“Assigned reading” was as much a dreaded phrase when I was young as it was to my high school students’ ears when I taught several years ago. Everyone pretty much agrees that there’s a much better chance you’ll enjoy reading if you choose the books yourself, rather than read from a prescribed list. But in 2021, I assigned myself several books that belong to the great cannon of literature, books that I’d somehow never read.
Determined to make up for missed opportunities, I began the year ambitiously with a pretty formidable list: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, Shakespeare’s King Lear, Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey, The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. I read many other books as well–fiction and nonfiction, but I’m proud to say I read the books–for the most part–and I have a new set of reading ideas for 2022.
Should I hang my head and confess that I didn’t enjoy Pride and Prejudice? I’ve seen the film versions and the play and loved both of them. The characters were interesting and sometimes even funny, and I did admire Miss Bennet, but Austin’s prose left me flat. I suppose it was her style that I didn’t like–so full of descriptions and long sentences. I read up to page 200 and then put it aside, feeling like I’d had my fill of Austen for a time.
I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn as an adolescent because my mother recommended it, but I re-read it in 2021 just so I could appreciate it as an adult. I loved the story of Francie and her family. Smith writes realistically about tenement life in New York city at the turn of the 20th century, capturing the grit and desperation that people like the Nolans must have felt as they worked just to survive. Many situations ring true today–women staying with charming men despite serious drinking problems, families scrambling to feed children, and a young girl nurturing a dream of something much grander for her own adult life. I was actually surprised by how much I enjoyed the book and found myself wishing I could remember what I thought about the story when I was a girl more like Francie Nolan.
I read several acts of King Lear before finally giving up and watching a movie of the play. I appreciate more than ever, the kids who hate reading Shakespeare, but love the stories when they come alive on a stage or on the screen. I remember seeing the play at the Ashland Shakespeare Festival a number of years ago, and the scene that stands out for me is the king with his fool in the rain. But I must have been so caught up in the spectacle of the play in Oregon that I forgot that nearly everyone dies.
Edith Wharton’s prose in The House of Mirth was exceptional, and I was pulled into the story from the start. I loved Lily Bart and rooted for her to find someone shegenuinelyloved who could help her financially as well. And The Odyssey--I think I would have enjoyed it much more if I’d been able to take a course with a Greek scholar, like Emily Wilson. I enjoyed the parts that I was very familiar with–the adventures with Polyphemus, Circe, and Calypso and the homecoming. But I found the repetition and long rambles about banquets and strategy to be boring. Still, I’m glad I stuck with it and read the entire epic poem, and Emily Wilso has my undying admiration for her translation and depth of knowledge.
I’m still forming my list for 2022, and may explore more Wharton. I’ve decided to listen to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein because I often find I enjoy listening to some older forms of prose more than I enjoy reading them.
There are always so many more books that I want to read than I actually complete–I often wish I could just swim in a pool of stories!
Ann Bracken (AB): Ginny, congratulations on your wonderful poetry collection questions for water. Your poems greet the reader like open arms, inviting them in to the world you’ve created. Tell me about the title poem and say a little about your stylistic choice to use lower case letters throughout the book.
Ginny Crawford (GC): The title poem came about through an invitation to participate in an ekphrastic show at the Hamilton Gallery in Baltimore. I fell in love with a painting (mostly blue/turquoise and white). It also had pieces of torn paper glued to the surface which suggested mountains and a few other things. I saw a single person in a small boat approaching a literal piece of rusted barbed wire hung across the bottom of the painting. I immediately thought about immigration and the horrifying images we were seeing from our southern border. And my own grandfather who came from Italy – I’ve always wanted to write something about him but hadn’t yet. And the daily emotional, physical, financial struggle far too many Americans face not because they don’t work, but because of the poverty wages they are paid. As well as a tragic story a Russian woman told me about her coming to America. And my grandmother who came from Crisfield, MD where opportunities were very limited. And I could go on. The painting gave me the opportunity to write all of that in a single poem.
I’ve always been captivated by water and its abilities, the way it is essential and deadly at the same time. I tried to replicate the repetitive rocking motion of being at sea in the repetition throughout the poem. The repetitions act as a kind of mental break for readers as well as a bridge to the next part of the poem. It also reflects the day-in and day-out struggles many Americans have and continue to live with.
The choice not to use standard capitalization and punctuation was to reflect the way punctuation provides artificial boundaries-just as thoughts of nationality or heritage are artificial. Sure people from different cultures celebrate different holidays and have different languages etc, but in the end we’re all humans. We all want food and shelter and love. We all want to see our children succeed. While we may speak different languages, these differences are superficial.
Not using punctuation was a way to say no, we’re not different; we’re not separate from each other. We cannot place a period here and turn our backs on what might come next. Often we try to and do, but it’s artificial. We are not separate but deeply connected. American individualism, “ownership society” says we are successful or not based on our value to society, our job. If you’re not financially successful you must be doing something wrong. Too bad for you. This kind of thinking is deeply flawed and harmful. Not using punctuation is a way of saying no, people cannot be neatly categorized, divided and labeled. That is an illusion.
AB: I immediately recognized the speaker’s response to the young homeless man in the poem “baltimore.” Tell me what inspired that poem.
GC: I’ve done a variety of unusual jobs in my life, and many of them showed me how vulnerable we are as humans. And I saw people begging on the street everywhere. They are humans who are suffering and need help. This particular interaction was difficult in part because he appeared young, maybe in his 20’s. And when he took the orange, he was so exhausted, worn out, he told me what he really wanted. His hands also alarmed me. They were swollen, cracked, dirty. Quite obviously painful and delicate. They were so cracked I thought they would bleed at any moment. The combination of his relative youth, the state of his skin, his directness and the thing he wanted, hot food, …I’ll always remember him. I started keeping snacks in my car to give away. It’s painful to see so many people begging for help on medians and at stop lights. This is supposedly the wealthiest country on the planet.
AB: In “thoughts on making soup and war,” you lead us through the dailyness of making soup and then muse about a homeless veteran and a neighbor whose son enlisted. Talk a little about how you chose your images to convey the tone and feeling in the poem. (onions, overflowing trash can, lined up empty boots)
GC: Great question, but it’s hard to answer. Somewhere my mind connected the common-ness of potatoes with the way soldiers are used by governments. We don’t usually think of potatoes individually – there are just so many of them, and they’re inexpensive. That seems to reflect our government’s opinion of sending soldiers into unnecessary conflict and wars. There are always more. And if there aren’t, we’ll demand your sons. Yes, we need to defend ourselves, but soldiers should be used only when absolutely necessary. Absolutely necessary. Not because someone wants to be re-elected or to maintain the surprisingly low cost of our oil and gas compared to other countries.
When I was in college one of my friends was terrified he’d be drafted for Desert Storm. It was scary and bizarre to think that he could be plucked from his life and commanded to fight for an unjust war. Decades later I saw a good friend at the installation of the boots on the Hopkins University campus. It was an art exhibit that travelled around the country. Her middle son really signed up and served several tours. He came back, but she says he’s never been himself since. It’s simply terrifying to know someone you love is going into that kind of danger and the terrifying things they may be asked to do. The contrast of my over-flowing trash can and the hungry veterans on the streets. It’s just horrific that we have a population called “hungry and homeless vets.” It’s shameful that they are not taken care of. They beg on the street while I have more than I can eat. To be honest, I’m not always consciously choosing images. I don’t necessarily think, I need an image that represents X. I can’t say how it happens. It just comes to me.
AB: I was deeply moved by the scenes you create in the poem “how to live. for alice herz sommers” The music in the poem seems to play a pivotal role. How did that piece all come together and who inspired it?
GC: Alice Herz Sommers. A real human and survivor of the Holocaust. It may have been a YouTube clip posted to Facebook. She spoke about her own experiences and how she survived. I watched it over and over, mesmerized by her and her courage. I also found a book her son wrote, but I’ve been too afraid to read it. The Garden of Eden in Hell. I’m delighted that you find the poem musical, but I don’t have an answer beyond this. I was moved by her and how she lived and wanted to honor her in some way.
AB: I appreciate your courage in writing “feared loss.” In tackling the often-ignored issue of grieving after miscarriage, you manage to make the reader feel what the speaker feels in these lines “then years of crying/imagined childless birthday parties/ useless concerns about school day care/ what your father would think” Have you gotten many responses to that poem?
GC: Yes and no. It was published in The Baltimore Review more than 20 years ago, and on a visit to Bill Jones’ high school class, he asked me to read it aloud three times in a row. That was very difficult emotionally. It touches people, but it’s also deeply personal. For each person. No, it’s usually not something people want to discuss. But it’s my experience, and I write about it.
AB: What was the most difficult poem for you to write? How did you overcome the challenges?
GC: Probably the title poem, and american mom, and travelling south. All of them are wide-ranging in terms of topics. All of them include fears I have about what my children might experience. All of them include historical and ongoing tragedies that I worry will not be corrected in their lifetimes. american mom is a 9/11 poem even though what inspired it takes place 20 years after 9/11. 9/11 and the threat of retaliation after the killing of Iranian General Soleimani are bookends of the poem. My daughter was 6 months old when 9/11 happened. This recent threat came at what is a very vulnerable place for me as a parent. My daughter, a young adult, visits friends in different cities on her own including New York. While I believe there will always be more people who want to help you rather than hurt you, there are those few looking for vulnerable young people. And there’s always the possibility of stupid bad luck.
