Category Archives: poetry

Louise Penny on Tour

One of my very favorite authors, Louise Penny, was here this past Wed. at a local library 15 minutes from my house. Some years ago a friend recommended her books, beginning with Still Life. I was going through some serious medical problems and needed some good distraction. I’m a voracious reader. I loved the books featuring Chief Inspector Armand Gamache in the Surete du Quebec, each book individually and also the continuing long arc of the story. The latest in the series just came out August 27, How the Light Gets In. I had pre-ordered it on my nook. (No spoilers, but I loved it. Worth waiting for! Very satisfying read!)

I had a conflict and decided not to go see her. The conflict resolved itself and still I did not make plans to go. I happened to mention Louise Penny was coming and my husband said, “Of course you are going.” Not really as a question. And I said, “No I didn’t think so.” And he replied, “Of course you are going!”

I don’t know why I didn’t jump at the chance to see her. We are connected on Facebook. She posts delightful slivers from her life, which I read every day. She is lovely and so inclusive, very personal and welcoming, as if we knew each other. Perhaps I did not want to have the reality competing with the illusion. Maybe I was feeling shy. In any case, in a burst of light-heartedness I called the library to register and was put on the waiting list. Only a few were ahead of me, I got a call later to confirm my attendance.

This was not my library so the day before I drove past to be sure of directions and parking. An eBook cannot be signed, so what was I going for? Perhaps I had written poems inspired by her books? To find out I scanned my poetic journal going back to 2006. I have written thousands of poems since then, organized into files of 6 months each. In the course of searching for Louise-related poems, I found lots of other poems of interest, especially for my next collection (more soon). And two for Louise.

I checked them over and printed them out to take with me. I thought I might also get a book signed for a friend. And maybe give Louise my CD. That was the plan.

I was early and got parking right in front. I found a seat in the third row and bought the new book for my friend. Louise walked in right on time. She was at ease, gracious and funny, thoughtful and insightful. She talked about how she came to write and the poems she uses in the books. She generously answered questions. I felt wonderful listening to her talk about her writing history. Not that we are the same, or share the same story, but we are both ultimately optimists. We love to read, and love to write. I felt unreasonably encouraged. Uplifted. What a gift!

Afterwards I waited in a long, but well-organized line. When my turn came to talk to her, I handed her the 2 poems and my CD. She graciously received my offering, taking my hand saying how she loved poets. (“Was it ok to read them later?” “Of course,” I said.) I told her I was interested in how creativity prompts further creativity. The librarian organizer took our smiling photo. I felt not shy, but kindred, and welcomed with open arms. An unanticipated feeling of belonging. Thank you!

Here are the two poems.

The Cruelest Month is the title of her third Gamache book (poem also refers to a line from a Leonard Cohen poem and song, Anthem; and Diana Jones who wrote a beautiful song, Cracked and Broken.

11/23/10

Reading The Cruelest Month
(with reference to Leonard Cohen and Diana Jones)

Is there anyone aware who
does not feel a fraud
as if secrets can no longer be hid,

as if the dark outweighs
any achievement—if only
“they” could see past the veil,

the illusion, the image, the lie perpetuated?
Is there anyone who was and remains
so pure and accomplished, so honest,

who never tried to pass
shine for rust,
who in some corner of some cage,

feared discovery, feared…
feared…feared…until blind and deaf to beauty,
until consumed with self-loathing replacing self-discovery?

Can simple love heal the breach;
and the imperfection—the crack that lets the light in—
lets the light in? Forever. Amen.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

Refers to Eric Whitacre, Louise Penny and Anne Lamott. All different and creative people. I love their work, but also learn by watching them being themselves: to be successful, yet remain genuine.

3/28/13

Reception
For and about Eric, Louise, and Anne

I not only
see-hear-read-feel
what you put out,

but how, with what intelligence-
humor-grace-generous heart
you can muster.

How broad your reach,
how humble yet powerful,
how determined-persistent-practical-hopeful

you may do what you must,
with the help that comes
overcome inevitable darkness.

Not thinking of me,
or me exactly, but
I am here soaking it all in,

I am here inspired…
imagining.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2013

Each Life Is Precious

Washington DC in March Margaret Dubay Mikus Copyright 2004

  March Petals                                                                                              Margaret Dubay Mikus   Copyright 2004

I have been writing a poetic journal since 1995, begun just after healing from multiple sclerosis. In 1996 I was diagnosed with breast cancer, completing treatment (surgery, chemo, and radiation) in 1997. I kept writing, (by hand, in spiral notebooks), but I was unable to get all of the poems edited and entered into the computer. Time went on and I recovered, facing other challenges over the years, balancing being a mother and wife, running a household, with writing and creative projects. At some point I got back to the process of getting my poems in the computer, organizing them in “Books” of six months of writing each. But I never got all those poems from 1997-98 into my files.

A long time passed. My writing changed, getting better I hope, more streamlined, clearer perhaps. But I held onto the idea that I wanted the complete “set” of poems to access for any future projects. The poems, as is any journal, are like memory. What happened? Who was I then, what inspired me?

Every so often over the years, I pulled out the dusty spiral notebooks and made efforts to get caught up. This week I began again in earnest to get all the poems into usable form. Many of them are clearly for my own use only. This is often the case with writing. But some surprised me. Here is one story I came upon tonight.

