Amazing and the Amazon

I may have mentioned a few dozen times that my very husband is on the very Amazon right now, as we virtually speak. I am caught between being proud and telling people in a show off way and thinking WTF, here I am at home perfectly happy and is he the crazy or sane one.  I mean, it's complex.
Since he left I have done a few things. In no particular order.

1. Yesterday I removed cactus thorns from a Western box turtle's face.
I used tweezers and why he didn't pull his head in was a good question.

2. I have watered and kept things alive. This sounds short but takes long.

3. I hugged the major the first time since Joan Logghe Day. He was wearing
a white suit.

4. I watched, with my son, daughter-in-law, and grandkid the procession of 150 folk artists from 54 countries.

5.  I went to a movie with my grandson called Brave.  It was sort of a girl movie but
enough stupid violence to keep him entertained.

6. I got my third pedicure from the Vietnamese poet. That too is complex.

7. I heard Willa Roberts sing Baltic folk songs twice and was as proud as if she
were my own kid.  She did say once that Elaine and I were second mothers.
My first memory has her on a quilt we made, lying on her back, grooving to the music at Laurie's belly dance class. It was love at first sight. Her voice is stunning and she lives in New York.

8. I have sewn at least fifty PoemHolders, made a postcard about them, and been very happy with my new Japanese fabrics.

9. Started a poetry class with a dozen students. It filled so fast I never sent out a call. They are wonderful.

10. Got in touch with the minister who married Mike and me at the "Church of What's Happening Baby" as my brother calls it, or The Glide Memorial Methodist. I found him after seeing the exhibit at the Folk Art, Gamon, art from the Japanese Internment camps.  It brought tears to my eyes and I thought of Lloyd Wake who lived in such a place, Marion, his wife and colleague of mine in 1971, did too. They are alive and in a retirement community in San Francisco. I sent him Twenty Years in Bed (though it has been Forty) and a Poem Holder made especially.

11.  I made 22 jars of Post poet-laureate apricot preserves.

12. I wrote an obituary for Gary Eckard and a poem for Dion, two deaths of the near and dear, and two songs still looking for tunes.

13. Now they have announced Jon Davis of IAIA, Mazel Tov to him.  Please ask me something besides how I am doing as emeritus kicks in, cause I really don't know.

That's plenty.  I feel as if there is nothing to do now that I am Post PL. Oh, I did hear from my high school and then again college boyfriend. He dumped me FIRST, and then I dumped him. We've been sweetly back in touch a little.  I like the internet for it brought me Lloyd Wake, my old boyfriend, my college roommate, and it settles arguments I would be having if Mike were not on the AMAZON!

Wassup? Nothing.

When my son talked on the phone to his friends for many years, he was always doing "nothing".
While I may have had some slight confusion to his Zen teenage stance, the idea of doing nothing has me perplexed.  When I am at home I move non-stop from one thing calling out for attention to another.

I remember one day last summer when I had an open day on the calendar.  There ended up being a death on a nearby pueblo, and since I was connected to the woman from two different directions, I went to the very moving ceremony.  Now, my neighbor's life and death fill many moments and my head, and heart.  It's appropriate, but I have to hope that the empty calendar days, rare and wonderful, are filled with life.

I hope to stay home now, see grandkids on their empty calendar days, and swim a lot.  I have also forgotten how to cook, but last night the dinner for two stretched to six in a blink and was lovely on the back porch. I hope to teach deeply.   Here is such an at home moment. That's me against a wall of Catherine Ferguson's retablos, the largest one of Sophia, goddess of wisdom.

I also have a few upcoming events and I wouldn't be Post-PL, in the endless PL Going Out of Business Sale if not for my postings: 

Breadloaf is a famous summer writing workshop and gathering for teachers who are writers.

I am reading for them at St. John's College and you are invited.  This Thursday, June 21, 7:00 in the cafe.

or what I am calling The Not-So-Great-Hall.  Don't tell them I said so.

It is free and a more serious and literary reading than my last one.

