Monday, July 18, 2011

Write About Reading??


When my sister Emily asked me to join “Write About Nothing”, my first thought was that I'm not really a writer.  This will become evident as more posts follow, however, I am absolutely an avid reader.  A fact to which the odd day of neglect toward my family may attest.

I love discussing every book I read, whether I enjoyed them or not. I also feel as though I can really get to know those around me when we discuss literature: similar likes and dislikes, ideas, experiences, strong opinions or quiet indifference.  A sincere bonding takes place when these thoughts and feelings are shared between readers, and of course friends.  My book club meeting is the highlight of my month, where I have formed lasting relationships with each of these dear friends.

Due to my love for my own book club, I was able to find an immediate appreciation for my latest read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.  What a wonderful novel!!!


The story takes place as England is recovering from World War II and is written as a series of letters between a popular author Juliet, her best friend, and her publisher. When she receives a letter from a stranger, Dawsey Adams, from the island of German occupied Guernsey, a new friendship develops.  A friendship with not only Dawsey, but also every member of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.  As Juliet learns more about the courage of their founding member Elizabeth, and how the sharing of literature helped the members find friendship and moments of happiness during such a trying time, she decides to travel to Guernsey herself.  

Reading this story was a true delight.  The format being in letters allowed the character’s personalities to shine through and I found myself connecting easily with each of them, along with their little eccentricities. 

Here are a few quotes to give a glimpse into the charm of the book:

“My name is Dawsy Adams, and I live on my farm in St. Martin’s Parish on Guernsey.  I know of you because I have an old book that once belonged to you – the “Selected Essays of Elia”, by an author whose name in real life was Charles Lamb. Your name and address were written inside the front cover.”(9)

“That’s what I love about reading: one tiny thing will interest you in a book, and that thing will lead you onto another book, and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It’s geometrically progressive -  all with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer enjoyment”. (11, 12)

“None of us had any experience with literary societies, so we made our own rules: we took turns speaking about the books we’d read. At the start, we tried to be calm and objective, but that soon fell away, and the purpose of the speakers was to goad the listeners into wanting to read the book themselves. Once two members had read the same book, they could argue, which was our great delight. We read books, talked books, argued over books, and became dearer and dearer to one another….we could almost forget now, now and then, then darkness outside.” (51)

“My guides are as various as the sights. Isola tells me about cursed pirated chests bound with bleached bones washing up on the beaches…Eben describes how things used to look…Dawsey says the least, but takes me to see wonders…Then he stands back and lets me enjoy them as long as I want. He’s the most un-hurrying person I’ve ever met.” (165)
 
A Guernsey coastal path. Photograph: Corbis

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Excuse - Poetry Schmoetry #3

Another poem for the blogfest!
The poem today is from before I "met" my husband and got married. Maybe around a year before. I didn't think of myself as a writer back then.

I have a vague idea of what I was thinking at the time I wrote that but reading it now I get something completely different from it.










Excuse


Why do I sense tears building behind my eyes?
I see the screen and wish to turn away,
But I can not;
I write.

I chase the images, abstract tastes and sounds,
Passing through associations,
Too swift for consciousness to grasp.
Then fit them into one space,
One time,
One dimension.

I must pursue and write that which I can not face;
Confronting opaque fears with hopes for peace,
Yet satisfaction denies me again as language translates
With words too sweet for truth,
Empty on the page.

And the feeling returns . . .

First swelling,
And now hollow.
I want to sleep,
But how can I attempt?

A vague memory stirs with protective arms and kind eyes.
I hold fast to the sight, to the warmth,
And try to clarify the source
of why I cry with no excuse.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Lost Without and Chestnut - Poetry Schmoetry #2


I think I'm getting into the spirit of Poetry Schmoetry week. I already want to share more! The poem from my last post is the most recent one I've written. I know it's been a while, I should really try to write something new.


Most of my poems are from that time between high-school and when I got married. So many broken relationships to whine about. Today I'm going to share two songs that I wrote back then. They are totally unrelated and about two very different relationships.








Lost Without


The phone doesn’t ring anymore
when it’s two in the morning
As I’m lying in bed;
A habit I’ve been learning

To do without. I’m not lost without
Your voice.

I don’t watch your picture anymore
As it transforms into smiles
Like you shared with me,
Just for a little while.

But you forgot, went out and got
Back to where you were.
You forgot, went out and got
Her.

Were you waiting for me to let you in?
I guess you couldn’t leave till I’d trust you again.

I can do without. I’m not lost without
Your smile.
I can do without. I’m not lost without
You!

When your eyes would shine
You told me when I asked you
That I was on your mind
Why did I believe you?

Were you waiting for me to let you in?
I guess you couldn’t leave till I’d trust you again.

I can do without. I’m not lost without
The way no one laughs but you.
I can do without. I’m not lost without
All the stupid things you do.
I can do without. I’m not lost without
You!














Chestnut


Why didn’t I notice the
chestnut warmth in your eyes?
You smile and my heart expands,
for a pulse.

All this time I chose to search
for substance in the skies,
left to see if maybe I’d discover
someone else.

Sitting here across from you,
my hand in yours, a way to be
living without emptiness,
I hear you speak my name.

I didn’t know the person
that I had to find was me;
I’m ready now
and life for us will never be the same.

You don’t seem to mind the times
I stroke the scar beneath your lip
again, the smoothest part amid
the stubble on your face.

Our foreheads touch
and I smile when two eyes become three;
You hold me there ‘til I’m content
to leave your soft embrace.

Sitting here across from you,
my hand in yours, a way to be
living without emptiness,
I hear you speak my name.

I didn’t know the person
that I had to find was me;
I’m ready now
and life for us will never be the same.