polar bear poetry makes a splash!
(image credit :: Kristen McHenry)
People have asked me what poem I wrote on my body for the Poetry Polar Bear Club’s plunge yesterday. I was planning on using one by Jo Hemmant, but then Mimi emailed me and said she wanted my poem ASAP for a booklet she was putting together that contained the poems of each swimmer. I sent an emergency email to Jo, since I didn’t want to put her poetry in print without her permission, but it was the middle of the night where she was and, being a reasonable person, that meant she was in bed.
I then scoured my poetry archives for anything about being cold, about being wet, about a body of water, about diving into something headlong. Any loose connection I could make to the event. I had nothing. Nothing! Except one poem about my great aunt trying to drown herself, and that seemed like a bummer.
So I did what any reasonable poet would do faced with a similar situation: I madly scribbled some lines then got on IM with my friend Jacob for a few quick edits. I didn’t want to submit anything stupid and half-assed, after all, even if I was writing it in five minutes. I had a true poetry emergency on my hands (a po-emergency if you will), and Jacob — friend that he is — was there to help:
me: i need a poem about water
right now
emergency!
Jacob: you want a water poem
I don’t have one either
me: can i show this to you?
Jacob: I think so
me: Wet Season
I want to tell you how to fumble, slip
on dark apologetic bodies.
I want you to list your sins aloud,
send them bubbling to the surface.
Have you ever wondered why words can’t
be translated from water to air.
The way crows turn into paper airplanes
and payphone receivers turn into crows.
If I slipped off my shoes and came
after you do you promise you’d hold
my head below the surface?
I could ditch “and payphone receivers turn into crows. ”
Jacob: I like that line
me: crap
Jacob: does it not feel right to you?
me: Wet Season
I want to tell you how to fumble, slip
on dark apologetic bodies.
I want you to list your sins aloud,
send them bubbling to the surface.
Have you ever wondered why words can’t
be translated from water to air.
The way crows turn into paper airplanes.
If I slipped off my shoes and came
after you do you promise you’d hold
my head below the surface
until I can utter nothing
you’d ever be able to decipher?
Jacob: the pacing might be better with this version, with that line removed
I like it, although I am unsure about the last line
me: Wet Season
I want to tell you how to slide
inside the water’s dark apologetic body.
I want you to list your sins aloud,
send them bubbling to the surface.
Have you ever wondered why language
can’t be translated from water to air?
The way crows turn into paper airplanes?
If I slip off my shoes and come
after you, do you promise
to hold my head below the surface
until I can say nothing decipherable?
[pause]
or, last line:
so I can speak in a wet, foreign code?
Jacob: ya
me: it’s good enough?
Jacob: ha!
me: like, it’s not embarrassing?
Jacob: no, its not embarrassing
::
Whew! IM to the rescue! So here’s the final version, the first two lines of which appeared on my body. (I would have written more but my Sharpie was not marking up my skin properly. I was lucky to get it to work long enough to write those two lines.)
::
Wet Season
I want to tell you how to slide
inside the water’s dark apologetic body.
I want you to list your sins aloud,
send them bubbling to the surface.
Have you ever wondered why language
can’t be translated from water to air?
The way crows turn into paper airplanes?
If I slip off my shoes and come
after you, do you promise
to hold my head below the surface
so I can speak in a wet foreign code?
::
There are excellent images of the event here and here.
(I think you have to friend Kristen McHenry on Facebook to see that last set.)
And there’s a story in the Seattle Times about it as well: For poetry’s sake, they jumped in the lake
(This is my favorite quote from that article: “Bliss drove off in his Honda Element, his terry cloth bathrobe belt hanging out the driver’s-side door.”) Plus, we made the local television news. Of course we did! We put the “O” back in poetry. Why wouldn’t that make the news?
(I was surprised how many reporters, photographers and supporters braved the elements to cover and document the event. Thanks to Bob Young at the Seattle Times and to everyone for coming out to be part of it! And extra special thanks to those who came with cocoa and warm towels.)
