Kathryn Stripling Byer, RIP

In 2009, I happened to read about a submission call in Kathryn Stripling Byer's blog, "Here Where I Am." 

Kay was North Carolina's fifth poet laureate. The first woman to hold the position. 

With encouragement from Kay, I submitted a piece I had posted in Meanderings and Muses and the piece was accepted. 

There's nothing like seeing your work published for the first time. And I have Kay Byer to thank, which I did. Many times. 

To then find out she herself would be one of the Western North Carolina women writers included in the anthology made the happiness that much sweeter. 

Through the years, I found Kay to be one of the most generous people I'd ever encountered. Yesterday I learned that she was in hospice care.  This evening I learned that she has left us, and I'm wondering if she realized just how many people she helped with her poetry, and her generosity, along the way. I hope so.

Last Light by Kay Stripling Byer

from DESCENT

The tests I need to pass are prescribed by the spirits
of place who understand travel but not amnesia.

from “This Is My Third and Last Address to You” --Adrienne Rich

1.

Almost the age when memory falters,
I fear being made to count backward
by seven’s, to answer to date, year, and
Presidents, as if those numbers and names
matter more in the end than this place
where I stand at the same kitchen window,
observing the same pines set swaying by wind,
reaching upward as I’ll reach, come morning,
my arms to the ceiling, breathing the dark out
of body and spirit, exhaling that old dream
of nothingness: laying my head down to sleep.

2.

Now Rocky Face Ridge catches fire
in the last light and, though I can’t hear it
from where I stand, Cullowhee Creek tumbles into
the Tuckaseegee, always unscrolling beneath me
the names I already know. Snowbird.
Buzzards Roost. Weyahutta. Oconaluftee.

3.

I don’t know how long names can last
if there’s no one to care where they live.
What I saw on the hairpin curve down from
the Chimney Tops, white as snow, I’ve not forgotten.
Phacelia. And how, on the trail leading
up to the summit of Suncota Ridge,
I saw sauntering toward me a young woman
I could have sworn was the reincarnation of
every spring wildflower ever named anywhere.

4.

Closer she comes to me each April,
as if she means more than I have a lifetim
to know. Roundabout her, her white Easter dress
whispers every thing I want to keep living
here in this valley that cups the last swallow of light,
every name I must reach to remember or else
lose them, hillside by hillside, to darkness.

Western North Carolina Women Writers

I am tickled pink to be able to share some fun news. Four anthologies from Western North Carolina Women Writers are now available in Kindle format:

It's All Relative: Tales from the Tree: from 50 WNC Women Writers, 

Women's Spaces Women's Places: from 50 WNC Women Writers, 

Clothes Lines: from 75 western North Carolina women writers, and 

Christmas Presence: from 45 western North Carolina women writers. 

All four were edited by the awesome and uber talented Celia Miles and Nancy Dillingham.  I love these women.

I am proud to be a part of three of the anthologies. 

Clothes Lines will always hold a special place in my heart as it was my first time being published. And to be published between the covers of the same book with the likes of former NC Poet Laureate Kathryn Stripling Byer, Isabel Zuber, Joan Medlicott and so many other accomplished writers still knocks me over. 

I hope you'll buy every one of them and fall in love with some of the talented women of Western North Carolina.

Attic by Kathryn Stripling Byer

Not buried but piece by piece carried up narrow stairs into the rafters, her leavings have summered through forty-five seasons of Bible-Belt heat. I can stand only so much of being up here, on this late August afternoon, dead-end of summer in which I come looking for her again. In the usual places. This jewelry casket, for instance.  Inside it she stares from the heart of a foliate brooch that I raise in a tangle of gold chains I don't try to loosen.  She's still here: a face I have used up with wonderings. High cheekbones. Hollows. A mouth slightly open and inside that vacancy, no invitation for me to speak out of it.

In Honor of National Poetry Month - Kathryn Stripling Byer

Attic     by Kathryn Stripling Byer Not buried but piece by piece carried up narrow stairs into the rafters, her leavings have summered through forty-five seasons of Bible-Belt heat. I can stand only so much of being up here, on this late August afternoon, dead-end of summer in which I come looking for her again. In the usual places. This jewelry casket, for instance.  Inside it she stares from the heart of a foliate brooch that I raise in a tangle of gold chains I don't try to loosen.  She's still here: a face I have used up with wonderings. High cheekbones. Hollows. A mouth slightly open and inside that vacancy, no invitation for me to speak out of it.

Doesn't Everyone Love Getting a Book for Christmas?!

Well, of course they do!

At least, it's a darn good bet that all of you do.

And 'tis the season for all us bloggers to tell you what we recommend, right?!

And you pay very close attention to what we say, right?!

We're the experts, right?!

Well, some are - but not me.

