The Rattle Bag

@DodgePoetryFest In honor of the Dodge Poetry Festival: My interview with Billy Collins #DPF14

2014-10-24T08:06:00.000-04:00

Billy Collins is one of the best selling poets in the country. In 2001, Collins’ skill was recognized big time when he was named U.S. Poet Laureate. Collins and The Dodge Poetry Festival share a common goal: to bring poetry into the lives of more people. To that end, Collins put together two anthologies of poems that he hoped would catch the ears of high school students: “Poetry 180: A Turning Back to Poetry” and “180 More: Extraordinary Poems for Every Day.” I talked with Collins about these books and the thrill he gets from writing.

Myers: Is there a poem of yours that seemed to come to you out of left field, that’s different than most of your work?

Collins: I think a lot of them come out of left field in that you never can see them coming. The inspiration for a poem usually takes me by surprise. When you are asked to trace back your thinking and reverse the process, sometimes it’s very hard to say what got a poem started. Other times it’s very clear, like a quotation or a statue you saw.

Myers: Now that you’ve said statue, I am thinking of your book, “The Trouble with Poetry and Other Poems.” [The poem is called “Statues in the Park.”]

Collins: It was a specific conversation I had with someone. We were walking in a park… I forget who the statue was, but it was a man on a horse and the person I was with asked me if I knew about what one hoof up or two hoofs up meant. [According to the poem, a statue of a horse rearing up on its hind legs signifies that the man on its back died in battle. If only one leg is raised, the man died elsewhere from his wounds.] I had never heard that. But I recognized right away [that would make material for a poem], because it had to do with death. It had to do with something common, like statues or parks, and it had a kind of code to it that was interesting… I right away leapt on that as having possibilities for a poem. And I think after you’ve been writing for a while, you get better at recognizing what little thought is worth developing and what one is just worth leaving behind.

Myers: How did you get better at recognizing the makings of a good poem?

Collins: I think just practice, trial and error, and spending too much time on poems that weren’t going anywhere, trying to force poems into being. Through that frustration you realize that you can’t completely force a poem into being. It has to sprout or grow on its own. You just nudge it along.

Myers: With poems that are very specifically laid out, do you plan those in advance or is it all just a ride that you don’t expect?

Collins: It’s kind of a combination. I don’t think too far ahead. I certainly don’t determine the tone. I might have a subject matter, say with that “Statues in the Park,” I knew that the subject of the poem was going to be statues in the park. It might have drifted away from that at some point. But I never know where a turn is going to take place. Turns or shifts are very necessary in my poems because the beginnings of my poems are uninteresting. Sometimes I know, here is the subject, statues in the park. But I never know the resolution. And I would say that 90 percent of the thrill of writing is moving toward an unknown destination which you are actually going to create. The poem is kind of a pathway to its ending. It’s the only way to access its own ending, and that progress through the poem to the ending is the most compelling part of writing for me.

Myers: Why are the beginnings of your poems uninteresting?

Collins: I tend to start simply. I don’t want to assume anything on the reader’s part. So, I start with something that everybody knows or a simple declaration, like I am standing here at the window with a cup of tea. You could look at that two ways: I am luring the reader in by giving the reader something easy to identify with, or I’m expressing a kind of etiquette – I don’t want to get ahead of the reader. I want to keep the reader in my company. If you look at the first three or four lines of many of my poems, they are pretty flat and ordinary. The hope is that having started with something simple and common, that gives the poem potential for improvement (laughs) so that it can get a little more challenging and move into more mysterious areas as it goes along.

Myers: Like the eye chart analogy that you used in the introduction to “180 More Extraordinary Poems for Every Day?” [Collins said that a poem designed to grant easy access to the reader is set up like an eye doctor's chart with the large "E" at the top standing for more easily discernible lines and concepts that get harder to see as the poem progresses to the bottom.]

Collins: That is exactly it. The first few lines are the big “E” at the top of the chart. I want everyone to see the big letter and then we can proceed. Then at some point we will reach, what in the eye chart would be called illegibility. In the poem, it would be called mysteriousness. This is where the poem has moved into where poetry belongs, which is the area of the ineffable.

