We’re almost to the end of National Poetry Month but we have just enough time to squeeze in a few more poets. Four to be exact. Today’s poets are two women from the Charlotte, NC area that I’ve admired for years. If you like the poet Mary Oliver, you’ll like Irene Blair Honeycutt. If you like the mystique and superstition of Appalachia, you’ll like Mary Alice Dixon. I love them both. As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, the moon returns today in their poems.                                                                                                                                                             

Irene opens her fifth book of poetry, Mountains of the Moon, with a letter to the reader, drawing on a quote from Henry David Thoreau she begins, ‘The stream of time brings its treasures to our feet and places them before our eyes. …’ She concludes, ‘… Poems are containers of recollections, observations, and more. We are often surprised by what they contain. Their layers bring new life to bear on our experiences, be they joyful, sorrowful or traumatic. Poetry provides hope. It helps us find our way.’

Irene then leads us on a journey where ‘…the moon//peering between the maple’s bare limb–/a watchful eye/against the dark wall of sky. Under that watchful eye, the poet directs our attention to the beauty and the sacred, the wonder and the joy of all the treasures laid at our feet.

‘When You See a Shelf Mushroom// Note the artistry/How it projects from trees–/a whimsical ledge/where insects may rest or shelter …’   Upon the arrival of roofers and watching them work and break into song at lunch, ‘…The neighborhood feels festive/Something new:/Aromas spiced with singing/flowing freely through the streets. 

 Writing poetry helped Irene find her way through the deaths of her parents, her brothers, and friends to a place of healing and peace. Her poems reading like prayers. Yet there is also playfulness in her work as she writes in different forms–words swirling on the page–and the obvious joy in the deep discussion with her young niece on the merits of believing in Santa … or not. No matter the emotion, Irene always grounds that emotion in things we can touch.

 I underestimated you, Cicada/listening to your whirls of music/never a distraction–/more a calling to pause/lie down in the fields. Reading Honeycutt’s poetry calls us to do the same, and to pay attention.                                                                                                                                                                          

In Snakeberry Mamas, Mary Alice Dixon’s first collection of poetry, the poet takes us deep into the hollers of West Virginia and Carolina clay where she conjures family spirits, rituals and folklore in language that is lyrical and colorful. Her knowledge of healing herbs and native plants–and those with more unsavory properties–twines its way into many poems, including the opening, title poem, Snakeberry Mama. ‘Mama wove spells in snakeberry garlands/wore them in her hair/Witch eyes for the moon, she said/polka-dot fruit circling her head …/

Mary Alice’s Granny was a blind seamstress who appears in several poems, anchoring a bloodline of strong, independent women. The poem Granny Explains Rebirthing to Me ends, ‘… Then I remember/the memories of mothers/the sweet in the butter//circle of ashes/cradle of heart rings//the birthing, the branching/the light brush of wings.

Mary Alice is part sorceress and part rebel and always with that twinkle in her eye, and touch of lusty humor that makes her poetry a delicious read.  

Her glossary of terms at the end of her collection is also poetic and sensual. Acorn: seed of the oak tree; child of the immortals who dwell in the oaks; acts as a bridge between the sensual and the spiritual worlds. Birch: fast growing deciduous tree with thin bark that peels off in paper-like layers…wood of choice for Appalachian seers and witches; she who wields a birch broom drives out evil, awakens sensual love, engenders fertility. To list a couple entries.

You can find Irene’s Mountains of the Moon at Charlotte Lit Press

You can find Mary Alice’s Snakeberry Mamas at Barnes and Noble

I’ll be back on Friday with my last two poets. I hope you’ll stop by!

For those of you who are poets and/or artists, the Kakalak Anthology submission deadline is here …with a little help from publisher Anne Kaylor. See the special notice.