Poetry is often overlooked in the modern world, not perhaps because we do not have time, but because poetry defies the rush and busyness that has become a staple of society. We don't linger and we don't repeat, we simply move on to the next thing. 

But poetry demands that, for a few moments, we sit still. For that reason, I am always keeping my eye out for poets who are currently carving memories out of moments. 

A Little About Christine 

Interview

What drew you towards writing/art? 

My older sister died when I was 11 years old. She was 20. It was sudden and left a crater in my life. I wrote to process that grief and other aspects of my life. (My book of poetry, KEEPING THEM ALIVE, grapples with this subject, too.) After a while, it became a practice others expected me to do, and I began to expect it from myself. But that took years. 

How do you find inspiration or topics for your genre of writing/art? 

I’m drawn to certain overarching themes, like epistemology (what do we know, how do we know, and when do we know) and loss, but I wrestle with them through art, nature, and family relationships. In other words, sensory details from my daily life help me express more philosophical thoughts.  

What was your first or favorite childhood memory? 

Wow. That’s a tough one. I have a lot of impressions of my grandparents’ homes--scents, sounds, etc. Most of my fuller memories start in kindergarten, which seems late. 

What is a small joy you celebrate often? 

My sons’ learning new things. My older son has a rare form of epilepsy that tamped down his learning for nearly a decade. For years he was unable to fully use or understand language. (I tackle this strand of my life in my book Bluewords Greening.) Now that the seizures have waned, he’s learning how to have conversations, how to read, how to take better care of himself, how to cook, how to tell jokes, etc. My younger son, nine years younger than his brother, simply soaks information in, which astonishes me. What brings me the greatest joy is how they love and help each other. 

What has been an inspiring piece of art or media you’ve enjoyed lately? 

I recently bought a piece of art from Susan M. Heggestad, a mixed media artist from Vermillion, South Dakota. I love the way she uses textiles for texture in her work. I regularly practice ekphrasis, and I have an ongoing collaboration with British artist Pauline Aitken. I have ekphrastic poetry in Bluewords Greening as well as its “twin” book, Untrussed. 

What is a fun or interesting experience you’ve appreciated? (either personally or professionally) 

During the pandemic, I started giving a lot of Zoom workshops and readings. Of course, I prefer face-to-face interactions, but I was shocked about how many more folks could participate online. I live in a rural state, and I know how a newfound appreciation for the way technology can help us connect with each other. 

What is your go-to comfort food, TV show, and book?

I really like homemade pizza. I don’t watch a lot of TV, and I don’t often read the same book more than once unless it’s work or writing-related.

What do you feel is the most significant achievement you’ve made thus far? (Personally or professionally) 

Professionally, I’m very proud of my education (I hold a Ph.D.) and my published work because I didn’t know anyone who had gone to graduate school or published books when I was growing up. My parents are responsible for pushing me toward college; they hoped I could have more choices than they did since they didn’t have college degrees. I’m proud of my tenacity in terms of keeping up my writing practice and sending work out into the world. I know a lot of good writers who have negotiated this path differently.  Personally, I’m proud of my family. Parenting is super hard work--the hardest work I’ve experienced. And my kids and marriage are thriving right now, so…. So far, so good.

If you could give the younger generation one piece of advice, what would that be?

Own your strengths and yet stay humble. It took me years before I really began to believe in myself and have a strong, confident sense of self. Of course, that doesn’t mean one should be ruled by ego, just that it’s okay to let yourself shine.

When did something unexpected but good happen to you? 

Wow. I have so many answers to this. I try to stay open to serendipity; it’s an important part of living a creative life. In the summer of 1996, soon after I graduated with my undergraduate degree, I got an invitation to interview for a job teaching in Turkey. Despite my plans already in place for graduate school, I said yes to the interview, got the job, and six weeks later I was on a plane to Istanbul.

What was the last song you listened to? 

Michael Jackson’s Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground). It was the last one on my family’s bike ride playlist yesterday. 

To purchase a copy of Christine's latest book of poems, The Poet & the Architect, visit her lovely site at

https://www.christinestewartnunez.com/#/the-poet-the-architect/

Thank you so much to Christine for taking the time to answer my questions!