Myers: Writing a news story, I would be scared that if I started with a “flat” lead (beginning) the reader wouldn’t go further.

Collins: I think that readers of poetry are often delighted to encounter a poem that begins without mystifying them. So many poems challenge the reader in the first few lines. If a poem begins in difficulty, I don’t see how it can change its coloration. I suppose all of my poems have the same pattern—that you begin with something rather flat. But the attempt is to put the reader in a multidimensional area in the end.

We all know why the caged bird sings

2014-10-13T10:27:00.001-04:00

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” my recording of iconic poet Maya Angelou reading that famous poem was on a Buckshot LaFonque album. For those who don’t know what that is (and I am betting most) that was Branford Marsalis’ 90s hip-hop experiment. But it was the poem that stood out for me and made the recording special. And it was the first thing I thought of when Angelou died earlier this year.

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,
When he beats his bars and would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings –
I know why the caged bird sings.

There was something empowering about the poem. It’s about a little bird that is locked inside a cage, he is bruised and sore. How is identifying with the bird empowering? That was always the sense that I got from the poem, and from hearing Angelou read it.

Mirroring the bird song within the poem, the poem itself is a song, not a happy song, not a loud song, but a song that is aimed upward. And like the birdsong, the poem has an upward drifting through which we can connect.

What is it about the poem that makes me want to look up into the panorama of stars that surrounds us? The caged bird has been through tough times. Its life is marked by a series of trials documented by bruises.

There are billions of people on this overcrowded planet and yet we connect most readily through our loneliness. That is how the poem is able to tug on our heart strings.

We are social animals and while feelings of loneliness and isolation scare us on a deep level, a poem like this simultaneously reminds us that we are not alone. Even while in a cage we make songs because there’s still hope that they will be heard. This is how identifying with the bird in the poem is empowering.

Score for Nature: Hawk Attacks Drone!

2014-10-10T12:21:00.001-04:00

The book I forgot I wrote (a column on self-publishing)

2014-09-29T08:32:00.000-04:00

Out of nowhere, my wife handed me a check for $41.82.

“Looks like people are buying your book,” she said.

I should take a step back. Years ago Haiku North America cofounder Michael Dylan Welch invited me to his poetry conference.

A few days before the conference he suggested I put a book of my poems together to have on hand, so I did. That night I made copies at the local FedEx store. This is the book that people have started buying from Amazon.

The book I uploaded to Amazon was a certain kind of book, called a chapbook. These days, only the most dedicated of poetry lovers know what chapbooks are. But initially chapbooks were the books of the common man.

In the Middle Ages. Peddlers went from village to village with these small books made of rag paper. Chapbooks were almanacs, they recorded history, told myths and stories. Even folk songs were preserved in chapbooks.

Because they were small and crudely made the common man could afford them. In an era when paper was expensive, chapbooks were sold for a penny or ha'penny.

"If you want to buy, I'm your chap," the chapmen would yell as they went from door to door.
Now think of the Kindle and self-publishing platforms like Scribd, Blurb and Amazon. Oddball poets who toil in obscurity (including yours truly) can now be spread from computer to computer.

Of course all of this puts small presses in a bad spot and I’d be remiss if I didn’t insert a caveat here about Amazon’s undercutting publishing costs so it could become a ubiquitous giant that sells anything and everything (soon to be delivered by drones).

But when poet extraordinaire Jane Hirshfield wanted to share her thoughts on poet Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) she turned to Amazon. And it was a hot seller (for a poetry book). So I decided to give it a whirl and I put my book there as well. Then I forgot about it.

Fast forward a few years and we are back to me standing there dumbfounded by a check for $41.82. At a price of $.99 and only getting 35 percent of that, that meant about 120 people recently bought my chapbook, which by the way, is called “Night with Too Many Stars.”

It was an encouraging moment, a moment that has lit a fire under my butt. Once again I am culling new poems out of hundreds of pages of notes.

Imagine if I had done some publicity for it on Facebook, Twitter or on this blog!?

