Saturday, April 20, 2019

#99 Backstory of the Poem "Mermaid, 1969" by Tameca L. Coleman



*The images in this specific piece are granted copyright privilege by:  Public Domain, CCSAL, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law, or given copyright privilege by the copyright holder which is identified beneath the individual photo.

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*** The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished poets for BACKSTORY OF THE POEM series.  Contact CRC Blog via email at caccoop@aol.com or personal Facebook messaging at https://www.facebook.com/car.cooper.7

***This is the ninety-ninth 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. 

****All images are given copyright permission granted by Tameca Coleman for this CRC Blog Post only unless otherwise noted.

Below Left:  Title Photo - Tameca L, Coleman in March of 2019


#099 Backstory of the Poem
“Mermaid, 1969”
by Tameca L Coleman

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? This particular poem actually started as an interview. I was creating a long essay for an auto/biographical course during my undergraduate studies at Metro State College of Denver (now MSU).




        I had chosen to write about my mother’s and grandparents’ time in Okinawa, Japan during the Vietnam War where my grandfather was stationed at Kadena Air Force Base because it was always a story I wanted to know more about.
              
   
  I remember this project being particularly challenging, despite my initial excitement. I had planned to interview both my grandparents, my mother and also my Aunt about their time there. But interviews proved challenging.
     I started with my grandmother who told me never to ask my grandfather about this time. Grandma was fiercely protective, and even said that I should just go ahead and make some things up. She told me a few things, like how her, my mother and aunt used to drive to the coast to look for seashells and watch the sun set, and how everything was so green. She told me about the market, and taking all the classes she could to pass the time, how the air force paid to have the family pack up their whole life and move it overseas, and how the appliances didn’t work because the plugs were different than in the US, and how this rendered their American appliances useless.






       But, when it came to my grandfather’s part of the story, Grandma explicitly told me that if I ever asked about that time, I ran the risk of sending him into an emotional tailspin because his experience was truly horrible, and to boot, he carried a lot of guilt in regards to the role he helped play out during that war.
      I did some research with what time I had, and learned about some of the terrible things America did. I also learned about how a group of angry locals who were so fed up with American presence that they even threw Molotov cocktails (Below)  at the school buses headed towards military bases. My grandmother told me about that specifically, and how school on the base was cancelled for long periods of time because of such scares. I did my best to weave all of these findings into my biographical account.

      Despite being frustrated, I went to my mother next. I asked her about her time there, and she told me it was one of the most wonderful times in her life because of the beauty and feeling of freedom she felt. It didn’t seem like Mom was aware of what was going on at the time. She was a young kid, after all. My mother had friends she enjoyed spending time with (and getting in trouble with), and Mom relates that there was nothing but beauty surrounding their home. Aside from the war, they lived in paradise.

      I struggled with the final essay, but I had to turn it in. It is still a work I am not proud of, and also a work I would like to review to see if there is anything else I can salvage from it, perhaps mine more.
      I never thought I would look at that biographical piece again, but the next semester, in one of my undergraduate poetry classes, I pulled the essay out of its box of papers. 
     In my mind, there was so much irony in the fact that for my mother, this was one of the very best times of her life, and for almost everyone else involved, it was a time of stress because of the known dangers connected with the war. This point of irony became an anchor for me as I revisited the pages. I pulled out my mother’s account surrounding one moment, the visioning of this mermaid on the rock, and added enough background details to set readers in place. I tried to keep as much of my mother’s innocence during those times intact, and also remembering road trips we had taken when I was young, my brothers, parents and myself with my grandparents. I researched what I needed to. For example, were there starfish and conk shells on the Vietnam beach? 

      I often feel badly for treating the account with the imposition of this irony. But somehow, this is also one of the poems I am, even at this point, after having created a lot more work, feel the most proud. It is the very first poem I’ve published that feels like a co-written poem. To date, I have written two such poems with my mother’s voice, and I hope to write some more because many of her stories are stories that should be told. I hope that my want to create more of these kinds of poems is not an imposition on my mother’s voice, but an amplification of it. I also hope that in sharing these stories and amplifying them, it can draw us closer.

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? And please describe the place in great detail. It is possible that I was living with a then partner who allowed me to go to school and not have to work. It is also possible that I had moved out after our pretty bad breakup into my own apartment which had one bedroom, a small patio, and a big “B” on the sides of the building. It is possible that I wrote the poem in all of these places. During this time, I was moving around Denver a lot, so it’s difficult to recall a specific place. The anchor in any case is Metropolitan State College of Denver whose writing professors, specifically Sandra Maresh Doe and Renee Ruderman, helped me with prompts to make this poem happen. I was in and out of writing workshops, receiving mentorship from these very influential professors, and also receiving feedback from some mediocre to super intelligent and helpful peer readers.

What month and year did you start writing this poem? I finished my undergrad in 2009, so I started writing this poem sometime before that. I published this poem for the first time in 2009 under the title of “Mermaid.” In subsequent publications, I retitled the poem “Mermaid, 1969” because readers mistook the poem as my own story on more than one occasion. I have published this poem more than any other poem so far. (Left:  Tameca in May of 2009) 



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?) At the moment, my office is akin to an anti-room that has a path in it that leads to my writing desk. There are boxes strewn all over, some of them pulled apart and most of them stacked. I’ve lived in this apartment for one and half years working on some manuscripts, grad school, and the past many moves have shuffled around my school papers so much it is difficult to find specific drafts right now. So, while working, I turn my back on the mess. I hope to at some point soon have a much better handle on knowing where these papers are, organizing them into folders so that I can keep some kind of track of myself. However, for now, these documents are unavailable.

