Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin
RAIN
—Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin, Davis
Celebrate the secret speech of rain
upon tin rooftops,
an innocent and comforting rhythm.
Listen, sink into sleep
in the darkness,
while the rain pours, drenches and soaks
the earth.
Grateful for the rain beneath the clouded stars,
a festival to behold.
Cherish its wetness across the woods
and the bubbling streams;
then the renewal of silence
in the morning sun.
Be present for these moments of wonder.
—Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin, Davis
Celebrate the secret speech of rain
upon tin rooftops,
an innocent and comforting rhythm.
Listen, sink into sleep
in the darkness,
while the rain pours, drenches and soaks
the earth.
Grateful for the rain beneath the clouded stars,
a festival to behold.
Cherish its wetness across the woods
and the bubbling streams;
then the renewal of silence
in the morning sun.
Be present for these moments of wonder.
__________________
Thanks, Jobyna! Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin says: As a child, I lived in the interior of New Guinea with no other white children but my sister and brother. My father was a consulting mining engineer and geologist finding gold and exploring never-before-seen territory. On the way home from New Guinea, I experienced Australia, the Philippines, China, Japan and Hawaii.
Then I lived in California, beautiful New Mexico, and the seasonal thrill of my life, New Hampshire. A short stint in Montreal came next, learning some French. Then (Mills College and UC Berkeley), and eventually a teaching job (kindergarten) in Davis and Winters. I was very interested in writing and was encouraged in college to go into journalism; however, instead I majored in music and minored in art. While in Berkeley, I held a job where I began writing poetry on my down time (mostly rhyming children’s poetry depicting my own childhood).
I won first place ($300) in 1988 for an international contest sponsored by Foster City, for humor. I had a story about my New Guinea childhood published in a small issue of Mosaic in Palo Alto in the early '90's, and also a poem named "Columbia", written shortly after the shuttle Columbia disaster, that was published in a Redwood City poetry booklet. I have studied poetry at workshops in Asilomar, Reno, and Esalon (with Sun Magazine); in Davis, with Theodore Gould, Ray Coppock, and Allegra Silberstein. I became very interested in Native Americans while living back East, and since have been writing to a reservation in Montana. "Rain" came from the experience I had living in a house with a tin roof and woods surrounding us in New Guinea where it rained every afternoon for fifteen minutes.
I am retired now, but I am an artist almost full-time. I also like to write incidents from my life experiences, and especially am trying to hone my poetry. My husband of 49 years is a botanist, and my son and daughter are grown. I’ve traveled to Russia to view where my husband’s parents grew up, and have walked Scotland and England, my own ancestral past. I love to draw from the simple things in life, such as my family and pets, the ordinary. And I enjoy humorous poetry.
STILL LIFE
—Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin
rough are the hands of my son,
green, the pastures of New Hampshire,
broccoli, rough and green, cancels cancer.
soft with round edges is my daughter.
white is the snow to ski.
eggs soft round-like and white.
mother stuffed eggs for our picnic,
father baked bread in his round gold pan,
husband jammed broccoli through the juicer,
all three protect my soul.
rough, green, soft, white,
son, pastures, daughter, skiing,
mother, picnics, father’s gold,
husband’s care for wife’s health,
all protectors of my soul.
__________________
Speaking of Davis...Thanks, Jobyna! Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin says: As a child, I lived in the interior of New Guinea with no other white children but my sister and brother. My father was a consulting mining engineer and geologist finding gold and exploring never-before-seen territory. On the way home from New Guinea, I experienced Australia, the Philippines, China, Japan and Hawaii.
Then I lived in California, beautiful New Mexico, and the seasonal thrill of my life, New Hampshire. A short stint in Montreal came next, learning some French. Then (Mills College and UC Berkeley), and eventually a teaching job (kindergarten) in Davis and Winters. I was very interested in writing and was encouraged in college to go into journalism; however, instead I majored in music and minored in art. While in Berkeley, I held a job where I began writing poetry on my down time (mostly rhyming children’s poetry depicting my own childhood).
I won first place ($300) in 1988 for an international contest sponsored by Foster City, for humor. I had a story about my New Guinea childhood published in a small issue of Mosaic in Palo Alto in the early '90's, and also a poem named "Columbia", written shortly after the shuttle Columbia disaster, that was published in a Redwood City poetry booklet. I have studied poetry at workshops in Asilomar, Reno, and Esalon (with Sun Magazine); in Davis, with Theodore Gould, Ray Coppock, and Allegra Silberstein. I became very interested in Native Americans while living back East, and since have been writing to a reservation in Montana. "Rain" came from the experience I had living in a house with a tin roof and woods surrounding us in New Guinea where it rained every afternoon for fifteen minutes.
I am retired now, but I am an artist almost full-time. I also like to write incidents from my life experiences, and especially am trying to hone my poetry. My husband of 49 years is a botanist, and my son and daughter are grown. I’ve traveled to Russia to view where my husband’s parents grew up, and have walked Scotland and England, my own ancestral past. I love to draw from the simple things in life, such as my family and pets, the ordinary. And I enjoy humorous poetry.
STILL LIFE
—Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin
rough are the hands of my son,
green, the pastures of New Hampshire,
broccoli, rough and green, cancels cancer.
soft with round edges is my daughter.
white is the snow to ski.
eggs soft round-like and white.
mother stuffed eggs for our picnic,
father baked bread in his round gold pan,
husband jammed broccoli through the juicer,
all three protect my soul.
rough, green, soft, white,
son, pastures, daughter, skiing,
mother, picnics, father’s gold,
husband’s care for wife’s health,
all protectors of my soul.
