Showing posts with label Michael Dow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael Dow. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 27, 2020

Remembering Diane diPrima


College classmates Jack Crimmins and Gregg Lowe were reminiscing around the death of Beat poet, Diane diPrima, who once read with Elizabeth Herron in Cotati when Loba was first published. At Sonoma State College, 1979-80, we resurrected a defunct reading series, called the Public Poetry Center, where we hosted community readings with local poets paired with luminaries including Michael McClure, whom Jack introduced, Lewis MacAdams, Joanne Kyger and Bobbie Louise Hawkins at the Cotati Cabaret and the Inn of the Beginning.

As Jack and Gregg reminisced, I realized I was quickly being written out of the collective post-narrative, and it was my project. So I did a diPrima, I chimed in, and reclaimed the past, and then I realized I’ve never properly documented the project, as I was living in the moment producing events.

I told Jack, Yep, The Public Poetry Center, the idea, or concept was to bridge the gap between the writer community and the isolated university. I wasn’t entirely happy with the name, I think it was something my professor, poet David Bromige had coined, but it stuck, and served its purpose. Before that, there wasn’t much going on at Sonoma State. Jack said he came up with the title.

Our job was to resurrect SSU’s defunct Public Poetry Center and to create a liaison between the university and the community We hosted campus literary and art events for the English Dept., The College of the Humanities and the ASUC InterCultural Center. We also had to negotiate around David Bromige who wanted to present a very different poetry scene.

I began booking readings as an undergraduate art student, after attending The Child in Changing Times Conference in either June of 1978 (I don’t have a notebook for 1978, and so, can’t look it up) and/or another conference in 1979, The Arts in Everyday Living (they could be one and the same conference), that changed my life’s direction. It was hosted by the SSU Dept. of Psychology, coordinated by Terry Doyle, psychologist, and poets Michael Dow and Lee Perron who both taught for an organization that would literally change my life, California Poets in the Schools (CPITS). 

The organizers were setting up kiosks with photos of children, and their poetry. I had my calligraphy kit on me and offered to make signs. I was the signmaker for the Sonoma Student Union. Once they saw that I could make huge banners, they roped me in, made me part of the conference. 

• Summer Workshop: A conference on developing more effective, loving relationships with children, Growing Up Sane: The Child in Changing Times, will be offered at Sonoma State College from June 22 to 25, 1978. The conference will provide new insights, practical skills and usable methods in raising and educating children. For information call Neil Schifiman, 565-9280. 

That conference is also how I got roped into both the Russian River Writers’ Guild, and CPITS at the same time, via poet Lee Perron. Anyway, by circumstance, or by accident, I became the default student liaison between the university and the Russian River Writers’ Guild. The Cotati Cabaret was off campus, and it drew much large crowds. (Besides, there was booze). The other tenant was that we always paid the poets, no matter no small the stipend was....

The Arts in Everyday Living: The Real Basis of Education Conference, 28 June - 1 July, sponsored by Sonoma State University, Office of Extended Education. The workshops and an ongoing art project are geared toward teachers, parents, administrators, artists, counselors and community members. Kenneth Rexroth, poet and critic, and Jose Arguellos, educator, artist and writer will be the featured main speakers. Also included are an Arts Festival and Resource Center. For further information, contact the Office of Extended Education at SSU, 1801 E. Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park, CA 94928 or call (707)664-2394. 

Ultimately that Arts in Everyday Living conference was where I was first exposed to accessible personal narrative poetry that even kids could write. Hooked, I took to the streets running: I undertook the equivalent of a second BA in Expressive Arts, a cluster school offshoot of the psychology department, along with my BA in Art Studio (my connection with the English Dept. was a bit of a fluke), and I trained to become a poet-teacher for California Poets in the Schools. 