Ashley 

If you or another artist you know would like to be interviewed, drop me a note at aafouchwrites@gmail.com

Meeting fellow creatives is one of the highlights of being an artist. When I came across Lillian Brummet’s work, I was inspired by her lively writing style and her desire to help others find wellness through nature, music, and healthy eating (three of my favorite things!). I was thrilled to connect with Lillian and ask her a few questions, which I hope you enjoy.

A Little About Lillian 

By Lillian Brummet 

Lillian and her husband Dave are the team behind Brummet Media Group, high-fiving cheerfully as they pass each other on the way from checking off one item or other from their long to-do list. After moving to their dream location (in the Kootenay Region of BC, Canada), they have been methodically converting the abused lot over to the little park it has become – and in doing so have gained certification with bee, pollinator and wildlife organizations. Their home, too, has become energy efficient via the many upgrades they have done. Their business includes Dave’s music studio and percussion accessory products and graphic design work as well as numerous award-winning non-fiction books and popular blogs. Today we help them celebrate their latest book release - From One Small Garden, with over 300 delicious, nutritious recipes!

Interview:

I saw that you dabble in many different arts, including writing - What drew you towards writing & art?

Song lyrics helped ease emotions as I matured and that led me toward using poetry as a healing tool. Once that poetry gained recognition, won awards, got published - that encouragement led to more writing. Writing came up several times upon taking a few career assessment tests, however, I didn't think I had enough to offer, that I was good enough, or that I even could do such a thing since I have some dyslexia issues. I wanted to not just write, but to write in such a way that it inspired positive change and as it turned out, people enjoyed the topics I focused on.  

I dabbled in crafts, needlework and cake decoration arts when I was in my 20's, did some sketching here and there since then... a little minor painting and some carvings (which I am anxious to try again). I consider gardening an art as well, painting with plants - creating beautiful landscapes on every square inch of our property. Lol. Another art I have embraced is cooking - using the amazing garden harvests and locally produced food items in this lush valley. I find these artistic endeavours are a way for me to give back to the people around me, to create a little more green space for the environment, a little shade for the pedestrians and a haven for birds, bees, butterflies etc. 

While I am busily playing in the dirt, or doing crafts, I am always working in my head. My lists are ticked, the days are organized, I remember communications I haven't done yet or come up with good responses to interview questions or find the plotline I wish to follow for a short story I'm working on. Before cell phones I could be spotted dashing inside, covered in dirt, looking desperately for a pen before the idea, or poem, faded.

Dear Class of 2021, 

Here is a little poem for you. I hope you are well, 

and I hope you take what you have learned and 

treat your days with love, wisdom, and enchantment. 

Gossamer Gowns

Today 

I heard the leaves

that seemed 

to grieve with me. 

The past is gone--

it is no more.

And yet, 

this Moment 

is the Evermore.

Like a child 

I have prophesied 

New life 

on the Horizon. 

May I have the Courage 

to Meet it, 

To Greet it with a kiss

and a Smile 

Expectantly, 

Full of wonder, 

Not worry. 

Photo courtesy of Canva

Within the earth 

I weep

And silence fills 

the deep. 

I cannot see 

the sky

Or smiles passing

by. 

I ache to simply 

Move, 

And come nearer

To you. 

But in this cage 

I stay,

Tired of the 

Same. 

I remember 

Trees

The rustling of the 

Leaves. 

I remember

Water--

When I was 

Summer’s daughter. 

Now I hear your 

Voice,

Saying there is

A choice:

To stay within 

my earth, 

Or rise up from 

The dirt. 

I didn’t 

understand

When you removed 

Your hand,

That you had 

buried me

Because I am

A seed. 

Take the time to unwind my memories.

Listen to me deeply, to the stories within.

Like a child, lost in the world I have lost myself.

Question me back into existence.

Remind me who I once was.

Photo by A.A. Fouch

With wearied eyes and worn beliefs,

"Desire only comes to grief;

From seeking, there is no relief." 

I asked him all that he desired--

He showed me what he had acquired:

All the time that he had spent

On clothes and food

and friends and rent; 

On chasing after selfish dreams,

Desires born of ingrown schemes. 

