From Mother to Daughter to Mother Again ... In Memory of Genevieve Krueger

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas 

and a Wonderful New Year, Everyone! 

Song

When fire flares forth

and from the chimney, smoke

I hear the song

of the fallen oak

its fibres grey with ashen coat

it gives to us

from its glowing throat

a whisper, a breath - words of light

what song to sing on Christmas night! 

by Genevieve Krueger

Published in 1994 Chupa Rosa Calendar Diary

 

Celebrating the Poetic Gifts of Gen Krueger

For our last blog for the year 2015, we decided to revisit the poetry and life of Genevieve Krueger. Village Poets just owe her so much! Dorothy Skiles organized a “Chuparosa Writers ” evening in memory of Gen on Thursday, December 3, 2015 at her Sunland home.  The purpose of the gathering was to read some of Gen’s poetry, and some written about her, as well as share special memories and stories about Gen that have inspired poets and made them laugh... 

Below you will find a selection of poems as well as photos from the Chuparosa Writers' event by Bill Skiles. 

Dorothy Skiles talks about Gen Krueger.

Just Outside Jerusalem

Dedicated to the memory of Gen Krueger, 1929-2015, 

mentor and facilitator of the Chuparosa Writers, Tujunga, California

My hill rises with the sun,

A day’s weariness 

Envelopes me like a shroud.  

Every Thursday evening

I walk down the street 

To the writers workshop

Just outside Jerusalem.

I knock at the door, my shroud

Of weariness falls away, 

And I’m resurrected again.

For a few hours, I’m a rider 

On the wings of a poem.

by Dorothy Skiles

Rev. Dec. 3, 2015

All Rights Reserved 2015 by D. Skiles

Grandma Laureate

To honor you

I want to remember you

Your sweetness

Your uniqueness

Humble and wise

Creative and strong

Your noble Nordic spirit

Quietly expressed patience and love

Your earthy endearing heart

Warmly engaging in

conversations and smiles

Your love of literature

Your deeper love of family and friends

Steadfast and amaranthine

The embodiment of teacher and learner

An example of consistent

Positivity and optimism

Despite every challenge put before you

I love you

I miss you

I just want

To honor you

(c) 2015 by Amber

(Untitled)

Like a hole punched

Through my sturdy wall

Behind a hanging canvas

I tucked away the crater of your absence

5 days bereavement

Is American Grief

Coffee needs pouring

Stocks need selling

Minds need molding

The commute never dies

But at a red light

There is a breath

Between songs

There is a space

At the flip of a lightswitch

Blindness exists

Suddenly loss

Is here unannounced

And I don’t know

How I go

Day to Day

Yesterday your twin key

Unused on my busy ring

Slipped into my front door lock

My adult hand

Can’t turn this knob

This finite door is closed

The key now unlocks

Only your memory

Jenny Novak 12/3/15

Maja Trochimczyk reads Gen Krueger's "Color is What You Make It"

You can read more poems by Gen Krueger on our previous blog, from September 2015:

http://villagepoets.blogspot.com/2015/09/farewell-to-genevieve-krueger-and-her.html

Mira Mataric reads her poem, Hymn to Motherhood.

Hymn to Motherhood

I am watching you, my daughter,

 motherhood has shaped, rounded

and completed you as a woman.

Your eyes turned downy, soft with tenderness,

your voice croons a lullaby,

body and entire being ripened

turning your lap into a nest.

Your breast floods with the dew of life

hands ready to hold, feed, and caress.

Terms of endearment and nursery rhymes

murmuring, your ear attuned

to the child's soft cry,

that helpless call in the language

only a mother can understand,

the Morse code of intimacy,

carried through the umbilical cord

that never breaks

between a mother and her child.

With humanity,

 motherhood has connected you

and to me returned.

I am watching you, my daughter,

with love and pride,

not sure whether it is you or I,

that woman experiencing motherhood

for the first time and all over again.

That daughter we are raising now

as one woman

is that you, my child,

my discovery and masterpiece,

or a new life born in continuation

of humankind

 through the most powerful force -

 Love.

(c) by Mirjana N. Radovanov Mataric

Maja Trochimczyk Presents "Slicing the Bread" on February 22, 2015

The Village Poets Monthly Reading on Sunday, February 22, will have a new Featured Poet since B. D. Love will not be able to present his work. He will be replaced by Dr. Maja Trochimczyk, reading from her new poetry book, "Slicing the Bread," (Finishing Line Press, 2014).  The reading will start at 4:30 p.m. and will include two segments of Open Mike as well as refreshments.