‘Seeing’ from a different perspective

2014-08-18T11:05:00.000-04:00

TV shows, movies, books, newspapers, songs, gossip: We use narratives to make sense of our surroundings, to understand our place in the world and the roles we play to the people in our lives. We also get caught up in our stories. We overlay them onto everyone and everything.

Mark Twain’s "The Mysterious Stranger" is one of my favorite short stories. In it, an angel Twain sarcastically named Satan (this is not THE Satan but his nephew – also named Satan – who has not fallen from grace) comes to earth and spends time trying to teach the ways of the universe to a boy.

In an effort to give the boy a sense of man's importance from an angel's perspective Satan offers an analogy of a red spider and an elephant.

“Here is a red spider, not so big as a pin’s head. Can you imagine an elephant being interested in him – caring whether he is happy or isn’t, or whether he is wealthy or poor, or whether his sweetheart returns his love or not, or whether his mother is sick or well, or whether he is looked up to in society or not, or whether his enemies will smite him or his friends desert him, or whether his hopes will suffer blight or his political ambitions fail, or whether he shall die in the bosom of his family or neglected and despised in a foreign land? These things can never be important to the elephant; they are nothing to him; he cannot shrink his sympathies to the microscopic size of them. Man is to me as the red spider is to the elephant.”

The stories we tell may help us navigate through life, but sometimes a head full of expectations can get in the way and prevent us from seeing what's actually there. To illustrate this point I offer the following thought experiment. Try to forget about the specifics that grab your attention every day.

Forget about things like your favorite foods or your favorite songs. Instead, focus on broad strokes like movement, sound or texture. How might life be experienced this way? Forgetting about specifics and reorganizing the world through more general senses might offer a peek into the different kinds of experiences that make up the many little universes around us.

Even with all of their creepy eyes, spiders can't see much more than changes in light and changes in motion. Elephants navigate using smell and hearing more than sight, and did you know that they listen with their feet? In recent years researchers have come to believe that elephants use their feet like built-in seismic detectors to decode distant noise and vocalizations.

What if we could forget, or push aside just for a bit, the words and stories that rule our days and house our expectations? What if, instead, we could just feel the waves as we move through the water or experience the heat of the sun on our shoulders without putting it into words for a moment? Would life seem different?

Nightline tribute to Robin Williams, Beloved Actor, Comedian

2014-08-13T21:08:00.000-04:00

Robin Williams' most beautiful speech (taken from 'Dead Poets Society')

2014-08-12T21:01:00.001-04:00

"Taken from 'Dead Poets Society', this speech by Robin Williams perfectly sums up the need for creativity and passion..."

‘The Way It Is,’ a candid talk with Bruce Hornsby

2014-07-23T16:06:00.000-04:00

Many know pianist songwriter Bruce Hornsby for his ‘80s hits "The Way It Is" and "Mandolin Rain." Many may not know that he co-wrote one of Don Henley's biggest hits, "The End of the Innocence."

Hornsby’s career has taken him from rock star to side man (as keyboardist for the Grateful Dead) and from pop to jazz to bluegrass.

He calls his path a natural progression. While there have been mistakes along the way, Hornsby has gotten to live his dream.

His openness and grounded nature made him one of my favorite interviews. The following are highlights from a conversation we had a few years back.

Gene: You’ve said being a pop artist didn't seem to be a viable way to go for you because few pop artists have longevity.

Bruce: I had to make a choice. Our first record came out and broke in England on BBC Radio 1 with the song "The Way It Is." Then it broke in Holland and then throughout Europe and then throughout the rest of the world and then in the United States and then all of a sudden we sold about 100,000 records just on the old rock radio...We were doing just fine at that point. But all of a sudden this thrust us into this Top 40 world. Then we kept on having hits. Two on that record and two on the next record and another one on the next record. We became sort of typecast as that.

Gene: Did you try to dismantle that typecast or did you ignore it?

Bruce: I didn't react or dismantle it. I just went about my own merry musical way working with artists who wanted to work with me and then calling people up to have them work on my record. I was a musician—not just in the rock world. I started moving into other areas, most notably, of course, the jazz and the country worlds. So, I started making bluegrass records.

Gene: When you were young whom did you look to and say, "I want to do that!"?

