"Grateful Conversations" - A Poetry Anthology with Self-Portraits by Friends

Maja Trochimczyk with Dana Gioia and Grateful Conversations. Photo by Dawn Jenkins

"Grateful Conversations" - the newest anthology I edited with Kathi Stafford for Moonrise Press (2018) - contains poems by nine writers - calling themselves the Westside Women Writers due to the location of the founding members. The poets include Millicent Borges Accardi, Madeleine S. Butcher, Georgia Jones Davis, Lois P. Jones, Susan Rogers, Kathi Stafford, Sonya Sabanac, Ambika Talwar and Maja Trochimczyk.  This month, the anthology has seen its first public readings.  

Maja Trochimczyk with "Grateful Conversations" and Robin Coste-Lewis, Photo by Dawn Jenkins

The very first appearance of this anthology in public was during the "Gathering of California's Poets Laureate" - an event hosted by Dana Gioia, organized by the California Arts Council and held on October 6, 2018 at the McGroarty Arts Center in Tujunga.  I read my poem "In Morning Light" (which is also posted on Moonrise Press blog). I also presented copies of the anthology to Dana Gioia, California Poet Laureate and former chair of the National Endowment for the Arts, Robin Coste Lewis, Los Angeles Poet Laureate, and Anne Bown-Crawford, Executive Director of the California Arts Council. The reading was filmed so hopefully the book will make it into the documentary about Poets Laureate.

Stage and audience at McGroarty Arts Center

McGroarty's house, all lit up!

From Dana Gioia and Arts Council

From State Senator Anthony Portantino, also a poet.

The first public presentation of the "Grateful Conversations" anthology was supposed to take place on Sunday, October 7, 2018 at 5 p.m. at the Flintridge Bookstore and Coffeehouse, in La Canada.  Seven poets  presented their work (Lois P. Jones, Susan Rogers, Madeleine S. Butcher, Maja Trochimczyk, Kathi Stafford, Ambika Talwar and Sonya Sabanac) but all poets will be  represented, as work by Georgia Jones-Davis and the group's founder Millicent Borges Accardi was also read.

Photo by Lucyna Przasnyski.

Photo by Lucyna Przasnyski

Photo by Lucyna Przasnyski

Lucyna Przasnyski who took photos for this reading, is from Krakow, and her mother was born in the same city of Baranowicze, now in Belarus, then in Poland as my mother. She was particularly touched by my memorial poem for my mom, "On eating a donut at a Krakow airport" so I'll reproduce it here:

Donuts and pastries at an airport in Krakow
Photo (C) 2012 by Maja Trochimczyk

On Eating a Donut at the Kraków Airport

I am moved to tears by the taste of a donut

Polish donut at a Kraków airport

Puffy, oval, brown yeast ball with sticky white icing

of lukier, dotted with candied orange peel

And the aroma of the rose confiture, a delight

I found in a café with a pretentious English name

One “Morning Coffee” in an ancient city of a hundred

Kawiarnias – alive with the dark fragrance of kawa

That black powder looted from the Turkish army

After the victory of Polish cavalry ended the siege of Vienna

Ah, forgotten stories, secrets, tastes of my childhood

My mom’s lessons how to properly peel an orange

Cook slices in syrup, add just enough vodka to the dough

To keep grease away… I bite into the soft, white flesh

My eyes fill with tears I had swallowed

When I walked into her antique-filled condo

And I saw her - frail, dove-white, forgetful

A shadow of the boisterous woman I feared

She ruled over her family with iron resolve

And made perfect donuts with rosehips and orange

I cry over my donut on this cloudy morning

Grey Polish skies open to let sunrays through

A dazzling hole in heaven, like the triangular eye

Of the Trinity resting on a stack of puffy clouds

On the ceiling of the Baroque church on Skałka

The nation’s shrine with gold angels on sandstone walls

It saw generations pass on their pilgrimage

To the agate-columned altar and the eye of infinity

This Divine Eye looks at me from beyond

when I bite into the teary saltiness of my donut  

Sweet Polish donut at a Kraków airport –

Full, round donut as it should be 

(C) 2013 by Maja Trochimczyk

http://chopinwithcherries.blogspot.com/2013/01/did-chopin-like-donuts.html

It is a fascinating experience to be a member of a writing group. Sometimes pleasant, sometimes harrowing, it is all up to the poets to be kind or harsh with each other.  The following poem was just written before the most recent workshop, and has been revised as a result of poets' comments. A line "teeming with life" was too hackneyed, the dedication caused too many questions so it was removed. 