So, there I was wondering if something like 9/11 might happen knowing my daughter was in New York near the 20th anniversary and unable to protect her. travelling south also presents troubling real-life situations, and even though my son was still with me, I had no idea how to talk about these horrific things. I could not make it better or fix any of these problems. They were happening, my son was aware, and I couldn’t make it better. When your child is young, you can often do things – they drop a lollipop, you give them a new one or at least wash it off. The poem shows that moment when your child becomes aware of injustices happening all around and realizes that Mommy can’t do anything about it. questions for water is my longest poem and includes many situations Mommy can’t fix. Sometimes she can’t even figure out how to start a conversation. The poem includes current and historical injustices. It was very hard to write, but I just made myself keep going. I wanted to get it to the point of sharing it with others. It was hard and it was work, but it was work I love doing so it wasn’t work at all.
One of my most important sources of support for my writing is my tiny writing group. It’s my husband (who’s also a poet), myself, and one mutual friend who is both an excellent writer and an excellent editor. She can look at something and see very quickly where a poem needs help or is working well. I’m a little in awe of that. She was also a tremendous help in arranging the order of the whole book. I had redone it multiple times thinking I was getting closer but still not feeling right (and not having any idea why), and she can see the whole thing and suggest – you do it like this. And I go – oh! That’s how it goes! It’s a skill she has. So my tiny writers’ group is extremely important to me. I trust both of the others and will ask for suggestions on this, that and everything. I don’t always take their advice, and sometimes they advise different things, but I know they will help me make the poems the best they can be.
AB: Thank you, Ginny, for taking the time to talk with me about your work. In addition to your teaching, what projects do you have underway currently?
GC: I’m feeling pretty unsettled to be honest. I’ve been tutoring children individually; it can be very rewarding and horrifying from one minute to the next. For example, I’m working with a 4th grader who can’t read or do math. A 4th grader! His parents love him, but the school system has completely failed him. He’s fallen into “the cracks” and no one is doing anything or even noticing. It’s heartbreaking. He’s lovely; his parents work long hours including night shifts, and they’ve hired me. But it’s impossible to supply 5 years worth of learning in a few months. So I’ve been juggling individual students and several other part-time jobs, and now it looks like I will soon have a full time teaching position, but then there’s the worry of omicron. I have more teaching jobs than I can do, and I’m trying to figure out which are the best (and safest) choices to keep. Fall has been quite a whirlwind of running from job to job, so I’m hoping to figure out how to focus on just a few of them. And still have some time and energy for poetry.
I recently became the host of the Maryland Writers’ Alliance First Friday series. That’s been great. In Jan we have Naomi Shihab Nye, in Feb Bruce Jacobs, and in March we get to hear from your new book. I’m looking forward to that and hearing about your experiences that inspired it.
Bio: Virginia Crawford is a long-time teaching artist with the Maryland State Arts Council. In April 2021, Apprentice House Press published her full-length collection of poetry, questions for water. One reviewer said, “her work mines the seam between the personal and the political. Crawford brings her lyrical voice and intimate perspective to the challenges faced by twenty-first century families, America, and the world.” Previously her chapbook Touch was published by Finishing Line Press. She has co-edited two anthologies: Poetry Baltimore, poems about a city, and Voices Fly, An Anthology of Exercises and Poems from the Maryland State Arts Council Artist-in-Residence Program. She has appeared at the CityLit Fest, the Baltimore Book Festival, The Gaithersburg Book Festival and others. She earned degrees in Creative Writing from Emerson College, Boston, and The University of St. Andrews, Scotland. She lives and writes in Baltimore, Maryland. You can find out more at www.virginiacrawford.com.
Ann Bracken (AB): I first met you several years ago when you were the featured reader at the Wilde Readings series. Please tell me a little about your journey as an author and why you’ve chosen the Indie/self-publishing route for your work.
Debbi Mack (DM): At the time I did it, I’d had my first novel in the Sam McRae mystery series, Identity Crisis, published by a small press. However, the press went under nine months after I signed the contract. So the book went out-of-print less than a year after it came out in 2005.
I self-published it in 2009, with the sole intention of getting the work out there. It was literally impossible to sell the series to anyone but a small publisher at that point. And even small presses were turning me down. No agent would consider it, and each and every one of them (who bothered to share any advice with me) told me to write a standalone and try to find an agent with that.
So, I wrote two standalone novels, one of which I’ve self-published. But that was after I came out with the Sam McRae series myself.
I just thought if readers had a chance to read the book, they might like it. In addition, my local chapter of Sisters in Crime, an organization that supports women mystery authors, were self-publishing an anthology I was in through Lulu.com. So, I figured I’d do the same, because why not? It cost nothing, and you got royalties from them, like any other publisher.
At the same time, I was getting the print book ready for release, I discovered ebook self-publishing through Amazon’s KDP (Kindle Direct Platform). Since it was a non-exclusive deal they offered, again I thought, why not? I figured it would be good for a bit of spare change. Seriously, that’s ALL I expected.
AB: What were some of the most important things you learned once you chose this path?
DM: Too many things to list! 🙂
First, publishing was changing faster than I could keep up with it. By 2011, my first novel had hit the New York Times bestseller list. However, the way it got there turned out to be unsustainable.
At the time, I had five blogs and a website. I priced my books low (at $0.99) when everyone was pricing theirs at $2.99. Why? Because my volume sales were much higher at that price point.
Everything seemed to be fine. Except I started to hear that authors would need to publish more and more books a year, if they intended to survive as authors.
Then Amazon pretty much offered indie authors a kind of … I’ll call it an “ethical bribe” … and I’m being really kind in saying that. Amazon offers various “benefits” if you agree to be exclusive with them for at least three months.
At the same time, Amazon was rapidly expanding into other markets, creating its own publishing imprints, expanding further into retail, making motion pictures, opening bookstores. All this while the Department of Justice was pursuing an antitrust case against the Big Six (or Five, I can no longer keep count). That seemed terrifically ironic, given the all-out takeover Amazon was engaged in.
And how much of a disservice was it to readers with Nooks or other devices for authors to simply say, “Sorry. I can’t sell you an ebook, because … Amazon’s paying me to be exclusive to them.” Not that any author came right out and stated it. What was worse, no one saw that this was a problem at the time. So many authors I spoke with were like, “Oh, it’s only three months.” The problem is indie authors lost their independence when that happened.
Some will tell you that the only way for an author who only writes fiction to make a living now is to come out with some ungodly random number of books a year. They will tell it requires constantly creating new books and publishing them, on top of the marketing part. Talk about unsustainable.
Now, knowing that Amazon makes most of its profit from providing web services, a few folks are finally realizing there’s a great big problem here. Amazon (in essence) runs a substantial portion of the Internet itself. I wondered how it wasn’t a conflict for Amazon to essentially own the distribution network other publishers depend on, while also competing with them. And why more people weren’t asking this question.
As of this writing, more people are asking just that question, but it is still a discussion confined mainly among people in publishing, including self-published authors, small presses, and the like.
But here’s where things get (even more) complicated for me.
Because I made the quarterfinals in screenwriting contest in 2012 or thereabouts, I became more interested in writing screenplays. This was something I’d always wanted to do, but had no idea how to get started.
So, I made a decision to write screenplays. I attended the Austin Film Festival, as well as a local class on indie film production. That’s when I learned about things like crowdfunding. And I set up a crowdfunding campaign without any real planning. Naturally, it succeeded only because a family member swept in and donated the money. That’s not the way crowdfunding is supposed to work.
Right now, as I write, I should (maybe) have some kind of big launch plan in place in anticipation of the release of the second novel in my new series. But, frankly, it’s all I can do write these answers.
I have a rare movement disorder that makes typing beyond difficult. It was caused by a stroke, and as a result, my left hand is constantly moving in all different directions. It is sheer hell on concentration, but for good or ill, I tend to be very focused and possibly a bit too driven to succeed at things.
So, I had to learn not to care about my Amazon rank. I also had to learn that there are many ways to build a fan base. And one of them is to write high-quality content and find a way to connect with readers in a personal way.
I learned the hard way about not paying for promotions. I was spending way too much on that. I got to the point where I incurred big enough losses for me to want to simply quit.
At some point, I just had to stop all my promotions. Just stop and think about what I really wanted. I’ve also had to think about what my idea of success is. And, at this point, just having a new book out is a success for me. As for being in Amazon’s Top 100 or any of that, I really don’t care at this point.
Having genuine connections with readers, along with networking in the filmmaker realm has kept me busy. Especially with the pandemic. So many people have virtual events now. And you can end up in an endless loop of those.
On the whole, I’d say my experiences have taught me that it takes more than writing a good book and putting it up online. And marketing experts abound out there. Ready to take your money, I might add, for the advice they offer, which ends up involving Amazon ads, Facebook ads, etc. etc. That particular depends on gaining a competitive edge through algorithms. The algorithms were with me ten years ago. Not so much now. Besides, another person’s success story may not translate into one of your own.
The bottom line is that self-publishing is easy, but marketing and visibility are not. So many people self-publish now that, unless you want to agonize over Amazon’s algorithms, you probably won’t make the money I was able to ten years ago.
AB: For people who may eschew self-publishing and hold out for a deal from a “real” publisher, what would you like them to know?
DM: If you think having a “real publisher” will assure you great success, think again!
