Midsummer Lessons from Mars and Lascaux

 It is never too late to learn something new. Two bits of scientific knowledge have recently captured my attention. First, a new method of dating ancient artifacts with radioactive isotopes resulted in rewriting the chronology of Paleolithic art: apparently, the astounding frescoes of bisons and horses in the caves of Lascaux, France, were not painted 20,000 years ago by our direct ancestors, homo sapiens, but, instead, were created over 43,000 years ago when Europe was inhabited by the Neanderthals. Therefore, we have to change our preconceived notion of the hairy Neanderthals as ape-like primitive brutes. What a discovery!

Second, the inventive laboratory-on-wheels Curiosity landed on Mars without a glitch and began sending back to Earth photographs of its rocky surroundings. I had seen a life-size model of the probe during the annual open house at JPL: with legs taller than me and two wheels on each leg, this futuristic vehicle was able to drive in any direction, over piles of rocks under one leg and smooth sand under another. On a Sunday night in August I was a guest at JPL’s California control station watching the Curiosity landing – or, rather, watching rows of engineers in blue shirts doing something important and intently staring at their screens. We enjoyed lectured lectures by JPL staff between computer animations of Martian landscapes traversed by the spacecraft, while waiting for the numbers on a small screen on the side to confirm that all engines fired, the silicone parachute deployed, all temperature sensors reported normal data, etc. Not only was it a “blind” landing on instruments alone: the landing was actually operated by the machines pre-programmed to follow a certain course of action.

The radio signal, traveling at the speed of light, takes nearly 15 minutes to come to Earth from Mars. Our screens reported each stage of the action 15 minutes after it already happened! What a feat of human ingenuity! But this 15-minute delay also tells us how important it is to live in the present, here on Earth (Memento Vitae). We are stuck here, for now. It is really too far to go somewhere else.


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A poem of mine, "Memento Vitae" was published in Serbian translation in the largest daily paper; French, Spanish and Chinese versions are in the works… Thanks to my friend Dr. Mira Mataric, who translated five of my poems for a Serbian literary journal, I now have a publication in the same alphabet (though not language) than my Belorussian grandparents used. The publication in the daily paper was quite a surprise. I hope we all cherish our lives 43,000 years after the Neanderthals first decorated their caves. How? Read my poem "A Lesson for my Daughter!" But first comes a reflection from the beach...

    Walking on Seashells

broken pieces of fish bones
lie scattered by the tide
where sandpipers feed

hermit crabs move into empty shells
whose former inmates
lost their future, devoured

the ocean of death surrounds us

ants troop in and out of the eye
of the beetle that lies
in the middle of my path

crushed sea shells paint the beach
bone-white – prickly sand
slowly changes into rock

fossils capture cruel snapshots
of transient past

unperturbed, we march on,
treading on traces of old tragedies

insects die first, yet outlive us
we do not mind their deaths
 
with a gaze fixed above,
we ignore countless incidents
of random murders, as we walk into
the gaping mouth of the Behemoth

 Memento Vitae 

Let's talk about dying.
The gasp of last breath.
The end. Or maybe not,
We don't know.
Let's talk about the last day.
What would you do
if you knew?
Whom would you love?
Would you find your dearest,
most mysterious love?
Or would you just stay
in the circle of your own?
Would you rob, steal
or insult anyone?
Would you cry?
Burn your papers?
If the fabric of your future
shrank to one day,
or maybe just an hour?

Let's talk about living, then.
The next breath,
that will take you
to the next minute,
the next heartbeat.

Just about – now.

© 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk
  

A Lesson for My Daughter 

After a ruby-colored glass of Merlot
I told my daughter the secret of the Universe.
I solved it at noon, by the river.

Questions do not matter.
The right answer to life is: "Yes."
If you build a circle of "Yes" around you,
Affirming the essence of beauty,
You'll be safe.

If you say "I love you" to everyone
(Very quietly so they can't hear, but you know),
You'll walk in a sphere of gladness
No insult or curse may pierce.

You'll be whole and holy:
Living deeply where love blossoms,
Laughter bubbles, and joy overflows.