In my case - although no expert, I am fairly opinionated (yes, yes, yes - I know you know that by now).

I've read a ton of books this year, and many of them made a strong enough impression that I'm able to easily and fondly remember them months later. For someone like me who has a hard time remembering last night's supper, this is a true test. Some of my favorites this year were by writers on my "auto-buy authors list." Some were by some new kids on the block, and some were by "new to me" authors. Here's the thing. While reading my favorite blogs over the past week or two, what I saw were recommendations for mystery/crime fiction novels that I would also recommend (which tells me all those other blogger people have terrific taste! Right?!). So. Instead of repeating what all those other ultra smart blogging friends of mine are saying, I'm going to recommend only one book.

Not a mystery.

Not a thriller.

Not even in the crime fiction genre.

Not even fiction.

But it's a book I am SO proud of I cannot shut up about it.

Have you figured it out yet?


Let me tell you what some other people are saying . . .


Julie Parker, Western North Carolina Woman Magazine - - " . . . We are so excited about this book because it is, like WNC WOMAN, a superb vehicle for collecting and sharing tales of the strength, wisdom and grace of the women of these beautiful mountains." (WNC Woman also reprinted several of the pieces from the book - including mine! What an honor, and a huge thrill. Yay, me!!!)

The Laurel of Asheville gives Clothes Lines a half page ad! "Wheeeeee" says one of our editors. And rightly so!

From Rob Neufeld, The Read on WNC - - "To see all these writers well represented in a single volume is a treat and a service."

Former North Carolina Poet Laureate and contributor to Clothes Lines - Kathryn Stripling Byer at her blog "Here, Where I Am", - - - ". . . This anthology of work about clothes and how we women get tangled up in them has just been published and its cover looks like a writer's shawl, don't you think? One she'd throw around her shoulders before heading out for the cafe, the salon, the bookstore, the poetry reading! The 75 western North Carolina women in this book would probably love to fling such a shawl round themselves and head out to make the literary scene in style."

Radine Trees Nehring, Author of the "Something to Die For" mystery series wrote this at the well known, long lived, much loved, on-line mystery forum; DorothyL - - - "Just finished CLOTHES LINES, edited by Celia H. Miles and Nancy Dillingham. WOW, every woman here on DL should read this, though it is not a mystery. It's a collection of essays, little stories (true) and poetry by 75 women from western North Carolina. Kaye Barley is one of the authors, with her "Needing a Little Something Red in My Life." I loved Kaye's thoughtful opinion piece and tell-all about wearing red (and indeed, it seems wearing red, especially red shoes, cheers many women here and in the general population). I think all female readers will find many things that cause them (sure caused me) to click their tongues, smile, and say "Yesssss!" A couple other favorites of mine were "Let's Talk Bras" by Nancy Purcell, and "Sixty-Something," a poem by Janice Townley Moore. And...oh shoot, I loved it all. Poignant, funny, REAL. Enjoy!"

And with permission from the authors, I offer you these little samples of the loveliness to be found between the covers of "Clothes Lines, from 75 western North Carolina women writers." (Catawba Publishing Company, ISBN 978-1-59712-355-6)

"Too-Tight, Just-Right Jeans"
by Gwendie Camp

It has been a long time since I tried to put on a tight pair of jeans (I value comfort way too much), but, from what I remember, here's how it's done. You start by carefully inserting each of your legs a little way into the appropriate pants leg, and then you need to immediately lie down, preferably on a soft bed, because otherwise the rest of this will hurt.

Keep one hand on the waistband so the jeans don’t fall off onto the floor, because then you’d have to start over, and once you start this, there’s no going back.

OK, now you’ve got yourself lying on the bed, holding on for dear life to these too-tight, just-right jeans. Slowly start inching the waistband up your legs, covering up more and more skin. This part should be easy, otherwise you’re never gonna get these suckers on. And I’m assuming you’ve already got your underpants on, if you wear underpants, that is. Underpants can leave a tell-tale line when you’re done, but your crotch will thank you for them.

Now, you’re lying there wiggling and tossing and turning and inching those jeans up toward your waist. Everything is going good until you get to your crotch. Here you might want to pause and reconnoiter. You need to have every inch of your legs inside those jean legs, or else this is not gonna work. In fact, if you can pull the pants legs up a little bit onto your bottom, so much the better. You’re gonna to need every inch of fabric you can get.

Here comes the hard part. You’ve got both legs in the jeans. You’re lying on your back. Now you push your heels down into the mattress and raise your fanny off the bed a few inches—if you can. If you can’t, you can’t wear these jeans.

And then, as fast as you can, you snake that fabric up as far as it will go. Then you collapse for a minute until you get your strength and your breath back. I forgot to mention that you’d probably be holding your breath through this last part, and it can get pretty tiring in a hurry.

