Stasis to Radiance: April Celebrations at Feral Mom

Tania Pryputniewicz
Photo Patrick Lizza

Occidental Center for the Arts November Butterfly Poetry/Movie/Art Launch Success

What a busy month—crowned by a beautiful weekend in Sonoma County at Occidental Center for the Arts. I’ll be posting video footage from the event later when we edit it (thanks to Peter Pryputniewicz and Patrick Lizza on camera), but for now, I wanted to share this photo taken by the banks of Austin Creek in the green heart of Russian River land. Patrick and my poetry movie collaborator Robyn Beattie helped me overcome some stage fright. Though the takes of the title poem, November Butterfly, were trumped by nature’s rushing water, reciting the poem so many times for the camera made for a no-nerves live performance in front of my home crowd (with my father on piano). I feel the photo captures my love for words and the river.

Photo Robyn Beattie
Cover Design Don Mitchell

Tweetspeak Poetry Reviews November Butterfly

I came home to San Diego to a new review of November Butterfly (Saddle Road Press, 2014) by Glynn Young (thank you Tweetspeak!). Young chose to focus on the poem, Mordred’s Dream, a Refusal from the Camelot section of the book:

In the poem, Mordred is refusing his mother’s demand that he betray Arthur. But the fact that the title indicates this is a dream, and the subtitle “A Refusal” doesn’t preclude a later acceptance, moves the figure of Mordred into a different place. He knows what she is asking is a terrible wrong, even if it is “only” a dream. –Glynn Young, Poets and Poems: Tania Pryputniewicz and November Butterfly, Tweetspeak Poetry

You can read rest of review here: Poetry From Poets and Poems: Tania Pryputniewicz and November Butterfly. Tweetspeak offers a rich newsletter, ongoing poetry prompts, and a diverse and lively comment community should you be looking for conversation and inspiration. Tweetspeak is looking for poems about blue jeans...read about it here, post your poem in their comments: Show Us Your (Poetry) Jeans.

Tarot Writing Class Forming: Wheel of Archetypal Selves: Hanged One to Star

We just finished a rich and fertile trek through Wheel of Archetypal Selves: Lovers to Strength, focusing on Arcanum VI to Arcanum XI. Join me May 18 for the next Wheel of Archetypal Selves Tarot Writing course, Stasis to Radiance: Hanged One to Star (Arcanum XII to Arcanum XVII). We spend one week on each Major, writing to our associations and considering the interpretations of a variety of Tarot scholars. We journal our way closer to a lived understanding of the cards, sometimes writing essays, poetry, or reveries of unnamed form. Our new class is taking shape as we speak; join us online. To sign up, visit Story Circle Network: Wheel of Archetypal Selves: Hanged One to Star.

Liz Brennan and Tania Pryputniewicz

Call for Atlas of Goodbyes at Perhaps, Maybe

Liz Brennan is looking for prose poem submissions for her Atlas of Goodbye Series. Here’s a link to the first one she wrote, Atlas of Goodbye #1, which begins:

"Perhaps I feel your absence today in a loosening lull in the rain after a clap of thunder shakes the upper windows..."

And a link to the one I wrote, starring, at his request, my husband: Atlas of Goodbye #2, which begins:

"Perhaps I feel your absence more keenly beside you four months before we marry in February chill of river house..."

And a link to one by Tess P., Atlas of Goodbyes #3:

"Perhaps it is a small gesture that we practice saying goodbye to you in this way--you are everywhere: postcards, baseball hats, sweatshirts, tote bags, water bottles, coffee cups, Christmas cards and so on..."

Please do write and send one in to Liz!

Sculpture Sandy Frank
Poem by Tania Pryputniewicz

Poetry Sculpture: Sandy Frank’s work at the Annual California Clay Competition, Davis

Sculpture by Sandy Frank will be featured in a show at Davis, California this coming weekend, May 1-3,  for the 26 Annual California Clay Competition Exhibit. Reception: Friday, May 1st, 7-9 p.m. Visit The Artery’s website for more details.

Sculpture by Frank includes this one featuring the poem Someone,  published in November Butterfly (Saddle Road Press, 2014).

If in Davis, stop in and support her work. Here’s a link to my web page where you’ll find notes about our process of sculpture/poetry collaboration and a few more photos of Sandy's poetry sculptures, including one using the words from Selke and Seer sections of the poem A Maritime Trilogy, also published in November Butterfly: Collaborations for Bread. 

Extract(s) selects three Poems from November Butterfly:

Veil, Veil II and Transport will appear at Extract(s) later in May; I will post a link as soon as it goes live. May 11 update: Poems live: Guinevere reflects on her abduction, Guinevere to Lancelot, and Lancelot Grieves in Veil, Veil II and Transport.

Edith O'Nuallain

Mother Writer Mentor

New post is up by Edith O’ Nuallain, across the sea from her home in Ireland; her post is all about Mining the Unbliss of Motherhood and the realities of forging a writer’s identity while raising children. 