© 2006 by Maja Trochimczyk      __________________________________________

NOTE: Photos from San Francisco and Los Angeles, (C) 2012 by Maja Trochimczyk

Harvesting Pears and Poems

The dahlias are in full bloom. It is time to eat fruit fresh off the trees. Time to walk in the orchard, pick apricots and make smooth, orange, tangy and fragrant apricot jam. Time to climb up the ladder and pick the plums, split in half by a sudden rain shower. You can eat them straight off the branches, or pick and drop in the box to make plum preserves for filling in donuts, or to bake a plum cake, or, for the gourmet cooks, among us, to pickle them in vinegar with a touch of cinnamon and cloves.

Where is such succulent and luxurious fruit? On the trees? Somewhere, perhaps, but not very often on the shelves of our local supermarkets. The fruit made for mass production, distribution and transport long-distance is too often tasteless, dry and wooden. It is beautiful on the outside, but completely unappealing on the inside. Also: hard, very, very hard. To survive the thousands of miles on the road, of course, taste be damned...

I remember the pear tree in my grandma’s yard. How soft and fragrant and juicy were those pears! Called, incongruously "klapsy" ("claps"). The ones I buy now are often so hard, they are difficult to cut with a knife, let alone bite! Ah, the dangers of genetic engineering! Was all this technological progress supposed to help us make the world a better place, or just make life easier (and the profit margins greater) for those who sell fruit in "bulk"? What are the GM engineers doing to our fruit? Where are the pears and peaches of yesteryear?

A Pear in a Tree

In a fruit orchard
By the sandy path
I climbed a pear tree
To watch the road
Melt into the horizon

I ate a golden pear
Juice stained my dress
My day dream of white
softness cut short
by the buzzing of wasps

They, too, longed for
The fruity sweetness
Of warm summer pears
They, too, dreamed
Of endless sunlight.

(c) 2012 by Maja Trochimczyk


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With lots and lots to do, I have not even noticed that more than a month passed since my last post here. There are some news and updates from the poetry front:

My Three Postcards from Paris was just published in the July issue of Quill and Parchment: www.quillandparchment.com.

 To read you need the username (july) and the password (salmon). This is a special issue with ekphrastic poetry, inspire by artwork. My three poems divide their inspiration between the real Paris I visited in October 2011 and the painted Paris from the lovely watercolors of Ron Liebrecht.

The journal's editor, Sharmagne Leland St. John reprinted the watercolors not only for my poems, but also throughout the journal. These "snapshots" of various European landmarks are seen with a masterly eye towards detail and in a novel perspective. In each of the images, there is something special to notice in passing.
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The "Meditations on Divine Names" anthology has finally been published. In a divided world, this volume brings together poets of diverse spiritual orientations and religious traditions. Their poetry is inspired, luminous. I hope that the readers will enjoy this group effort.

The book is available on lulu and through other booksellers in print format. The digital edition will take a while to prepare: www.moonrisepress.com/divine.html.

The first reading from the new anthology is scheduled for Sunday, July 22, 2012, at 4:30 p.m. at Bolton Hall Museum in Tujunga: 10110 Commerce Avenue, Tujunga, California.

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Convergence

Little by little, we shall see the universal horror unbend, and then smile upon us, and then take us in its more human arms.

          ~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The Divine Milieu, III: 3 B

everyone is singing around me

everyone

awash in their voices

I stand in the Melbourne cathedral

English vespers, communion

my heart races — I am still

I am taken — the bread circle

becomes my body — I am the bread

white manna surrounds the world

in a blizzard — dancing, falling

I fly with the spirit-wind

encircle the globe

I multiply like loaves and fishes

in the desert

I am eaten, nourish millions

set them on fire

snowing manna

droplets of light

sparks of cosmic

flames everywhere

 

blur of velocity

heights and depths

swirling whiteness

streams ablaze

on terraced rice-paddies

in musty stone cathedrals

                                                                      

in old wooden churches

shining like amber at dusk

serenity ascends

into translucence

I’m the blanket of light

that covers the world

I’m the song

love sings

(c) 2011 by Maja Trochimczyk
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I saw poems on a sidewalk in New York, London, and now also Berkeley, California.

Here are two found poems I liked in Berkeley:

The Old Towns in Warsaw, Krakow, Gdansk...

Returns, in thought or reality, to the landscapes of childhood, constitute an important poetic inspiration. I had a chance to re-visits the landscapes of my youth during the travel to Poland in May and June 2012. It was a sentimental travel back to my roots and more than a few of my "favorite things."