I was on Women's Focus Last Saturday, June 17, KUNM at noon, with Carol Boss. It is archived for two weeks from that date.  Just go to KUNM.org and put in the date and time of day.

I wil also be teaching a one-day workshop  for Word Harvest, Jean Schaumberg and Anne Hillerman's production, on Saturday, July 21 9:00-4:00   call for details  471-1565.  I will explore how the practice of poetry leads into other writing. It will be fun, it's a small obsession of mine.

My upcoming Ghost Ranch class if pretty full, but possible.  It starts June 25th. 

But I am really excited about Ghost Ranch in the fall, Poetry Alchemy,, September 30 -October 6th.   Go to www.ghostranch.org to check it out.

Today is not an empty calendar day, but two hours at San Ildefonso day School is pretty darn lovely.

XX ta ta, I must go harvest the lettuce before it wilts, and before I do. 

Life and Death Post-PL

So the mayor proclaimed June 13, 2012 as Joan Logghe Day in Santa Fe.  It was my last hurrah. I was touched, I was teary, I was clumsy.  I read the city council a poem for children that I wrote. Tom Leech from the Palace of the Governor's Press was there and we distributed copies oft he book he published on letterpress  from last year's poem to the city council.  It is called "April in Santa."

 It was late in the day. I said to myself, as the day was waning, come back, come back Joan Logghe Day.  I was weepy as we went to dinner, almost staggering to ISME cause it was closest and oddly, sushi has become comfort food.  Michael told the waitperson that it was my day and that's why I was sniffling.
After we ate the young man asked why it was my day and I said I was just ending a two year stint as the city poet laureate.  He got a look on his face and I asked if maybe I had come to his school. He nodded his head.  He attended Agua Fria, Alameda, and last year graduated from Santa Fe High.  I was his graduation speaker and he said, yes, he remembered.  His name is Juan. I told him that when I shook the 306 hands at graduation I tried to make a prayer or blessing for each one.  He is a handsome, courteous guy and I thought, see, there is a post-PL life and it is in community.

My first act post-PL was writing an obituary for my neighbor, Gary Eckard. Michael and I met Gary in 1973 when he was building a geodesic dome where he lived with his first wife, where we had belly dance parties, music he played, and were awed by the views of the badlands. He sold us six acres of land in 1976, the place we have lived ever since on the road named Eckards Way, though Gary wanted Dead Thief Lane when the county invited us to name the rural roads.  The obit took two days to write.  I made the wise move to ask a few writer friends their memories of Gary and excellent rewrites were coming in, even as the notice was posted.  Now I am sad I don't live on Dead Thief Lane.

Sad as this was, it gave Monique and me comfort, we had a project, and we shared some laughs.
All during his last days I have been writing song lyrics,  feeding the four horses and Kafka, the dog, and the cat whose name I never got.  Five or six weeks and it's just been "Kitty."

The walking over to feed the animals has been a very meditative thing, and just as Monique is missing, among every other thing, the long drive to the VA Hospital down by the airport, the lack of daily practice of morning feeding feels a bit of a loss.  But the real loss is Gary who lived his musical life here, next door, with a singing voice we all adored, a funky piano style we danced to in the 1970's and were devoted fans wherever he played. That's also why I was weepy in ISME, over my sushi.  Here's one of the songs. Anybody got a tune?
Election Day and Venus transits the Sun

          with thanks to Miriam Sagan

Always vote for Venus,

This ain’t our first rodeo.

little boy at the Ranchitos pool

his mother calling, Romeo Romeo

Sponge Bob bathing suit

Never has the blues looked so cute.

Tell him, Romeo and Venus

will grow up to elope

Election day and this ain’t

our first rodeo.  Our friend at the polls

had 48 weeks of chemo.

The other one lost his hair in a girlie show

Always vote for Venus, you know

it aint our first rodeo.

Everyone’s dying, or else their wrinkles glow

Living below this factory for Pluto

was just where my life lined flowed.

I’m a fool pessimist and an optimist

lying low.  And forget about context

this ain’t our first rodeo.

My neighbor lingers in palliative care.

