"I wonder…"

I wonder…

I wonder… What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
I wonder why my lip twitches like an involuntary Elvis impersonator
when I haven’t gotten enough sleep?
I wonder if Facebook has my photo on an ad for Steve Martin’s books?
I wonder if Steve Martin thinks of me whenever he sees an ad for Barbie Dolls?
I wonder why I can’t go a day without getting a notification
to update an app on my iPhone?
I wonder why my iPhone isn’t called a myPhone?
Isn’t “I” incorrect?
I wonder if 3M is working on an adhesive to mend a broken heart?
I wonder if “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”
can be translated into actual currency?
I wonder how many people hear that saying
and think it has to do with personal grooming?
I wonder how tall writer’s block is….
or if it’s measured like a city block?
I wonder why people made fun of my looks until Facebook came along in my 30s
and I wonder why all of a sudden I’m considered pretty?
I wonder if anyone’s 30-something brain can reconcile going from homely to pretty
in the span of a social media click?
I wonder if there’s an afterlife and if my father is hitting on Janis Joplin
and Helen of Troy…while secretly dating Natalie Wood?
If wonder if he’s proud of the person I’ve become?
I wonder if I’ll ever really trust anyone again?
I wonder why the family in Moonstruck puts sugar cubes in their champagne?
I wonder if wondering will become a lost art?
I wonder if smart phones and search engines will take away our wonder?
I wonder how many people remember the search engine Ask Jeeves
with the picture of a butler with the silver tray?
I wonder if Jeeves was based on the P.G. Wodehouse character and, if so,
how many people got the joke?
I wonder if I’m pro-noun-ciating Wodehouse correctly?
I wonder if a poem about wondering is anything anyone would want to publish?
I wonder, because my brain can’t help it.
I wonder because I know that I don’t know everything,
but something inside of me wishes that I did.
I wonder if wondering is what drives us forward?
I wonder if it would be easier if we were driving ourselves forward on bicycles
instead of cars?
I wonder if the feeling of actually pushing ourselves would spur us on?
I wonder if we would feel a sense of accomplishment from taking on such a task?
I wonder if our instantaneous gratification has taken away our chance at
pride in our work?
Pride in ourselves?
Pride in all that we can achieve as individuals?
Pride in the monumental change we can effect as a group?
I wonder this because I wonder why bad things happen all around me.
And I wonder what I can do as one small person.
One girl whose only gift is to make an audience laugh.
And then I wonder what will happen if I try to make things better, in some small way.
And then I wonder if anyone will even notice that I’m trying.
And then I wonder if they’ll want to help.
And then I wonder how we could have sat around before with doing anything?
Without even giving these problems a moment’s thought?
Without even trying to try?
Without even wondering?
And then I wonder…
What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow
...because I refuse to search for the answer online.

Barbie Angell
© 2014

Inspired by a conversation with Worldchanging 101 author, David LaMotte.

Video of Barbie Angell's performance of "I Wonder" at the White Horse Black Mountain Slowhand Benefit by Kurt Loveland, & is used with his generous permission.

“Her name is Afrikka”

[This is Barbie Angell’s most recent poem, written for a young friend who was lost to the world far too soon; a video of Barbie reading the poem appears at the end of the post. To learn more about Afrikka, & if possible, help her family in their time of need, please visit the Her Name is Afrikka site at this link.] 


Her name is Afrikka

Her name is Afrikka…
And you don’t get to judge her.

Her name is Afrikka.
She was a target. She was a victim.
She’s not just a sound byte.
She’s more than a headline.

She was a diva…Her name is Afrikka.
You don’t get to decide her legacy.
You don’t get to admonish her past.

Her name is Afrikka.
She was the light in her mother’s smile.
She said her mother was her queen.

She was a poet. She was a singer.
Her name is Afrikka.
She was a beauty. She was adored.
She was silly. She was brave.

Her name is Afrikka…
And like the continent she was named for, she struggled.
She fought to find a better way.
For herself, for her future, for the child she would never have.

She died too young. He was a monster.
Her name is Afrikka.
And you won’t see his name here.
And you won’t hear me speak it.
He does not get that gift.
He does not get my words.

Her name is Afrikka.
She is not a punch line. She is not a body.
She is not just a faceless name. She is not just a trending topic.

Her name is Afrikka…
And when I met her so many years ago, her smile shook me.
And when we spoke I said something lame; “Your mother and I were very close.”

Her name is Afrikka.

And she had her mom’s uncertain grace. She lived in the home her mother and I shared and I knew she would have the turmoil and triumphs that ruled my days in that institution for children. And I knew that things were better for her than they were for us. And I hoped that she would find the peace that I found after I left. And I spoke to the people who cared for her, the same ones who cared for me so many years before. And I knew that they would encourage her spark. I knew they would fan that spark into a flame…into a fire…into an inferno of possibility.

Her name is Afrikka.
Her past tense was imperfect.
Her future; never written.
Her presence was too short.

Her name is Afrikka…
And, while her breath has ceased, her story will not.

Her name is Afrikka…
And she lives on in these words.
She lives on in the hearts of people who never met her.
Who never will.

Her name is Afrikka…


Barbie Angell
© 2014

“December 8th, 1980”

On December 8th, 1980, I was 8 years old. I have a very 8 year-old memory of that day, although, if I look at it logically, I guess my memory was of the next day. And, if I look at it objectively, it may not be my 8 year-old memory at all. I took a class with David Foster Wallace in college and one of his assignments was for us to write about a childhood event. He wanted to prove to us that we cannot write about a childhood memory as adults because we always color our thoughts with the experiences we had since then. David liked to study people and he taught me to study people too.

And so, here I am, studying my 8 year-old memory of the day John Lennon was assassinated.

I was in the car with my mother. We were driving in Chicago and, not surprisingly, stuck in a traffic jam. The DJ on the radio was talking about the cause of the hold up. The cause’s name was Spider-Dan. Spider-Dan was an aerialist or daredevil, I’m not sure which, but at that moment he was climbing up the side of a skyscraper in downtown Chicago and creating quite a bit of chaos with his actions. He was dressed as Spider-Man and using some sort of industrial suction cups to scale the massive John Hancock building. My mother tried to give me an understanding of where that building was in relation to our idling Volkswagen Rabbit. I imagined the scenario in my brain. Even as an 8 year-old girl, I already loved superheroes and I assumed that Spider-Dan was going to save someone who was in serious peril. It was exciting and I was thrilled to be there, in Chicago, when a hero saved the day.

As the DJ went on with the rest of his news, he announced the murder of John Lennon. My adult brain knows that it happened the night before, but to my child brain, he was killed during the broadcast. Over the next few minutes, I became more and more confused. Why had Spider-Dan not saved John Lennon? Why was he just slowly climbing a building in Chicago when he was needed at The Dakota in New York? Who was the person in mortal peril that required the painstaking climb and why didn’t the Chicago police department help the superhero? As the DJ kept breaking in with updates on Spider-Dan, I learned that the masked man was merely climbing for attention. He wasn’t using his powers for good at all, just trying to get people to notice him. He squandered his chance to save a musical genius. He had the opportunity to keep a legend alive, and instead he chose to perform a one-man circus act. His only reward; the cheers from the crowd below and the ensuing notoriety. My 8 year-old brain was furious with Spider-Dan.

Now, my son is 8 years old. He is named after John Lennon, a man who died 25 years before my little guy was born. The name was chosen both to honor the musical icon and my son. It’s my hope that my child will have an opportunity John Lennon never had; the chance to become the man he really wants to be. John Lennon wasn’t the perfect person that his martyr status gave him, but he had a desire to be better. Even more incredible than that, John didn’t want to do it alone. He implored all of us to grow with him. He took every opportunity he had to beg for our help. To imagine a world with no hunger. To imagine a world without the need for possessions. To imagine a world of peace. Spider-Dan couldn’t save John Lennon from assassination, but we can save John’s dreams. I hope my son joins in that pursuit, and I hope that you do to… and I hope that someday.... the world will be as one.

written by barbie angell.
copyright 2014

Photograph of Barbie Angell by Rodney Smith of Tempus Fugit Design

A New Year Poem from Barbie Angell

As I stare at my oncoming future,
it looks quite a bit like my past.
Though my heart could sure use some sutures,
perhaps I can get it to last.

The old year is packing a suitcase,
to head off to places unknown.
Trying to put on a bright face,
although his sole purpose is gone.

And the new year still waits on the sidelines,
but the pressure he feels is insane.
We expect him to fix all our bad times
and somehow erase all our pain.

Like the last-minute deal of a martyr,
we promise to be someone else.
We’ll bargain and haggle and barter,
instead of improving ourselves.

We put off the changes we’re needing,
we shove them all under our beds.
Perfecting all our self-defeating,
while ignoring the voice in our heads.

So I gaze at the me of tomorrow,
and she looks like the me that I am.
The me yet to be has my sorrows,
unless I come up with a plan.

I won’t curse the year that has ended
or praise the new one drawing near,
or expect to be magically mended
‘cause a ball finally drops in Times Square.


Barbie Angell
© 2013

Yes, Barbie Angell is back with her special poems & illustrations! The image leading off the post is one of her pieces in a show in Asheville, NC.

"Vagabond Thoughts…."

Vagabond Thoughts….


You were a part of my speech.,
the unexplained break in my voice.
You wrote the song in my head,
and I promise this wasn’t my choice.

You were the spin of the stars,
the sweet chaos of all I could see.
You haven’t uncovered the truth
of the wonder and magic of me.

You were the start of a thought
that I was too cautious to think.
Unable to fend off your charms,
you lured my heart to the brink.

You were a part of my speech.
A whisper too loud to ignore.
The voice that coaxed me to sleep,
the one this poem is for.

Barbie Angell
© 2011





Thank you, Barbie : )

"the meeting"

the meeting

i bumped into Truth on the subway,
his clothing was ragged and torn,
and he looked with dismay
at Hatred and Rage,
and with pity at Anger and Scorn.

it seems he had left with the world in this mess
and had given up trying to try.
and he gazed up at me,
with this look so serene,
and the tear of Fate caught in his eye.

he had hidden himself in the details
by sealing up all of the doors.
he retreated inside,
just a new place to hide,
far from the violence and wars.

he had lost all his faith in Humanity
and Humanity lost faith in him,
as he started to fear for his sanity,
seeing children abused
and the face of Love bruised
while Ignorance lied on a whim.

’cause he needed a decade to think
and mix it around in his brain.
the Hurt we inflict,
the Evil, the Sick,
the Torture, the Horrors, the Pain.

he returned with a sense of frustration
that no one could help him defeat.
quite unable to find
a Peace in his mind
that would aid his attempts in the street.

see he couldn’t abide by Injustice
and he didn’t find Racism fair
and he just couldn’t see
why someone like me
could’ve found any reason to care.

i bumped into Truth on the subway
and our meeting just doesn’t seem real.
to encounter blind grace
in such a chance place,
that’s made up of concrete and steel.