If you write genre fiction like I do, any traditional publisher will give you a relatively small advance. And, if you fail to sell enough books, they’ll drop you from their stable. Most authors don’t usually earn out even these small advances, mainly because they aren’t marketing well. And the publishers aren’t doing the heavy lifting. They’re relying on the sales of books by authors much higher up on the “food chain”, so to speak. The big names with the big advances get the most marketing help from publishers.
There are actually advantages to going with a smaller press, for that reason. You’re one of a select niche (or genre-specific) group, and they have more at stake in making sure you’re successful. You’ll definitely get more personal attention from a small press. You’ll still need to market, but a reputable press has contacts and connections that you may not.
Naturally, you can earn more when you publish directly online, because the royalty percentage is higher. However, if no one can find your book, you won’t make sales. Visibility is the tough part.
AB: What are some of the pitfalls you’ve encountered that you’d like others to know about?
DM: Um … see above. 🙂
Here’s a short list:
#1 Spending way too much on promotional services;
#2 Failing to connect with fans through a newsletter or other means;
#3 Trying to be everywhere on social media, doing everything, without sufficient thought as to whom you’re reaching or trying to figure out how to reach your ideal reader;
#4 Simply doing giveaway after giveaway without checking the effect on your bottom line;
#5 Taking time off from online activities, now and then;
#6 Writing salesy newsletter content. I see this way, way too much;
#7 Lack of genuine connection with one’s readers;
#8 Valuing short-term gain over long-term strategy;
#9 Not treating self-publishing as a business. Keeping track of income streams and exploiting every income stream possible from your content.
And that’s just a short list.
AB: What personal qualities do you think have helped you to be successful as a writer?
DM: I would say just plain stubborness has kept me at this. I’m also diligent about my writing routine. I try to do a little writing every day.
Also, just flat-out passion for the work. Without that, there’s really no point in doing any of it.
AB: Tell us about your latest project:
DM: Actually, right now, I’m publishing my second novel in the Erica Jensen mystery series. It came out on Nov. 11 as an ebook and the print version will be out soon. And working out the plot for the next one.
I’m also working on a Sam McRae story that I plan to serialize on Substack. That’s a whole ‘nuther discussion right there.
If you’re familiar with Amazon’s Vella serials, Substack is essentially the same thing for indie authors. There are currently indie authors serializing their fiction there. With Vella, again Amazon requires exclusivity. I won’t do that.
Substack is both a newsletter and a blog combined. Every time you publish a new chapter, it goes out by email to subscribers. You can start of with free samples, and charge for whole books. That’s just one way of going about it.
To be honest, I have no idea how successful fiction authors have been with Substack. But I’m giving it a try, because … again, why not?
And for what it’s worth, you can essentially do the same thing on Medium. Medium lets you set up a paywall pretty much in the same manner as Substack. I’m experimenting with both these days.
I divide my writing time roughly 60% fiction writing, 40% screenwriting, more or less. Planning when and what to write ahead of time keeps me focused on finishing projects.
AB: What is Patreon and how does it benefit authors?
DM: Now, that’s a great question. Basically, Patreon is an online platform that supports creative work of all kinds by providing a way for creators to offer incentives for fans of your work to become your patrons. Like the patronage system of old, except on the Internet and with the ability to reach a worldwide audience.
An author can benefit from this by offering early access to drafts of their work or making personal appearances at book clubs or one-on-one consultations. It lets you offer different benefits at different levels of support. The type of benefit depends on what you write and what you offer readers, in general. It could be early drafts of works-in-progress, classes, consultations, live Q&A, Discord access (Discord is a kind of direct messaging system that I haven’t quite figured out, to be honest). In exchange for these benefits, supporters get to know your work and, assuming you get the word out about your Patreon page, the idea is similar to crowdfunding. Provide a special benefit of some sort and people will pay for that.
The idea is that true believers in your work will support you, if you ask nicely.
There’s a book by Amanda Palmer, who’s a musician, which doesn’t matter really. It’s not what you make, but how you entice people’s interest in your work. Amanda Palmer wrote a book about all this called The Art of Asking. I highly recommend it for anyone who’s interested in Patreon.
Other books about Patreon are out there. But Amanda’s is most interesting.
And you really don’t have to be a rock star to have fans who’ll support you. I think it’s largely a matter of taking the time to figure who you’re trying to write for and how to best reach them.
AB: Other thoughts?
DM: Just keep writing. Be willing to take advice from others, but choose your advisors with care. Take any advice you get with more than one grain of salt. And don’t give up, but do give yourself a break now and then.
Debbi Mack is author of the Sam McRae mystery series, including her debut novel, Identity Crisis, which made the New York Times bestseller list in 2011 and is under option to be adapted for the screen. Her standalone books include a middle grade novel, Invisible Me, and a thriller, The Planck Factor.
Her most recent release is Fatal Connections, the sequel to the Shamus-nominated Damaged Goods, the first novel of a new series featuring Erica Jensen, a female Marine veteran sleuth, who battles PTSD and drug addiction while solving crimes.
In honor of National Poetry Month, I’m posting a couple of columns that can help you see often-neglected uses for poetry. Besides its great beauty and ability to capture emotions, poetry can be a useful tool in many aspects of life–like dealing with depression.
How can poetry help depression? Aren’t medication and therapy the best ways to treat the illness? My story may surprise you.
When I suffered from depression in the early 1990s, Prozac was the new “miracle drug.” Along with this so-called “miracle drug came a physical explanation of causation: that depression is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain. This thesis is still widely promulgated, though much research is coming to light that disputes and even negates this biomedical explanation for the darkness that is so prevalent in our modern world. More information on the research side can be found at the website Mad in America, curated by science reporter Robert Whitaker. As part of Whitaker’s work to educate the public, he invites doctors, psychologists, counselors, and patients from all over the world to share research, essays, and personal experiences on the issues of depression and its treatment.
Even in the 1990s when I struggled to climb out of depression and tried numerous medications for several years with no results, the idea that the chemicals in my brain were out of whack did not provide a solid answer. Instead, I pursued a more metaphysical explanation for the questions that haunted me: “Why am I depressed?” and “What longings are unfulfilled?”
And that’s what led me to poetry.
One of the most valuable resources I found to aid in making sense of the gifts of depression is poet David Whyte’s 1992 CD entitled The Poetry of Self Compassion. Whyte’s recitation of Mary Oliver’s “The Journey” confirmed my feelings of being on a perilous but necessary journey through darkness and confusion. And I was deeply confused by the all-encompassing darkness that I was experiencing. But once I heard Whyte recite “The Journey,” I knew that someone understood a piece of what I was experiencing. And that the way I was feeling had nothing to do with messed up brain chemistry. My depression had everything to do with self-discovery and taking charge of my life.
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
their bad advice–though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingersat the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.It was already lateenough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
~Mary OliverI remember listening to the poem over and over–as if rolling around a mysterious new food in my mouth, trying to figure out what it tasted like that was familiar. What was it I was determined to do? What else besides raise my children, serve my community, and be a good wife? I just knew there was more. And Mary Oliver’s words gave me the courage to make the journey that would save my life.
The answer was slow in coming, but I gradually began to realize that my struggles with depression and a migraine headache exacerbated my ex-husband’s verbal abuse to the point where I could finally see it. Depression and chronic pain became my crucible for change and my pathway to a new life. Poetry became my way to unlock the profound secrets that illness led me to discover. Poetry helped me to have compassion for my journey and for all the mistakes I had made along the way.
Whyte ends on a note of great compassion in the poem “The Faces at Braga” as he compares surrendering to the fire of depression and embracing your flaws in this way: “If only we could give ourselves to the blows of the carver’s hands, the lines in our faces would be the trace lines of rivers feeding the sea” and we would “gather all our flaws in celebration, to merge with them perfectly…” What a compelling call–to celebrate one’s flaws. What a gift of healing.
This essay originally appeared in the Currere Exchange, Vol. 4, No. 1, 2020.
While I’m no longer able to volunteer inside of a prison, I’m continuing my advocacy work by mentoring a writer who is incarcerated in a Maryland prison. If you’re interested, check out the Justice Arts Coalition’s pARTner Project for more details.
In 2015, my editor at Little Patuxent Review gave me an assignment I wanted to refuse; she asked me to interview a professor who ran a writing group—in a prison—and then to visit the prison and interview the men. The woman who ran the group—Professor M., a sociology professor at a major research institution who’d volunteered in the prison for seven years—spoke very positively about the men who participated in her group. Near the end of our interview, she shared a program with me for a literary day of the arts where the men had performed their original poems, stories, and songs. Their faces looked young and happy, which was a complete surprise to me. Professor M. assured me that I’d like the men, and her parting words were especially compelling: “There’s no one else that I’d rather spend a few hours with in a discussion.” I was intrigued, but frightened to go into a prison. My mind buzzed with all of the common middle-class stereotypes about “those people” behind bars and how they might act. “Those people”: school drop outs, drug dealers, hustlers, maybe even murderers. At that time, I had driven by the prison only once and never had the slightest desire to volunteer there. Several of my writer colleagues worked in prisons, and while I admired them, I had kept my distance, partly out of fear and partly because my protective shell had begun to crack as I learned about the prison industrial complex and the school-to-prison pipeline.
Many of my former high school students had brushes with the juvenile justice system, but none of them were especially “bad” kids. Instead, they were kids who had tough home lives or who had made really poor, impulsive decisions or who’d been unfairly targeted by a biased system that landed them in the lap of the law. Deep down, my spirit realized that, if I were to go into a prison and meet the men, I’d probably form a bond with them. Up to that moment, I’d walled myself off from that possibility, but my interview with Professor M. had piqued my curiosity.
