Have you ever wondered why the word “poetry” is used to bestow such high praise–so that the work of a brilliant chef or architect or filmmaker is called “poetic” or “poetry in motion,” even by people who would never be caught dead at a poetry reading? No other art besides poetry has had such a mythology attached to its sources
I want to draw your attention to some amazing organizations whose work is in harmony with my mission. I’ve organized them according to the Five Directions that structure this website. East: air, wisdom, clarity Tuseme Women in Literary Arts North: earth, abundance, strength Women, Peace, and Security SNEHA West: water, healing, community Women of Purpose Sahaja South: fire, will,
When you were a child, did you ever chant words to yourself, over and over? Did you love the way that made you feel? I don’t think I’ve ever met a young child who isn’t entranced by the way a word or phrase can turn to magic through rhythm and chant. As we grow, we tend to suppress our love
Annie Finch writing in Maine. Photographed with a box camera by Doug Bruns First published in A Poet's Craft: A Comprehensive Guide to Making and Sharing Your Poetry (University of Michigan Press, 2013) "No ideas but in things," admonished William Carlos Williams in the most famous statement on poetics of the twentieth century. His remark summed up the credo of the
“We really need to do something about publishing.” — Audre Lorde Recently on a women poets online discussion group, the young poetry editor of an online magazine wrote that she is dismayed how few submissions she receives from women. Then she posted a general invitation for the group to send in poems. Someone commented, “Why not solicit women poets
My anthology of literature about abortion Choice Words, which I’ve been editing for twenty years, is under contract to go out into the world from the renowned progressive publisher Haymarket Books. This will be the first major literary anthology about abortion and includes an incredible lineup of classic and contemporary contributors: Lorde, Atwood, LeGuin, Brooks, Clifton, Naylor, Oates, Tan, Shange,
Note: this piece was originally published in Her Circle Ezine in 2011. Since that link is no longer live and the issues persist, I’m posting it here as well. —AF Finally, VIDA has published the numbers. What many of us have long known, or at least suspected, is now incontrovertible truth: women are not published nearly as much as men
How wonderful that Linda Ashok has edited a volume of Best Indian Poetry, modeled on the Best American Poetry Series! Welcome, and wishing long life to the series. This looks like a truly fascinating collection.
Hope you can make it! Use code ONLYLOVE at checkout to get a $5 Friends discount. I hope all NYC friends will make a point to come, and please be sure to say hi afterwards! It will be a ritual and party as well as a show. SO excited to see you there!!!!!!!!!!!!! Love, Annie
The beautiful words you will read below arose in the consciousness of participants in my recent writing workshop at the Garrison Institute. The workshop was based on Five Directions, my system of creative, psychological, and spiritual growth through rhythmical writing. Each of the brief passages here offers a glimpse into one moment of our weekend-long journey through different language rhythms,
I last saw my darling friend Meena about a year and a half ago. We had made a date to meet up at the Poetry by the Sea conference and sit together on the bench overlooking the ocean, and that’s exactly what we did. Meena was in the midst of surgery and chemo treatments; she was frail and fatigued but
My beautiful, beautiful sister Dabney—here she is in her belly dancing days. It’s hard to believe she is gone. And maybe there’s good reason for that. When I got the news last night, I was at a full moon medicine circle of women healers. After a round of phone calls with family members, I rejoined the circle and after a
Part 2 of Tony Gatlif’s 3 part film series about the Roma people, Latcho Drom, is one of the most moving films I’ve ever seen. This mesmerizing and subtle mistresspiece of documentary filmmaking has moved into my Lifelong Top 5. It shows us so much about how humanity can be—and, as seems pretty clear from the film’s tragic
THE SEAFARER From the Anglo-Saxon, c. 550-950 AD I keep the track of a song true of me: I’ll tell of trials, struggling times, hard days,
Originally published as an appendix to Among the Goddesses: An Epic Libretto in Seven Dreams, an epic poem about abortion by Annie Finch (Red Hen Press, 2010) This ritual can be done alone or with any or all members of the family or community affected by your abortion–the people that the baby might have known. I developed it for myself and my
Annie Finch: The Healing Spiral of Words: Transformation Through the Rhythms of Language
I recently read a fascinating article, An Algorithmic Investigation of the Highfalutin ‘Poet Voice,’, that delves deep into the affected oral monotony that can, I admit, make listening to poetry readings sometimes feel like a bit of a chore. “Poet voice,” according to the researchers after analyzing the reading styles of 100 poets, is a composite of “slow pitch speed,