I said, "You simply live too small--

Why, these weak wants won't do at all!

Better to have never lived 

Than live a life of wasted gifts. 

Your heart was made for grander things

Your weight too great for tiny wings." 

He simply sighed and shook his head, 

Drank his drink, and went to bed. 

image via wikipedia 

Fragile thought is like a bird--

Evading eyes but always heard. 

Wonderous elusive creature!

With intricate and el'gant feature!

Away he jumps straight into flight,

If ever he’s caught in my sight. 

Perched upon the window sill 

Attending to his wondrous trill, 

Too late I tune to hear his song

Heard so quick, then quickly gone. 

Seen from the corners of my eyes

His home the whole of all the skies. 

With soft a step, I draw so near...

He senses me and disappears.

My eyes flicker open

Sleepily. 

Warm, golden light

Casts a magical haze

Over my room. 

In this moment, 

There is no time. 

I can picture myself 

Many years in the future, 

In the place where everyone knows my name, 

and I am loved as dearly 

as the moon, 

For there, 

In the future, 

We all reflect the Son. 

I breathe slowly 

and peacefully. 

There is no rush to be anywhere,

or to do anything in particular. 

If I like, I will do something nice,  

Such as have a cup of tea

or bake fresh blueberry scones. 

All the work of the world is done, 

Except for the work which is pleasant to do. 

Surely, there are hard things 

I can set my heart on, 

But only because they are nice in the end. 

I sigh happily. 

On this Saturday morning, 

I have gone to the edge of Universe 

and peered over 

Into the Endless Hall of Delights. 

via istockphoto.com

Since childhood, I have been a pretty serious little person. I can look at a gum wrapper (this honestly happened when I was younger) and cry about its significance. Granted, there are things in life that are serious, and they should be treated with respect. This concept is not often grasped in today's "meme culture" where everything disintegrates. Both a lack and a surplus of significance can make a person miserable because the emotion becomes unstable and artificial. Things must be what they are. There must be truth. 

To say that nothing matters means that we are attributing meaningless to things that DO have meaning. Love, life, and existence all have meaning. There are solid answers for life, despite what popular philosophy would tell us. To say that certain things, objects, and events matter simply because we wish them to is attributing significance to something that may in truth be meaningless or at least not as meaningful as we would like. 

As someone who likes to hold onto things, objects, ideas, songs, emotions, memories, and people, I have to be very careful that I am not carrying around "stuff" that really isn't all that important. The main thing that is important in my life is my relationship with God, not my relationship with stuff or even people that I deeply love. If I am trusting in God and allowing him to show me what is important, my hands are far more free to move and do the work I am meant to do instead of running around, clutching things out of my perception of their importance. When I push away things that truly are significant, my hands are empty and I am not working with the tools I need to finish my tasks. 

My goal for this month is to stop attributing too much seriousness to things in my life that are not life and death. I want to practice letting go, leaving things behind, and pressing onward in the truly important things in life. 

I am currently enjoying my last semester of college, and loving every helter-skelter minute of it. While listening to some poetry by Emily Dickinson in one of my morning classes, I was struck by the idea for this poem about memory. 

Writers are, I think, in many ways slaves to their memories. I have had a "memory hoarding" issue since I was quite young, and found solace in writing things down. When your memory is very good like mine, it's easy to go back in time and even want to stay there longer than you should. 

However, a good memory when used properly is a wonderful tool that lets you stand outside of time and space to help others see what they have forgotten about the world, or even themselves. This poem is both a sadness and a celebration of the gift of memory. 

Time does not go on for me

Forever I am crossed at sea. 

Forever tossed 

On still-same wave--

Forever here to start again. 

I look into that face of yours, 

And all I see are open doors, 

Open doors within your eyes

Forever walking into mine. 

Time makes strangers

Of loves and dangers. 

But not of me, 

It cannot be. 

Forever in my wintered mind, 

These thoughts preserved for all of time. 

I look around myself and say

"I can recall like yesterday..." 

Yet no one else remains here thus--

My memory stays, theirs fades to dust. 

So all their ships go sailing by, 

But on my boat, there is no time. 

Photo credit via - https://cverwaal.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/on-frozen-pond/