Give It All Away... Love and Light Poetry Workshop with Jessica and Juan

You give it away and it magically grows back so you have more of it . . . What is it? Not money, because it does not grow on trees. . . and not any physical possessions . . . For Jack Weber it is love, and he came up with 15 reasons to prove it: http://wakeup-world.com/2015/09/10/15-reasons-to-give-your-love-away-today/.  On September 23, 2015 I read this essay divided into three voices, with Jessica Wilson and Juan Cardenas, as a part of a Poetry Workshop "Give It All Away..." This paradoxical recipe works very well, if applied with sincerity, so, the advice to our listeners, residents at Phoenix House Venice, was to go, "have at it..."

Maja Trochimczyk, Juan Cardenas, Jessica Wilson, Akilah Templeton

Though called "Poetry Workshop" and filled with poems, our event was actually not very poetic, not in the sense of learning the craft of writing poetry. . . Our focus was content. September is the National Recovery Month and we decided to celebrate it by sharing words of wisdom, inspiration, and positive thinking. Words of truth, love and light.  Before the reading started, I went around the room to shake hands with everyone in the audience. It is a very important gesture of connection and affirmation. While shaking hands you have to look the person straight into their eyes. This is where you meet and know each other. this is the connection of love.

Jessica M. Wilson, the President of the Los Angeles Poet Society, accompanied by her husband, flutist and poet Juan Cardenas, led the way with poems from her new book, Serious Longing, published this year by Editions du Cygne in Paris. Surrounded by soft tones of the flute, she continued the reading with an inspiring poem printed in the program:

EpiTantriChord            

I am a Poet of the
Cosmic chord -- I say, “luz”,
Maja calls it, “love”.

Perception and digital signals, dials us up
one by one.
We are here; empty.

Come and fill us up,
just don’t feel us up; we’re tired
of being used,
tired of being consumed.
Trash bag over our young and we don’t even want to look
to see its face. An atrocity.

A lone 93-year-old man who’s loved so,
as to sacrifice decades of his life for a cause of millions...
and here he makes breath
for only few to ever see.
Broken chord.
Chain-link to every human’s ghost.
A known unknowing of our eternity.

JESSICA M. WILSON is Navajo Indian Poet from East Los Angeles, CA. She has an MFA in Writing from Otis College of Art and Design and a BA in Creative Writing and Art History from University of California, Riverside. She began the Los Angeles Poet Society as an answer to bring the LA literary 'scene' into light - so there would be transparency between Poets and Poetry Venues, Publishers, Musicians and Artists and all creatives. To bring the community together, she is Founder and Host of the Literary Series: Writers' Row, Writer Wednesday, SoapBox Poets Open Mic, and the Salon @ NoHo. Jessica is a Poet Teacher with California Poets in the Schools, and believes in the power of the word! She is also a member of the 100 Thousand Poets for Change and the Revolutionary Poets Brigade in Los Angeles.

Her final poem was a call to action, inspiring her listeners to acknowledge and speak their personal truth: 

Power

I can imagine the earth in a field of words.

I make new ethics; blow them into the winds to meet the people.

I can influence the direction of the sparkling tide

by tapping my finger

on its surface.

In an exhale of sighs, I can signal traffic

to travel another way.

Flashing bulbs

of green and yellow merge from my palms.

They taste like nectarine

and nourish us.

I can blow the dust of glass

into new cities of neon lights

and dark clouds.

I am able to resist because someone has to.

If you question nothing,

why have a mind to think?

I can do something because I really never liked

waiting around

for a show to start.

I am the show.

We are the actors on this world-set of made up dreams,

fantasy nodes, truths we shear from the trees and towers.

We are the truth.

Let us show it always.

Let us be truth.