First, Warsaw: this is where it all began. The house I spent my childhood in is gone, demolished to make room for the widening of the street of Powstancow Slaskich. The fields on the other side of the street have been turned into a huge "osiedle" (subdivision) with thousands of inhabitants in ugly apartment blocks. There is a massive signboard in the exact spot where our house once stood and the cherry tree once grew. The little street, "alejka" is still there, lined with yellow iris of our neighbors.

My childhood is gone, of course, but it was a strange feeling to see its material traces erased. I asked a high-school friend to drive me through the narrow streets of Osiedle Przyjazn, where the faculty of the Warsaw Polytechnical University used to live after the workers who built the Palace of Culture had returned to the Soviet Union. Quite a few houses still stand, the streets are lined with maple trees, I remember walking on the curb, picking up the yellow leaves...

My favorite part of Warsaw, the Old Town is still there, though - "still" is a wrong word here, since it was completely destroyed after the Warsaw Uprising and rebuild after the war. The enormous effort of reconstruction of downtown Warsaw ended only with the reopening of the Royal Castle in the early 1980s. I was there before that. I remember the last ruined wall standing with just one window at the top, in the sea of ruins. I used to go to a music school right there and looked up to and through that window at the night sky, while waiting for a tram to take me home. The trams are there, too, painted red and white. It was hard, and still is, to get used to the red square building of the old/new Royal Palace. It still strikes me as something that does not quite belong where it stands, where it once stood. It was gone for just thirty years, but I lived with that gap, and now it is there again, an apparition from before my time.

Filled with tourists and school groups of kids who jump into the puddles the Old Town in Warsaw is very much alive. It is also very lively and completely swarming with schoolkids in Krakow, where I went to a conference on emigration at the Jagiellonian University. In contrast to Warsaw, this Old Town is completely "old" - all buildings, churches, and lecture halls of the university where we held our sessions are real and ancient, though many have recently been restored and repainted. The city is lovely at all hours of day and night, marked by the trumpet call from the tower of Kosciol Mariacki, to the four corners of the world. The "hejnal" is interrupted in the place where the original melody was cut short by an arrow from a Tartar invader, back in the 12th century. History runs deep there - and it suffuses the city and its inhabitants with the warm glow of benevolence. Somehow, it seems, there are more friendly folk, willing to go out of their way to help everyone, in Krakow than in any other city on the planet. Maybe walking through these streets mellows their spirit?

Finally, Gdansk. I travel there to a conference at the University of Gdansk, East and Central Europe in Exile: Patterns of Transatlantic Migration, organized by a large group of partners, headed by the indefatigable Dr. Anna Mazurkiewicz. I'm to speak about exiled composers, but before that happens, I revisit the sites of my own exile and those of my family. The residents are justifiably proud of the recently completed restoration efforts that transformed the Old Town of this Hanseatic sea-bound city, into a real gem filled with amber necklaces and artwork. After my poetry reading on "Aliens in California" (illustrated with photographs and artwork of my California friends) and before the conference begins, I walk through the narrow, streets lined with peaked houses all decorated and colorful. It is much more beautiful than I remember from my childhood at my aunt's home. At that time, in late 1960s and early 1970s, large swaths of the Old Town were still in ruins, only the main street and a couple of side streets were restored, while across the Moltawa river you could see the empty holes of the window, roofless brick walls. It was a scary place then, with so many areas barren, a real wound of the war. But it is completely different now...

My mother's aunt, Jadwiga Hordziejewska and her uncle, Dominik, lived there, after forced resettlement from their estate in what is now Belarus and used to be Soviet Union, near the lake of Switez, and Mickiewicz's hometown of Nowogrodek. They lost everything in that move, everything except for the one cow my uncle took with him to Oliwa. They used to walk through the parks and streets of the city for many years, an old gentleman in his top hat and the prize-winning Holstein black and white cow... He refused to speak to anyone, Ciocia Jadzia worked to support the family, while her husband grieved, frozen in the past, unable to accept the present.

The builders of these old towns, and those who restored them to their colorful and welcoming charm, tell us that we should cherish the past, though never forget what pain was wrought upon us.

Thus, we should always cherish the little flower of "niezapominajka" - forget-me-not. In an old children's verse it is "growing at a stream, looking at me with its blue eyes, and whispering modestly: "do not forget me."