Edith writes: "I used to imagine that all my favourite female saints and mystics, those dead fore-sisters from the paeans of my Catholic childhood were rushing past me, brushing my lips, my cheeks, my hair with the vestiges of their silent presence. Then I felt as if I was flying, soaring through the skies of my imagined paradise..." 

Read rest of her post here: Mining the Unbliss of Motherhood and do stop and leave her a comment, or write us your own guest post and let us know how you stay sane, thrive, love your children, and love your way to your own writing.

Marriage’s Lineage of Imagery and The Poetry of Motherhood

I wrote this post last year, but due to the surreal anguish and ongoing questions (would we be ok? would we be reunited?) I waited. In synchronous harmony, I am preparing to teach Poetry of Motherhood again, but this time, selecting poems from the sun-filled home I inhabit with my husband.

When my husband-to-be flew out to Iowa City to woo me thirteen years ago with all the muscled vigor of a grown man—certainly no longer looking anything like the freckled kid I remembered from sixth grade—and asked me to marry him, his eye was caught by an image on my shelf of Guinevere knighting Lancelot (artwork by Edmund Blair Leighton). That, he proclaimed, should be our theme. 

So we hired a dress-maker; she skillfully replicated the long draping sleeves of Guinevere’s gown, sketched out and sewed to red pigskin the black griffin-like bird of Lancelot’s heraldry to my husband’s tunic. I remember sort of glossing over the metaphor of the entangled love triangle between Guinevere and Lancelot and Arthur, choosing to focus on the parallel spiritual solace Guin and Lance may have found in the later years of their acquaintance.

Our wedding guests arrived adorned in period costume. We hired a harpist who by chance could also fulfill my husband’s request for closing processional by bagpipe; under the canopy of redwoods, we married in a stone amphitheater to the low sweet trill of a hermit thrush. We filled our years with children and jobs and the stresses of our economic times, which lead to my husband taking a second job in a city a flight’s distance from us.

 After two years of the inevitable strain our situation placed on our marriage we found ourselves facing a crisis of trust. I feared irreparable damage. Wriggling under the clarifying purification pain provides, I farmed out my three children and stayed with my aunt in an attempt to gain perspective. Simultaneously, I happened to be on the hunt for poems to use in my Poetry of Motherhood class, grateful for the distraction work lent from the psychic sorting obsessing both heart and head. Tea in hand, from across the room, I spotted the pale green spine of a book titled, “Ireland in Poetry.”

When I slid the book free, I found two familiar figures gracing the cover. In slightly different costume (her dress, blue--not white, his head, covered in chain mail--not bared), but so close to the image we’d used on our wedding invitation, I felt as if the figures were speaking directly to me: All is not lost. But you are, for now, turned away from one another. What relief—I could acceptance our distance. And take comfort in the image of gripped dress sleeve linking the forlorn lovers. Later that night, a poet friend of mine said: Why don’t you advise your husband to forgive himself, and you, do the same: forgive yourself. She was hinting at two equally important halves of forgiveness: forgiving the other person matters little if self-blame runs riot in the background of one's inner monologue.

While my husband and I still had hours of emotional thicket to clear, both the image and the suggestions from my friend (which I voiced to my husband) seemed solid reminders of possible redemption. Another friend chimed in with: The only way through perceived betrayal is through…through the physical grip on the body, through the triggered childhood griefs that attach likes boxcars to the engine of one’s particular train. At least the caboose, vibrant red, has room for two to stand viewing side by side the ground crossed to get here, retreating, retreating.

Notes and further reading:

Book cover: Ireland in Poetry, Edited by Charles Sullivan. Cover image, "The Meeting on the Turret Stairs," by Sir Frederick Burton, 1864. Watercolor on paper. The National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin.

A beautiful collection of poems; for Poetry of Motherhood, I chose for my students, the poem Cliona, by Catherine Twomey, a mother daughter poem graced by the opening lines , "You are letting her go / from you slowly / so gently she hardly / knows."

A plea for compassion for new fathers: Notecard to a Nursing Mother: Let The Husband Be Where He Is (a follow-up to Postcard to a Nursing Mother: Be Where You Are) at Mother Writer Mentor, where I'll be teaching Poetry of Motherhood.

Hope you'll join me for Poetry of Motherhood (April 22). Check out this video I made last year with my daughter's help out on our back deck in the redwoods, "Introduction to Poetry of Motherhood" for a better idea of our class. Also know we aren't strictly in the business of writing poetry. We write to prompts and while poetry is welcome, it isn't required. We had a great time last year.

For a look at the quandaries and intricacies of blogging about the personal and traversing the public/private line, see an interview Edith O'Nuallain (yes, of Ireland) conducted with me earlier this month (posted in two installments): On the Art and Craft of Transformative Blogging and Part 2.