In the last several years, I have become intimate with what Elizabeth Bishop called “the art of losing.” I have lost a job, health, financial stability, and my lifetime’s literary archive (85 cartons of papers, sold to the Beinecke Library). I lost my mother to memory loss and then death—and in the surrounding family chaos, I lost closeness with siblings
Recently I was hurled across the existential divide that separates the millions of people around the world who have experienced a life-threatening extreme weather event from those who have not. In December 2017 unseasonal Santa Ana winds roared off a California desert across two drought-parched counties, not for the usual 48 hours but for more than a week, blowing a
This is the multi-layered, reflecting view on the last night before leaving our little apartment in Portland’s Old Port for DC–and on the eve of the subtle and strange pagan holiday called Imbolc. Imbolc marks the first stirring of life, literally meaning “in the belly,” since in the Celtic year this is when ewes become pregnant. But, especially in Maine,
My mom is gone. Just three hours after I returned to Portland from the St. Francis MFA residency, the phone call came that she had passed over. When I reached her, St Joseph’s Home had left the window open a crack so her soul could leave, they said, but I still felt some of her spirit there and she
I have always loved and admired the work of psychologist Harriet Lerner. Her books The Dance of Anger and The Dance of Intimacy were key in helping me get into adulthood sane. But honestly, this little essay on the importance of the word VULVA is likely the most helpful thing I’ve ever read by her. I found it on the
“Formal questions are about dynamics—they ask how, where, and why the writing moves, what are the types, directions, number, and velocities of a work’s motion.” — Lyn Hejinian
In 2011, one third of women in the U.S. reported that they had been victims of sexual assault (rape, stalking, beating, or a combination of assaults). If that definition were widened to include the far more common sorts of sexual abuse described in my first post, the percentage of us whose hearts have been damaged, voices silenced, and power shamed
Heading to Haystack tomorrow for the 9th annual Architecture, Culture, and Spirituality Forum. I’m honored to have been asked to be poet in residence and to perform a keynote poetry reading and ritual at Stonington Opera House on Wednesday night. Will take the occasion to weave together sacred time and space for this group and, by extension, for all of
When my mother‘s mother was a baby, she attended the ceremony unveiling the Brooklyn Bridge and was carried across the bridge in her father’s arms. That’s only one reason I am so thrilled to be joining the new low-residency MFA program at St. Francis College in Brooklyn Heights, just across that same bridge from Manhattan. It’s the first low-res program in NYC
“The words you speak become the house you live in.” – Hafiz
This is one of my favorite and most challenging times of the year. Here on the coast of Maine, the snow is still fairly clean on the ground, but the air is biting and it seems like a long long time since the earth was alive. And like many people I know, I’ve been struggling with fear and disbelief, with many
Poet and political visionary June Jordan was a beacon of justice and freedom and has long been one of my role models. When I was a professor I often taught her peerless literary organizing manual Poetry for the People, and the joyous, loving confidence of that book helped inspire me to start the WomPo (Discussion of Women Poets) listserv. Jordan
I’m posting this stunning poem in memory of the poet and writer Judith Ortiz Cofer, who died on December 30. Quinceañera BY JUDITH ORTIZ COFER My dolls have been put away like dead children in a chest I will carry with me when I marry. I reach under my skirt to feel a satin slip bought for this day. It
One of the bitterest disappointments for me of the post-election coverage has been to discover how deeply and immutably sexist many of the intellectuals in our country still are. If Hillary had won, the glass ceiling would have been the central narrative throughout the mainstream. Yet now, those analyzing the election–white men, men of color, and sometimes women too– focus
About a decade ago, I found myself in need of making a serious apology—the kind of apology where a lot hangs in the balance. I made my apologies over and over, but none of them worked; the hurt feelings lingered on. It was a wake up call. For the first time in my life, I realized that apologizing is
I have always felt a kinship with this poem, as I think many women do, because it illuminates the power of the secrets so many of us have felt we had to keep within. And now in the wake of writing this post about silence and breaking silence about sexual abuse, it means even more to me. How heartbreaking to think of
Rosh Hashanah in Maine happens during a startlingly beautiful time of the year, when golden glories shine sweet and silent, subtle and supreme, over the poignant land. I love this time of year. I love the three days of the Jewish New Year more every year, no matter where I am. I love how you can’t pinpoint the year’s exact
