Tag: Inspiration

OUT INTO THE WORLD OF READERS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Poking around in the barn, as it were (actually, it was several folders in my computer, if you insist on being accurate), I wound up reopening collections of my poetry – and to say I’m astonished by their range, variety, and depth is not a matter of boasting. You’ve already sampled some of that here in my postings, not all of it “finished” work, either.

At the same time, as I survey the literary scene today and its opportunities, I’ve decided to issue as much of it as I can now (while I’m still ticking) rather than continue to seek piecemeal publication.

The upshot has been the resurrection of Thistle/Flinch editions, my personal imprint, as a free bookstore venture here on WordPress. Each month, it’s offering a new work as a PDF file to read on your computer or print out to paper.

In some ways, it’s like tucking a print shop into a corner of the barn. I rather like that image.

As an introduction, may I suggest:

Returning 1Or the rocky shores of my latest:

Winged Death 1

Hope you enjoy what you find there. And as always, here’s to happy reading.

 

 

THERE’S NOTHING EXALTED ABOUT THE ‘WRITERS’ LIFE’

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Not infrequently, fellow bloggers will begin a post by apologizing about not writing for a spell. The fact they feel they have to apologize bothers me. Nobody’s obligating any of us to produce, and we all have regular lives to pursue, or at least lives we ought to engage. After all, that’s where so much of the grist for writing originates.

Besides, there’s no shortage of good reading in the blogosphere. Take a rest or catch up, and feel good about. Heavens! If we need anything regarding the written word, it’s more conscientious readers … ones who will encourage a wider audience for deserving work, especially.

Somewhat related, and just as disturbing, are the giddy proclamations of joining in the “writers’ life,” as if it’s some carefree club out there free of everyday obligations and cumbers. Maybe they’re envisioning the legendary Dorothy Parker and her Algonquin Round Table, or even the martini named after her, or some other crossroads in literary history, but let me proclaim that’s largely an illusion or mirage, especially in today’s publishing reality.

It’s one thing to be a casual writer and quite another to be a serious practitioner, and for the latter, the only shared lifestyle I’ve seen is a dedication to hard, daily work that includes not just writing but research, reading, and correspondence as well. It’s not glamorous, for sure, and in the current literary scene, you won’t get famous. Not compared to any of those so-called celebrities.

So if you must, then write. And then, because you must, revise repeatedly.

And if you aren’t so obliged, then read … for pleasure as much as anything. And maybe that’s where you’ll really find the “writers’ life,” one you might even share with others over coffee or cocktails.

Now, for me, it’s back to work. And thanks for listening.

FEED THE BEARS NO MORE THAN YOU MUST … AND THAT GOES FOR MOOSE, TOO

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

There are good reasons, of course, for the resemblance between bears and people. But it’s smart to respect the difference.

Still, they have their role in the poems of my In a Heartbeat poetry volume. As do moose and whales.

Here's the cover.
Here’s the cover.

This 35-page echapbook is available free from the Barometric Pressures author series at Kind of a Hurricane Press. The trail to your own copy opens here.

ROAD WORK

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

I’ve spent a lot of my life behind a steering wheel, and that’s where a number of my poems originate.

From this, I can look at a concept. Lines from the road. Basho? Brautigan? McCord?

Flight or escape remains a central theme in American literature. Kerouac’s On the Road and Hunter Thompson come to mind, along with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Blue Highways. Of course our two greatest American novels also reflect this action, often with its male bonding and fields of discovery – Moby Dick and Huckleberry Finn. It’s not just some vague sense of the liberty of a frontier to resettle, but with wheels, there’s the thrill of speed more destructive than hiking or canoeing or sailing. As for hobos and the rails? Another era. Outlaws more than vagabonds? As for the Gypsy, there’s an entire community to consider. As well as flights with a destination, in contrast to those lacking.

GUERRILLA CHRISTMAS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

No other time of the year opposes our testament of simplicity as much as the Holiday Season. Here widespread expectations of generosity and excess counter our Quaker discipline of frugality and moderation. The situation becomes especially complicated for individuals like me who find themselves lacking in gift-giving savvy.

Even when Friends formed a sizeable community, they found standing apart from the surrounding society on these activities became impossible over time. Quakers eventually yielded to giving the children an orange or two the day after “the day the world calls Christmas.” We can see similar struggles among Jews regarding Chanukah, where its essential message from 1st and 2nd Maccabbees – to withstand pagan demands, no matter the cost – instead begins to mirror the activities of the general populace. Add to it our mixed families, coming from many different traditions, and any distinctive witness falls by the wayside. In my case, having a wife with a German mother, I’ve learned just how much compromise is required in these decisions.