Barbie Angell
© 1995

“Bedtime Story”

Bedtime Story

for Jeremiah

Come hear a sory, children,

   and help me make it real.

Take the path that Alice took

   and spin the golden wheel.

Come chase that odd, white rabbit

  down to the Mad Hatter’s place,

then search for the grinning cat

   who somehow lost his face.

      Let’s go meet Cinderella.

   Let’s shake the Prince’s hand.

Let’s take the yellow brick road

         and fly to Neverland.

      Come meet Christopher Robin

   and nap with Winnie-the-Pooh.

Let’s fret with piglet and Eeyore

   and romp with Tigger and Roo.

      We’ll fight of witches, dragons

         and a ticking crocodile.

Let’s find out where the sidewalk ends,

         then sit and rest awhile.

We’ll drink from a chocolate river

   and care for Paddington Bear,

then stop and watch the tortoise

         outrun that lazy hare.

Just listen to the stories children,

         and listen to them well.

Just sleep and we will go there

      to see them for ourselves.

Barbie Angell
© 2012

"Super?"

Super?


I met a superhero
while I was in a bind.
He was really super strong
and very super kind.

He said he had two super kids
and a lovely super wife.
And they had a super dog
to complete their super life.

He told me all about
the super things he’d done.
He’d saved the world
five hundred times…
once using just his thumb.

For hours, while I dangled,
he spun his super tales.
I listened to his bragging;
turning minnows into whales.

It seemed he’d rescued everyone
that ever had been in peril.
He’d been honored in a thousand towns
for being such a hero.

He said he was the real deal,
and not a super fake.
But he couldn’t save me right away
because he was on a break.

Barbie Angell
© 2012

“If I….”

This is a special poem from Barbie Angell, as it’s her tribute to a very special friend who passed away recently. Please take the time to read Barbie’s remarks after the poem, because those also contain a touching tribute

If I….

If I don’t believe your voice ever spoke,
will your words fall out of my mind?
If I don’t look past all the mirrors and smoke,
will the secrets stay safely behind?

I can’t keep you here.
I can’t let you go.
I can’t stay asleep or awake.
My tears are half-empty when they aren’t half-full,
my voice was the first thing to break –

You gave me the world without even a pause,
you put it right into my hands.
You were not quite a father but more than a friend,
now I no longer know where I stand.

Because all that is left
are the scraps of your life,
fluttering past in the breeze.
Your smile and laugh,
and a thousand days past,
they’re flying just out of my reach.

If I can pretend that you’re just out of town,
will that ease the ache in my brain?
Can I come up with reasons that you’re not around?
Will it hold off the tears and the pain?

If I never start.
If I lie to my heart.
If I never cry
and try not to try.
If I sing this song,
will you somehow go on?
If I never grieve,
will you never leave?

For Steve Wolff….
February 19th, 2013.

Barbie Angell
© 2013

I moved to Asheville, NC in late August of 1999 and started working at Kinko's because I had experience and few small businesses would hire someone who had just relocated.  There wasn't a big "buy local" movement here back then, but over the next 13 years I found myself explaining why I would be happy working for a corporation.  The two stories that always stuck out in my mind were about my manager Steve Wolff.  He was hired in 2001 and, since he had no experience with the company, I trained him.  Steve treated our crew like a family.  Shortly after we met, my father came to live with me.  He was dying of cancer and I was apprehensive about asking my new boss for a little leeway with my time off.  I had just taken almost 4 weeks off work only a few months before and I was worried about my job.  Steve told me that taking care of my father would be the most important thing I would ever do with my life.  He talked to me for about an hour, advising me and consoling me, all the while assuring me that this was the right thing to do.  A month later my father passed away and Steve was there, supporting me and giving me whatever I needed to get through that difficult time.  "The world for you," he would say, and he truly meant it.

In 2004 our store flooded.  The local paper ran a story about the destruction of the Biltmore Village area and the article started with Steve.  While other people were gawking at the rising water, Steve was there on his cell phone calling other Kinko's in the region to find jobs for all his employees.  He had shown up around 3am to make sure that the third shift person got out safely and then did what Steve always did...he took care of the people he cared about.

Steve Wolff passed away on February 5th, 2013.  He leaves behind a lovely, gracious and incredible wife and three brilliant, funny, wonderful children.  He also leaves behind a mountain of friends.  As the manager of what is now called FedEx Office, he touched the lives of most of the Asheville community.  Always with a big smile, remembering the names of our customers and knowing just the right thing to make them laugh.  Steve was every cliche.  He would literally give you the shirt off his back.  He absolutely had a heart of gold.  He never met a stranger and was fiercely loyal to everyone he cared for.  He was loud and hilarious and was very much a father to me and many others...and I will miss him more than I can possibly explain.

Thanks, Barbie, for this beautiful tribute. Here is a link to Stephen Wolff's obituary at Asheville Citizen Times.com

“Not Said….”

Not Said….

The world’s slowest conversation
can make a heart skip several beats,
and those distant observations
leave the brain stuck on repeat.

A few moments every season,
lost in one compelling gaze.
A slight graze on the cheek
can fill a mind for days.

So much yet unknown,
caught in the fickle web of self.
The fantasies and wayward dreams
tucked safely on a shelf.

And nothing’s ever offered.
There is no goal to be attained.
With no logic to the longing….
It can never be explained.

Barbie Angell
© 2011

By the way, you can read a really good interview with Barbie on The Sill of the World at this link; & if you're not familiar with The Sill of the World, you're in for a treat, because it is an excellent blog! Barbie Angell being on The Sill of the World is just double wonderfulness.

“The Wishing Tree” – the Musical Version!

Happy Thursday! It’s been some time since my own music appeared in this space, but I’m expecting that to change in 2013. My expectation is to post at least one piece, either original or cover, each month, probably on a Thursday.

At one I posted songs as videos & people said they liked that, but I switched to embedded mp3s at a certain point because I was producing a cd of the blues material I do, & the sound quality on the videos was not good enough for that. On the other hand, In Idaho I had a pretty nice little home recording set up, & at least for the time being, that’s not the case. In fact, I’m using a makeshift system, as you can see from the photo: an Olympus handheld digital recorder with a Sony condenser mic; this creates a proprietary software file, which I then convert to WAV & then to an mp3. That’s a lot of converting, for one thing, & there’s no real way to set recording levels—essentially, it comes down to how far the mic is from the guitar! So while it’s not immediately audible, I can tell you there is some distortion here—it’s fairly slight, but it does affect the overall quality.

So: before I got off on that digression—yes, it’s possible I may post some of them as videos along the way. I didn’t do it this time, because I still need to words of the poem to bring the music to mind, & to my mind there are few things more boring than a video of a guitar player staring intently at a music stand.

The poem! It is one of my very favorite poems by one of my very favorite poets & one of my very favorite people, Barbie Angell: “The Wishing Tree.” I was thrilled that Barbie liked the setting. She was extremely generous about the sound quality & the few little performance glitches here & there, & I hope you will be as well. I’m still learning the piece, but this take gives a pretty fair sense of it. “The Wishing Tree” is being played on my Gold Tone resonator guitar (wood body), tuned to open G—in other words, the strings sound a G major tune when struck together.

Barbie also agreed to run the poem again on the blog, so you can find the words after the embedded mp3 player. In terms of the music synching with the words there’s a very brief intro, which I hope sounds sufficiently “intro-like.” The poem’s words would begin about 5 seconds in.

Thanks to Barbie Angell, & thanks to you folks for listening!




The Wishing Tree

Two hundred years ago
in a land so far away,
there was a legend told
to the children one spring day.

The wizard of the town
told the story of the sky.
He said the moon’s a crystal ball
with one all-seeing eye.

He said there is a fence
with a tree along the side
and the moon had seen a girl,
who sat beneath and cried.

And the moon, he felt compassion
for the girl beneath the tree.
He cried a lonely tear for her,
which fell into the sea.

The tear looked like a star
shooting in the night.
The young girl gazed upon it
as it fell far from her sight.

And aloud she made a wish,
and the moon above her smiled,
and he granted her that wish,
for her faith was as a child’s.

And ever since that night,
the moon has watched that tree,
so if you ever sit beneath,
please make a wish for me.

Barbie Angell
© 2012

“Making Wishes”

Making Wishes

I’m weaving a wish
out of peace and a prayer,
and a warm summer sky,
and a day at the fair.

I’m weaving a wish
from threads of the truth,
a beautiful smile,
and an hour of youth.

I’m weaving a wish
to use as you please,
with the strength and the power
of a really good sneeze.

And I’ll send it to you.
It’s for you to keep.
Put it under your pillow
when you’re going to sleep.

There’s more where that came from,
I’ll be mailing them soon.
I’m just weaving up wishes
and they’re woven for you.


Barbie Angell
© 2012

Barbie Angell tells me that she used to subtitle this piece “the ultimate happy poem,” so  what better way for all of us at Robert Frost’s Banjo to wish you & yours a happy 2013!

The poem & artwork are from Barbie Angell’s book of children’s poetry, Roasting Questions, which you can learn about (& purchase!) at this link. If you are one of the lovely folks who pre-ordered Roasting Questions, Barbie reports that the printing run has been completed, & orders will be filled very soon.

“Insatiable Appetite”

[Be sure to read some exciting news about Barbie Angell’s  book Roasting Questions right after her poem—& stick around for a special treat at the bottom of the post!]

Insatiable Appetite

I had a misunderstanding today
with relish on the side.
I washed it down with courage
but just could not decide…

Do I eat the fat-free plate of guilt?
Or leave room for a grudge?
I guess you probably didn’t know
that irony tastes like fudge.

I’ve swallowed my pride.
I’ve eaten my words,
complete with mounds of disdain.
Did you know that love and chaos
taste pretty much the same?

And if everything’s served with common sense
it's all a little bland.
But the bitter drops of hatred
are more than I can stand.

I’d like to bake a special cake,
filled with happiness.
Serve coffee-covered kisses
with an upside-down apple wish
 
I’d like to buy the world a laugh
and put it in their tea.
All the magic that surrounds us
is found in you and me.
 
Barbie Dockstader Angell
© 2009-2012
As I indicated in the lead-in, there’s exciting news about Barbie’s book of children’s poems Roasting Questions: the pre-sales goal has been met & the book is going to press! I am so happy about this news, because I’m a big believer in Barbie & I’m a big believer in the book. Roasting Questions is a lovely creative act from a lively & lovely imagination, & it will appeal "to kids from one to 92," just as the song goes. Speaking of which: if you have kids who like beautiful, fun drawings & delightful, funny poems, this is a great gift! Or if you or someone you know is like me & just likes children’s poetry & admires Barbie’s gift for writing (& illustrating) children's poems, then it’s also a wonderful gift. The link at the top of the right-hand sidebar will take you right to the Roasting Questions site where you can order a copy (or more!) today.

& now: a really special treat! Here’s Barbie herself:

"Fairy Tale?"