We should not forget what made us who we are. I talked about remembering and being either petrified by grief, loss and guilt, or just remembering the past moments, as beads on an necklace. I even wrote about that lamp I photographed in Jelonki, Warsaw, with the snowflakes twirling in its yellow glow. This poem first published in Miriam's Iris is a suitable tribute to a travel back in time and into the future of being an emigre in California. On the occasion of this long, sentimental trip through my favorite landscapes, I decided to reproduce it for my readers.

Prelude - Water Charms

I.

The hummingbird builds its nest.
Its thin beak – the stem
of a multicolored jewel
sparkling in the sun
(a copy of its own similitude) –
holds the glistening body aflutter.

Rose bushes wear diamonds,
well-polished – their colors change
with the breeze
like the bird’s shiny feathers.

My Californian garden
tries to seduce me
with precious necklaces
and melliferous strains
from the mocking bird
hovering above
the scent of gardenias.

“All right” – I say –
“Don’t play games with me.
I’ve seen it all before.”

II.

Pearls scattered on the meadow
tremble on the blades of grass,
hide in the hearts of clover.

The sun shines straight through their ovals,
translucent, in a bright shade of green.
Stalks bend under their glassy weight.

Tempted by curiosity,
I destroy their perfect balance,
depriving the world
of its well-deserved splendor.

The droplets fall
to the ground and disappear.
How shall I ever be forgiven?
My wickedness – unthinkable.

III.

Dead leaves seek shelter
under thin panes of glass.
Ice covers pools of rainwater.

The stillness mocks past intimacy
when noisy reds, yellows, and browns
flew up from under my feet
in an autumn park
of maples and poplars.

I changed the future of the world
with one step of my boot:
the pane cracked,
the air bubbles shifted,
a the harmony was gone.

With glee I crushed the worlds
that did not need me.

I shudder when I look back –
a trail of footsteps
filled with muddy water,
dirt splattered on the geometry of ice.

IV.

The magic of white butterflies
twirling in the glow of street lamps
makes me dizzy. The black sky turns.
Bright spots move faster still.

I’m afraid. They chase me –
larger – whiter – denser
stars, monsters, snowflakes?
My scarlet fever began that night. V.

Winter morning reveals its treasures.
Leaves, cones, twigs, tree-trunks,
even pebbles on my path
wear bristling coats of crystal ice.

The pearl-grey sky is a bride’s dress,
waiting to burst open with new life.

The clouds settle on their beds.
Houses, bushes, roofs, fences,
dress in white muffs,
scarves and blankets.

The fence boards,
stiff like British soldiers,
present puffy hats to the Queen.

I admit it. I cut their heads off
with my red-gloved hand,
leaving behind a line
of headless corpses –
oh, silent horror!

VI.

The damage that cannot be undone –
melting the universe of beauty
with one breath
that changed a snowflake
into a dirty spot on my glove.

Slowly walking into
the immaculate field of whiteness,
I scarred the snow’s pristine expanse
with clumsy footmarks.

VII.

Again: plunging into
the smooth expanse of a lake,
I broke its sleepy obsession
with mirroring the evening sky.

I paid for my guilt with exile –
a foreign country, a borrowed name.

Crystals do not charm me in the desert
where Joshua trees parody my gestures
of praying for snowflakes
by stretching their twisted limbs
into the purple sky.

No hope for maki, chabry, and rumianki.
My childhood flowers
won’t be found on the meadow
painted yellow by the spring
across the barren slope
I see from my kitchen window.

VIII.

I’ve dreamed of being happy
in the sweet impossible,
with Italian cypresses, ice plants,
and a white fence around my house.

But my memories trap me.
Only the hummingbird
floats around, twitching its tail
like a miniature goldfish.

Maki – wild, red poppies (Papaver rhoeas); chabry – blue Centaurea cyanus, and rumianki – white chamomile daisies, grow in the meadows and fields of Poland and throughout central Europe.

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And here's my bouquet of "niezapominajki" from the Royal Baths Palace at Lazienki Krolewskie. Do not forget me, or so they say...

Passing of the Laurels to Dorothy Skiles in 2012

On Sunday, April 15, 2012 my adventure as the Sixth Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga ended where it began: at the McGroarty Arts Center in Tujunga. I invited friends - poets and musicians - to share the spotlight with me and I took off the laurel wreath and placed it on the head of my successor, Dorothy Skiles.

