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***This is the eighty-first, eight-second, and eighty-third in a never-ending series called BACKSTORY
OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one
specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem. All BACKSTORY
OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece.
Below: Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen in December of 2018. Attribution granted by Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen for this CRC Blog Post.
Below: Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen in December of 2018. Attribution granted by Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen for this CRC Blog Post.
“Little Political Sense”
by Dr. Lindsey Martin-Brown
First, I reflected upon an event that had occurred
two years before when I had tried to help a university reference librarian keep
her position in the library. (Some administrative edict had wiped out all but
two of the six-member, professional reference librarian staff. 
A veteran friend
thought I should put together a chapbook of my “Christian” poems, including
this one. So Second Touch was born.
He paid to publish it. About 200 copies went overseas to servicemen. It
included the fish sign on the cover to let potential Christian readers know
what the book contained. I sold remaining copies to teaching colleagues and
other friends.
What do you want readers of this poem to take
from this poem? How Jesus Christ’s life
and actions apply to many events each of us encounter today. I saw parallels in
the hypocrisy surrounding the treatment of a university librarian and the scene
of hypocrites who turned the Jerusalem Temple, in the words of Jesus, “into a
den of thieves.”
LITTLE POLITICAL SENSE
Zebar
says you have little political sense.
He
grumbled with other Sanhedrin scribes
in
the Temple. Its pillars tremble when you whirl in,
overturn
tables, upset cages, and let loose doves—
they
spread wings and flock to altars. You squint at them
and
your heart breaks open. Its two halves become dove wings
spread
out in a sacrifice. And you don’t adhere
to
politics when you heal a blind man on the Sabbath.
His
hands quiver as his eyes fill with water.
I,
too, have little political sense
when
I watch the Humane University dismiss
a
spinster librarian who served there fifteen years.
The
supervisor drove her mad—harped at her
like
a magpie pecking eggs in a dove’s next. She can’t
remember
which day is which. She blinks dovelike
eyes.
“They’re trying to fire me,” she repeats, clutches
her
walking papers. Her void voice spooks me. I squeeze
her
fingers and later try to reason with her supervisor.
But
my words rebound from the speech she draws
with
Roman numerals. “Not doing her job,” she argues,
her
eyelids taut as steel. Her teeth glow like iridescent glass.
I
shake my head. “Not so,” I try to say, but she’s gone on
to
Roman Numeral II. I nearly choke on her Channel No. 5
and
chew my lower lip. Her numerals stand like the pillars
in
the Sanhedrin Temple, where you once preached love
of
God and man. They will not bend. So I check out
of
the library and brush the dust from my sandals.
And
you exit the Temple, lug wood beams on your back.
Last spring, both
Emporia State University’s literary journal, The Flint Hills Review and Johnston County Community College’s
literary journal, Mind’s Eye,
interviewed her and ran some of her poems. The
Flint Hills Review also reviewed Where
Water Meets the Rock in an in-depth, positive review by Student Editor
Camille Abdel-Jawad. 
#82 Backstory
of the Poem“Crossing Kansas With Jim Morrison” by Dr. Lindsey Martin Brown
Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the
moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? First, I started with the idea—then described an insect on
the windshield and the landscape around us as we moved through Kansas.
I worked
the images together to try to make both art and sense. Once I pared down this
poem, playing The Doors music
(especially “Riders on the Storm”) helped me to set up each poem’s rhythm.
“Riders on the Storm” also helped me build confidence that these poems would
work.
Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? And please describe the place in great
detail.
The image of a bug on a
windshield during one of Carl and my trips to Colorado—plus a dream I
experienced, inspired this poem in the summer of either 2010 or 2011. I jotted
notes about the insect’s wings in my journal. Black and yellow striped, those
wings made the bug look much like a Navajo dancer.
(At the time, we were crossing western Kansas—where often mauve fields roll on and on.)
The image of a bug on a
windshield during one of Carl and my trips to Colorado—plus a dream I
experienced, inspired this poem in the summer of either 2010 or 2011. I jotted
notes about the insect’s wings in my journal. Black and yellow striped, those
wings made the bug look much like a Navajo dancer.(At the time, we were crossing western Kansas—where often mauve fields roll on and on.)
2010 or 2011.
How
many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you
share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) About a million. J
Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version? And can you share them with us? Although I don’t recall the exact words, I remember I went into intense detail (ad nauseam) about an insect on the windshield, describing its wings and comparing it to an Indian warrior. Later, that image became “wings of bugs fried by the sun,” which better works with—rather than detracts from the poem.
