HOME AGAIN, No I really mean Home AGAIN

 

My musings today, for this week, concern coming home again. Really. I have learned

several corrections to my previous misconceptions about home now that I have come home to live in my childhood home after not living here for about fifty years. They are such little things, yet they seem large to me because all of them concern  events that I have told stories about all my life.

It’s sort of like the family roast story (not mine) that you may have heard. A woman always cut one end off the roast she prepared every year for the holidays. When her daughter asked her why, she said, “I don’t know, really. That’s what your grandma did, so I do too. I really think because it’s juicier that way, probably.” Sure. Juicier. But she thought she’d call and ask her grandma anyway, so she did. Her grandmother said, “Well, it was the pan I had. I could never fit the whole roast in that we needed to feed the family, so I cut one side off and roasted it separately.”

So many stories I never asked why, just passed them on. A little off in many cases.

Since I moved back into the neighborhood, I have been telling everyone the story of how my dad built the second house in this whole allotment and that the first house was built by Orion and Susie Evans, and how, their first winter, they had no water but my dad had dug a well and he ran a hose between our house and theirs, about a football field away, so it must have been some hose. This month, the city is putting in new water mains on Oneida, Saratoga, Tioga, and Mohawk Streets behind us, here in what was originally named "Indianola Estates," so I have been telling all the workmen that story as I walk by with my dogs.

Then because Orion and Susie had a daughter name Barbara, who became my baby sitter and drum teacher and because I am living at home once more and she was having an 82^nd birthday, I took her out to lunch and reminisced about our parents and houses and water. She looked at me a long minute. “Diane, my dad didn’t build the first house. Your dad built the first house. My dad was waiting for the public water to go in and started building when he got the go-ahead on water. But then they hit something like quicksand and told Dad we wouldn’t get water till spring. And so your dad ran the hose.” She was seven at that time, and I was not yet born, and all our parents are dead, so she is the authority on this one.

I suppose it doesn’t matter who was here first or second. I’m just sort of gob-smacked that for the past few years since moving back, I have made a point of introducing myself to the neighbors as the daughter of the man who built the second house here and that house up on the hill was the first.

My mother would be shaking her head and saying the point is that this has always been the kind of neighborhood where people didn’t really socialize and no one was into anyone’s business, but if you needed help, they showed up. 

In our case, we showed up with a hose.  

"Read + Write: 30 Days of Poetry" Coming Up Soon

April is National Poetry Month, when The Cuyahoga County Public Library's weblog "Read + Write" features a poem a day by a Northeast Ohio poet, along with a writing prompt, the poet's bio and a comments section for readers. You can see the 2024 edition here . 

I'm letting you know early in case you want to sign up to receive an email with a link to the poem of the day each day in April. Here's how:

1. Go to the library home page, Cuyahoga County Public Library 
2. Scroll down to the  big, blue, horizontal stripe near bottom of the page that says "Get the latest CCPL news & updates delivered to your inbox"
3. Click yellow "Sign up" button
4. Fill in name, email address, and then scroll down to "Read + Write: 30 Days of Poetry Receive poems and writing prompts in your inbox every day during National Poetry Month (April)"
5. Click "Yes"
6. Click yellow "Subscribe" button.

The 2025 edition is our twelfth year featuring another all-new exciting lineup of poets who have never appeared on the blog before.  Among them this year are two new NEA recipients, a poet whose poetry has appeared in the Wall Street Journal, a few who have moved away but still call Northeast Ohio their home, retirees and poets working-- teachers, parents, librarians, artists, arts administrators, social workers.

Allison P. Davis,   Brandon Johnson,   Caitie Young,   
Cati Porter,   David McCoy, Elijah Elliott (Atlas),   
Elliot Nicely,   Haylee Schwenk,   Hugh Martin,
Joey Polisena, Kasandra Christner,   Katie Berta,   
Kent Taylor,   Kristin Gustafson,   Laurie Kincer,
Lindsay Barba,   Margaret Young,   Marlowe Jones,   
Matthew Thompson, Megan Lubey,   Michael Gill,   
Nathan Oliver,   Risha Nicholle,   RJ Ingram, 
Robert King,  Rose Zinnia,   Steve Thomas,  
Sujata Lakhe,   Tiara Dinevska,  and  Tovi Simiryan

LISTING: NOT THE SAME AS A LIST

A FREE POETRY WRITING WORKSHOP 

By Hervé Cozanet 

Saturday, March 15th, 2:00-3:00 p.m.
Artspace: 140 E Market St, Akron, OH

Lists get us started, keep us on track, and send us off to get our work done. In poetry, there is the pure list poem, like Christopher Smart's 18th century long list of his cat’s tributes, Jubilate agno and Robert Francis' modern "Silent Poem" or Nancy Willard's "Questions My Son Asked Me." 

