Category Archives: art

Inspiration

It has been very hot here, thus the refreshing fountain, which also applies to today’s topic.

I read two poems last Friday at the open mic at RHINO Reads at Brothers K coffeehouse in Evanston, IL. About ten of us read (roughly 4 minutes each), followed by the two featured poets.

I am intrigued by how creativity inspires or “primes the pump” for further creative endeavors. Like writing or art or dance or architecture, etc.… opening a door to a new poem or photograph for me.

The origin of first poem is self-explanatory. Ralph Hamilton is a great guy who MCs the monthly readings. A bit of a risk reading a poem for someone who was there. But I gave him a heads up when I sent him an earlier version of the poem last week. Bravely, (or kindly) he did not discourage me from reading it.

The second poem is a reflection on the healing power of art inspired by Woman Made Gallery in Chicago. Beate Minkovski is the co-founder and executive director. I have been a member there for years and I never leave without feeling energized.

What inspires you?

6/9/11

In Response to Ralph Hamilton

(inspired by a Rhino blog entry on what he looks for in poetry)

Let me gently read aloud
your razor words back to you
so you will hear and see and feel what I do
what is true and not true.

So you can step outside
the mind creating
and be immersed in creation,
be swept away swimming.

You are unworthy you say
self-absorbed, lonely, even lazy.
Yet what you dared to write
sings louder to me than words.

Be kind, outside the familiar
voice of harsh critical judging,
reflecting on how far from
the intent is the attempt.

Be generous, as if you were someone else,
believe your words bravely written
have something essential to say to someone,
open long-closed channels, move immovable mountains,

expose exquisite unique facets.
Poetry is big enough you say
for differences to grate or soothe or rouse.
There is no success or failing,

there is no measuring up to
what might have been, if only…
There is only this:
life, full, repressed, expressed.

And a container, hopeful bowl of cherries,
even pitted, may still contain pits.
Risk a bruised or broken tooth
for the tart sweetness and abundant juice.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2011

(These two evocative photos were taken at Eyes Wide Open, Beyond Fear–Towards Hope: An Exhibition on the Human Cost of the Iraq War in Grant Park, Chicago, IL, May, 2007

2/27/07

Thinking of Beate

Sometimes art heals
by soothing, sometimes
by lancing the boil, or
by opening the eyes
to fresh possibilities.

Sometimes it closes a door
to a room filled with stale air,
sometimes screams
from a dark bottomless pit,
sometimes presents
wonder on a silver platter.

Sometimes art compels to look,
sometimes can barely look;
the healing subtle
or heart pounding,

one fully present moment
resounding over the ages.
All I am telling you is this:
there is no doubt art heals.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2007

IWWG at BROWN, part 2

Spent the week recovering from the flu. Came on suddenly right after I did my last post. I trust all is well with you. Here are more poems I wrote at the IWWG Remember the Magic writing conference at Brown and a few photos. Includes two more from my self-guided project on doors poems and photographs. Providence is a lovely place. Inspirational.

Let me ask you. What is the purpose of poetry? Do any of these poems or pictures evoke a feeling or memory for you? Are there any doors in your life that are closing or opening? Let me know below.

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8/4/10

Home Body

Some choose looks
over feeling,
unaware or ingrained,

mind over body,
emotion over body,
anything over body.

Body, the second class citizen,
mundane matter subject
to vagaries and whim.

Body that speaks one language
to get attention:
discomfort escalating to pain.

What is this disconnect
from home?
Why are feet not planted

firmly on the ground?
Pulled, lulled ever outward
attention paid to everything but….

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Dramatic Reading

The words dictate
how to be spoken
to go out and sink in.

More than that emphasis
is drama, pleasing to the actor,
overlaying the meaning,

attention now on the reading.
What remains after
in the retina of memory

is not the words, but acting.
Do the audience a kindness
to remember them.

Deliver the lines,
no more, no less,
that is enough.