Once my security clearance came through, I accompanied Professor M. to meet her writing group. Along with a lone pad of paper and a single pen, I’d brought a copy of my first poetry book, The Altar of Innocence, for the men to read and share. I thought they could relate to my story about drug and alcohol abuse, depression, and divorce. Ninety minutes were allotted to interview five men, so I’d prepared questions about something that I wanted to know and understand better: Who were you when you came here? and Who are you now? I wasn’t allowed to have a recording device and couldn’t take any pictures, so I wrote notes on everything I experienced in order to capture the look and feel of the prison. My hastily scribbled sentences contained every detail that I could observe—the yellow X on the elevator floor designating the spot where no one could stand for fear of stalling the elevator, the insulation peeling off of the pipes in the hallway, the black metal peeking through chipped paint on the bars, the smell of bleach in the hallway outside the school, the song-like Baltimore and foreign dialects of the guards—and most of all, the men in the writing group.
Each one of them greeted me with a smile and shook my hand to welcome me to the group. Professor M. had told them why I was coming and then gave them a bit of my background—college lecturer, writer, and former high school teacher.
After about 15 minutes of introductions and chatting, we got started with the business of the interviews. The men sat around a large, rectangular table, each with a black and white composition book that held his writing. I didn’t think we’d have time for sharing, but it was good to see that they’d come prepared. I made notes about the physical condition of the room and copied down the quote written in neat cursive on wide yellow bulletin board paper that served as the backdrop on the stage. “Education is a passport to the future, for tomorrow belongs to those who prepare for it.”
I was impressed by the men’s good manners and calm demeanors. They laughed and joked with one another and shared stories with Professor M. and me. I felt much more relaxed than I’d imagined, and I was totally enthralled with all that the men had to share about their lives.
Here is a sample of what they told me. All of the men’s names throughout the manuscript have been changed to preserve their anonymity.
“I was misguided. I had no sense of self-worth. I grew up without any guidance. I’d say I was a lost individual. I was only reading at about the 7th grade level. I did some dumb things. I’ve been here since I was 15, and now I’m 28. Who I am now is a happy individual. I’m striving to be a better person—educated, moral, all that. I’m working on my character. I meditate, pray, work on my attitude. I want to contribute in a positive way. Part of what helps me is reading. When I read words, and I didn’t know what they meant, I went and got a dictionary. The idea that I could learn on my own was a spark.”~ Ryan, from East Baltimore
Author’s note: This essay forms the foundation for my memoir-in-search-of-a-publisher, Putting the Pieces Together: A Story of Overmedication and Recovery.
In 1959, my mother suffered what people commonly referred to as a nervous breakdown after my youngest sister’s birth. Mom spent six months in a local, Catholic psychiatric hospital while Dad and Grandma assumed command of the household. I was seven years old, the second-oldest of five children. Eventually, Mom visited us a few times on Sundays, and then returned home in November, presumably ready to assume her duties as a wife and mother. Sadly, Mom remained gripped by depression for the rest of her life.
Because my memories of that time are wrapped in thick layers of gauze, I’ve had to rely on others to fill in the gaps. My father, grandmother, and Mom’s close friends believed that Mom experienced postpartum depression, starting after my birth, and worsening with each successive child. My older brother shared this memory about a year ago when I asked what he remembered about Mom’s 1959 illness: “I came home from college and found her in the basement, banging her head against the wall, moaning, ‘I can’t take it anymore.’”
My heart ached when I heard that story, but I still puzzled over why Mom never recovered. Until I found Dad’s collection of records in a dusty box stashed in my sister’s attic. Old insurance and medication records, newspaper and magazine articles, and letters to doctors were neatly organized in an unassuming manila folder. As I leafed through the contents, intuition whispered that I’d finally have the missing puzzle pieces I’d searched for all my life.
Some of the most valuable clues were in a letter, typed on onion skin paper, that sat on top of the file. It was dated 1-17-83 and addressed to Dr. L., one of Mom’s many doctors. Dad wrote the following notes:
5th child born Feb.59. Normal birth and she carried baby in good spirits. About mid-April started having problems and had first visit with psychiatrist of May 8, 1959. Between then and June 22nd, ’59, he treated her with Amytal, Ritalin, Nardil, Trilafen, NaBu-4, Dexamyl tabs and spansules, and Tofranil. By the end of May ‘59 she was so bad, that even to my nonprofessional eye, I didn’t see how she could avoid hospitalization… She remained there to late Nov. 59. During this time, she received medicine and numerous EST [electroshock therapy] treatments.
The only drug I recognized in that long list was Ritalin, an amphetamine that had been widely prescribed for depression in the 1950s and ’60s. I quickly set to work looking up the rest, all the while screaming inside, How could anyone give a nursing mother with three small children and a newborn so many drugs in such a short period of time? A quick search on the website drugs.com helped me to understand the other drugs my mother took when she first got depressed. Amytal is a long-acting barbiturate; Nardil is an MAO-inhibitor (a type of antidepressant); Trilafon is an antipsychotic; Nembutal is a barbiturate used as a sedative; Tofranil is a tricyclic antidepressant; and Dexamyl is a combination of an amphetamine and a barbiturate.
It was easy enough for me to find the commonly listed effects of all of those drugs, and I wondered how Mom’s doctor could have prescribed all of them in such a short time. Dad’s records don’t indicate if she took all of them together, but even if she took a few, discontinued them, and started a few others, the chemical load must have overwhelmed her system. What struck me in looking at the effects of all the medications was that many of them could cause anxiety, sleeplessness, and agitation—three things I clearly remember my mother struggling with.
Now my brother’s story made more sense—I think Mom was banging her head on the wall because she couldn’t tolerate what the drugs did to her. Her doctor told a different story in the diagnosis that my father noted: “This psychiatrist [Dr. S.] diagnosed it [Mom’s illness] as severe depression with agitation and not due to childbirth.” The doctor’s assessment rang true in one sense—it seemed pretty clear to me that Mom’s severe depression with agitation was due to the massive amounts of drugs she was taking and was, indeed, not related to childbirth. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what the doctor meant. While I have no doubt that my mother struggled against overwhelming feelings of sadness and fatigue, which led to the initial appointment with Dr. S., I believe Mom’s breakdown was probably chemically-induced due to overprescription of drugs.
Dad had also kept some of the original prescription bills related to Mom’s 1959 hospitalization, and between August and October, she took Thorazine, Nembutal, and Tofranil on a regular basis, in addition to receiving an undisclosed number of electroshock therapy treatments. When she came home, the doctor had her on a regimen of Phenobarbital, Miltown (an antianxiety drug), and the tricyclic Tofranil. Dad supplemented that regimen with carefully measured decanters of white wine that I once caught him cutting with water. When he saw me watching, he cautioned, “Don’t ever tell your mother what you saw.” Nowhere in the thirty years of records is there any indication of Mom’s drinking, which all of us tacitly accepted as a significant part of her daily routine.
I also found homemade spreadsheets where Dad listed the dates and medication amounts for Mom’s drugs, often annotated with notes about her responses. The information in those charts prompted me to investigate possible medication effects that may have influenced Mom’s internal state which led her to attempt suicide in 1967. At the time, she was taking a combination of Aventyl (a tricyclic which can cause restlessness, agitation, and anxiety), Dexamyl (amphetamine and barbiturate combination), and Phenobarbital (a barbiturate which is linked to nightmares, nervousness, depression, and anxiety). The effects of all of these medications, combined with Mom’s continued daily drinking, probably led to the intense feelings of despair that drove her to slit her wrists in December. Dad found her in the bathroom that night. I accompanied my parents to the hospital, while my two siblings, ages twelve and thirteen, stayed home and cleaned up the bathroom. None of us ever spoke of that night again.
What about therapy, I wondered, and how did Mom’s psychiatrist treat her after that tragic night? One would think the doctor should have increased Mom’s routine visits to keep a closer watch on her. But according to Dad’s records, that’s not what happened. In fact, Mom’s doctor saw her twice a month, beginning in January of 1960, only about two months after she was released from the hospital, and continuing through June of 1968. However, in the weeks immediately following her suicide attempt in 1967, he did not see her more frequently, a fact which seems to indicate a lack of support and concern. By August of 1968, Dad’s notes indicate that Dr. S. wanted to hospitalize my mother. Dad’s notes and the conversations I can remember ring with the angry charge that “Dr. S. just threw up his hands and gave up on her.”
Because Dad was adamant about keeping Mom out of the hospital, he sought out Dr. M., a well-known psychiatrist who performed electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) treatments in his office. Between August of 1968 and June of 1970, Dr. M. administered thirty-nine ECT treatments to my mother, sometimes giving her as many as five treatments in a month. The one time I remember accompanying my father to help him bring Mom home, I was shocked by her dazed look and unsteady walk. I remember her sleeping through the next day and experiencing memory loss from that time forward. Dad told me that Dr. M. did the procedure without anesthesia, but from some of the reading I’ve done on earlier ECT administration, it seems likely that Dr. M. probably used a short-acting barbiturate to sedate Mom. Otherwise, how could she submit to so many treatments? And how could Dad willingly put her through that pain? I think both of them must have been more desperate for relief than any of us kids could have guessed.