Actually, she’s taught me a lot about ways to wage a Guerrilla Christmas. Yes, there’s the battle with consumerism, but most of us – and most of the people we know – don’t need more “things.” We have enough clutter already, thank you. So preference is given to gifts that can be used up – food or tickets to an upcoming cultural event or a promised action on behalf of the recipient. Whenever possible, small local enterprises are favored over “big box” retailers. Some of you know about our family tradition of making gingerbread houses, a bit of silliness that accompanies our observation of Advent. As for Advent itself, when you remember that the Twelve Days of Christmas begin the day the advertising ends, you’re liberated to enjoy a less frenetic round of being with those you love.

It’s not what earlier Quakers would have expected from us, but it’s still a witness. Maybe it’s also a way for us to expand our understanding of simplicity and joyfulness, too.

So here’s to the First Day of Christmas. Remember, the season runs all the way to January 6, so enjoy.

COLD COAST

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment
Waves pound the rocks at Sohier Park in York, Maine.
Waves pound the rocks at Sohier Park in York, Maine.

The New England coastline can be impressive anytime of the year. While most visitors see it only from midsummer into early autumn, it is unmasked much the rest of the year.

Pools of sea spray are frozen tight in the crevices of boulders overlooking the water.
Pools of sea spray are frozen tight in the crevices of boulders overlooking the water.
The ocean seems especially restless every winter.
The ocean seems especially restless every winter.
The waves keep pouring in.
The waves keep pouring in.

GINGERBREAD LIGHTHOUSE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment
A small electric candle hangs upside down to illuminate the caramelized window panes of the lamp room. A candy kiss provides an improvised cone to top the lighthouse.
A small electric candle hangs upside down to illuminate the caramelized window panes of the lamp room. A candy kiss provides an improvised cone to top the lighthouse.
The rugged appearance is part of the fun, especially when surrounded by lobsters and sharks. Not that we have sharks in real life ... I prefer to see them as porpoises.
The rugged appearance is part of the fun, especially when surrounded by lobsters and sharks. Not that we have sharks in real life … I prefer to see them as porpoises.

While I’ve never gotten wrapped up in my wife’s fascination with gingerbread houses, my contrarian nature has embraced the idea of making an annual gingerbread LIGHT house, and here’s one result .

For the recipe and the templates, especially if you want to go for fancier results, check out this story, recipe, and assembly directions. (It’s not the only gingerbread lighthouse at Coastal Living, by the way, in case you’re really adventurous.)

The model was based on the Whaleback Light just downriver from us, so I feel it’s an extra special touch. And the gummy lobsters and gummy sharks, along with the candy rocks for the lighthouse wall, were purchased from Yummies just beyond the Kittery Outlet stores. That can be a destination for Maine visitors all in its own.

Inserting the candy rocks into the frosting "mortar" was fun, but let me suggest doing it with the sheets flat, before you erect the walls into place.
Inserting the candy rocks into the frosting “mortar” was fun, but let me suggest doing it with the sheets flat, before you erect the walls into place.
What would Maine be without lobsters?
What would Maine be without lobsters?

JUST PAGES APART

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

As I said at the time …

For me, writing means watching my own shifting mind while opening myself up to all the living energies around me. It means simplifying, following unexpected leadings and openings, sometimes to dead ends, other times to unanticipated ranges. Some time ago I discovered that to write poetry I had to be sitting in meditation every day. And later, I found once a week would suffice.

If ego is an ever present trap, the practice can introduce repeated humbling. As do the rejection slips.

Detachment: who wrote that! And when? (The surprise of rediscovering your own work five or ten years later. Who wrote that, it is so incredibly fine! Or: Who wrote that piece of tripe? I’m glad it never saw publication. Sometimes only pages apart.)

And then the piece goes its own way: a living organism: readers, editors see it differently from you. What you would cut they love. What you love they see as sore thumb.

What we’re most fond of is likely to be what bothers others the most; what we’re about to toss out in the next revision may be what is most effective with our readers. (Point raised, I believe, by Joyce Carol Oates; true to my experience.)

As critics of others’ work: harshest, at times, on those whose work is most like our own! Too much mirror? Push ourselves as far as we can, coming to a point where we no longer know if a piece is any good or not only that we’ve done everything in its pursuit that we possibly can at this period in our life.

Prophetic practice: light in the wilderness.

The dilemma of arts/responsibility/spirituality brought into focus by looking at something like the Florentine court of the Medici: High Art interwound with brutal political/economic force. (Throw the man out the fourth floor window; nowadays, we have helicopters. How exquisite.)

The dilemma of the news photographer: Should I save the victim and lose the opportunity of taking a great photograph? Or should I be “professional” and observe the world as an outsider? This holds for all artists: at one point are we being selfish in our pursuits? At what point is our solitude essential for the well being of all?

Into solitude / the Silence / the Holy Now, as Thomas Kelley phrased it.

At its core, I write to discover / remember / connect / distill.

In my writing I collect – that is, bring myself back together. More and more, I think on paper. I write to find what is under the words and phrases before me. Go deeper, and then wider. I write to listen. Eventually, I write to sing.