Last year I attended a large women’s event: an herbal festival held at a rented summer camp. On the first night, one of the owners of the establishment welcomed the crowd of about 600 women. “Are there any guys in the house?” he asked, almost immediately. He was greeted by a sea of women’s laughter: there were no guys in
After thirty years of teaching for universities, to strike out on my own as a teacher has been a challenging and sometimes terrifying experience. But the rewards are immense. The poets who are seeking me out are beautiful to work with, and it seems that the poetry teaching wisdom I have to offer may have never been put to better use
When I was about ten, in the 60s when the draft was a big thing, I remember getting in a big argument with my father, Henry L. Finch, about drafting women. I told him that if men were being drafted I thought women should be drafted too—it was only fair. A pacifist who had been a conscientious objector in
Sometimes poets who are my students are surprised to hear that I (like plenty of other well-published poets I know!) can have trouble sending things out. I’ve been procrastinating on the next group of offerings for several months, weeks, and now hours. So I thought I’d share this experience here in case it is reassuring. . . . And yes, I
CHOICE WORDS: WRITERS ON ABORTION, edited by Annie Finch, seeks ideas, suggestions, and contributions. Excerpts from fiction, nonfiction, poems, and alternative texts such as letters or journals will all be considered. As well as offering your own work, prospective contributors are urged to “sponsor” a piece of writing: share a few words to introduce a piece from another writer, either from the past (all centuries) or
Recently I had the pleasure of participating in a panel called “Endangered Music: Formal Poetry in the 21st Century,” moderated by Larissa Shmailo, at the AWP (Associated Writing Programs) conference in LA. I spoke to the audience about my journey to writing metrical poetry and the deep and satisfying complexity of my relationship with meter. On returning home, I was surprised
I am so sorry for the recent loss of Kate Light to breast cancer. Kate was a professional violinist as well as poet, a bright sprite of a soul, and a lovely poet. I met Kate through Molly Peacock and, as women formalists in days when there were very few of us, we bonded and shared some good times
This essay is based on the version published in The Body of Poetry: Essays on Women, Form, and the Poetic Self (University of Michigan Press, 2005). I updated it with several edits, based on a renewed conversation about these issues on the WOM-PO listserv, on January 8, 2016. This open letter was originally sent as an email
Lately I’ve been starting to take more time sorting through, dipping into, wandering around in, my poetry library—a lifetime’s collection of poetry books filling a half-dozen huge bookcases and a dozen cartons, and this the more interesting half that remains after weeding out about half of the collection over the last several years. It’s amazing what washes up. The other day, for example, tucked in
Swinburne is a poet I have loved dearly since I first discovered his sapphics as a teenager—still some of my favorite sapphics of all time. On a visceral level, I find him cathartic. One of the prized possessions in my poetry library is a rare six-volume set of his complete works. I found it on sale in a little bookstore in New Orleans one
Last year I did a very useful 9-month business training with a wonderful biz coach Britt Bolnick. I learned a lot and am now spending a week in a kind of virtual reunion with her “tribe” of women. We’re asked to post answers to questions, which I’m planning to post here as well— and the first one is, “what did
I have been traveling in Iceland this week and having my mind quietly blown by a landscape so full of fire and ice and sea, size and solitude and surprise, that it just carves me out as a glacier carves a landscape, leaving space for new wonder. This is the country that decided not to build a road in 2014
Last night’s performance of Five Directions in Portland felt so amazing. My poems flew away and came home at the same time. Though I’ve written a number of verse plays over the years and my poetry readings have been called theatrical, I haven’t performed in one of my own theater pieces since my first book, The Encyclopedia of Scotland, premiered
It’s National Poem in your Pocket Day. For over a decade, the Academy of American Poets has been encouraging all of us to carry a poem in our pockets on April 30 and share it with people we meet, in honor of the last day of National Poetry Month. And to make it easier, the AAP has even helpfully provided
My Sister-in-Law, Sister, Niece, and Me in My Mother’s Kitchen A new review of my book Spells: New and Selected Poems is out, and the author, Anna Leahy, makes some interesting points about the larger question of women’s writing. Leahy writes of Spells, “The poems in this collection encourage gendered reading or encourage gender as part of reading. Maybe that’s a problem.” Leahy