Bruce: If you came into my room in high school when I started getting into the piano, which was late, junior year of high school, the posters you would see on my wall would have been Leon Russell, Elton John, The Band, Grateful Dead, Bill Evans, Keith Jarrett, McCoy Tyner, Chick Corea. Those would've been the people you would've seen in it. So what's so beautiful about it all these years later is, I ended up, as my younger brother said, I ended up sort of painting myself into the mural that I was looking at as a kid. Because all of these people—with the exception of Bill Evans who died in 1980—I ended up either being friends with or working with.

Gene: So how did you wind up working with the Grateful Dead in the 90s?

Bruce: We got a call out of the blue from our booking agent saying, "The Grateful Dead wants you to open for them at two shows in Monterey, California at Laguna Seca Racetrack. May of 1987, if you went to the concert, the Dead show, you heard Ry Cooder, my band and the Dead. That was two days in ‘87, and then the next year they asked us to open some more shows. But then they asked me to sit in with them after we'd open. Then the next year, ‘89, they got us to open some more shows and I'd sit in with them a little more. Then I started sitting in with them when I wasn't opening for them. We just became friends with just a growing relationship.

Gene: Did it feel surreal to you?

Bruce: Well I think it probably did a little bit. I started with them winging it at Madison Square Garden with no rehearsal, just came in off the street and started playing with them. They were buying me out of gigs so I would play with them. Garcia and I were good friends. I think if you saw us play, saw me play with the Dead, you could see that it was a real palpable connection—easily seen between the two of us. It was surreal. I think it was more surreal to the people who had followed our old Grateful Dead cover band, the Octane Kids. It was probably more surreal for them to see me now 16 years later playing in that group at the Garden. I think that was certainly surreal for them.

Gene: Was there something that you learned from that or took away from that experience?

Bruce: I learned so much from them. I learned so much from Garcia. He was a walking encyclopedia of folk music. I learned a lot about that whole area of music that I hadn't been so knowledgeable in. I've always loved their songs. I think they're underrated as songwriters, because I was influenced as a songwriter by their songwriting, also their approach to playing songs, which made it possible for the songs to become new and grow and evolve. Those two elements were the most influential elements on my music.

Gene: All these different roles that you've had, whether it be in a jam band or as a songwriter or as a solo artist—is there one role that you feel more comfortable in than another?

Bruce: Comfortable, no. They are such different pursuits. Songwriting is the most difficult—to try to write a song just out of the air that you think really resonates and really moves people, that's really hard. Also, the recording process, I've never been good at it. I don't consider myself to be a good record maker. I try hard, but it's always been difficult for me. So I think probably the area that comes most naturally for me is playing live. I think that's what I consider myself to be the best at.

Gene: If you could go back and give yourself advice at any point in your career what would you tell yourself?

Bruce: Oh, I have lots of regrets, lots of records that I've made that I think could have been better. It's hard to have a perspective on your music when you're writing, in the middle of it. I guess I would tell myself to try to work harder at having that perspective. I've always been a pretty tough self critic and I think that's the way to go, frankly.

Ray Charles - in 3/4 Time (LIVE) HD

2014-07-21T10:13:00.001-04:00

Millard Fillmore's noodle roller

2014-07-17T09:55:00.000-04:00

One day you were feeling that life wasn't good enough and then the music swelled and the tour bus doors opened. A nondescript house sat behind its historic sign and that sign added a little gold to the bleak surroundings. You step out further, the music continues to swell.

The black-and-white photos dusted and the microphone plugged in, the voiceover begins to paint in broad strokes. Luckily, whenever people are doing things others want to be measuring and keeping track. This is Millard Fillmore's teacup. It was touched 411 times by Millard Fillmore's lips. This is Millard Fillmore's noodle roller. This is the table that he built, this is the DNA we got from his teacup.

“This is the floor he built for his Abby,” says his volunteer tour guide 140 years beyond Millard Fillmore’s time. She isn’t the only one in town to jump on the Millard Fillmore bandwagon. There’s the Millard Fillmore Festival and the graveyard tours that end at the gravestone that bears his name.