CPITS Area Coordinator for SoNapa counties, (we called it SOCPITS) Michael Dow’s writing workshops were vitally alive and I wanted more, but I was also simultaneously taking poetry workshops with David Bromige, so to ameliorate the schism, I created a bridge of sorts between the three groups to make sense of it all. It was an octopuses eight-handed nightmare, as I didn’t quite fit in anywhere. Besides, I was an art student.

Without poetry I never would’ve gone back to school as I had dropped out of SFSU, and was floundering around at Sonoma State trying to finish my BA degree in Art Studio at a school where few art classes were being offered. Luckily, both David Bromige and Psychology chair, jazz musician, “Red” Thomas became my SSU liaisons. But the English/poetry department and the Expressive Arts department, even though it was a cluster school, were not connected at the hip, or anywhere at all. So that was yet another matchstick bridge to build. When I landed in Expressive Arts, I felt I had finally come home.

“Red” Thomas, more than anyone, gave me belief in myself and lent credence to what I was doing, even if I hadn’t a clue as to what it was. He gave me blanket permission to “follow my passion.” What stayed with me were those weekly seminars, group meetings when we had to report back to our peers our successes and failures.  I was always so terrified but poetry was this large brontosaurus rucking round the room, I was merely holding on for dear life. Even tho I wasn’t officially in the program, I joined in. It was like a 12-step program for enabling artists and poets in their communities. “Red” Thomas and Mac McCreary were at the epicenter of change.

And because we didn’t know any better, we all dreamed big, and that’s how Diane Di Prima came to SSU to give a workshop and a reading—either in the fall of 1979, or the spring of 1980. Her exploration, and navigation of the feminine archetype as a she-wolf, a hunter of lost things, became my mantra. Her epistolary manifestos in Revolutionary Letters gave us permission to address the universe not just as participants, but as activist poets on the cusp of change.

Some say that she wrote Loba as a counterpoint to Ginsberg’s Howl. None of that matters. She was a woman before her time, and she ran with the wolves long before it was a concept. I took workshops with her in June, 1979, at the SF Zen Center, a converted Victorian flat. Her open narrative process allowed us to generate our own major arcana of mythos and symbolism unimpeded by the tight corners of male-dominated academia.

Another college classmate, Rebecca Clintron reminisced, Diane was palpable, she was elegant Wildness itself bringing 'Loba' workshop to us almost immediately upon publication, fresh and clear w a subdued gravitas. what i recall most poignantly was her speaking of the 'vulnerability of youth' (our ignorance and openness) was nothing compared to the vulnerability of an aging woman in our culture, approaching cronehood. i recognize now that she was barely into middle age!”

Jack answered, “ Rebecca, very cool, your recollections of Diane...thank you..."Wildness"...! Diane's book "Loba" such an important cross-cultural, mythopoetic long poem, written over years, added to as she went, and as Diane said, as she heard the poem voices emerging, a poem that powerfully explores feminine consciousness and beyond...so cool Diane was out teaching early and throughout her life.”

There is a woman whose poems are bread & meat 
hyacinth nightmare crepe paper 
I close a window, she is not reflected in it 
but I see her silhouette against the glass 
she is crisp as ice, is soft 
as russian vowels”

Diane diPrima, Loba

From Altar, Diane diPrima's workshop, SF Zen Center, June 1979.

From the Naropa broadsides 1974

Friday, October 8, 1982

CPITS Teaching Notes, Montgomery ES, Westside School, Healdsburg ES, journal

10/29/82 Dear diary, after 20 hours of fruitless arranging of a SSU Public Poetry center benefit reading with Herb Kohl on November 11, then the 10th, then canceled completely because I couldn’t find a venue—then I got the Cotati Cabaret to agree to host us which is a good connection. God, how can I even write because of the exhaustion and the frustration. I was sick in bed for three days, so zoned out, I never wrote up my teaching notes. This is a recapitulation.