The ceremony, MC-ed by Joe DeCenzo, and introduced by the Director of the McGroarty Arts Center, Claire Knowles, included awards presentations, poetry, songs by William Lenaburg, and speeches. My own speech is copied below in italics.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

My “elevated” position in the community as the Sixth Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga is ending. I did not know what to expect and where this adventure would take me when I declared that I would like to make my motto “poetry in pursuit of happiness...” There is only one country in the world that has the Pursuit of Happiness as a constitutional right. … My pursuit took me far and wide.

During the past two years, I worked with some of the most amazing poets and musicians, including Kathabela and Rick Wilson of Pasadena and Just Kibbe of Sunland. Kathabela and Rick are founders of the Pasadena group Poets on Site that I have belonged to since its creation over four years ago. I often participate in their readings and Rick accompanies me on some of his flutes, as he will do later today. His day job is as professor of mathematics at Caltech… Kathabela and Rick are dear friends of mine and I greatly appreciate that they agreed to come and perform for us today. I wrote about a hundred poems for their projects. Instead of me talking about them, let me then introduce them to you and let them take over...

[Kathabela and Rick read three of her poems, including a brand-new one dedicated to Sunland-Tujunga, and one with Just Kibbe: “Everything I Ever Wanted,” “Something Green” & “Time Begin Again”]

The next guest lives closer to us, Just Kibbe, originally from a farm near Fresno, is now a proud resident of a home near Sunland Boulevard. He is an endlessly inventive poet who was able to create poems from text message abbreviations, create a Three-Ring Poetry Circus, and establish a publishing house and a journal, The Pirate Pig Press and its associated productions. Just has written poetry on just about everything, including a very long rattlesnake skin, burned wood, and walls of public urinals. I mean he did not write ABOUT, but literally ON these things. He has something quite different for you today - a set of love poems. I think it is a bow to my original presentation two years ago, where a portion of my reading was of love poems.

[After sharing the mike with Kathabela in her "Time Begin Again" Just Kibbe read three poems: “After Eleven,” “Love Seat Love” & “Butterfly Love." He was accompanied by Rick Wilson in some of them.]

These were my Poets on Site. The next group that I volunteer for is much closer to home. Village Poets of Sunland-Tujunga is a local collective – we organize monthly readings of Sunland-Tujunga and consist of current or future Poets Laureate of our wonderfully twin towns. The next poem you are going to hear was written by Joe DeCenzo the Third Poet Laureate and will be read by the group including also the First Marlene Hitt and the Sixth, myself.

[The group reading of "Entitlement" followed - with Marlene Hitt, myself, Lloyd Hitt, Dorothy Skiles and Joe in charge. He had earlier read another poem of his - in the introductory part of his remarks.

Following the guest readings, Joe DeCenzo presented a variety of awards from local state, county, and city officials as well as community organizations - commendations and expressions of appreciation for my work and congratulations for Dorothy. My list of honors included additional scrolls from: State Assemblymember Cameron Smyth; Supervisor Michael Antonovich; Councilman Paul Krekorian of District 2 (current district for our area), Councilman Richard Alarcon of District 7 (future district of S-T), the Rotary Club of Sunland Tujunga, and the McGroarty Arts Center Board Member, Ed Novy. Dorothy had the same set, minus a scroll from Sup. Antonovich that she had to earn, but plus a certificate from State Senator Sharon Runner.

We had the distinct pleasure of welcoming representatives from these governmental offices, including Councilmember Paul Krekorian both in person - with a lovely speech - and represented by a senior staff member from his office. Jaimie Rodriguez from the office of Councilmember Richard Alarcon turned out to be a spoken word artist and he proved his chops by reciting a poem about his father. Then, it was time for me.]

Looking back at the past two years, I see a pattern in being inspired mostly by beautiful artwork and landscape that “speak” to me when I look at it. I write it down for myself and others so they can see the world through my eyes. I also write reflections on nature and spirituality.

During my tenure as Poet Laureate, I started two poetry blogs, one called “Chopin with Cherries” after the book I published in 2010 and dedicated to poetry about Chopin, a composer I love. The other one is called “Poetry Laurels” and includes reflections on poetry and poems. Together, they reached over 25,000 people in the U.S., India, England, Canada, and other countries. I also maintain the blog for Village Poets!