This is where students snicker at his silly name and where they snicker at the professor with BO fruitlessly trying to make a point. The sound of our names is how we all live on. Then there are the daily things, the things that we think are silly. We never try to attach ourselves to them until someone points to someone else living modestly.

A maple sap trough, the gun below the mantel, they encourage you to try and conjure the sound of a sack of potatoes hitting the floor. And yes, there is an end. He was a loving husband, good with his hands. Still, there is a lowering of expectations, like the postage stamp designed in Millard Fillmore’s likeness that few really cared about.

Years later the whole town turns out for the Millard Fillmore birthday bash. They take their pictures smiling and waving next to his cardboard cutout. They say his silly name a lot and wear silly wigs. Pride swells to somewhere below the Buffalo wings while you’re grabbing for the milk.

“Aren’t you glad you stepped off the bus?” one of them says.

Sensing the gravitational potential they have wheeled out anything not too elegant. Each cold winter will be superimposed on the homestead. But the only pauses that will be injected will be those of future commentators. This is how we make American life.

It’s not true that we only use 3 percent of our brains. Now is a time filled with the urge to get away. The stream will be in front of you when you step back on the bus wondering who the gravedigger is having lunch with.

Helping her mom's haiku dream live on

2014-07-14T10:00:00.000-04:00

Amy Losak's mom, Sydell Rosenberg, seen here,
had dreams for her poetry that Losak wants to see live on.

Amy Losak sent me an email last year after reading an interview I did with Penny Harter who, with her husband, William J. Higginson, published "The Haiku Handbook." Anyone with a love for haiku poetry eventually finds their way to that book. Losak's mom, Sydell Rosenberg, loved haiku and her work even made it into the seminal publication. According to Losak, her mom always tried to share her love for the art with her daughter. But it wasn't until she lost her mom that she started to take notice of her mom's dedication to the small poems.

"Her haiku and senryu are compact and concise – and yet highly evocative –j visual snapshots of moments in time in nature, urban life and relationships; many of these short pictorial poems are perfect for children who are learning to engage with and interpret the world around them in creative ways," said Losak in an email.

She went on to say that it was her mom's wish to publish an A-B-C haiku reader for children. One time her mom "even had the guts to write to (children's book author) Maurice Sendak proposing a collaboration!"

But she didn't get to fulfill her dream of publishing a haiku picture book for kids. That was why Losak had emailed me. She's been trying to help her mom fulfill her goal posthumously, but not just in book form. Losak has been working with teachers and artists to share her mom's vision of what haiku can offer kids. With her husband's help, a website, Facebook page and Twitter feed have also been made.
Here's a poem written by her mom:

So pale – it hardly sat
on the outstretched branch
of the winter night.

"Mom's word choice is precise – and deliberate in its ambiguity: 'It' can mean or be almost anything. The first thing that may come to mind is the moon, of course – but 'it' could be a bird: a hawk, an owl, a sparrow, a blackbird, for example. Or 'it' can refer to a squirrel or a cat, or a bear – or another branch or a twig. 'It' can be raindrops or snow. 'It' can even be the setting sun at dusk – why not?" she wrote.

I loved her enthusiasm, and of course, the poem wasn't bad either. So I agreed to do an interview and help Losak with her goal of spreading her mother's gift to others.

Q: Did your mom read haiku to you as a kid?
A: Actually, no, I don't remember my mom...reading haiku to me, or to my brother, Nathan, when we were children. She may not have become immersed in the world of haiku until I was older, around 10 or 12...When I was a teenager and as an adult, my mom would share new haiku she had written and sometimes ask for my feedback and opinion. I think she wanted me to be her first audience – a kind of critical filter, in a constructive way. I confess that I wasn't always responsive, nor was I always overly encouraging – at least, not often enough. Perhaps I'm being too hard on myself, but looking back, I fear I didn't always take her work seriously, although I think I always knew there was something special about her – indeed, she was a little bit kooky (I say this with love). I regret now that I didn't show my appreciation more often – at least, more openly. I wish I had done more to let her know how much I appreciated her. When she died suddenly as a result of an aortic aneurysm in 1996, it was a shocking wake up call. I – my family – had lost a truly artistic soul.