If you are in luck, the jeans are up near your waist, but they aren’t zipped or buttoned. I hope you thought ahead and got jeans that zip, because you you're never going to get them buttoned.

So now you’ve rested up a bit. For the coup de grace, you take in a big breath, blow it out as hard as you can, and suck that belly in farther than you’ve ever done before. And AT THE SAME TIME (this is the tricky part) you pull like crazy on that little zipper tab. You may have to get some help here if you’re not real strong.

Let’s say you got the zipper most of the way to the top. Now you stand up—on the floor, not the bed - and you jump up and down a few times. Again, at the SAME TIME you suck in that gut and inch the zipper up. Whew, it’s done.

But now there’s this roll of skin at the top. Looks like you’re wearing one of those kiddie swimming rings. So to get rid of that, you bend over and try to touch your toes about a million times, attempting to stretch out the fabric. If that doesn’t work, you can do a bunch of deep knee bends. You might want to hold onto the side of the bed for that. By this time if you aren’t zipped up and mostly covered by those jeans, it's not going to happen.

The last step is to ask your beloved “Do these jeans make my butt look big?”

"Finding Our Line"
by Nancy Dillingham

Every day
we shape our clay
from the inside out
giving it cachet

But sometimes
it's the clothes we wear
that give us away
that give us away

Curves, straight lines
diagonals, in-your-face style
au courant, de rigueur
faux, retro

Similarly
we define ourselves as writers
shape our style

The curve of the plot
the turn of the phrase
the tone of the prose--
it's the pattern of patter
that matters

We preen, we pose
give color to character
and landscape
decorate and align

weaving a provocative story
stitching a tall tale
spinning a yarn
threading a thrme

piecing a poem
with precision and panache
punctuating with élan
finding our line

"Sixty-Something"
by Janice Townley Moore

As I bronze with gel
my veiny feet, slide them
into the glittery cages
of flip-flops, showing off
plum brulee polish on nails
topped with sequins -
I see my grandmother
at my age, her stockings
rolled down around her ankles
sturdy above the black oxfords
she wore through summer's swelter.
Now she stretches to pin
a basketful of clothes
on the ropey line.
Her seersucker dress
drags its hem in the red dust.
She never dreams the joy
of bending over to flaunt
a purple thong and a graceful
monarch settled forever
above the dimple
on the right buttock.



There you go. Little teasers from a terrific book. Check back, 'cause I may be adding more.




"Clothes Lines" is available from Celia Miles at celiamiles@fastmail.fm for $22.00 including postage.

Happy Dance !!

This book arrived in today's mail -

Lovely, isn't it?!











































AND - -

lookee here -



oh my.

How cool is that?!

VERY cool!!

Who's included?

As you can see from the title page - 75 western North Carolina women are featured in CLOTHES LINES - Edited by Celia H. Miles and Nancy Dillingham.

Seventy-five women.

Including Me!!

Many of the women included are local or regional names I'm familiar with, some I've admired from afar, some I'm only now becoming aware of. I'm quite honored to be included among them.

Three of the women, however, are giants in my mind.



Novelist Joan Medlicott, author of the award winning Ladies of Covington series,











Novelist and poet Isabel Zuber, author of SALT,










and




North Carolina Poet Laureate (2005 - 2009) Kathryn Stripling Byer.











oh my.


Am I over the moon?! you bet.


I have been a huge fan of Joan Medlicott's for a number of years and snatch up her newest Covington novels the minute they hit the shelves.

Isabel Zuber's "Salt" is one of my favorite novels ever. One that I reread with some regularity.

Kay Byer writes some of the absolutely most perfect poetry I've ever had the joy of reading, and her words enrich my life.

It was through Kay's blog, "Here Where I Am," that I learned of the call for submissions for this anthology, which is the second edited by Celia Miles and Nancy Dillingham. The first was "Christmas Presence, from 45 west North Carolina women writers," published in 2008.

This submission call was for " The Clothes We Wear . . . stories, memoirs, essays/reflections, poems for an anthology about the garments we wear — metaphorically, symbolically, literally---from hair bow to bra to Birkenstocks, from christening gown to prom dress, from waitress uniform to nine-to-five stiletto heels" and I immediately thought of a piece I had written for Meanderings and Muses about needing a little red in my life. Not allowing myself to think about things too much for fear of getting cold feet, I revised it and sent it in. Still not allowing myself to think about it too much, I was tickled beyond belief to hear back from Celia and Nancy that my piece had been accepted.

Had I known that Ms. Zuber, Ms. Byer, and Ms. Medlicott were to be included there is no way on God's green earth that I would have given any of this a second thought. Which says to me that sometimes we just need to put aside our fears - our lack of confidence in ourselves, and just say "oh, the hell with it," and stretch ourselves. By stretching myself, I've been granted an opportunity to be a part of something that I'll always be proud of. And that's a lovely thing, indeed.