O! And Mimi lost her $400 glasses in the lake during the dive. I propose that we raise funds to get her a new pair. Doesn’t she deserve it? She organized this entire event, after all. Maybe I will go around to some eyewear stores with the Seattle Times story in hand and see if any of them want to come to her rescue. It could be a whole thing: the Glasses for Poets Project. Poets like Mimi need to see, after all. They have vision.
E-mail me if you want to chip in for Mimi’s glasses: mygorgeoussomewhere (at) gmail (dot) com.
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Yay for poetry. Yay Dana.
That’s some fast poeming you did. And I like it, the blurring, watery line between reality and the other side, where poems are born.
I love that quote too! That telltale bathrobe belt, hee.
Glasses for poets. Yes, that should happen. Poets everywhere can put little coffee cans out where they work, labeled with poems and photos of a squinting Mimi.
You’re brave Dana! Now, how did that water feel?
[...] others post about it? The organizer, A.K. “Mimi” Allin did. Dana Guthrie Martin [...]
Clare, I can’t stop saying, “Woohoo!”
Christine, fast poeming is my style, baby. That’s how I roll. Gives me more times to do silly things like jumping in a lake.
Deb, thanks for linking to it from Read Write Poem.
Nathan, you haven’t commented but I want to address you. You know how we’re writing those quirky poems about zombies and other funky characters? How about writing a quirky poem that personifies bliss? This line from the Seattle Times article could totally kick us off:
“Bliss drove off in his Honda Element, his terry cloth bathrobe belt hanging out the driver’s-side door.”
What do you say? You in?
heheh. I’ll be waiting for that one.
Andre, it will be good, won’t it. I can tell it’s going to be good. And maybe even NOT DEPRESSING!
Good poeming, Dana Delicia. I’m so chuffed. You made the local television news … woohoo!
Michelle, I don’t know what “chuffed” means. Is it good?
Looks like so much fun! If I were an hour or two closer I would certainly have joined you. (One advantage to being shaped rather like a polar bear & having a nice layer of fat is that cold water is not nearly so intimidating to me.) I see Feldman chickened out, though. Not even there to hold a towel!
(oh, & “chuffed” = “pleased & proud”)
(I think you have to friend Kristen McHenry on Facebook to see that last set.)
Not so. For some reason, FB photos and videos are open to anyone with the right link.
I like “Wet Season” a lot. Let’s hear it for last-minute poetry!
If I’d been in this, I probably would’ve been unnable to resist writing a half-assed poem on each butt cheek.
(”unnable”? Sheesh.)
Dale, no excuses! You should have been here for it. It was so amazing. Next time, you and Deb and some others from Portland need to carpool and come up here, k? The cold water needs you. Poetry needs you.
Dave, that shows you how much I know about Facebook! Thanks for the clarification.
I’m glad you like “Wet Season.” It is precisely that here. The wet season. Hey, it even snowed last night! We get all excited when that happens. We drive our car off roads and into ditches, but we’re smiling all the while as we watch the pretty show of snow!!!
As a kid, I used to spend hours in our swimming pool trying to talk under the water then quickly pop my head above the surface so I could “hear” what I said as the bubbles escaped the surface. My experiments never worked out, and I remember wondering why the bubbles couldn’t carry sound.
Half-assed poem on each butt cheek. Haha. Very funny! I wish you lived here. I would have made you take the plunge. You would have been “unnable” to resist.
That looks like much fun, from the distance that separates me and that body of water. Brrr!
Wet Season sounds nice.
Ret, you think? Does it sound better than my great aunt suicide attempt poem?
That is an excellent poem! I’m impressed as hell at the Polar Bear Poetry, because I’m a wimp in cold weather.
This event is awesome, as is your poem. I love to hear about the unique and creative way you helped spread poetry to the people. Rock on, sister.
