The Story of a Poem
I am on day six of a six-day trip to California to cover a solo marathon swim (the length of Lake Tahoe) for a sports memoir. Lake Tahoe is a lucid-blue alpine lake, ranking only behind the Great Lakes in volume because of its depth (1,600 feet deep, with enough water in it to cover all of California in a foot of water.)
And speaking of depth, I had a deep poem come to me out of the blue, earlier this year. I accompanied a friend’s wife to her cancer infusion treatment (outpatient) at a hospital in North Florida. The experience struck me and turned into a poem “Still Life with Monoclonal Antibodies,” which ends with my patient/subject peeling a tangerine that took on the shape of a flower.
The poem is a metaphor for the transformation of my friend’s wife from cancer patient into an elegant princess before my eyes in this uncanny setting of a cancer hospital, spectacular paintings and architecture, with death all around us.
That poem was recently named a finalist for the James Applewhite Poetry Prize, sponsored by NC Literary Review. It’s my third Applewhite Finalist poem in three years, following the success of “Feb 25” and “Ledge”
Where do the good poems come from? I have no idea. All I know is I took an overnight Amtrak from Cary to Jacksonville, FL, and when my friend’s wife need a companion for this outpatient visit, I volunteered to go with her, instead of staying at the house, three blocks from the beach and enjoying a walk on the sand in February.
Get on the train. Get on the plane. Go!
Show up and pay attention. That’s how the poems (and the stories) emerge.
Photo Credit: “Peeling a Mandarin” by Pat M2007