I worked on this poem intermittently for about five years. Once it was “right,”
it was like popping a cork on a bottle of fermented wine: Several Morrison
poems followed, flying out quickly, requiring only “tweaks.” Within six months,
I wrote the book for which this is the title poem. In fewer than six months, I
collected 30 to 36 Morrison poems into a chapbook that came in as a finalist in
a national contest. The day after I received that news, I
learned two different literary magazines wanted four poems from the collection.
And Jim Morrison still pops up in many more poems I write today. Within a year
or so, I may submit an expanded version of CROSSING
KANSAS with Jim Morrison, so far my most popular collection.
Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version? And can you share them with us? Although I don’t recall the exact words, I remember I went into intense detail (ad nauseam) about an insect on the windshield, describing its wings and comparing it to an Indian warrior. Later, that image became “wings of bugs fried by the sun,” which better works with—rather than detracts from the poem.
Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? Because this initial Jim Morrison poem set up the
ones that follow (in the collection), it was mostly imaginative.
Throughout
this collection, I strived to evoke emotions in readers. My emotions came from
playing certain Doors songs (and singing them) while writing these poems. The
Morrison poems were more about evoking emotions in readers rather than release
me from emotions.
Throughout
this collection, I strived to evoke emotions in readers. My emotions came from
playing certain Doors songs (and singing them) while writing these poems. The
Morrison poems were more about evoking emotions in readers rather than release
me from emotions.
Has
this poem been published before? And if
so where? (1) Thorny Locust 22.1,
2016); (2) CROSSING KANSAS with Jim Morrison (Paladin Contemporaries 2016).
CROSSING KANSAS WITH JIM
MORRISON
Black
Angus calves and ghost-faced cows
cluster
beside a barbed-wire fence.
It
stretches across plains like some snake
slithering
to the End—
And again, Jim sings from the dash,
“When
the Music’s Over.” I ask
“Why
so young? Why couldn’t you stay alive?
You
moan about the Navajos you saw bleeding
in
a wreck on an Arizona highway
and
recall the Shaman spirit who entered you,
made
you dance on stage like a renegade
without
a tribe—without a spot to call home.”
I
smell alfalfa and hard-winter wheat
as
we roll on and on, past mauve grasses.
On
the windshield, wings of bugs
fried
by the sun become yellow
triangles,
pictures in sand etching
short
lives that fade into dust.
Then
Jim floats out of the radio
and
crawls into the passenger’s seat.
Clouds
roil into “Riders on the Storm.”
The
Shaman from his last gig pulses
through
his chest again. He twitches—
a
lizard now under an incinerating sun.
“The Land of Sky Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey Martin Brown
Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the
moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? The
kernel for this one was set by emotional attachment to an image from childhood
that kept returning to me.
I wrote sensual description
after description to create that powerful attachment in readers. But they
failed to recreate that sense of awe and desire I wanted the reader to feel. So
I created a short scene with characters.
Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? And please describe the place in great
detail. This poem germinated when I was a young child watching
television at home—
at least, that’s when the imagery of northern, pine-covered,
U.S. mountains and clear lakes—together with tom-tom sounds—engaged my
imagination. During this pre-school era, I didn’t know I was a writer. Still,
that image broke into and lodged in my brain for years.
at least, that’s when the imagery of northern, pine-covered,
U.S. mountains and clear lakes—together with tom-tom sounds—engaged my
imagination. During this pre-school era, I didn’t know I was a writer. Still,
that image broke into and lodged in my brain for years.
How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And
can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) Another
“million drafts” J (Seriously, I lost track on these last two.
They were
poems I sense must happen—and just couldn’t give up. Nevertheless, unlike many
poems that have come to me requiring little or no revisions, I had to
repeatedly chisel these two. I set them aside many times.) Were
there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the
final version? And can you share them
with us? When I was a child and saw that bear paddling a canoe on
Hamms beer TV commercials, its sounds of toms-toms beating and images of open,
sunny skies, mountains, and clear rivers sent me to a special place, a place I
wanted to share with readers.
It was somewhat like Heaven in the sense it was beyond this world—albeit composed of earthly images—perhaps more like the Elysian Fields (Below), a peaceful wilderness. The challenge was turning this abstract idea into something concrete that would “hook” readers and keep them engaged with the work. At any rate, to make it work, I changed my approach about trying to recreate my experience with the new opening, “Forget about the bear paddling/a canoe through neon waves”/ and made up the image of a couple sharing drinks in a corner. I also decided my “voice/persona” would be the barmaid waiting on the couple.
Adding this created a tone that freed my persona to be upfront
about her motive. (And then, I included two James Wright (Below) images of “a hammock
and chicken hawks,” which gave the poem more “life.”)
