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@susanshaffer-blog
My great-grandfather, by all accounts, was quite a character. He was born in 1902, the eleventh of thirteen children to a dirt-poor family in Jena, Louisiana. He lived on this earth for some ninety-four years, and those years were filled with colorful adventures. He told stories of hopping...
Beautiful piece, Cody. You can really write! I'm curious. Why did you name it The Fiddler's Companion?
Reunion
Life’s breath
Ephemeral and fleeting,
Could not stay with you.
As long as we were by your side,
You held on,
Through all the pain,
The terrible discomfort,
You tried to remain.
We could not bear
Sitting idle
Watching you suffer
And so we departed.
And hours passed
Ere your reunion
With your creator
And your loving husband.
The last line really gets me.
Writing Dare!
Write a story, poem, or creative response to this photo by artist Cole Rise.
Take the dare and win a wacky piece of art.
An Emily Dickinson Poem
If I can stop one Heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease one Life the Aching Or cool one Pain Or help one fainting Robin Unto his Nest again I shall not live in Vain. - By Emily Dickinson
That's another great one on the subject of how to live. This is my favorite Dickinson. I love it for the imagery and for the line, "zero at the bone."
Snake
A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him, -did you not? His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb, A spotted shaft is seen; And then it closes at your feet And opens further on. He likes a boggy acre, A floor too cool for corn. Yet when a child, and barefoot, I more than once, at morn, Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash Unbraiding in the sun, - When, stooping to secure it, It wrinkled, and was gone. Several of nature's people I know, and they know me; I feel for them a transport Of cordiality; But never met this fellow, Attended or alone, Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.
From the Preface to *Leaves of Grass*
Cody, thanks for sharing "If." I don't now "if" I could live up to it. However, for years I have been trying to follow this directive of Walt Whitman:
"This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."
This is a little Emily Dickenson for Briana. I'm thinking of you sweetie. Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school, where children strove At recess, in the ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. Or rather, he passed us; The dews grew quivering and chill, For only gossamer my gown, My tippet only tulle. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.
http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/english/melani/cs6/stop.html
O.K. Shleby, I See your "Raven" and raise you a "Hollowman" Wait up, wait up, did this just turn in to a POEM OFF? Hold on to your ears. It's about to get real up on this blog page. Hollow Men by T S Eliot Mistah Kurtz-he dead A penny for the Old Guy I We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us-if at all-not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men. II Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star. Let me be no nearer In death's dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer- Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom III This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead man's hand Under the twinkle of a fading star. Is it like this In death's other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone. IV The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of death's twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men. V Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning. Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow Life is very long Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom For Thine is Life is For Thine is the This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
Sometimes drafting is thrilling, a surge of energy, a delirium of words. Other times, it is unnerving. Words, like temperamental little birds, perch above me--too noisy to hear, too easy to startle. Meanwhile, time becomes even more relative than usual. Seconds swell into long, dull stretches while hours disappear suddenly and unexpectedly into The Mysterious Vortex of Deadlines. And in its willingness to contain every possibility, the blank page becomes a smooth seal against any idea at all.
In contrast, I almost always enjoy the process of revision. My thoughts are on the page. I can see them: an unmoving lump of handwriting--ugly, formless, and begging to be touched.
Speaking of revision, I love Paul Simon. His music has been a good friend to me all my life. I've recently discovered that he sings about writing. As my English 1 students begin their first essay rewrite, I've been playing this video. Check it out. The guitar is great.
In another song, "Hurricane Eye," he says:
You want to be leader? You want to change the game? Turn your back on money Walk away from fame You want to be a missionary? You got that missionary zeal? Let a stranger change your life How’s that make you feel? You want to be a writer But you don’t know how or when Find a quiet place Use a humble pen
TCWC Blogs
Please visit the tumblr account of these TCWC members and click FOLLOW.
http://morgyn08.tumblr.com/
http://shelbyd93.tumblr.com/
http://aegnuddel.tumblr.com/
http://codyvandever.tumblr.com/
http://bridgetwhelan.tumblr.com/
GDI I meant to respond privately. It's me, Bridget.
awesome.
following you with my, erm, "professional" account now.
cool! will check it out
Dear The Creative Writing Club,
Thank you for following me on Tumblr. I will likewise follow you. I'm looking forward to seeing your poetry, stories, and ideas.
Let's establish some ground rules. Can everyone get behind these?
1. Be safe. Keep in mind that everything you put on the Internet really is accessible to everyone in the world forever. Consider setting your account to private.
2. Have fun. For the love of God. Please have fun writing.
3. Be polite. Feedback is what this is all about, and of course, it can't (and shouldn't) all be over-the-rainbow glowing. But please be aware that most of us are young, tender, budding artists who require love, attention, and gentle guidance. Also keep in mind that criticism looks much harsher in writing than it might sound in person.
4. Please "tag" writings that you want to share with us (The Creative Writing Club) with the phrase: Sowela TCWC. Please do not tag amusing links and cute pictures of kittens with the phrase "Sowela TCWC." This is our special non-spam club phrase.
That's it!
Susan