I wish I could say that Mom got better after all of that ECT, but she never attained such a reward for all of her efforts and suffering. In 1973, after suffering from mysterious dental pain for several months and finding no relief, a neurologist helped Mom and Dad to see that she was suffering from depression. Mom was hospitalized for at least a month and endured detox for both barbiturates and alcohol, but she was unable to maintain her sobriety once she came home. I was sickened to learn that Mom’s doctors routinely prescribed Thorazine for her from 1969 to 1983, a practice which would explain why she suffered from tardive dyskinesia and later from severe full-body trembling, possibly akathisia. Mom was hospitalized again for several weeks in 1993, and for the first time, her psychiatrist confronted the family about her alcohol dependence and informed all of us that her MRIs showed evidence of small strokes and blood in the brain. He asked all of us to pledge to refrain from serving alcohol at family gatherings, but we were split on the issue of whether Mom had a problem or not, so she continued to drink along with all of her medications until her death in 2002.
I remember my mother suffering from horrible, visceral anxiety where she would take deep, fast breaths and then wring her hands as if she were Lady Macbeth. Now that I understand more about her medications, I realize how impossible it is to determine if my mother was actuallyvery depressed and anxious or if she was one of the early victims of polypharmacy, trapped in physical and emotional pain due to overmedication and a lack of supportive therapy. It seems clear from the records that Mom’s doctors saw her condition as biochemical and treated her accordingly, tweaking the pills as they went along, and in a sense, resigning themselves to maintaining her “treatment resistant” condition with the only tools they believed in.
Despite all of her sedating and numbing medications, Mom lived a rich and meaningful life. She cared for us, made sure we had regular, nutritious meals and provided a supportive presence when we needed help. Mom hosted her bridge group, participated in a book club, and made weekly trips to talks at the local art museum with one of my aunts. She was also a gifted artist with a degree in costume design from Maryland Institute College of Art, but her talent never matured once all of us were born. Sadly, she never picked up a paint brush in all the years I knew her.
As a child, I made two vows: to help my mother get well and to never be like her.
Want to read the rest of the story? Please hop on over to the Mad in America blog where this essay was originally publishedin May of 2019.
It’s customary at the start of a new year to make resolutions–and then for them to fall by the wayside within a few weeks. I know–I’ve done it in the past. But I have a new strategy inspired by the book One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way by Robert Maurer, Ph.D.
I read the book several years ago and frequently return to Maurer’s advice when I encounter a goal I’m flummoxed by. The main takeaway in the book, at least for me, is two-fold: We often become overwhelmed by changes that we perceive as being too big to handle, and if you think you’re taking a small step towards your goal, go even smaller.
He gives the example of helping a client address her idea that she didn’t have time to exercise by securing her commitment to walking for one minute as she watched her favorite TV show. She gradually progressed to walking during one commercial break, then two, and pretty soon, she was walking for 30 minutes while she watched TV, meeting a suggested fitness goal.
Maurer explains that the brain fears change, and when we decide to make a change from no exercise to 30 minutes a day, the amygdala goes into freak-out mode, paralyzing us. But if our movements toward a goal are incremental to the point of insignificance, we’ll make changes more smoothly and eventually reach our goals.
One change I want to make is to read some of the great literature that I’ve missed over the years. For the most part, I’ve missed it because of my chosen major in college–speech pathology–and the need to do some much required reading for all the courses I’ve taught over the years.
But now that I’m retired, I’m looking forward to reading books that call to me to explore them in full. To start with, I’ve purchased Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey, which critics say is brilliant. I’ll also finally “get my Austen on” and read Pride and Prejudice, then King Lear,some essays by James Baldwin, and Adrienne Rich’s Diving Into the Wreck. Those few titles may take me through 2021, and I plan to work out time for short segments of reading where I can savor the language and enjoy the experience.
I’ve often approached things that I’ve missed–like significant books–by reading enough to have a passing knowledge of the plot and characters. I’ve seen myself as an ice skater, skimming the surface of the ice, just ahead of the fall. But now I’m shifting my perspective to that of a wader–slowly entering the stream and savoring the beauty of the tide pools.
I took a poetry class with Chad Frame, the Emeritus poet laureate of Montgomery County, PA back in June. Chad provided many challenges for us–such as writing found poetry, shape poetry, and centos, to name a few. By far, I thought that the golden shovel form was the most opaque, and I dreaded trying my hand.
Terrance Hayes originated the Golden Shovel form when he wrote two poems as homages to Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem “We Real Cool.” He wrote one poem in 1981 and one in 1991 and both of them use the words in Brooks’ poem as the last word of each line in the Hayes poem.
From “We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks
We real cool. We/left school. We
And here are the first correlating lines of the 1981 Hayes’ poem
When I am so small Da’s sock covers my arm, we
cruise at twilight until we find the place the real
men lean, bloodshot and translucent with cool.
His smile is a gold-plated incantation as we
drift by women on bar stools, with nothing left
in them but approachlessness. This is a school
I do not know yet. But the cue sticks mean we
So what you get if you read down the final word of each line in the Hayes’ poem are the lines in Brooks’ poem.
I wrote my poem with a one line from a David Whyte poem called “Sweet Darkness” because I’ve used the line as a piece of guiding wisdom for many years: “Anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.”
A few words about process. I wrote the words down the right side of an 8×11″ sheet of paper and just went for it. I actually pleased with the results.
Inner Compass It could rain anything during the night—leaves or maybe you dream of anyone
speaking a riddle that you can answer. In what language does a cardinal call? I yearn for time not designed by Tech gods who bring endless yet useless updates to you. None of them will keep you alive until your imagination is free to understand that too many things feel small because a cramped vision is useless for the world that calls to you.
I’d love to hear from you if you decide to jump in! Drop me a line.
I can no longer remember how long I’ve been inside. With the exception of occasional trips to the store and my daily walks around the neighborhood, my world consists of the rooms in my house. I’m sure many of you can relate to the joke that made its rounds shortly before the recent holiday weekend–“I haven’t decided where to spend Easter/Passover yet–the living room or the dining room.” And like many other writers I know, I’ve been feeling stuck.
Sometimes I hear a voice inside saying, All of your best work is behind you. And maybe that’s true–but I am pushing back against my feelings of inertia. I refuse to remain stuck in a non-writing state. Because I have an equally persistent voice inside telling me to just do one thing, write one poem a day. So, I’ve committed to that daily discipline for April, in honor of National Poetry Month. Seems like as good an excuse as any other.
And because I’ve had so many instances of stuckness in my life, I’d like to share an idea that a poetry therapy mentor presented to our class one day many years ago. She asked us to visualize a train on the tracks, speeding along to someplace we wanted to visit. As we settled into the “ride,” she threw us a curve and said, “Now imagine that that train is stuck and you don’t know how long you’ll be sitting still.” I could easily picture how I felt–annoyed, a little anxious, disappointed. Lastly, my teacher challenged us to envision the benefits of being stuck…and to write about them.
For me, one of the benefits of being stuck is that I’m reaching for tools to jump-start my writing–tools that I use in creative writing classes I teach, but don’t always use them in my own work. I’ve downloaded 30 days of poetry prompts and am working my way through the list. I’m choosing news articles that I ‘ve set aside and writing found-poems about them. But my favorite tool is Taylor Mali’s “Metaphor Dice,” a set of 12 different die with a concept (hope) equaling an adjective (broken) + an object (promise). And if you’re more inclined towards using an app rather than actual dice, Mali’s got you covered!
And finally, here’s a poem to inspire you to take a step towards a new beginning, to get unstuck. Think of where you are as a room with a closed door. Now imagine what lies “On the Other Side of the Door.”
On the Other Side of the Door by Jeff Moss
On the other side of the door
I can be a different me,
As smart and as brave or as funny and as strong
As a person could want to be.
There’s nothing that’s too hard for me to do,
There’s no place I can’t explore
Because everything can happen on the other side of the door.
On the other side of the door
I don’t have to go alone.
If you come, too, we can sail tall ships
And fly where the wind has flown.
And wherever we go, it is almost sure
We’ll find what we’re looking for
Because everything can happen on the other side of the door.
Pain is an important signal. We feel something hot and pull our hand away. A knee hurts and we ice it. Pain is the body’s way of telling us to pay attention to something and give it some attention. But what if pain also tells us about our emotions? Mad in America recently published my essay entitled “Learning to Speak the Subtle Language of Pain.” My hope is that someone with an experience like mine will find comfort and resonance in my story.
Here’s an excerpt: “It gradually dawned on me that my back pain was another mask that depression wore. Instead of crying and feeling overwhelmed or giving up, my body was sending distress signals to help me realize that I was in a difficult spot.”
Dorothy Wetzler Bracken designed and painted this dress as a student at Maryland Institute College of Art in the 1930s. Although she graduated in 1935 with a degree in costume design, she was never able to pursue her artistic talents. Mom kept her dreams to herself until the late 90s when I discovered a portfolio of her designs and she confessed, “I always wanted to be a fashion designer.”
Dorothy’s story could have been a happy one—she married, had many friends, and eventually had five children. “I was thrilled every time I found out I was pregnant,” she often told me. Yet, postpartum depression plagued Mom following nearly every birth. After her fifth child arrived, Mom was hospitalized, received electroconvulsive therapy treatments, took copious amounts of psychiatric drugs, but sadly, she never recovered.