Locally, I rode twice in the Fourth of July Parade, in a specially decorated convertible, giving away poems. I read poetry to children at Watermelon Festivals and brought a lot of featured poets to Bolton Hall Museum readings of Village Poets. I think I booked 90% of readers there. I published a whole lot of poems and a new column in our wonderful community paper, The Voice of the Village. I edited a whole book, “Meditations on Divine Names” – this book will be the most lasting fruit of my tenure as the Sixth Poet-Laureate in Sunland-Tujunga.

All creative individuals reveal their own deepest sense of self - emotional, intellectual and spiritual in their works. They do so by directly expressing themselves and by avoiding themes of no relevance to them. But is this “self-revelation” the main value of art? What about the audience?

I hope that my listeners find something of themselves in my reflections, impressions and memories transformed into poems. My quest for being remembered may be summarized in the Latin motto “non omnis moriar” (not everything dies). Survival - cheating Death out of her triumph - is the most powerful motivation for "the pursuit of happiness" through poetry and art. I entitled my set of poems, my Swan Song. . .

[I read “The Veil, the Weave” – with Village Poets; “Easter Apocalypsis” – with William Lenaburg, guitar; “My Sky” – with William Lenaburg, guitar; “Awakenings” – with Rick Wilson, flute; “A Box of Peaches” – with Rick Wilson, flute. Since these are some of my favorite poems, I have already posted them on this blog. . .]

I first met Dorothy when I was being inducted as the Sixth Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga. She brought a whole bunch of congratulatory certificates for me – that left me speechless! Since then, I have come to know her personal generosity much, much better. She has served as the President of Village Poets and has put together the calendar, booked dates, and promoted our events. She has been reliable and supportive, generous and even-minded. I cannot think of a person who is doing more for the poetry community in Sunland-Tujunga. She herself will tell you what her plans are, and her tenure will be different from mine, but not less fruitful. I will just tell you a little bit about her.

The first poem she wrote was about her grandmother who died when Dorothy was fourteen years old. While married, raising twin boys, and managing a career, working for the Los Angeles County as a social worker, Dorothy published several chapbooks, including Spine Flower Blues (1999) with fellow members of the Chuparosa Writers, and Riddle in the Rain (2003) - a joint venture with Marlene Hitt. She has been involved on the local poetry scene reading and organizing community events. She will be an excellent leader of poets in our neighborhood.

Alas, now comes the part that I have dreaded for quite a while now. Time to part with my crown! I have to take off the wreath I made from olive branches and place it on Dorothy's head. I went to an olive tree on Marlene's street with large scissors and had to explain to the owner the purpose of my attack on his tree.

Olive branches are quite symbolic in their own right - the branch of peace, the oil poured during crowning ceremonies, the symbol of the spirit.... Olive – the tree that symbolizes peace and wisdom. . .

The truth is we could not find a laurel bush in our neighborhood, and decided that olive would look better. So now, ladies and gentlemen, here is the reason we have gathered here today. First, comes the crown.

Second – the heart. I got a little plastic heart two years ago with some dried leaves from my predecessors' wreaths, as a symbol of continuity. I promptly lost it, or thought I did, so I bought another gold heart locket to replace it, just in case I had to show that, indeed, I still had a heart. Then I put it in a music box until two days ago, when, again I lost it, with the box, and all. But it turned out last minute when I was leaving for the ceremony, in time to pass it on. Now Dorothy has not one but two hearts, one from the founders But I found it. The leaves in the heart are from the same olive tree that the crown is made of.

Third, we have to unveil the plaque that records all the poet laureate names for posterity and is kept at the McGroarty Arts Center. And here it is...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Dorothy Skiles, The Seventh Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga. Congratulations, Dorothy!


L to R (front): Marlene Hitt, Joe DeCenzo, Kathabela Wilson, Just Kibbe, Rick Wilson. Back: Maja Trochimczyk, Dorothy Skiles, William Lenaburg, Lloyd Hitt, Mira Mataric.


A report in the Crescenta Valley Weekly by Robin Goldsworthy, April 19, 2012: "Skiles Honored as a New Poet Laureate of Sunland Tujunga."

WHAT DID I DO IN MY TWO YEARS AS POET LAUREATE?