Three hippies at the ball game shared

the one wheelchair.  My friend in chemo

still has all of his hair. 

This may give him a third chance

I’d follow him to any dance

You know the ballot’s cast for Venus

and this ain’t our last rodeo.

The harmonica and the Jemez are on fire.

The television shows are spitting out liars.

The radio has its Singing Wire.

Fire in the Gila, Tears can put it out

cause this ain’t our first Romeo.

Vote for Venus, cast your glance at fate.

The two of them out on an awkward first date.

Romeo and Venus dance on the blade of a knife.

You’re in the ICU fighting for your life.

Walk on the wild side cause this ain’t our first rodeo.

It’s your movie so you get to dress for the role.

Handlebar mustache on every cowboy you know.

Living on Dead Thief Road, trespassers will implode

cause we’re living for Venus and this aint our first rodeo.

Yes, we’re voting for Venus and it ain’t our last --Romeo.

PL Finale

Haven't posted.  My neighbor, Gary Eckard, has been dying.  So we check in every day and feed the four horses, the other animals and water a little.  Then Dion, my Belizian quasi son, drowned in Hawaii. I mean death is death, we all die.  But still... I have written two songs , anybody got a tune?

Yet, as deep as the sorrows, the joys have been stellar.  Last night the finale reading at Odes & Offerings.

At my first appearance as PL these long two years ago I had the idea to arrive at the Bandstand on the Plaza by pedicab.  So of course, I contacted my pedicab/photographer friend Bob Chavez and he zipped us around, former laureate Valerie Martinez, Girls' School student poet Gabriela, and me.    This was a totally different event, more private, and I was feeling a little deprived that I wouldn't get to hire Bob again. It was part of my vision to make the Poet Laureate visible in a campy and joyful way, to polish up the lamp of poetry and see what genii come out.

So, no pedicab.  Only, only, only, when my friends and I stepped out of the Community Gallery after setting up for the reading, a completely random time of day.  Bob Chavez was there, wide brimmed hat, grin ear to ear.  I choose to believe it was chance and synchronicity and PL magic.  We hopped on and got a ride two uphill blocks to sushi happy hour at ISME.  Here are shots of two years ago contrasted with now,  First I'm happy to see Bob, then I realize the party is sort of over.

There have been two readings connected to Odes & Offerings, half the poets in each one and we got 55 or so in audience which was perfect.  Last night we got double that.  I mean Julia Hudson who let me teach poetry in Chimayo at a mission school was there.  My three friends from the north, Susie Verkamp, Ginger Legato, and Kerby Goforth made me so happy I could levitate.  I think I might have left my body which is why I was pretty clumsy at the reading.




And everybody was there!  At the reading, Leland Guthrie, my soon to be son-in-law playing the digeree doo to welcome.   Hope and Matt, two of my children to help sell merch which is what cool people call their CD's at rock concert.  My merch was PoemHolders, that is potholders with a poem typed in, which has never been called merch before.
Frances McCain was there from Albuquerque and so was Amanda Sutton my publicist, and Even Lisa Enos,now married, grown up, and a different last name, but she was my Celebrate Youth Mentee when she was 12.  We have reconnected a little and seeing here there, well....
And from my work life, Kristin Watson from ArtWorks and Alex Traube from CultureNet Poets-in-the-Schools, and Steve Schwartz who has funded so much through Witter Bynner.  And Bruce and Maureen from Chama, and the towns represented were Chama, Taos, ABQ, Medanales, Velarde, Chimayo, and Santa Fe of course.  Here is me being  happy (see below, happy poet).  I read from 90 pages of work written for the city, gave away eight door prizes, and here I am giving one away.

So,I am left to wonder what this two year stint, reign, tenure, gig has meant to me and to the community.  One never knows, can't speak for others, but in my life, coming in my pre-Medicare
years has been perfect timing. I mean, one could slide down into quietude.  This opportunity and honor has kept me cooking, steeping, and percolating.  I have had a blast and hope some of that blast blew cooling and inspiring winds on others. People were so great last night, I couldn't have felt more appreciation.  And I send it right back out.  I want to go out reflecting the joy, and a little less of my famous worry.  But You can't have it all.  After all the fretful person writes a poem, makes sure there is enough milk and printer ink, and keeps batteries on hand.

