Inside and outside, I will have a lot of new, weird, and possibly unpleasant things happening this month. It starts out, today, with the anniversary of my sister Linda's death from cancer 17 years ago. (The year it happened I was reading The Wasteland for a class, too, and I knew the heart of that poem without being told by my teacher, believe me.)
I'll experiment this month with a Daily Life blog, to capture the oddities of having my first MRI, and other firsts that will come after. And maybe some great things can happen too-- the writing workshop I consult for at The Oracle Charter School was on the brink of ending, from lack of participation, when one of the student writers came back and gave us a shot of new energy. We get to continue hearing from a group of kids that need to be heard, and should be heard from, for this month at least.
Bringing kids into the power structures of their own organizations and activities, seems to me to be essential to honestly serving their needs. And now that my cohort in this venture has done that, we may have a chance to positively affect some young writers.
It's not deeply important to me that the high school kids attending the workshop stay writers-- what's important, crucial even, is that maybe through having some recognition and affirmation of their work, they will want to keep presenting their creative selves to the world, and will seek out valuable criticism in other endeavors, too. If we can offer them an outlet for expression and build a little trust between us and them, I'll be happy.
In the meantime, my gyno doc wants to remove a now-useless part of me, and I have to find someone to stand-in for me at the workshop, should I need it in the next session or two.
Hopefully April won't be all about surgery and finding out if I have cancer; hopefully there will be good spots, spots of good news and good luck. Tomorrow my GP tells me what he thinks about the test results we've gotten so far-- that means today may be my last day not to know what is wrong with me. What wouldn't you give for a day like that, hmm?
I'm trying to prep for all contingencies, but doing one chunk at a time, so as to not be overwhelmed. Starting this month's blog theme has been a small bit crossed off my to-do list. Aren't you properly scared off for the rest of April now?
If not, then here's my little tribute to Lynne, a song I wrote about her during my very first FAWM. Full of little true pieces of her, it may not make much sense to those that never met her, I suppose. She died at 44, and that makes no sense at all.
Hasn't been recorded yet but for a quick-take scratch vocal, that is not worth sharing. I am singing it as I type, though, and have sung it every year since the writing.
April Fool (The Linda Song)
C 2008 Mari Kozlowski
Impermanent
As your heartbeat was, for me
I still sing between the jumps
Recalling words you used to mispronounce--
Your voice, your voice is
A coarse melody that's faded
And your face has drifted
Down through layered time
But I still see
Your long black hair
Swinging down your back
You foxed around
In borrowed clothes you never did return
You've given me a wasteland
Of days that I can't share
But on your birthday
I will drink a cup of wine
And listen to Lou Rawls
Timeless was your scent
It was far too sweet and heavy
There's no logic in your bones
Through all these years, you're still
An April fool.
Read a poem today!!! It's also National Poetry Month.
Peace, Mari
I'll experiment this month with a Daily Life blog, to capture the oddities of having my first MRI, and other firsts that will come after. And maybe some great things can happen too-- the writing workshop I consult for at The Oracle Charter School was on the brink of ending, from lack of participation, when one of the student writers came back and gave us a shot of new energy. We get to continue hearing from a group of kids that need to be heard, and should be heard from, for this month at least.
Bringing kids into the power structures of their own organizations and activities, seems to me to be essential to honestly serving their needs. And now that my cohort in this venture has done that, we may have a chance to positively affect some young writers.
It's not deeply important to me that the high school kids attending the workshop stay writers-- what's important, crucial even, is that maybe through having some recognition and affirmation of their work, they will want to keep presenting their creative selves to the world, and will seek out valuable criticism in other endeavors, too. If we can offer them an outlet for expression and build a little trust between us and them, I'll be happy.
In the meantime, my gyno doc wants to remove a now-useless part of me, and I have to find someone to stand-in for me at the workshop, should I need it in the next session or two.
Hopefully April won't be all about surgery and finding out if I have cancer; hopefully there will be good spots, spots of good news and good luck. Tomorrow my GP tells me what he thinks about the test results we've gotten so far-- that means today may be my last day not to know what is wrong with me. What wouldn't you give for a day like that, hmm?
I'm trying to prep for all contingencies, but doing one chunk at a time, so as to not be overwhelmed. Starting this month's blog theme has been a small bit crossed off my to-do list. Aren't you properly scared off for the rest of April now?
If not, then here's my little tribute to Lynne, a song I wrote about her during my very first FAWM. Full of little true pieces of her, it may not make much sense to those that never met her, I suppose. She died at 44, and that makes no sense at all.
Hasn't been recorded yet but for a quick-take scratch vocal, that is not worth sharing. I am singing it as I type, though, and have sung it every year since the writing.
April Fool (The Linda Song)
C 2008 Mari Kozlowski
Impermanent
As your heartbeat was, for me
I still sing between the jumps
Recalling words you used to mispronounce--
Your voice, your voice is
A coarse melody that's faded
And your face has drifted
Down through layered time
But I still see
Your long black hair
Swinging down your back
You foxed around
In borrowed clothes you never did return
You've given me a wasteland
Of days that I can't share
But on your birthday
I will drink a cup of wine
And listen to Lou Rawls
Timeless was your scent
It was far too sweet and heavy
There's no logic in your bones
Through all these years, you're still
An April fool.
Read a poem today!!! It's also National Poetry Month.
Peace, Mari
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