Since my last entry, I’ve taught nature poems of 4 to 11 lines. Write four obvious things and four obscure things. Pat Solen‘s class went well but Gary Reeves’ class was out of control. Dick Peters’ class had low energy with minimum output. I got so-so results. I talked lots about images for concrete poetry. 

After Gary’s second class, I had my doubts about going on with the lesson plan. Lee and I did animal poems during the next section. It was like regression. Dumb it down. We each read lots of examples and told them to start writing when they got something in mind. That went well and some of the best animal poems were produced ever. 

Peter’s’ class we did a repeat lesson and got some mediocre stuff. I think they’re doing what they think I want, not writing about their feelings. We went ahead with other lesson plans in Pat‘s class. Day, one four elements, four seasons, four more elements. Write a nature poem with at least one from each category, then do a drawing of it. Went well.

Day two make a simple sketch. Cut out the words that describe your poem or drawing and organize them on the page in a shape, that’s concrete poetry. These poems came out wonderful. Example if you wrote tree and did a silhouette sketch of a tree and looked for lots of words for example, and only found tree tree tree tree, you’d have a hard time trying to find enough words, but if you describe the things a tree is to you you get more ideas. The poems were very good. 

We went ahead with it in the other classes. I have to do follow up from the last class. Peter’s’ class is lethargic but they did the best poems I’ve ever witnessed. Gary Reeves’ class went well too. 

I’m learning self-control, pacing, etc. The logistics for concrete poems takes up the whole afternoon. I need lots of time for students to hunt for the words. Techniques for getting their attention at the beginning. Don’t say a word. Just stand there until they get the message. Then begin.

I told them about the upcoming anthology and to please write more poems at home to be considered for publication. The idea of appearing in print is always a siren call.

PPC I had a public poetry center student reading scheduled on October 28 and no one showed up. The poets conducted a workshop which was small and lasted from noon until 4:30 PM so it wasn’t entirely wasted.

Reading for a day in on November 18 all set up, negotiation with ICC intercultural center, poster is made—I made it, etc. it’s all finalized. Press release needs to be done. Art show classical guitar and poetry reading for Alta, Jonathan, London, and Beatrice Lagos at the Laguna is all set up. We have free floor space. We keep the door in order to pay the poets. Poetry show with flamenco dancing and classical guitar.

Mandala magazine is getting submissions and the class I’m teaching is unreliable, so lately I am recruiting outside help from PPC members. I’m learning to administer work to be done provided that the class is there to receive instruction. 

Tomorrow I start teaching a calligraphy class at Montgomery, Elementary school in Cazadero. I will give a history and show work and ask them to find feathers to make their own quills.

11/3 Poetry reading at Garbos with George Englander. I thought it went very well. My best so far reading from journal entries mostly.

11/6 reading at SSU in my fiction class with Elizabeth Herron, I read short story stories from my journals. I am not cut out to write fiction. I need to write about real things or listen to my poetic voice.

11/18. Busy busy putting on readings, Boschka Layton, Jonathan London, and Beatrice Lagos with Alta. I’m pretty jazzed as Alta doesn’t often come out to read. I was surprised that she said yes. It was very time-consuming, setting it up. Boschka’s art and poetry reading was a smash success. Her daughter, Naomi was wonderful on the guitar and we had a full house. My photos are in the Sonoma County Stump.

I haven’t had time to write any of my teaching stuff. The Mandala classes coming along. Calligraphy at Cazadero, I spend a lot of time researching material. I’m teaching third and fourth grade, I suspect there may be some problem with the teacher. She seems annoyed. Does she even want the program? 

Paul’s class by comparison, is a dream. Kids are doing well but I don’t always have the same kids each session, so It’s impossible to build continuity, something you need when learning calligraphy so, that’s not working out. I don’t like the bait and switch. I have one student who is left-handed. So we worked with many systems before we got something to work for her. I had to learn to do left-handed calligraphy, and she learned to do right handed Calligraphy.

Garbo’s meeting for coordinators at Jim Montrose’s house. Hammer and tong.