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? I am unfortunately unable to find either the physical or digital copies of the essay I wrote at this time. But I can say this: “Mermaid, 1969” is a page in comparison to the 20-30 pages I began with for the biographical account.

What do you want readers of this poem to take from this poem?I’m weary of putting voice to things like this because I feel that once I publish a piece of writing, in a certain way, it is no longer mine. Each reader comes to the work with their own experiences and understandings. In a sense, though I have written it (or in this case, somewhat co-written it), the work is rewritten with each new set of eyes because of however a reader comes to it. Further, if I need to explain myself too much, maybe I haven’t done the job of writing whatever it is well. I like hearing from readers and do not necessarily like to impose on them any specific thing they should take out of a work. 


Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? I still feel guilt in having written this poem the way that I have. In some ways, I feel that I have stolen someone’s story that isn’t mine—namely, my mother’s. I’ve imposed my own sense of irony, and also published this piece of work as mine. I also feel sadness because I don’t know many of my family’s stories. When I began researching and writing this biographical project, I was excited to learn more about my family, but I so many times found myself against deep holes and dead ends in the text. 
Many of these stories have died with my grandmother, and will most likely sift into the ground when my grandfather is also gone. I feel deep sadness about this because in some ways these stories, even if they were horrible, could teach me something about where my family has been, and perhaps also who we are, who I am.

Has this poem been published before? And if so where? The poem was published a few different places, including Pirene’s Fountain, admittedly quite some time ago: --> http://www.pirenesfountain.com/archives/issue_05/current_issue/coleman_temeca.html

Anything you would like to add?  Thank you again for reaching out to me to guest blog on your project. 




When Mom wasn’t making cakes
or practicing her off island dialect
of Japanese to the scowling market ladies,
when she wasn’t taking classes on ikebana,
when my sister and I were not at school
on the Kadena air force base,
she drove us across Okinawa.
We’d hang out of the windows,
hair plastered to our necks, enthralled
by green on green, terraces and vineyards and jungles
green, women with baskets on their heads
traveling down the road in their bare feet.
We passed cart-driven men, their ox carrying
bundles of sugarcane. We left them in dust,
giggled as we passed, waved and smiled,
pointed until Mom made us stop.

These were the best times for me:
When the car arrived at the reef,
after we’d seen the oranges, yellows,
and the reds of the sun setting over the water,
after fried chicken and Nehi soda,
after the first sighting of stars,
we hunted cowries with our flashlights,
the drying starfish and conk shells there.
We found shells nicked by seagull beaks,
with something inside of them, still living.
We found sea glass, coins, trinkets, sand
dollars and oyster shells.

One night there was a woman
balanced on a rock over the water.
She was just sitting there, running
a comb through her impossible length
of hair. At first I thought
her a mermaid, but her feet
folded to her side like arms
hugging in close. Her tattered
skirt and ill-fitted blouse
waved in the cooling night.
Her hair, greyed-black, whipped
at the rock, just as the air force jets
sped across the sky on their courses
to and from Vietnam.

She became a silhouette against the sunset,
etched behind my eyes, forever.

     Tameca L Coleman is a singer, writer, massage therapist, itinerant nerd and point and shoot tourist in their own town. Tameca has published work in many genres, and has also performed and recorded music with many different bands. She doodles sometimes and likes weird music and dance breaks. For more information about their work, follow @sireneatspoetry on social media or check out her webhub at www.tamecacoleman.com.
tameca.coleman@gmail.com


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

084 March 15, 2019
“A Tune To Remember”
by Anna Evans

085 March 19, 2019
“At the End of Time (Wish You Were Here)
by Jeannine Hall Gailey

086 March 20, 2019
“Garden of Gethsemane”
by Marletta Hemphill

087 March 21, 2019
“Letters From a War”
by Chelsea Dingman

088 March 26, 2019
“HAT”
by Bob Heman

089 March 27, 2019
“Clay for the Potter”
by Belinda Bourgeois

#090 March 30, 2019
“The Pose”
by John Hicks

#091 April 2, 2019
“Last Night at the Wursthaus”
by Doug Holder

#092 April 4, 2019
“Original Sin”
by Diane Lockward

#093 April 5, 2019
“A Father Calls to his child on liveleak”
by Stephen Byrne

#094 April 8, 2019
“XX”
by Marc Zegans

#095 April 12, 2019
“Landscape and Still Life”
by Marjorie Maddox

#096 April 16, 2019
“Strawberries Have Been Growing Here for Hundreds of
Years”
by Mary Ellen Lough

#097 April 17, 2019
“The New Science of Slippery Surfaces”
by Donna Spruijt-Metz

#098 April 19, 2019
“Tennessee Epithalamium”
by Alyse Knorr

#099 April 20, 2019
“Mermaid, 1969”
by Tameca L. Coleman