Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

Where did it all begin? August 10, 2011

I was asked this question yesterday, and I figured you might be interested in the answer.

Short answer: it began with a poem.

Long answer: it’s been a long journey, but it began with a boy, a poem, and some books.

When I was ten, I developed a crush of epic proportions. Since I was an avid reader, I was also a writer. I’d been making up stories and writing poetry since I was in grade three. The unexpected, overwhelming emotions involved in this crush, led to outpourings of poetry. The theme was common: where had this emotion come from? Surely something this intense couldn’t just have happened? Surely such emotion must have been in the universe forever?  The year I was twelve, I wrote this poem, which summarizes this sensation:

When I look at you
I see sunshine in darkness
Passion through naïveté

I think that we were lovers once
In another life
You and I belonged
And that is why we were drawn

That is why I love you so much
And why your name
Brings happiness through sorrow

A wisp of a smile
When day dies
I remember you and I smile

You are my day and my night
Your face is a memory
That time cannot erase,
And someday
In another life
We will be lovers
Once again

It’s the poem Grace’s hand writes in the library. She is shocked and dismayed by what it reveals to her.  I know it isn’t a great poem, and I would tighten it up if I was writing it now, but I wanted it to be here as an authentic voice, flaws and all.

That poem begged to be a novel. There was a need to explore that sense of infinity that comes with a profoundly intense relationship like a first love, and like a lasting love, as well.

I tried to write it a few times over the years, but it didn’t go anywhere. I could get a narrative, but there was no hook to hang the story on. It was boring. If it was boring for me, it’d be boring for readers. Still, that love story wanted out, and it waited.

Then one day, I was reading some questionaires I”d given my students. In answer to the question, “What is the best book you’ve ever read?” About a quarter of my class had answered, “Twilight.” I’d never heard of it. I mentioned this to one of my older students and she told me she had all three of the books that were out, and that I needed to read them. The next day I had Twilight. A few hours later I was dying for the next books. They were delivered, and I read between work, dance classes and way too many Rotary meetings. I adored the story and I adored the characters. I was making connections like crazy- the key to one’s enjoyment of a book- and I had an epiphany.

Myth could be the hook. I started writing the week after Thanksgiving 2008. The characters started introducing themselves. I tried to move them in one direction, they chose to go another. The book was done the week before April. And it was good.

It wasn’t perfect, of course. The first readers picked out weak scenes, slow spots, confusing things, etc, but they loved it. They wanted more.

And that’s where it all began…

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If you’re visiting from Poetry Potluck 48, please include the link to your poem in any comment you leave!  Thanks and thanks for coming by!

 

Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003 August 9, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:37 am
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This was my second entry on the theme of fire for the Burnaby Writers Society poetry contest. One more month until winners are announced.  I played around with stanza parallelism here, sometimes using strict rhyme, sometimes consonance.  I had never seen this done before, so I was impressed with how well it worked.

.

Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003

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Fears.
A crimson hill glows above.
High from here, grey clouded skies
shower us in ghosts of pine needles
that dissolve at my touch
into powdered ashes,
while I load the van with memories.

.

Tears
Glisten, fill, flow out of,
My father’s grave, clouded eyes.
Cowering and aghast in pain, he huddles
and revolves as he’s nudged,
disempowered, ashen.
While I lead the man, his tremors ease.

.

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This poem was linked to the Poetry Potluck on the theme of history and events.  If you are visiting from the potluck, please include a direct link to your poem in a comment below.  Thanks!  It makes it easier for all participants that way.

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Quatrain August 4, 2011

Filed under: Commentary — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:49 pm
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Reality is a dream awoken
Truth is perception spoken
Wisdom is a lifetime’s token
Grace is long love unbroken

 

summer storm tanka July 18, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:18 am
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light fractures the sky

overhead, the explosion

crashes and smashes,

roaring to the universe

of heaven’s summer power

.

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As I write, the sky is flashing and the rain is pouring down.  The thundering echoes are rumbling above the house and wind is blowing.   There are some thirty thousand motorcycle riders camping in the area for a huge rally that’s been going on this weekend.  I’ll bet the ones that left today are really glad they’re not in a tent in this storm!

 

love haikus July 17, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:01 pm
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the lawn mower roars

back and forth across our yard

to show love in action

.

