Napowrimo 8

 I've really fallen behind! But today was a good writing day for me, and that feels lovely. I wrote a poem, a good draft, a solid draft. I'm not going to post it because I might not rework it very much--I'm that happy with it. It's titled "Gaslight Sky" and it's about seeing a golden and sunny sky after a hurricane, how it's both comforting and almost insulting. How the dry warmth cloys against the skin. How it almost denies the experience of witnessing tragedy. There is so much tragedy in the world, and so often the answer seems to be to look the other way, to move on, to swallow it, and that is so very hard to do. 

I got this idea while reading the work of a new poet I discovered, Becca Klaver. I am now a fan. I stumbled upon her work while reading SPORKLET journal. I'll link it here. This journal was suggested reading from the NAPOWRIMO website. Here are some of my notes on Klaver's fine work.

Admiring “Derecho Diaries” by Becca Klaver

 

These poems really speak to me. They’re about the derecho that I experienced also in Nebraska, but they’re also about the COVID-19 pandemic and collective trauma. They’re really profound. Goodness I’m glad I found this poet.

 

I like August 11^th in particular—“the gaslighting sky” of the calm after the storm. That also resonates to much when it comes to hurricanes.

In this case, the derecho is personified as someone who commits domestic violence, punching the house, then pretending like everything is ok with lovely weather. And yess I remember that’s how that day felt—a violent storm and then a BEAUTIFUL day to deal with all of the destruction.

The speaker, though, also feels almost grateful for the storm? It took out the electricity, so the speaker doesn’t have her screens, so she appreciates the images around her and does things she wouldn’t normally do.

One thing I admire about the poem is the way it ends. There’s that profound statement:

“Today’s golden light feels like a lie / to make yesterday seem impossible / the gaslighting sky—"

And then she abandons that thought, returning to the mundane: “do eggs need to be refrigerated?”

 

 

 

The next poem in the series is equally interesting, August 21^st.

 

At first, this poem felt too simple. It’s about dealing with the aftermath of the storm, how most people just seem to get on with their lives. But some of us are left to pick up the pieces.

The detail of “maskless /packs of students” who “parade past piles of trees” feels particularly important here. They’re moving on, or so it seems, from the tragedies of the year, whether that tragedy is the derecho of the pandemic (maskless makes me think of the pandemic). It’s both at once.

 

But, the last stanza complicates the image.

 

“what rips through invisibly

or with great gusts

this year’s power

of air     wind     breath

 

Both the pandemic and the derecho were invisible yet powerful and life changing. Also invisible is the pain some people must feel inside as we’re dealing with the tragedies of loss, though most of us are masklessly parading through life as though nothing happened, moving on, but inwardly, are we? That’s the central question this poem seems to ask.

 

 

Ok, so these poems really resonated with me and I love them. I’m grateful to have read them.

 

 

My next collection MIGHT be titled December Derecho—a metaphor for unexpected tragedy, loss, but also hope.

 

Some ideas to write about:

 

Poem in which Imelda Gaslights Me

Poem about the drought as a metaphor for infertility. How some places drown in rains, so much rain, but this place is empty of it, would take the burden of raindrops off the landscape’s shoulders, but no.

Love poem to a Derecho

How the body just gets on with its work of trying again like nature after a derecho, and how if only the psyche could as well. 

I'm going to try and come back later today and tap into this flood of creativity and inspiration later today, maybe catch up a little bit on all the poetry I've missed out on.