Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Last Saturday, the Crocker Art Museum in Sacramento celebrated their 125th anniversary. I was very honored to read my work at this event. I wrote a poem especially for this celebration--in thankfulness for Margaret Crocker and all she left for us in this lovely city of trees.

WHAT MARGARET GAVE
--for Margaret Crocker (1822-1901)

the gift of gazing
the invitation to climb
into and over and around
through and under
to test the edges
and continue traveling
until we reach
a pear glazed with sun
a woman’s supple brown shoulder
lines of India ink sailing across canvas

there is often
no way to halt the imagination

a pebble strewn path
water dripping
the shadow of a walnut tree at dusk

we have questions
and all the answers
have merit

the gift of art
is the never stopping.

--Catherine Fraga

Friday, April 30, 2010

The last day of National Poetry Month...and there is just no way I can just...end this blog! I know I will continue to post poems because after all...this blog is titled: poetry is a bit of sanity.

One of the things that struck me...quite simple really but so profoundly, so tangible somehow...was talking to the island's women when I lived on Flores for a month. I was one of only two "visitors" on the island at the time...some of the natives were quiet and reserved and kept to themselves...but surprisingly, many many other residents were so kind and open with me. I made fast and lovely friends. I heard many stories from the women I met...stories of the island's past, stories about their own lives. Some women had very satisfying marriages, and others did not. I wanted to write a poem that SAID that...that somehow spoke of the sad, universal fact that some of us are truly fortunate to find lasting love, some are not.


THE INTRICACY OF ATTACHMENT
Reality is not always probable, or likely.
--Jorge Luis Borges


She believed
when she married him
she’d step
into a new life
zip up
like a second skin
she was religiously
patient for her poetic vision
to become reality
in the beginning
a perpetual waiting
the charged stillness before a thunderstorm
it sagged and billowed no matter
how much weight she lost
or gained
she bought
Electric Seashell lipstick
slippery see-through lingerie
perfume with promising titles:
Pleasures.
Passion.
Evening in Paris.
Years tumbled into each other
gathering speed
until it seems it all happened
in the space of a breath
the moving close
then the forever
backing away.

--Catherine Fraga