Photo by Lucyna Przasnyski

For my "Self-Portrait" section I changed poems several times. The final solution was to write a new one ("In Morning Light") that became the closing poem of the anthology, due to its location. The poem was inspired by the quirks of the calendar in 2008. the Valentine's Day on Ash Wednesday, Annunciation on Palm Sunday, and Easter on April Fool's Day. No kidding. The other poems were selected to reflect my thoughts on our group, writing, my background from Poland, my inspirations and beliefs, a condensed portrait of my life in a couple of poems. I think it works. Some romantic, some nostalgic, some spiritual - the poems cover the gamut of my experience.  Two poems about writing, two poems about nostalgia for lost Poland, two poems about the history of Poland, one love poem, and two spiritual poems, one for public group performance and one to reflect about:

• Definition: Writing, 234
• In Millicent’s World, 236
• An Ode of the Lost, 237
• On Eating a Donut at the Kraków Airport, 239
• Shambhala, 241
• The Lady with an Ermine, 243 (also posted on Mary Evans Poems and Pictures)
• On Divine Comedy and Ice Cream, 245
• Repeat after Me, 247
• In Morning Light, 249

Photo by Lucyna Przasnyski

Here's the introduction to my self-portrait in "Grateful Conversations" - so much to be grateful about! 

Why, Write?
My self-introduction as a poet on my website opens with a statement: “Poetry is a way of life and a shortcut to the sublime...” An avid reader of poetry since my Polish childhood, I started writing in English after I emigrated to Canada and lost the ground under my feet — my family, language, culture... Yet, my loss became my gain, when I created a new family, found a new language, and discovered a new culture to contribute to in this New World of English. Indeed, to quote my old essay, “the flexibility, richness and focus of this language never cease to amaze me!” Writing in English is also helpful in creating a new identity: it is all “persona” writing as I try on my different poetic hats, and look in the mirror of words to see if I’m an Exile or a Queen.

 Since 1995, I have kept a personal poetic journal and gave all sorts of poems to my friends. I like illustrating them with my photographs, taken mostly in my garden and neighborhood of Southern California. In 2006, I decided to share my work at public readings and in publications, .I continued to write short poems, in a genre I called “freeway poetry” — composed in my head while commuting, and committed to paper upon arrival.  In 2010, I was selected to serve as the Sixth Poet Laureate of Sunland Tujunga; it still is my favorite title and I continue volunteering to promote poetry in my neighborhood, organize readings, and publish.

In the same year, thanks to the poetry anthology that I edited to celebrate Chopin’s bicentennial, Chopin with Cherries, I met Millicent, Kathi, and Georgia who all submitted beautiful work  for this romantic anthology.  Joining the WWW group was the next logical next step. We have shared our poetic discoveries and fascinations ever since; we have helped each other grow. Having to bring a new poem each month was sometimes a challenge, but mostly a joy of sharing and learning.

Personally, I never considered poetry a “career.” I‘m already a musicologist (Ph.D.)  and a grant writer; I do not need to make poetry into a job! Thus, I have avoided competitions and conferences, and initially wrote only for myself. Meanwhile, I discovered that having a roomful of people wait with bated breath for my next word was and is completely addictive. And the shortest way to finding myself in front of such an awe-struck audience is to workshop my poems with really talented poets.

In the following selections from 20 years of poetry-writing, I included self-portraits as an émigré, daughter, and lover, and a poem I wrote for Millicent, grateful for her charming and eccentric home with a rustic patio - daffodils in the spring, red-white-and-blue lanterns in the summer, and gold leaves in the autumn. Include in  my self-portrait a “responsorial” poem from my Into Light book of spiritually inspired verse and incantations. Over the years, I wrote a lot of dirges and plaints; in this book, I gathered my positive, inspirational poems. It is time to think of what I’ll leave behind and those types of poems are my little treasures to be shared with children and friends.

For me, poetry writing truly is about “Grateful Conversations” — with myself, with my friends, with the world… I am deeply thankful for the ten years and many hours of conversing with Westside Women Writers!"

  

~ Maja Trochimczyk

Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

The bulk of the book is dedicated to workshops - including one that I organized at the Norton Simon Museum. We wrote about the Mulberry Tree and it was magnificent! We also wrote about an ancient sculpture of the harpist from the Getty villa and many other topics, so you need to read the book to find out what's there. 