I am beyond excited that my anthology Measure for Measure: An Anthology of Poetic Meters, edited with Alexandra Oliver, is now out in the Everymans Library series from Random House. This book has been a twenty-year project of mine that has gone through two previous aborted coeditorships, and I’m so glad that Alexandra Oliver finally came along and helped me make it real. The
On Nov 29, a poet named Shannon Barber posted an “Open Letter to The Paris Review” complaining about the poem that venerable literary magazine had chosen to publish under the title “The Ballad of Ferguson, Missouri.” “Right now just about every Black person I know is in pain, wrote Barber.” “We have to see on social media how many of
On Nov 29, I issued the “Ferguson Ballad Challenge” to express my solidarity with Shannon Barber’s concern that The Paris Review chose to publish the poem it did under the title “The Ballad of Ferguson, Missouri.” The good news is that titles can’t be copyrighted and the field for the real ballad of Ferguson, the one that will illuminate and motivate and
Review of Matriarchal Societies: Studies on Indigenous Culture Across the Globe by Heide Goettner-Abendroth Clearly, the time is overdue to overthrow the structures of violence and financial and cultural oppression that support the patriarchy. But a revolution like that can’t happen in a vacuum–it can’t be just a matter of getting rid of something. For real change, we need to be for something–something
If a poet believes in the “channel” model of the self, there is almost a mandate to do everything you can to develop yourself as much as possible, so you can do as good a job channeling your muse as you can. This is the way I’ve always looked at it. To me it’s sort of like the way I
In a few hours I’ll be heading to the Black Earth Institute‘s annual retreat. I’m a Senior Fellow of the Institute, an honor that I take even more seriously now that the late visionary leader Patricia Monaghan, the cofounder of BEI, has left us in her wake and moved on. Where should BEI go from here? What is the
I LOVE starting things–doing things for the very first time. Footprints in virgin snow. The first page of a new journal. Building American Witch over the last year or two has had many great parts, and some challenges–but one of the most reliably great parts has been getting to start so many things, from bank accounts to social media accounts.
Twelve years ago, poet Kathrine Varnes and I got together to celebrate and ended with a manifesto. We had met up in a New Orleans restaurant during the AWP (Associated Writing Programs) Conference in honor of an exciting occasion: the publication of our anthology An Exaltation of Forms: Contemporary Poets Celebrate the Diversity of Their Art. The anthology had taken nearly
This post was first published at the Poetry Foundation website, www.poetryfoundation.org “It is easy to be a poet, / brim with transparent water….” Carolyn Kizer’s book Mermaids in the Basement was open on the table before me. But I recited the lines from memory as I scanned the familiar yet strange face, so close to mine, for any sign that their author
It was only a handful of years ago (years before her visit to Maine) that I visited Maxine Kumin to work on the editing of Lofty Dogmas, the book she wanted so much to exist in the world that I couldn’t resist helping her make it a reality. We walked around her farm and visited the horses, and the cornfields. She
Each year around this time, as I travel through neighborhoods and visit friends, I notice the many wreaths adorning walls and lampposts and, especially, festooning doorways and windows. These images of wreaths hold a powerful meaning of beginnings for me — and also of mystery. I think it started back when my brilliant friend Cara told me that she had
Can you imagine not wearing black? Impossible? Is it your go-to color? That’s how it was for me when I stopped wearing black four years ago. By a conservative estimate, over half the clothes in my wardrobe were black. From age 14, when I padded around the high school campus barefoot in my favorite black leotard and patched jeans; through
Robert Bly’s selection for the Poetry Society of America’s Frost Medal is well-deserved and long-overdue. Bly’s influence on contemporary poetry, with his translations, anthologies, and his spiritual and archetypal aesthetic, culminating in the Deep Image School of poetry, has been so pervasive and prolific as to actually become somewhat invisible. Publishing the historic journals the Fifties, the Sixties, and the Seventies, to
My cousin Charlie Finch, writer and Senior Critic for Artnet Worldwide, sent some words of advice in response to my recent post about Avatar: “I think one needs to tread very carefully when dealing with expensive cultural phenomena such as “Avatar” or Susan Boyle. These are cultural anvils dropped from on high with the apparent touch of a feather that
The new Alhambra Poetry Calendar is out, and Glen pointed out this morning that my remote ancestor Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea, and I are both included. This is, as far as I know, the first time we’ve ever appeared in an anthology together. I feel she is smiling on me. I feel it like a warmth over my shoulder,