I want to examine contemporary poems that embed the lists into a larger poem and examine one or two such poems that can provide a model for drafting a new poem.

Then we can look at more meanings for the word "list" and "listing"-- in law, in sailing, in real estate and stocks and bonds-- for other future poems. 

We are going to start by brainstorming some lists. Then we will look at different types of list-inspiring poems and turn our storm into poems asea, listing perhaps as they sail. I hope for everyone to get at least one draft out of our session. Bring paper or tablet or laptop.

You will receive a bibliography and several additional writing assignments to take with you.

BACK UP IN THE BLOG SADDLE AGAIN

I've been outside the blog for a year, am climbing back on as we head toward April's National Poetry Month. I rarely publish poems here on the blog, but this one was just published in a print journal that wrecked the title, so here it is as I want it. The idea of who gets to have children and who doesn't, who chooses and who doesn't is coming up in my poetry as it has in my life for decades, and I am indebted to Ada Limón for leading the way. 

DES

            What if instead of carrying
            A child, I am supposed to carry grief.

                                                --Ada Limón

 

You can carry grief or carry on, like luggage.

My friend Deb did, after the O.S.U. clinic doctor

left her up in stirrups, inserted with a cold speculum,

returned with his colleague, said, “I have never

seen one—you?” “Nope.” Hopeless, they said.

She went on to have one son. I have none,

and today, at age 70, I finally look up photos

of my cervix, or, the kind the doctors saw

in me, one gasping till I explained DES,

which 1950s women took rather than carry grief.

 

I’ve carried some abandoned 18-year-olds, some

incarcerated kids. No photos of the babies

I did not have wearing Christmas dresses.

I go to their weddings, their funerals, Zoom

with them: my 50-year-old trans kid, clobbered

by Behçets, my CIA agent, one academic,

three horse breeders, all kidless, carrying

other stuff: U.S. secrets, HBCU grant applications,

sperm loaded into green sacks, nieces,

a wife with cancer. “To move by supporting,”

as the dictionary says, with your hands or arms,

on your back, from one place to another,

one term or phase or lifetime, not mother.

 

 

What I'm Up to For National Poetry Month and Beyond

 April and May in My Poetry-landia

APRIL

All month: 

Read + Write: 30 Days of Poetry:
 https://cuyahogalibrary.org/blog/poetry

All year, I collect names of Northeast Ohio poets to curate into a weblog for the Cuyahoga County Public Library's month-long celebration, consisting of a poem a day by a local poet, a prompt by me and some extra fun stuff like book suggestions, responses by readers. This is our eleventh year, without repeating any poets  (with a few exceptions due to lost files). I don't think there are many areas of the country where a site could find over 300 excellent poets to feature, but Northeast Ohio definitely has them. The 30 poets this year are:

Tom Barlow, Elizabeth Beck, Stephen Bellamy, Elijah Perseus Blumov,  Dana Burtin, Chuck Carlisle, Neil Carpathios, Danielle Nicholle Dixon, Jacquie People Dukes, Charlene Fix, Dom Fonce, Siarra Freeman, Kelly Hambly, Samantha Imperi, Angel James, Cora McCann Liderback, Rose Marry, Tommy Mihalopoulos, Corey Miller, Scott Minar, Lynda Montgomery, Kourtney Morrow, Terry Murcko, Maxwell Nobis, Elana Pitts, Mallory Rader, Andrew Rihn, Stephanie Sesic, Toni K Thayer, and Vance Voyles.

Saturday, April 6 at 1:00 p.m. in the Cleveland Public Library, Main 

My poem, "Total Solar Eclipse" will be a part of a staged reading titled The Gift of Darkness, directed by Christine Howey. Other contributing writers are: Cathy Barber, Kate Barlow, Liz Breazeale, Aja Dandridge, Sarah Halko, Ann O'Mara Heyward, Meredith Holmes, Kat Karney, Lara Lillibridge, Ray McNiece, Philip Metres, Mimi Plevin-Foust, Geoffrey Polk, Story Rhinehart, Vincent L. Robinson, Deborah Taddeo, Laura Maylene Walter, Rebecca Waud, and Timothy Wutrich. 

Thursday, April 11 at 9:30 on Zoom 
I am meeting with my writer's group, the 811's (which I affectionately and I think hilariously call the "Ate Elevens.") This isn't public, but this is my chance to thank Laurie Kincer, Laura Weldon, Richard Ferris, and Geoff Polk for being well-read, careful, and demanding readers, and terrific writers and people and great snackers. Their capacity for meeting outside in cold wet weather around a fire pit is a tad higher than mine, but I have weathered it all and loved every minute. 