Julie, thanks for your comment. Can I nickname you “Ham Bone” so I can tell people that someone named “Ham Bone” reads my blog? How about “Veggie Slice.” Can I call you that?
Here’s how the event went down, in more detail:
There were 12 swimmers, and we each read a poem that we’d written for the event. The poems were also written on our bodies or on our swimsuits. We stood in a line, the very chilly audience surrounding us. (We had a larger turnout that most poetry readings, by the way.) I would like to make a pun by saying we received an “icy” reception, but the crowd was warm and responsive.
So yes: We each read our poem, and boy were some of them loooooooooooong, OMG! They felt even longer to those of us standing there in nothing but swimsuits, our skin prickling and turning red as blush wine.
The last to read was Love. Her poem had been created spontaneously just moments before, with swimmers and audience members adorning her suit and her body one line at a time. Now THAT’S how you do collaborative poetry! You can see a photo of her poem as it’s being made by clicking here.
When she was finished, the audience gave a final round of applause, Mimi shouted for us to go, and we all ran ran ran into the cold cold cold water.
Andre, a friend of mine, and Jacob, a friend of mine and Mimi’s, might put together a Poetry Polar Bear Club website. I sure hope that happens. It would be fantastic to have a place to house all the great images and poems that came out of the event. Mimi has a zillion ways she’d like to spread the word, and a centralized site would be a perfect part of the mix.
Sorry it has taken me so long to get here. You’ve proven that you are selfless servant to the cause of Poetry. A bliss poem? Hell yeah. Let’s write a non-depressing bliss poem. With zombies in it?
Nathan, no no no. This poem is about Bliss. No zombies. Just Bliss. Start thinking about him. Get inside his head. Think like him. Move through the world like he does.
Dana,
Lead me to your great aunt suicide attempt poem, please.
Rethabile, thanks for asking. It’s short. I wrote it last summer when I was thinking a lot about my mother’s suicide attempt and my great aunt’s suicide attempt followed by her “completed” suicide — as they call it in the medical world.
* * *
Exit
On the pier, hollow-eyed
birds and fish pay no attention
as she fills her pockets
full of rocks
The lake a dark city
beneath her, she steps
down as if she were hauling
luggage off a train
* * *
You know, one of the reasons I love to be part of fun and different poetry-related activities, like collaborative poetry and the Poetry Polar Bear Club, is that they make me happy through and through. They help me not get stuck like my mother and great aunt did. They help keep my depression at bay. And it does help. All of it helps. A shitload. Collaboration and fun have become part of my personal poetics because they are a means for survival.
Also, doing things like diving into a lake might seem silly to others. Might seem like it’s not at all what poetry is or should be “about,” but it’s such an incredible way for me to honor my body, to recognize all that it can do and how strong it still is. Despite the kidney disease. Despite the thyroid issues. Despite the nerve problems. And despite depression, which affects both mind and body. When I dove into that water and came back out, that was my big “Hell yeah!” to being alive. And to being a poet.
Ret, now you show me some kind of water poem. It’s only fair. Don’t have one? Write one!
Holy moly, that’s way better than anything I have and all at the last second. Sorry I was snoozing. And I’m so glad you got your hell yeah……you are one fantastic poet. xo
I love Exit too.
Jo, I so wanted to use your poem, “Difference.” It would have been perfect, especially that last line: “How lungs hurt empty.”
I just remembered that I swallowed water while I was out there. It burned.
Dana, you can call me anything you want. Just don’t call me late for drinks…har har.
I love reading the details here. The collaborative piece!! What a great idea! I am in awe of this. I swear, I’d love to take a trip to see this in real life.
Jule, har har indeed.
I wish I had the collaborative piece. It was a pretty good poem, considering it was written on the spot by a bunch of really cold people.
[...] Dana has had some thoughts about “public poetry” and swimwear in the winter is attention getting. But maybe too small*. Maybe. [...]