For the last year and a half, I’ve been deep in poems from four decades, piled on table and floor, in folders and binders and notebooks, swirling around me in all possible forms, quite a few of them dating to before I had a computer: typewritten poems on onionskin paper adorned with erasures and white-out, carbon copies of poems, marked-up
Josh Davis, my former student and dear friend and poet, sent me this report from a recent Ani DiFranco concert in Saratoga, CA: “Toward the end of the show and between songs, Ani read a new poem. Here are the lines I remember: Give the witches back their brooms Give the weavers back their looms……
As Artist in Residence at Cherry Hill Seminary, I’ll be writing four poems a year for the wonderful pagan community of Cherry Hill. It’s inspiring to be writing for a community that “gets” the poems in such a fundamental way! I sent over the first one, “Litha Comes Spiralling,” for Summer Solstice and was happy to hear that it has
The original American Witch blog began on Yule 2010 over at blogspot. Then it moved briefly to Tumblr, but in the process I lost a lot of my old followers. Some readers have asked me to please bring the original blog back, and I miss it too–we had a very nice community there 5611
Audre Lorde wrote that “poetry is not a luxury,” a truth that came home to me with a thud recently when I had the amazing experience of traveling to the Democratic Republic of the Congo and the Republic of the Congo on a poetry diplomacy trip sponsored by University of Iowa International Programs and the State Department. The DRC is
I’m getting ready to head out to the annual retreat of the Black Earth Institute, where I have the honor of being a Senior Fellow this year. It’s always an extraordinarily inspiring weekend, with powerful presentations by Fellows on their work in progress, hard-hitting and urgent conversations, and, not least, memorable wine from BEI founder Patricia Monaghan‘s homegrown organic grapes. How fitting
Mabon was glorious this year. For the first time, I cast a circle by using the invocations to the directions I wrote to structure my new book of poems. It has taken me two years to get up the courage to use these invocations, maybe because I was so afraid they would sound forced instead of magickal. But they did sound magickal;
Photo by Georgia Etheridge Happy Lammas, All! Here is an excerpt from the lammas chant from my book Calendars. Though it says two voices, we performed it the other day in four groups of voices, just moving through the poem three times, and it worked out great. If I can get the technology down, I’ll also add the audio version
A nice little review of Among the Goddesses.
I picked up a copy of an odd book at a library sale over the holiday weekend: Ethel Morton at Chautauqua, by Mabell S.C. Smith, published just about a century ago, in 1915. It’s an eye-opener to see what things were considered wild and modern at that time: not only airplanes and electric lights, but also learning to swim, kids earning
Happy Birthday to you, William Butler Yeats! I am inspired by a myriad of poets, but perhaps you inspire me most of all: your ear and your adoration of poetry, and also your care for folk art, your passion for politics, your willingness to be a public poet, your spiritual openness. 5701
I write this from the sidelines of one of the final rehearsals of my play Wolf Song, which premieres next week. The deer chorus is singing, “deep inside the belly of the wolf/where the dark growls begin. . .” It’s mindblowing to be watching even just a small segment of the crew of creative people—director, composer, musicians, maskmaker, puppetteers, choreographer,
I’ve had this screensaver for months now on my computer. It’s a painting by John Singer Sargent that used to hang here in the Portland Museum of Art. The brilliant curator had hung it at the end of a long, quiet corridor so you got to approach it slowly 5707
For any students out there who might want to find out the answers to questions like these, here are my answers to Kailee’s questions for her English class… Hello Annie,My name is Kailee H. I live in Hiawatha, KS and I’m a junior in High School. Our english teacher wanted us to do research on a famous poet that
I read at the University of Vermont a week or two ago, and Glen and I had the pleasure of meeting the very charming Irish-born poet Angela Patten. Yesterday arrived in the mail a remarkable gift from Angela: a copy of Ciaran Carson’s translation of the 1780 Irish comic narrative poem, The Midnight Court (Wake Forest U Press, 2006). 5620
One of my favorite of Chas’s art posts on the topic of a graffiti exhibit which i hope to see when I’m in LA next week to read from Among the Goddesses @ the LA Festival of Books. Every time I see great graffiti, I feel like I’m in the presence of a powerful wild animal, one that looks me in the eyes
Here is a guest post I wrote for Ruth Ellen Kocher’s blog Aboutaword, which I wanted to share also with readers of American Witch. My book Among the Goddesses: An Epic Libretto in Seven Dreams came out recently and now I am doing readings and a blog-tour about the book–(there’s even a Facebook group started by the press where you
Positive!!! This is my favorite Ostara altar ever, thanks to daughter Althea. love to all for spring!
