Hello all! I've been thinking a lot about my blog lately, and whether or not I want to make any changes to what I post here. Coco Maria is certainly first and foremost a daily style blog. I started it with the intention of posting pictures of my daily outfits, and I love doing that, so that's not going anywhere. Something else I love, though, has been taking a back seat on this blog: poetry. I'm going through tis transitional phase in my life where I'm trying to figure out what poetry means to me (that sounded less pretentious in my head). What I mean to say is that for a long time I thought of poetry as a hobby, something I loved but not something I would whole heartedly pursue. This year at school has kind of made me reconsider that, which both frightens and excites me. Though I'm not sure what path I'll ultimately pursue, I will be reading a lot this summer, and hopefully writing a bit too. My plan for the Writing Weekly feature as of now is to share something I'm reading or have read over the summer, probably a book of poetry but sometimes a novel, and share my thoughts and a few excerpts for you guys. Maybe if I'm working on something, I'll share that here some weeks instead of something I've read, but we'll just see how it goes :)
The Soul Farmer by Jeff McDaniel
In the beginning, with only a few acres
of humans to care for, god planted
each soul by hand, but over time,
as his business grew, he got more
and more removed from the day-to-day
of his enterprise. Now he reclines
in a celestial hammock, nibbling meteors
like intergalactic hors d'oeuvres,
star clusters glittering like martini
glasses. His migrant angels oversee
his humanoid crop, plucking us
as we ripen.
Ah, the rich taste
of a tormented soul properly marinated
in experience. The messages pile up
on his prayer machine. Centuries
since he's repainted the sky.
For the first Writing Weekly post, I wanted to share a book of poetry I read called
The Endarkenment by Jeffrey McDaniel. I actually took a poetry workshop with Jeff last semester that probably ended up being the most beneficial class I've taken so far. I had read some of his poetry during the week before the start of spring semester and was totally blown away by how much I enjoyed his poetry. Right after the semester ended, I ordered this book of his and quickly read it from cover to cover. Jeff's poetry is the kind I like to read, and hope to write. It's real. It's not pretentious or difficult to understand. It's grounded in things you can see and feel. He can take something very ordinary, and make it into an interesting, meaningful experience. In his poem "Air Empathy," for example, hearing a baby cry on a plane becomes a reflection of emotion, and why it's so taboo to express extreme emotion after you've become a certain age. His poems can also have the opposite effect. In his poem "The Soul Farmer," he discusses the absence of god in his life and the lives of others, a grand idea, and compares it to something as simple as farming, while painting god in a surreal, interesting light. Overall, I really enjoyed reading Jeff's poetry. He looks at simple things in interesting and new ways, and really allows the reader to come along for the ride with him. I highly recommend reading his work, especially if you find yourself disliking most poetry you come across. I'm very picky when it comes to what I like to read, especially with poetry, because I find that a lot of poetry is lofty and inaccessable, making sense mostly to the poet, but leaving the reader in the dust. Jeff's poetry is the opposite of that. It's real and wonderful, and I think you should read it.
Air Empathy by Jeff McDaniel
On the red-eye from Seattle, a two-year-old
in the seat behind me screeches
his miniature guts out. Instead of dreaming
of stuffing a wad of duct tape into his mouth,
I envy him, how he lets his pain spurt
into the open. I wish I could drill
a pipeline into the fields of ache, tap
a howl. How long would I need to sob
before the lady beside me dropped
her fashion rag, dipped a palm
into the puddle of me? How many
whimpers before another passenger
joined in? Soon the stewardess
hunched over the drink cart, the pilot
gushing into the controls, the entire plain:
an arrow of grief quivering through the sky.
Until tomorrow,
Nicole
