Here's a poem that comes out of this new experience. Just trying to reflect here the things we are feeling in this new time. Quarantine’s Touch I walked the empty road to a neighbor’s house. I hesitated to knock—I’d have to touch the door, but then I did. She came, her hair mussed, smiled, and put her palm against the glass and I put mine against the cool on my side. Did it warm—I’m not sure,
This goes back a month. I thought this poem-thing was sortof depressing but now, with everything that's happened since, I'm not so sure. Week One: Pandemic Since the first day, I’ve walked the road devoid of snow, past the open meadow, grim with dun grasses, and there, near an open stretch by the pines, a flock of robins, twelve or so, looking thin, foraging for grubs in fallow sod. Next day, walking near that spot again, five
Poems written in the moment, spurred by the immediacy of pandemic, and not much revised. Is it literature? Not yet! Well, maybe a couple of lines, but still, meant to be shared because what else can we do to compete with isolation? Vaccine Once decided, and without any idea of cost, we figured out first how we’d break the sod, to dig that dead orchard’s turf. We figured it would take some work, and we’d
As promised, another poem-thing. That's what poet William Stafford called his drafts. Again--not deeply revised, no great intent, but springing from the moment. I have the hope, perhaps false, that these poems will all have a short life, that we'll get past this threat, so not need them, and therefore they should not rest long--as I prefer for poems. So here, a whiner about how I
Fifty years ago this evening, December 1, 1969, I sat in a student lounge at Grand Valley State University and was witness to the draft lottery for young men who would be sent to fight in the Vietnam war. It was a harrowing experience and I'll never forget it--I understood many would not return.
At risk of self-aggrandizement, I’m posting this interview I did for Millicent Hill. Well, maybe it’s a little self-aggrandizing, but I hope there is substance enough here to offer some insights along with the ego. For several years, my friend and brilliant poet, Arra Ross, who teaches at Saginaw Valley State University here in Michigan, has set up interviews between her students and the writing community. She usually emails, asking if I am willing to be interviewed, and
Dear Friend, I love our waters: lakes, rivers, wetlands, little sinking ponds, remote swamps. If it’s wet, I’ll probably like it. And of course, I’m worried about all of them, as I know many of you are. I often wonder what I can do. I’m not a scientist, politician, lawyer, not even a very good journalist. I often feel inadequate, a “fish out of water” when it comes to this work.
Recently, a former student from the Solstice MFA program where I teach, Jenifer DeBellis, wrote me that her first book, Blood Sisters, had been accepted. She was excited but uncertain how to shepherd it into the future with that “human touch.” Then a similar question from T.J. Harrison on the acceptance of her book, The Fruit of Love and Grief. Both of these women had worked hard, weathered rejection, triumphed over the odds with dedicated revision,
Here's the fun of being a Michigan Notable Book Author. Twice. The pictures speak in this case.
Anne-Marie’s calendar for spring/summer book events. • May 2, 5:00 pm, Lake Michigan Mermaid: The Story of the Story, Jonesville District Library, 310 Church St., Jonesville. This is a Michigan Notable Book Tour event. • May 16, 2:15 pm, Conference for Study of Midwestern Literature, conference panel. Bonnie Jo Campbell’s heroes. Kellogg Conference Center, 219 S. Harrison Road, Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI 48824 (Books available!) • Monday, May 20, 6:30 pm.