Snow still on the ground here after a white April Fools Day surprise, but thank the goddess I just came across these heartening and very witchy early spring recipes at Thea’s Kitchen.
So my cousin the art critic writes a review of an uncanny and moving art show at the Japan Society in New York, which strangely prefigured the tsunami in the work of a group of brilliant young artists. And my husband the environmentalist forwards a pointed article in Grist called “Japan’s wind farms save its ass while nuclear plants flounder,” showing windmills standing heroic
So this is it, the first day of the ninth and last wave of the Mayan Calendar, known as the time of universal consciousness, the beginning of the age of love and the end of separation. Brooke Medicine Eagle has good insights about these times in her series of videos.Till 6 pm today, EST, there is a “synchronized global breathing event”
I’ve long promised to post here some of the original posts from the predecessor blog to American Witch. Today’s archival post is inspired by a marvelous news item about a newly-discovered genetic connection between human music and birdsong, which I posted on Facebook this morning, and by the link Sue Zemka sent in response, to an equally amazing story about birdsong-chants passed down over the millenia in India.
Last year, it was the Valentine Ball. This year, we had too much else going on–travelling, Glen’s job interviews, and what not–to throw a party. We decided to stay home (and the world threw us a valentine party, the demonstrations for freedom in Egypt rocking my heart; check out this video~!) Usually I write a valentine for Glen every year.
Some good Imbolc thoughts from Jane Galer, forwarded by my very first publisher, Robert McDowell: “Imbolc (pronounced Im-olc) is the ancient Celtic day that marks the halfway point between the solstice and the equinox. This is a cross-quarter day then, a reminder that time is moving and we have obligations. In ancient times, perhaps we simply cleaned out our fireplace, set aside
Late last spring, the outlier veteran formalist poet Lewis Turco dropped me an email out of the blue, asking if I’d be interested in writing a poem in an ancient Celtic form called a “Rionnard Tri-Nard.” Generally, an email like this is about the most fun thing I can imagine receiving, so I was prone to say yes, even before
As a Yule gift to readers of Poetry Witch Blog, here is my personal collection of pagan-friendly carols. Some are traditional and unchanged. Some are the very best neopagan adaptations I could find by others— signed or anonymous—sometimes as stand-alone songs, and sometimes as second verses of the originals. Some I have altered myself, keeping as many words of the
What a special, special Solstice night. My daughter and I, in rooms at two ends of the house, were both awakened at around 2:40 AM (just as, it turns out, the eclipse was heading into its fullness) by what seems to have been an identical feeling: a warm rush of happiness entering through the crowns of our heads. I lay
I confess: for many years I have not found it easy, as a comfortably affluent European American, to feel the deep and thorough gratitude I would like to feel at Thanksgiving. I’ve tried, but not very far down I keep hitting some kind of obstacle. This year, I was provided with two powerful and apparently contradictory texts that may point
My husband Glen, an environmental activist who often sends me wonderful links, forwarded this story on wind power in a medieval Italian town. I find this, and so many massive changes in energy technology that are currently underway, moving metaphorically, spiritually, and practically–embodied transformation, magick at work to bring us closer to living in harmonious respect and stewardship of the natural
The results of the Wild Weeds Poetry Contest have been posted on the Healing Wise Website. The winner will receive a set of Susun Weed’s Wise Woman Herbal Series, and those with honorable mentions will receive a copy of Healing Wise. Weedy congratulations to all!
Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future: check out this version of “A Man’s a Man for A’ That” by the Scottish singer Paolo Nutini.