Because I always managed to recover from my own depressions, I puzzled over Mom remaining trapped in chronic depression for over 40 years. Until I found Dad’s collection of old insurance and medication records, newspaper and magazine articles, and letters to doctors stashed in my sister’s attic.
Those records told the story of my father’s futile attempts to get help from Mom’s doctors, most of whom only saw her twice a year despite a suicide attempt, hospitalizations, accidents (probably due to overmedication), and many electroconvulsive therapy treatments. Most troubling of all were the lists of Mom’s prescriptions that Dad had saved: Thorazine, barbiturates, antidepressants, amphetamines, and benzodiazepines.
Mom’s doctors were practicing polypharmacy: giving a patient more than one drug to treat a condition. The same thing that happened to me with opioids in the late 90s; the same thing—with different drugs—that’s happening now. And oftentimes the chemical load becomes so great that it’s impossible to tell what’s actually going on for a patient vs. the interactions of the medications. Now I know at least one reason Mom never got well.
I met Lucinda several years ago at a DiVerse Poetry reading in Gaithersburg a few years ago. She has brought tremendous energy to the poetry scene in the DMV with her work on the poetry series, the Gaithersburg Book Festival, and working with the Gaithersburg Library to feature books by local poets. Her first collection of poetry, Inheritance of the Aging Self, has just been released, so we arranged a chat to explore her work.
Ann Bracken (AB): Congratulations onthe publication of your first poetry collectionInheritance of the Aging Self. What’s been most surprising about the writing and publishing process?
Lucinda Marshall (LM): Thank you so much Ann, and congratulations on your book as well! I guess the first surprise is that I actually finished the book, it’s been a long time in the works. It took me awhile to order the poems, but when I finally got there, I realized that the poems that I’d been thinking of as individual pieces became stories when the combination was properly ordered, and that was a revelation!
AB: I love the poem “My Grandmother’s Tea Cups”—it’s so evocative of time spent with an older loved one. You so skillfully parallel the younger you with the older you. Tell me about the bond you have with your grandmother.
LM: I’m so glad that you love it. Although it is written in singular person, it is really about my relationships with both of my grandmothers. My maternal grandmother had a collection of tea cups that she kept in a curio cabinet and I used to love to look at them when I was little. I still have 2 of the cups. My other grandmother used to take me for tea in a little shop where we would order jasmine tea and talk about the things that were happening in our lives. I cherish both their memories.
AB: In the poem, “Posing for the You Scan Machine,” you take a situation that is nearly always anxiety-producing and inject a bit of humor. You move from the personal to the universal in the poem “Taking Her Vitals.” For any doctors and health professionals reading these poems, what would you like them to take away?
LM: Oh that is such a great question because I have thought a lot about how I might use these poems to communicate with doctors about the issues raised in these poems. It’s gotten to the point where when I do need to go to see a doctor, I am there first of all for whatever medical issue is at hand, but also as an obverver of the experience of being a patient. So these poems communicate a bit of that and I hope that would be a useful observation for doctors to take away.
AB: As I read the title poem, “Inheritance of the Aging Self,” I thought of how often I feel like a 40-year-old in a 60-something body. In what ways can the poem teach us about compassion for ourselves as we age?
LM: That’s a hard one. I’m not sure it can, because we tend to judge ourselves more harshly than others might, but at the very least, it is good to know we aren’t the only ones who feel that way. The poem is based on a conversation that I had with my mother towards the end of her life (I’ve written about that here), and it was an eye-opener that she had those perceptions of herself, particularly since even pushing 90 years of age, she was still gorgeous as far as anyone else was concerned.
AB: The opening lines for “Kaddish Season” are beautiful. Talk about the journey the speaker takes in the poem.
LM: The poem draws on how I experienced the deaths of several loved ones. The zinnias in the planter are from my parents’ garden, and during the last years of her life, my mother spent a good deal of time in bed and we would visit with her in her room which had a very clear view of the planter and after she had given up gardening, the planters were pretty sad looking. The morphine drip is from the last time that I visted my paternal grandmother and she was in the hospital in a great deal of pain. I was only 16 when she died and that was the first time I had seen someone so close to death, and it was shattering to see someone who had been so full of life lying there so helplessly, not an image you ever shake really. She died in the fall, as did several others who were influential in my life. I tend to have mood issues in the fall when the days shorten and leaves coming off the tree each year are a nod to my own need to take great care during that season. As for Kaddish, as a very lapsed Jew, that is one of the few prayers that still resonates with me.
AB: One thing readers may not know is that you are a talented and prolific quilter.How did you begin quilting and what is it about the art form that motivates you to continue?
LM: I actually made my first quilt 30 years ago, I hand-pieced and quilted it and quickly realized that quilting was a very time intensive form of art and decided it just wasn’t my time to pursue it at that point as I was very busy with other things. But I have always loved working with fabric and about 5 years ago circled back to it, this time with a sewing machine. When the pandemic rolled around and I had even more time, I really delved into it. I am an improv quilter, which means that I don’t use patterns, so the process is really exciting because I am creating as I go and never really know how it is going to turn out until I’m done. It is also a great counterpoint to writing because when I am cutting and sewing, I am only focused on that task (because I prefer not to slice and poke into my fingers!) and it really becomes a form of meditation and helps me to clear my head. Much like writing, there is never a shortage of ideas to be pursued.
AB: Last two questions: When can we expect DiVerse Reading Series to resume and what are you currently working on?
LM: I’ll have more on DiVerse later this fall and will share it then. As far as what I am working on, the months when things slowed down were a bit of a pivot point for me, I’m writing more long form, less poetry. Not quite sure where that is leading, but it is fun to write full sentences every now and again. And when all the outside obligations on my time slowed down, I also had a great deal more time to work on quilting, and I am trying to keep up that visual exploration.
Thank you so much for doing this interview and for the thoughtful questions, I really enjoyed doing this and am so looking forward to reading your book soon!
Pattie Ross is a force to be reckoned with in the poetry world. She speaks her mind with a gentle humor and then serves up her message with gut punch of humor mixed with outrage. Patti hosts Author Talks at the Baltimore County Arts Guild in Catonsville and serves as an ambassador for poetry everywhere she goes. Here’s an interview about her first poetry chapbook, St. Paul Street Provocations. I hope you’ll enjoy meeting Patti and buy a copy of her lovely book.
Ann Bracken (AB): Congratulations on your new book St. Paul Street Provocations. Such an intriguing title. Tell me the story behind the collection.
Patti Ross (PR): The backstory is that I was living at the intersection of St. Paul Street and Lafayette Streets in Baltimore from 2010 to about 2012. I then moved to Park Avenue, an area in the Bolton Hill district. These two areas are very distinct. Most of the poems began on St. Paul Street with my observations from living on the corner slightly above the sidewalk. The cover has a mural of muralist Jessie and Katey (http://www.jessieandkatey.com/) that they painted on the ground of the little dilapidated park across the street from my building. I watched them work from my main room window. The mural is titled “Walk the Line” and that is what was necessary in the neighborhood if you were going to remain there in peace.
AB: In the poem “Home/Less” you describe your encounter with a homeless man you call “D”. Give me a bit of his story and describe what it was about him that made you decide to stop and talk with him.
PR: On my morning commute down MLK Blvd, I would run in to “D” asking for money/help during the stop light transitions. At times I might have to wait through two lights, and so we began a friendship. I sometimes offered up a dollar or two, sometimes just a hello, and sometimes a brief conversation. At some point “D” disappeared for several weeks. When he returned, I could see that he had been physically assaulted, and he no longer had his backpack of belongs. He was worse than before. I stopped this time, and we talked for a bit. He told me he had been beaten up one night over the rights to the corner and his belongings taken. He said to me “Patti, I gotta deal with the demons in my head, and the demon’s at night.” When he said that it stuck with me. No one chooses to be homeless – there is so much more to their plight.
AB: Letters are so powerful, even when they’re imaginary. Tell me about your decision to write an imaginary letter to “George Perry Floyd in Heaven.”
PR: The murder of George Floyd was incredible. He lost his life over the suspicion of something, not the proof of something. I want people to see him as more than the poster child for a “modern day lynching.” I want people to remember that he was a good son and a good high school athlete. I want people to remember that “but for the grace of God – there goes I.” Often times it is letters that set the record straight years after something happens. We find a letter that tells the true story.
AB: You describe yourself as a spoken word poet and use the name “little pi” when you preform. What were some of the challenges in moving between spoken word and written poetry in your book?
PR: Great question. There is a challenge to take what is performed (staged) to what is written (page). I often remind my audience that what they hear me say may not be what they read fully. I tend to read my poems in a narrative way or as if in conversation, such as in the poem “Indemnity”. I don’t change all the words but for emphasis in performance, I may change a word or omit one or add an expletive because I originally wrote the poem in response to something that “pissed me off” as they say. ‘little pi’ is the voice that allows me to perform the words without apology. It is the voice of my great-great-grandmother, who from what I am told, was an independent woman who said what she felt, lived on an island away from town, and fished standing on river rocks amid rapids and men.
AB: You’re very active in the Maryland writing community with running Maryland Writer’s Association First Friday Reading Series and now starting an open mic night and an author talk-back series at the Baltimore County Arts Guild in Catonsville. Describe those programs and your hopes for the literary scene in Baltimore.
