they would love the opportunity to come together and have devoted time for writing like this. But little by little, I started to let go. This was supposed to be about people who wanted to come together and write, not people who were dragged or guilted into coming. It wasn't about projecting my wants or needs onto other people. It was simply a time to write. A writing retreat.
This morning we started out as a group of 5. Two of my regular writing groupmates and me, along with my sister-in-law a (closet) budding writer and her NWP-ISI classmate who both came out for the day. We were later joined by two others who have come in and out of the group for some participation. I did more writing this morning than I have done all month and I am enjoying it and not feeling burdened by it, which was the whole purpose of the retreat.
We did some slightly structured writing exercises out by the pool this morning, setting our intentions and getting the writing juices flowing. We wrote journal entries and short pieces of poetry and fiction. Then we ate lunch at the poolside restaurant. After we were stuffed, we wrote some more, playing around with inspiration from some of our favorite authors. Then we checked into our rooms and met in one for some exploration of what it means to be a "wild woman," with the help of Judy Reeves' book Wild Women, Wild Voices. It's been a great day so far!
As we broke apart for a little solitary down time, some for writing, others for naps or maybe the pool, I came out to my 10th floor balcony to gaze out at the beautiful view and reflect.
And I thought, I did this. It wasn't huge, it wasn't this big event, but we're here and we're writing. And I couldn't help but think, I was the catalyst. We wrote today about what our wild woman qualities are, what the word wild even means to us. There was conversation around the connotation of the word to mean crazy. In our own words, wild was everything from natural and nature appreciating to risk-taking and brave, sensitive and unrelenting, smart and achieving.
For me, this communal writing retreat embodies everything I want to be when I think of being wild. I want it to be okay for me to want to take time for myself. I want to be gutsy enough to encourage my friends around me to do the same. I want to write. I want to write. I want to write. My friend Helen mentioned this awesome notion she read in Amy Pohler's new book. She said, in so many words, we have to treat our creativity better. We have to nurture it and feed it, because it's always here, always a part of us. Contrary to our jobs which can come and go, and our careers that "shit all over us."
This retreat has been affirmation for me. I'm on a journey. Not in the concrete sense that I'm trying to get somewhere, but in the abstract sense of exploring my wild voice. To each of you on this journey with me, I thank you for holding my hand. This one's for you:
