From the Academy of American Poets, a cento is derived from the Latin word for “patchwork”. The cento (or collage poem) is a poetic form composed entirely of lines from poems by other poets.
Love, what is love? I tried to answer, but our language had been lost (and forgotten). So, love’s face may still seem love (to me).
Everything carries me (to you).
Love, what is love? I tried to answer, but our language had been lost (and forgotten).
If little by little, you stop loving me, I shall stop loving you…
If suddenly you forget me do not look for me…
Love, what is love? I tried to answer, but our language had been lost.
If I were a poet, I’d kidnap you. Lyric you in lilacs.
If suddenly you forget me, do not look for me.
Isabelle Palerma
Poems Used:
“Love — What is Love?”, Robert Louis Stevenson.
“In the Dusky Path of a Dream”, Rabindranath Tagore.
In her own words, the poet LowKey says this: “I go by the name LowKey. I write about anything and everything that stirs me enough to want to pick up the pen. Blessed with an attention span of a goldfish, the brevity of my literary work comes as a given. Simple yet effective is my writing mantra.”
LowKey writes poetry that hearkens back to more traditional poets, yet has a distinct style all its own. Whether it is one of her short pieces or a longer work, she stops to make readers of her poetry think and contemplate the content of her works. They are a reflection of the world we live in, both our interior realms and the external.
When did you first discover that you were a poet? What was that experience like?
When I was around 18. It was more of a “okay, so I think I can write poems” than a “aha! me is a poet!” I remember being pretty nervous when I asked my mum to have a read. She is an amazing writer and poetry is her thing. I saw her eyes welling up as she was reading the piece. I think that was the first time I realized how my words could actually impact people. It was empowering, humbling, liberating, all at once.
What are some of your favorite subjects to write about? What inspires you to write poetry?
I think the darker shades of human emotions is what I like to explore and write about. We as a society present ourselves in a neatly wrapped package with a red bow around it. What goes on underneath that shimmery wrap is something we usually shy away from or deny. So that is what I love to discover through the words I pen. I think pain inspires me to write the most. I know that might sound a bit whack, but some of the best creative pieces I have written have been from when I was in a dark place. Maybe it is because my need to lean on creativity to express myself is the most during those times.
If you could spend the afternoon with another famous author or poet, who would you choose and why?
Has to be Sir Walter de la Mare, although he isn’t amidst us anymore. He is my absolute favorite. The way he built an entire atmosphere around the reader with his words is beyond amazing. From his poems, he seems to have been pretty intense and quiet. It would be fascinating to see what he really was like.
What is your favorite aspect of writing poetry? What is your least favorite?
I think the healing that comes from writing, regardless of the form of writing is my most favorite aspect. The least favorite aspect is someone out there always does it better and you go, “Damn! why didn’t I think of that!!?”
How did you discover your style of poetry? How did you find your voice as a poet?
I feel like every writer has something unique to offer that might be lost if one tries to emulate. I think “inspired” would be the right word for me here. I like subtlety. I always have. So when I began writing, it was something that came naturally to me.
What advice do you have for poets who are just beginning their careers as poets?
Be honest and unfiltered. Creativity is where you can just let go. So, make the most of it. Most importantly, don’t be swayed by the negativity that your readers might hurl at you. As long as you keep your “writer conscience” clear, it’s all good.
Do you think shorter poetry is easier for readers to digest? What influence has social media had on your writing style, if any?
Oh yes! I am not sure about the digest part, but people nowadays definitely prefer brevity. Social media fortunately has not affected the way I choose to express myself through my writing. The reason I said fortunately is because it is so easy to be engulfed and affected by social media in this day and age. From creating pressure to making you doubt yourself to making you lose your originality because you have fallen prey to trends, social media can take away the voice that it so freely provides as well.
Who are your favorite poets to read?
Beside Sir Walter de la Mare and your pieces, I really like reading Edgar Allan Poe and J. Andrew Schrecker.
Little Tommy, five years old Sat with Grandpa and learnt to fold Colored papers, ribbons, and casks Into little party masks.
Birthday masks and ballroom faces Held together with glue and laces Funny, scary, bold and rude Different masks for different mood.
“Why do people hide their skin Behind a veil, so weak and thin? Tell me, Grandpa, if you can,” Tommy asked his grand old man.
Grandpa smiled, a smile of lime. “People do it all the time, Scared to come out in the bright They keep their true self out of sight.”
“They coat all bitterness with sugar and honey- They cover their sins with grey black money; The colorful masks cover their lives, But their real self reflects in their eyes.”
“No mask ever made can cover the mirrors That show perfectness and all errors; The greatest gift of God, no lies, All truth surfaces in one’s eyes.”
“So, be true to your own self, You’ll need no mask, you’ll need no help- Let your face reflect the love That He showers down from Heaven above.”
“Be honest, and love mankind- These things these days are hard to find; One by one, these steps will grace And make the world a happier place.”
I sicken myself with hunger. If this was a physical disease, my ribs would be visible through a sheath of skin. (My rib bones so sharp they could splinter glass.) Instead, I waste away while appearing strong. I’d have carved your name on my bones, but bones fracture and break.
You took a needle to your skin, but this time, it wasn’t filled with an illness. You injected yourself with ink, and ink is my illness, my poison.
If you throw the stars upon the midnight canopy, a constellation can be found. In that pattern, my star is home. But this emptiness gnaws at me, a hunger that makes me want to devour my own flesh and cannibalize myself. Instead, my soul is atrophying with disuse. (And I pour more and more into myself, wondering when you’ll return.)
This isn’t a lacuna nor a crater. You have vanished for longer, but I have a heart that’s gone beyond starvation. It’s empty here without you, & I just wait for your return, sustaining myself on memories and promises.
Poet Brandan T.C. McCarty lives in Washington and in addition to writing poetry, he is interested in music and art. As a member of the Makah tribe, he has been a dancer, singer, and artist in that culture.
Brandan, you have said before music influences your writing. How exactly does music play a role on the poetry you create?
Yes, music is an influence. I listen to a large base of music because of family and friends introducing me to new music. It depends on the music sound being played, and it could just be a lyric(s). Metallica is a huge influence.
Writing is a form of art, but I know you also paint. What does the intersection of art and writing mean to you?
In ’01, I was hurt emotionally by a teacher in art college. I would destroy any art I created, so I switched to writing to deal with traumatic past events. In ’11, I started to work with acrylic paints. By ’18, I became a visual artist as well as a New Age Coastal Artist for my Native art. The past two and half years, I have been using many mediums and platforms to create art pieces. I still wrote, but not as much. I figured why not do both and maybe blend them together in some pieces. ‘The Wanderer’ is close to a visual concept of what I am evolving into as an artist.
Your Makah roots are very important to you, as is family and knowing your history. This is evident in the poetry you write. What would you advise the young poet who is not as well-versed in their past as you?
My roots are important. My dad has said to me all that I do reflects back on your teachers and persons involved with you. My mom said the same thing in her way of communicating to me. I read. I read just about anything. I was told to figure out the style you want to write, and then go find published work similar so your skill can be honest. As for past or culture, read and spend time with families and friends. Listen, take time to actually listen. Even if it is a day spent sitting in a kitchen drinking coffee and watching grandpa carve, or dad paint a mask. Open yourself to learn, to fall and get back up.
How would you describe your being a father as an influence on your poetry?
I used to have some selfish habits, and those habits almost claimed my life. I came to realize, I don’t want this for my eldest son. Nor any other child that looks up to me. So I turned from booze, I went back to arts. Poetry is art, to me just about anything could be considered an art. Now, with my baby I have been relearning to sing my Native Family songs and dancing the dances. I have been away too long from it. I guess I can say, being a father has enriched my poetry with more care and love than I had before.
Who are some of your favorite poets? What aspects of their poetry appeal to you as a reader? As a writer?
Charles Bukowski, as a reader, good comic. Biography spoken in poetry verse. As a writer, someone once said my work reminds him of Bukowski. Raymond Carver, as a reader, his work involving water or daily life. As a writer, I met Tess Gallagher and she said I reminded her of her late husband, Raymond. J. A. Janice has one book of poetry. Read a little a bit of it. A strong woman, and a gentle soul. She writes crime novels. Met her a couple times in person. My mom got me into her works. My late Mama Valerie, because she had a talent of words and wish I recorded some of her work better.
I stand before you, shivering and straggling a box. A battered, scarred, worn box full of the darkness I wish to gift you. The air I taste and breathe, is excellences of sweetness. In my bitter hands, 1 hold my broken dreams and scattered Spirit. All the past lovers have left their mark, tainting my heart and you stand before me Accepting the box, receiving as a gift and you set the broken box at our feet You lift up my dampen chin, my flooded beard and your lips swim in my waters You brave the morose salt for a delicate kiss. In return, you gift me light. You gift me soothing songs to dance my heart I gift you my darkness, and you gift me the warming light.
Like collaging layers of parchment paper on top of one another, I have buried myself underneath a rubble of trauma.
Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon or a phoenix rising from the ashes, I am discovering my autobiography stencilled between lines of poetry
and fiction
and fire.
Every word I scribble down in a mad haste is a frantic attempt to name a feeling that is beyond words. (My way of sketching the rocket ship that will guide me back to my galaxy.)
The sanitized version of reality goes down as smoothly as cyanide – a bitter pill, but somehow, something I’m forced to swallow, nonetheless. I see myself in the paint splatters & the little messes she was so eager to take a damp rag to.
(This is an imperfect work of art – lines crooked and acrylics splashed out of bounds. This is not something that will catch the eye of an art dealer.
This is my little mistake on canvas, but you see, that inked-in star is home for me.)
I have spent lifetimes, hiding underneath piles of paper, dodging who I could have been, avoiding who I could be, but the truth is
I could be amazing if you bend the bars of this iron cage. I could be unstoppable if you listen to these memoirs, read these poems, study these paintings.
When you finally ask who I am, I’ll tell you. I’m in media res, still in the progress of self-discovery, but I swear, even in the shattered mosaic bits, I can shimmer.
I, too, can shine.
& perhaps that’s because of your belief in mirrors that I can see the vestiges of beauty glittering through the shards others neglected and left behind.
Isabelle Palerma 