3/28/98

Each Life Is Precious

I am grateful
for each and every
hair growing on my head,

for eyes that blink
and open wide, that cry
or crinkle,

for every breath drawn in,
for every cell sent oxygen,
for a full heart beating untended

in time to ancient rhythm.
I am grateful for every day,
every minute each a gift,

for feet and hands and lips,
for knees and elbows and hips,
for skin and nails and toes,

for ears and eyebrows,
neck and shoulders,

for back straight
and thighs strong.

All this awareness
this awakening,

dedicated to the one
who was struck by a lemon-colored cab

right before our shocked eyes,
so hard his shoes flew off,

hit so fast and terrible
the body collapsed and lay flat

like a balloon doll with the air let out
or a scarecrow without its stuffing.

In that second, one easy Friday night
the world changed color.

We drove on, as many others came to help, hospital nearby,
we went on in horror, my head cupped in hands,

but not helpless. I sent healing energy
to support the spirit

so recently jolted from physical reality.
I held his ethereal hand as he shook it off

and kept on traveling.
I rubbed my husband’s shoulders,

he massaged my neck and head,
we spoke in hushed reverent tones

and drove carefully home.
I honor the one who gave us this lesson:

All life, every sometimes grating minute
is precious, beyond any earthly measure.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 1998

On Sale for Read an E-Book Week

2011 LGNB 95 smaller front coverD ebook for SmashwordsStarting Sunday, March 3 — for one week only — you can buy my award winning E-book, Letting Go and New Beginnings: A Mother’s Poetic Journey, for only $1.00! That is 75% off the normal low price. Go to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39211 and enter coupon code REW 75 at check out.

For parents letting go of their children or anyone working on letting go for any reason. “Words from the heart and photographs that complement the poems beautifully.” Pramod Uday

Happy Winter

Flowers from Stella (C) 2011 Margaret Dubay Mikus

Flowers from Stella (C) 2011 Margaret Dubay Mikus

Happy New Year! Happy Winter! Record lack of snow for Chicago. And very mild temperatures. Also very late for a first snowfall.Coming Soon! My blog will be an integral part of my newly re-designed website. Last days to see the current version of www.Fullblooming.com. All previous blog posts and comments will be transferred over to the new site. Still working on the final pieces of the new design. I have learned a lot. I am so excited to share the new site with you! Soon…

Here is my final poem of 2012. I have now been walking or biking (inside) 4 to 5 times a week for 5 1/2 weeks. More of my healthy plan to get back some strength and fitness. It has been hard, but feels good too. On my walks poems have been coming to me about the block I walk on. This is the most recent one.

12/29/12

Past Dusk Walk

First Snowfall

Concentrate
on staying upright.

No frozen dog tracks
no shiny new cyclone fence

enclosing a house yet un-built.
No large lit white brick house

impressive with white twinkling lights
two massive paneled white wood doors

with two big plumed wreaths and bows.
Stop to look up at

three honking geese in a line flying east.
No visible sunset turning sky to rose

just gray clouds turning to darker gray
turning to night black.

No blue and green, red and yellow
lights reflecting in the re-freezing snow-melt.

Concentrate on staying upright
walking home on into the night.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

Deer in Backyard (C) 2012 Margaret Dubay Mikus

Deer in Backyard (C) 2012 Margaret Dubay Mikus

Good-bye, Jean McGrew

Petunia (C) 2012 Margaret Dubay Mikus

I met Jean McGrew in 1998. She was 14 years older and a retired kindergarten teacher. Some years before, she’d had a liver transplant (following hepatitis C). Jean wrote poems to her new life-saving liver, “Oliver,” among other things. We connected right away, in part because we both were poets writing about healing, in part because we were each on a spiritual quest and liked to laugh.

Several times a year we would meet for lunch at Hackney’s in Lake Zurich, IL and catch up. For the last few years, we were in contact more by email. She was always wonderfully upbeat and optimistic. I attended one of her extraordinary “Healing Basket” presentations where she used props from a basket to accompany her stories and poems. Lovely and moving. I encouraged her to get her inspiring poems out into the world where they could help others. She ultimately self-published four poetry chapbooks. She enthusiastically read my work and encouraged me to keep writing, not to get discouraged and give up. Really, we were mutual mentors.

Though our life stories were different in many ways, we were also kindred spirits. I wrote two poems for her when we first met. She was surprised by how different it felt to have someone write for her for a change.

In August, just a month after my Mom’s death, I got a call from Marcia, Jean’s daughter, with the news about Jean’s peaceful passing. (Thank you for the call, Marcia!) Here is a recent poem I wrote about Jean. It refers to Monet’s bridge at Giverny, France, which Jean used as a healing symbol during chemotherapy, eventually having her picture taken on that very bridge after recovery. I will deeply miss her.

8/29/12

Jean McGrew Crosses the Bridge

(Call from her daughter, Marcia)

So I did hear after all
when Jean heard the call
and left this life

as she lived it,
on her own terms,
with spunk and clarity,

family gathered round
for the last peaceful breath,
comforted by their mutual faith.

I miss her encouragement,
optimism, healing words, determination,
contagious inspiration, poetry, good humor,

writing to her heart or liver,
envisioning Monet’s bridge at Giverny
to cross over the ocean back to health,

her talks at the library, wellness, and senior centers
complete with healing basket of props,
poems, stories, heartfelt collections,

compassion, support, persistence,
lunches at Hackney’s in Lake Zurich.
Miss you, rare kindred spirit!

Inevitable I reach an age
where my mothers are gone
and gone and gone and

I am left
mothering
on my own.

“We are always close
in heart and spirit,”
she last wrote to me.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012