Mom and Mother's Day: Call for Submissions

Risking the sin of obviousness, I am issuing a call for submissions about moms and grandmothers, as Mother's Day approaches. Tributes, poem, photos, essays are all invited. What did your mother and/or grandmother teach you that has stayed with you?

My grandmother taught me a lot. One of eight children, by the time she reached her forties, she was the only surviving member of her family. She never spoke to me about any personal grief. She did, though, share some instructive phrases with me that I think came from her own grief experiences.

One night when I faced a great loss, I spoke to my grandmother on the phone, and she said, "You know, honey, sometimes it's just better not to think."

At the time, I thought her words were simply cute and endearing. Time passed, a time during which I also faced the loss of my grandmother. I cannot begin to count the number of times her phrase has revisited my mind and helped me through a tough moment. "Sometimes it's just better not to think."

What did your mother or grandmother make better for you, lead you to think about? Submissions on this theme are open through May 15. See guidelines at right for instructions.

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Longing for ...

This poem by Nagore Sedano describes in a haunting, haiku-like way, the longing that comes with another’s absence—whether that absence is temporary or permanent.

Absence

Nagore Sedano

I wanna hear the echo
of my whisper in your ear,
touch the warmth of your depth
through your restless tear,
render the afterglow motion
of your straight waist,
catch the perfume of your beauty words.

*******

Nagore Sedano was born in Bilbao, Spain, where she lived until her early 20s. While studying for her bachelor’s degree in communications at the University of the Basque Country, she studied abroad at the University of Worcester, England. Upon graduating in 2008, she received a fellowship from USAC (University Studies Abroad Consortium) to conduct a research program at California State University. While at CSU, Nagore was a Spanish teaching assistant and wrote for magazines. She has also lived in Idaho and Switzerland, where she worked as a Spanish professor and news analyst, respectively. She is currently a teaching assistant at the University of Nevada, Reno in the U.S. She writes in Basque, Spanish, French and English.

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Post Poem & Text, Copyright Nagore Sedano, All rights reserved.

Tributes for Our Tributaries

 In 2009 and 2010, I created poetry posters to celebrate National Poetry Month (April in the U.S.). Although I had wonderful assistance on pre-press production from designer Jeff O'Dell, my posters were solitary productions. They included my poems, my photos, my designs.  This year's poster was different. Although I took the photo on the poster, it is of a dear friend's artwork.  Although I wrote the poem in English, my friend and colleague Patricia Melgar in Argentina re-created it beautifully in Spanish in a way I could not have done.  Jeff once again helped me with technical details. And another author colleague gave me meaningful input at different stages of the poster's creation.  It was a thoroughly satisfying experience, one of collaboration and cooperation.

My friend, artist Scottie Parsons died this year in January at age 85. A child of the depression, she grew up in a large family in Oklahoma.  She knew hardship--and she knew a love of the land as few people know it now.  She was not 5 feet tall and painted enormous canvases that towered above her on her custom-made easel. She said, "My paintings are my conversations with God."

Scottie was most definitely a tributary in the river of my life. Each visit to her studio was a source of joy, peace, and fellowship for me. And when someone pointed out to me that the poetry poster was also a wonderful tribute to Scottie (who was a lover of poetry and had a gift for writing, as well), it made me feel warm inside. I felt that in some way I had given something to someone who had given me a great deal during her lifetime.

If you would like to receive one of my posters, in English, Spanish, or both, or have one sent to a friend or family member anywhere in the world, please email me or leave a comment with your address.  (Comments  come to me before publication, so your address information will not be public.) So far, I have posters going to Texas, Florida, California, Nevada, Minnesota, Maryland, Spain, Argentina, Italy, Scotland, and Germany. 

In the meantime, think about those people who have been or are tributaries in the river of your life. If they are still with you, let them know what they mean to you in some way, even if it is just an e-note telling them how much they are appreciated.  If they are not still with you on this earthly plane, think of what you might do to pay tribute to them....a memorial donation, a letter to one of their family members, a candle lit in their memory, a day trip to a place that was special to them.  Or--a simple prayer, of gratitude, to the divine source of all tributaries.