10/8  teaching notes from Healdsburg Elementary school fifth grade I taught intro to poetry to three classes. The format is what is poetry and why do I write? It was hard for me to talk about myself. I discovered that the information, what is poetry, was too detailed and that I couldn’t throw out too much. They became space cases if I did. I would be lucky to teach them all. 

I want to cover in one day plan during the next five sessions. I passed out two pages of poems with words, like metaphor and image and rhyme on it. They read poems out loud and we discussed big words in the poems and what the poems meant. I asked them if they had ever experienced any of those things? 

In all three classes, they picked the fire poem versus the Sexton poem (fury of overshoes had appeal), but I was flummoxed when they picked my poem about light. I told it was one of my list, and I said the reason why I started to write it was because I wanted to paint pictures with words. That’s when I discovered poems are made up of images. We can all see an image and write about it. I say an image is a picture worth 1000 words. And also an image is worth 1000 nouns. 

In the first two classes on Monday, Lee Perron, the arts coordinator, and my trainer came in with a guest so I invited him up to the front of the classroom and we each made up alternating lines out loud so the kids could see the process. We used objects they could see hear, taste, touch, and smell both in and out of the classroom. We made up the beginning and the kids wrote the last line.

On Wednesday I was on my own! I had the teacher working with me, but the fire alarm went off right when they were starting to write, so I took control of the class and asked them to finish. I rekindled the interest by reading some of the other endings out loud.

Time: to prepare for the first day is idiots delight work, and it took me three hours. Teaching time, etc. it was there from I was there from 10:30 AM until 4 PM. Wednesday was better, I taught from noon until two. To prepare the lesson plans, 10 hours total and one semester of observation, ouch. Talk about time commitment.

I also met with all three teachers on 10/3. The conferences went from 10:30 until 2 PM. I was reeling with exhaustion.

On 10/4 I reported back meeting with Lee, and for a half hour I met with another new poet, Pam Rafael. We went over her book for the Horicon anthology, and I did the calligraphy for it. We also discussed our first day. She tried to instill confidence in me. And I was terrified. I had these pictures of 6 foot tall fifth graders waiting to beat me up. We are already on our way to be coming friends.

I also did some other CPITS related work on 10/7. I won’t always mark down my time as it is a lot to write it down means I won’t have as much time to do my incredible workload of school work. Poetry Center, and calligraphy, not to mention my own classes. For example, it took me 45 minutes just to write this up. 

PS, the reading Tuesday with Elizabeth Herron, David Bromage and Roshni Roshtomji drew 80 people.

Press release photo see the Stump photo Roshni, set up and clean up, making posters etc. eight hours

Also I made the front page of the Healdsburg Tribune today as poet and residence to kick off arts program at Healdsburg Elementary school. It’s a big deal I was shocked to see a photo of myself in class teaching.

11/18. Focus on chores at Garbo’s for the RRWG. Lee and I will do the entertainment plus booking for February and March to generate some capital. The grant we applied for, technical assistance, for $3000 has 175 applicants so the CAC did not award it to anyone. It will be turned over to a region. We may have to rewrite a grant and the most we could ever hope for is around $200 so what’s the point? We spent that much and maybe more just writing the grant. 

Basically this means I go unpaid again. If this continues the burn out what rate will be great. Bad news. Good news I was asked to teach a guest CPITS residency at a private school in Marin. My former employer’s daughter’s class as a memorial to her great grandmother. Negotiations with the school will proceed on Friday. I have a 10 AM appointment at Saint Mark’s school with Mr. Bizjak, the principal. I am asking for the full $650 plus money for anthology.

I got the CPITS countywide poetry anthology to the printers all camera-ready to Reprographics. 

