“Relievo” by Cris Brodahl, 2010. Oil on Linen.

Mountain (Relievo)

And when you climb,

Anticipate the weight

Of the journey—

Rope, pick,

Pack, piton—

Consider

The deceptiveness of glaciers,

The hut you never reach, the gorge

That takes you, without warning,

To the bosom of the earth.

Don’t ask yourself

Why you are here—

You know.

You are encumbered

Even standing still, even

If you never had begun the climb.

Wet snow, waterfall, shock

Of edelweiss—

This is your native land,

Beautiful Yeti—

The eye that stares out from the stone

Is yours—

Fear of steepness,

Wariness of ice,

Your birthright.

Feel

The pull of your calves,

Your hands’

Grasp

On each crevice,

And, arriving at the peak,

The sway of your own heart.

Let yourself be slight

And the mountain immeasurable.

The rock

Cradles your bones inside:

Foot,

Shoulder,

The raised contours of the face—

You see yourself

In relief.

©2010 by Katherine Grace Bond. Written as part of the Seattle Art Museum’s SAM Word Program, in response to Cris Brodahl‘s “Mountain” exhibit.

Filed under: art, Ekphrastic Poetry, Katherine's Writing, Poetry, SAM Word by katherine
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The challenge was to make a poem from book titles. I had a hard time getting the light right on the photo, so here’s what it says:

Lies That Bind

Kindred

Tarnished

The One-Way Bridge,

Leaving Everything Most Loved.

*     *     *

When We Wake

The The Raging Quiet,

Amity and Sorrow

Stay

Listening Against the Stone,

The Edge of the Earth

Perfect

As She Left It

Filed under: adult writers, Katherine's Writing, Poetry by katherine
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Another poem, discovered as I was packing. Evidently, I had to include certain words, chosen by the audience, hence, “the niceties of samosas and ivory smiles.” What does it all mean?

The Snoqualmie River

Baptism

You have arrived at the place where the water turns south,
the place where you dispense with the niceties of samosas and ivory smiles.
It is the tertiary question that will hopscotch you to the truth.

The first: With what adjective
does one define waiting?

The second: Connect the dots;
what feather image forms itself?

The third: Listen to each breath.
It is enough.

Now you swim wearing only
the questions—
a kind of nakedness that offers you no foothold,
only the shock of full
immersion,
the rush of current,
your own strong lungs.

Filed under: Katherine's Writing, Poetry, What does it mean? by katherine
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This
Is not a poem,
so don’t go thinking it is.
Poems are loaded
with similes
like peach trees in August
and metaphor~
a naked man running.
But this is not one,
so don’t bother analyzing it,
writing exams about it,
or pretending to understand it

Filed under: Katherine's Writing, nakedness, Poetry, What does it mean? by katherine
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Found a bunch of somewhat-weird poems I’d never typed up. Here’s one. No idea what I was thinking when I wrote it, so have at it:

Filed under: Katherine's Writing, Poetry, weird, What does it mean? by katherine
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Now that I have your attention…

I’ve been thinking again about why I write. With THE SUMMER OF NO REGRETS so close to release, I barely have time to think about this. But every debut novelist has to grapple with “Me-And-My-Ego.” While I’m busy with promotion, it’s easy for me to get distracted by “Please love my book and say I’m wonderful,” as if that is the point of what I do. But since I have no desire to relive junior high (“What do you think of me? Am I pretty? Does my crush think I’m pretty? What can I do to make you like me?”), I have to consider why I really write.

It’s because I want my readers to look at each other’s eyes.

No, really. Really look. A book can help us do that, I think. We meet someone new–even if it’s a fictional character–and then maybe we can risk stepping out of our isolation or into someone else’s. A real someone. The girl at the next lunch table, maybe. Or the guy bagging our groceries. Or a friend we haven’t really talked to in a long time.

I wrote a bunch of poems at the Seattle Art Museum a couple of years ago, in response to the artist Cris Brodahl. I sat with her paintings for hours, watching people come in and out. They’d look at the work for a short time or a long time. She has this kind of layered thing she does, where she’ll put one painting on top of another, like this one called “The Fall.” The face behind is different from the face in front. And the painting is a nude so, yeah, lots of people stare at it for a while. (Ah, NOW you’re clicking the link.) Okay, so I’m not encouraging lunchroom nudity or anything, but I thought about the risk we take when we expose our true selves, when we say what we think and how we feel and who we are. And I wondered if it was worth it to do that. And I’m still not absolutely certain that it is. But sometimes when we do, we see each other’s eyes for the first time.

The Fall

When publicly undressed
You must
Remain serene.
Do not notice
The breeze across your belly,
Tightness of shoulders,
Weight of your breasts.

Pretend
No one stands, head atilt,
Scrutinizing the curves of your body,
Crook of an elbow,
The intermittent catch of your throat.

Imagine you do not lean
Over a precipice.

Instead, be rain,
Shale, Snow,
Small tumble that shakes the mountain,
Behind your face
A clandestine smile.

You alone
Know your secret tipping point,
How to slide out of view,
Hidden in your skin.

Rockfall,
Facefall,
Voicefall,
Freefall.

Do not mistake
Serenity for safety,
You, who chose this starkness.
Danger attends revelation,
Like a brooding lady-in-waiting.
Danger
Has her own secrets.

Wait
For the one who will stare into your eyes.
Hold still and do not look away.
The earth tips under both of you.
Let it.

Fall
Like a flame,
Like a dying star,
And do not be afraid.

©2010 Katherine Grace Bond

Filed under: art, being real, book launch, books, eyes, Katherine's Writing, nakedness, Poetry, promotion, YA Novel by katherine
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It’s funny how a poem can capture a particular moment, so that when you read it years later that whole period of life comes back. Here’s one I wrote when my kids (now grown or nearly grown) were little. I’ve never shared it, since I didn’t consider it a “real” poem and probably intended to revise it. Here it is:

Azaleas


I should be
rewriting a children’s story.
It’s due today
and my son has set a buzzer on the stove
for when I have to leave for an afternoon meeting.
Today the yard is bursting rhododendrons
like buttered popcorn.
Bees lift and hover in the pollen cups.
Instead of writing for my deadline
I am thinking about theology
of how God could infuse the yellow azaleas
outside the picture window
and my sleeping dog here on the carpet
and where the telephone pole across the street
fits into all this.
The story
is about bullies and playground power
and I’m wondering how senators cling
to a Jesus I don’t know and quote Ghengis Khan
and call it holy.
I don’t understand much beyond the asphalt
of the schoolyard
and the bees and the azaleas
and my dog.

Filed under: bullies, Christianity, families, Katherine's Writing, Poetry, religion, spirituality by katherine
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Filed under: Katherine's Writing, Poetry, spirituality by katherine
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I’m thinking about journeys tonight, as I get ready for a drive to Yellowstone. And I’m thinking about the journeys we take in our relationships. Sometimes, as a parent, my journey has been about saying good-bye and allowing for the journey of one of my children. I ran across this poem as I was planning a lesson on journeys. I wrote it in 2008, but tonight it seems especially applicable.

Filed under: families, Katherine's Writing, Poetry by katherine
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The trouble is (more…)

Filed under: Katherine's Writing, Poetry by katherine
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