I acknowledge
different styles and cultures
different training and shaping influence,

not all of them resonant with me.
And so I listen, open,
and get what I can.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Anything

What do I have to give up
to do what I suspect is expected,
to get my money’s worth?

I could head back
to class, to the grid, the schedule,
but this day stretches out

before me, hot and sweet.
Once set in motion
I want to follow where it goes

and where the energy flows,
I flow too.
Anything can happen.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Doors (2)

Doors open, closed, locked, hidden,
the center of attention,

carved, worn, splintered, cared for,
spectacular, plain, old, new, fresh-painted,

peeling, wood, glass, all hard protection
against what might come.

Down steps, up steps, even with the street,
all colors or none, reflective, shiny or matte.

Inviting, inhibiting, used for everyday,
only for show, friendly, forbidding, functional,

what is behind, what stories told or unfolding
what crime, what passion, what apathy,

none of it in relation to me
except as the threads play out

and I am ensnared in a sticky web
not entirely of my own devising.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

8/4/10

Doors (3)

Back doors, front doors, side doors,
creaky doors, easy-slide patio doors,
temperamental doors depending on the weather.

From inside looking out
from out, looking in
perspective is everything.

Certain door types found in certain areas of town,
but the most worn so far, with the hole
in the bare wood splintered step

is one short block from the college dorm
and the chichi, multicolor-trimmed,
ornate pillared-porch door.

Doors with transoms, doors with fanlights,
double doors, single doors, slim or wide,
doors with chains, doors with brass handle locks,

doors with deadbolts, doors with beveled windows,
doors with gates, doors with peepholes,
gates with latches, wrought iron elaborate

or parallel bare bars like a fence,
multi-panel doors, or flat veneer or select fine wood,
revolving doors, automatic doors, doors to push or pull.

Doors that stay open, doors that swing shut
doors that slam every time, screen doors,
doors with jalousie window slats and aluminum frames.

bathroom doors, kitchen doors, bedroom doors,
doors where the top separates from the bottom.
In fifty-eight years, how many doors have I walked through:

school doors, library doors, store doors, church doors, restaurant doors,
house doors, rest stop doors, apartment doors, car doors,
public doors, private doors, doors to keep out or let in,

revealing or concealing everything.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010


8/4/10

Empty Being Filled

Going down a path
willing to be directed

willing to take what comes
to make decisions

to avoid the valleys
by listening

I tell you
a thought is powerful

I am filled
with manifesting

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

Often Unsung Heroes

What a pleasure reading my poem, “Mantles of Transformation,” (see previous post) for the large, enthusiastic group that showed up at the Artists Reception for the Women’s Journeys in Fiber Retrospective Exhibit! It took place in the old Dole mansion built in the 1860’s that is slowly being restored by the community. Very cool! Interesting contrast between the 100 pieces of vibrant, colorful art with the intricate wood trims and their peeling paint, the lofty ceilings and crumbling walls (not yet restored). The art and the good company nourished me yet again.

In one of those pre-sleep flashes the night before, I remembered I had written a new poem for Jan Gerber, the curator and coordinator of ten years of these fiber arts projects. I read the poem to see if it seemed “settled” and gave it to her as a surprise.

Then I began my reading with this recent poem. What of yourself do you see in her?

11/23/09

For Jan Gerber

You are the seed crystal,
the often unsung hero,

the gatherer, the glue,
the creative spark,

the tranquil reflecting pool,
the gypsy fortune teller.

The one who risks,
the nurturer,

the shock absorber,
the way seeker,

the book maker,
the curator, the midwife,

creator of the grand design,
the one who keeps on.

The dreamer
and follower of the dream.

Trust, patience, truth,
good humor, good heart,

intelligence, hope,
inspiration, courage.

Listener, speaker,
avid student, natural teacher.

Persistent. Determined.
Enthusiastic. Resilient.