This isn't the last post by any means, but since I've been pre-occupied with other things, I wanted to get it out pronto.  After the reading lots of people bought merch, there was cake form the Arts Commission,
and artist carted off most of the artwork. Three pieces sold, and I know of four gifts given. I received a wonderful painting from Kuzana Ogg who I totally fell for and she up and moved.

I am excited for the new Poet Laureate.  I am energized with some new projects in writing and to be sure the book from Odes & Offerings by Sunstone Press happens.  I mean nothing is sure, except this fleeting  and surprising joy.  Between end of PL contract in June and Medicare I have exactly one month.  Michael will be in Peru.  Who knew??

Orchard Readings of James McGrath

I kept meaning to, but I never made it to a reading in James McGrath's orchard.  Since New Mexico Literary Arts, the board of which I have been president for many a year, has given James a Poetry Gratitude Award, and celebrated last week at my house.  There were 24 people here, including five from Taos because SOMOS (Society of the Muse of the Southwest) had gotten the other award. We had  Santa Fe, Albuquerque, El Rito, La Cieneguiella, Chimayo, Taos, and La Puebla all represented.
James was so sweet and so happy, I decided to go hear him read, along with Catherine Ferguson and Katherine Seluga, two friends whose work I admire heartily. Here is the watercolor by Catherine Ferguson that appeared on the invitation card:

I was still recovering from the Super Duper Moon and an even more super duper duper sleepover with my Granddaughter, Kaylee.  But I wended my way to James' orchard and never looked back.  There were over 60 people there, I know because I count.  James has hosted dozens of Orchard Readings.  He has a shed for the chairs and a sheltered and bowered space for the reading, plus snacks, plus a gathering of the lovely poetry crowd, middle school daughter of Katherine to canes in the crowd.  A plethora of years.  White hair never looked better than in this light, under these trees.  I had a lovely day, can report back to the NMLA Board that we indeed  bestowed the honor on the right fellow.  Mid 80's never looked so good or wrote so well as it does on James.  His writing seemed to blend into the natural world.  He not only wrote about that world, he enlivened it by his scene.


I don't have a photo, but there were all these lovers of poetry, in friendship, tucked in under the trees, with the hummers flitting, the words formal and just-springing, a total hour of delight.  As soon as it was over, people didn't linger, though I did.  James' guest bathroom is floor to ceiling poetry books and literary magazines. There were only two extra cars in the lot by the time I left, careful not to mow down the solar collectors.   There is more to say, but I'll let the wind say it.


In my very first appearance as PL I spoke of the many venues for readings, and mentioned orchards. It was the least I could do to visit as many of these venues as I could in these two years. I went to Warehouse 21, Church of Beethoven, Lannan, Poetry at Paul's, The Outpost in ABQ for the Youth Slam Finals, Collected Works too many times to count, and that is just to name a few.


James is off to Ireland in two weeks, his annual jaunt.  I feel that after knowing him for at least twenty years he has come more and more into focus.  Check out the orchard readings, newcomers, and check out the work of all three of these fine poets.

Today, sad

I can't wrap my head around death.  I mean, I am in for it.  Not my own death, but the fact  that I love so many people.  I keep falling for them.  Maybe the people who annoy me are blessings because I will not get so all shook up at their passing.  I am no Dhali Lama.  Yesterday I was typing about the flowers and the Dhali Lama came up only I spelled it Dahlia.  Maybe I am the Dahlia Lama.  Better go plant.


So the reason I grow so sad is that David Lescht died yesterday at 64, an age that has a familiar ring to it.
He organized the Santa Fe Bandstand, free music and a big party on the Plaza all July and August.   He also led a fabulous program called Outside In.  Musicians went into prisons, detention centers, hospitals and nursing homes and raised the roof.  My friend Alicia played accordion in nursing homes and though she's not the greatest singer, the elders got up and danced.  They loved her.  I had to call her in Vermont where she has moved and tell her of David's death.


