Zoe Deschanel & the Narrative Arc

If this were a movie and someone slyly beautiful were playing me, say Zooey Deschanel (with thick glasses to make her look a little less Deschanel), we’d be approaching some kind of zenith, we’d be belaying up a sheer rock face to the tippy top of the narrative arc where we might temporarily mistake denouement … Continue reading Zoe Deschanel & the Narrative Arc

One Way In, One Way Out

in which we pick up the thread of Pokey Mama's struggle with post-partum writer's block and her year as an Associate at the Five College Women's Studies Research Center looking at the impact of motherhood on the work of women poets... Are you old enough to remember the Wayback machine on the Rocky & Bullwinkle … Continue reading One Way In, One Way Out

the guiddesses

…but who can tolerate the power of a woman close to a child, riding our tides into the sand dunes of the public spaces. --Alicia Suskin Ostriker, from “Propaganda Poem: Maybe for Some Young Mamas" When last we left Pokey she was doodling her way towards enlightenment, having at least identified the shape of what might … Continue reading the guiddesses

pokey finds the labyrinth

Part the Second of Pokey's adventures studying motherhood and poetry (aka herself) as an Associate at the Five College Women's Studies Research Center So there was Pokey, box of books and laptop in hand, settling into her office at The Center. Through the high plaster walls she could hear other women getting their nests in … Continue reading pokey finds the labyrinth

pokey leaves purgatory

Time to pick up the thread of the last Birth of Pokey post—no, not those red pants again! The thread of how Pokey wriggled her way out of the little box she was in, not-so-affectionately known as writer’s block.  If you’ve never had writer’s block, or its equivalent for your chosen work (bread that refuses to rise, … Continue reading pokey leaves purgatory

the birth of pokey, part II

In which Pokey becomes a Master of Regret and encounters Temporary Blindness. My friend Maya describes how she recently came across a photograph of herself at a party when her daughter was an infant. “I was wearing red pants! Red pants! What was I thinking? Who does that?” This, dear reader, is the question of … Continue reading the birth of pokey, part II

no place like home

click.click.click.    In the poetry workshop I taught this fall we talked a lot about repetition and variation. We agreed that repetition can be a good thing in a poem, like an engine moving you forward when you think you might be stuck. It worked for Dorothy: there’s no place like home, there’s no place like … Continue reading no place like home