With the Laureates' "laurel heart" and a music box. Quotation from "Tiger Nights" published in The Epiphany Magazine and Rose Always. Portrait (C) 2010 by Ronna Leon, Used by Permission. August 2010, McGroarty Art Center

The motto for my two years as Poet Laureate was  "Poetry ... in pursuit of happiness"

My activities have included public readings, appearances at civic ceremonies, participation in art festivals and community events. I have also decided to publish an anthology with work by local poets. The anthology evolved into a somewhat different project, an anthology of spiritual poetry, Meditations on Divine Names which appeared in March 2012. You may see the list of events below.

  

 With Marlene Hitt, first Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga. April 25, 2010, McGroarty Art Center, .

On April 25, 2010, the Passing of the Laurels Ceremony was held at the McGroarty Art Center, Tujunga, with Joe DeCenzo doing the honors on behalf of the Sunland-Tujunga Poetry and Literature Committee. The event included presentations by Claire Knowles, Director of McGroarty Art Center, Dorothy Skiles, President of Village Poets, Mary Benson from Paul Krekorian's office, music performances and poetry readings by Joe DeCenzo, Elsa Frausto and myself. I received Certificates of Congratulations from State Senators Bob Huff and George Runner, and Los Angeles Councilman Paul Krekorian. My reading included a poem I wrote especially for this occasion, What I love in Sunland. You may download the poem in Word format here. My Poets' Cafe Radio interview with host Lois P. Jones was broadcast on March 30, 2011 and is archived on Tim Green's Site.

With Dr. Blues, guitar, at "Imagine Poetry" Reading at the Sunland Tujunga Neighborhood Council meeting, March 8, 2011.

I participate as co-organizer in the monthly Village Poets Open Readings at Bolton Hall Museum, where my role is to find and invite featured poets, musicians and other artists. I write a monthly poetry column in The Voice of the Village and maintain two poetry blogs, Chopin with Cherries and Poetry Laurels. For more information, see events and readings, and photos from recent events,

 Chopin with Cherries reading at the Loyola College Chicago, November 2012.

PUBLICATIONS

My tenure as a poet-laureate is documented in three poetry blogs and a column in The Voice of the Village:

• ·        poetrylaurels.blogspot.com
• ·        chopinwithcherries.blogspot.com
• ·        villagepoets.blogspot.com
• ·        The Voice of the Village (monthly)

·        On the site for Moonrise Press, you may read about my four books:

• ·        Rose Always,
• ·        Miriam's Iris,
• ·        Meditations on Divine Names, and
• ·        Chopin with Cherries.

Some of poems from the Chopin with Cherries anthology were selected for the Cosmopolitan Review. Other poems may be found in chapbooks (Glorias & Assorted Praises, Poems for My Friend, and Poems and Stories), and other poems published on various sites, including My Sky, Photo Poem, a photo-album My Hat Collection, "Look at me..." in Loch Raven Review, A Monument of Time and Memento Vitae in Clockwise Cat (2009), and a recent publication of "Easter Apocalypsis" in The Scream Online Magazine of Art, Poetry and Photography, vol. 7 no. 4 December 2011. "Heaven and Hell" issue edited by John Z. Guzlowski.

With Joe DeCenozo after being crowned by Laurels, April 2010

AUDIO AND VIDEO

If you want to hear my voice, listen to the interview with host Lois P. Jones at the Poets' Cafe, on KPFK Pacifica Radio (Broadcast March 30, 2011), or to "Illuminata" ("I want that crown...") on the Pacific Asia Museum's website at the 2009 Audio Tour link, Himalayan Art Yab Yum and Crown).

A set of poems inspired by Asian art is on Pacific Asia Museum's Audio Tour 2011, maintained on Old Flutes Site by Kathabela Wilson. In September 2011, I recorded these poems for the 40th Anniversary Audio Tour of the Museum. Each poem is accompanied by Rick Wilson on an appropriate Asian flute. To listen you may go to the Audio Tour 2011 on Old Flutes Site, or call the Museum: "A Box of Peaches" written on the Gau Prayer Box, 626-628-9690, 455#; "An Embroidery Lesson" 626-628-9690, 464; and "Smiling Buddha" - 445.