I also found myself cruising through Cowgirl Hall of Fame where there was a gathering for David.  First cruise, I didn't see anybody I knew.  But second time an hour later, I ran into Abe and Dea and several other plaza dancers, regulars, old hippies, people who loved David.  I didn't know him very well but liked him tremendously, and admired his work.  We both got grants from Bread for the Journey one year, he let me ride into the plaza on a pedicab and bring a giant pencil and two other poets to perform, we talked in Trader Joe's. So, though only an acquaintance I am very sad.  There should be different words for how well  and how we know people.  Friend, Lover, family, aren't enough.  What about celebrities we love, artist who shake our world, people we only know when standing up and conversing in grocery stores,  people we like more than they like us, out to lunch friends (that doesn't come out right), come over to the house friends, sleepover friends, friends who are like family because you can't get rid of them but might not have chosen them if you had it to do again friends, and best friends who you haven't spoken to in years but you let them keep that status.


Maybe after the PL is over I can make names for each category of friendship and be a real poet, and change the English Language.  Now I am just left with a passel of occasional poems to wrestle down.


David Lescht, may he rest in rock and roll peace, bearded and beautiful, let the good times sadly roll.
May his programs live on.

Getting Behind

I am getting behind.  Every day has been predictable full.  Shall I break them into bite sized poetic pieces, or shall I just go bonkers on one.  My blog seems to now have 39 followers which is thirty more than I boast about.  I am  no Mark Zuckerberg.  Many days I am no Joan Logghe.  But some days I am.

Last week was a biggie and I feel relieved it is over.  My car is in the shop getting new brakes.  Think metaphorically you 39 readers.  I, of course, originally wrote "new breaks" and maybe I need a break.

Countdown in My PL life included:

Saturday: Workshop for a group of psychotherapists and Dolores McCarthy. It turns out to be more fun than I thought.  When I read a poem and leave out one part (for length) the man asks, "And what did you leave out?"

Sunday, reading at high Mayhem Studio, the name says it all.  My kids and grandkids showed up looking stunning and surprised me.

Monday: Something happened, I am sure of it, but I forget what.

Tuesday:  Joan and the Giant Pencil" with Jeremy, see the poems written below.  I love the one about Mexico.

Wednesday: Tres Chicas Meeting to discuss vision for the press

Thursday: I recuse myself from PL committee since my friends are being considered.

Friday: Reading with Arthus Sze and Valerie Martinez, "Just Words Away," at the NM History Museum.

Saturday: Four hour workshop at Odes & Offerings.  

Sunday: New Mexico Literary Arts Poetry Gratitude Award at our house. 24 people.  Whew.

That was one fun week.  Siting on the porch I realize that I am in poetry heaven.  Now I am relieved to be back on earth. 

I just looked at my contract and I am technically ON until end of June.  Hmm, who is waiting in the wings to tote this barge, lift this pencil?

Here are the poems from Turquoise Train, Jeff Davis' fifth grade:

From: Joan Logghe [mailto:joanlogghe@gmail.com]
Sent: Monday, April 30, 2012 7:22 AM
To: JEFFREY DAVIS
Subject: Re: poems

You are so sweet to say this and to take times to type in the kids' work.

Do you think I can print on my blog and then on facebook?  I don't have last names,but don't want to

take advantage of these sweet guys.

Otherwise I will just put them in my personal scrapbook.  The poems are lovely.  I can see a little booklet of their work.

Thank you for being such a great teacher..... JL

On Mon, Apr 30, 2012 at 6:43 AM, JEFFREY DAVIS 

HI Joan

Here are the poems from that day you were in my class.

Thanks again for coming.  The kids really liked the show and the activity

You have been a GREAT PL!

You have raised the bar.

I hope subsequent PLs can measure up J

Jd

I…

I will wake up at midnight and go to my dad’s house …

Go outside and sit …

Sit with him on the steps.

The steps feel bumpy like a small rock.