Once up a time,
(or so the story goes,)

in a land so far away,
(or right here for all we know,)

there was a a great occurrence,
(or a mediocre one,)

a turmoil on the moon,
(or perhaps it was the sun.)

The country was in ruins,
(or it may have been okay,)

but I’m sure it was a country,
(at least that’s what they say.)

and the hero was a girl,
(or it might have been a guy,)

and they lived happily ever after,

no wait…I know they died.


Barbie Angell
© 2012

I love the wit & humor of this poem from Barbie Angell’s book, Roasting Questions! In fact, I love the whole book, & I recommend it highly! Roasting Questions is on the verge of going to press, but just a little more money is needed to make that a reality. If you’d like to know more about my thoughts on Roasting Questions, you can read my review here; if you’d like to know more about Barbie Angell (& about the publishing process), you can read my recent interview with her or look back at the many wonderful poems & drawings she’s contributed to the blog…but wait! I have a better idea: head over to the Roasting Questions website & take a look at the book (there’s a complete “look inside” option); I know you’ll fall for this book just as I did. Pre-orders & sponsorships are still important to meet the costs of the printing, but the goal is in sight.

Thanks, friends! & thanks, Barbie Angell, for all the wit & wonder you bring to this blog & to so many people’s lives.

Barbie Angell in Her Own Words

Hey, friends! So happy that we have an interview today with poet/artist/performer Barbie Angell. Barbie’s book of children’s poems, Roasting Questions (with her own illustrations & layout) is being issued through Grateful Steps in Asheville, North Carolina, & I’m really excited by this.

You can view Barbie’s book at this link to its dedicated website (& other links throughout the post!)—but not only can you view the book: you can pre-order your copy (or copies), & also sponsor the book to help raise money for the printing—Barbie explains that process in the following interview. I will say that this is a particularly good time to pre-order &/or sponsor, because Barbie recently received a $500 donation with the stipulation that the amount be matched during the following week, which runs from Monday 10/15 until Monday 10/22.

If you’re a regular reader here, you don’t need me to tell you how delightful, witty & downright fun Barbie’s poems & art both are. So here’s a chance to get to know this wonderful artist just a little bit better! 

J: I’m so happy about Roasting Questions, & I know you are thrilled too. The publishing process through Grateful Steps, which is a publishing house in Asheville, may be unfamiliar to some readers—it’s a bit like Kickstarter isn’t it? Could you go over that so people get a feel for the process & how they can participate? 

B: Absolutely. Shortly after Grateful Steps came to me about doing a book of children’s poetry, they became a non-profit publishing house.  Because of this, they raise the money for printing costs from the pre-sales orders.  Since people have been asking me for some time to sell audio files, prints of my art and such, I decided we could offer those as a Kickstarter-style incentive as well.  There are a lot of fun extras starting at $1 and, as with Kickstarter, each level includes all the offers in the previous levels.  I know that people are more likely to buy something they can hold right away and getting the pre-sales orders in as quickly as possible will help get the books in the hands of the readers that much sooner.
 
J: I have the advantage on many of the readers, because I at least know the broad outlines of how you began writing—& it’s a fascinating story. Could you tell us a little about that, & specifically, when you first knew you wanted to be a writer? 

B: I always wrote songs as a child, parodies actually, but I never wrote poems.  I wrote puppet plays too and I’m certain that Broadway producers would love to get their hands on the original script of Raggedy Andy and Square Bear.  When I was 13, I went to Mooseheart, a school for children who had no place else to go. 

My first Christmas there I was given a diary, and since a diary is not really a safe place for ones thoughts in an institution, I used it to write poetry.  While I struggled with punctuation and other English composition rules, I excelled at creative writing.  Often my teachers would ask me to read my stories to the class and, as a senior, I won my first award for writing a Memorial Day speech. 

When I went to college I was pre-law.  I had wanted to be a lawyer since I was 6 years old.  I know, straight from ballerina to lawyer, I was an odd child.  My theater director was also my advisor and, after making myself quite known on the campus with my “How to” paper in English 101, my advisor sat me down for a serious talk.  I thought it was because I had taken the standard assignment and caused controversy.  My paper was entitled “How to abstain from having sex on a date.”  In fact, he wanted to convince me to change my major.  He felt that if I could make myself so well-known, on a campus with over 500 students, by merely not taking the easy route and writing the typical “How to make ramen noodles in a 4-cup coffee maker,” then I really had no choice but to become a writer.  That man, Jerry Dellinger, would go on to make certain that I did realize what my passion was.  He stood behind me and urged me forward, as he so often did when I acted in his plays.  In essence, he directed my life. . . and I think he did a pretty excellent job.
 
J: It’s safe to say that anyone with your talent for children’s poems must have read a lot when she was young. Please tell us about a few of your own favorite books from childhood! 

B: My favorite books when I was a child were all of them.  I was allowed to stay up late if I was reading and I was always reading.  Anytime a subject fascinated me, I read about it.  Reader’s Digest usually sparked my interest in new topics—for instance,  I remember my mother being rather disturbed when I started reading everything I could about the holocaust.  I didn’t know at the time that her family was Jewish and it seemed a bit harsh for a seven year-old, but there I was, learning all I could.  I’m often told that even my children’s poetry has an introspective side to it that hints at something deeper.  I think that’s because I was so determined to learn about all aspects of life, not just the happy stories that my friends read.  Of course, I was an enormous admirer of Shel Silverstein.  I knew most of his poetry, and a great many of his songs, by heart.  I wrote rhyming songs all the time, often in the meter of his work.  My other big influence was Lewis Carroll.  I completely related to the idea of a girl falling into her imagination.  His wordplay and obscure references always entertained me.  I think he and Dr. Seuss are two of the best at creating nonsense language that makes perfect sense.  While I don’t do a lot of that anymore, I used to incorporate quite a few nonsense words into my work.  I am such an admirer of Lewis Carroll, that my writing room is full of Alice memorabilia and the walls have Wonderland murals painted on them. 

J: Many people who read your poems are struck by your use of personification—you use abstract qualities as “characters” & “objects” in ways that really bring them to life—one of your greatest strengths as a writer. Do you have any ideas on why this particular technique is so prominent in your writing? 

B: One of my favorite books as a child was Little Pilgrim’s Progress, by Helen Taylor.  In fact, it’s one of the few things I still have from my childhood.  It was based on John Bunyan's story and all the people in the book were named for their most obvious characteristic.  Children named Obstinate and Pliable.  A city named Destruction.  I think this is where I first associated with the personification that I’m sort of known for in my writing.  I’ve also always been mesmerized by language.  Common sayings like “holding a grudge” take on an entirely new meaning for me.  I like to take a different view whenever I can.
 
J: You also illustrated Roasting Questions. I love your eye for color & the way your drawings both focus on one aspect of the poem & also create a whole other world of imagination thru their detail. Could you talk a little about your illustrations—about the process & the techniques? Do you ever start a poem from a drawing, or is it always the other around. 

B: I call my work “refrigerator art” because it’s the sort of thing a mom would hang on her fridge.  The scenes usually have a sun in the corner, a tree and something else.  Kind of like a child’s drawing would.  My older brother and younger sister are brilliant artists.  I felt I could never achieve what they can, so I looked at things from a different angle and tried to create my own style.  I have only ever drawn one piece which inspired a poem from me.  It’s the art and poem for the Hop Ice Cream Cafe.  All the others I struggled to find just the right way to accent the poem with the art.  I have incredibly high standards for my own work.  I don’t seek perfection in anything I do, but I always try to do my very best. 
J: I know you consider Shel Silverstein to be a major influence. What do you think you’ve learned from his poems that has carried over to your own? 

B: I do consider Shel to be a major influence.  I think he & I have something very strong in common in the way we address our audience.  People tell me all the time, and always have, that my work reminds them of Shel’s.  When I actually read his poems though, we sound nothing alike.  The similarity, I think, is that neither of us really wrote for children.  I don’t have them in mind as an audience I need to please when I write and I don’t think he did either.  And I think that is the best way to write for children.  When I perform a children’s show, I’m always terribly nervous.  They aren’t going to laugh if I’m not funny.  They won’t pay attention if I’m not interesting to them.  They don’t respond positively to condescension.  Because of that, I think that trying to write to please them would be an insult to the purity and integrity they show to the arts.  I’m not saying that they aren’t polite, just that they are more honest with their responses.  When a child laughs, or thinks, or is mesmerized because of my words, that means far more to me than an adult having the same reaction because I know that I’ve worked harder to garner that response.  Does that make any sense at all?
 
J: There are a lot of food references in your poems—what do you think about that? & more importantly, what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? 

B: There are a lot, aren’t there?  I don’t know why that is.  I’m not a big fan of food—I’m one of those people that can go the entire day without realizing that I haven’t eaten.  My favorite flavors of ice cream are all from Hop Ice Cream in Asheville.  The owner and ice cream creator Ashley Garrison has a way of taking her creations to the next level. . . and then the one after that.  Salted Caramel is a given, but I also love everything she makes with coconut in it and I’m a huge fan of her Cannoli ice cream too.


Thanks so much for the interview & your participation in Robert Frost's Banjo, Barbie Angell! & once again, friends, do yourself a favor & order yourself a copy of Roasting Questions—& consider getting some of those lovely extras by sponsoring the process too!

Photos of Barbie Angell at her book launch show at Asheville's Altamont Theater are by Erin Scholze of Dreamspider Publicity & Events—thanks, Erin!

“Roasting Questions”

“You learned Lear’s Nonsense Rhymes by heart, not rote;
       You learned Pope’s Iliad by rote, not heart;
 These terms should be distinguished if you quote
        My verses, children—keep them poles apart—
 And call that man a liar who says I wrote
        All that I wrote in love, for love of art.”
Robert Graves, “A Plea to Boys and Girls”

Poetry & the heart—poetry & love: common enough associations. But while culturally we may stereotypically associate poetry with romantic love, in fact the love behind good poetry exceeds that emotion, however fervent it may be. The love that gives voice to poetry can encompass many manifestations: the love of a mother for her child, for instance, or in a related way, the love of a poet for herself as a child in a way that both connects to the past & also keeps that child alive & vital in the present. In the end, the greatest love of the poet as poet is for the language itself & the act of creation that brings that language to life in a way that no other poet could accomplish—because true poetry always bears the unique stamp of the subject who creates it.

I first came to know the poetry of Barbie Angell in early 2011, tho it seems as if it were much longer ago; it seems that way, because her poetry has a timeless quality, & a compelling ability to connect the reader to earlier selves. Because I realized that Barbie’s poetry is truly unique, unmistakably the work of an unusually creative individual, & also because I recognized her poetry’s capacity for wide appeal, I asked her to become a contributor to this blog, & to my great joy she accepted the invitation. Now I’m happy to tell you about her new book of children’s poetry, Roasting Questions, issued thru Grateful Steps of Asheville, North Carolina.