The Leavings: Reflections on Death and Alzheimer's

Fresh out of college, I worked as a social worker at a gerontological facility. The first time I heard the word, Alzheimer's was during a phone call from a staff member at the National Institutes of Health. She was flying to Texas to follow the care of a patient recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's, a disease that in 1974 was thought to be extremely rare. I was to assist with finding care resources for this lovely elderly woman, who lived in a high rise apartment, decorated with antique Chinese furniture. It was difficult to see exactly how the disease in its early stages affected her. She was elegant, poised, and kind. I could not have imagined the difficult end of life that this sneaky disease would bring to this delicate grandmother. Nor could I ever have imagined that Alzheimer's would become a household word in my lifetime and affect more than 18 million people worldwide; that it would bring a kind of death that, as my friend Lamar Hankins describes in his poem, involves so many different kinds of leaving for the patient and the family who suffer the symptoms and the consequences of this assault on the brain, the mind, the body. 

Lamar's father was ill for an extended time, as is so often the case with Alzheimer's. He died on February 20, 2011.  Lamar is a Texas attorney (and a fine one!) with a finely tuned social conscience and a gift for making life better for others.  His poem weaves many influences together, from Picasso and Emily Dickinson, to the post oak trees in Dew, Texas, in the Eastern part of that state. I especially like the way he weaves the natural landscape into the nature of human life.

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The Leavings: 
Reflections on Death and Alzheimer's
by Lamar Hankins

When he left, I’m not sure.

We knew that short-term memory leaves first,

that newer experiences don’t register.

Knowing is important, but does not make the leavings easier.

The personality did not leave as quickly as the memory;

Flashes of humor bumped up against what we knew of the disease and who he had been.

Knowing helps to measure the progress of the leavings,

but it doesn’t help us know what to do ... or not to do.

Leavings are everywhere:

They come by stroke, heart attack, kidney failure, cancer

They come by Picasso’s longing fixation late in life

They come by breaking of bones, by loss of

cartilage and muscle and skin.

Once, the leavings were isolated,

singular, and unconnected in a young mind.

Later, the leavings accumulate, leaving an impression
much like the one a body makes in an old mattress,
distorting our  world as they leave dents in our lives and, sometimes, holes.

A very old post oak tree at the gate at Dew was young when he was young.

It now seems dead, but the trunk still stands 25 feet tall—

a remarkable sight– the silver tree with stubby limbs.

Before it started dying, it was 50, 60 feet tall, strong and proud,

but it no longer offers canopy for shade and will soon fall, as will we all.

*

We take much for granted when we are young:

our bodies, our lovers, our parents, our relatives and friends.

The leavings don’t seem so significant then;

they may be important, even shocking,

but their significance doesn’t penetrate.

As the leavings accumulate, they take their toll.

Sometimes there is a numbing,

focusing on the everyday keeps emotions at a distance,

but eventually emotions catch up with reality,

and we understand better our fate and the fate of all.

*

In the end, his waking hours made little sense.

Who knows what happened in his dreams?

Emily wrote: it is knowing that this life will never

come again that makes it so sweet.

He knew the bitterness, but also the sweetness, of life.

Copyright Lamar Hankins, All rights reserved.

Light and Love Sustain

The rest of Helen Schulman's Haiku for Japan:

The ground crumbles.

All that is familiar vanishes.

Light and love alone sustain

Earth in chaos.

Beautiful souls living life day to day

Suddenly gone.

Loved ones lost.

The tsunami of aging rages.

The river of change rolls on supreme.

Amidst the rubble,

The cries of a child.

The miracle of life goes on.

Helen Schulman spent seven years living in India during the 1970s where she practiced yoga and meditation.  While there, she was Editor-in-Chief of English publications for a popular ashram, at which time she edited a bi-monthly magazine and various books on Eastern philosophy.  She has a Masters in Social Work from New York University and has held various positions in the USA that involved editing as well as social work.   She has written poetry for many years.

Images from the Dover Collection of Japanese Art Deco