Reading in Mandarin

Ray Nielson, a Jacksonville poet (far right), enjoys a stroll with his dog and a talk with some friends, after Dorothy Fletcher and I read at Walter Jones Historical Park in Mandarin.

If you’re a poet, this is a great way to spend Saturday morning. Coffee and muffins in a room that shines with old things—Civil War artifacts, an arrowhead honed by the Timucuan, a rifle so tall a short soldier would have had problems handling it.

A dozen or so people are here for poetry, one of them a talented poet in his own right.

Dorothy Fletcher and I did a poetry program Saturday for the Mandarin Museum & Historical Society. We shared readings from our Library of Congress “Florida Poets Arrive” program.

Dorothy conjured imaginary blueberries, re-created her father’s favorite dog, and told stories about growing up here in the 1950s. I recounted the tale of a little white church with stained glass windows, now turned into an antiques shop. I also read an aubade I wrote for my husband, and a poem touching on our irreverence and lack of stewardship for rivers. One of my poems, The Wishing Sky, was inspired by a photo by Dan Scanlon, run in the Florida Times Union. We gave a framed copy of Dan’s picture to the coordinator of Poetry at Noon at the LOC.

Karen Roumillat, a MM&HS member, tells me the little white church was the previous home of First Baptist Church in Mandarin, a huge brick complex that has a school, church, and other facilities. We talk about the trip and our writing.


Dorothy and I (photo at right) spent about 45 minutes together, with strangers and friends, in the administrative building at Walter Jones Historical Park in Mandarin before heading outside. The society helps maintain the park. After our reading, we toured the park, enjoying a stroll through a cottage offering a glimpse into life in the late 1800’s. Karen and member June Weltman, who is the author of an award-winning children’s mystery book, kept our stroll upbeat as we walked along the river boardwalk and onto the plantation site. It’s a sunny temperate day with blue skies and no bugs. The St. John’s is shining. Other people are walking in the park. We’re having a false spring because the weather is warmer than normal (and normal is low 70s most days this time of year.)

Harriet Beecher Stowe spent many winters in Mandarin, and lines from her book Palmetto Leaves come to mind, where she describes the St. John’s River as, “like a looking-glass, the sun staring steadfastly down.”

We couldn’t have asked for a lovelier experience. Poetry, a beautiful river, fascinating antiquities, interesting people.

Afterwards, a group of us went to Truffles and had lunch outdoors. The avocado/tomato/cucumber sandwich with pesto was on special. With a glass of peach tea, it was super.

If you’re a poet, this is a great way to spend Saturday morning.


A lone fisherman enjoys a morning on the St. John's.

Poetry Beat at The Writer goes live

My first Poetry Beat column for The Writer is now live. Read about poet Lee Slonimsky and how his poems are woven into his wife’s popular mysteries. I discovered Slonimsky’s sonnets while reading Carol Goodman’s The Ghost Orchid.

I talked about the book here on my blog. One of the poet’s workshop students read the blog. Soon I was corresponding with Lee Slonimsky. Concurrently, we were developing plans for Poetry Beat at The Writer. It was so fortuitous, the timing, because I can’t think of a better poet to launch the column.

Do have a read, and see who’s up next. And send me your story tips or post them on the special forum for Poetry Beat.

Note: I learned the column is premium content, so it can only be read if you're a subscriber to the magazine.

Poems that go bump in the brain

Each month when my issue of Poetry comes, I keep it on my desk. When I take a break or have lunch, I like to thumb through the magazine and enjoy the poems. In the November, 2006, issue, there’s a poem that stopped me in my tracks. It’s one of those poems that lingers like the scent of a garden rose, powerful yet delicate and pleasing.

I’ve read it to my daughters, my husband, and visitors. Everyone who knows me is accustomed to my commanding them, “Listen to this!” I’ve shared poems by many writers with that command, including my own work.

This poet is Reginald Shepherd. The poem is “My Mother Was No White Dove.” This is a blow-your-mind poem, ripe with lines like, “My mother was the clouded-over night/a moon swims through…” This poem alone is worth the price of a subscription.

The bio note says all of Shepherd’s books are published by the University of Pittsburgh Press. His fifth, Fata Morgana, is due out this spring.

I don’t know the poet, but I’m grateful to him. His poem took me away for awhile, and those moments have a value that only a lover of poetry can understand.

And in the interest of disclosure, I can rave about the magazine because I've never been published there and I never will be.

So there you go.
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Note: Thanks to all of you who've emailed me with news tips for my new column at The Writer. We have some sensational stories lined up. Column will debut mid-November. And continue to send me those tips!