Although Barbie’s poetic explorations overall take her beyond the realm of children’s poetry, she has a true & sparkling gift for this “genre.” & what is children’s poetry, exactly? When I was a graduate student teaching creative writing at the University of Virginia, I used a text titled The Rattle-Bag edited by Seamus Heaney & Ted Hughes. A quick glance at the author index shows that the anthology contains Emily Dickinson & William Blake & Wallace Stevens, not to mention translations of Vasko Popa & Lorca—& indeed many familiar names. But one day, my students discovered to their great consternation & confusion that The Rattle-Bag was listed in the publishing information as “Children’s Poetry.” How could this be?

The best so-called children’s poetry is simply good poetry—& one might conjecture, at least to a great degree—that the best poetry is also in some sense children’s poetry, because great poetry must always partake of magic & the numinous & the sheer delight in words that are at their base, the emotions of childhood. When we are young, the Mother Goose rhymes are indeed numinous.

In this vein, Barbie Angell’s poetry creates a world: a world of delight & poignancy & fun & encouragement. Whether we are reading the exploits of a mud pie baker whose greatest creation is neglected by all or about a superhero who is so self-absorbed in his exploits that he doesn’t have time to rescue someone, we enter a realm not only of the imagination, but of a particular imagination—& in that very particularity, with its quirks & obsessions & subjectivity, we find something universal. Of course, this is always the case with good poetry, whether in the case of an individual image or in a whole collection of poems.

In terms of technique, children’s poetry is a match for Barbie Angell’s great poetic strengths. She has a strong sense of meter, without ever sounding mechanical—her lines have interesting rhythms on a basic iambic frame. She also has a great knack for rhyme—including interesting assonant slant rhymes—for instance in the closing stanza of one of my favorites in the collection, “Wanting Nothing”

 

So here’s a piece of nothing.
Please keep it close to you.
If you find you’re out of something,
it's nothing you can use.

Some of my other favorite slant rhymes are “love/fudge,” “cloves/knows,” “yourself/mental health.”

Barbie Angell also has a positive genius for personification. For instance, in her poem “Tea Party,” Insecurity, Self-esteem, Grudge, Strength & Despair all become objects in an updated version of Alice’s afternoon with the Mad Hatter & March Hare; elsewhere, we find that Happiness & Tomorrow become real characters, while in the poem  “Insatiable Appetite,” we learn that “irony tastes like fudge”!

Roasting Questions is delightfully illustrated by Barbie herself (she also did the book layout)—for a glimpse at one of the poems & illustrations, I’d direct you to the preceding post called “The Wishing Tree,” which may be my favorite poem from the collection—but I’d also note that the layout on the blog doesn’t do justice to the actual book layout! Barbie’s drawings are colorful & filled with details that will appeal not only to children, but to anyone with a vivid imagination—as such, they are the perfect complement to poems that have exactly the same strengths. Who could not take pleasure in the delightful detail offered here?

She chased Happiness down the stairs
    and then out the back door.
      She lost him in the street
        down by the record store.

“The record store” gets me every time.

It goes without saying that I recommend this book. Roasting Questions is available thru its own dedicated website, set up by Grateful Steps (simply follow the links on the title throughout this post, or the link in the sidebar of this blog.) Because Grateful Steps is a non-profit organization, the printing costs are being covered both by pre-sales & by a Kickstarter-like sponsorship program. The sponsorship is available at levels ranging from $1.00 to $500, with many levels in between; each sponsorship level brings a gift. These range from an audio file of Barbie reading a poem to signed books & prints of the lovely artwork to commissioning Barbie to write a poem on a topic of your choice. Each level also contains all the gifts of the preceding levels as well! Once pre-sales & sponsorship have funded the printing, Grateful Steps will begin printing Roasting Questions with a 1,000-copy run of the first edition. I should mention that you can view the entire book on the website!

Barbie Angell is a well-known, respected & loved poet in the Asheville, North Carolina area where she resides. She performs frequently, & the video below will give you some sense of the enthusiasm & joy she brings to her poetry.  In the final analysis, it’s love she brings to her poems—the sort of love Graves mentions. Nor is it an accident that Graves mentioned Edward Lear—a children’s poet—as his example of this. If poetry is most fundamentally an act of the imagination, then poems like Lear’s “The Owl & the Pussycat” & “Calico Pie” must be considered true poems. Barbie Angell’s poems partake of this—like all good “children’s poetry,” they will be enjoyed & “learned by heart, not rote” by readers of all ages who can open themselves to the imagination. As Barbie writes:

With the start of a book, if you care to look,
there's a glimpse of a world yet to be.
The end, you will find, can alter your mind,
and help you discover your dreams.

“The Wishing Tree”

[The freshness of this poem never ceases to amaze me; Barbie Angell here has written something with gestures as clear as a folk song or a nursery rhyme; it’s simply beautiful.]

The Wishing Tree

Two hundred years ago
in a land so far away,
there was a legend told
to the children one spring day.

The wizard of the town
told the story of the sky.
He said the moon’s a crystal ball
with one all-seeing eye.

He said there is a fence
with a tree along the side
and the moon had seen a girl,
who sat beneath and cried.

And the moon, he felt compassion
for the girl beneath the tree.
He cried a lonely tear for her,
which fell into the sea.

The tear looked like a star
shooting in the night.
The young girl gazed upon it
as it fell far from her sight.

And aloud she made a wish,
and the moon above her smiled,
and he granted her that wish,
for her faith was as a child’s.

And ever since that night,
the moon has watched that tree,
so if you ever sit beneath,
please make a wish for me.