Note: some of you have sent emails wanting to know how to get a copy of Clothes Lines. My copy of the book is, I believe, an early release, and we're all supposed to get together next Saturday to discuss "stuff" at a "Meet & Greet Tea." (won't that be fun?!!) I'll find out about distribution then, I'm guessing it will be available through amazon, along with our local and regional indies (I'll keep you posted). BUT - in the meantime you can order copies from the publisher - Catawba Publishing or from the editors: Celia Miles - celiamiles@fastmail.fm or Nancy Dillingham - nandilly@earthlink.net

Let's Chat About Hats

This morning while I was doing my stroll through some of my favorite blogs, I was nudged onto Memory Lane. You all know how much I enjoy my strolls down Memory Lane. Kathryn Stripling Byer, who has served as North Carolina's poet laureate since 2005 writes the "Here, Where I Am" blog which is always full of lovely words and images and is one of my favorite spots. This morning she's bemoaning hats. Not those fabulous hats a lot of us love, but the uncomfortable little, practically pinned to our heads, prissy hats sprouting feathers, fruit, or stiff netting that many of us were forced to wear to church when we were little girls. And she has the beginnings of a poem she's writing about said hats. Drop by and spend a little time with Ms. Byer - she's a dream. And I'm hoping she doesn't mind me "borrowing" her brilliant idea to blog about hats.

Somehow from those forced hat wearing episodes Ms. Byer talks about, I grew to have a major love affair with hats. It may have something to do with family. Apparently, the Wilkinson women liked hats - as shown here by my Great Aunt Sadie, and my paternal grandmother, Laura Street Wilkinson.


Unfortunately, the days of fun and sassy and outrageous hats passed me by. Most of us don't live the type of lifestyle that we can get away with wearing the types of hats I have in mind. Those are works of art you see at Ascot.








































Hats are fun. They're supposed to be fun. And as far as I know, no one has been hurt by a hat.



Some are, perhaps, a little much , but still - I don't think they can hurt you.


Ascot, however, was not a part of my Memory Lane.

But weddings were. And hats were just made for weddings!! First girlfriend weddings and cousin weddings, then came their childrens' weddings. While we're waiting for their grandchildren to get married, I'm in a hat lull, so instead of buying and wearing a new hat, I'll have to content myself by reading and writing about them. And maybe going back to watch Aretha so proudly wearing her hat at The Inauguration. i do love that hat.

Hats were my treat to myself whenever we went to a wedding. A lot of times I might be the only person there wearing a hat. Not always, but often. Until we went to the wedding of our friends James and Melody. This was our first experience at an African American wedding. And oh my - had I not worn a hat to this wedding, I would have been sadly under dressed. The wedding was perfect. The bride and groom were both gorgeous. The service was moving, emotional and joyful. Every detail of both wedding and reception were attended to with loving perfection by mothers and family members, and every guest attended to with the same loving attention. I will remember that wedding as a high point in my life.

Ironically, shortly after James and Melody's wedding I ran across a book that I had to have and which will forever remind me of this glorious day. It's called "Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats" by Michael Cunningham and Craig Marberry.

Marberry had this to say, "I think it's because it's rooted in the African tradition that says that when one presents oneself before God… that you should be at your best –- that you should present excellence before the Almighty." And that tradition of adorning the head for worship is a very African tradition."

"Crowns" is a stunning book. And it's much more. It delves quite deeply into a history that we must never ever allow be forgotten. or allow to ever happen again. Whenever I, for example, pranced into the lovely and grand Downtown Rich's Department Store in Atlanta to buy myself a new hat whenever I wanted, never once did I give a thought to the fact that there had been a time when a black woman could not do this. This simple act that gave me such joy. Other women were unable to do. In that regard, "Crowns" becomes a history book. But one written in the words of women who are able to find humor in their situation regarding hats. Nancy Carpenter tells us about a department store in North Carolina where she wasn't allowed to shop. After some years passed, and Mrs. Carpenter became the owner of many hats, some quite spectacular, she was able to realize that the store's hats really weren't so special - it was the fact that she couldn't own one that, of course, caused her to want to own at least one of them that much more. Fact of the matter was though - the hats Mrs. Carpenter ended up owning, she says, were more beautiful than anything that store ever carried. And, she ended up owning more than they more than likely ever carried at one time.

From "Crowns:"

"Listen, never touch my hat! Admire it from a distance. Those are the hat queen rules, honey."
-Peggy Knox, child care provider

"You can flirt with a fan in your hand. You can flirt holding a cigarette, too. But a woman can really flirt with a hat." -Dolores Foster, real estate agent (retired)

And, my favorite hat ever? The one I wore to my own wedding. May 11, 1986.