Jessica M. Wilson

JUAN CARDENAS, who was ten when he came to the U.S. from Mexico,  is a flutist, vocalist, poet, activist, and educator to the bilingual community, specializing in teaching poetry and music to the youth. He is a Poet Teacher with California Poets in the Schools, working with native Spanish speakers and youth of diverse cultural backgrounds. Juan is also part of the 100 Thousand Poets and Musicians for Change, and the Revolutionary Poets Brigade - Los Angeles. This is what he says about the tole of creativity in his life:

"Literature and creative expression were the gateway to discovering who I was, it made the everyday living simpler to understand, and school a lot easier to handle; not to mention motivating. I am able to see how poetry impacted my life at a young age in a positive way. I am now aware of the different directions my life could have gone as I see today’s youth. As an immigrant growing in a Latino community, I first-handedly felt  the lack of literary outlets in the community. Unfortunately, I still feel its presence in North Hollywood. I would like to be the bridge to the community to literal creative arts."

After the presentations by Jessica and Juan it was my turn. First, I led my listeners in a five-minute Meditation on Light that I created, based on a variety of inspirations. Then, I read three poems with love as the theme, my favorite subject.

© 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk, Ph.D

I followed the meditation with an ancient Druidic Blessing of Light from Ireland, that I used for my Christmas Wishes this year. Indeed, this is the Year of Light!

May the blessing of light be on you 

Light without and light within.

May the blessed sunlight shine on you

And warm your heart till it glows like a great peat fire.

Meditation on Light

Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Relax. Imagine a bright, golden-white light right above your head, a miniature sun, or a star. Its golden rays shine all around, through you. You are surrounded, enveloped, protected by light. You are safe.

Now, the light shines inside you; its rays penetrate your whole body. All shadows disappear. There is no regret, fear, anger, sorrow. There is no guilt, no shame. Only light. The rays are everywhere, light is everything.

Now, the bright star descends into you; invite the light to enter and fill you. It shines in your brain, inside your head. You see it in your mind's eye. Light particles scatter and flow in waves. You are all light. All thoughts are pure light. There is no darkness. Only light, only peace. 

Now, the light star comes further down and settles in your heart. You have a small sun shining in the middle of your chest. It stays there. The pulsating sun-heart is moving the golden white, dazzling light into all the parts of your body. Your blood and veins are full of light.  Its warm glow spreads all over.

The streams of light flow through all your organs, muscles, skin. The light rays purify, heal, and cleanse. They flow to the tips of the fingers, the tips of the toes, eyes, ears, mouth, nose... the top of your head and the soles of your feet, all over your body. The light is energizing. It is good. All good. You are thankful, full of joy. You feel calm, peaceful, serene. 

You rest in the golden glow of the light. You say YES to the light, YES to the life this light brings. Here you are, a bright, living, pulsating star, made of stardust and starlight. 

Here… Now… In this moment…. Next… You are light. You are peace. You are love.

Still.... silent ... serene... Breathe deeply. Breathe in, breathe out... Breathe in, breathe out... 

You rest in the tranquil rhythm of your heart – a bright, pulsating golden sun.

The sun of gratitude, the star of joy, the light of love. 

(c) 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk (revised in 2016 and reposted on this blog; published in Into Light)

We can find light and love in many places. In our hearts, in the hearts of our family and friends, in the arts.  The story of Leonardo's Lady with an Ermine is fascinating, an enchantment that survived through the ages.  It is a miraculous painting that appears to look at you, as if it were alive.

Leonardo's Lady with an Ermine, Poland's Chartoryski Museum

The Lady with an Ermine

~ after Leonardo da Vinci's portrait of Cecilia Gallerani, in the Czartoryski Museum in Krakow

Her eyes follow me around the room
with that secretive smile she shares
with her famous cousin.
Filled with the knowledge of what was, what will be
she slowly caresses the smooth warm ermine fur.

"Tesoro, amore mio, sii tranquillo, ti amo"

Leonardo’s brush made a space for her to inhabit,
a grey-blue sky painted black much later –
she was pregnant, her son – a Sforza bastard,
the white ermine - the emblem of her Duke.

Sheltered by Polish royalty, she revealed
her charms only to their closest confidantes.
In 1830, exiled in a precious wood box, to Paris,
In 1919, returned to taste the Polish freedom.

"Amore mio, sii tranquillo, ti amo"

In 1939, hidden again, found by the Nazis
for Hitler’s last dream, the Linz Führermuseum,
Art among red flags and swastikas, flourishing
in the dark cavern of his mind. Never built.