__________________
Rae Gouirand writes: In case you haven't already heard any news of this particular development, I thought it would be appropriate to send word out that UC-Extension is launching a certificate program in Creative Writing this coming academic year. A variety of local authors and practicing teaching writers (including me) will be teaching workshops and elective courses in prose fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and screenwriting. The program is designed for those who would like to develop their writing in a formal credit program.
Please note that the website for the certificate program (if you visit) is being updated constantly, and that it does not currently reflect the actual offerings beginning in Winter 2009—only an approximate idea. It's still under construction.
If you're interested in getting some more info about the program, on August 20th there will be an information session at the Galleria Building at 2901 K Street in Sacramento. It's from 6-7 PM. To register for that information session, call 1-800-752-0881 and use registration #081WRT101. I expect there will be a lot more firm information then.
__________________
MEMORY ROW
—Marie J. Ross, Stockton
McKinley Elementary,
joyous children squealing
basket balls bouncing on
play yard gravel, tether-ball
chains clanking on iron pole:
happy energetic days under
heat of summer’s sun.
Up and down the main
thoroughfare, freshly painted
store fronts, aroma of cultural
delicacies,
diverse languages spoken;
and oh, that gigantic trademark
of the red crab, atop the famed
Crab Pot Seafood restaurant;
this the south side in the ‘50's.
I drove past our old house;
garden rudely naked of its beauty,
dry grass replacing memories of
manipulating my garden shovel.
A boarded window, dusty, unkept,
a bright paint dressing a house that
once wore white:
there was an old car left undoctored
falling apart, as music, not of my time,
blasted too many cycles of change.
And, though sand in the hourglass tips,
increasing and decreasing,
my heart still pumps memories of seasons,
of childhood days, sister days, mother and
father days in our house on Madison Street,
its image still glued in my scrapbook of time.
__________________
Thanks, Marie! Marie Ross was responding to this week's Seed of the Week: Birthplace Revisited. "Memory" poems sure do lend themselves to the "list poem" format, yes? Coincidentally, Jobyna's "Rain", which she sent me weeks ago, is a Birthplace Revisited poem, and her "Still Life" is a list poem.
Remember, there is no deadline on Seeds of the Week; send them whenever the muse hits.
__________________
A GIFT FOR MY MISTRESS
—Jobyna Kingsbury-Gankin
You leave me almost every evening.
Where do you go, and what do you do?
I know you have a redhead
and others you play with too.
The lights shine through pinholes in the dark drape
stretched over the earth.
A yellow ball hangs above the golden fields.
Does this romance you, as it does me?
You come back as darkness lifts its cloth
and nestle into bed,
putting your head next to me.
I stroke you lovingly, for you are home at last.
You can’t tell me where you’ve been,
too tired and unable to answer my queries.
I settle in the cloud-soft near you,
knowing this is your home and you still need me.
I know, because you lovingly left me a dead mouse in the hallway.
__________________
Today's LittleNip:
I have no desire to prove anything by dancing. I just dance.
—Fred Astaire
__________________
—Medusa
SnakeWatch: What's Up With Rattlesnake Press
The Snake will be snoozing through July and August, leaving Medusa to carry on alone. Then on September 10, we shall burst back onto the scene with Ten Poems, a new chapbook from Patrick Grizzell; #2 in Katy Brown's series of blank journals (Musings Two: Vices, Virtues and Obsessions); plus Issue #19 of Rattlesnake Review (deadline is August 15). Meanwhile, look in on Medusa every day, and, for heaven's sake, keep sending stuff! The snakes of Medusa are always hungry...
Medusa's Weekly Menu:
(Contributors are welcome to cook up something for any and all of these!)
Monday: Weekly NorCal poetry calendar
Tuesday: Seed of the Week: Tuesday is Medusa's day to post poetry triggers such as quotes, forms, photos, memories, jokes—whatever might tickle somebody's muse. Pick up the gauntlet and send in your poetic results; and don't be shy about sending in your own triggers, too! All poems will be posted and a few of them will go into Medusa's Corner of each Rattlesnake Review. Send your work to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. No deadline for SOW; respond today, tomorrow, or whenever the muse arrives. (Print 'em out, maybe, save 'em for a dry spell?) When you send us work, though, just let us know which "seed" it was that inspired you.
Wednesday: HandyStuff Quickies: Resources for the poet, including whatever helps ease the pain of writing and/or publishing: favorite journals to read and/or submit to; books, etc., about writing; organizational tools—you know—HandyStuff! Tell us about your favorite tools.
Thursday: B.L.'s Drive-Bys: Micro-reviews by our irreverent Reviewer-in-Residence, B.L. Kennedy. Send books, CDs, DVDs, etc. to him for possible review (either as a Drive-By or in future issues of Rattlesnake Review) at P.O. Box 160664, Sacramento, CA 95816.
Friday: NorCal weekend poetry calendar
Daily (except Sunday): LittleNips: SnakeFood for the Poetic Soul: Daily munchables for poetic thought, including short paragraphs, quotes, wonky words, silliness, little-known poetry/poet facts, and other inspiration—yet another way to feed our ravenous poetic souls.
And poetry! Every day, poetry from writers near and far! The Snakes of Medusa are always hungry.......!
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Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events, to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.) Medusa cannot vouch for the moral fiber of other publications, contests, etc. that she lists, however, so submit to them at your own risk. For more info about the Snake Empire, including guidelines for submitting to or obtaining our publications, click on the link to the right of this column: Rattlesnake Press (rattlesnakepress.com). And be sure to sign up for Snakebytes, our monthly e-newsletter that will keep you up-to-date on all our ophidian chicanery.