A recently created YouTube video channel for Moonrise Press features video excerpts from various poetry readings, including the "Passing of the Laurels" ceremony and other events. You may see my readings of the following poems:

·        The Arms of Mercy, Poetry Audio Tour , Pacific Asia Museum, August  22, 2009. http://www.youtu.be/52p-lWq2zxU

·        Ascension (A Memorial Poem) dedicated to Barbara Koziel-Gawronski (1946-2009), read at the Passing of the Laurels Ceremony, McGroarty Arts Center, Tujunga, California, April 25, 2010: http://youtu.be/9gB9Yj9acaM

·        Claremont Concert, read at the Passing of the Laurels Ceremony, McGroarty Arts Center, Tujunga, California, April 25, 2010, published in poeticdiversity.org vol. 8 no. 2 (August 2008): http://youtu.be/ceX1_IWZW4Q

·        Green Sea at Albian, (Cathedral), inspired by a painting by Milford Zornes of the same title, read at "Three Generations" Exhibition, APC Gallery Torrance, California, July 26, 2008: http://www.youtu.be/sCO7aSYXfgc

·        Illuminata, Pacific Asia Museum Audio Tour, with Rick Wilson, flute, recorded at Pacific Asia Museum, Pasadena, August 22, 2009, also posted on the museum's website and published in the "Poetry Audio Tour" chapbook, Poets on Site, Pasadena, 2009: http://youtu.be/mbiIMszaLwY

·        Illuminata, written for Pacific Asia Museum Audio Tour, version read at the Passing of the Laurels Ceremony, McGroarty Arts Center, Tujunga, California, April 25, 2010: http://youtu.be/Bst2kYh8ciM

·        'Look at me...' , inspired by Ella Fitzgerald's "Misty" and a Sunday drive to a Buddhist orchard. The first reading as Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, at Bolton Hall Museum, Tujunga, California, May 23, 2010: http://youtu.be/TJzzOId3KCY

·        A Magnolia Courtryard for Pacific Asia Museum Audio Tour, with Rick Wilson, flute, recorded at Pacific Asia Museum, Pasadena, August 22, 2009, also posted on the museum's website and published in the Poetry Audio Tour chapbook, Poets on Site, Pasadena, 2009: http://youtu.be/1kOTn11xa1I

·        Mountain Watch, at the first reading as Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, introduced by Joe DeCenzo, at Bolton Hall Museum, Tujunga, California, May 23, 2010: http://www.youtu.be/MxlahG639pY

      

At the Art Exhibit at McGroarty Arts Center, 2012

·        An Ode of the Lost, dedicated to Adam Mickiewicz and all Polish exiles. The first reading as Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, at Bolton Hall Museum, Tujunga, California, May 23, 2010: http://youtu.be/LWSOufEAk30

·        Of the Mountains, inspired by a painting by Bill Anderson, "Foothill Rancho Cucamonga, Cliff Road" and read at "Three Generations" Exhibition, APC Gallery Torrance, California, July 26, 2008: http://youtu.be/TL3oXxJC-Bg

·        Passing of the Laurels Ceremony for the Sixth Poet Laureate of Sunland Tujunga, with Joe DeCenzo, McGroarty Arts Center, Tujunga, California, April 25, 2010.

·        A Portrait in Brackets (Eidetic Reduction) at the first reading as Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, at Bolton Hall Museum, Tujunga, California, May 23, 2010: http://youtu.be/eFhVhOAxbxM

·        Point San Vincente, inspired by Milford Zornes's painting of the same title. "Three Generations" Exhibition, APC Gallery, Torrance, California, July 26, 2008: http://www.youtu.be/jLai-H7wf5A

·        Selected love poems from Rose Always - A Court Love Story, poems no. 12, 13, 20, 52. The first reading as Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, at Bolton Hall Museum, Tujunga, California, May 23, 2010: http://youtu.be/k5W-X6mEygM

·        A Study with Cherries, from the "Chopin with Cherries" anthology (Moonrise Press, 2010), read at Kathabela and Rick Wilson’s salon, Pasadena, August 8, 2009: http://www.youtu.be/ljaCVn9NZqI

·        Stravinsky's Venice, inspired by Bill Anderson"s painting Venice, Italy. "Three Generations" Exhibition, APC Gallery, Torrance, California, July 26, 2008: http://youtu.be/hh6SWgsX09c

·        What I love in Sunland, the first reading as Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, at Bolton Hall Museum, Tujunga, California, May 23, 2010: http://youtu.be/I1DFKCDZ83s

With Elsa Frausto and a basket of books, 25 April 2010.