Berlin, occupied Krakow, Governor Frank's
hunting lodge, Bavaria. The Red Army's closing in.
The train tracks. Crisp winter air. American soldiers,
The cameras of Monument Men.

"Sii tranquillo, ti amo"

Back home in Krakow, she is safe
in the recess of a museum wall. Under a muted spotlight,
Children play a game:Walk briskly from right to left,
don’t let your eyes leave her eyes, see how she is watching you.

Her eyes follow me around the room
Filled with the knowledge of what was, what will be
she slowly caresses the smooth warm ermine fur.
She knows that I know that she knows.

"Amore mio, ti amo"

_________________

* Tesoro, amore mio, sii tranquillo, ti amo" - fragment of a love letter in Italian, "Sweetheart, my love, be  quiet, I love you"

(C) 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk
http://www.maryevans.com/poetryblog.php?post_id=7032

In the second poem, the entire house has joined me, fifty voices repeating every line after I said it. I actually asked the listeners just to repeat the words in caps, or so I thought. But they had the text in the program and started from the beginning, one phrase after another. Why not? It turned out fantastic! The poem became very dynamic and energized. It came alive. I'm always going to read this poem in this way.

The poem is built around the kernel of basic daily meditations based on four phrases: I'm sorry, Please forgive me. Thank you and I love you.  I recently encountered these phrases on the Stillness in the Storm blog where I find poetic inspiration. The radio host Ted Mahr of Out of This World Radio, recounted a story of the poisoned water of Fukushima. Human-made radiation after the nuclear disaster is spreading around the globe, poisoning all living beings in the Pacific Ocean. Poisoning the waters, the source of life is a terrible thing that we did and now have to fix it.

According to Dr. Masaru Emoto, the creator of the Emoto Peace Project in Tokyo, Japan, we should pray and send our thoughts to the ocean's waters to heal them. At the shore of the ocean, we should gather daily, in a group, and say the following prayer, three times in a row:

Prayer to Fukushima Waters 

Water, we are sorry
Water, please forgive us
Water, we thank you
Water, we love you

I took these basic phrases that can also be found in the most Catholic of rituals, the Mass, starting from "sorry" Confession at the entrance, asking for forgiveness in Kyrie Eleison - Christe eleison and leading to the rite of Thanksgiving in the Eucharist, and the sharing of peace with everyone in Communion, eating the bread of light and love...  So here, my version:

Repeat After Me

Yes, you can find it. /Your way out./
It is so simple. /First you say:/

I AM SORRY – I’m sorry too./
We are the guilty ones,/ we are all at fault!
What happens next? /The door opens./
We stop at the threshold and say:/

PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I FORGIVE YOU./
Forgiveness erases all your guilt,/
all my fears, all our sorrows /– the burden
of dead thoughts is lifted./ See?/
We float up into brightness./ We are
sparks of starlight, /a constellation
dancing in the sky/ as we say:/

THANK YOU,/ THANK YOU VERY MUCH./
Filled with gratitude for every cloud,/
leaf and petal, /every breath we take,/
every heartbeat, /we are ready, at last,/
to say what’s the most important:/

I LOVE YOU, MY LOVE./
I give you all the love/
of my tired, aching heart./

I LOVE YOU, MY LOVE.
I give you all the love/
of my grateful, tranquil heart./

(c) 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk

Inspired by the success of the group performance of this poem, that turned truly uplifting and inspirational, I then turned to my favorite "group reading" poem - that is written on the page in color font, divided into four voices, intertwining into the fabric of one call to action: "Break the veil, undo the knots, free the mind... to see the blessings of infinity, to hear the music of sing-song lullabies, calming us ... for awakening in grace... when the Veil and the Weave are gone."  

This religious poem, entitled The Veil, the Weave, was inspired in equal measure by a quote from prophet Isaiah (its content) and the revolutionary poetry of Vladimir Mayakovsky (its form). It was first posted on this blog for Black History Month in 2014  and was copied in my previous post this September 2015. It was recently read by four poets at the Rapp Saloon in Santa Monica (hosted by Elena Secota). I was joined by the voices of the wonderful Susan Rogers, Ambika Talwar, and Melissa Studdard.

