Self-Expression at 85

I’m posting this to submit to this month’s IndieWeb Carnival, which, this month, focuses on “self-expression.”

For the past 24 years, I have been posting on my blog at kalilily.net. These days, at age 85, I am “just an old lady talking to herself” because “when I talk to myself, I tell the truth.” And when I blog, I assert my small existence in the context of an increasingly complex and expanding world.

I began blogging in 2001, when the parameters of my life shrunk to encompass my life as a live-in-caregiver for my mother, who had severe dementia. As my social life diminished in response to her needs, I followed the lead of my son, now blogging at bix.blog, whose presence on the internet introduced me to the leading personal bloggers of the time.

I am a published poet, and my blog gave me the opportunity to share my poetry, as well as to comment on whatever personal or larger issues motivated me to want express my perspectives.

My blog became my online journal, as I chronicled my explorations in using medical marijuana and documented the five days at my mother’s bedside waiting for her to take her last breath.

My blog is the one place I am free to express my opinions, share my experiences, and document major episodes in my life’s journey. Now, at age 85, my outlets for self expression are severely limited. I no longer ballroom dance, which, at one point in my younger years was my main outlet for self expression — along with occasional public readings of my poetry.

Because I was one of the early personal bloggers, I was invited, and I attended, the first Blog Conference at Harvard. Subsequently, I was interviewed by several major newspapers that were chronicling the emergence of blogging communities. All of this helped to reassure me that expressing myself publicly was a worthwhile pursuit.

While my physical world has shrunk, my need to write and assert my existence in this fragile world has not. And so I continue blogging, even if I am only talking to myself.

three poems about things

I am unpacking some older poems and sprucing them up.

ODE TO OPAL
The opal, they say,
is partly water,
softer than crystal
(though not as clear),
smoother than pearl
(though not as soft),
as fragile as a heart
nearly mended.
Break it and it bleeds —
scattering light
like dreams at dawn.

The opal, the say,
attracts joy, love,
creative spirits
that fire the heart,
sends from its center
the magic of all other stones,
– an irresistible call
to iridescence.

ARTIFACT
There once was a point
to this old lantern
that now only reflects
what light slips through
somber drawn drapes
Once it had a purpose in
repelling night’s dark hand.
Its flickerings lit dim stairwells,
dispelled the haunts of nightmares,
revealed vague truths locked
within shadowy eyes.
Useless in lonely oblivion,
it waits for storms
that devour the sky
and send the world
into frightful corners
of unexpected night.

STILL LIFE WITH LUNCH
I indulge my tongue with baguette and brie
and contemplate a miniature collection
of my life’s best metaphors,
captured in small wooden squares
framed, off-center, in an expanse of
off-white kitchen wall–
spiny shells and chunks of stone
bought or stolen from gritty beaches
and hallowed hillsides;
two miniature totem poles,
stacks of toothy masks eternally
divining and defying;
a ceramic face of serene Kwan Yin,
graceful hands open in eternal
maternal blessing;
a pious, pewter St. Anthony,
haloed, holding the sad Child, and
on the lookout for misplaced keys;
a feather, probably a duck’s
because the wild turkey’s didn’t fit,
and every altar needs a feather;
a brass double dorje, the mate
to the Tibetan bell I ring
in moments of turning
toward thoughts of a frameless future;
and, finally, a crumbling wine bottle cork
on which is printed,
in balky blue ballpoint:
CONUNDRUM.

The Last of the 60s Singer/Songwriters

Having just seen the Bob Dylan move, A Complete Unknown, I am thinking about all of the great singer/songwriters that came out of the 60s and 70s. Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Kris Kristofferson, Joan Baez, Donovan, Judy Collins… I can go on and on.

Their lyrics were poetry, and they sang them so that we could clearly hear and understand the passion and authenticity behind the words.

I get it that Rap can also be poetry, but it is delivered in a cadence and speed that too often blurs the meaning of some very powerful words and emotions.

Taylor Swift is just about the best contemporary singer/songwriter, and I get why she is so popular. But, again, her lyrics often take second place to the sounds of the instrumentalization, the beat of this generation.

My favorite contemporary singer/songwriter is Don McClean. His song, “Vincent” is pure poetry in both words and delivery.

But my favorite work by a singer/songwriter of 60s, who is still alive, is this one written by Joni Mitchell and sung by Judy Collins.

Both Sides Now
Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I looked at clouds that way
But now they only block the sun
They rain and they snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way that you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way
But now it’s just another show
And you leave ’em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away
I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions that I recall
I really don’t know love
I really don’t know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say, “I love you, ” right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way
Oh, but now old friends, they’re acting strange
And they shake their heads and say I’ve changed
Well, something’s lost, but something’s gained
In living every day
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all
It’s life’s illusions that I recall
I really don’t know life
I really don’t know life at all