You can explore the anthology's poems and find out about the poets on Moonrise Press Blog http://moonrisepress.blogspot.com/2018/06/sample-poems-from-grateful.html

The paperback is available from Amazon.com

https://www.amazon.com/Grateful-Conversations-Anthology-Maja-Trochimczyk/dp/1945938226

The ebook with color photos is available from kobo.com
https://www.kobo.com/my/en/ebook/grateful-conversations-a-poetry-anthology


You can read the editors' introduction with the table of contents on Moonrise Press Blog http://moonrisepress.blogspot.com/2018/05/grateful-conversations-poetry-anthology.html

Grateful Conversations: A Poetry Anthology by Friends

Grateful Conversations: A Poetry Anthology 

Edited by Maja Trochimczyk and Kathi Stafford

Paperback, 280 pages, with black and white illustrations

ISBN  978-1-945938-22-1 

http://www.moonrisepress.com/grateful-conversations-anthology.html

I am very happy to have completed the bulk of the work on the anthology of poetry by my writing group, Westside Women Writers.  Entitled Grateful Conversations: A Poetry Anthology, after a prompt by the founder of our group Millicent Borges Accardi, this 280 page volume was co-edited by Kathi Stafford and published on May 30, 2018. 

Grateful Conversations is a portrait of a group of female poets from California, who come together each month to hone their craft and share their verse.  Known as Westside Women Writers and active as a group since 2008, they include Millicent Borges Accardi, Madeleine S. Butcher, Georgia Jones Davis, Lois P. Jones, Susan Rogers, Kathi Stafford, Sonya Sabanac, Ambika Talwar and myself. 

In the words of the WWW founder, Millicent Borges Accardi, this is “a community of women writers working together to support each other with strong attention to craft, to grow as writers and as people in community.” The volume includes poems written for seven workshops and self-portraits in poetry of the nine writers. 

WWW at the Norton Simon Museum.August 2013.

L to R: Maja, Susan, Lois, Georgia, Sonya, Madeleine and Millicent.  

To read the preface and find out which poems are included in which workshop sections, please visit the Moonrise Press Blog.  My poems are found in most of the workshop sections: 1) Millicent's prompt, "The Lake of Claret," 2) A harpist at the Getty Villa - "Song of Stillness," 3) Van Gogh at Norton Simon Museum - "Into Color, Into Light," and "The Mulberry Song" 4) Grandparents - "How to Make a Mazurka," from Chopin with Cherries, and "Ciocia Tonia" from The Rainy Bread; 6. The Broad Museum - "The Infinity Room" and 7. Rivers - "Easter Apocalypsis."

The Lake of Claret

Maja Trochimczyk


The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air
Hot sangria in my glass, white light shines
Through the rich hue of claret, opalescent
Like my silk scarf at a California party

I savor the taste of long ago – that evening 
On the lake by the bonfire heating a huge metal pot 
With cheap wine from bottles marked “Wino” 
In a fake handwriting – no provenance, 
no appellation controlée

We put plums, apples and piernik spices
Into our grzane wino during that fateful sailing trip
Spending nights under dark fir branches
Picking mushrooms and blueberries 
In the underbrush

They thrive in acidic soil fed by rotting needles
Where a pungent smell of decay and fruit lingers
Beneath prickly juniper swathed in cobwebs
Drops of moisture gather on pine bark 
Striped by shadows

A handful of wild strawberries glisten 
Among delicate blades of grass in forest clearings
We lose our way, lured on by their promise 
Of sweetness, their carmine hue, light aroma 
Brightened by sunshine

We did not talk much then, my last year
Of wandering through Mazurian Lakes
Stopping at island coves, setting camp, moving on
After a morning dive to the sandy bottom, 
Scattering the fish

It was best to listen to the wind in the treetops
Pine branches whispering to each other
About the end of summer, snow that will break them, 
Icicles that may kill –grateful conversations never had

But now taking place

In my own Self-Portrait section, I put two poems about writing and our group, two about immigration and nostalgia for lost country, two about romantic love, and two about spiritual lessons in life. Some of my poems have been previously published and only one brand new: "Definition: Writing;" "In Millicent’s World;" "An Ode of the Lost;" "On Eating a Donut at the Kraków Airport;" "Shambhala; "“Look at me…”; "On Divine Comedy and Ice Cream;" "Repeat after Me;" and  "In Morning Light." 

I also selected a variety of illustrations from my thousands of nature photos, it took a while to pick them and then I had to change the selected images, because they did not work in black and white of the original paperback book.  There will be color versions soon, so that's not a complete loss. 

In an essay about my personal approach to poetry, I wrote: 

Personally, I never considered poetry a “career.” I‘m already a musicologist (Ph.D.)  and a grant writer; I do not need to make poetry into a job! Thus, I have avoided competitions and conferences, and initially wrote only for myself. Meanwhile, I discovered that having a roomful of people wait with bated breath for my next word was and is completely addictive. And the shortest way to finding myself in front of such an awe-struck audience is to workshop my poems with really talented poets. 

