Poets Perform Their Art

            There is something very special about hearing writers, or, more specifically, poets read their own works. By reading words they have imagined to hold a particular flavor, color, thought, or meaning, the listener is invited fully into that moment with the writer. Such was the case on April 15 when a dozen local writers read their works aloud at the Mattapoisett Public Library’s Poetry Open Mic session.

            Each poet was given five minutes to read one or more of their works in front of a very appreciative audience. From the very young to those who have been honing their talent for many years, and all ages in-between, the poets shared their visions, their emotions, their experiences.

            Ellen Flynn broke the ice. Flynn read three works titled “Lonely Turtle Love”, “Mr. Grieve”, and “Almost Pink”. The poems spoke of love, of course, but poets have a unique ability to discuss this most human emotion in ways that sound fresh. That was the case when Flynn read of a bird’s quest to find its lost mate. Of death she wrote, “…Kindness honor birth and death…” and of precious connections, “…If I see the past in your eyes…”

            Meghan Kelly, presently studying at the Museum of Fine Art, read works that spoke of the tragedy of war in Nicaragua – how blood held honor – while war offered no respite. And as she read, one felt the sadness, the futility of taking a human life.

            The theme of war, its fallout, and the suffering of those who are left to remember the fallen, was visited several times during the event.

            John Heavey read a piece that held memories of visiting his grandparents. Heavey honored his grandfather, a man who had been a solider in both WWI and WWII. He reflected on his grandfather’s laughter, a sound he could still clearly hear while wondering, “Did he laugh that way during war?”

            Barbara Despres also wrote of war, of soldiers’ sacrifices, of “hellish places” never forgotten, and of a fallen fighter’s lament from a grave in foreign soil. “How many remember me now?” Despres also wrote from the perspective of a more mature voice in her poem titled, “What Is Life.” In this piece, she asks the reader to allow life to be the total, the sum of all, that “Life is a dream come true.”

            The poets spoke of the ongoing pain associated with losing a loved one, a pain heard in each word they spoke.

            Heidi Dube wrote The Widow’s New Lover with the heart-wrenching conclusion that new love is possible. Love, in its many forms, can merge to become, perhaps, a bit unexpected as she wrote, “The way you love his children.” Truly something any mother would cherish.

            Paul Mercier also wrote of loss through the imagery of a baseball game, of a father whose support has encouraged him throughout life, and whose loss will be felt, not just as nine innings pass, but every time he steps up to the plate of the present.

            Death was a theme visited more than once, but also with a bit of humor as in the words of Liz LaValle when she read that “Death was on Twitter,” as most people are. She also shared a piece titled Gypsy Cousin that evoked the images of gossamer floating in the ether where the future might be conjured through cards.

             There was the joy of birth, as shared by Ann Briggs, who read a piece about the glory of a foal being born. “My knees were shaking more than his.”

            Marybeth Yarmac used the poetic form to share Stories, her memories of a childhood spent in joyful pursuit of bugs and games and the esprit de corps of children. “Stories save our lives,” Yarmac said.

            Theresa Dall shared Scars In The Basement, a piece that spoke of projects completed or left to collect dust like unfinished sentences covered, forgotten in time. She also shared a piece about a much beloved aunt whose presence is still felt and whose “magical suppers” are still tasted. Dall also read a piece that glowed with physical love, with the lights of Paris and the joining where two become one.

            While most of the poems were in the form of imagery, narrative, or blank verse, one poet read her haikus. Brief, slicing to the point or tumbling one syllable to the next, Madeline Cook wrote about a friend lost and another found, of joy balanced by pain, of a mother’s love as faith, and the warmth of being home.

            The event also allowed participants to read the works of other poets. B.J. Nooth read from works written by a Native American poet Joy Harju. She read Speaking Tree and Praise the Rain, in which the latter of the two works is one that compels the reader to find praiseworthy moments in all of life.

            While most of the poets were of a certain age, one proudly shared she was “eight-and-a-half years old.” Penelope “Penny” Angeley read her poem Squirrel. Angeley’s reading was pitch perfect, smooth, and a treat given her stage presence and topic. Her squirrel is imagined through its movement from one season to the next, surviving on nuts in the warmth of a “nest so messy”. There are kites cozy in a corner, and lonely squirrels headed to their drey as winter arrives. And, in case it wasn’t clear, she shared the meaning of “drey”: “It’s a squirrel nest.” Of course!

By Marilou Newell