Missing Kay

 Kathryn Stripling Byer (NC Poet Laureate 2005- 2009) has been gone since last June but her poetry is as powerfully present as ever.  She and I shared a love for the strong women of these mountains.

Wildwood Flower

I hoe thawed ground
with a vengeance. Winter has left
my house empty of dried beans
and meat. I am hungry

and now that a few buds appear
on the sycamore, I watch the road
winding down this dark mountain
not even the mule can climb
without a struggle. Long daylight

and nobody comes while my husband
traps rabbits, chops firewood, or
walks away into the thicket. Abandoned
to hoot owls and copperheads,

I begin to fear sickness. I wait
for pneumonia and lockjaw. Each month
I brew squaw tea for pain.
In the stream where I scrub my own blood
from rags, I see all things flow
down from me into the valley.

Once I climbed the ridge
to the place where the sky
comes. Beyond me the mountains continued
like God. Is there no place to hide
from His silence? A woman must work

else she thinks too much. I hoe
this earth until I think of nothing
but the beans I will string,
the sweet corn I will grind into meal.

We must eat. I will learn
to be grateful for whatever comes to me.

Kathryn Stripling Byer

Kathryn Stripling Byer 1944-2017

Kathryn Stripling Byer, first woman to be named North Carolina poet laureate, died peacefully this afternoon after a struggle with cancer. Her friends have kept vigil on her Facebook page by posting favorites of her beautiful poems. 

Kay was been a tireless advocate for the arts and for social justice and she worked to bring poetry -- the reading and the writing of it -- into the schools.

I met Kay some years ago when we were both teaching at a writing retreat and was instantly drawn to her, partly because we seemed to share a love/hate relationship with our Southern upbringing and a delight in our adopted home in the mountains of North Carolina. 

 For several years we followed and commented on each other's blogs and Kay reawakened my love of poetry as she shared her own beautiful, sly, singing verse, as well as that of other poets. 

 Her generosity as a friend and a teacher is legendary and her going -- too soon -- leaves an empty space in the hearts of those who were privileged to have known her.

But we have her beautiful poetry . . . Read this following poem aloud and imagine Kay's wonderful smile lighting up the room and her body swaying to the music of the words.

Big Tease

Little by little, the earth sheds

 her veils. Lets her white blossoms 

tremble. The river shakes out her blue

shimmy and scrubs it to smithereens

over the singing rocks, leaving her

sunny side up, such a tease

that I sway to her music

as if I were Salome's sister

and not an old woman who knows

that the inkblot of sky on this page

of my daybook will soon begin fading,

because how can anyone, even Great

Grandaddy Death stay asleep

amid so much awakening?

                                                    Kathryn Stripling Byer

Into the Light, dear Kay.

DESCENT -- Kathryn Stripling Byer

The latest collection of poems from North Carolina's past Poet Laureate Kathryn Stripling Byer is a delight to savor.  Rather than go on at length about the luminosity and emotional impact of her verse, not to mention its sly wit, I'm going to give you a sample (with Kay's kind permission.) 

These two excerpts hint at the struggle some of us Southerners of a certain age still have in coming to terms with our beautiful/terrible/flawed heritage.

from Gone Again

. . . 

after sixty-two years, Scarlett makes me feel

tired -- all those hours I wasted, enraptured

by someone whose skin was sheer

celluloid, whose voice, when the reel came

loose, gibbered like mine when I tried

to pretend I lived just down the road

from that movie set, cotton fields painted

on canvas, the loyal slaves hoisting

up sacks full of nothing

but chaff for the wind, that old

Hollywood hack, to keep blowing away.

from Shadow Sister

. . .

Sometimes I still want what you want,

The keys to a red-hot convertible,

top down, and who the hell cares

if a hard rain comes,

we're headed north, east,

west, we are out of here, girl.

. . . 

I had the devil of a time deciding which complete poem to share here, but this one is just perfect for mid-May.

Big Tease

Little by little, the earth sheds

 her veils. Lets her white blossoms 

tremble. The river shakes out her blue

shimmy and scrubs it to smithereens

over the singing rocks, leaving her

sunny side up, such a tease

that I sway to her music

as if I am Salome's sister,

and not an old woman who knows

that the inkblot of sky on this page

of my daybook will soon begin fading,

because how can anyone, even Great

Grandaddy Death stay asleep

amid so much awakening?

 If you want more, look for Descent HERE.

(I think that the lovely picture of KSB was taken by her daughter.)

meti

Svlva, NC

Sylva is one of my favorite little towns in North Carolina. High up in the mountains not far from Cherokee, it's maintained a nice balance between then and now. By which I mean that gift shopppes and galleries haven't crowded out ordinary stores for non-tourists and while there are several places not unfamiliar with goat cheese, arugula, and artisanal breads (all of which I really enjoy), you can still find a good biscuit smothered in sausage gravy (a guilty pleasure I won't turn down).

My favorite place to be in Sylva is City Lights -- a wonderful bookstore on a back street with all the best new books, a great collection of regional material, and a terrific used book section as well. (I found myself purchasing Volume V of Keen's Surgery - a 1909 tract (illustrated) that I expect to find a use for -- in fiction, if not practice.

I was in Sylva today reading from the new book -- while 20-some folks enjoyed a delicious lunch prepared by Joyce Moore, the owner of City Lights. This is my fourth year as a visiting author and there's always a great group of folks in attendance, old friends and new. This time it was fun to have on hand Lee Palatt , whose name was given to Nola's nosy neighbor in Dark Season. I'd never met her, except through e-mails so it was a little startling to have a character from the book walk up and introduce herself.

And the Poet Laureate of North Carolina was there too. (How cool is that?) Kathryn Stripling Byer (we were both presenters at the Lake Logan writers' retreat) is someone whose work I've admired for years and it's been so nice to get to know her a little. She's just begun a blog and if you want to read some really lovely poetry that speaks to the beauties of everyday, click on her name to follow the link . She's just begun the blog and I know it can feel lonely, writing stuff with nary a comment to let you know someone's out there. So stop by and say hi -- and see if you don't get hooked on her poetry.

NOTE!! Two of you all who signed up for my newsletter gave me addresses that didn't work. Donna R. and Pat P., also Tamra M. -- who signed up but gave no email -- you can sign up on my website .