.

the dishes clatter

in their cleansing bubble bath

to show love in action

.

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Happy Anniversary.

 

Canzoniere 61 the final translation July 14, 2011

Filed under: Grace Awakening,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:16 am
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Earlier in the week I led you through the process of translating Petrarch’s Canzoniere 61. I thought I’d share with you the final version that is going to press in Awakening Dreams.  There have been a few words changed up to improve consonance and punctuation has clarified meaning.  As well, line 2 was altered as it didn’t end on the correct beat (iambic rhythm) in the draft.

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Most blesséd be the day, the month, the year,
And blesséd be the hour, the moment when,
I found this place, and saw my sweet torment.
Her lovely eyes completely tied me here.

So blesséd was her breath as I came near,
That Love entangled me within her scent,
Against his arrows left me impotent,
And bound my heart to hers. So, thus endeared,

Sweet blesséd voices call my lady’s name,
And weave her glorious beauty in my verse.
My sighs, my tears, and my desires contained,

Most blesséd are the papers I disperse,
To share the thoughts that bring me fame,
The thoughts of her that are my blissful curse.

Translation (c) Shawn Bird

Not only did this moment capture Petrarch, but it captivated artists through the centuries who imaged the moment that Petrarch describes in this sonnet, and painted it as they imagined it.  The painting on the left is the actual moment of meeting in St. Clara’s in Avignon.  I have been in what is left of this convent chapel, as you can see from the photo below.  If it really looked like this artist has captured it, it is really very sad to see the ruins that it is now.

The picture on the right shows a lot of the symbolism represented in the poem.  Laure is represented by the laurel tree in the background, cupid (aka Love) has fired  his arrow at Petrarch and it has struck him in the heart.  Laure is presenting him with the laurel wreath that represents his literary success.  (He was crowned Rome’s Poet Laureate in 1341).  Petrarch himself frequently played with Laure/laurel the woman/fame metaphor.  What is interesting in this painting is that Petrarch is shown as an old man, while Laure is shown as a young woman.  In fact there are only 6 years between them.  (He was born in 1304, she in 1310).  Perhaps it represents them at their deaths?  She was 38, and he was 70.

Petrarch and Laura

Here I am in the ruins of St. Claire convent, standing pretty close to where the artist set the scene on the left, by the looks of things.  I just found the painting this morning, and this similarity kind of gives me chills.  There is no roof. It is an open space garden and performance area now.

Shawn at Ste Claire Convent (Theatre des Halles) Avignon France

 

Poem-Fire of you July 10, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:47 am
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This poem was written as a submission to the Burnaby Writers Society Poetry contest.  The theme was fire, and poets were encouraged to interpret the theme.  Still 2 months before winners will be announced.  

September 2011: This one was a contest finalist! Yay!

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You reached

into the flames

and  plucked an ember

that glowed with

happiness and hope

upon your palm.

.

In the

wavering sphere

of gold and crimson

light, I glimpsed our

future in flickering

depths.

.

But when I reached to take it in my grasp

you clasped

your fist closed,

so the glow

of my hope

spilled

from

your

fingers.

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“No,” you said.

“It will burn you.”

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Truth scorched through

the kindness in your eyes, but could not

extinguish my anguish,

even as you wrapped me in your arms

and murmured worthless words of consolation.

.

I didn’t want your wisdom.

I wanted fire.

 

rain storm tanka June 26, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:30 am
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Heavenly percussion

is punctuating

piano melodies

rising up stairs to

the rhythm of rain.

 

pieces of sky June 2, 2011

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:56 am
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Pieces of sky
fall upon flowers
and flatten summer.

Sky in pieces
weeping and whispering
bemoans gone sun.

Pieces of sky
crack away and fall
flaming to forest.

Sky in pieces
watching and waiting
passes in sighs
by peace.

 

Maybe May 28, 2011

Filed under: Commentary — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:13 am
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I’m just thumbing through my journal (a random collection of drafts, ideas, poems, lecture notes, etc) and discovered this poem:

Maybe
is a dangerous room
in which tolive.
A place to run
when here is too hard,
when now is a naked agony.
Then there is maybe…
maybe him
maybe someday
maybe
(though
probably not).

(2009-1-21)