Yuck. A bit of domestic theater. The cat is acting crazy and the frightened mouse can barely move. The cat is high on it. I wish he just eat it. Don’t dare throw him or the mouse out as a second mouse has been caught. I really wish the cat wouldn’t share He’s caught two in two months in my house is too small for mice too. It’s an eat, or be eaten world. The mouse and cat are banished for the evening.

Last session CPITS with Pat Solem’s class. We made creation myths. I read some and then told them one. They wrote their own myths and some had trouble getting started while others loved it. I got my first fan club going because of it. Dick Peters’ class went along well with concrete poetry, but surprise!they needed less time than we planned for.

12/17 since last month, lots has happened. The Sonoma County anthology was taken back from printers by Michael Dow. I hereby throw up my hands in despair because the anthology now represents too much anger and frustration. And Michael has been a prime blocking force for entirely selfish reasons. 

And six months is just too long to be spent hustling over some things such as this. Too many power trips. The man has no concept of how to put a magazine out or what kind of commitment it requires. He’s already ruined relations with the county printer. Not good. And this is after Lee and I set that one up too. He’s afraid to release power or afraid to be honest. Too much to deal with. I find it ironic because of his involvement with Tibetan Buddhism. But life is full of such paradoxes. Enough on Michael.

(When MIchael doesn’t show up for our annual meeting, that he produced, Lee deposes Michael and becomes de facto area coordinator. MIchael said he was held up by an escaped bull and had to capture him but he didn’t call us or anything. He just left us floundering. 

Michael’s holding on and keeping us from expanding or going into new schools has became positively crippling. It was not a pretty sight. I felt so badly considering that MIchael was my first mentor and it was he who brought me into the CPITS program through the child and changing times conference at SSU.

Thursday, March 20, 1980

Ghost trees, Michael Dow Workshop

During the winter it got dark early, we had double sessions at school and I got home after 5 PM. The cantilevered boughs of the trees reached across the long road that wove in and out of the trunks like a gray snake heading north. There were fallen trees decomposing along either side of the creek that ran alongside the road. My flashlight failed at the bridge. In the twilight, their light bark glowed faintly and they lay in waiting like great lumbering phosphor worms  and my fear rose up within me like a great black cape of smothering darkness.


3/20/1980 ?
added 5/3/2016
Michael Dow Workshop
freewrite

Sonnet Form Michael Dow Workshop

Sonnet Form

Mist morning when it is quiet
and the lips of fog kiss
the sky, beneath it, a riot
of flowers blossom in the dark abyss

The wind rustles the petals in the plum trees
bringing a snowstorm of blossoms in June
the vines are choking the bottom growth, and the peas
blossom—a late frost may strike and prune

the new buds with black tongue
before the growth's barely begun.

3/20/1980
 added 5/3/2016

Michael Dow Workshop

Wednesday, November 28, 1979

3 Poems from Michael Dow workshop


I am a shiny raw yolk
bundled up in a clear membrane.
You pick me up, hold me in your hand.
I ooze black ink through the pores
wherever your skin touches mine.

Surprised by the bleeding, you drop me,
and try to pick me up again, carefully.

And my softness eludes you.
I roll off your fingertips, away from your touch.
The blackness spreads over the yellow,
leaving only a flaccid sack behind.

11/28/1979


With leonine head bent
and hair askew
he sits guarded
with arms and legs crossed
His gaze set on his leather shoe
he listens, nodding
as if in agreement.
I wonder how the syllables
rest in his ears.

11/28/1979
Michael Dow workshop


I wake to the dawn
and take my breathing slow
We think by logical deduction
If logic is deduction,
then what is there to conclude?
I learn from the breath
It carries me where I wander
Along a slipstream of thought
liked a snake tasting
a breath a of sunshine.

11/28/1979
Michael Dow workshop

Wednesday, October 3, 1979

I AM A HAWK 3 takes Michael Dow workshop



I am a hawk circling upward in a thermal draft, 
and the sky is blue. You are a cricket on a dusty path in summer.
I am a feather spiraling down to earth from the tail of the red hawk
You are a red leaf floating in the breeze
The pileTed woodpecker knocks on the tree
and we drift into autumn, as one.