PR: The First Fridays program came out of my desire to continue the EC Poetry & Prose Sunday Salon Series once the Pandemic took over. It was also a way to highlight the poets who were members of MWA but perhaps also wrote other genres. The series was a way to keep the writing and more specifically the poetry community engaged during a time that sucked up so much of our emotion. As writers, we spend much time alone and the First Fridays series allowed us to reunite and share our works-in-progress in a safe, non-judgmental environment. This month culminated my time as host of First Fridays. I am happy that the program I created will continue with the organization. It’s a nice legacy.
The literary scene in the city of Baltimore is good. I am not sure there is much I can do there. However, I did see a void in the spoken word community in the suburbs of the city and I wanted to bring what I was enjoying within the city of Baltimore to the counties. Poetry has been with me from a very early age. I attended The Duke Ellington School for the Performing Arts, so taking my words from the page to the stage seemed natural to me. The history of spoken poetry comes from the Chinese well before 500BC and was picked up in subsequent Dynasties as both a historical and social accounting of the times and recited for various social occasions. This practice has continued and we can look at some of our modernist like T.S. Elliott and see the tradition or recitation being cultivated among the new generation of poets to give deeper meaning to the text. The visual combined with the audible is wonderous in the brain.
AB: What’s next on your agenda? Are you working on a new collection?
PR: Thank you for asking. Yes. I am currently working on a collection of poems about women. I am so doing other things. I have a couple of collaborations going on. Someone suggested I do a podcast. I have a friend, and we have literary debates from time to time about issues that writers often face when putting their thoughts on paper. There is a quote from Oscar Wilde that I keep on my desktop that reads: “Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known.” I believe that, and I am thankful that others do also. It makes for great community when we share openly and honestly with each other. My thoughts are always around the EC Poetry & Prose credo “Peace Poetry Truth”. (EC Poetry & Prose is the online presence that I created a while back when I started hosting the open mics at Syriana’s. ECP&P continues today under the direction of myself and Terri Simon. We are working hard to continue to bring poetry to those that embrace it and live it aloud.)
Patti Ross graduated from Washington, DC’s Duke Ellington School for the Performing Arts and The American University. After graduation several of her journalistic pieces were published in the Washington Times and the Rural America newspapers. Retiring from a career in technology, Patti has rediscovered her love of writing and shares her voice as the spoken word artist “little pi.” Her poems are published in the Pen In Hand Journal, PoetryXHunger website and Oyster River Pages: Composite Dreams Issue. Her debut chapbook, St. Paul Street Provocations, was released in July 2021 by Yellow Arrow Publishing.
People often say that it takes a village to raise a child…and the same is true of putting out a book of poetry. I’d like to thank just a few of the people in my “village” who helped me to write, complete, and publish Once You’re Inside: Poems Exploring Incarceration.
Patricia Van Amburg~I’m so grateful for her unfailing keen eye when critiquing my work. She helped me to shape many of my poems.
Grace Cavalieri~Grace was there every step of the way with her support and thoughtful comments on my work. She offered to host my launch reading with her inimitable style.
Brian Potts~My son, who did the headshot for the cover.
Christella Potts~My daughter, who designed the logo for my imprint.
Betty May~An author, playwright, and all around force of nature who inspired me to work in the prisons.
Linda Moghadam~My partner for three years and the person most responsible for my work in the prisons.
Thank you, everyone, for your kindness and support. Blessings to all of you!
In a few days, I’ll begin readings from my third poetry collection Once You’re Inside: Poems Exploring Incarceration. I’ve been thinking a lot about the trajectory of my three books and how they each reveal an aspect of something I care deeply about.
The Altar of Innocence, my first collection, deals with my experiences growing up in a home where my mother struggled with depression and alcohol abuse and then my own journey through depression and chronic pain which opened the portal to leaving my abusive husband. My second collection, No Barking in the Hallways: Poems from the Classroom, takes a deep-dive into the lives of teachers and children who are navigating the pitfalls and whirlpools of the current education system. Shorthand for themes: abuse, emotional distress, and education challenges.
Those themes of abuse, emotional distress, and education challenges coalesce in my third book Once You’re Inside: Poems Exploring Incarceration. Here’s what one of the counselors told me about the general state of the current prison population:
“Most incarcerated people have a number of factors in common—abuse, for one. Sexual, verbal, physical, emotional— add in hearty helpings of neglect, abandonment, illiteracy, and dropping out of school.” Suffering inflicted at the hands of caregivers. Pain and rage stored deep inside, erupting in every direction. “A lot of folks struggle mightily over how to live in the world without earning money illegally. Some report anxiety attacks thinking about how they can be in the world without pimping and selling drugs.”
So there’s the connection. I guess you could say I recognized the pain that the incarcerated people carry because I’ve been around that kind of pain since I was a child. All three books are my attempt to tell the stories that need to be told. The depressed mother who can’t cope. The child who’s frightened because she doesn’t know how to help her mother. The student who’s very bright, but struggles to learn to read. The teen who’s despondent because of all the pain he lives with. The incarcerated person who feels abandoned.
There are many ways to bring about change in society–many pressure points, as I like to call them–legislation, demonstrations, articles, plays, novels, and poems. Most especially poems because they carry to weight of powerful emotions and stories in concentrated form.
Here’s the title poem. I hope you’ll find the poems in the collection both moving and informative. Maybe you’ll even be moved to find a pressure point where you can take some action.
Hope on Hold
Once you’re inside
ignore the wreckage of time,
the lined faces of men gray with age,
the once-cagey 16-year-old,
the disorganized shuffle of papers, of rules, of feet.
The torpor of boredom
thick as dreams of honey on toast.
Once you’re inside every smile is suspect,
every glance a risk.
Even hope tucks into a corner
when these doors groan closed.
Join me for my launch reading on October 6th at 7pm.
It’s my hope that by sharing stories about the men and women I met in prison, I can help to create a dialog among my readers to reimagine how we treat people who break the law. After working in the prisons for awhile, I could see that what the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative Bryan Stevenson says is well worth all of us remembering:
“Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”
I met Kristin several years ago at a Miller Cabin reading when she was just getting her feet wet with poetry. In this interview, Kristin gives us the lowdown on her work as a poet. Enjoy!
Kristin Kowalski Ferragut (KKF): Thanks, Ann! I’m grateful to Loving Healing Press and Kelsay for publishing the books and am glad they’re out. I guess I expected to be more ecstatic but it’s a quiet brand of satisfaction I feel. And while it makes perfect sense that publicizing poetry is a very different skill than writing, I’m surprised by how big that job is or would be if I did it better. Although, look at me now! I appreciate your help in letting people know of my work.
Ann Bracken (AB): Congratulations on your two new books that came out this year—Escape Velocity and Becoming theEnchantress. It’s very exciting to premiere one book, so two must be amazing. What’s been the most surprising about putting out new books?
AB: Becoming the Enchantress is a beautifully illustrated and gentle introduction to the idea of a transgender person transitioning. What have you heard from your readers? OR Who are your primary readers and what’s been their response?
KKF: Thank you, Ann. I love the illustrations too. I think most readers are in agreement that it’s a necessary and thus important book. It was written in that spirit, a needed tool to explain a transgender parent to a child. I’m trying to publicize it but that doesn’t come so naturally to me and I think at this point most readers have been friends who have reviewed it well. Although with that said, when I was seeking blurbs for the cover, I had a couple of friends that did not want to comment on it, so it doesn’t seem a story embraced across the board. Sweet and worthwhile though it may be, it was crafted to be a vehicle to provide context and understanding on a theme, less than emerging from artistic inspiration. That may be reflected in the writing. Also transgender is obviously still a controversial issue. The discrimination against transgender individuals in this country is shocking and heart breaking! I anticipate if The Enchantress does come to enjoy some wider appeal, it’ll be subject to some hate and I rather dread that. I’ve only felt a little of that so far.
My “getting it out there” felt more like a public service announcement than an artistic labor of love. Of course that changed when my daughter, Coley, added the illustrations. I absolutely love her drawings and believe they add significant artistic value to the story.
AB: Do you have a follow-up book in mind, or perhaps a series about the Enchantress to explore other issues related to transgender parents?
KKF: I suspect when it comes to children’s stories, I may be a one-hit wonder. Who knows? As long as I can continue to carve out time, I plan to keep writing and remembering what it’s like to be a child is one of my wowpows. So maybe one day I’ll take on more tales exploring children’s perspectives. I don’t imagine I’ll write more children’s stories on the transgender theme though. I’m happy that the book served its purpose and I have a natural bent to uplift especially those struggling in what I often consider an oppressive society, the “tyranny of the majority” and all that. But it’s more peripheral to themes I want to devote study to than central at this point.
AB: Your poetry book, Escape Velocity, also addresses the issue of a transgender parent/spouse and what’s it’s like for the spouse who remains. Tell me about “Transgender Ex at Son’s Birthday Party.”
KKF: It’s all fiction, right? But that was one of my more autobiographical pieces, I mean, with things moved around. It was at a different party that my Ex lifted her foot to a chair to rest a guitar on her knee, in a short dress and electric blue underwear. That left an impression, incited many thoughts and conflicting feelings that I felt compelled to explore it in poetry.
Girls learn so many subtle lessons in behavior to become socially acceptable women, lessons an adult new to womanhood may have missed. That’s all sorts of interesting, sad, and endearing. And having two Gen Z kids in a pretty liberal area, gender fluidity is a common topic around our dinner table. It’s a steep learning curve for me. I see most things in shades of grey and find comfort in the few things I think I can take for granted. For years one of those things was a man being a man and a woman being a woman. I mean, I’m kind of old and was raised with all sorts of wrong notions. It’s taking me time to adjust my view but I admire this generation for getting it more right.