Q: You are putting a lot of time into sharing your mom's work. What do you think haiku offers kids?
A: They are precise and concise, yet endlessly evocative. A random but astute observation, written down, can capture worlds. Haiku are open to interpretation and at the same time, they get to the point. Haiku stimulates the imagination but requires discipline as well. Children can use haiku as tools or catalysts for visual self-expression, but also for so much more. I think haiku – because of their short format – can also cultivate a love of wordplay and metaphor. Haiku can help teach or even inspire kids to "see" – that is, connect them with the daily wonders of life on so many levels.

Q: Tell me about the website your husband made. And there's Twitter and a Facebook page as well?
A: The new website, sydellpoetry.com was designed by my husband, Cliff, as a birthday present for me...He created the Twitter account and Facebook page as well. These sites will evolve, with more haiku and other content. The website is a work in progress. I also may take an iPad art class so I can illustrate her work myself – and perhaps produce a digital book for children. Meanwhile, I am thrilled to have these digital destinations for my mom's haiku – an online presence for her. This is my tribute to my mom, many years after her death in 1996. I think she would have marveled at the possibilities of all of this!

What song is Paul McCartney singing at the start of his new video for 'Early Days'?

2014-07-11T09:38:00.001-04:00

Chargin’ ahead – a different kind of rationale (the Subaru Forester vs. Dodge Charger)

2014-07-07T09:58:00.004-04:00

Thanks to the dealership that understands that my wife and I are conditioned to salivate at the sound of the bells and whistles found in most over the top special editions of American cars these days, we have a new car, a Dodge Charger.

Actually, it was a very rational decision on our part. It was a choice that was even more rational than the Subaru Forester that the Charger replaces in the driveway – and if you’ve seen a Subaru you know that rational decisions are the main reasons these cars get driven off of the lots.

By the way, if you sense sarcasm here it’s because I’ve been reading too many Dave Barry columns lately. But to get back on track, people who buy Subarus are overheard saying things like, “Wow! That rubber floor mat is going to be great when the dog gets sick!” or “NPR is going to sound great on that stereo!”

These are the things that make Subaru owners smile as they blast NPR (by blast I mean play cautiously at a volume level that has been well-researched and can be correlated to an optimal grin level while not hindering good family bonding time en route to the campground/and or the kayaking drop-off point).

To any skeptics who doubt that I know of what I speak, see previous columns on camping, family or dogs. (I have yet to write a column on kayaking.)

But a Charger is a different kind of rational decision. It’s the kind of rational decision that comes to you while howling with your foot on top of a fully depressed gas pedal.

So how was this a more rational decision than a Forester? It was cheaper than the dog, kayak and camper that are required accessories to make driving a Subaru fun.

Do I feel a twinge of guilt about trading in my partial emissions four-banger for a Hemi? Nah, Dodge has it covered. From the heated and cooled cup holders to the dazzling hi-res display that illustrates how my wheels are moving as I roll down the road, there are enough amenities to assuage Texas-sized guilt.
NPR sounds great through my 575-watt Beats by Dre speakers.

“Peeper populations continue to diminish as roadways prevent the frogs from migration routes,” NPR blares.

“What did they say?” asks my wife who I’m assuming would also rather hear the Charger growl down the road than the radio, or our child trying to ask questions about his place in the world.

Kseniya Simonova - Sand Animation (Україна має талант / Ukraine's Got Talent)

2014-07-03T22:01:00.001-04:00

How to be a rock star, or at least follow your heart (an interview with Josh Ritter)

2014-06-19T21:52:00.002-04:00

Singer-songwriter Josh Ritter fronts a tight band, but his live shows have little use for pomp. The message that comes across is simple. He is happy to connect with anyone who enjoys music as much as he does. Anything else is secondary.

And Ritter really enjoys it. He can’t keep the grin off his face as he sings and plays.

“I’m doing something that makes me really happy and other people are getting something out of it as well,” he said. “I feel good getting up in the morning and I feel good going to bed at night.”