Saturday, April 27, 1:00-3:00 p.m. at Spring Hill Historic Farm 
The Underground Railroad Whistle Stop Tour

https://poetsagainstracism-usa.org/events/

I will be one of four poets reading our own social justice poems as well as the works of African-American poets from the period when Spring Hill Farm was a site of the Underground Railroad. I am thrilled to be invited to this event as the farm is a few miles from my grade school, from where our teachers took us to tour the house and learn the lessons of slavery. I will never forget the hidden staircase. Following the reading, you can take that same tour. The address is 1401 Springhill Lane NE, Massillon, OH 44646. Locals will know it as the white house on the hill on Wales Road where it is intersected by Lake Road.

MAY

Thursday, May 2 at 5:30 p.m. "Muse at the Museum" ekphrastic poetry at the Allen Art Museum in Oberlin

https://amam.oberlin.edu/exhibitions-events/events/2024/05/02/allen-after-hours-the-muse-in-the-museum-a-night-of-poetry

I'll be reading my poem, "Goya Diptych," on two Goya etchings in the Allen exhibit. This reading is special to me in two ways. First, I lived and taught in Oberlin my difficult years after college, two doors down from the museum, where my 85-year old landlord worked as a docent while he did needlepoint. And Goya is an artist whose most difficult heart-breaking works have been in my heart since I studied "Saturn Devouring His Son" at the Prado in 1971. Then too, Lynn Powell, Oberlin poet extraordinaire curated this show. 

Saturday, May 11 at 4:00 p.m. at Uncloistered Poetry in Toledo, OH

https://www.facebook.com/Uncloisteredpoetrytoledo/about

I will be reading with two of my most long-standing, beloved, talented friends, Tom Barlow and Don Cellini. If you are anywhere near Toledo, come hear us. Here is a bit about them:

Tom Barlow, born in Canton, Ohio, is the author of poetry, short stories and novels. His father and both grandfathers were steelworkers back during the years when Canton was a boom town.  These people and that blue collar world still find their way into many of his poems. His work has appeared in journals including Trampoline, Ekphrastic Review, Voicemail Poetry, Hobart, Tenemos, Redivider, The North Dakota Quarterly, The New York Quarterly, The Modern Poetry Quarterly, and many more. See more at tombarlowauthor.com.

Don Cellini  is a poet, translator, and photographer. He is the author of six collections of his poetry, most bilingual, including Approximations/ Aproximaciones and Candidates for Sainthood and Other Sinners / Aprendices del santo. In addition, he has published books of translations by three Mexican poets. A recipient of fellowships from the King Juan Carlos foundation and the National Endowment for the Humanities, he is professor emeritus at Adrian College. He divides his time between Toledo, Ohio and Savannah, Georgia. More at https://www.doncellini.com/

Friday, May 17, at 4:00 p.m. in the Kent State School of Architecture and Environmental Design in Kent, OH
https://www.edithchasesymposium.org/#

My poem, "The Jackson Bog" will be featured in my reading and in the book that's assembled each year of poems by Ohio poets on the environmental theme, which this year is, "Embracing Wetlands."

Saturday, May 18, Noon to 4:00 p.m. at Memorial Park, Stuka Day 
(next to The National Museum of the US Air Force, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, OH)
https://www.afterglowkennels.com/stuka/

This is an event to recognize Stuka, a Scottie who flew in the B-17 called "The Memphis Belle" duirng WWII. I will be speaking about my dad, Russ Kendig, who flew 17 missions in a B-17 called "The Top Hat" out of Thorpe Abbotts, the base which is still there, a museum, in England. Dad did not have a Scottie there, but he always had dogs, and when he returned home, Grandma Kendig, a big fan of FDR and her eight sons (four of them in the war) got him a Scottie to replace his dog at home that died while he was in the service. That was Lassie, my first dog as a child. I have had six since then, including the two who will be with me that day.

Whistle Stop Tour: Spring Hill Farm, April 27, 2024

 

Saturday, 27 April 2024

1-3:00 
3:30-4:00 

My local historical site, Spring Hill Farm, an  original Underground Railroad site, is hosting the Ohio Underground Railroad Whistle Stop Tour on the 27th, and I am very happy to be performing there, along with Atlas (Elijah Elliott), Courtney Morrow, Jessica Jones, and Quartez Harris. 

The five of us will be reading historical antislavery poems, as well as our own poems about contemporary justice issues. The tour, sponsored by Poets Against Racism and Hate USA, is traveling around Ohio to other places I have lived and been associated with, including Oberlin, and I am especially grateful to be included at this site, which is part of my own grade school history. My grade school, Watson Elementary, took my on a tour of Spring Hill

over 50 years ago, and the stories of slavery and escape that I heard there remain in my heart even now. I remember the tour guide saying, "Next we will be going to the hidden staircase."