Maja Trochimczyk, Susan Rogers, Ambika Talwar and Melissa Studdard at the Rapp Saloon. 

I previously read it at various events of the Spiritual Quartet, a group of four female poets (Lois P. Jones, Susan Rogers, Ambika Talwar, and myself) of diverse religious and spiritual traditions, Judaism, Catholicism, Sukyo Mahikari, Scientology, Eastern mysticism... We presented our poetry at readings in Southern California, including one in March 2011 at the Bolton Hall Museum in Tujunga (a Village Poets Reading).  Unfortunately, I read this poem by myself then, not having yet come up with this inspired idea of converting the poem into a chorus of voices and a call to community action...

Maja Trochimczyk with Lois P. Jones and Ambika Talwar (L) and with Susan Rogers (R).

But there is always the next time, and now, we have poems that can be woven into a network of luminous voices. Why? 

To quote Ambika Talwar, "because poetry is a bridge to new worlds... So you can live beauty of your deepest awakening passion and be fulfilled!"

On Portraits, Monuments, and the Feminine Touch...

Poets after a reading at Bolton Hall Museum, February 22, 2015

Photo by Gene Schultz

In the middle of my book tour, reading an always changing assortment of verse from "Slicing the Bread" - a chapbook inspired by war memories of my family and the war's long shadow over my childhood - I started to feel like a star. Fame got to my head and it started expanding, like a balloon filled with nothing but hot air. It was Victor Sotomayor who did it - by posting my portrait, by Jessica Wilson Cardenas, on his Instagram account. In a gold jacket, with eyes lower to the page, I do look like a poet, a real poet.

Photo by Jessica Wilson Cardenas, February 2015

Or else, I look like I'm going to eat that mike... In any case, the "Slicing the Bread" book tour took me to the Rapp Saloon in Santa Monica, Bolton Hall Museum in Tujunga, Foster Library in Ventura and Tia Chucha's Center in Sylmar... Each reading was different, with a different selection of poems. I can make it about my Mom, my Dad, the Germans, the Soviets, the killing of Poles, the killing of Jews, the destruction of human spirit by the war.... Lots of options, all hard to deal with. At some readings people cried. I never do, these vignettes are into facts of life. It would have been better without these facts. But there are other facts of life, of equally horrid magnitude, that are happening right now, and nobody cries... The wars, the famines, the poverty, children dying before they grow up. . . and here we are reading poetry, instead of doing something useful.

Susan Rogers and Maja Trochimczyk. Photo by Susan Rogers.

But, poetry is useful. By naming things, it brings order to the world. By naming monsters and demons, it draws borders around them, makes them tame.  Some open mike readers were taming their personal monsters, reading stories of trauma that only they know well... Catharsis is an excellent use of poetry, and so is description of others. I'm a bit wary of extraordinarily beautiful and skillful descriptions of suffering. Somehow, the pain gets lost in the enchanting thicket of the words. It is better to be very matter-of-fact precise and simple. Basic even, just the bare bones. 

Reading at the Rapp Saloon, Photo by Susan Rogers.

At the first reading, at the Rapp Saloon (where I was invited by host Elena Secota), I was afraid that so much sorrow, death, and destruction will exhaust the listeners so I ended the reading with a couple of love poems from "Rose Always." It was still the month of February, the month of love... But these heartfelt romances felt like fluff, decorative and ornamental, but not very useful after the heaviness and tragedies of war. 

I decided putting both books in one reading was a mistake, and then I picked some of the most dramatic poems for the next appearance, at the Bolton Hall. The weather went dramatic too, with torrential rain. It did not help that I was competing with the entire Hollywood glamour, the Oscars.  Still, the choice group of poets who did not want to admire fancy dresses, and came to share the poetry instead, provided me with an extremely attentive and sensitive audience. The reading pleased everyone, and the open mike poetry was outstanding - with Toti O'Brien, Mari Werner, and Mira Mataric who read her translations into Serbian of three of my poems (photos still to come).