You know how sometimes you start a poem not knowing where it’s going to lead? Well, that was the case with this one and I was grateful that that poem turned into a love poem, a song of a parent’s love for a child but more, of a parent loving anyone who shows love to her child. Because, well, that’s something I still take for granted, that in all of this, Love.
AB: Your poems contain so many wonderfulimages and phrases. I was particularly struck by the line “There ought to be a word for psychosomatic hope…” Can you talk about what that concept might look like?
KKF: Oh, that’s a great question, Ann! A good line to pick out. The idea of psychosomatic ailments is deep in my understanding of how people often perceive and treat themselves, having witnessed family members suffer them from a young age. And I have a complicated relationship with the concept of hope. On one level, there’s always hope, so always possibility and potential. That’s all good. On another level, I think dashed hope has broken my heart more than any other single element. So in my life I think hope can be very dangerous, as much as it can spur one to better things. Given that awareness, I think I mute my hopes — hope with an eye roll, somewhat guarded, which is barely hope at all. But perhaps it’s psychosomatic hope. I believe but also believe it’s probably not real. That line tries to capture that sentiment, although having laid it down, it could mean something entirely different, indeed many other things, to a reader.
AB: Loss seems to be a recurring theme in your poetry, and I love the idea of “favorite lost things.” Say more about that poem.
KKF: Oh, that is a wistful one! It’s funny and often unpredictable who and what we fall in love with, at least for me. I’ve found that I often find one’s faults as endearing as one’s strengths. And sometimes it’s hard to take stock of all the things I love about someone until at some late hour, weeks later, I become aware of missing something like how one exhales a certain way, or uses a particular phrase, stammers, scratches his chin, or turns to leave a room. So many little details to love in a person!
-a name of staccato syllables rich in consonants that blend
sexy in print, all the lines and curves dancing side-by-side
-a wink from across a room -landscapes of profiles
-a rich voice that sounds of music, whether in speech or song.
I don’t know if a handful of those little traits is enough to build a relationship on but when I wrote that I was thinking, Why not?
AB: People are always interested in a writer’s process. How do you come to poetry and where do you think your poems come from?
KKF: I think I have a lot of areas to grow as a poet. Recently I wrote a poem about the news story of the baby handed over the barbed wire to the Marines in Afghanistan. It seemed to work and I’d like to do that more — reflect global circumstance in my poetry. I’d also like to write more short stories. I’ve written several, but haven’t yet edited one to my satisfaction. I’m also writing songs these days. For the last one I composed both the music and the lyrics, which was incredibly challenging, since I’m a barely capable guitarist yet, but rewarding.
Usually my poems come from something I want to explore, to work out, maybe a form of therapy or meditation, often starting with an image. I love to write first thing in the morning when barely awake, still close to my subconscious where less expected connections seem easier to draw. I also love to write in nature. That works anytime — everything’s so magical and dreamlike in the woods.
I go back and forth on whether devoting time to my art is selfish or generous. I mean, time in my Nook or Writing Fort is time I’m not caring for my children, the house, doing work… It requires a peculiar brand of faith to be a writer. I just need to trust that what I’m compelled to say is worth saying. Sometimes it comes so easy, as though through divine intervention, and sometimes it’s painstaking and laborious. I’m getting better at knowing when to give up the ghost when it’s the latter or keep struggling through. I still have much to learn!
AB: If you could go back and talk to your younger self, what would you like her to know?
KKF: Oh, little Kristin, life will be weirder and harder and more wonderful than you can imagine! I’d let my single-digit-aged self know that. I’d tell my 20’s self to stick with the process and edit. I wrote a lot but rarely finished anything in those days, partially because… Well, I’d also tell me to be careful who you let critique your work. I’m better at knowing who to listen to now and knowing when to care less about feedback. The artistic process can be fragile and can be stymied before a work is even permitted to fully form. I think there are probably millions of could-have-been-brilliant artists who were shut down early. Heck, that’s probably everything! So many individuals could be so much (scientists, musicians, historians…) if given the freedom and support to Be Them! Talk about the theme of loss. I think we lose so much to poverty and oppression every day. Anyway, I’m glad I have the circumstance, support of my children, and welcoming poetry community to enjoy space to create now. So I guess I wouldn’t suggest I change much.
Ann, thank you so much for your questions and space to think some of this through! Your reading at the Joaquin Miller series back in 2015 and your words of encouragement were significant catalysts for my re-commitment to poetry. I love your work. And your support. Thank you!
Kristin’s bio: Kristin Kowalski Ferragut teaches, plays guitar, hikes, supports her children in becoming who they are meant to be, and enjoys the vibrant writing community in the DMV. She is author of the full-length poetry collection Escape Velocity (Kelsay Books, 2021) and the children’s book Becoming the Enchantress: A Magical Transgender Tale (Loving Healing Press, 2021). Her poetry has appeared in Beltway Quarterly, Nightingale and Sparrow, Bourgeon, Mojave He[Art] Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Fledgling Rag, and Little Patuxent Review among others. For more information see her website: https://www.kristinskiferragut.com/
One of the many hats I wear is as a co-facilitator for Wilde Readings Poetry Series in Columbia, Maryland. This week, I acted as host for a husband and wife poetry duo who are also well-known authors and literature professors–Ned Balbo and Jane Satterfield. Their work compliments each other in that they both write about nature, but Ned prefers formal poetry and Jane is more comfortable in free-verse. I’ve chosen two poems to showcase their work, both with a nature theme-but of course, there’s more hidden in the lines. If you’re inclined to settle in for a longer visit, take a look at the video of their reading. You’ll be glad you stayed!
“Tiny bees found in woman’s eye, feeding off tears” (CNN, April 10, 2019): “She thinks the insects blew into her eye at a relative’s grave site when she visited it with her family.” Known as sweat bees, they are attracted to the salt in human sweat.
Stranger than it appears, four bees living off her tears sought brief shelter in her eye where they stayed, impossibly.
Before whose grave did she kneel? What discomfort did she feel? Specks of dirt she’d brushed away seemed to linger stubbornly.
In the dark beneath the lid four bees fed on tears and hid, stinging her with constant pain— flecks of ash or burning rain.
Still, she knelt and cleared the weeds, swept the grave site, planted seeds in remembrance of the dead— tears withheld and tears shed.
It’s said the eye swelled up— Through the slit lamp’s microscope, a doctor, shocked, could see small legs wriggling to be free:
bees behind the eye, half trapped . . . One by one, the doctor slipped each one out; the four bees hovered, caged in labs. Their host recovered.
There are others who insist she got used to them at last; that the bees live in her eye, sheltered, to this very day,
nourished by her tears, their sting milder than the pain we bring to each loss we hold inside— tears we cannot shed or hide.
In honor of April, which is National Poetry Month, I’m exploring a variety of ways that people can use poetry to enrich their lives. This week I’m looking at poetry and it’s close cousin, music, as ways to add depth and texture to teaching history and exploring social justice.
This line from poet William Carols Williams about where to find news has always intrigued me:
“It is difficult to get the news from poems test men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.”
I think the same could be said for getting our history from poems and songs, or at least using those arts to give us an alternate lens of past events that are often rendered in a sterile listing of facts. I’m not saying that you could actually teach history by using only poetry and songs, but you can add depth to events that are often given just a few paragraphs of explanation, if they are mentioned at all
Poems offer us personal glimpses into the people who lived through events, such as wars, labor movements, and fights for justice. By reading and reciting an author’s poems, we may begin to realize the felt-sense of that person’s experiences and begin to see more clearly how our lives and struggles are related to the author’s.
I think the other benefit of using poetry is that the abstract is made concrete by telling the story of a personal experience. When history teachers want to talk about segregation and the impact that the Jim Crow system had on ordinary Black Americans, perhaps they could turn to Langston Hughes’s poem “Merry-Go-Round” for a compelling entry point that will engage students in a visceral experience.
Colored child at carnival
Where is the Jim Crow section
On this merry-go-round,
Mister, cause I want to ride?
Down South where I come from
White and colored
Can’t sit side by side.
Down South on the train
There’s a Jim Crow car.
On the bus, we’re put in the back–
But there ain’t no back
To a merry-go-round!
Where’s the horse
For a kid that’s black?
For more recent history of the senseless violence and continuing racism that Black Americans face, teachers could look to the Poets.org and select a few poems from the Black Lives Matter page, which has some profoundly moving poetry. And to look at some history from the recent past, read Lucille Clifton’s poem, “jasper texas 1998,” about James Byrd in Texas in 1998. You can find this poem in Blessing the Boats.
And what about the role of songs in getting students engaged with history? One song that taught me something I had never heard of is “Christmas in the Trenches” by John McCutcheon. McCutcheon recounts the story of the 1914 Christmas Truce that happened during Christmas Eve in 1914 as German and British troops huddled in frozen trenches to celebrate Christmas in the midst of carnage.
The song raises a series of questions about why we fight wars and about the power of getting to know the “enemy” as a person. So often, once people on opposite sides of a battle begin to share their personal stories, they find they have much in common. And when they begin to think that both sides have families and friends who love them, they begin to lose the will to fight.
Here’s the song and a link to Joyeux Noel, the movie that was made a few years ago that explores the Christmas Truce of 1914 in greater detail. Imagine the questions that students might raise if they heard this song and watched the film.