After the reading and the Q and A on the 27th, there will be time to socialize. The authors will have books for sale. And at 3:30, the tour will be available to everyone for free, which is an exceptional gift from the Home, which usually charges $10 for a tour. (You can see a one-minute video of some of the inside of the home at this page.

I highly recommend the event for people interested in local Ohio history and poetry. Many of the historical poets have Ohio roots. Many of them have good, rhymed poetry, which some of you love and complain there isn't enough of. (I'll even be reading one or two of my rhymed poems.) If it's been along time since you've been to Spring Hill Farm, maybe it's time to go back. If you've never been, here is a great opportunity.

JOURNAL ENTRY: VISITING RUSSELL ATKINS for the HOLIDAYS

JOURNAL ENTRY

Sunday, December 19th - 

I drove in the driving rain to visit Russell, taking a pink poinsettia (one of his favorite colors), cookies, a thermos of very hot, sweet coffee, two prints of the Cleveland Museum of Art, and a homemade book of 30 perfume-paged samples, titled Aromatics for Russell.

When I arrived, he was asleep and a curious attendant shook him brusquely, raised the headboard just a bit  and hollered, "Wake up, wake up. You have a visitor."  Russell responded, "I'm dying. I'm dying." "No you're not," the attendant harumphed. I said, "He's fine. He'll wake up. Or I'll just sit here." The attendant walked out.

Gradually, Russell came to, and I offered plastic spoonsful of coffee, which really woke him up. He loves strong caffeinated very sugared up coffee and was wide-eyed, cheerful. Not always coherent but he talked on many topics, often coherently

He tried three of the "aromatics" pages, including Chanel No. 5, which he has always loved, and he claimed to perceive all of them. (I have some doubts. A lot of people lose smell with age or covid, both of which he's had.)     

 Then I had him look at the two CMS cards. One is a postcard that shows the building in daytime and then in dark (its lights go on pink) as you tilt it. He could see it, and we used it to talk about the night Paul and I took him to accept the Cleveland Arts Prize for Lifetime Achievement. I reminded him he was the only one who received a standing ovation that night. That was after he gave his (unplanned) speech, and Sunday he seemed pleased for me to recall it. Then we looked at the other card, based on a painting by an artist who won the CA prize the year before Russell, "And Russell," I said, "he died a year later." "He what?" "He died, the year you won it" And he smiled and laughed softly, not disrespectfully, at the irony, so surprised he is at "still kicking."

Although he wasn't always coherent, he was talkative and cheerful. We spoke of the Simons. I told him I am trying to write an article on Adelaide. She died so young (of breast cancer) that a lot of people have forgotten her, but she was a big part of Free Lance,  I said. "Yes, she was," he repeated emphatically. He recalled the photo of Martin Simon that I showed him this past summer, and he remembered it: "A large photo of Martin at his cello," that ran with Martin's obituary.

Russell ate two mini-cupcakes (one chocolate, one vanilla, though his preference is white cake with chocolate frosting, which I couldn't find), a 2-bite brownie, and a homemade soft chocolate chip, which he spit the nuts out from. (He has no teeth and is on all soft food now.) This on top of the lunch he had polished off half an hour earlier. "All of it," the attendant reported. "He still has a really great appetite." He drank the whole large cup of coffee, three sugars. (May his nurses and diabetes forgive me, but he so loves it.)

I was hoping I could bring myself to stay for 45 minutes, but I looked at my phone, and an hour and a half had fled by, and I needed to get out before the Browns' fans hit the highway. Russell grew pensive and said, "I've done writing and music. I wonder what I'll do next. I think I'll try painting." 

I looked at him, nearly flat on his back and said, "How about if I bring you a set of pastels?"

He looked at me, "But that wouldn't be paint, would it?"

"But Russell, where would we put the paint? Here in the bed. How about water colors?" At least, I thought, we could just rinse the brushes with water.

He looked at me and began to outline the problems with working in water colors: it pools, the paper gets wavery....

I flashed on a mental photo of Kahlo, lying back, a canvas propped over her, a paint brush in her hand. Who cleaned up after that? 

He is having problems gripping. He couldn't even grip the cupcake. I had to help. But I know if I brought paint in, he'd paint with his teeth if he had to. 

He is bull-headed, just like another Russell I knew: my dad, whose birthday was one year and one week from Russell's. The two knew about each other, but never met. Some people might call Russell a nicer word like "persistent" or "determined." But I am sticking with the word "stubborn." It means "not open to change," and it fits.  Russell was change, and he wasn't about to change even when the whole literary world ignored him, bid him write about protest and the present and forget his wacky punctuation and syntax, his interest in Cleveland and buses and cemeteries. The world came around, thanks to Kevin Prufer, his editor and literary executor. 

Russell will be 98 in February. If you haven't read him yet, read his book World'd Too Much. Catch up with him.