There’s a purity that comes through when talking to him, a certain kind of honesty that’s also evident in his live shows. In an industry of flash, it’s what makes him stand out.

Musically, Ritter knows how to create the big, dramatic moments in his performances — the tension-fraught crescendos that bring audience members to the edges of their seats. But stylistically, he has no interest in spectacle.

While some musicians play up the dramatic moments on stage, Ritter is more likely to shrug them off with a smile as he flubs them. Allow me to illustrate.

Here comes the big moment. Ritter’s band is holding the audience in the palm of its hand as it draws that final chord as far out as it can. This is where a classic rock showman with a big mane might be flailing his arms in wide circular motions, or climbing to the top of a stack of amps, so he can jump off at just the right second.

Ritter realizes he’s in this kind of moment as he’s putting his guitar back on its stand. He contributes a half-hearted gesture, making a slight swinging motion with his free hand and squeezing it into a fist on the last beat. His back is to the audience.

What was he thinking? He was thinking of the next song. The transition he was about to make involved a change of gears. A different sounding guitar was needed for the ride he was about to take audience members on.

In those moments, when a more ego-driven performer might be basking in a spotlight, Ritter is thinking about guitars and plotting where he and his listeners are heading next. Once the band swings in behind him and locks the next song into its groove, Ritter starts bouncing — and smiling — again. He seems to always be smiling.

Why shouldn’t he be? He’s got a dream job, one that many starry-eyed teens would kill for. How he got it, however, is no big mystery at all.

As a kid in Idaho, Ritter found the inspiration he needed for his art in the music of Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan. Specifically, on the album they recorded together, “Nashville Skyline.”

“They were going for something that was different. It really intrigued me,” said Ritter. “There was a heart in it that really appealed to me. They weren’t trying to hit the perfect note or even sing close together. They just sounded like it was a lot of fun.”

After hearing these artists, he headed to Boston to follow his dreams. The city’s folk scene has long been a proving ground for acoustic strummers. The trick was to blaze his own path. He watched the countless musicians around him. Most would never gain the mass appeal that Ritter has. But they had plenty to teach him.

“You can really benefit from watching other people. I’ve had a chance to be with some great bands, some great performers and watch them. See how they manage to make it day to day for six months on the road without going totally nuts,” he said.

Ritter had a hit in Ireland and his career has been growing steadily over the years. But he has yet to hit it big in America. He said he is still figuring out how to define success.

“When it comes to it, you just have to make those decisions for yourself. You either get up in the morning and write or you don’t,” he said.

To me that sums it up nicely. Whether you are talking about one man’s music career or life in general, it boils down to you either get up in the morning and step toward the things you want, or you don’t.

Ritter’s story closely mirrors what other successful people have told me. There really isn’t a secret recipe for success. People love a good story and some stars aim to be a character you’ll never forget. But most of the time, life is more ordinary than that.

Anyone looking for a role model while trying to reach their goals would do well to look in Ritter’s direction, but also, take a cue from him and don’t take it so seriously.

Most decisions are not made at the edges of precipices by daring people with special abilities. Life is designed by the smaller, everyday choices people make, everyday people who don’t stand apart – people who sometimes flub it and forget that they are in the spotlight.

Daryl Hall and John Oates' funny Google commercial: Hall and Oates sing "she's a mangobbler"

2014-06-10T18:04:00.001-04:00

Make your desk inspiring

2014-06-08T20:52:00.000-04:00

The piece of furniture that I treasure the most is my desk. It is a huge, wooden L-shape that sits nicely in a corner.

In Barbara Ann Kipfer’s book, A Field Guide to Happiness, she recommends “creating an altar” on your desk.

On my desk I have a piece of metal that is twisted into the shape of a frog playing the banjo, a Japanese fisherman figurine, a model ship, two Buddhas, two miniature pewter Hindu gods and a Jesus statue.

Even though a spiritual motif spans across my desk, the altar Kipfer encourages readers to build is not a religious altar. It should just be something that will cheer you up.

“Altar is just one word for a collection of family photos, trinkets and a vase of flowers,” she writes. “The idea is that the place where you work, or wherever you spend a lot of time, should be cheery and inspirational.”