10/3/1979
Michael Dow workshop


I am a hawk circling upon a thermal draft and the sky is blue.
I am a feather spiraling downward to earth from the tail of a hawk.
I have rested on the leader limbs of the Inverness pine
And I am the mouse whose tiny paws grew feathers
I become the hawk and launch into space
A blackbird and I head south as the storm approaches.

10/15/1979


The roots of the Inverness pine were planted in t he earth by my grandmother when I was a child. Then, the free was no taller than me. Nearly two decades later, it looms up into the sky, the very symbol of strength and clarity. Many times I have been the hawk resting on the leader branches, I have also been the mouse who climbs up to the top to see what it can see. He is afraid of heights, still he climbs upward. The  top sways in the breeze, he clings to the pine needles, with tiny paws. He sees beyond his scope. His fur sprouts feathers, he becomes the hawk, and launches out into space.

10/19/1979

I think I attempted to make this work several times over, to no avail. What I know now, compared to what I knew then. 11/2/2015

Sunday, July 1, 1979

TILLING THE FIELD Michael Dow workshop

DRAFT (don't know if I ever typed this one up)

The moon is almost fitful tonight.
A train whistles and moans
midway between night and morning
Cylindrical wheels resonate,
a throbbing echo and clatter.
The ticking of the clock echoes
the throbbing train, and the heart.
Systolic/diastolic. Open & closed.
There is a storm gathering 
in the direction of her eyes.

A line should be the length of a row.
It's the breath feeling, 
a staccato furrow of assonance 
dissonance and consonants.
The break in the link 
the breath and the line 
is a unit of breath.

Maybe we should go back,
chant in the rhythm of the hunt,
chant in the rhythm of plowing.
A line runs the length of a row.
To make a verse is to turn back on itself
and go against the direction of the row.
Go against the direction of the chant
boustrophedon, as the plowman walks.
There is a gathering storm.

July 1, 1979 Michael Dow workshop
minor rev. 11/2/2015 (mostly consolidated line breaks) 
Child in Changing Times Conference  
Arts in Everyday Living
6/28 to July 1
SSU


Friday, June 29, 1979

GATHERING STORM

I need hard copy of this poem  DRAFT

I awoke with this sentence:
there's a storm gathering in the direction of her eyes.

She stands waiting
for him by the green pond. 
Conversation drifts by with the water, 
floats with the hours. His lichen eyes, 
impenetrable as the surface,
leave her stranded 
by all the ponds of the world
As he turns to leave, her image ripples,
her eyes gather in the storm.
Tonight there's a promise of rain in the air. 

June 29, 1979
Michael Dow workshop
Child in Changing Times Conference  
Arts in Everyday Living
6/28 to July 1
SSU

HOLLYHOCK Michael Dow workshop


Michael's Hollyhock DRAFT
In the afternoon room of dust and summer's heat,
Michael picks up a flower from the red carpet
where it had fallen from her long a gleaming hair.
The hollyhocks edges were bruised,
withered from the wearing.

Pollen scattered across its petals
Yellow flecks on the maroon petals
He raised it gently to his nose to inhale its scent
so like the first sip of tea in the tea ceremony.
It had no special older, just color to keep it afloat.

The flower thirsted for water, or even nectar.
She plucked it during the hard heat of day
The sap that coursed through its veins
in such sweet green succor
like a lazy river on a summer's day,
severed from the umbilicus.

The flower adorned her hair
by the hand that robbed it of life.
The humming bees in the flower,
their legs, laden with pollen,
dandled around that plucked blossom.

Flower trumpet faded, read into the carpet,
red in the hand, withered in the hair.

6/29/1979
Michael Dow workshop
Child in Changing Times Conference  
Arts in Everyday Living
6/28 to July 1
SSU