Annie and Grandy on my 6th birthday, Samhain 1962 For my Halloween-Samhain-birthday gift to myself this year, I took a powerful healing journey under the guidance of two local shamans. Against a backdrop of achingly burnt-orange trees outside their huge picture windows, Evie and Allie accompanied me on a sure, swift, thorough swoop through my inner landscape to pick up lost pieces
“Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages” —Chaucer This morning, the Maine Marathon was going by just up the street, and when I saw all the activity, the cars parked all up and down our normally rather quiet block and so many people rushing by with their kids and rattles to cheer the runners on, I felt compelled
Slowly I am absorbing Susun Weed’s lesson that the plants around us in abundance are offering themselves for our use. For example, after thinking of mint as “invasive” for years and trying to contain it through violent wastefulness, instead I took her advice and started to consume it frequently, matching the pace at which it offers itself. It’s easy to
–I am excited to be judging the first Wild Weeds Poetry Contest in honor of Susun Weed’s seven favorite weeds. I am a serious fan of Susun’s work. My physical health and overall vibrancy in life has been vastly improved by drinking nettle and other infusions as she taught me. My sense of commitment and community as a poet has been charged
Who says poetry “makes nothing happen”? My Bourgeois post inspired my cousin Charlie Finch, columnist for Artnet, to send me a couple of the poems he’s published as a form of art criticism over the years: for example, these on Deborah Solomon and Elizabeth Peyton, or this on Louise Bourgeois. Even though we disagree entirely about Bourgeois’ art, he has
\ (thanks to the great Lemon Hound blog for photo!) A couple of years ago, I was on the way to New York and poet Lee Ann Brown happened to mention that she’d enjoyed the Louise Bourgeois Retrospective at the Whitney. I had heard legends about Bourgeois’ salon, and sculptor Judy Fox had been meaning to bring me over, but
How could I not be happy with windmills? Not only are they necessary if we are going to wean off oil; they are ancient and true. What I love about living right now is that the movement towards a lifestyle that is cleaner and more respectful and loving of the earth has such momentum–and on every step of this way,
One of the jolting pleasures of being a publishing poet in the age of the Web is to stumble on a poem that has gone on adventures without my knowledge. The Niches section of my website collects links to poems I’ve come across on, among other places, a Spelunking site and a Wine-tasting site. But recently I had
Robert Rauschenberg’s exuberant, quiet, sloppy, painstaking, organic, sensual, spiritual Combines entered my life during my now-somewhat-infamous days living in the East Village in New York. They perfectly captured and enhanced the major alchemical powers I needed to (barely) get through those challenging years. Shamanic totems, they channeled me through simplicity in the midst of sophistication. I have gotten a visceral
I have been decorating the house like mad, since tonight Glen and I are hosting a Valentine’s Ball. The decor involves silky sari cloth in rich colors, little silken nooks out of pre-Raphealite paintings, sparkling lights and votives, big sparkly red hearts. There is something extremely liberating about all this, sobering in light of the fact that in some places
I have been decorating the house like mad, since tonight Glen and I are hosting a Valentine’s Ball. The decor involves silky sari cloth in rich colors, little silken nooks out of pre-Raphealite paintings, sparkling lights and votives, big sparkly red hearts. There is something extremely liberating about all this, sobering in light of the fact that in some
The timing was perfect. Just on Robbie Burns’ birthday, a lovely little package arrived from a small town in Scotland–the “Scottish lace panel” I had ordered from Ebay to filter the glare in my writing studio window. It’s replete with red deer, Edinburgh Castle, and the word “Scotland” facing four different directions. What more could a Scottish American poet want?
When the first definition came to me, I was tired from the exciting rigors of a Stonecoast residency but had centered myself with water, air, and thought. I thought of it while driving to the Stone House to teach a workshop: A witch is someone who is so sensitive to the energy of the physical world that they have
I am dubbing this once in a blue moon full moon New Year–which begins with ten-foot tall blue people with tails (as Mihku calls them!) saving their planet from techno-military-industrialization with arrows–the New Year of the Arrow. Inside me and in those around me, I am finding strengthened clarity of purpose and claiming of agency as 2010 begins to
Welcome, American Witch! This blog was born at Yule 2009, as I mused about reading “The Night Before Christmas” aloud to my family. I’ve been reading it to them before bed every December 24 since they were little, the same way my father used to read it to all of us every year when we were kids. I remember how