Velvet Lives I Long To Try: Valentine's Day Posts

Photo by Robyn Beattie

Night’s obsidian!

Velvet lives I long to try,

One redwing blackbird.

Here’s a Heart Tree from Robyn (my title), and a Haiku I wrote in the Haiku Room for you…Happy Valentine’s Day. Other heartworthy news: Alessandra Bava translated Corridor, Sylvia (Part III) and Joan, 21 Century into Italian; read both versions of the three poems here at Patria Letteratura (poems published this fall in November Butterfly by Saddle Road Press).

And I’ve gathered a few prior Feral Mom posts on the subject of valentines:

Feral Valentines: Thomas, Nijinsky, Plath

On this anniversary of (Sylvia Plath’s) passing, Brain Pickings posted, The Quicksand of Existence: Sylvia Plath on Life, Death, Hope, and Happiness, pouring us once more through highlights of The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (published back in September 2000), celebrating the whole, feral poet, with light of previously edited passages bringing Sylvia's passion and skill for hunting the moment down into focus. All is fair, as they say, in love and war: if you are going to love any girl, love all of her. Happy Belated Valentine’s Day. Read the rest of Feral Valentines here. (For more on Plath and an amazing Italian poet, see Alessandra Bava's post: Sylvia Plath and Amelia Roselli.) And for a bit of modern day Nijinksy, here's a link to a video of Sergei Polunin dancing to Hozier's Take me To Church in a beautiful sunlit studio (up at Elle).

Thresholds

Penina shares my sun, moon, and rising sign—our birthdays two days apart-- my “older sister”, 11 years my senior. The news of her father’s heart attack registered as a physical pain in my heart and I needed to make this for her. Her father: deep orange and red, poppies, monk, wise man, gentle. A beautiful, tall, strapping Samoan man with a large Samoan heart. He nurtured Penina, urged her to follow her heart and write. I intended to have many poppies, but instead, this is what came: a door, the spiral path to the heart. Read the rest of Thresholds here.

Notes from the Road: Footprints, Storefronts and Valentine Mimes

Envy

the mime his concentration

like the chased in a pair of lovers

lost to the now, so busy moving,

gloved hands ever edging the door,

or women their addictions of the moon,

marking their gardens with morning blood...Read rest of Notes from the Road here.

Sandy Frank

Winter Solstice Sculpture Poem:

Winter Solstice

Live long enough and you outlive

somewhere a lover, one you cast aside

or one you chased. One who didn't want you--

at least, not then--or one you cried to leave, but left.

No matter what the parting, there's a last meeting

in the eggplant black of dream...Read rest of Winter Solstice Sculpture Poem here.

Sculptures by Sandy Frank. A link to our other projects: Collaborations for Bread.

Sculpture by Sandy Frank

Additional News:

An Afternoon of Poetry and Poetry Movies:

I'll be in Sonoma County in March on November Butterfly book tour...I hope you'll join me for an afternoon of Poetry and Poetry movies featuring the work of Sonoma County Artists at The Occidental Center for the Arts Book Launch Series. Artwork featured in the movies will also be on display that afternoon. Free Admission. Refreshments sold. OCA is located at 3850 Doris Murphy Court, Bohemian Hwy at Graton Rd. For more info: see The Occidental Center for the Arts.

Upcoming Classes:

Wheel of Archetypal Selves: Lovers to Strength starts March 16 (in person)

I have had a beautiful time teaching Wheel of Archetypal Selves: Fool to Visionary the past month. Next class begins March 16 and runs through April 27: Wheel of Archetypal Selves: Lovers to Strength. We spend one week on each Major, writing our way into a deeper understanding of our lives as they relate to the archetypes. For an idea of the type of writing our classes elicit, here's a post by Marsha Rosenzweig Pincus, "Tarot or Not Tarot?" on her blog Her Own Terms: a post mid-life woman writing for her life. And for an understanding of how I approach the Tarot, check out Tarot for Two where I co-blog with Mary Allen.

Intermediate Blogging starts on April 7 (on-line)

This class picks up where our Beginning Blogging section leaves off, but all level of blogger is welcome to join us for ongoing blog support. We will cover growing blog network and connecting to one's tribe through social media and strengthening blogging habits. We also take a look at post titles and tags and vlogging (video blogging). We always create content while having fun brainstorming. Course is offered through San Diego Writers, Ink; sign up here.

Coronado Friends of the Library Author Event: 

and last but not least...a big thank you to my father; here's the November Butterfly write-up the Friends of the Coronado Library put together for a beautiful evening celebrating local authors last week. 

What inspired you to write your first piece:

My father tells me the day I was born he took me outside to hear the melting snow. I wrote my first poems to please him; they were haiku written on the Illinois prairie. 

Biggest influence: 

My father, a musician and piano tuner, is a perpetual punster (rutabaga, archipelago, Winnebago). He kept an Underwood typewriter on the table for us stocked with a fresh sheet of paper and all manner of art supplies ever at our disposal. 

"Winter Solstice" Sculpture Poem

Last May, I gave sculptor Sandy Frank a handful of poems (so she could choose one to pen across one of her magnificent male torsos). We're not through yet--but I wanted to post the poem and photo in honor of the approaching solstice. Combining the static element of written words and penning them across a 3-d surface has its challenges, and Sandy tells me the alchemy is far from perfected (she has other ideas in store), but here is a "draft" of our project so far.

Winter Solstice

Live long enough and you outlive
somewhere a lover, one you cast aside
or one you chased. One who didn't want you--
at least, not then--or one you cried to leave, but left.
No matter what the parting, there's a last meeting
in the eggplant black of dream, where we divide up all the eggs,
and ride a Lapland sled, our unborn children
falling in the snow. We'll not stop--
we have no choice: you're dying
and outside the dream my husband's body
turns towards mine. The Earth's
one lover lighter. The Northern lights
remain, the silver sound-prints of the reindeer's bell.


Forgive the iphone snapshots--I promise a link to studio quality photos (the full sculptures extend to upper thigh, complete with male genitalia) and a January post with Sandy's thoughts on the sculpture-poetry process (post-holiday frenzy).

Sandy's work: http://www.sandyfrankfineart.com/