They were
poems I sense must happen—and just couldn’t give up. Nevertheless, unlike many
poems that have come to me requiring little or no revisions, I had to
repeatedly chisel these two. I set them aside many times.) Were
there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the
final version? And can you share them
with us? When I was a child and saw that bear paddling a canoe on
Hamms beer TV commercials, its sounds of toms-toms beating and images of open,
sunny skies, mountains, and clear rivers sent me to a special place, a place I
wanted to share with readers. 
It was somewhat like Heaven in the sense it was beyond this world—albeit composed of earthly images—perhaps more like the Elysian Fields (Below), a peaceful wilderness. The challenge was turning this abstract idea into something concrete that would “hook” readers and keep them engaged with the work. At any rate, to make it work, I changed my approach about trying to recreate my experience with the new opening, “Forget about the bear paddling/a canoe through neon waves”/ and made up the image of a couple sharing drinks in a corner. I also decided my “voice/persona” would be the barmaid waiting on the couple.
Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? Of
the three poems, this one was most emotion-centered. Why?
This sense of wonder and bliss was extreme difficult to convey. In lieu of a
dramatic emotion, such as fear or eros love,
this emotion was a tranquil one—one of wonder and perhaps nostalgia.
This sense of wonder and bliss was extreme difficult to convey. In lieu of a
dramatic emotion, such as fear or eros love,
this emotion was a tranquil one—one of wonder and perhaps nostalgia.
Has this poem been published before?
And if so where? (1) Thorny Locust 19.2, 2013); (2) Where Water Meets the Rock (39 West Press 2017).
THE LAND OF SKY BLUE
WATERS
with apologies to James Wright
with apologies to James Wright
Forget
about the bear paddling
a canoe through neon waves
in this dark bar at the edge of Troost.
A couple huddles in a corner.
Maybe half-drunk, she rests her head
on his shoulder. He kisses her crown
but eyes her breasts.
I try to ignore those two
so I can tell you about a lake,
the sounds of tom-toms,
water rushing over a cliff,
and twilight shadows filling the sky,
about a place far from plastic cups,
cell phones, and freeways.
I want to lie in a hammock there,
hide out from this bar,
where I serve rounds
of gin for men, sweaty
and stinking of tar. I want
to lie under a pine, watch
chicken hawks glide
and squawk at each other.
They fly from their roosts
and soar. Here, waves
keep turning against themselves.
They form a maze
of muddy water: a creek
a canoe through neon waves
in this dark bar at the edge of Troost.
A couple huddles in a corner.
Maybe half-drunk, she rests her head
on his shoulder. He kisses her crown
but eyes her breasts.
I try to ignore those two
so I can tell you about a lake,
the sounds of tom-toms,
water rushing over a cliff,
and twilight shadows filling the sky,
about a place far from plastic cups,
cell phones, and freeways.
I want to lie in a hammock there,
hide out from this bar,
where I serve rounds
of gin for men, sweaty
and stinking of tar. I want
to lie under a pine, watch
chicken hawks glide
and squawk at each other.
They fly from their roosts
and soar. Here, waves
keep turning against themselves.
They form a maze
of muddy water: a creek
running
dark green, brown, gray.
BACKSTORY OF THE POEM
LINKS
001 December 29, 2017
Margo
Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”
002 January 08, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake
Café”
003 January 12, 2018
Barbara
Crooker’s “Orange”
004 January 22, 2018
Sonia
Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”
005 January 29, 2018
Ellen
Foos’s “Side Yard”
006 February 03, 2018
Susan
Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”
007 February 09, 2018
Leslea
Newman’s “That Night”
008 February 17, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”
009 February 24, 2018
Charles
Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”
010 March 03, 2018
Scott
Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”
011 March 10, 2018
Anya
Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”
012 March 17, 2018
Angela
Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”
013 March 24, 2018
Jan
Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”
014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim
Honjo’s “Colors”
015 April 14, 2018
Marilyn
Kallett’s “Ode to Disappointment”
016 April 27, 2018
Beth
Copeland’s “Reliquary”