In the following selections from 20 years of poetry-writing, I included self-portraits as an émigré, daughter, and lover, and a poem I wrote for Millicent, grateful for her charming and eccentric home with a rustic patio - daffodils in the spring, red-white-and-blue lanterns in the summer, and gold leaves in the autumn. I close my self-portrait with a “responsorial” poem from my Into Light book of spiritually inspired verse and incantations. Over the years, I wrote a lot of dirges and plaints; in this book, I gathered my positive, inspirational poems. It is time to think of what I’ll leave behind and those types of poems are my little treasures to be shared with children and friends. 


For me, poetry writing truly is about “Grateful Conversations” – with myself, with my friends, with the world… I am deeply thankful for the ten years and many hours of conversing with Westside Women Writers! 

The Infinity Room

At the Broad Museum, is closed, they say. 

I do not trust them, anyway. I would not go in.

I find my own Infinity on the beach –

floating on the waves that cross the Pacific

to lick my toes covered with sand crystals.

It is scattered among multicolored pebbles 

in shallow tide pools I walk through to reach you.

I’m home now.

My infinity stirs in dewdrops on the grass –

diamond sparks on moss green, chartreuse and celadon, 

shining  in early spring light.

It tastes refreshing in cold juice of an orange 

picked in my garden when it is 33 outside. It echoes 

in the melodious phrases of the mockingbird 

that claims the top of my pine, its contours 

outlined against the misty hilltops 

and the bluest of California skies.

Where is yours? Where have you found 

that spark, that voice, that calling?

Is it in the sunrays bouncing off the mirror surface of the lake,

splitting into a myriad prisms between your fingers -

your private rainbow?  Or the hot desert wind 

that challenges you to a race across sand dunes? 

Maybe you walk into the white expanse of the museum 

filled with a bunch of Jeff Koontz’s metallic balloons 

and see yourself reflected in the smooth, polished skins, 

bright and translucent like air bubbles, a giant child’s delight?

I hold a bouquet of infinity in my hand. 

It opens to blossom in ellipses, circles, petals –

intersecting trajectories of light, reverberations

of energy reflecting a multitude of timelines –

crystal after crystal – wave after wave –

carnelian into amber into gold – emerald into sapphire  

into quartz crystals – sparkling above a multitude 

of mirrored cupolas – other infinities that pass me by.

 

In Morning Light

We live on a planet where it rains diamonds —
hard rain, sparkling crystal droplets — in the clouds, 
in the air, on the ground under our feet.

Here, the Valentine’s Day falls on Ash Wednesday.
Red strawberries, wine-hot passion and Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust — lessons of impermanence of the body,
constantly reconfigured in a vortex of quarks and atoms
until the pattern dissolves like snow at the end of winter.
Delicate snowdrops peek from under the melting cover 
of phantasmagorical shapes and figures.

Here, the Annunciation Day of Mary’s greatest joy
falls on Palm Sunday — from rainbow wings of Fra Angelico’s 
Gabriel bowing before the shy, blushing maiden in royal blue
we look ahead to the green of palm fronds lining the streets
of Jerusalem. We welcome the destiny of the King.
We see red blood on the stones of Golgotha, 
the Place of the Skull. Not even this is real.

No wonder, then, that Easter, the greatest Mystery —
of Death into Life, Spirit over Matter, the Divine 
in an emptied human shell — Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachtani — 
Sanctus, Benedictus, Agnus Dei — it is done  — 
yes, that Easter — is on April’s  Fools Day this year.

We fool ourselves when we see death as enemy.
We spin our lives into thin filaments of a spider-web.
Illusion woven into illusion. Deception after deception.
They rise and fall with the rhythm of seductive charm.
The smiling demon is the most persistent. Incorrigible,

it pulls us down, down, down into the mud, 
from whence we did not come. Nothingness 
ties us up with bonds of non-belonging.

My revelation is this — we live on the planet 
where it rains diamonds. We walk on untold treasures 
that we do not notice — we forget and forget and forget 
where we came from, where we are, where we are going.
We spin our future out of spider silk and shadows.

Our lives fill with the sand of dreams, changing 
like shards of glass, broken bits of colored plastic 
in a kaleidoscope — transfigured into the most 
astounding waltz of the rosettes, reflected 
in hexagonal mirrors of transcendence —

My revelation is this — we are the children 
of Sunlight — blessed by Radiance — wearing 
Love’s golden halos — we shine and blossom — 
in Light’s cosmic garden of stars — lilies — violets — 
peonies — daffodils —and roses — always roses — 
in this brilliant garden — on a diamond planet —
of what is — in the Heart of the Great, Great Silence —

— there’s no here — nor  there —
— no before  — nor  after —
— no inside  — nor  outside —

——— All is Always Now———
——— All is Always One———

——— Where We Are ———