When: Sunday, February 22nd, at 4:30 p.m.
What: Village Poets Monthly Reading.
Where: Bolton Hall Museum, 10110 Commerce Avenue, Tujunga, CA 91042.

MORE ABOUT THE BOOK

ISBN-10: 1622296877 ISBN-13: 978-1622296873. Available on Amazon, Finishing Line Press, etc.
Published by Finishing Line Press (December 2014)
https://finishinglinepress.com/product_info.php?products_id=2149 http://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2014/07/finishing-line-press-to-publish-slicing.html

DESCRIPTION

This unique poetry collection revisits the dark days of World War II and the post-war occupation of Poland by the Soviet Union that “liberated” the country from one foreign oppression to replace it with another. The point of view is that of children, raised by survivors, scarred by war, wary of politics. Children experienced the hunger and cold, witnessed the killings, saw the darkening blood spilled on the snow and hands stretching from locked boxcar windows. Some heardthe voices of murdered Jews like “bees in the breeze,” others learned never to throw any food away, because “war is hunger.” The poems, each inspired by a single object giving rise to memories like Proust’s madeleine (a spoon, a coat, the smell of incense), are divided into three sections, starting with snapshots of World War II in the Polish Borderlands (Kresy) and in central Poland. Reflections onthe Germans’ brutalkillings of Jews and Poles are followed by insights into the way the long shadow of THE war darkened a childhood spent behind the Iron Curtain. For poet Georgia Jones Davis, this book, “brings the experience of war into shocking, immediate focus” through Trochimczyk’s use of “her weapon: Language at its most precise and lyrical, understated and piercingly visual.”

According to Pulitzer-Prize nominated poet John Guzlowski, Maja’s “poems about what the Poles suffered both during World War II and The Cold War afterwards are written with the clarity of truth and the fullness of poetry… Here are the stories of how the people she loved experienced hunger and suffering and terror so strong that it defined them and taught her, and teach us, the meaning of family.” A fellow Polish-American poet, Linda Nemec Foster praises the “unwavering honesty” and “stark imagery” of Trochimczyk’s poetry that “bear witness to the hate that destroys, to the truth that restores, and to the poetic vision that honors our common humanity.” The Tieferet Prize winner and Poets-Café host Lois P. Jones points out the “vivid and heartbreaking detail” of poems that “will move you to appreciate the simple privileges and necessities of life.” As Jones wisely observes “It is the duty of the poet to convey story, but it is the art of the poet who can transform our often cruel and brutal history and affect forever, the way we look and listen to the world.” Poet Sharon Chmielarz concurs: “You will remember the taste of this book.”




SAMPLE POEMS

Slicing the Bread

Her mother’s hunger. One huge pot of hot water

with some chopped weeds –komesa, lebioda–

she taught her to recognize their leaves,

just in case – plus a spoonful of flour

for flavor. Lunch for twenty people

crammed into a two-bedroom house.

The spring was the worst–flowers, birdsong,

and nothing to eat.  You had to wait

for the rye and potatoes to grow. The pantry

was empty. She was hungry. Always hungry.

She ate raw wheat sometimes. Too green,

The kernels she chewed –still milky –made her sick.

Thirty years after the war,

her mother stashed paper bags with sliced, dried bread

on top shelves in her Warsaw kitchen.

Twenty, thirty bags… enough food for a month.

Don’t ever throw any bread away, her mother said.

Remember, war is hunger.

Every week, her mother ate dziad soup –

fit for a beggar, made with crumbled wheat buns,

stale sourdough loaves, pieces of dark rye

soaked in hot tea with honey.

She liked it. She wanted to remember

its taste.

What to Carry

You never know when the war will come,

her mother said. You have to be ready.

Most things are unimportant.

You must take your gold, your family jewels.

Diamonds will buy you food. 

Gold will save your life. Forget silver, too heavy.

Take sturdy boots with two pairs of socks,

a warm, goose-down comforter on your back,

one picture, no books. Leave it all.

You will have to walk, sleep in a ditch, walk.

Pack lightly. What you carry, will protect you.

From starving, from freezing. That’s what matters.

Goose-down and gold. Hunger and snow.

She still has her goose-down coverlet,

useless in California. Her mother squished it

into a suitcase the first time she came to visit.

The down came from geese plucked decades ago

In Bielewicze, by her Grandma, Nina.

Diamonds? She sold her rings

to pay for the divorce, keep the house

with pomegranates and orange trees.

Her shoes are useless too –

a rainbow of high heels in the closet.