017 May 12, 2018
Marlon
L Fick’s “The Swallows of Barcelona”
018 May 25, 2018
Juliet
Cook’s “ARTERIAL DISCOMBOBULATION”
019 June 09, 2018
Alexis
Rhone Fancher’s “Stiletto Killer. . . A Surmise”
020 June 16, 2018
Charles
Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”
021 July 05, 2018
Marla
Shaw O’Neill’s “Wind Chimes”
022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s
“Studying Ariel”
023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus
Zombie”
024 July 27, 2018
Telaina Eriksen’s “Brag
2016”
025 August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s “It is only
Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”
026 August 07, 2018
David Herrle’s “Devil In
the Details”
027 August 13, 2018
Gloria Mindock’s “Carmen
Polo, Lady Necklaces, 2017”
028 August 21, 2018
Connie Post’s “Two
Deaths”
029 August 30, 2018
Mary Harwell Sayler’s
“Faces in a Crowd”
030 September 16, 2018
Larry Jaffe’s “The
Risking Point”
031 September 24,
2018
Mark Lee Webb’s “After
We Drove”
032 October 04, 2018
Melissa Studdard’s
“Astral”
033 October 13, 2018
Robert Craven’s “I Have
A Bass Guitar Called Vanessa”
034 October 17, 2018
David Sullivan’s “Paper Mache
Peaches of Heaven”
035 October 23, 2018
Timothy Gager’s
“Sobriety”
036 October 30, 2018
Gary Glauber’s “The
Second Breakfast”
037 November 04, 2018
Heather Forbes-McKeon’s
“Melania’s Deaf Tone Jacket”
038 November 11, 2018
Andrena Zawinski’s
“Women of the Fields”
039 November 00, 2018
Gordon Hilger’s “Poe”
040 November 16, 2018
Rita Quillen’s “My
Children Question Me About Poetry” and “Deathbed Dreams”
041 November 20, 2018
Jonathan Kevin Rice’s
“Dog Sitting”
042 November 22, 2018
Haroldo Barbosa Filho’s
“Mountain”
043 November 27, 2018
Megan Merchant’s “Grief Flowers”
044 November 30, 2018
Jonathan P Taylor’s
“This poem is too neat”
045 December 03, 2018
Ian Haight’s “Sungmyo
for our Dead Father-in-Law”
046 December 06, 2018
Nancy Dafoe’s “Poem in
the Throat”
047 December 11, 2018
Jeffrey Pearson’s “Memorial
Day”
048 December 14, 2018
Frank Paino’s “Laika”
049 December 15, 2018
Jennifer Martelli’s
“Anniversary”
O50 December 19, 2018
Joseph Ross’s “For Gilberto Ramos, 15, Who Died in
the Texas Desert, June 2014”
051 December 23, 2018
“The Persistence of
Music”
by Anatoly Molotkov
052 December 27, 2018
“Under Surveillance”
by Michael Farry
053 December 28, 2018
“Grand Finale”
by Renuka Raghavan
054 December 29, 2018
“Aftermath”
by Gene Barry
055 January 2, 2019
“&”
by Larissa Shmailo
056 January 7, 2019
“The Seamstress:
by Len Kuntz
057 January 10, 2019
"Natural History"
by Camille T Dungy
058 January 11, 2019
“BLOCKADE”
by Brian Burmeister
059 January 12, 2019
“Lost”
by Clint Margrave
060 January 14, 2019
“Menopause”
by Pat Durmon
061 January 19, 2019
“Neptune’s Choir”
by Linda Imbler
062 January 22, 2019
“Views From the
Driveway”
by Amy Barone
063 January 25, 2019
“The heron leaves her
haunts in the marsh”
by Gail Wronsky
064 January 30, 2019
“Shiprock”
by Terry Lucas
065 February 02, 2019
“Summer 1970, The
University of Virginia Opens to Women in the Fall”
by Alarie Tennille
066 February 05, 2019
“At School They Learn
Nouns”
by Patrick Bizzaro
067 February 06, 2019
“I Must Not Breathe”
by Angela Jackson-Brown
068 February 11, 2019
“Lunch on City Island,
Early June”
by Christine Potter
069 February 12, 2019
“Singing”
by Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum
070 February 14, 2019
“Daily Commute”
by Christopher P. Locke
071 February 18, 2019
“How Silent The Trees”
by Wyn Cooper
072 February 20, 2019
“A New Psalm
of Montreal”
by Sheenagh Pugh
073 February 23, 2019
“Make Me A
Butterfly”
by Amy Barbera
074 February 26, 2019
“Anthem”
by Sandy Coomer
075 March 4, 2019
“Shape of a Violin”
by Kelly Powell
076 March 5, 2019
“Inward Oracle”
by J.P. Dancing Bear
077 March 7, 2019
“I Broke
My Bust Of Jesus”
by Susan Sundwall
078 March 9, 2019
“My Mother
at 19”
by John Guzlowski
079 March 10, 2019
“Paddling”
by Chera Hammons Miller
080 March 12, 2019
“Of Water
and Echo”
by Gillian Cummings
081 082
083 March 14, 2019
“Little Political Sense” “Crossing Kansas with Jim
Morrison” “The Land of Sky and Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen
https://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2019/03/81-82-and-83-backstory-of-poems-by-dr.html
“Little Political Sense” “Crossing Kansas with Jim
Morrison” “The Land of Sky and Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen
https://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2019/03/81-82-and-83-backstory-of-poems-by-dr.html
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