To that end, she suggests that the items on your altar be linked to memories, beliefs or goals. The
important thing is to pick items deliberately. Consider what each one means to you.

The frog sculpture on my desk brings folk musicians like Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie to my mind — minstrels who preserved stories of early modern America.

The fisherman and ship are on my desk because of my love of the sea. A ship on the horizon always sets my imagination adrift. The religious items illustrate the variety of ways in which people reach out of themselves to connect to their surroundings.

Tailoring your desk to your desires might mean setting up family photos to help you appreciate your life. A plaque or trophy can remind you of your achievements.

But as Kipfer points out, altars don’t need to reflect a grand scheme.

“What makes your collection an altar is your intention, which can be as simple as your desire to return to the present moment and be aware of it each time you see your special collection.”

empty flatbed hauling stars –

2014-06-06T20:48:00.002-04:00

(I think I just like that as one line...)

Amber Rubarth has a new album coming out! Here's a bit of a video teaser...

2014-06-04T17:19:00.000-04:00

Paul McCartney - The Making Of "McCartney"

2014-06-02T22:32:00.000-04:00

How to lose yourself in the moment

2014-06-01T22:19:00.002-04:00

Losing yourself in the middle of a fun activity is what psychologists call “flow.”

You could be hammering nails into plywood, playing guitar, or peeping into a microscope. Any activity that allows you to lose track of time qualifies.

Long before psychologists caught on, Buddhist monks mastered the art of losing oneself as a method of self-improvement that brings a smile to practitioners’ faces.

Since I experience “flow” through writing, I thought I would illustrate the experience through this week’s column. The first ingredient is inspiration. I let the concept of flow bounce around in my brain for a week while I researched the topic from different angles.

I read a few Time magazine articles on the brain, I read psych students’ papers, surfed onto mental health websites and reread Buddhism books from my bookshelves.

In order to experience flow, you need to be an expert on the task at hand. It has to be second nature. If you need to stop the process to read sheet music, you won’t achieve flow by playing the piano. So, step two is laying the groundwork.

Once the foundation’s in place, make sure to have a sufficient hideaway – for me, it’s my office. When I close my door I don’t hear the TV or the phone. Others may need a sewing room, a garage with power tools or a basketball hoop. You need somewhere that feels encouraging to you.

I like to be free from distractions. Others may find different environments induce creativity like being outside watching kids play or having music playing in the background.

Once I’ve had my spark of inspiration, done my research and sat down to write, there’s only one thing left – the fun part. When ideas are flowing, I can’t type fast enough.

Although I am the author, I can’t wait to see what comes out. This is the experience of “flow.” It’s what people mean when they say they are “in the zone.”

As a column comes to its crescendo, there’s an “AHA!” moment. It’s here that an epiphany is revealed. Although it may seem like the epiphany is written for the benefit of readers, I have to admit, it isn’t. The epiphanies are for me.

What I enjoy most about writing is the learning process that is necessary to do it. The “AHA!” moment is when the knowledge gained falls out onto the page. Flow requires a final product.

It can be the purr of a rebuilt engine, the last button sewn on a kid’s costume, or the final note of a composition – as long as you can step back and see what you’ve created. If you’re lucky, you’ll also spot something to improve upon for next time.

I know why the caged bird sings

2014-05-28T16:38:00.001-04:00

Maya Angelou died today.

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,
When he beats his bars and would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings –
I know why the caged bird sings.

There is something empowering in those words. It's about a little bird that is locked inside a cage; he is bruised and sore. How is identifying with the bird empowering? Yet it is.

There is a song, but not a happy song, not a loud song, but a song that is aimed upward. Through that upward drifting we connect.

Through the longing. There are tough times. Our trials in life are easily documented by our bruises and soreness. Even though there are billions of us on this overcrowded planet we connect more readily through our loneliness.

10 Questions for Maya Angelou

2014-05-28T11:02:00.001-04:00

Gary Snyder's Magpie's Song (the melodic part) - It sounds so mystical and bard-like

2014-05-27T18:41:00.000-04:00

old soul singer / with each step up / wrestling angels

2014-05-25T21:43:00.001-04:00