Kind and generous.
What of myself

is mirrored in you?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

Mantles of Transformation

In 2000, I was inspired by the Mantles Project displayed as part of the Fine Art of Fiber show at the nearby Chicago Botanic Garden. About 30 unique, colorful garments created by local women artists, each reflecting their spiritual/life journey. Awesome. I took many photographs and then the lines began in my head to the poem below. I used my photos as a watermark behind the poem and also read it to the group.

You can see these beautiful garments (https://www.womensjourneysinfiber.com/) at a new exhibit, Women’s Journey in Fiber Retrospective Exhibit at Lakeside Legacy Arts Park, 410 Country Club Road, Crystal Lake, IL, https://www.lakesidelegacy.org/ running Jan 4-22. (Curated by Jan Gerber) Don’t miss this extraordinary vibrant show!

I will be reading “Mantles of Transformation,” at the Artists Reception Jan 17 at 2-5 PM Come join us!

Mantles of Transformation

by Margaret Dubay Mikus

The clothes I wear define
the role I choose to play,
or choose without knowing a choice.
And if I wish to change my past
in the endless unfolding drama,

I naturally would change my garb.
I might buy an outfit that better suits
who I am becoming
or I might fashion with my own hands
a garment of my own devising.

I might think on it and meditate
and in the end just wait
until this mantle of transformation
slowly reveals itself to me….
And my hands begin, as my mind lets go,

to weave from all I know, using
threads from my past
and hopes from my future
and Divine breath with every suture,
all woven into my wondrous creation.

And once I have done it
I know I can
begin with a dream
and make it so I can hold it
in my trembling hands.

And once I have done it
I know you can too, create
a mantle to proudly wear
as you set your course
for a new destination.

We can weave all the love we are
into each moment, each hour,
all the kindness and compassion,
all the fire, longing and desire—
I’ve seen it done.

Thirty women met in a class last year
and began a course none knew well
to discover what lay ahead.
And together, with conscious intent,
each made manifest her heart’s desire:

a mantle of vivid color, pastels or black and white.
Of lace or silk, memory and mist, sweat and tears,
beads and buttons, laughter and determination.
As time went on, they helped each other
realize their lofty goal: to show themselves

and show their world, be it large or small,
a piece of their true magnificence,
remembering as they sewed or knit
what joy in pure creation.
And whether each mantle turned out

as originally envisioned was unimportant,
their lives changed as their hearts opened
and hands worked, each creation becoming
a thing alive, growing and evolving.
Each “baby” was then birthed in its own time,

with many midwives to assist
and encourage and breathe with the “mother’
and to admire each “baby” as it slipped out
and gave a first lusty cry.

Each mantle unique as each woman,
each story one of a kind.
Each mantle unique as her face, her vision,
her spirit, her voice, her life experience.

And it came to be that the mantles were displayed
in a location perfect to see them all and be inspired,
and then moved to another center of art and another….
Will the mantles go home or will they travel,
gallery art or wearing apparel?

Many doors are open, the future
limited only by imagination.
Where could these divine creations go
to spread their inspiration?
A book, on the radio, TV, or the web,

postcards, note cards, and who knows what.
Or the mantles might quietly return to their makers,
to cloak her, to be her flame and let her bask in
well-deserved glory. In the end we find:
it is not the destinations—

it is the journeys that most move us.

Copyright © 2000

mantle: noun and verb

A loose sleeveless coat worn over outer garments; a cloak
Something that covers, envelops
Ornamental facing
Zone of hot gases around a flame
Sheath of threads that gives off a brilliant illumination when heated by flame
Cerebral
Layer of earth
Blast furnace above the hearth
Wings, feathers, and back colored differently from rest of the body
Fold or pair of folds
To spread or become extended over a surface
Covered with a coating, as froth
Overspread by blushes or colors

From American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 3rd Ed.,
Houghton Mifflin Company, 1992