FROM THE "UNION PIER" POEMS

On this last day of August and the (almost) unofficial end of Summer I send you this poem written on the last day of our stay in Union Pier, Michigan that Summer of the year 2000. 

Last Day

Blue jays on the porch!

Hurrah!

Hurrah!

A bright red cardinal lands

on the roof of the house

next door and sits there

in all his glory

fiery and masked.   

Finches flit

in and out of scrub brush,

all one witness of this holiness,

this natural world

we’re giving up soon.  Later, when

the stars fill the sky like distant

lights we’ll take our last walk

on the beach.  We’ll notice the moon

once again

sailing out above the black lake, above

the earth, among the constellations:

Orion, Cassiopeia, Centaur, yet,

unlike a whole priesthood of sky watchers

before us, we will not know

what we’re gazing at in that raw hole

shimmering, studded.  We’ll only grasp

the fortune of our short lived expedition

and lament our imminent loss.

WORKSHOPS AND SEMINARS COMING THIS FALL

This fall do something for yourself: take a class! You have a choice between writing or literature.  You have a choice between nonfiction or travel or fiction.  

1.  Creative writing workshop I
starting Wednesday, September 19th - 7 to 9 pm
meets every other week
8 sessions: $200.00

     This workshop focuses on narrative nonfiction including personal memoir and travel but all genres are welcomed.  Class includes writing exercises, discussion of writing techniques, critiques of participants' writing, and discussions of published works.  If you are interested, send me a message for more information.
(This group is filled now.)

2.  Creative writing workshop II
starting Wednesday, September 26th - 7 to 9 pm
meets every other week
8 sessions: $200.00

     This workshop focuses on narrative nonfiction including personal memoir and travel but all genres are welcomed.  Class includes writing exercises, discussion of writing techniques, critiques of participants' writing, and discussions of published works.

If you are interested, send me a message for more information or to register.

3.  See the World; Write the Story: Crafting the Travel Essay
starting Thursday, October 18 (class will not meet Nov. 22)
6 sessions: $170.00

The Newberry Library, 60 W. Walton, Chicago

    This workshop is ideal for travelers and writers. Whether you plan to publish your articles or not, and whether you travel to the other side of the globe or simply to another neighborhood in your city, this seminar will teach you the basic skills and secrets of a successful travel essay.  It may be taken more than once.

To register online go to: www.newberry.org.

4.  The Harlem Renaissance
starting Tuesday, October 2 
6 sessions: $380.00

The University of Chicago Graham School

The Harlem Renaissance was an intellectual flowering that fostered a new black cultural identity in the 1920a and 1930s.  Black media, jazz, art, and literature flourished.  Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, Zora Neale Hurston are some of the best known writers of the movement, but visual arts were also crucial in creating depictions of the "New Negro."  The white establishment became fascinated with the Harlem Renaissance, but for the artists themselves, acceptance by the white world was less important than, as Hughes put it, the "expression of our individual dark-skinnes selves."

To register online go to: grahamschool.uchicago.edu.

5.  Crafting Stories from Real Life: Creative nonfiction
Class will be offered online through Loyola University of Chicago's School of Continuing and Professional Studies.

Check their website for more information: www.luc.edu/adult-education.

If you have any questions about any of these, feel free to contact me: bgartler@yahoo.com.  

Take a chance: register!




 

From the "Union Pier" poems:

Rainy Day

All morning the wind

shudders the windows, pushes

a curtain of water against

the glass.  Outside

each creature cowers

in its shelter.  Inside I

listen to the furious

lake and the death-cries

of the wind while words

advance

    one by one

          across the lined pages of

my notebook, its blue covers

thick and velvet-soft.  There is

something desirable

about rain and

the solitude it brings.   The possibility

of hours of un-

interrupted reading; an entire day

devoted to shaping a poem, carving each word

out of the void or simply plucking one

out of the hundreds lined-up at attention

like good little tin soldiers in my brain.

Later,

the sky

spent of its passion, serene

after thunder, I walk

into town, a book under my arm,

wet grasses brushing

against my bare legs, crisp air

and vivid blue sky

welcoming

all the creatures out

again -- 

a red-headed woodpecker

who dives noisily against

the dead high limbs

of a sycamore tree,

its curling bark exposing

the whitish-brown trunk;

a cedar waxwing, his cinnamon

crest darting

  in and out

            of a drenched thicket

of red mulberry leaves, quick

bursts to snack on flying

insects.  I

prefer a cup of coffee, a slice

of peach tart at the Pumpernickel Inn.

From the "Union Pier" poems:

From the city

Today

friends from the city

come to visit.  Proudly we

show them our beach, our birds,

the trees flanking the house, a canopy

of oaks and elms, pines and lilac bushes

in the backyard, the wildflowers in

the front.  We name each one: white

trillium, false solomon’s seal, dame’s

rocket.  They are impressed.  

Later, I chop onions, slice tomatoes, wash

green lettuce, shave carrots, their orange

shards gleaming in the royal blue

salad bowl.  The grill spews smoke 

and the smell of barbecued chicken

fills our nostrils, waters our mouths.  We 

gather around the faded wooden picnic 

table, sip cold beer, tell jokes, tell stories of

joy, of fear, of a shared past and a propitious

future, our lives held together somewhere

between our throats and our bones by

an invisible wire, pulling our breath, our words.

Hours later, the clouds, squeezing out  

light, turn pink and blue, turn dark.  When 

the sun has finally dipped into the lake, 

our friends return, 

we stay.

FROM THE "UNION PIER" POEMS:

Solitude

This morning’s task: to identify the trees

in the neighborhood.  Plucking a leaf

or picking up one off the ground I

observe closely its shape

  ovate or oblong

       its margins

  toothed or smooth

two or three lobed.  I gaze at the leaf and

skim the guide to find its match – back and

forth, back and forth:

is it a red mulberry or an American sycamore,

        a northern red oak or an American elm?  

Wandering the dirt paths in search

of natural knowledge can be a solitary

enterprise, unless you count the squirrels

and crows, the occasional possum, all

the birds.  I find this solitude addictive,

dangerously appealing, tempting me

to avoid human contact.  I force myself

to fight the seducer and find my way

to the intersection of Townline Road

and Red Arrow Highway, the only corner

in town that bristles with action:

the Country Kitchen, the Pumpernickel

Inn, LaDuke’s Ice Cream and Confections,

the grocery store, the bakery, the auto

repair shop.   The sun shines

hot and bright this morning.  It’s gonna

be a scorcher, the round lady in

the coffee-shop exclaims as I walk

in.  And I am grateful for her words.