On Saturday, August 26, 2023, the Oil Region Library Association (ORLA) held its third annual Festival of the Book (FOTB) in Oil City, on the streets in front of its stunning library building. It was such a pleasure to spend the day outdoors in the sunny, temperate weather alongside so many writers and community organizations. I enjoyed several meaningful conversations on topics ranging from Orphic poetry to the history of the Underground Railroad in Northwestern PA. It was energizing, inspiring, affirming, and simply FUN. And I did sell some books, which I appreciated!
The folks at ORLA asked me to be a featured speaker this year, which was an honor. I thought I’d share the text of my remarks here. Forgive the slightly salesy nature of some passages– I was there to introduce myself, after all! But my real purpose was to give thanks. Here is what I said:
I’d like to thank the Oil Region Library Association for supporting local writers by holding this festival and the many other things they do— for truly, where would we writers, and readers, be without libraries! “Libraries store the energy that fuels the imagination,” said Sidney Sheldon, one of the top ten best selling fiction writers of all times. He went on: “They open up windows to the world and inspire us to explore and achieve, and contribute to improving our quality of life.” And now, as we all know, libraries are on the front lines of a battle many foresaw but I can hardly believe, fighting book bans and censorship. We should all be extraordinarily grateful for their support.
I write poetry— more on that in a moment—and nonfiction, primarily the biographies of people forgotten by history but whose lives still have lesson for us today. My book, Cursed, about a young woman who died because her husband belonged to a faith-healing cult and denied her the care she needed after getting sick, is in between editions. I have a few copies at my table. Her husband, by the way, was a native of Brookville.
I started writing poetry in my teens, finding it helpful—as so many do—as I worked through the angst that came with those years. But I first fell in love with the craft through song lyrics—the poetry of folks singers and songwriters like Joni Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot, too many to list. They were the first to seduce me with the power of metaphor and simile. I still play the guitar and sings those songs— they’re in my literary DNA.
My poetry reflects my experience in the world on three major fronts: the beauty of the Northern Appalachian landscape; the experience of living as a woman; and the frustration and pain of social injustice. In the first instance, I am a member of the group Poets of the Wilds which has a table here. We have a beautiful book by Clarion poet Tabby Shah, and work by that consummate outdoorsman Byron Hoot. I have published a book titled Sanctity that offers a series of lyrical poems organized by season celebrating the beauty of Northern Appalachia. Here is an Autumn poem from that book:
Path
There’s a path
that runs to the east
the grass grown up from neglect,
only the faintest denting from deer moving during the night.
On certain days the drifting sun
rises directly there—
the light slithering along the weedy heads of seed,
through the trees,
reaching me as I wait
like a sacrifice in the temple
aligned to catch
the golden snake; or
a priestess at Newgrange, praying
as the solstice sun pierces the passage
to anoint the dead.
I wait, the trees aflame above,
the ground glowing from burnished leaves,
the sky growing brighter,
the light’s shaft coiling, ready
to crack open my
heart.
My older poetry often tackled the emotions of a woman in love, or sorting through the challenges of a difficult childhood, but it is my forthcoming book, titled Goddesses I Have Known that explores all aspects of the Feminine Spirit. I hope to see it in print in October. This is the dedication poem from that book.
Be My Muses
Be my muses, you crones and queens—
I need you more than Greeks
in their flowing gowns and marble
shrines to Beauty.
Erato enchants,
Polyhymnia promises,
Calliope beguiles—but all
faint in the face
of caste and farce,
plague and force.
The muses I need now are darkly different,
more at home with Hel than Hera.
Come, then, Tiamet and Bast,
Mazu and Yemaya.
Meet holocaust with chaos,
revenge with vengeance.
Deliver to me a pantheon of all
that is unholy
in this sanctimonious world,
strengthen this spine,
prepare my mouth to speak
the messy truth of sweet
blasphemy.
I am a co-founder of the group Poets Against Racism and Hate, which has presented readings at both the Franklin and Oil City libraries. When I write about social justice, I tend to tap stories from historical figures. My book Inspired by their Voices is based on the testimonies of Underground Railroad operatives. Here’s a short poem from that collection based on the testimony of Graceanna Lewis from Phoenixville, PA (to learn more about her, check out my previous blog on her life).
Rachel Moore escaped
with her six young children
and came to our farm
in the most pitiful condition.
After they left the home of their master
a rain came on
and the flapping of their wet garments
against their unprotected limbs
wore off the skin
until it bled with every step.
Yet their sense of danger of capture
was so great
that they pressed forward
with all the speed
possible to them—
the mother carrying the youngest child
to hasten them forward,
She wore but a single garment,
a coarse heavy dress
woven in broken stripes
of red.
If you are a poet who writes about social justice, or a reader interested in joining our community, I have some material at my table about PARH USA.
The support for writers in this region is extraordinary! I’d like to mention the Bridge Literary Arts Center which has a table here and recently put on a wonderful literary festival at the Wildcat Mansion in Franklin. If you aren’t tapped into that group, change that today by visiting with them! They’re already planning next year’s festival.
Being a writer can seem like a solitary endeavor, but really, it takes a village. The libraries, the Bridge Literary group, festivals like these— this is our lifeline. Thank you for being here.