Barbie Angell
© 2012
 

As you have certainly noticed, there’s a link to Barbie Angell’s book of children’s poems, Roasting Questions, in the sidebar. Barbie is justifiably excited about this book, which I can tell you is simply beautiful: Barbie also illustrated it & did the layout work. It’s a labor of love, & that truly shows.

I share Barbie’s excitement; since I first got to know Barbie, I recognized the uniqueness in her work. Her poetry has been compared with Shel Silverstein’s—an apt comparison, as far as comparison’s go, but Barbie’s voice is completely her own, & I believe she’s made great strides in her art as she went thru the process of composing the poems & drawing the illustrations in Roasting Questions, & also in preparing the book for publication. The book receives my high recommendation, & it really is for kids “from one to 92,” just as the song says.

The book’s actual publication date will be late this fall—it’s hoped in time for the holiday season!—so please consider following that link (or the ones in this text) & placing a pre-order. There’s also a Kickstarter-type sponsorship page, where you can get extra goodies for modest donations. Her publisher, Grateful Steps from Asheville, North Carolina, is a non-profit that does marvelous work, & I also wholeheartedly endorse them.

Finally, please stay tuned, because on Thursday we’ll all get a proper introduction to Barbie Angell, learning about her life & her work!

"Running into Life"

[In which poet Barbie Angell finds out that Life plays poker, & quite well, too—enjoy!]


Running into Life


Life smacked me in the face
while I was looking the other way
and he said I should be watching
where I walked.

I should be careful what I say
and the silly games I play
‘cause the ones who never listen
always talk.

I said he didn’t make much sense
and that I’d build myself a fence
so he’d have to the the hell
out of my yard.

He smiled, then he laughed
and he said I was a blast,
then got serious and said,
“Let’s play some cards.”

I thought it was a joke.
I nervously lit a smoke,
then invited him to have
a cup of tea.

But I guess he was no joker
‘cause he dealt a hand of poker
and he said the stakes were going
to be me.

If I win, the world is mine.
There’s no hunger and no crime
and I’ll finally make a living
with my words.

But if I lose then I won’t write
and I’ll never sleep at nite
and whatever my pen bleeds
will be absurd.

When I looked at what he dealt
I couldn’t hide the way I felt
‘cause I figured he could never
beat my straight.

Life didn’t bat an eye
but he sighed a peaceful sigh
and I wondered just how tight he was
with Fate.

Then he said, “Well it’s been fun
but I’m afraid that you are done.”
and I said, “You know it does no good
to bluff.”

He said, “You just don’t understand,
your life cannot be planned.”
And to prove it he laid down
a royal flush.

Then he smiled just a little
and said that every life’s a riddle
and the answer is to follow
where it goes.

Every road has many turns,
it's not where they lead but what you’ve learned,
and when you succeed it’s only you
who knows.


Barbie Angell
© 2009-the present

“My Hero”

[If you’ve followed Barbie Angell’s poetry here or elsewhere, you know that Shel Silverstein is indeed her poetic hero. I love this tribute Barbie wrote to him, & while she never illustrated it, we do have a photo of the man himself. If you’d like to read Barbie’s own thoughts about Shel, please visit her site & check out this post!]

My Hero

The sidewalk’s slowly cracking now.
The attic light has dimmed.
The giving tree gave
all the poems she saved.
The bearded man’s moaning a hymn.
The sun is going down again,
and the rain is coming in.
And we search the ground
for the perfect sound
and we wonder where we’ve been.

What common thought has captured us?
Who pulls the fraying thread?
And what can we say
of ourselves today,
when our bodies are finally dead?

And all of our eyelids are leaking.
And our ears softly beg for a rhyme.
‘Cause all that we need
is a moment to grieve,
in an endless allotment of time.

Where is our singing savior now?
Who took him away from our world?
His poems now rest
in his last precious breath,
in tears of the boys and the girls.

I’ve lived inside his shadow now,
for this lifetime that I’ve had.
And his words and art,
from my very start,
have distinguished the good from the bad.

I pray for a new man to follow,
to lead me the way of my dreams.
A genius of meter.
A brilliant new leader.
As my hopes start to break at the seams.

‘Cause Shel paved the sidewalk for writers,
and the gifts that he gave are unchanged.
And I can’t let it go,
since nobody knows,
how to mop up the tears in my brain.


Barbie Angell
© 2009-the present

 

Photo of Shelf Silverstein links to its source at famouspoetsandpoems.com

“Kenny’s”

[There’s a bit of Wonderland & a bit of nightmare in Barbie Angell’s poem “Kenny’s”—& the most unusual items appear on the poetic menu!]

Kenny’s

Serve up Laughter on the plate.
Force it all to mind the Fates.
Scramble Brains and fry your Mind.
Frozen seconds chill the Time.
Steaming cups of sacred Truths
fill the hands of misspent youths.
Grab a slice of Humble pie
topped with chocolate Alibis.
Eat your Thoughts and swallow Cries.
Attempt caloric suicide.
Dive into your own Regrets.
Live in all you can’t forget….

“I’d like a life that’s medium rare
with a sprinkle of Hope and a side of Fear.”
“Does the Whine list cover all complaints?”
“Are your spirits sinners or are they saints?”
“Does True Love come with every meal?
Or is it just a special deal?”
“Is Karma included with a tip?”
“Is there any way I could get a grip?”

This is your Life with a side of fries.
The special today is sauteed Lies.
We offer a bottomless cup of Smiles,
so come and hang out for a while.
We’re on the corner of Beginning and End,
so come on out and bring a friend.
When Dreams and Chaos coincide,
this is where to come and hide.

Barbie Angell
© 2009-the present