Poets at Tia Chucha's, February 27, 2015. Photo by Maria Kubal

The Tia Chucha's audience was equally focused on each word, made more difficult by my foreign - to them unfamiliar - accent.  But  I had help. For "The Way to School" Drgn Billy, percussionist from Tikkal Sun, and my newest Facebook friend, agreed to play his flat hand drum when I pointed at him. The blunt strokes of the mallet punctuated the poem, transforming the reading into a true performance. I was going to read more, but that artful and expressive piece needed nothing further. I can read more at the next stop of my poetry tour...

Monument for Polish civilians murdered by Germans in Warsaw in 1944.

Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

The Way to School

Walking to her high school on Bema Street. 

she counted three cement crosses in ten minutes 

every morning.

One in the middle of her subdivision of apartment blocks, 

standing guard at the edge of chipped asphalt: 

Nine hundred.

One in the mini-park, where two gravel paths cross 

on a patch of overgrown grass after you go under the train bridge: 

Twelve hundred.

One on the wall of a grimy three-story building, 

with round bullet holes still visible in the stained, grey stucco: 

Twenty two hundred.

She memorized the inscriptions: “This place is sanctified 

by the blood of Poles fighting for freedom, murdered by Hitlerites.” 

 “Some Germans were good, not Nazis,” her teacher said, 

“They marched in the May 1st parades.”

Only the numbers differed, and dates:

August 5, August 6, August 7, 1944. The Uprising.

50 thousand civilians shot in the streets of Warsaw. 

The bullets came fast. Those soldiers had practice. 

Wehrmacht, Police Batalions, RONA, Waffen SS. 

No shortage of killers. Some had children back home. 

She did not want to think of thousands.

She did not want to know their names.

"The Way to School" was first published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, vol. 63 (2014) and reprinted in "Slicing the Bread" chapbook (Finishing Line Press, 2014).

Monument to Polish civilians murdered by Germans in Warsaw in 1944.

Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

_______________________________________

Tragedy and romance do not go together, unless the latter is the antidote for the former. This is the case with my Trilogy of Grief and Loss, published in a special issue of Clockwise Cat - entitled Femmewise Cat and including two of my photos and three poems: The Waiting, the Tragedy and the Shooting Star, a portrait of 29th century pianist-composer, Maria Szymanowska. 

The principle of the whole endeavor was highlighting women's creativity - women's issues, and women's art. Poetry, flash fiction, essays, rants, photography, drawings, profile of female artists we all must know. The volume is excitingly rich in content. It will take me a while to read this double journal of monumental proportions. The fun part, you can turn the pages electronically, and read it, on the screen, as if on paper.  I like that and will keep reading. 

             http://issuu.com/clockwisecat/docs/femmewise_cat_part_ii?e=13963388%2F11675756

I was extremely pleased with finally getting a whole series of excellent portraits from a reading, all by Jessica Wilson and Mary Kubal. (Otherwise, I pose with the book after the reading ends, and these shots often look as they are, completely staged and fake).  It was so kind for them to take the time to upload or send pictures to me, to spend time with my poetry and its aftermath.  This is love of a true friend. 

 

                                 Reading at Tia Chucha's. Portraits by Jessica Wilson Cardenas.

Is love just fluff, roses and chocolate hearts and kittens? No, not at all. Sometimes it costs a lot. Hours of waiting, tears in silence... The project of "Heartbreaks" in which Karineh Mahdessian paired up male and female poets (from the previous, separate anthologies), turned out to be not for me. I much rather write of long years of waiting, of those old fashioned virtues - faith, hope and love, but the greatest is love. ... 

In the meantime, big thanks to my female friends - who invited me, came to my readings, took photos, published my work, translated my poems, and supported me in a multitude of ways.  With this amount of love, the Women's Month, surrounding the International Women's Day (March 8) is off to a good start. 

Ah, and one more thing... The Editor, Kresse Armour, put an article about my Distinguished Service Award from the Polish American Historical Association in The Voice, Sunland-Tujunga's community paper. She called me "Local Woman" - I am so proud! "Local woman, walking down the street..." A foreigner, with a foreign accent still very pronounced, I made Sunland my home and now I am "local" - what a great gift for the Women's Month!