The air…

Air smells like smores.  When I look around the house, it makes me feel safe …

Safe like you’re all by yourself in a warm room.

When I am on the stops with my dad,

It reminds  when I was little.

When we would sit on the s tops and he would sing to me.

I felt like I’m loved.

I’m loved.

I miss my dad …

I’m gonna go to my dad pretty soon.

I will be missed by my dad.

Dad …

Angelica

Indiana is my special place

Because it is where my grandpa is

And were mosquitoes and tree frogs grow.

Nathan

Love

Love, love dreams about becoming a wish.

Love wants to fly and be something that might come true,

Someday …

Someday love will have the power to be both.

Love…

Love is like a wish.

Love dreams to be a child’s wish that might come true.

How do you think about love dreaming to be a wish?

Someday his wish will come true

Angel

Truchas

The best part of New Mexico.

I see pheasant s fly over me.

I see mallards and wild turkey racing to the pond

Oh I can’t wait to go back

I wish I lived there

My dogs splashing across the pond

Oh how I wish for Truchas

Justin

My house inspires me because it has a lot of insects, dogs, trees, and wide open space.

The reason my house inspires me is because it is always calm outside

So I can write my poems.

I normally write about two poems every day

I go outside.

Fabian

What do clouds dream of?

Do they dream of playing in the sun?

Do they dream of being a human?

Do they dream of being red?

Oh, what do clouds dream of?

Fabian

Mountains

My special place is the mountains.

It is quiet

I listen to the animals

I love the wind in my hair

The water with the fishes

The rock going down the mountains

My mom comes to get me

I say good bye.

Justine

Dreams

I wonder if toys dream of kids

Playing with them.

Do trees dream of water every day?

Do ear rings wonder when

And where

They are going to be worn?

Does batman wonder why he is a super hero?

Do computers know when they are going to be used?

Stormie

I will arise and go now to Mexico.

I hear horses gallop

I hear chickens chirping

The bell of church rings

I see kids playing and running

Women making dinner

Husbands riding horses

The stores are closing

Kids ask parents for corimas to get ice cream

Elder men getting out of church.

I see my family relaxing

Oh how I love Mexico

I see lights go out in Arasichi

The sun sets while

The mountains cover it.

I like my horse outside

The wind blows my hair different directions.

I smell nothing but plants

I see people eating dinner

I close my eyes and think,

Oh Mexico,

How I love you

I open my eyes,

I’m on my bed

Laying down

It was only a dream.

I can’t wait to go back home to Mexico.

Amber

The forest things

I will go to the depths of the woods

The little birds will sing

The bears will try to climb all the trees

Wolves will howl

When the moon is full

And just listen to their moans will make you fear the night.

Izabella

Dreams of words

Words dream of being said

They want to be repeated

Over and over again

Wanting to be written on lined paper

Or be the name of a painting

The words dream day and night

For they are soon to be spoken.

Izabella

I will arise and go now

And go to Iowa

And see all the beautiful trees

And my only great grandma.

Others, I miss them all

So much I wish I was there now

I bet they miss me

I hardly ever see them

My other great grandparents watch over me

I miss them all.

Alena

Water dreams of being drunk

Swum in

Used to wash things

Used to keep fires away

Water dreams of being scared

Alena

I will go to Las Vegas, Nevada

To see all the lights

And casinos

I love  to go and just walk around

Go to all kinds of stores

Sleep in a nice hotel

See the sunset and

See the sunrise

The sky will be all kinds of colors

Like neon blue, neon pink, neon purple, neon green, neon orange

My car will be the same colors of the sky

The seats will be leather

With all the colors of the sky

My wells will be the same color – everything in my car will be the color of the kiy I will have to be rich

If I wanted that kind of car

Oh yeah, I want a camaro

I would love to go to different states

I would travel to all 49 states

That would my life and I would take my family and friends.

Makayla

Jeff Davis

Teacher, Turquoise Trail Charter School

Fellow, Yale National Initiative, 2007 - 2010

TTCS, 13A San Marcos Loop

Santa Fe,  NM  87508